#the way you see the world shapes which language you speak

[allaboutthemoonlight]

Becoming the “It” girl: using science to redefine your identity

Hello friends,

A longer post today but I’m excited about this one!

I like to define an "It Girl" as someone who embodies the highest version of oneself, a created identity that reflects your most aspirational qualities and personal vision of success and confidence.

However, this post isn’t bout conforming to standards or expectations but rather embodying the best version of who you imagine yourself to be.

Today, I wanted to talk about how social science-based principles like self-presentation, cognitive dissonance, and identity alignment can help u become an“It Girl” in our own lives and achieve the identity you’ve been desiring.

What is identity

Our identity impacts all areas of our life; it’s the person we think we are and how we communicate that to others.

For example, if you see yourself as confident and capable, you are more likely to approach challenges with a positive attitude and take risks that lead to growth.

On the other hand, if you view yourself as unworthy, you are more likely to shy away from opportunities and not reach your full potential.

Our identity manifests as how we present ourselves to the world, including our body language, communication styles, and behavior.

In addition, our identities are constantly changing as we grow and evolve, influenced by our experiences, goals, and relationships with the people around us. This is why it’s important to continue to refine your personal brand and set standards for yourself to stay authentic.

Taking the time to evaluate our current identity and identifying areas where we can make changes is a good way to get aligned with our highest selves. We can ask ourselves questions such as:

How do I describe myself in three words?

What are my core values and beliefs?

How do I typically respond to challenges and setbacks?

What are my strengths and weaknesses?

How do I feel about my abilities and potential for success?

How do I present myself to others in social and professional settings?

What is my body language like in different situations (e.g., confident, reserved)?

How do I communicate with others (e.g., assertive, passive, aggressive)?

What kind of feedback do I receive from others about my behavior and attitude?

Do my actions align with the person I want to be?

How do I handle criticism and praise?

What goals do I have for personal and professional growth?

What is Self-Presentation?

Self-presentation involves the things we do to portray a particular image of ourselves; it’s how we dress, speak, behave, and present ourselves in different contexts. Our self-presentation is closely linked to our identity because it shapes how others perceive us, which can influence how we see ourselves.

Projecting the identity we want and living by our values and beliefs requires consistent management of our self-presentation. Our behaviors, thoughts, and emotions should reflect those of the identity we’re internalizing.

For example, if your identity is someone who is stylish, you’ll want to curate your wardrobe in a way that reflects that. In a similar context, if your new identity is someone who’s highly education you might start to spend some of your free time reading books, articles, newsletters, etc.

It’s all about helping to align how others see us with how we see ourselves.

Although other people’s opinions shouldn’t dictate our lives, a big part of our identity is shaped by how others view us. Their feedback can either affirm or refute what we’ve internalized to be true.

Here are some techniques for mastering self-presentation and how they can be used to access your highest self:

Dress in a way that reflects your identity, curate a wardrobe that matches who you aspire to be

Use confident body language, such as maintaining eye contact and standing/sitting upright in social settings

Practice speaking with clarity and confidence

Clean up your social media and only follow content that aligns with your identity or helps keep you on track

Establish and maintain boundaries without people in your life that reflect your values and priorities

Invest in personal and professional development through courses, workshops, and reading

Surround yourself with people and environments that support and reflect your highest self/new identity

Regularly express gratitude and maintain a positive outlook

Questions to evaluate and improve self-presentation

What are my core values and how do they influence my behavior?

How do I want others to perceive me?

Does my current wardrobe reflect the person I want to be?

What body language habits can I improve to appear more confident?

How can I improve my communication skills to better align with my desired identity?

In what ways can I be more consistent in how I present myself across different contexts?

What feedback have I received about my self-presentation, and how can I use it to improve?

Am I living in a way that aligns with my highest self, or are there areas where I can improve?

What actions can I take today to better project the identity I want?

How can I ensure my actions are authentic and reflect my true self?

How cognitive dissonance impacts us

Rebranding yourself and changing your identity involves leaving your old life behind. It sounds simple, but it can be very a mentally exhausting change. This is where cognitive dissonance comes into effect.

Cognitive dissonance is the psychological discomfort experienced when our actions conflict with our beliefs or values. If we’re not acting in accordance with our beliefs, we’ll end up with mental discomfort. As a result, we either end up changing our habits or our beliefs.

For example, if you see yourself as an active person but keep skipping the gym, high dissonance might make you change your belief instead of your habit. You might start telling routinely yourself, "It's just this once," rather than actually going.

This may sound stressful and prove to be a challenge during your rebrand. However, dissonance can play a positive role if you’ve strongly internalized a core aspect of your identity. For example, if you see yourself as someone health-conscious or someone who frequents the gym, you’ll consistently find ways to show that this is true, whether that’s going to the gym daily or meal prepping.

In terms of identity formation, when we highlight inconsistencies between our self-perception and our actions, we actually push towards more aligned behavior.

When we recognize that our actions don’t align with who we believe we are, we can use that discomfort to motivate positive change.

In combination with the tips previously mentioned, we can also:

Regularly evaluate our actions and beliefs to identify any discrepancies. Ask ourselves if our behavior aligns with our values and goals

Define specific, actionable steps that align with our desired identity. This can help create a guideline for behavior that supports us

Be willing to accept change and continue to grow and learn more about ourselves

So how can we apply these principles to become an “It Girl”

Define our "It Girl" identity:

Self-reflection: take time to reflect on who you want to be. Write down the qualities, values, and behaviors that define your highest self

Vision board: create a vision board (physical or digital) with images, words, and quotes that represent your ideal identity so that you’re constantly reminded of your goal

Align your self-presentation:

Wardrobe audit: go through your closet and sort items that don’t align with your desired identity. Also invest in pieces that make you feel confident and reflect your new persona

Body language: practice positive body language such as standing tall, maintaining eye contact in conversations

Use cognitive dissonance to your advantage:

Identify inconsistencies: regularly assess your actions and identify areas where they don’t align with your desired identity

Set goals: create specific, actionable goals to address these inconsistencies. For example, if you want to be healthier plan to incorporate more whole foods into your diet

Monitor progress: keep track of your progress and celebrate small wins to stay motivated

Cultivate positive habits:

Daily routines: establish daily routines that support your identity. This could include a morning exercise routine or a consistent skincare routine

Mindfulness practices: incorporate daily mindfulness practices like meditation or journaling

Continue to learn: commit to lifelong learning. Read books, take courses, and seek new experiences that contribute to your personal growth

Build a support system:

Find mentors: seek out mentors or role models who embody qualities you admire. Learn from their experiences and guidance

Surround yourself with positivity: build a network of supportive friends and family who encourage and inspire you

Rebranding yourself is a long and tedious journey, but with a little help from some science-based principles it can be as beneficial as ever!

As always,

Love Luna <3

[imustspeakmyheart]

Here's my Earthsea tattoo I got as a little birthday present to myself. This illustration comes from the Bantam paperback editions; it's the little icon above the very first chapter of A Wizard of Earthsea, depicting the island of Gont.

Ramble about my FAVOURITE Earthsea passage below :)

So I've been obsessed with this quote ever since I first read it a couple years ago. The full thing goes as follows:

"As their eyes met, a bird sang aloud in the branches of the tree. In that moment Ged understood the singing of the bird, and the language of the water falling in the basin of the fountain, and the shape of the clouds, and the beginning and end of the wind that stirred the leaves: it seemed to him that he himself was a word spoken by the sunlight" (35).

This happens in Roke's courtyard, the first time Ged enters the school and meets the Archmage. Objectively, it's just a lovely passage in a book series full of beautiful prose. It exemplifies exactly what Roke is: a place where magic coalesces and an understanding of the world can be reached. This knowledge is the very thing Ged has been wanting throughout the book so far, what has driven away from Ogion where the learning was too slow. And look here! He steps foot in the school and at an instant, this moment of transcendence. Lovely stuff in a small atmospheric scene.

But it does another thing I find way more interesting in that last phrase I put in bold. See, Wizard is a book very preoccupied with mastery over the world, in particular Ged's continuous longing for power, for overpowering others. That's, you know, his whole arc in this thing. Learning that power means knowing when or even whether to use it, and that magic (which in Earthsea means change, even the tiniest change, that ripples and ripples onward) takes consideration, time, patience.

So how wondrous is it that we get this phrase still at the very beginning of Ged's inner journey, still in his full hubris mode, that shows the world's influence over him. And look, I know this is a tiny itty bitty sentence right and it might not seem all that, but I don't think anything like this happens anywhere else in the books either? In a series where words are power and influence and change, literal magic, I think it really does mean something here that Ged feels like "he himself is a word spoken by the sunlight".

What does this mean? What does it mean to be spoken by the sunlight? That he feels made, created by the sunlight? Changed? Held in place? Either way, some influence is held over him by the very powers that wizards usually command themselves. The landscape is speaking him, the sunlight is commanding him, subsuming him, he's part of the world in the realest most primal way you can be in Earthsea. He's a word.

And another thing! Ged's entire struggle in this book is with what? His shadow. Yet this phrase reminds us that even at a moment where Ged has not learned his lesson yet, when he is yet to commit that terrible act, he has light in him. He's changed by that sunlight all the same. Light and shadow both; there can't be one without the other.

(Also this fountain Ged's at in the courtyard in this scene is the very same place Nemmerle dies after saving Ged from the shadow. Very important place, this.)

ANYWAY suffice to say I love this passage and I will never stop thinking about it.

[alexanderwales]

My Very Brief Time as a Korean Rice Farmer

When my wife had been working at her company for ten years, her boss offered her a two week trip anywhere in the world she wanted to go. It was a small company, maybe thirty people, and she'd been one of the first employees, when they were even smaller.

We had wanted to go to Japan, but this was 2022, and they were still closed for COVID when we were making the plans. We decided on South Korea instead, which was my personal preference over Japan anyway (kimchi and k-dramas and the Joseon era!). I used Duolingo to learn Hangul (the script) and not all that much actual Korean.

We went to Changdeok Palace early in the morning on our second day in Seoul, getting there just before it opened. It's a huge place that's right in the city, surrounded, as most things in Seoul are, by other buildings. The Palace is actually a number of buildings built by a number of kings from the Joseon era.

Right when we came in, we were quickly approached by a guy in a blue hanbok. "Hanbok" is a word that means "traditional clothing" or something like that, so it's not actually descriptive, but it was powder blue and looked fancy. He had glasses and a slightly uneasy smile on his face, and approached us from far enough away that I had time to wonder if he was approaching us, and if he was, what he wanted.

"Excuse me, how long were you going to be here today?" he asked.

"We don't have plans," my wife said. "We were going to be here all day, long enough to see everything."

"Would you like to participate in a festival?" he asked.

We looked at each other and told him sure, and then followed him as he talked. (We passed a group of thirty children who had just been admitted with their teacher, and they seemed excited to see foreigners, so they kept yelling "Hello!" to us, which was probably the only English they knew. We waved and said "annyeonghaseyo!" back to them.)

What I thought was going on at this point was that we were getting upsold on something. I figured that we were going to see something special and extra, and then get charged for it. Whatever, we were on vacation, I was fine with that. We hadn't been in Korean long, and I thought "maybe they just station guys like this by the gate to rope people in". It was weird, but we were in a place where we didn't understand all the customs or speak the language, and my policy had been "just roll with it".

I did think it was weird that we were hoofing it across the palaces, and thought it was more weird when we went past a gate and into a place where no one else was apparently allowed. Our guide spoke good English, but when he'd been talking it had always been "the festival" or "the event" and "you'll be there most of the day" and "we'll make sure you have what you need". We were not clear on what was going on.

He mentioned that there would be a rice harvest, which I thought was weird since we were in a historical park in the middle of Seoul.

He told us that he'd give us a tour, because there wouldn't be time later, so he guided us through the Joseon-era gardens and temples. There was no one around, because that part of the grounds wasn't open until later in the day, so we got to see everything and ask whatever questions we wanted to ask, which has got to be the best possible way to experience a place. I was mostly struck by how much work it must have taken to make all this stuff and had lots of "down with the monarchy" feelings. There's a huge pond that's in the shape of the Korean peninsula, and god damn must that have taken a ton of time without a backhoe.

We were eventually taken a small place where they were setting things up, with a bunch of people milling about, and it was only then that we saw the rice: a small plot of it, no more than twenty feet to a side.

The rice was, in historical times, planted there so the king would have some understanding of what the crop yields would be like, since rice was the lifeblood of the country. It was harvested and inspected and whatnot to get some sense of the agriculture of the country, because anything that happened to the rice in these conditions was probably happening to rice all over the kingdom.

This rice harvest wasn't something that they just do with tourists every now and then, it only happens on this single day in the entire year, and me and my wife were two of the five people who would be doing it. The other three were all Korean government people of some kind.

They took us to a building and got us changed in our hanbok. "Hanbok" means "traditional clothes", and usually is associated with a nice and historical outfit, like someone in England dressing up in Regency era clothing. Here, it just meant "traditional farmer clothes".

Problem: I am six feet tall, which is quite tall for a Korean.

This woman was trying to dress me, and both because I was a bit overweight and quite tall, it was just not going well. My wife thought it was hilarious.

The other part of the kit was some orange rubber boots, which were not traditional but did prevent us from getting covered in mud. This is the most that I have ever looked like a goose.

When they were ready for us, we were handed tools to cut the rice. The ideal motion was to grab it around the base, move the hand up, then cut at the bottom. I am pretty sure that the thing we were handed was a sickle.

We got warned five or six times that they were extremely sharp, meant for slicing through the stalks of grain, and because there was a bit of a language barrier, the guy handing them to us kept nodding as he tried to make sure we understood that there was no small amount of danger.

My wife, five seconds after being handed her sickle, lunged at me with a "Hiya!" like she meant to stab me in the stomach. I jumped, five or six Koreans around us jumped, and my wife laughed and laughed. (My wife is great.)

When the photographers got there, we went into the muck and began harvesting. There were what felt like fifty photographers taking pictures of us while very loud drums played a traditional song and some people danced around us. We preened in front of the cameras, trying to take direction as best we could, and tossing the harvested rice off to the side so that two men with giant hammers could pound on it and make it into something like mochi (I think called tteok, but there was a lot of Korean happening).

After the photographers had gone, we had a little break, then were made to harvest rice in front of a group of Korean people, most of whom were, I think, either government functionaries or personalities or something. The drums were going again, I was sweating in my hanbok, and left hoping that my glasses wouldn't fall into the mud.

A third rice harvest was done for tourists, and the drums started up. I think this was the weirdest one for me, because I was a tourist on display for other tourists.

After the last of the rice was harvested, we had an interview with the largest English-speaking TV station in South Korea. All the questions were casual chit-chat questions, and I figured that only five or ten seconds would make it on air for a puff piece (which is what happened, with my wife hogging all the screen time).

When we had finally changed back into our normal clothes, we were given gifts by way of thanks, two wooden cups that we now use in the bathroom to hold toothbrushes, along with a pound of rice each (though not the stuff we'd harvested, which was made into tteok and we did get a chance to eat).

Our guide was super nice to us, answered some questions about what it's like to live in South Korea, and talked to us about places for us to visit. Over the next few days, we were able to find a few puff pieces on the internet, all in Korean.

I'm pretty sure they do this every year, always with token foreigners, and I hope some day I'm telling this story to someone and they say "oh yeah, that happened to me too".

[rainylana]

“It’s just a cut.” Part three!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

warnings: physical abuse, mentions of injuries and wounds, emotional turmoil, angst and lots of tears, readers mother is in jail, language, hospitals, reader and eddie are at heavy odds, mentions of betrayal and broken trust. let me know if i missed anything! original request by @h-ness1944

note: i hope everyone is doing okay! enjoy this new instillation of the series, and let me know what you thought about it! this particular series seems to take a toll, so please share your thoughts! it means the world to me!!:) as of right now, this is the final chapter. the ending isn’t necessarily a cliffhanger, but it’s not exactly a solid ending, either! hope you enjoy!

You had shut the world out and everyone in it, refusing to speak or comply with anyone. You were throwing a tantrum, you knew that, but you were too heartbroken to care. Eddie had betrayed you, the one person you loved most in the world had done what you had asked not to do. You wouldn’t talk to the cops. You begged Eddie not to, begged him to keep his silence, but it was clear his feelings hadn’t changed. He couldn’t do it. 

He told the cops everything. From every bruise and wound he had tended, to the aches and cracks in your heart from harsh words. Of course, the police wanted to hear it from you, but from the extent of your injuries, they knew Eddie wouldn’t have been making it up.

The tried to talk to you multiple times, so did the nurses and your surgeon. Wayne tried, Eddie begged. The kids came in, so did Robin and Steve, but it was to no avail. It felt as if the whole world knew your secret. You felt nothing but shame and embarrassment, and the worst of all, betrayed and alone.

Your dad had been notified and was on the way, but the last thing you wanted was for family drama. You wanted to rot in that bed, and if you had it your way, you surely would. It had been almost two days since you last spoke to anyone. They’d given up, but not Eddie. He was determined to make you understand. He couldn’t loose you. A life without you in was one he didn’t want to have to live.

And as far as your mom went, you felt cold and empty. You didn’t know why. You didn’t care about your injuries, you’d been hurt before. You didn’t care about the mean things she had said before she pushed you down the stairs. You simply just didn’t care anymore. You didn’t want to see her, but you wished everything could go back to the way it was, as sick as it seemed. You were too hurt, too betrayed to feel anything else. All you felt was grief, and a horrible ache in your stomach.

You were to be on bedrest for the next three weeks so your wounds could heal properly, and you couldn’t wait to get the bandage off your nose so you could breath again. You looked terrible. As the days sat in your bruises began to change shape and color, your face decorated with marks of angry purple and red shades.

The only thing that could be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock, which happened to be running five minutes slow. You could barely move, only laying flat on your back with your head turned toward the window. There were so many damn flowers everyone you felt as if you were living in a greenhouse. 

Eddie had resorted to sitting outside your room. You’d made it very clear you didn’t want to see him, but he refused to leave you completely. He’d come in every now and then, asking if you needed anything, tearing up with another I’m sorry. He never got a response.

If he loved you like he said he would, he wouldn’t have betrayed you. He wouldn’t have broken your trust like he did. He wouldn’t have turned your entire world upside down and ripped out your heart. You wondered if you’d ever be able to look at him the same again.

•

“Ed, don’t you think you should go home and rest?” Wayne stood behind Eddie, watching him as he stared at stuffed animals in the gift shop of the hospital.

“I’m fine.” His voice was gruff and cold, almost matching yours the last time you spoke to him.

He was indeed, not fine, not in the slightest. He was completely pale and malnourished, hadn’t eaten in days or taken a shower. He hadn’t slept in almost five days, not properly, anyways. The heart in his chest that kept him alive was breaking second by second, and he wondered if it would completely shatter inside of him.

“Don’t start that with me.” Wayne comes up to the side of his nephew, glancing down at the teddy bear in his hands. “You’re not fine. You need sleep. I’ll stay with y/n. You go home and rest.”

“Wayne.” Eddie stressed, placing down the teddy bear, twirling around toward the exit of the shop. “Stop. Leave me alone.” He walked as quickly as he could out of the store, ignoring the have a good day from the check out lady. He walked with angry, heavy steps, so quickly that his hair bounced with each step of his boots. He could hear his uncle trailing behind him.

“I can’t leave her, Wayne.” He stopped in front of the elevator, pushing the button with a ringed finger. “If you want to go home go ahead, but I’m staying put.” The elevator opened and he was walking inside, leaning against the metal wall with crossed arms. “Are you coming or not?”

Of course, Wayne followed, not ready to give up on his son.

“You’re just as stubborn as she is, you know?” The old man said gruffly, the hot temperature of the elevator making him sweat. “You’re no good to her like that. You’re dead on your feet, boy.”

Eddie stared at the floor and ignored every word, at least tried to, and thought about you staring at the wall, the same spot that you had for the last two days. Would you ever speak to him again? Was any of this worth it? Would the two of you ever be the same? He knew the answer already, whether the two of you were together or not, nothing would be the same in your relationship. That was inevitable.

•

Your nose killed you, your face aching with the weight of your tears that had your bones throbbing with pain. Your shoulders shook with the weight of your sobs, your mouth clamped shut as to not alert anyone that you were awake. It was almost four in the morning and you’d awaken up from another bad dream. You couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried.

You were just so sad. You missed your mom, you’d come to that conclusion. You missed her and wanted to be home. You wanted to see your dad. You wanted to be in your own bed. But most of all, you wanted Eddie to hold you in his arms, wanted him to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you. You craved him more than anything.

But where did you both stand? The last thing you told him was that you’d never speak to him again, you’d threatened to break up with him. Yet he had stayed. He hadn’t left at all. Or had he? You hadn’t seen him almost all day. The thought made you sob, hoping to god that he was still outside your room.

You looked to the door, flexing your leg. You were barely able to stand with help from the nurses, you surely wouldn’t make it out there on your own. You whimpered and fell back into the bed, covering your face with your good arm, the other now in a cast, and cried brokenly.

“Y/n?”

You jumped and uncovered your face, eyes widening at the familiar face. “Wayne.” You cried, holding out your arm. You broke down into heavy tears at the sight of him as he shut the door, quickly hurrying over to you.

“Hey, hey, shh.” He sat on the bed and scooted to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you carefully into his side. “I got ya, kid. You’re okay.”

You bawled into his shirt, the comforting smell of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke brining a sense of calm over you. Your body shook in his arms, and you cried for everything in that moment, like you were mourning for the entire world.

“It’s okay, darlin. You’re okay.” His face watched etched with concern, have debating whether or not he should go get Eddie from the chapel, but he knew he’d be sound asleep. He shouldn’t leave you, he decided, holding you closer and letting you cry out everything you needed to.

“I don’t know-” Your breath hitched, fingers fisting at his shirt. “what to do.”

The weight of your sobs made it difficult to understand you completely. He kissed the top of your head, shushing you gently.

“I’m so..s-scared.” You whimpered, face burning with a broken ache. You were becoming inconsolable, hysterical with your broken heart, you didn’t even hear the door open up.

“Wayne?” Eddie’s eyes were wide at the sight of your distress, freezing him in his spot. Wayne looked from you to Eddie, knowing that it was his nephew that you really needed. He nodded him over, gently trading him spots as Eddie quickly and carefully swapped spots to hold you close.

“Shh, shh, baby, baby.” He coos, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. You’re not cold or distant, you relish the scent of him, bawling into his chest like a lost little girl. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He was so relieved to hold you, so happy that you were allowing him to comfort you. You’d probably hate him again in the morning, refuse to speak to him probably, but this, this was a step forward. He heard the click of the door shut and he was left alone with you, kissing the shell of your ear. “I’m here, baby.”

•

You were left with hiccups and an awkward silence that neither of you knew how to fill. He continued to hold you, almost two hours later. The sun was beginning to rise and you knew the nurses would be making their rounds to your room soon. You weren’t as relaxed into him as you were, now tense and unsure where to keep your arm.

He felt the same way. He rubbed his hand up your arm, trying to keep connected with you, but the awkwardness in the room continued to grow heavy, your tears having long since stopped. He didn’t know what to say and neither did you.

You couldn’t help but groan, your head killed you from your breakdown.

“What’s wrong?” He looked down at your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You said hoarsely, bringing your shaky hand up to your nose. “Just my nose. My head is killing me.”

He sat up, examining the darker shades of your face. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m okay.” You we’re tired of them pestering you every five minutes with medicine in little plastic cups, trying to get you to use your legs, despite the fact the doctor wanted you on bedrest.

You held your face and he watched you, swallowing dryly as he tried to find words. There was so many things he wanted to say, but would you listen? He got up and walked to the window, peeking out the blinds at the sun that was beginning to rise. He stretched awkwardly, a crick in his neck that made his own head hurt, too.

You looked at his back, trying your hardest not to cry. You had the urge to apologize, but did you have anything to apologize for? Was this your fault? Eddie was clearly suffering, but so were you.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out. Sorry for what exactly, you didn’t know. You couldn’t forgive him, could you? Could you forgive him for the way everyone was looking at you now? Could you forgive the fact that your mom was in jail?

He twirled around, eyes narrowing in confusion at your words. “For what?”

You gulped, not able to meet his eyes. “I don’t know.” I’m sorry you’re in pain. You could be sorry for that. You still loved him, after all, despite everything that happened.

“Do you hate me?” He asked, looking toward your bed. “For telling?”

It felt so back and forth. You were so sure of your feelings one minute, then completely changed the next. “I don’t hate you.” You answer honestly, voice dry and cracked. “But It’s hard to look at you.”

He nodded once briefly. He understood the feeling. It was your turn then, to look at him, finally taking in just how rough he looked. His hair was matted and greasy, desperate to be washed. He was exhausted completely. “Have you went home at all?” You ask, halfway sat up in your bed, good hand at your stitched side.

He gulped, shaking his head.

You frowned. “Eddie,” You began. “You should go home. I’m okay.”

He finally turned away from the window, standing their awkwardly in the middle of the floor. “Do you want me to go?”

No. No, you didn’t. But it wasn’t fair to make him stay just for your sake. He looked like he was going to pass out any second. He needed food and rest. “I want you to take care of yourself.” You answer. “You don’t have to stay here on my account.”

He gave you a look then. I want you to take care of yourself. He wanted the same for you, yet he was the bad guy. He furrowed his brows, licking his fry lips. “Okay.”

He made it halfway across the room before you stopped him again. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” You say, closing your eyes.

He sighs that time, becoming irritated himself. “Why, y/n? Why are you sorry? There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

You shake your head, nose throbbing. “I don’t- I don’t know. I just feel like I should say it, so I am.”

His hand was on the doorknob, and he rested his forehead against the door. “You don’t know what this has been like for me. I had to tell them, y/n. I understand you’re mad, but you don’t need to apologize. You have no reason to.”

Your eyes start to tear up, and you can feel the damp feeling of your bandage against your nose. “You didn’t have to.” You look to the wall again. Your safe spot. “But I know you felt like you did.”

He scoffed without humor, looking back at you like you were crazy. His eyes were matching yours with tears. “I didn’t have to? Is that some sort of joke? Do you not realize the situation you’re in? You could have died, y/n. You almost died.”

You cringed at his words and clamped a hand over your mouth. “But mom is in jail now. She’s going to go to prison.”

“Good riddance!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice, an angry tear spilling over his face. “Fuck her! I hope she rots in there! I don’t care how upset that makes you, y/n, it’s true. She’s a shit mom and deserves what she got!”

You sobbed with each word that spat, glaring at him over your fingers with a look that could kill. “That’s not true! She’s my mom, Eddie! I’m okay!”

“No, you’re not!” He marched over and pointed his finger at you. “You flew through a fuckin’ window and tore your stomach to shreds!” He took a deep breath, that soon had him releasing a sob. “Do you know how scared I was waiting for you to come out of surgery? The doctors didn’t know if you’d pull through, y/n. Do you have any idea how fucking messed up in the head I am now?” He was weeping freely, pacing across the room.

“Don’t you dare say you’re okay.” He said sternly. “Do you really care that little for yourself? Do you hate yourself so much that you don’t care for your own safety? Do you want to die that badly? Well, I won’t watch it. I won’t sit here and watch you wilt away. I can’t, baby.”

You were blubbering and carrying on, saying things that couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry.” He managed to hear through your broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, Eddie!”

You looked up at him with a bloodied nose, hot tears and snot pooling at your cupid’s bow. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you so bad, Eddie. Please, please don’t leave me!”

“Y/n,” He crumbled, going to you. “Stop apologizing, you silly girl.” No matter the fight, he would always go to you. “Aren’t you listening to me? You haven’t done anything. It’s your mother. She’s the one who’s hurt you, hurt us.”

He held your face and wiped the blood from your nose. “Please, forgive me, baby. I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t ever let you get hurt again. I’ll protect you if you let me, please let me.”

He’s kissing your hands, moving up your good arm and to your cheek. “God, I missed you, baby.”

“I love you.” You cried, gripping at his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

I love you. He sobbed at the words. You still loved him. He said it back lovingly, muttering the words he forgave you as you said the same. Neither of you realized just how hard it would be to move forward, but that was the thing about love, it conquered above all else.

Over time, you’d come to terms about your mom. Your dad would move down to Hawkins until you graduated, where eventually you and Eddie would have your own place. The abuse you had endured would be something that would always stick with you, but Eddie was your rock at the end of the day, and he’s the one that got you through it. Love always conquered all.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Maybe a drabble in which our Lamb meets Chimaera Reader, the maker of all crowns? Like, he stumbles upon their lair, and sees all types of the crowns, big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed, etc.? Maybe even a little inter actions between the Reader and the Red Crown in which it recognises them as their maker?

Sorry for my English, it is not my native language-

Also sorry if this request repeats, tumblr May have doubled it-

I swear I'm gonna turn this into an OC one day because I LOVE the concept of a crown maker in the COTL universe

........

'Where am I now..?' Lamb pondered as they stepped into a cavern--one most unfamiliar to them.

It was strange, considering they've scoured nearly every corner of the Old Faith for resources, potential rival cult activity, and even martyrs for the Bishops.

But this area was entirely new to them.

With their weapon drawn, they cautiously ventured further inward, eventually arriving into a larger room that was almost entirely cloaked in darkness. They could barely see a thing even with the few torches scattered around lighting the way.

Then suddenly, they saw a bunch of eyes opening up on all sides of them, varying in shape, size, color, and number. And they just stared down at the little sheep.

While they were accustomed to having so many eyes on them, this was completely different.

These eyes certainly didn't belong to any follower of theirs.

What if this was a trap?

What if-?

"Welcome, little Lamb! Promised liberator of the Old Faith!"

Looking upwards, they could see you descending from the darkness. You looked like a tradition chimera: a lion, goat, dragon, and snake all mixed into one. Both of your heads smiled as you took a seat upon your throne, although you frowned a bit upon realizing how poor the lighting must have been.

"Oh forgive me, it is awful dim in here, isn't it? Hold on one moment." Your lion head breathed out a small blast of fire, aimed towards a nearby candle that lit up.

That set off a chain reaction which lit up dozens of other candles around your lair, and burned the torches bright enough for Lamb to see what all those eyes belonged to:

Crowns.

So many crowns.

Big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed..and even multi-eyed; some sported horns and some did not. Others had bare surfaces while others were decorated with jewels or marred with scars from time.

It was an astonishing sight, and when Lamb looked back up at you, they could see a crown on each of your heads--snake tail included.

Not to mention your seat was adorned with four familiar ones...

"So you..take crowns from fallen gods?"

"Do I take them?" You repeated, before laughing uproariously. "No, but I can see why you'd assume that. I'm [y/n], Maker of the Crowns."

They blinked. "You created the crowns?"

"I have since the first gods ruled over these lands." You chuckled, taking the Green Crown into your paw. "I mold them into a design of my liking, give them life, and then send them off into the world to find a worthy host. They're like my children, so I do get sentimental at times...but I know they'll do great things."

'Huh...Leshy did say the crown found him..' Lamb mused.

"Of all the ones I've created, though, I never thought to see the Bishops' crowns again. But they were in such terrible condition...falling apart, barely able to keep their eyes open....I couldn't believe it." Your gaze shifted down to the sheep. "You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

They tensed. "...well...um-"

"Haha! I only jest, Lamb. I know everything." You smiled reassuringly. "I've sensed strong spikes in their energy, and I'm well aware they've been used as aids for the bishops after Narinder's betrayal. Speaking of whom...."

Pausing, you outstretched your paws towards them. "I see the Red Crown has found a new master."

"It's a long story, but--hey!!" All of the sudden, the Red Crown slipped out of their hands, morphing back into its normal form as it began floating up to you. They were shocked and angered, feeling extremely vulnerable without it. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing, little one. It came to me all on its own. Welcome home, my darling." With the crown nestled into your paw, your smile grew as its eye stared back up at you with happiness. You sighed and brought it closer to your cheek, allowing it to nuzzle up to you. "Oh how I've missed you, mighty crown of Death. I'm glad you have not forgotten me."

"Give it back!!" Lamb snarled, baring their sharp teeth as they tried storming up to your throne. But their little hooves kept slipping on the skull pile that served as its foundation, and they eventually tumbled downwards, landing on their rear. "I need it back right now!"

"...are they always like this?" You muttered to the Red Crown, who just rolled its pupil in response. "Huh, I thought so. Arrogant, entitled, paranoid....just like your first master-"

"Don't compare us." They scowled. "Narinder was worse than arrogant...he would have destroyed this entire world, along with you and all these crowns if I returned it to him! We are NOTHING alike."

"Hm, I see I've touched a nerve. My apologies. I just wanted to take care of this little chip in its horn." Smiling, you manifested some black ichor to seal the crack you discovered on the crown, before sharpening up its horns a little bit. "There. Much better."

"....thank you. Now may I have it back?" Lamb put their hand out, growing more anxious with each passing second they were separated from it. 'Why isn't it returning to me?"

"It doesn't see why it has to right at this very moment...and quite frankly, I don't either. It's not connected to your lifeforce. You're still standing without it-"

"Because I'm its new master! I gave it new purpose. I gave it freedom...and it should be obeying me unconditionally and I don't understand why it's being so stubborn. That crown wouldn't be anywhere NEAR as powerful if it weren't for-!!"

"Choose your next words carefully," you tutted, shaking your head as you gestured to the walls. "My children do not look it, but they too have ears."

Falling silent, they looked all around, noticing that the crowns were now glaring at them. They tensed up, a feeling of heavy discomfort and embarrassment washing over them as they slowly realized how childish they were acting.

And in front of the crown creator, of all people?

"Tell me..do you see the crown as nothing without you? Or perhaps you feel like you are nothing without the crown?"

"........"

"Your mistake, little lamb, is that you see crowns as simple tools to do your bidding. A conduit for your godhood. But do not forget, they are also living breathing creatures like you and I." You chastised. "As such, they deserve respect. I figured you would've been more grateful to meet their maker...such few have the privilege to enter my lair and receive such a warm welcome."

The Red Crown bobbed up and down in agreement, before it scowled down at Lamb, as though to say "you better listen to them and treat me better".

They just looked at the ground, unable to form words as shame creeped up their spine.

You sighed softly. "I understand your worries as a new god. The mere thought of separation from it drives you to rage, especially after what happened between you and Narinder. But I have no desire to take it from you. Not when you've fought so hard for it. All I wish is that you continue caring for it."

"....I'm sorry, Great Crown Maker.." Lamb muttered, finally letting themselves be humbled. "I don't mean to act like I did. It's just...he's been annoying me all day today, shouting about "divine right" and making my life a living hell. He still can't accept that it chose me over him.."

They felt the familiar and comforting weight of the Red Crown returning to the wool atop their head, but they only looked up at you with respect. "Thank you."

"Of course, young one." You nodded, smiling once more. "Narinder has possessed that crown since he was a wee little kit, so it's going to be quite a long time before he lets that grudge go. Perhaps in a hundred years, give or take."

"I understand...so.." Lamb looked around. "Do you have any wares?"

"Oh, plenty!" You clapped your paws together. "Feel free to take a gander! Since this is your first visit, you may have one of the tarot cards over there on the house. But just know that the crowns aren't for sale."

[schizoidcel]

# JAX & GANGLE (SEPERATELY) x THEIR S/O IN THE REAL WORLD THAT ACCIDENTLY ENDED UP IN THE CIRCUS ☆

Ehmm so this is the req I accidently posted while I was like BARELY finished (awkward).

Anywho we don't care abt allat. Here it is 🙊 Srry for the wait anonsie !!

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

🤍 HEADCANONS !!

warnings :: Not proofread, and like. 0.1% angst on both of them

♪ JAX ..

Jax is one of the members that notices something is off

Your body language, the way you speak etc. is something that makes him think "Did I meet this person before entering this digital world or am I tweaking??"

He's curious on why he feels like this, so he hangs around you more

This includes you getting pranked more than the others, getting dragged with him to anywhere, and all that shit.

He usually sits next to you at the feast table aswell

But no matter what he does, he can't seem to figure out why you feel so familiar to him (And why your antics make him feel weird inside in a positive way but he pretends this isn't happening)

So the conclusion he just came up with was you being an old co worker, old friend, or anything like that in the real world

Once you two were walking around, trying to find some sort of item for the current in house adventure

Jax told you in that moment about how he felt like he met you before entering the digital circus, and if you ever knew someone who acted like him to confirm his theory

To his luck, you did!

What he didn't expect though was you saying he kind of acted like your S/O.

You kind of regretted saying that after in fear of things getting awkward between you two but Jax looked like he didn't give a single fuck

Infact, he looked like he was questioning everything right now while also not looking like he was questioning everything right now

Did this mean he had a S/O?? That is you???

Hes abit conflicted with that statement ofcourse, and thinks about it

It would make sense; The reason to why you make him feel weird would be answered too

Though even then I feel like he wouldn't be sure how to go on about this.

Give him some time, I'd say

♪ GANGLE ..

Gangle also notices something weird, like she met you once before

But she thinks it's just her overthinking

Though, she did find it abit odd aswell because both of you got along immediatly

Like something clicked between you two.

You also defended Gangle alot, which was kind of suprising to her

You were interested in what she was interested, and even if you werent, you didn't go out of your way to look at her weirdly or make fun of it

So ofcourse she'll get attached.

But she still tells herself she's probably overthinking about the whole "I met you before entering the digital circus" thing

It would make sense, but it seemed impossible for her

She basically thinks that someone like you (Boss and shit) wouldn't hangout with her (Girlfail and shit) if it was actually both of you in the real world, even though you two regularly hang out in the digital one (Ik she is one of those people that think like that I just KNOW)

I feel like Gangle is also one of the few people that forgot almost everything about the outside world, this includes ofcourse having a S/O

And therefore, like the others, she'll also get upset when you tell her while you two were having a drawing sesh that you got here while helping the police investigate your S/O's missing person case

Gangle planned on confessing to you before you told her this

She didn't feel nervous around you, so she felt like that even if you rejected her, you could still be friends

Ofcourse, now she won't confess anymore, since she knows you already have a partner, and she dosen't want to make you uncomfortable in any way, shape or form (Oh girl)

Let's hope that if you both get out, Gangle gets her faded memories back and you see that your partner was literally in the digital world with you the entire time

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

ׂૢ་༘࿐ Thank you for reading! ♡

This took longer than I wanted it to. I think imma quickly finish up some asks and then take a quick break lol

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Prologue: In Search of Lost Time

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst if you squint, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance (not even y/n dw), some swearing, use of 2nd person for the reader (I know I know but I promise it makes sense for the story)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is the first english fic I've written, so I'm terrified. Anyway, Trimetravel! AU with Sebastian Sallow. Some background info: Reader is not MC; Reader is a Gryffindor, MC was a Slytherin; MC was a Pureblood, Reader is a Muggle Born. Also, english is not my first language so if you find any mistakes, I deeply apologise. Not proof-read (for obvious reasons).

→ Find the rest of the fanfiction here on AO3 :)

"For we are not as faithful to the being we have most loved as we are to ourselves and sooner or later we forget her — since that is one of our characteristics — so as to start loving another." - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

If a chasm had opened under Sebastian's feet and swallowed him all the way to the depths of hell, he would have gladly accepted his demise there and then.

Unfortunately, its mercy seemed to be out of business that day — or any other day in his life, really.

Sebastian paced the corridors, a frown adorning his face; he had just come out of the Headmaster's office due to the absolute disaster that had occurred to him just a few hours prior.

After weeks of research, he had finally found something that could help him, a breakthrough with which he could finally achieve his goal. An artefact so powerful that it could break the fabric of time and space, something that could help his poor sister live a happy and healthy life again. He did not care that they were not on speaking terms at the moment: he would find a way to talk to her so that she would take this last chance. He would force her if he had to. It was his last hope, and Merlin knows he had tried everything.

If he had known about the artefact's effects earlier, he would have thought twice before using it.

"So, Mr Sallow, could you be so kind as to tell us how you came to be in our time?" the Headmaster, who had earlier introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, had asked him.

Truth was that not having stopped dwelling with the Dark Arts in search of a cure for Anne had led him to find himself in another timeline instead. His face twitched: in terms of unlikelihood, the scales seemed pretty unbalanced.

It had been a brief conversation, really, with Sebastian omitting some details (like his friendship with an Ancient Magic wielder or the murder of his uncle, for which he bore full responsibility) and grimacing against his own will when the Headmaster had looked at him through his half-moon shaped glasses as if asking him, 'Why are you lying to me?'

He had pushed the thoughts away as quickly as they had come: it wasn't like he could read his mind... or could he?

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when the Headmaster had dismissed him after giving him specific instructions on how to behave until they found a way to return him to his timeline — one of which was, "Please don't inform anyone of your condition unless it's absolutely necessary." That had seemed quite reasonable to him, so he nodded.

The artefact was damaged, as expected, and unlikely to work again unless a powerful form of magic came into contact with it and repaired it: something like Ancient Magic, perhaps, or a miracle.

"I see you're still causing trouble everywhere you fare, aren't you, Mr Sallow?" the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus Black had mocked from his portrait, effectively startling him. Sebastian had looked up and into the eyes of his old Headmaster, his mouth falling open at the sight of him. He looked old, weary, and angrier somehow — yet, in a way, he had brought Sebastian some form of comfort, almost. A sense of familiarity.

Before he could have said anything, Black had disappeared, and a woman with severe blue eyes and long robes had escorted him out of the office.

-

Sebastian looked around at his familiar surroundings, which would have been almost comforting if not for the nameless faces looking at him with curiosity: Hogwarts students tended to recognise each other effortlessly, and anyone who didn't fit into that bundle of familiarity was to be ostracised. He remembered all too well when he was the one helping the new fifth-year find her way around those same corridors, except he didn't need guidance: this was his home, after all.

But he did have a guide, and she wasn't as charming a student as he was either.

The Head of the Gryffindor House walked right next to him, a stern expression on her face made even more prominent by the shadow of her large witch hat. The woman Sebastian had come to know as Minerva McGonagall was also the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, at least it seemed that way, which was no doubt why she was accompanying him rather than the Head of his own House.

Sebastian decided not to ask himself any questions and do what the Headmaster told him to: attend class, fit in, and pretend to be either a transfer student or someone with a complex background — he hadn't decided which story to tell yet (and both, in a way or another, would be true).

The clacking of Professor McGonagall's shoes stopped so abruptly that he almost would have missed it if she hadn't started speaking.

"You're about to meet two of your new classmates. Prefects of the Gryffindor House." She raised her left arm in their direction, and his eyes followed it to two red and gold robes leading into warm faces.

"I am pleased to introduce you to Ms Hermione Granger—" she gestured to the girl with curly hair to her left, who wore a friendly smile all while maintaining a serious and clean look, "—and Mr Ronald Weasley." Sebastian's eyes shot to the boy to his right when he heard the familiar name, and to be honest, he might not have needed an introduction at all: the red-haired boy gave him a wry smile, his freckles standing out even more in the natural light. He would have recognised those features anywhere.

Finally, Sebastian noticed their uniforms. He didn't pay much attention to the boy's — he himself also wore a very similar one, uncomfortable and informal as it seemed to him — for his eyes were fixed on the girl's. She was wearing a grey cardigan with red and gold trim, the colours of her House, and her skirt was much shorter than he remembered, with black denier tights covering the rest of her legs. Sebastian felt himself blushing slightly and averted his eyes.

He wondered why the Slytherin prefects were unsuited to the situation: at the end of the day, he was a Slytherin, too. Sebastian didn't undergo the Sorting again — the Professors didn't seem to deem it necessary, not to mention the Hat had recognised him from his shelf, too. He didn’t forget easily.

McGonagall turned back to Sebastian and briefly adjusted his robes, her face softening slightly, "For the time being, it is best if you don't draw attention to yourself. We will find a solution," she straightened her posture and nodded at him, "Welcome to Hogwarts." She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving him with the two Gryffindors.

He studied their faces for a moment, searching for the right words to say, deciding on which story to tell, but the only thing he could muster was: "How come you're Gryffindors?"

The two students stared at him, appalled, and he mentally slapped himself. He wanted to correct his statement and explain his intention, but the girl stopped him before he could even form a coherent thought.

"You're wondering why they asked us to guide you and not the Slytherin Prefects, am I right?"

Either his question wasn't that unclear, or the girl had excellent deduction skills, and judging by the epiphany on the other boy's face when he understood the meaning of her words, it was most likely the latter.

Sebastian sighed inwardly and nodded, mentally promising not to stumble over his words again.

The boy — Ronald, Sebastian recalled — chimed in: "Because otherwise you'd have to deal with Malfoy, and he's an idio—" the girl slapped him on the arm and gave him a warning look before turning back to Sebastian.

Malfoy, Sebastian thought. A family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was clear why a Weasley would want nothing to do with him.

Sebastian wondered if they still held the same values as in his day: if the Malfoys were still blood maniacs, and so was the person they spoke of, or if he wanted to distance himself from his family as Ominis did. Judging by Ronald's opinion of him, Sebastian did not think that was possible, but then again, he did not know the fellow. Maybe, Sebastian thought, things had moved on after a century: no blood wars, discrimination or superiority complexes. Perhaps this was all just a simple rivalry between two students from different Houses.

"Professor Dumbledore thought us to be best suited for this difficult situation. No other student but us knows about your... misadventure," said Hermione.

To call it a "misadventure" would be an understatement , Sebastian wanted to say. As it turned out, however, he didn't need a story to tell. He didn't know whether to feel betrayed by the Professors who had decided to disclose that information or relieved that he didn't have to go through it all alone. A beat of silence followed, in which Sebastian could only nod at the girl's words, and then it was interrupted abruptly.

"Where have you been?" called a voice from the end of the corridor, directly behind Sebastian.

He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him.

He definitely didn't have to go through it all alone because there she was. Standing a few feet away from him, looking straight at him, was the person who had accompanied him on all his adventures.

She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.

He felt his lips twist into a grin, and he beamed at the sight of her. Had she been looking for him?

He frowned a little as he noticed her expression: she seemed annoyed, almost angry. Perhaps she had no intention of following him and had just ended up here for no reason? Were the two of them connected on a deeper level than he thought? Or perhaps she was just worried for him and angry he didn't look for her too?

The girl started to walk towards them, and his smile widened even more the closer she got.

She was almost there when he realised she wasn't sparing him a glance.

Instead, her eyes were focused on the red-haired boy next to him, who was staring at her in horror, looking completely terrified.

Sebastian looked back at the girl, finally noticing the red and gold tie around her neck where a green and silver one usually belonged, a crease in her eyebrows that wasn't there before, and her eyes were a different colour than he remembered.

What the hell is going on here?  he thought, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Ron, for God's sake, I've been looking all over for you! Do you intend to give me back my book before class starts, or should I pull a new one out of a hat because you can't use your own?" she threw her hands in the air disapprovingly.

Ron stuttered briefly before hesitantly pointing at the Slytherin boy next to him, "I've just had too much to do. Prefect stuff, you know."

The girl scowled at him before turning to the said boy, her eyes softening slightly. "Oh! You're the new fifth-year!"

Sebastian's eye twitched. How bloody ironic.

"I'm Sebastian Sallow," he replied feebly, body stock-still like marble.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled politely.

And then she introduced herself.

His breath caught in his throat. Sebastian could have recognised that surname anywhere, but her name fell completely deaf on his ears.

You weren't her.

--

→ Chapter 1

[horsefigureoftheday]

what are your thoughts about horse furries with human hands. it makes sense for practical reasons but also looking at them unnerves me. would be thrilled to hear your expert opinion

I think they should all look like this hand I once drew for my oc Moussa

The accompanying text (an excerpt from the diary of my other oc, Quinn): "Seated by the evening fire, I could not stay my curiosity any longer and requested that Moussa demonstrate his transformational skills. He seemed amused by my curiosity, but transformed his hand into a strange mixture of horse and man, which I gratefully sketched. Having never encountered a shapeshifter quite like him, coupled with his apparent opinion that bodily transformation is mundane, I must conclude that his people’s apparent rarity is caused by isolation, rather than simple scarcity. He confirmed that this is his first time away from his homeland in his 25 years of life, though, when pressed, he staunchly refused to describe the location of said homeland."

If you liked that you might also like these excerpts... :3

5th of November, 1792 608th day in this world

I have encountered a most peculiar young man. At a glance, he is not dissimilar from the other races of this world; he could pass for a strange human, if not for his saucer-sized gem-color eyes and his leaf-shaped ears. He is of short stature and slight build, with chestnut hair and a similarly warm and deep skintone. I do not know how to describe the color of his eyes, for they seem to glow in every shade of azure, turquoise, and emerald at once. His face is rather long and narrow and, fittingly, "horse-like.”

His name is Moussa and he speaks this land’s common tongue, albeit thickly accented. He told me (in much different terms) that he is, in his society, of a rank akin to a prince or lord-apparent. He travels with a tall and rather mannish human woman named Zélie. His companion does not speak the common tongue, and they converse with each other in a shrill and vowel-heavy language that I have never heard before.

But what peculiarity could this man have that has captivated me so?

Moussa’s anthropoid appearance is only one half of his “true self.” In our first encounter, he had, from the waist down, the body of a horse, not unlike the centaurs of our ancient Greece and Rome. In a moment, his equine body disappeared before my eyes, replaced with two perfectly unassuming (and fully clad, might I add) human legs.

Astounded, I inquired about the nature of his transformation, and he explained that it is an ability all individuals of his race are born with. He referred to his race with a shrill and guttural sound that may best be transcribed as “hrihriwa” - the name puts one in mind of a horse’s whinnying.

Tomorrow I shall ask him to model for me in his preferred centaurine form.

--------------

6th of November, 1792 609th day in this world

Moussa graciously posed for me long enough to sketch his portrait. When I inquired about his braids, he explained that they are devotional in nature; that his society forbids haircuts and employ protective braids to minimize damage to the hair. I felt it impolite to ask about his cropped forelock.

--------------

9th of November, 1792 612th day in this world

Today’s travel was particularly strenuous as we were forced to traverse a rocky ridge. Moussa seemingly prefers to be fully equine for exercises of this nature, and I was delighted to see that his mane is identical in style and color to his human hair - perhaps this is a clue to his people’s pilar religiosity.

Halfway up the ridge, we held a quick rest. Moussa asked Zélie for a waterskin (for naturally he can talk in his equine shape!) and, rather than change to a more anthropoid form, he simply willed two arms to extend from his neck. I had to sketch it from memory, as my journal was tucked away at the time. Take note of the shirt sleeve seemingly growing out of his horsehide. I admit that scientific curiosity gave way to revulsion for a brief moment. I should very much like to vivisect him, but alas, I enjoy his company too much.

But oh, I am a fool! Let this be a lesson not to sketch life from memory: Moussa’s braids were tied by their fibulae rings at the time of the transformation. As of sketching this, they are untied - something he does every evening - and from there stems my error.

--------------

10th of November, 1792 613th day in this world

I asked Moussa to demonstrate to me the queerest form he could muster, and he produced the following shape, which I must admit I was too taken aback to sketch in the moment as, upon seeing it, I was overcome with a fit of nausea. Curiously, when one head spoke, the other joined in, and they produced two voices in perfect unison. This appeared to be an involuntary effect.

Perhaps with time I will get used to these unnatural therianthropic permutations and gain the fortitude to create live sketches.

[aayakashii]

Could I possibly ask for some bf tohma headcanons? 🫣 I am downbad for that man I cannot lie

Ah yes, another Tohma enthusiast!! ( –֊ｰ)✧ I hope you like this one!!

Dating headcanons – Ishibashi Tohma

Tohma is probably the second most busy man in Darkwick

But that doesn't mean he won't find ways to have you near him at all costs

The vault will become a second home for you; Tohma constantly invites you to keep him company as he works, just to have you around him

Since he found out what parallel play is, he constantly mentions it as a way to convince you to stay around him

You won't possibly say no to that, right? He does everything better in your company!

From time to time, he reaches out to hold your hand and squeeze it, as if to thank you for being there with him.

Speaking of which, Tohma isn't fond of PDA, but he does love holding your hand wherever you two go. He might even take off his gloves to feel your skin properly against his.

When you two are alone, it's a whole other story. He likes to keep you close, usually on his lap, with you facing him so he can feel your warmth in the permanent Frostheim winter.

He loves when you take off his monocle and kiss his eyelids. He chuckles, acting nonchalant, asking if you like his eyes that much, but inside he feels his heart skip a thousand beats.

If he could glue you to his body, he probably would. He doesn't talk much about his feelings for you, but his body language says it all.

The way his eyes soften and he smiles genuinely when he sees you waving at him while you walk across the campus are subtle, but you know they're just for you.

He loves when you give him trinkets and keep them all safe in a small, intricate box.

Sometimes he takes them with him in one of his pockets, feeling the shape of the little keychains or rocks throughout the day, making him smile as he thinks of you.

He likes giving you gifts as well, but his gifts are usually memories he likes to create with you.

Like a picnic at a hidden clearing in one of Darkwick's woods, a candlelit dinner at one of the many fancy balconies of Frostheim, or just him managing to find time to help you study.

That's not to say he doesn't give you gifts! He does, he just likes to see your bright smile when he plans a date like that.

If he notices you are uncomfortable with the smoke from his cigarettes, he will avoid smoking them around you. He doesn't promise to stop, but he will do his best to make you comfortable.

Despite his gentleness, he does like teasing you sometimes, mostly by spooking you as you walk through the Frostheim halls in search of him.

He just laughs and pretends he spooked you because it's his duty as the treasurer, but truthfully, he just loves to see you pouting and grumpy as you lightly slap his arm.

Tohma thinks he isn't a jealous man, but he does prevent Jin from hogging your attention with his errands, and he keeps a close eye on Haku, since he knows how flirty he can be.

All in all, Tohma is a gentle boyfriend who quietly does his best to keep you as happy as possible. Keep on kissing him and holding his hands and he just might try to give you the entire world on a silver platter, with a little tea at the side.

Masterlist link

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster 8

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter Warnings: SMUT A/N: So... I did a sneaky in this chapter. First one to guess correctly gets a 500 word Sandman drabble (you can give me a prompt or let me go wild - your choice). This is the biggest tender!fuck I've ever seen. Like damn. It's an important beat between chapter arcs, and there are some themes/hints ya'll should really take note of. For reasons. All I want for my birthday are comments, my dears! <3 Thank you for your ongoing support.

8. Seal

What happened?

Creeping out of the fog, she swept together the distant pieces of her waking mind, looking for a thought, or a plan, or…

What happened?

She’d had a wonderful dream. Safe. Warm. Happy. If she could fall back asleep and drop back into that place – those arms – she would, but a sleeping mind never followed the same course. She was waking, and it was over.

But she didn’t remember going to bed.

That was all right. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten drunk or collapsed after days without sleep. Not a problem.

But –

She hadn’t set her wards.

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand sprang out, reaching for the bag of black salt she always kept near her bed in the van. Anything could come, anything could already be there. As she jerked to consciousness, full of half-remembered terror – the mirror, the unseelie, her skin, the dress – long fingers caught her flailing hand. They wove seamlessly between her own, pulling her attention down to starry eyes. Soft lips pressed to her knuckles, calling her back from the brink of delirium.

“All is well.” Morpheus’ thumb rubbed along her throbbing pulse, distracting her from her panic with tactile affection. He read the beat as her memory settled, as she recalled where she was and what they’d shared. He must have felt the spiking rhythm, too, judging by his smirk.

He was beautiful. And definitely naked under the grey silk sheets that gathered over his waist.

She licked her lips, at a loss for words as the butterflies she thought she’d banished sprang back to life in her stomach.

“Hello.”

Yes. Excellent. Definitely the most romantic greeting after waking up for the first time in a lover’s bed. In her fucking eldritch soulmate’s apparent love nest, actually. So far as she could tell, they weren’t even in a room. She could see him easily, but beyond the place where they were lying, she could only see vague, bushy shapes that could’ve been clouds or trees. Lights flickered in them. Maybe stars. Possibly fireflies.

No visible exits. Not even a floor, in fact.

Though it wasn’t like she was in a rush to leave.

“Hello.”

Following his gentle tug, she sank back to rest on her side, facing him.

He was so beautiful. She’d already thought it, but damn if it wasn’t worth thinking twice. With his disheveled raven hair and self-satisfied expression, he looked at least half as debauched as she felt.

Which reminded her.

Oh shit.

She was naked, too.

Her free hand moved towards the sheets that had fallen all the way to her thighs when she sat up, but his disapproving pout made her second guess herself.

Covering bare skin was instinctual. Especially after everything she’d suffered in –

No, no. Not thinking of that. She physically shook her head to banish the flashes of pain and fear trying to manifest.

She was safe. She was happy. Her Dream was real, and she could be vulnerable with him in this world apart. Nothing would hunt her here. Nothing would dare. He would avenge and protect her.

Carefully, consciously, she let her hand drift from the sheets, and Morpheus smiled in the wake of her decision.

“My love,” he purred, looping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, “I want you.”

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing under her ear and finding new places her blood pounded under her skin. She found herself trying to remember language, how to speak in anything but sighs. Prince of Stories. Right. Whatever. Prince of Carnal Brainmelt more like. He made it impossible to think, working little bites over her flesh as he continued his eager assault, leaving her squirming, and desperate, and tongue-tied.

Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them burning far below her skin. Below flesh and bone. Stars were only cold because of their distance, and she was much too close to see them as anything but suns. She knew it was reckless to look, to stare back and let the heat blind her, but…

She couldn’t pull away now, even if she wanted to. He didn’t need prison bars and pansies to trap her.

Panting, she finally strung together an answer. “I want you, too.”

Her words brought him back to her lips, and he wasted no time licking into her mouth, sharing his heated groans. One hand slipped around to cradle her head. The one he’d used to reel her in crept down, brushing along her waist, squeezing her hip, and settling on her thigh. Strong fingers pulled her leg over his hip, and she groaned back into their kiss as his clear desire brushed her clit.

He didn’t press, only dragging himself through her folds as he explored her mouth. When she stopped for breath, he kissed under her chin, palm flexing just over her knee. She writhed with his slow strokes, enjoying the moment but far from satisfied.

“I need you.” Kissing his brow, his cheek, his lips, she sang her yearning. “I need you, Morpheus.”

Her words found him and burned the way his eyes flamed in her soul. She saw them kindling in his gaze as he pulled away to watch her face, swallowing every flicker of expression as he teased her entrance. And pushed inside.

The world hummed.

It was all beginnings and endings and discoveries. Dream was himself, and she was with him.

He moved so slowly, and she clung tight, shaking as the pleasure built with the inexorable pace of sunrise. Clutching his shoulder, his back, she fought to keep breathing, to keep her head above water as he pushed and pulled inside. Gods. He’d drown her, and she’d gladly find death here in his arms.

“You asked what I want.” He wasn’t as helpless to his physical manifestation as she was to her human body, but his rough voice proved how she affected him, and a sunburst of pride glowed in her breast. “Perhaps I was dishonest with myself. I want the measure of your dreams and your waking hours, too.”

He hunted for her fear, waiting for the golden moment to snap under the weight of his confession. His searching eyes flicked over hers, desperate but guarded. She didn’t know what to say. If she could say anything. But she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t threatening her – this was an invitation. And she could only invite him back, let him feel the truths she couldn’t name yet.

Her hands settled on his face, trying to soothe the needles of anxiety, his anticipated despair. She offered more kisses, pulling at his lips, welcoming and reciprocating each touch in an effort to reach deeper. Too feel even more.

His grip on her thigh tightened, and he rolled half over her, leaving his sedate, almost drowsy lovemaking behind. Still tender, but openly needy, he picked up speed, using the new angle to his advantage.

She thought she’d been breathless before – fuck.

“I want… a life. A story. You.” He was begging. Commanding. On the cusp of claiming his own dream.

He didn’t take. He shared. They gave and met in true union, tasting elements beyond bodies to melt through time embrace destiny. A snare of their wyrds. A welcome loss wrapped in discovery.

Her heart would burst. There wasn’t enough of her to hold the love for something so vast as her monster, her Morpheus, and as he hiked her leg even higher on his waist, she grabbed him by the hair. She needed him. She needed his kiss, his breath, or she’d fall apart. He obliged, but she knew she’d go to pieces regardless.

As his thrusts grew more erratic, she broke.

The most exquisite destruction.

He pushed as deep as he could reach as she pulled out his own end, but he didn’t give her space to breathe. Rolling again so she was half draped – entirely boneless – over his chest, he kept his defiantly hard length inside. She’d have rest, but no peace.

Stroking her hair, he murmured into the crown of her head, “Stay, my love. I’m not ready to let you go.”

[ao3cassandraic]

I’m wondering about your thoughts on something I’ve been musing on after S2. How good is Aziraphale’s reading comprehension? How much does he understand subtext and metaphor? Because his behavior this season struck me with the impression that he didn’t really understand the books he collects. He’s clever at puzzle solving, and contains vast knowledge; but he always seems to take things at face value (when he’s not willfully misunderstanding), and refuses to give up black-and-white thinking, which would make it very difficult to analyze texts.

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 1

You sure ask the difficult ones. (Which is great, I'm totally jazzed about it!)

I delayed answering this ask because it sent me off in a lot of directions:

What is an angel's starting knowledge base?

In contrast, how and what do we humans learn about our world and one another?

Which of these learning methods is not really available to an angel?

What do humans learn from books, fiction especially?

What kinds of information get left implicit in books because authors are humans writing for other humans?

How would an angel fill in those blanks? How would those blanks distort an angel's notion of How Humans and Human Things Work?

What would angels generally and either Aziraphale or Muriel (because yeah, it's hard to have this discussion without thinking about Muriel too) specifically read human-authored fiction for?

I don't have all the answers to the above questions. Not even CLOSE. I happily invite my fellow meta-ists to weigh in on any or all of them!

But let's see what I can tease out. We'll start with factory settings, so to speak.

Angelic vs. human factory settings

(questions 1 through 3)

Angels have (one) language. They have music -- or, at least, they can sing Her praises (likely by rote). At least some, like our Starmaker, have the knowledge to do specific jobs. Note that Aziraphale not only doesn't know how to make stars and nebulas, he's not even clear on what a nebula is. We can safely assume from that that angels don't all possess the same set of knowledge and skills purely by virtue (heh) of being angels.

We don't see, however, how much of what they know is simply an angel's birthright versus how much of it is somehow educated into them. We also don't know how She divvies up necessary knowledge, though I'd think it safe (given most takes on angelology) to guess that angelic rank and intended function are part of Her calculus, perhaps even the whole of it.

What strikes me hardest is that angels seem to be created either as adults or children (which is what I believe the scareable "cherubs" are), and they may well never change that state. The Starmaker is childlike in some ways, but not a child. Likely never was a child! Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, isn't childlike at all; his personality seems pretty close to fully-formed.

And children learn so very, very much. Babies learn so much as babies, while their neuroplasticity is super super plastic! Especially they learn about relating to other beings! (Which the Starmaker is conspicuously Not Real Great at, honestly -- absorbed in the work of creation, the Starmaker does not pick up the feelings Aziraphale is laying down at all.)

Children also learn one OR MORE languages, and that "more" is rather important, because language shapes how we think to some extent (the extent of that extent, and its nature, are objects of fierce debate among linguists and neuroscientists), and different languages shape us differently. Just as Crowley (as plenty of theologians argue) did humanity a favor with the whole knowledge-of-good-and-evil thing, the Tower of Babel (assuming that was a thing that happened in the GOverse; no reason it wouldn't have, I suppose) added a whole lot of nuance and complexity and competing understandings to humanity's sense of itself and its universe.

Exactly how angels and demons manage to speak all human languages (which Crowley indicates they can) isn't clear. If we accept that the Tower of Babel happened, both Heaven and Hell must have had to figure out a way to deal with it.

We do see, however, that angels and demons can be fluent in human languages without being fluent in human thought or human cultures. Gabriel and Sandalphon speak perfect English yet barely know which end of a book is up. Hastur and Ligur can't disentangle ciao/chow. And, I mean, actual food? Fuhgeddaboudit. So I see their linguistic facility as a sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish: it can translate an angel's or demon's thought into the target language, but it can't help an angel or demon think like an actual speaker of that language.

As an example, Gabriel can tell Job and Sitis about their new children, perfectly fluently. His purely-linguistic fluency does not help him understand that they loved their old children, much less why.

This may explain why Aziraphale studied French under M. Rossignol. He perhaps didn't feel he understood how French speakers think, and was interested enough in that to learn the language (as other meta-ists have noted, the language of love!) the human way.

So yeah, if I have a conclusion here it's that angels and demons can seem as off-center as they often do from a human perspective because they wholly missed out on a key period of human brain development.

What they have in its place appears to be... rules. Which is, I think, where I'll take this next.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Merlucent

CR 3

Chaotic Neutral Medium Aberration

Adventure Path: Hell's Vengeance: Wrath of Thrune, pg. 90-91

These beautiful drifters spend the majority of their lives living simply, capturing shellfish, small fish, and sea birds to consume, their hunter-gather lifestyle interrupted only by bursts of artistic inspiration as they carve strange glyphs into living coral, causing it to grow into bizarre but beautiful shapes. Enclaves of Merlucent can turn normal reefs into alien art galleries over the generations, though they only rarely allow anyone but their own inside. If they did, people might see the farms! But we'll get to that in just a moment.

Most of the time, a colony of Merlucent near a settlement is both a boon and a bane. The jellyfish-people are almost invisible in water, their bodies becoming hazy and indistinct while submerged and granting them concealment, which is excellent when they're trying to sneak up on meals or avoid unwanted attention, but terrible for fishermen who may not see what they're dropping a net on until it's brought up and starts stinging people. Merlucent also eagerly consume what human fishermen need to survive, and vice-versa, reducing the overall amount of food available for everyone involved... but at the same time their presence wards away threats that are even worse and more gluttonous.

Their primary power lays in their stinging tentacles, which act as a painful deterrence. Though they are capable of wielding weapons (not that many are effective underwater) and wands (which they enjoy as keepsakes instead of tools; more on that below!), a basic Merlucent is dangerous enough with its ability to lash out three of its tentacles to a distance of 15 feet. Their considerable reach gives them an edge over most sea-dwelling races, especially the warmongering sahuagin and expansionist sea elves, both of which can be pests to shore-dwelling civilizations and neither of which are immune to the painful, debilitating sting the Merlucent can deliver.

In addition to dealing 1d4+1 damage each, the three stings of these jellyfolk infuse the victim with a paralytic poison that deals 1d3 Dex damage a round for up to 4 rounds. The saving throw is only 14, but remember there's three attacks, and poison in Pathfinder stacks in a unique way: Every dose of identical poison beyond the first raises the save DC by +2 and the duration by 1/2 the base, so another +2 rounds per sting in the Merlucent's case. Each tentacle strike also automatically pulls the victim 5ft closer to the jellyfish and into range of whatever weapon it's wielding; while this has its uses in undersea combat, it's even more dangerous if they're attacking something above the water and dragging it downwards towards them, or pulling a vulnerable party member or NPC out of position in cases when the party comes into conflict with them.

And they will. Merlucent see men and elves as strange and fascinating creatures, in much the way mankind might see an ape or a shrimp as fascinating and strange. Though they are intelligent and can speak via telepathy, their own thought patterns are so alien that there may as well be a second language barrier in front of everything! This means they see little problem with stealing from humanity... even going so far as stealing humans for two equally disturbing purposes. The first is aesthetics: Merlucent see the world in a unique way, their constant Detect Magic and own unusual senses letting them see the weft and weave of magic as a beautiful, entrancing lightshow. They especially love magic items of any sort, going as far as to incorporate magic items they find or steal into their coral creations to both coax them into new forms and enjoy watching the magic course through them and into the coral.

So you can imagine how overjoyed they are when they find a living creature capable of USING magic! They're entranced by it, often gathering in large groups to watch casters cast. While normally content to just watch, a caster who doesn't tread lightly around such gatherings may end up captured and added to their living art galleries. Even worse, when they want to get in on the action, their dangerous Arcane Echo ability allows them to replicate casting simply by reshaping nearby magic up to three times a day, copying the effects of any spell cast within 20ft of them at any time during the day. Merlucent cannot copy spells with a level higher than twice their Hit Dice, typically meaning the average one is limited to 2nd level spells, but this does mean the Sorcerer slinging around Burning Hands is even more dangerous to their party than usual, since Merlucent can simply copy what they see.

The second reason Merlucent wish to capture people, though, happens once every 3 to 5 years: reproduction. It's unfortunately not as fun as it looks or sounds, because Merlucent reproduce in a way that evokes the Mind Flayers/Illithids of D&D lore, implanting a polyp into the victim's ear that slowly makes its way into--and swiftly replaces--the victim's brain. Such unfortunates take 1d4 Int damage each day until they either resist the polyp disease (a DC 12 Fortitude save), have it cured by magic, or fall to 0 Int and be wholly transformed into a brand new Merlucent. Though such transformed creatures are NOT the former victim and possess none of their skills or memories, there IS a small chance that they'll assimilate some of their victims' spellcasting abilities if they had any. Such apexes of jellykind are far more dangerous than their lesser kin, both for the power they wield and the ambition with which they wield it.

While normal Merlucent simply catch what they need, be it food or people to incubate their young, it is jellyfolk born with magical talent who possess the knowledge and foresight needed to construct entire underwater farms/prisons where they simply keep captured victims alive and fed until breeding season arrives. You know, every few years.

[jvliaxox]

My favourite quotes from the Neapolitan novels

To cause pain was a disease.

... there are no gestures, words, or signs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit.

'What does "a city without love" mean to you?' 'A people deprived of happiness.'

I thought of the neighbourhood as a whirlpool from which any attempt to escape was an illusion.

'For your whole life you love people and you never really know who they are.'

'Life without seeing and without speaking, without speaking and listening, life without a covering, life without a container, is shapeless.'

They dived in without hesitation, Lila with a long cry of joy. They were happy, full of their own romance, they had the energy of those who successfully seize what they desire, no matter the cost.

... the beauty of things is a trick, the sky is the throne of fear; I'm alive, now, here, then steps from the water, and it is not at all beautiful, it's terrifying; along with this beach, the sea, the swarm of animal forms. I am part of the universal terror; at this moment I'm the infinitesimal particle through which the fear of every thing becomes conscious of itself.

It was as if she wanted to take the power away from even the realistic possibility of violent death by reducing it to words, to a form that could be controlled.

... it's not the neighbourhood that's sick, it's not Naples, it's the entire earth, it's the universe, or universes. And shrewdness means hiding and hiding from oneself the true state of things.

... every choice has its history, so many moments of our existence are shoved into a corner, waiting for an outlet, and in the end the outlet arrives.

The mind, ah yes, the evil is there; it's the mind's discontent that causes the body to get sick.

While men devote themselves to undertakings in space, life for women on this planet has yet to begin.

The new living flesh was replicating the old in a game, we were a chain of shadows who had always been on the stage with the same burden of love, hatred, desire, and violence.

How much I had lost by leaving, believing I was destined for who knows what life.

... we struggled to understand what a woman was. Our every move or thought or conversation or dream, once analysed in depth, seemed not to belong to us.

Eve can't, doesn't know how, doesn't have the material to be Eve outside of Adam. Her evil and her good are the evil and good according to Adam. Eve is Adam as a woman. And the divine work was so successful that she herself, in herself, doesn't know what she is, she has pliable features, she doesn't possess her own language, she doesn't have a spirit or a logic of her own, she loses her shape easily.

Oh God, how out of order everything was: they, I, the world around us: a truce was only possible by believing lies.

In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.

Should I remain this shadow -- my mother, all our female ancestors -- or should I let her go?

So what resurrection? It was only cosmetic, a powder of modernity applied randomly, and boastfully, to the corrupt face of the city. It happened like that every time. The scam of rebirth raised hope and then shattered them, became crusts upon ancient crusts.

Where is it written that lives should have meaning?

... evil took unpredictable pathways. You cover it over with churches, convents, books... and the evil breaks through the floor and emerges when you don't expect it.

Every intense relationship between human beings is full of traps, and if you want to endure you have to learn to avoid them.

... I want to leave nothing, my favourite key is the one that deletes.

I am still alive -- I thought -- and yet I can't feel any different from that big body lying lifeless in that sordid place, in that sordid way.

Unlike stories, real life, when it has passed, inclines towards obscurity, not clarity. I thought: now that Lila has let herself be seen so plainly, I must resign myself to not seeing her anymore.

[loveemagicpeace]

🥶Powerful Placements🥶

🦋Pluto in 12th house synastry-makes a very strong connection between you and the person. This connection is based on a spiritual connection and it can seem like you can never forget the person.

🧚🏼‍♀️Pluto in 11th house synastry -creates powerful friendship. It's a feeling that you never really leave these people, because they always come back into your life.

✨Strong synastry aspect are with saturn, pluto, venus, mars.

✨Houses that make a deep connection in synastry are 1st, 4th, 8th & 12th house.

🌊8th house north node-you transform a lot and each time you become a different and stronger person. All transformations shape you into the person you are now. And they help you understand yourself and your inner feelings. You rise like a phoenix from the ashes and become the strongest person. And when you look back, you see how much you have changed and how different you are and how much your life has changed.

🤍Capricorn rising/ saturn chart ruler-you go through a lot of lessons, but the lessons help you to achieve what you want in the end. Saturn brings you good karma. Even though you don't see it at the beginning and you feel like your life is always difficult, but in the end, that's exactly what makes you reach the top. Saturn takes you to the top, so trust the process.

💘Moon in 8th house-because you are always facing emotional situations in life and you are always changing emotionally. You are used to everything.

🍰Moon in Sagittarius- you are an emotionally very independent person, you don't let people help you, you want to do everything yourself. In general, fire moons are used to being alone and doing things alone. And even though it looks like they are very comfortable in this position, they are not - because inside of them they want someone who would be here for them. It is difficult for them to find a home or to settle down because there are few places where they feel at home.

💜Sagittarius rising / 9th house- people are ruled by jupiter and they really get a lot of opportunities, happy coincidences and are optimistic about life. But they go through a lot of growth, in life they face many paths and search for meaning in life. And many of them struggle with faith. Many sags I have met are not really religious at all. They become strong when they find a meaning that guides them throughout their lives, when they find a home and the vibrancy of the world. Jupiter guides them through a spiritual journey, so they always have so much wisdom inside.

🎨12th house sun & mercury synastry- because the sun represents light, the light you see with this person, inspiration, fun things, and in a way, where the two people find fun together. Mercury can make communication and words very powerful. And also thoughts - that's why you can feel that the person understands you even when there is silence. With a person, you can feel that they understand you on a different level than others (everything that others misunderstand about you - the person understands about you). It's like they speak another language.

The people who come back into your life are usually those with whom you share the 12th or 8th house. That's why you have a strong connection with them.

🪐Saturn is a powerful planet and in every house it represents it and gives a person some power that he realizes and finds later in life. But Saturn in 3rd house- these people have power over words and they can have a strong influence on the people around them with their speech, even if they are not aware of it. Writing a book is a very good thing here (especially if it includes real events). Your thoughts can be very calm (depending on the aspects), but saturn can also give you stable thoughts, which means that these people do not have problems with mental health.

🐚Also saturn in 8th house in very powerful- because you are basically in control of the mysterious, mystical life and darkness. You can show or teach others a lot if you know how to use saturn. There are two sides here - people who know how to deal with darkness, investigate things that have to do with death and depth. One of these is sigmund freud. The other side is when you don't know how to deal with darkness and things related to depth. Death can be a scary thing for you.

🧸Neptune in 1st house- because you can be any character you want to be. You can make people feel that you are someone else and people start to believe it. You can manifest many things about your personality and appearance.

🎧10th house synastry it's not always just a career, a job and similar things, but it's also about being devoted to a person and doing a lot for them. It is also related to how you see the person in the long run. Many times this can also be a sign that the person was meant to come into your life.

🎲Jupiter in 1st house- helps you grow into a wonderful and intelligent person. It can help you to always find optimism no matter what. Takes you on a spiritual journey. You can become the person people never saw you could be.

🌉Jupiter in 9th house- helps you achieve faith in something greater. You travel a lot and see the world from a different perspective. It helps you find faith even in difficult times. I believe that these people are very strongly connected to the world and feel it through their soul. They are very knowledgeable about other cultures.

-Rebekah💘🌊

[bat-besties]

People often say Cass’ reason for identifying as nonbinary is “not understanding gender” and while it’s often a joke, I do think it’s the complete opposite to Cass’ knowledge. (I’m using she/her for canon, this applies however and whichever way you headcanon Cass’ gender identity)

I feel it’s often coming from a place of her not understanding language, but gender is so much more than language. A lot of sociologists and gender theorists would kill for the ability to perfectly understand body language and then travel across (at least) China, Vietnam, and the US observing people in urban and rural environments, in both peaceful and violent situations. 

 In many ways, her lack of preconceptions about gender or need for language to shape her observances would make her more able to see the reality of gender performance rather than ideals. The idea that women are weak or men are unemotional would be foreign to her. 

As a child she’s isolated, but she still trains with the League of Assassins briefly. Unfortunately, the first time she is heavily gendered is as a disguise and a weapon in the most traumatic event in her lift, which undeniably shapes her attitude to femininity as this post covers. 

But as she runs, her world suddenly expands to, well, the entire world. 

Her gender identity may have come to words and self-expression in America, but the first place she would be able to really observe people is in south China, likely passing through Guangdong and Guangxi over the course of a year or two. That’s a really formative period, and as I personally think Lady Shiva is from south China (specifically Yunnan), is also unintentionally Cass connecting with her heritage. 

She’s a homeless and very traumatised nine year old, so obviously her experience would have been overall awful. However, a teenage Cass still strongly believes in the sanctity of life and the capacity for goodness in people, and I have to think that while she’s seen a lot of darkness, she’s seen a lot of goodness too. Cass isn’t always curious about things she doesn’t understand (as with her reading), but she has to have been observant to keep travelling and keep escaping from Cain. 

She will have seen the wealthy gamblers of Macau, the street vendors of small-town Vietnam, the pickpockets of Gotham. She will have seen different gender norms across cultures, even if she doesn’t know how each language reflects those norms. She would have to adjust to each new place, and refine her body language reading more generally (like how Americans smile way too much), including gendered readings. 

Cass will have seen a million couples, straight and gay. Pairs of women afraid to hold hands but projecting their nervousness on the first date like a signal. Unhappy marriages hidden by false smiles for the neighbours. Elderly couples where the man still walks on the road side of the pavement.

Considering herself an orphan, she will have seen mothers nursing their babies, fathers pushing their daughters on swingsets, sisters yelling at each other one moment and laughing the next. 

Watching unobserved, she would see all kinds of women in the city. Groups of women going from club to club in high heels, schoolgirls copying each other’s homework on the train, business women in neat makeup and a purposeful walk.  

She will have met other homeless girls like herself. Despite being unable to speak with them she might recognise the guarded set to their eyes, the way they are always poised to run - but they might have a smile for her, and a willingness to share a sheltered spot. They might have cut her hair spiky and short, or taught her to play cat’s cradle.  

Unfortunately, she will have seen predatory behaviour, men who leer or talk with deceptively friendly tones to a little girl alone. (I know she’s meant to “discover” men being attracted to her in the comics as a teen but that’s optimistic). When those men approach other girls, she doesn’t hesitate to protect them. 

But she would have seen so much joy too - boys playing football and grown men joining in, old men sitting on plastic chairs and observing the street together, gangly teen boys play-fighting.

On the streets, clustered and sometimes hidden, she would have seen people whose clothing and body language doesn’t match their bodies. Before Cass knows the words transgender and drag and gender nonconforming, she knows that these people are at risk for being different - at risk like she might be, if she couldn’t convince herself she only needs her fighting skills to protect herself. She wouldn’t need words to take each person as they look to her, to have an amorphous and wordless idea of performativity. 

And then of course, she has Barbara, and Batgirl, and finally language. 

So, I think Cass’ gender identity is something she discovers with the background of this huge tapestry of humanity she’s observed over the years. And if she goes “fuck that it makes no sense”, that’s a deeply informed, nuanced Fuck That. 

[talenlee]

Goblin, Vandal, Sugg

Every word you’ve ever used comes from somewhere. The structures you use to discuss ideas is informed by ideas that came before it. I’m not getting all Sapir-Worf about this (and if you don’t know what that is, you don’t have to know because it’s probably not true), but rather wanting to draw your attention to the way the world you live in is in part defined by the words you use. If you’re an English speaker, there are ways you describe food that are a byproduct of French invasion centuries ago. Words like ‘technocrat’ and ‘hyperspecialised’ are constructions that borrow from how intellectuals used to use Latin. Your swear words are almost all from the poor working class, and used to describe sex, god, or excrement, and that’s not how all swear words work in all cultures!

Your world shapes your language.

In any given fantasy setting you work on, you don’t usually have the same linguistic history to justify why the people there talk like we talk now. In fact, to be completely fair, they probably don’t talk like us at all: you have fantasy languages, across fantasy constructions. Any given phrase a character in your world says is probably not using the exact same words as we are and we’re all working with a sort of fictionalised fantasy that makes the concepts reasonably translate across.

There’s a whole treatise then about how we handle Native American names and loanwords that we italicise like etouffee.

Point is that you have words, in your world, and you can attach stories to them. You’ve probably seen me talk about Orcs and how they relate to language and stereotypes, along in my long post on the word ‘Orc’. Here’s another set of examples I like for my world of Cobrin’Seil, as they pertain to the best little evolved raccoons, the Goblins.

The word ‘Goblin’

In Cobrin’Seil, most people speak two languages. Most people who speak only one language speak Common, and Common is full of loanwords from other languages. ‘Orc’ and ‘Beast’ are well known loanwords. There is a word that has risen in prominence throughout all the common-speaking countries in less than seventy years, and the word it displaced is still even in functional and legal use.

The word is both new and old; new to common, but an old word to the language it’s from. This word is Goblin.

Goblins are by no means new. They’re one of the three great old cultures of the world, a social symbiote culture that pretty much exists in any given settlement of any size. It’s usually seen as a sign of health that a community can sustain Goblins — in the same way that communities that lack pets are probably culturally alienated from all the cultures that do keep pets — and if you encounter an enclave that lacks goblins, it’s often because that enclave is specifically for a purpose and has done proactive things to drive out Goblin presence. Goblins are a culture that’s as old as Orcs, older than Ogres and even most of what you’d consider modern-day Elves.

But the word Goblin was not a word in common language and descriptors that was used in dictionaries and education and technical words, until what are known as the Peoples Reform. Not People’s Reforms – but the legal system of the Eresh Protectorate (which tends to set precedents most of the rest of the world follows) formalised the idea of Peoples. For most cultures, this didn’t make a lot of changes, but it did peel out of the laws one of the largest and long-standing carve-outs for Goblins that eroded the idea of their own cultural identity and heritage. The word Goblin is encoded as the term Goblins use to describe Goblins.

Linguistically, Goblin is a funny word. It’s an omniterm; without modification, it serves as noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb and preposition and it does so in entirely intelligible ways to those contextually familiar. The sentence ‘Goblin goblin goblin goblin goblin’ is a meaningful sentence describing a party taking care of a third party because they see the commonality they have with one another. Good luck making that make sense in a sent letter though.

Goblin is possessive; in a lot of ways it can be translated to the common term ‘us,’ with some wiggle room. It’s also a comical non-answer; guards asking a Goblin ‘what are you doing?’ will often get the answer ‘goblin,’ which in this case means something like ‘being myself and doing what I should be doing,’ which is an answer but it is also unhelpful, and you have to understand how goblins communicate to get a handle on what that might mean. Goblin language is simple but contextual and it tends to highlight that goblins are extremely prosocial. Goblin language makes very little sense without the context of who is talking and about what.

There’s a real truth to the fact that many Goblins who have taken to theatre or art will write dialogue in Goblin but stage directions in Common.

But the word is new, legally, but the people aren’t. What was the change? Well, prior to the Peoples Reforms, the term the human kingdoms used for the people known as Goblins was the term Vandal.

The Word ‘Vandal’

You can’t kidnap a Goblin.

Legally, I mean.

This isn’t because Goblins were protected under the law, no no, the laws were way too racist for that. The crime was that, wherever you transported the Goblins to, the people didn’t want Goblins there, so you were committing a crime by inflicting Goblins on them. Basically, it was considered a crime to take a Goblin from one place to another, because the place the Goblin arrived didn’t necessarily consent to the presence of a Goblin.

The term for transporting a Goblin was based on an archaic term for Goblins that operated on the assumptions that Goblins were just a problem and a pest brought into any space. They were known as Vandals, a term hypothetically meaning all nonhuman troublesome cultures including Gnolls and Bugbears, because if those people arrived in a place, they’d wreck things. Funnily enough, Gnolls and Bugbears got removed from this term over time because they would usually, if it rose to legal levels, be committing much more dire crimes, and also, guards didn’t like just bullying them at random, since they were very big and tough people by comparison to the much smaller Goblin. Over time, ‘Vandal’ came to mean ‘Goblins, and behaving like a Goblin,’ and that association meant the legal term got ensnared around it. Ultimately, dropping Goblins off in a space that did not want them was the act of Vandalism. Vandal then, was a term used to not to refer to the Goblins themselves; much funnier, instead, it was the legal term for a person who committed the crime of nonconsensual transporting of Goblins.

During the Peoples Reforms, since this law already existed, the crime of Transporting A Goblin Nonconsensually remained on the books, but Kidnapping, as defined under laws, had its historical Goblin Carve-Out. Nowadays, kidnapping a Goblin is typically treated as Vandalism (Kidnapping), because tidying up old and technically incorrect laws is a lot of a pain in the butt. This even applies when the Goblins are lawyers, who as it turns out, delight in getting non-Goblins in trouble for ‘Vandalism,’ which is a catch-all term under Eresh law for ‘general goblin-like behaviour.’ And we’ll talk more about what makes something Goblin-like in the context of Cobrin’Seil another time.

The word ‘Sugg’

But there is a word, ambiguous in meaning and origin that exists in common, that most people know and that word is ‘sugg.’ It seems to indicate a sort of laziness, a restful state. If you see a Goblin curled up on a pile of playing cards, ears out, eyes closed, you might say ‘can’t use those cards, there’s a goblin sugging on it.’ Or ‘sorry man, I’m pretty sugg.’ The word is extremely ambiguous but it has a thread throughout it of being:

Indulgently lazy

Very relaxed

Overwhelming and absolute

The thing is, nobody’s too sure what it means, and when you ask people who would know, they tell you to ask a Goblin. Goblins, after all, are where the word comes from. In fact, if you ask the right goblins in the right trail you’ll find that while Goblins use the word ‘sugg’ in the same way, they think it comes from Common. Why?

Because Goblins got the word from this thing they found in established human communities. There’d be a nice small dark box, full of paper that you could just curl up in and nest in, and on the outside of the box, there’d be a notice: SUGGEST IN BOX. So they assume the Goblin who enjoys that box the most must surely be their sugg-est Goblin. Which meant paying attention to how they all sugg, and from there, the neologism was born.

Now, non-Goblins and Goblins alike use ‘sugg’, each convinced they got it from the other.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!