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starflungwaddledee · 6 months

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Hey got a question, is it normal for your heartbeat to beat rapidly wherever you look at really tense or angsty scenes?

It's Just a question I had in mind

putting these together because they're clearly related. i admit these have me a little bit stumped, but i'll take this in good faith and do my best! under the cut because of length.

topics include: physiological reactions to fiction, emotional reactions/empathy of creators, and finally addressing the unspoken question present in asks like this.

"is it normal to have a physiological reaction (heart beat, jitters, excitement, sadness, etc) to fiction"

absolutely! i cannot overstate how common it is to have reactions of any wide variety to fiction. the whole point of storytelling is to make you feel things! the reactions you have, their intensity, and the specific media or genre you'll have those reactions to will vary person to person. in regards to angst in particular, like i've said on this topic before: reactions will vary. some people might get excited, others might get sad, others might feel it like a gut punch but in a really good and cathartic way. none of these are better or worse or more normal or more abnormal than the other.

"do i as a creator have an emotional reaction to the work i'm creating?"

i personally do, sure. i was actually quite explicit in the tags of the comic that came right before this ask that i found it hard to draw, because seeing kirby so sad was emotionally pulverising to me. do all creators? no. do i feel a strong emotional reaction to all scenes? no. or all types of content creation? no. for me, prose is actually much easier to tackle than illustration; i can write trauma and suffering and psychological devastation until the cows come home, but drawing it is a different matter. consuming the work of others is different again. and this is different for everybody. am i somehow morally better or more empathetic than an artist that doesn't struggle to draw characters sad? hell no! being able to represent- in fiction- a strong emotion generally requires that you empathise with or at least understand that emotion. sometimes creators actually have to be able to turn this off to be able to create the content we make; the way we turn off strict adherence to reality in order to write fantasy. if we couldn't do this, content across the board- art, movies, novels- would be flattened to nothing but the cheeriest and most mediocre parts of our day to day lives. no fun monsters (because those aren't real). no challenges to rise above (because those make us sad). no characters who have different experiences to us (because how could we imagine or feel for that). and it would be okay for like... twenty minutes of all books containing 'the sun was shining and i woke up on time and had a yummy breakfast', but then it would suck, sorry. conflict and imagination are the root of content.

"it's just a question I had in mind".

a way to think about this might be; would you ask these questions about genres that aren't angst? would you ask "is it normal to be happy when these characters finally reunite" or "is it normal to feel resolution in response to a happy ending" or "is it normal to feel excitement when a character has their cool hero moment". perhaps it's because your reaction to angst is something you construe as negative, but if you wouldn't doubt your reactions to cheerful content, then there's no reason to doubt the reactions you have to angst either; these are just reactions! fiction is designed to make us feel things, but what you feel will be up to you. no one feeling or response is better or worse than any others.

lastly, i feel like there is an unspoken question here that i don't like.

and maybe you didn't intend it. i'm going to extend that grace to you, and because you seem to need reassurance about this (though i will not be reassuring about this further. i do not like reassurance seeking from strangers and this is a boundary i am setting right now), this is not an attack or even a criticism. your questions are fine if they are coming from a place of curiosity and- i simply assume- that these are new or difficult concepts to you that you have yet to have explored or explained.

but on the good faith assumption you didn't intend it, and wouldn't want to do this again (especially if you message other creators), i think you should be aware.

because it sounds like this: "do the people who make sad/angsty/dark content care at all or are you heartless to the suffering (of these characters). is angst/dark content made by bad people?" i felt it the previous time i got a question like this too when it explicitly stated "you seem like a nice person", as if being a nice person was in contrast with what i was creating.

please. we are just people. the relative light or darkness of the content you make says absolutely nothing about your morals, your real life attitudes, or your ability to be an empath.

someone making cute animal art could be a school yard bully. someone writing a complex sci-fi warhorror fic could be the most altruistic and compassionate soul in the world.

in my experience, creators are some of the most empathetic people i have ever met, and many of them know their craft intimately. these are people capable of stepping into the shoes of others as easily as breathing. of sitting down at their work station every day and finding inside themselves a way to answer "how would this really feel?" so clearly and honestly that they can put it onto the paper for you to feel it too.

#being able to storytell in such a way that the reader feels something is a skill!! it is a Skill and not an accident or a moral failing.#if what someone's work makes you feel is not something you like; don't consume that work!#again... if angst is not for you you can block it from my work with this tag: cw angst #if it really hurts you my work may not be for you! this is a niche i am interested in and am *very grateful* to find others here are as wel #have seen this surprise expressed by other kirby angst/dark creators. it's a seemingly unlikely place but also the most likely place.#lastly: unempathetic creators also exist and are no better or worse than empathetic creators.#because lacking empathy is not a flaw and it also forms absolutely NOTHING about your morals. okay anyway.#once more: i will not be offering anymore reassurance to reassurance seeking. it makes me deeply uncomfortable. thanks.#also not to toot my own horn but that was a banger ending line. if you read to the end that's your reward.#replies

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vintagevixyxol · 6 months

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Another old language inscription from the “Dark rise” by C.S.Pacat

Just reflections of decoding

Disclaimer: this is not an analysis, but thinking of it. Although I have not found the key yet, I decide to share my reflections. And I am needed in someone`s fresh eye, because it seems as I just keep going over the same ground.

And remember: this is just a theory.

an origin inscription from paper books

The introduction

According to the latest information from Tumblr, the difference between inscriptions in different editions is just an error. My previous analysis might be based on a transliteration, and I`m really confused which version of book edition is the latest and the truest (ebook in English and paper books in my own language). Maybe this mess happens because my eBook copy is an early edition and paper books are the latest. In this post I`ll share some ideas of decoding remaining inscription, but without “result”.

Important notices: all translations in English from the book.

“I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child” (chapter 2)

“Rassalon the First Lion” (chapter 10)

“He is coming.” (chapter 11)

“Enter only those who can” (chapter 15)

“The horn all seek and never find”. (chapter 15)

Ways of decoding

I made a scheme of my reflections and wrote every main steps, so let`s start from the left hand.

Level 1 — working with elements

First of all, I decided to select elements as I did it before. There are 38 ones in this inscription, if the method works right.

Then I started with a well-known algorithm: selecting same elements and finding new things. Nevertheless, the rules from previous work we can`t take in attention, because we have no enough information. Therefore, elements cannot be named as “letters”.

Selecting same elements:

Level 2

Step 1 — decoding with known letters from the last analysis

Now let`s try to decode using an alphabet, which I had already made.

As result, there is mess, because words from uncovered letters have no sense, and other letters are unknown. This chaos don`t match with phrases, which should be decoded. Therefore, this way is not as practical as I suggest. However, we found new elements! In this picture, they are with the alphabet from last post.

Step 2 — creating an alphabet/another thing from scratch, it`s possible

In this way, I do not compare English version with old languages patterns. Just thinking of how translations can fit in one puzzle.

How I noticed, there are 38 elements in this inscription, also it mentions every time, when characters read something in old language. The obvious way is just to try to compare them. For example, can the number of letters help?

I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child — 50 letters

Rassalon the First Lion — 20 letters

He is coming — 10 letters

Enter only those who can — 20 letters

The horn all seek and never find — 26 letters

None of phrase fits in the inscription, and I put aside the simple transliteration for good.

The new idea came to me: what if does the illustration contain all sentences? So let`s count words. (please, correct, if I made mistakes!)

I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child — 15

He is coming — 3

Rassalon the First Lion — 4

Enter only those who can — 5

The horn all seek and never find — 7

30 is the final sum — again the wrong way.

I found one curious thing, when I reviewed inscriptions in the text: all translations go hand in hand with the full inscription, excepting one case – “He is coming”. The cut beginning of the phrase is only there, so it might be the key.

Now I`m looking for the pattern and trying to develop this idea. At this moment, all ways, unfortunately, lead to a dead end. Nevertheless, I have some new thoughts:

Each element is a sentence or phase and in future we`ll see more.

Elements are as hieroglyphs or something like them.

There is another writing system.

Level 3 — right hand: something more linguistic

This field is the darkest than previous, but more interesting. If the old language is a language, the author might invent it, or it has roots from already existing languages. In my opinion, the second variant is the closer to the case, because books have historical context. But I don`t exclude the possibility that I`m wrong.

Why is historical context so important for decoding? Knowing the picture of the world (real or magical from book), we can guess where the origins come from, and it`ll be the first lead in the “investigation”. Later it can become an Ariadne`s clew. Also knowing details of old world culture, we can compare them with other real cultures and find new parts of puzzle.

I know that this is fantasy and lots of things are not connected with reality, but why are there several historical things? It`s unlikely to be accidentally added. As well, I have not strike into the subject as much as it should.

One interesting fact connects with history, but...

Janissaries

If I am not confusing anything, but “janissaries” is a special name, not just “adepts”, how they were adapted in my own language translation. Janissaries were regular infantry of the Ottoman Empire (1365 — 1826?). Perhaps, it doesn`t matter, but it haunts me. Some facts of them seem a bit familiar with janissaries from book, but I can`t say for sure that it`s true.

Is it just coincidence and am I digging in the wrong place?

Maybe some references were taken from other fantasy books. For example, old language reminds Elvish language from Lord of the Rings, how some people say.

BUT I`m not close with true linguistic, so I start to explore it. Hope, there will be answeres.

The conclusion

I`m really grateful to my sister again, she painted all illustrations for my articles.

This post is about everything and nothing at the same time. I need to systematize beginnings of ideas, hope, it`ll help to get the ball rolling. As well I`ll be grateful, if somebody take a fresh look on these thoughts, because, I think, there is obvious things, but I can`t find them. I`d like to discuss all of these topics and to find answers.

I`m thinking about this post for two weeks. I have doubts how useful is it… but a negative result is still a result, right? I`ll consider it as intermediate step, which will grow up with new flowers of the theory in future. And it shows that the work is going on.

Thanks for your attention!

I really appreciate your support for my last analysis! Thank you muchly!

See you soon.

P.S. If you decided to share my work, please, give credit to me.

#dark rise #c s pacat #books

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awatercolorbee · 2 months

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From The Sky

part 1

What am I? That’s simple, I’m from the sky, at least that’s what my friend tells me. He says that I have wings that resemble that of a “bird”, yet I look human, just like him.

We sat down one day as he looked through a book that previously sat untouched on his bookshelf. I’ve never seen anyone else in his home before. He flipped through pages upon pages of illustrations with vague descriptions next to them.

“Maybe you’re one of those? It looks kinda like you, yeah?” He pointed to a picture with a five lettered name above it.

I cannot read, the words plastered everywhere around my friend look foreign and strange. He’s told me what many objects are and what they’re used for, but I don’t know how they’re spelt on a page.

Pictures are easier to read though, and what I read on the page does not look like me. It somewhat does, but its wings are far too round and smooth at the edges, and the way it sits on a leaf makes it look small. I am none of those things, especially when it comes to height. I’m much taller than my friend.

“No, it is different.” I finally reply, prompting my friend to give a frustrated sigh.

“Dammit, nothing matches your description! I’ve combed through this book at least twelve times to no avail.” He closed the book with a dull thud. “I knew you being a fairy was a long shot, but I figured that I should ask you anyways.”

I watched as he gave a dejected groan and flopped onto his back, lying against his bed. I awkwardly shifted myself to lay down as well, it would be awkward to be the only one sitting.

“…do I make you angry? You appear upset.” I wrapped my wings around my body to take up less space.

Perhaps I was burdening my troubles onto my friend, and I was hurting him. I don’t want to hurt him. Guilt must’ve been written on my face because he immediately opened his mouth to object. He always said that I was easy to read.

“No no, not at all. You haven’t done anything wrong, and before you say anything, you being here isn’t wrong at all either.” There was confidence in his words and in his eyes, firm yet kind.

A smile wormed its way onto my face, I don’t know why. Maybe it was his words, or the bluntness of his statement, but I felt comforted. Emotions are a perplexing thing.

“Thank you. You’re… you’re a good friend, I’m glad that you’re my friend.” Words seemed to flow out of my mouth naturally, that didn’t happen often.

He smiled back. “Of course. I’m glad that you’re my friend too.”

As if gaining a sudden burst of energy, he shot up off of the bed and stood to face me. I slowly followed suit, sitting up but not standing.

“Come on! We’ve only been searching through one stupid book, there so much more to cover!” The smile on his face was now littered with excitement, it was refreshing from a few minutes ago. “I haven’t even touched the internet yet, and I’m not gonna give up on helping you with your identity crisis.” He extended a hand to help me off of the bed.

Such energy was contagious, especially from him. With a chuckle, my wings unfurled from their timid state and I grabbed onto his hand.

#writing #watercolor writing #from the sky #writing fluff #my silly guys <3 #i tried to indent it i swear they vanished somehow

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skydalorian · 2 years

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Thoughts on Marwa (and on the general direction in S4) below:

This is long, please bear with me though!

I was let down by this season as a whole. Much of what was developed was either underwhelmingly so, or was jettisoned before it could reach fruition. None of Colin’s plot matters unless they have the tenacity to stick to Laszlo’s reaction to the amnesia...and I don’t hold out much hope that they’ll be quite that introspective. They may, but it wouldn’t align with prior handling of him, they save that for Nandor.

Nandor’s plot was compelling and a nice extension of his crises of last season, but ultimately left a bad taste in my mouth when the bits that are crucial to his growth - the acknowledgement that one doesn’t need to cling to their past for relevancy, one doesn’t need to repress their emotions for a figure previously regarded as vulnerable, one doesn’t NEED to have a reason for existing - were spurred on by the fruitless deconstruction and whitewashing of the ONLY recurring female POC.

Nadja and the Guide didn’t even need to be there. Nothing of note occurred. I don’t have anything negative to say, but that’s not a good thing either.

That’s not to say the season wasn’t generally funny, charming, and full of the same energy from prior seasons that makes me care for the characters. Who else is going to give you a changing room montage with half a torso, an eldritch progenitor, and two nasty fancy goblin women?

BUT. It’s hard to retain any positivity when the season ended on such a blithe note, prefaced by misogyny and racism.

I think it's valid to be critical even if you're not a fan of Marwa (I mean yeah, i didn't much like her - as an extension of her whole plot - even though I'm glad she was around). They could've illustrated Nandors depravity a host of ways that didn't include stripping the only POC woman on the show of her agency and self and literal personhood and literally whitewashing her into a white guy from a colonialist country. When your POC only find happiness by turning white? That's repellent.

I’ve little energy left to attempt to elucidate for those that condescend to those who are frustrated, with arrogrant aplomb as they jeer how they saw what was obvious, that there’s no issue with Marwa’s death within an universe where side-characters are commonly the butt of the joke and are expected to be killed off. I’m SO beaten down by it, that I’m going to copy and paste again. To those that cannot comprehend why Marwa’s specific situation (not even her “death” really, though that was also uncomfortable):

You really are that disconnected from the reality of POC women and the struggles they constantly face trying to navigate around whiteness and objectification and the lack of allowance for existing huh. This should NEVER have been treated as comedic. Regardless of how efficacious the plot point was in underscoring the lack of humanity of its characters, SOMEONE needed to speak up in the writers room and illustrate that this method would bring up negativity and upset.

I am so unimpressed by the posts of people snidely pointing out "oh well OBVIOUSLY I predicted she wouldn't last the season/this show is a comedy/side characters are always tossed away" like. You missed. The entire. point. (Also side characters have become recurring main roles throughout the show, cmon now). You paid enough attention to get frustrated by the others in the fandom (and have enough time and effortful care for your perception of the show to attempt to explain to others why they shouldn’t be upset at just another death treated for comedy’s sake in a show predicated on that kind of humour) yet you STILL neglected the glaring difference and inherent issues of objectification of a woman of colour and the whitewashing of a woman of colour. (Not to mention she's transformed into a man from a royalist/imperialist nation 😬)

TLDR when one of the main writers of the show proceeds to delete his proud lil tweet about his proud little episode that he’s so proud of (due to the fanbase pushing back), there’s something singularly rotten in your writing. (Please continue to go off on Zach Dunn, but hold the rest of the writers accountable who had their hands and eyes on this and had every means to speak up).

#wwdits #marwa #what we do in the shadows #I still adore this show and what it stands for by and large #This is also the reason I am similarly disdainful toward those throwing about “fit-it” scenarios where Marwa and the Djinn get to be a happ #little couple/besties #no #he was part and parcel the eradication of her self and womanhood and personality #anti wwdits #nandor the relentless #nadja of antipaxos #nadja #lazslo cravensworth #guillermo de la cruz #nandermo

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emiliosandozsequence · 2 years

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I decided to introduce myself a little more by telling you some fun facts about myself:

tagged by my bro 😎 @naysaltysalmon

emilio| they/them | lesbian | nonbinary | pisces (☀️) taurus (🌙) pisces (🌅)

~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~

🌌 i'm puerto rican and irish mostly and that's definitely what shows in my appearance and personality i think too (lol)

🌌 i finished writing 7 book before the age of 21, but i haven't finished a thing since bc of a variety of factors; i am finally working on a novel again though woohoo!!

🌌 i'm a fictive in a traumagenic system caused by a really shitty upbringing (no, fictive is not the same thing as kin); for comparison: to those of you that have read the sparrow, my childhood was rakhat without all the happy parts.

🌌 i'm also chronically ill and disabled, but lol for the love of g-d i don't know what with because doctors are horrifyingly ableist

🌌 i can play the violin and piano and read music, but i have done none of those things in a good long while and i'm actually much better at learning things by ear; i also have perfect pitch, and i think i'm a much better singer than i am violin or piano player.

🌌 i can fence and irish dance; i taught myself how to irish dance by obsessively watching riverdance growing up, but i quit when i started middle school because a) the teacher was a fucking cunt and b) that's when i started really first feeling the effects of having a body that Doesn't Work Right

🌌 i had thyroid cancer in 2016 and so i don't have a thyroid anymore lol, which means i have a really hard time regulating my temperature. i also don't have a gall bladder, which means i have a really hard time eating fatty foods without...revisiting those meals.

🌌 emilio sandoz is me in ways i cannot even begin to describe. like i said that when i finished the book the first time around, but hot fucking damn; i'm rereading during my annotating and posting of quotes on the account i made on twitter and i'm just rerealizing this all over again and it's fucking insane. maybe someday i'll write that dissertation and it'll just be a self-centered, self-indulgent essay about why emilio sandoz and i are the same person; also likely an essay about how fucking amazing mary doria russell illustrates the effects of that level of trauma (coming from someone who has experienced it).

🌌 this really isn't news to anyone who follows me (or read the last point lol) but the sparrow series by mary doria russell is my all time favorite book sequence. i really really REALLY want to be able to talk to mary doria russell one on one about it and fantasize about doing so daily, but the closest i've gotten to that was her approving of my fancast that i posted on twitter.

🌌 i love animals and particularly cats <3 i have two cats that are very definitely mine, but my fiancee's family also has three other cats that cling to me in various ways too. i love them all dearly and love being the resident cat mom; i literally am being followed by at least one of them at all times.

🌌 i love score music. all time favorite genre of music hands down holy fuck. i listen to....usually the score or playlist score i've created of whatever i'm hyperfixating on at the moment; you can see all of those playlists on my spotify. also, according to my spotify, the only lyrical artist i enjoy regularly outside of my score music genre is ethel cain <3

🌌 my favorite genre of media is philosophical sci-fi (examples: foundation, halo, the sparrow, the fountain, annihilation, arrival, sunshine, i origins, the matrix, interstellar, etc.). idek why tbh. i do love space and science a whole lot, but i just came to the realization that this is my genre of choice rather recently when my fiancee pointed it out.

🌌 my biggest special interests are space (and literally everything to do with it; in particular string theory, theoretical physics, quantum mechanics, etc), linguistics, volcanology, religion, and really anything to do with STEM.

~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~

I hope you’ll reblog and give a few fun facts about yourself so we can get to know each other a little better~! Open to all!

Tagging: @creaturecomplex @chateauofmymind @sarayashikis @thinking-in-broken-scenes @good-as-dead @dykeromanroy @smallredb0y @redwindflower

#eyyy #this was fun #emilio.txt

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juszar2 · 1 month

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This homosexual spends its time pursuing, soliciting, and propositioning this what the tp self identifies as a "white man" asking him to have her and asking to live my life... I wonder does her family know that she is this sick... I mean they know the felony charges, anything goes lifestyle and no modesty nor dignity, but do they know that it is pursuing a dignified adolescent that grew to be more than it could imagine, it being not 30% of me. Do they know that it spends its time soliciting this "white man" asking to live my life and that While narrating what it calls black love to the community and portraying that it was making a simp out of him and relaying that he was a character who would leave his family because it had superior prostitution skills. I'm sure it knows how I might be regarded... And so life for it is trying hard to compete. Why I do not know, just an obsession. The entire illustration is interesting. When rejected it was even more disrespectful while making effort to "motivate" the tp to let it play a role as me in life... So that others will find it acceptable or worthy more than what it is. It made it a group effort. The very best it has been offered is an acceptance when it solicited the woman that lives as a man for its relationship.. While at the same time have a ball pretending to be me offering its body to the tp and talking yes publicly about what it calls p****. It is treacherous. Telling publicly the woman who lives as a man that it "swears it loves her" and likely telling this tp the same thing... At the exact same time to see if he would have it... And then update the band and they get giddy about any harm that could come to me. It is a fascinating sickness and you'd think they were all 15 years old. They have kids and have no problem with the filth that they are... Cannot even understand that they are filth... Oblivious. That is what they teach how to stalk Those that want then nowhere near their lives. How to use Treachery if ya want to get away and then.. Praise God as if he will be mocked ultimately. It is a sick stew of disgust. Because the homosexual, it narrated and made folk aware... And so if they think positively of the woman I am, they'd have to find it something if it could get the tp to let something like it harm me and play a role. Such success happening of this woman and if the tp would be reduced, it could look like..... Well, something, anything worthy. I have several real ones with their actual names assigned to the assets they pay for and they pursue me to no success. But those are not men that would pursue the homosexual, they know what that is and it is 10 for $1.00. This is the best that this homosexual could do. Try and make a life from my life. And continuously solicit. But I will admit that this tp is lowly... If true, yes. He understands that I will not be okay with being harassed and absolutely we need to understand what he is. Cause if doing this, he does not understand even the basics of life or personhood. And I need to understand this homosexual harassing and pursuing me. Stalking.

Meanwhile the tp who shall be named... Definitely shall. Says anyone who would do such with my stalker enemies would be a scumbag. And he is a white (really only half) Trump voter lauding conservatism and he would not do things like this or deal with these types.. And says none of his friends will believe he is this. They wouldn't believe that having a beautiful dignified woman and the success born of her in family due to her and definitely not an effort of him.... would have him reaching in the garbage to collude with her homosexual enemy stalker and every bit of what that is and brings. But all appearances say.... Yes, this is exactly who and what he who shall be named is. He was never the decent part of the equation.... That was always me, he was just improved by it. But when lowly Sadistic gets the ear of closet lowly, weak and cowardice you see trash from the side of town that he keeps telling me he might of by happenstance resided in. If you are not trash.... It will come to pursue you... If you are well then "you cool"

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spacecadetspe · 4 months

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A year ago today…

Jan. 16, 2023

Having read some of the top listings on Lj today, I realize wholeheartedly that the account of my daily life may seem fantastical... or perhaps just unhinged. The primary reason I keep this alternate reality confined to this journal is so that I can live a normal life on Earth. I have responsibilities to which I must regularly attend, and I can't afford to let it interfere with my daily life.

I suppose I should institute some "rules" or something, to keep things clear, since it's plausible that whoever is reading this will be justifiably confused.

Nearly anything is possible. If it can happen, it probably will at some point. How I react to the goings on is how I measure my personal growth.

I say "nearly anything" because logically there are just some things that wouldn't be necessary, appropriate, or may even be detrimental to the beings that exist in that space, including myself. (Could there be a castle made of candy, guarded by marshmallow unicorns? Certainly. But... why? Who does that benefit?)

As Virtue of Hope and Chief Lady of Dreams, I can do a lot of things that my peers cannot. I can regrow limbs and heal scars (mine or anyone else's). I can split myself into projections or excise different aspects of myself. I have 300 wings, where most Virtues start out with ten.

None of this applies to my life in the Mortal coil. My mortal life is really rather mundane. I'm a divorced mom living in a comfy apartment, have equal custody of my son, and hold a raging grudge against my ex-husband (which I try not to project onto my child).

My therapy affects both sides of my existence. Because therapy does that. It changes who you are at a basic level, and so my actions and reactions reflect that on both sides.

Many of the entities I encounter in the Dream World exist on the mortal coil, as well. I have attempted to make distinctions between their roles in this life and the one on the other side of the Veil.

Now that that's cleared up, maybe I'll sound less like a crazy person when I talk about my walks on the other side.

And speaking of, by last few such walks haven't been pleasant. My evening routine in the Mortal realm has consisted of drawing a sacred circle on my chest every night to keep X away, much like the uses of Solomon's demonic sigils. And, two nights ago, I forgot to apply it. I really should know by now that those little spells aren't permanent. I got too complacent. I'm not sure why, since I'm well aware that X will try to subdue me by any psychic means necessary. Perhaps I'm just tired. I yearn for a sense of "normalcy," whatever that means. I suppose I shouldn't be so disillusioned.

As far as I'm concerned, I think placing wards like this every night serves to beautifully illustrate the idea that I am, in fact, unhinged. Drawing sigils and swearing up and down that some entity somewhere, nay, my ex-husband, is out to get me? It just screams paranoid delusion.

Which is one more reason that X might continue such attacks, I suppose; just to undermine me further in a society that doesn't tend to believe in the stuff I see.

Don't get me wrong, dear reader; I'm exhausted with this. I would love nothing more than to let down my guard and just... be. No more sigils, no more spells... no more journals where I write myself in as the victim. But waking up in the manner that I do... it's more than enough to make me a believer.

I dreamed that he cut off my left arm above the elbow. I could probably play it off like I fell asleep on my arm and cut off my circulation, but it wouldn't do justice to the pain. I woke up, of course, and tried to shake it off, but the ache shot down all the way to the joints of my fingers. It was so severe that the following day, I couldn't play the piano. This is in the mortal world, mind you. So the fact that it was affecting my physical body is a serious matter.

He cut off my arm... butchered every joint... so that when I stitched it back together, I can feel the seams holding my flesh in place. Even now, I'm having some difficulty typing.

Nothing on earth could describe how much I want to just... stop. But until X is finally broken, I'll have to settle for looking a little crazy.

Jan. 16, 2024

I’ve tried to get back into doing the rounds again. Morpheus and other oneiroi have approached me to try to keep me calm, but after my come-to-Jesus with Fortitude, I’m feeling a little fragile.

Two nights in a row now, any attempt to ease my frustrations has been thwarted. Night before last, Morpheus was called away just as he was about to crawl into bed with me. And last night I came away from one of my rounds shaking and anxious, feeling my chakras broken, and one of them came up behind me and held me for awhile. I turned around and he kissed me (keep in mind I’m not sure who this is) and I felt myself relax. But it didn’t go further than that. He escorted me to a bedroom somewhere, but I was awoken by a phone call.

The timing always seems to be just slightly off. I’m not to the point where I can be angry about it, but I feel it approaching.

Today is a rare snow day for my state, so Fortitude and I are staying in, for now. I’ll go get W later today, if the roads are clear.

Métis wants to have a “girls’ day” at her apartment in the dream world, which sounds pleasant. I might join her later.

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cosmicangel888 · 10 months

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The Shifty Business of Copying ~ Unreal Gets Caught

Cannot fake vibration nor the channeling wisdoms - why my accounts have been blocked at 0 growth for years -

All our in the world of youtube - any knowing of my work, in any way - none have ever had permissions, nor accountability for the damages done, and monies lost, and PTSD from all the spell work and blockages, and trauma's #calgary #corruption, #falseprophets #falsespiritualists

There has been a funnel of my subscribers, being blocked, those using and stealing from me; none are even close to do what I do, offer what I offer - conduits are rare; and to have a conduit move through the 51% of ascension as I have, and have worked to new higher templates to work in alignment with God to those that have known, those that have done nothing - while I live in poverty and struggling to make ends meet -

And what about the tattoo's they cannot see, and what about the celestial tattoo's that are as unique as a fingerprint, what about the multidimensional wisdoms that no fake can tune to - what about what about - the people fooled and the monies lost, damages to my character to ensure an entire community believe in false stories -

Someone is making money off of me when the real me is making 0 but my few loyal clients a month - that sounds fair and noble -

#healinghumanity #healingspellwork #obsessions are not in alignment with spirit - #addictions are not in alignment with Spirit

Will they be able to tell who I channeled to download every illustration? Would they be able to tell what is now evident and co-related on the illustration to any collective you want to tune in to?

Can they read, channel the bio-sphere - can they read an autistic child and help heal them with sounds co-related planetary assimilation -

Perhaps truth, and healing the lack within would have been a much more noble and honouring thing to do than fooling, harming, and stealing from someone truly doing the work, truly honest and true for all humanity aching to offer and gift to - and yet I still have to protect my fields for constant spell work attacks to ensure that the false narratives and plans to corrupt more seem to be more important than being truthful and honest -

Deceit, and lies will implode - nothing good will come from such and such will be shown.

These are all delusions, and illusions of the no sense of self - no direction no self design and self rejection - #forgiveness and I pray to God that this cycle of over 7 years of stealing, taking, siphoning my light, energy, vibrational raping, gang sex spell chanting to take me out, down, and silence me so false thievery continues - and who has spoken truth?

Conduits are a rare breed - period, being and having empathic healing skills is an attribute of being a conduit - all conduits are different for the reasons of vibrational attunement they each add to the grids, and bio-sphere and celestial groups they help anchor and work with - there is always a divine plan and expanded plan - not all would ever be the same -

I am working with the masters and know who I am - all I ever asked for was equal sharing of my work, and the monies owed for my work;

perhaps working on envy, jealousy, and competition issues - than cause the damages done - I have my rights to liberated free speech, and liberated healing what Source asks -

Nothing more to say,

Blessings and light

Joanna

[email protected].

DONATIONs; PayPal link here; paypal.me/JoannaLRoss

#ascension #enlightenment #awakening #ascensionbooks

youtube

Dopplegangers - are not the real thing and such fooling those that truly need healing, guidance - anything false will fail; judgment called

My work is my work -not a 1 penny changed hands -

#consciousness #ascension classes #oneness #healingtrauma #awakening #ascension #healinghumanity #youtube #energyhealing #god #Youtube

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destinyimage · 1 year

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3 Limitations of Demons: Breaking Demonic Strongholds

In dealing with demons, there is a balance to be had.

Some people are so obsessed with demons and demonic power that they minimize the Holy Spirit’s power. Others are so skeptical of demonic power that they leave themselves wide open to attack. To help you find proper balance in dealing with demons, I want to show you, using Scripture, the limitations of demonic beings.

#1 Demons are not omnipresent.

When an evil spirit leaves a person, it goes into the desert, seeking rest but finding none (Matthew 12:43 NLT).

Demons can only be in one place at one time. The verse from Matthew 12 illustrates the fact that demons travel, move about. The fact that they can move about is proof that they are not omnipresent. By definition, if someone is omnipresent, they are unable to move from one place to another since they are already everywhere at all times.

#2 Demons cannot read your mind.

Scripture clearly communicates that God alone can see into the human heart. Only God knows your thoughts.

Then hear from heaven where you live, and forgive. Give your people what their actions deserve, for you alone know each human heart (1 Kings 8:39 NLT).

It may seem sometimes like the enemy can read your thoughts, but biblically speaking, this can never be the case. If someone thinks that demons are reading their mind, they have to consider at least two possibilities. The first possibility is that they may be mistaking their own negative thoughts for demonic voices. When a demon seems to reply to what you’re thinking, it’s possible this reply could actually be from your own voice of negativity.

The second possibility is that the demonic beings are simply reading exterior clues. It should be noted that demonic beings have been studying mankind for thousands of years. They are highly trained spiritual assassins. They know human nature. By simply looking at body language, listening to voice inflections, or observing your actions, they can get a pretty clear idea of what’s going on within you.

For example, if I have something on my mind, my wife can tell what’s running through my mind by just looking at me. She doesn’t need to be able to read my mind in order to be able to read me. Likewise, those closest to me have learned to read me. In the same way, demons learn to read you very well, creating the illusion that they can see your thoughts.

Consider also the fact that demonic beings communicate with one another (Matthew 12:45). What one demon sees you do and say in secret can be communicated to another demonic being. They share your secrets with one another. They could use this intel to create the illusion that a demon or a demonically influenced person is reading your mind when they’re actually just receiving intel from the demonic beings who observe you regularly.

Through careful observation, demons can see clues that tell them which lies affect you the most. They know when you’re anxious, depressed, paranoid, angry, tempted, and so forth. For example, a demonic being might say something like, “God has rejected you.” Then it waits to see if your heart rate rises, if you pace the room, or even if you jump online and run a search for Bible verses about God’s rejection. From exterior clues alone, demons can learn to predict what you might be thinking in any given scenario. This is one way they exaggerate their power, but this isn’t the same thing as them being able to read your mind.

#3 Demons cannot see the future.

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Remember the former things of old: for I am God, and there is none else; I am God, and there is none like me, Declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times the things that are not yet done, saying, My counsel shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure (Isaiah 46:9-10 KJV).

In the book of Isaiah, we see a definitive statement: “there is none like me, Declaring the end from the beginning….” It’s rather straightforward here. One of the distinguishing abilities that God has is His exclusive power to see past, present, and future as one “picture.”

Much in the same way that demons can read people without reading minds, so they can make educated guesses about the future. This would explain why some who operate under demonic power are seemingly able to predict certain things. As an economist can make an educated guess about the economy, so demons can make educated guesses about the future of any one individual or even society. They look for key indicators and trends. Additionally, it’s also possible that demonic beings work to fulfill their own predictions.

We can conclude that demons cannot be omnipresent, read minds, or see the future. Those are their general limitations. In short, against the believer, demons can use their voices to lie and torment but hardly more than that.

Not By Power or Might

Believe it or not, confronting the demonic aspect of a stronghold is the simplest part of tearing down strongholds. Though in this chapter I am not specifically addressing the topic of demonic possession, I am going to use examples of demonic possession from Scripture to show just how responsive demonic beings are to the Holy Spirit’s power. By the power of the Spirit, you command absolute authority over demonic beings.

When the even was come, they brought unto him many that were possessed with devils: and he cast out the spirits with his word, and healed all that were sick (Matthew 8:16 KJV).

It was with a simple word that Jesus expelled the forces of darkness. Demonic possession is the most severe form of demonic assault, yet Jesus vanquished this dark power with a simple command. What was at work? It was spiritual authority that came by the infilling of the Holy Spirit. Jesus Himself told us that He was driving out demons by the Holy Spirit.

But if I am casting out demons by the Spirit of God, then the Kingdom of God has arrived among you (Matthew 12:28 NLT).

In contrast, we see that the seven sons of Sceva attempted to drive out demons through ritual—in a special prayer offered in the name of Jesus but through Paul’s experience. Because they lacked the power that came from a connection with the Lord Himself, the demons overpowered them.

A group of Jews was traveling from town to town casting out evil spirits. They tried to use the name of the Lord Jesus in their incantation, saying, “I command you in the name of Jesus, whom Paul preaches, to come out!” Seven sons of Sceva, a leading priest, were doing this. But one time when they tried it, the evil spirit replied, “I know Jesus, and I know Paul, but who are you?” Then the man with the evil spirit leaped on them, overpowered them, and attacked them with such violence that they fled from the house, naked and battered (Acts 19:13-16 NLT).

Granted, the sons of Sceva were able to cast out some demons because the demons feared the name of Jesus. Still, they were limited when they attempted to practice exorcism by ritual instead of relationship.

When you confront demonic beings, you must remember that you are not confronting them in your own strength, power, or authority. They don’t care about how much you think you know about them, what others consider to be your spiritual rank, or even how many years you’ve been engaged in spiritual warfare. They don’t respond to your credentials—they respond to Christ. So it’s not a matter of garnering techniques or of implementing learned protocols. It’s simply the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. We are not the ones the demons fear.

In my first few years of ministry, I had begun to develop a reputation for how God was using me, and I’m ashamed to admit to you that I had developed a great deal of spiritual pride. I know the term “spiritual pride” might seem like an oxymoron. After all, pride is not spiritual. By this, I simply mean that I had begun to base my identity on my ministry accomplishments and how God was using me instead of who I was in Christ. When people needed healing, deliverance, or an encounter with God, they were often referred to me. I began to allow what God was doing through me to build up my ego.

It came to the point where my faith for healing miracles wasn’t in God but in my “deep” prayer life. My confidence in my prophetic gifting wasn’t in God’s grace but in my “sharp” spiritual hearing. And my confidence in casting out demons wasn’t in the authority of Christ but in my “expertise” about demons and the spiritual realm. In my mind, I was like a member of a spiritual special forces.

Whenever I would deal with demonic powers, I thought it was my knowledge of the spiritual realm that caused demons to submit. Because I believed the demons were responding to my own knowledge and experience, I thought it necessary to gather intel like the demon’s name, type, rank, entry point, and so forth. Sure, people got delivered, but they were delivered despite my superstitious methods, not because of them.

I was limited in my understanding of divine authority. Casting out a single demon would take me hours. The exorcisms I conducted were more like interrogations than they were demonstrations of true authority. “What’s your name? How did you get in? How many generations do you go back?” Don’t ask me why I even trusted the intel I gathered from lying spirits. I would’ve told you, “They have to tell the truth because I carry authority, and I can command them to tell the truth.” Yet I failed to see my own circular reasoning. After all, if I had the authority to make them tell the truth, I should have just used that authority to make them leave without an argument. Defending myself, I would have told you,“ Jesus interrogated demons!”

Of course, I would have been referring to Jesus confronting the demoniac with a legion of demons in him. That was the one instance where Jesus asked for the name of a demon. But that wasn’t an hours-long session in which Jesus conversed back-and-forth with the evil spirits. In fact, even after learning the name of the group of demons, Jesus didn’t bother to use it.

Then Jesus demanded, “What is your name?” And he replied, “My name is Legion, because there are many of us inside this man.” Then the evil spirits begged him again and again not to send them to some distant place. There happened to be a large herd of pigs feeding on the hillside nearby. “Send us into those pigs,” the spirits begged. “Let us enter them.” So Jesus gave them permission. The evil spirits came out of the man and entered the pigs, and the entire herd of about 2,000 pigs plunged down the steep hillside into the lake and drowned in the water (Mark 5:9-13 NLT).

So why did Jesus ask for the name of the demon? There are a couple possible explanations.

Obviously, Jesus knew the name of the demonic group before they told Him. So this could have simply been a demonstration of His power—to show that He had the authority to drive out even a whole legion of demons instantly.

Another thing to consider is the fact that in certain parts of the ancient world, it was believed that to learn someone’s name was to gain power over them. The fact that Jesus didn’t speak the name of the demon even after being given the name could have been Him demonstrating, “I know your name, but I don’t need to use it to have authority over you.” Truly, the only name you need to know when confronting a demonic power is the name of Jesus.

To conclude that Jesus would be unable to cast out the legion of demons without knowing its name would be to greatly underestimate the power of the Holy Spirit and to greatly overestimate the power of the demonic. How powerful our Christian myths have become! Just as old wives’ tales become popular and then accepted as true, so many of the things we teach about spiritual warfare keep us from tapping into true power.

I was stuck in my ritualistic ways. Interrogations. Long deliverance sessions. Stabbing demons with angelic swords. Obsessing over demon types, ranks, and roots, I complicated the pure and simple power of the Holy Spirit.

Whenever anyone tried to lovingly correct my approach, I would arrogantly reply with spiritual-sounding yet very unbiblical defenses. I would say foolish things like: “Well, the Pharisees persecuted Jesus too, so I can see why you’re coming against me.” “You haven’t dealt with real heavy demonic influence yet, so you don’t understand how this works.” “Maybe you need deliverance; that might be why you’re coming against me.” “You lack knowledge of the demonic realm and should stick to your area of expertise.” “You just need to go deeper.” “The only ones criticizing me are the ones not actually doing deliverance!” By that, I meant that they didn’t use the methods I used. Because they weren’t practicing the man-made rituals I had been taught, I incorrectly concluded that others weren’t practicing deliverance ministry at all.

I had a hard time letting go of the man-made protocols that had become so popular. Many believers attach their identities to such methodologies. They may think their use and knowledge of these practices assigns to them a special rank or a greater effectiveness in spiritual battle. Those who become entangled in such things usually have the purest of intentions and motives. We all want to live free, help set people free, and train others to minister freedom. We all want to destroy the works of the devil, drive out demons, break strongholds, and utterly devastate the kingdom of darkness.

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theyearthirtytwo · 2 years

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Day 4.

I spent this Sunday morning eating pie, drinking coffee, and scrolling Pinterest - browsing illustrations I admire and analyzing what about them moves me. Sometimes it's the use of white space. Sometimes it's the lines and the movement. Sometimes it's the characters themselves. Often it's the way the artist plays with light.

For the better part of the summer, I've been in the concept creation process on a dozen or so different children's books, of which I have written first or second drafts. This is my favorite phase of writing a book, because while it is a vital first step, you aren't actually doing any of the hard work it takes to bring a book into this world. You get to feel as if you are creating something without the pressure or discomfort that comes with actually creating something. Ideal.

A woman who lives in Bend and who self-published one of my favorite books of Jack's Hello, Bend! has made a few helpful blog posts about self-publishing children's books and was adamant that before anything else takes place, you must write and illustrate your book in its' entirety. With that in mind, I have been attempting to use the 2 or 3 hours a day that Jack is sleeping to illustrate the many pages of my many books.

I have learned through this practice is that illustration is hard.

Doodling? Easy, fun, an amazing way to spend my time. Illustrating something meant to be permanent? Something that may very well outlive me? Horrible, torturous, a complete fucking nightmare. Ah yes, perfection rearing its' ugly head again.

The problem I am running into again and again is overcoming the finality of it all. What if this book has a character that I find cute and fun to draw and work with today, but tire of within a year? If this book is a success, do I have to draw this character I don't particularly care for for the rest of my life?

I understand the drama behind that, I really do. And the probability that my first book and first character and first story are so wildly successful that I must continue to work with this character for all of time is zero to none. I know that. And yet? The fear of not writing the perfect character into the perfect story and illustrating that character perfectly for all to love is overwhelming.

I have the same feelings about my general illustration style. What if I get sick of a style after a few books or a few years? Will these books already be so beloved by children across America (or the world??) that changing it up will be impossible?

As I write this out now, I realize that this is more than unlikely. This is just simply not how life or art or books work. We are allowed to change, to grow, to create something wildly successful and then significantly less so. We are allowed to create without any success at all. (That last sentence hurt my feelings)

I have this idea of grandiosity about my own life that is wreaking havoc on my ability to create much of anything. If I don't create the very best thing anyone has ever seen, I don't want to create it at all. What a sad and small place to live, and yet....

Someone once said to me in an Instagram comment from 2015 (2014, maybe?) that I was "too talented not to be making money" in regards to my art. I cannot find this comment now (probably for the best), but I remember who made it. He was an internet friend named Ryan. At the time he was a lawyer for Nike and then miraculously became a SHOE DESIGNER for Nike in a twist of professional fate that happens to literally no one. Ryan must be the king of shooting his shot. I think I could learn a lot from Ryan.

I am the queen of shooting my shot when the stakes don't matter all that much to me. I've pivoted my career a handful of times, pursuing roles I was in no way qualified for. I regularly tried new hairstyles with varying degrees of success throughout my twenties and into my thirties. I've hit on truly an innumerable number of people even when I expected it to go nowhere. Mostly those experiences ended fine. Some were catastrophes (pixie cut). Some were wildly successful and fun (staging houses, moving to California, falling in love).

Shooting my shot when it does matter to me, however? Terrifying. Paralyzingly so. Out of the question. No fucking way.

And that is where I am getting in my own way when it comes to these books. I believe the next (possibly first) step in overcoming this fear is to just get to drawing. Just start drawing and then keep drawing over and over until I don't totally hate it and think it may be good enough for the tiny, yet undeveloped brains of this world.

For now, here are some of the images inspiring me:

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buttterknifeee · 3 years

Text

How long is forever? - Teen Titans x Aquagirl!Reader

Masterlist

Request: "Hello, May I request an episode insert in the Teen Titans episode 'How Long Is Forever?'"

Summary: Starfire takes a trip to the future... only to find out that you and the other Titans have disbanded. Will she find a way back to the present, or will you live an unfulfilling life forever?? (from S2 EP1)

Pairings: None

Word Count: 3919

A/N: Hey!!! sorry this took a while, it was super hard to write it due to most of it being in Starfire's POV. Most of the episodes in the series are centered around specific titans, so if you have an idea for an Aquagirl centered episode, feel free to send it in!!! (theres also a grand total of one cuss word in there)

Aquagirl’s Room - 2004

“Where is it? Where is it?” you mumble, tearing your room apart. You were looking for one of your CDs that you were in the mood for listening to. You threw your clothes into the air, looked under your bed, and even checked inside of your fish tank, holding the water containing a few tropical fish above you until you gave up. You sighed, finally checking the clock. You realized that you’ve been in your room for an hour and you haven’t even said hello to the other titans. You quickly change into your suit and head to the living room.

You stretched as you walked in. “Hey guys-” you stop in confusion at the scene in front of you. Starfire was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, holding a bunch of necklaces and boxes and babbling something about “Blorthorg”, Beast Boy and Cyborg were brawling for a video game remote, Raven was reading silently and holding up a pair of nail clippers (?) telepathically, and Robin….

Anger bubbles up inside of you as you realize that he was in front of the stereo, blasting music. From your CD. You cross your arms as you march up to the Boy Wonder.

“Hey Rob, whatcha doing with my CD?” You say. “What, was Kelly Clarkson too quiet for you?”

Raven adds, “Yeah Robin, could the music be a little louder? I can still hear myself think.”

He glares at the two of you “I don’t listen- I only turned the music up to DROWN OUT ALL THE YELLING!!” He refers to the two boys. Cyborg now had Beast Boy in a headlock, holding the controller triumphantly.

“Whose turn is it now, tough guy? Whose turn is it now?” Cyborg taunts the green teen.

“Knock it off! I can't work with you two acting like idiots!” Robin yells.

“Work?? The only “work” I see you doing is stealing my stuff!” You snap.

“Great. More yelling will definitely stop the yelling.” Raven says, a sarcastic smirk on her face.

The three of you glared at each other, Cyborg and Beast Boy were still fighting, and one of Starfire’s necklaces broke, its beads tumbling onto the ground.

“STTTOOOOPPPPP!” the alien princess screamed. You stared at her in surprise. She took a deep breath and recomposed herself.

“ Friends must never behave this way, and especially not on Blorthog! Do you wish to invite the Rekmas?” she said.

“Gesundheit?” Beast Boy said, confused by her vocabulary.

“On my world, ‘Rekmas’ means ‘the Drifting.’” she explains. “The point at which close friends begin to drift apart, and their friendship begins to die.” She frowned. You immediately felt bad for all the yelling you did.

“Aw, come on, Starfire.” Cyborg comes to her side.

“We are so not Rek-whatever-ing.” Beast Boy reassures her.

“We're getting on each other's nerves a little. Big deal.” Raven says.

“Fighting’s just a part of life. As long as we resolve it, we’ll be fine.” You say.

“Yeah. This is just typical roommate stuff. We're not going to drift apart, Star. I promise. We'll all be friends forever.” Robin declares

“Forever?” Starfire asks. Before you could answer, Robin’s T-communicator beeped. The communicator was flashing red, and he turned to you and the others.

“Titans! Trouble!” he says. You all rush out of the Tower and into the city.

You find the “trouble” in the Jump City museum. It was a man wearing black and gold armor and a goatee: Warp. He was monologuing to a bunch of guards that he had frozen.

“I didn't journey back in time one hundred years to squabble, I came to steal.” You see him reaching for one of the clocks. “The Clock of Eternity. Valuable in the past, priceless in the future.” Robin steppeds forward, throwing his birdirang to knock Warp’s hand back.

“But for the present...you'll keep your filthy hands off it.” He says, announcing the Titans’ entrance. The man turns to the six of you.

"The Teen Titans. This is a treat. I read all about you in the historical archives. And now, you're all history!” He fires his laser at you all.

“Titans! Go!” Robin yells as you scramble to dodge his rays. He blocks Warp’s rays with his staff, but at the last shot the staff breaks, and he backed up. Starfire blasts her starbolts at him, but the bolts ricochet off of him and hits her, sending her to the ground. You and Beast Boy attack him now, a stream of water lifting you into the air by your feet. You put your hands in front of you and a jet of water blasts out of your hands, heading straight for Warp. He held his hand us as the water made contact with him, and froze the water. The ice traveled up the jet of water and onto your hands, encasing them in the long shard of ice. You fell, the weight of the ice dragging you down. You winced as you saw Beast Boy meet a similar fate, his animal form frozen in ice next to you. You struggled to free your hands as Cyborg and Raven both went down. Robin gives one last attempt to take Warp down, running towards him.

“You cannot defeat Warp. I am from the future.” He says, throwing disks towards Robin. He dove to the side as the projectiles exploded. “And your relics are one hundred years out of date." He grabs the clock and presses a blue lens from his armor. Suddenly, a blinding white portal forms in front of him. Your hands were still stuck so you had to squint.

“Ta-ta, Titans. I have enjoyed our time together, but I've got a very bright future ahead of me.” He sneers, stepping through the portal. You finally pull your hands out of the chunk of ice just in time to see Starfire slam into Warp, sending the two of them into the portal.

“Starfire!” Robin yells, trying to dive in after her, only for the portal to close and him to fall on the floor. You pull him up from the ground and look around. Starfire was gone.

Titan’s Tower-2024

Starfire couldn’t believe what was going on. After tackling Warp, she ripped off the lens on his suit and ended up in Jump City, 20 years into the future. She found Cyborg alone in the rotting Titans Tower, hooked up to a large battery. He explained that the day she left, the Titans fell apart, and disbanded soon after. He told her that the others can help her get back to the present, telling her where to find you, Beast Boy, and Raven.

She found herself at a circus whilst looking for Beast Boy. There in a cage, sat Beast Boy, changing into various animals. She approached the cage as he turned back into his human form. He was now a pudgy old man, with a great deal of hair loss. He looked at her with wide eyes through the bars.

“No way! It's you. But how?” he asked, peering at her with his wrinkled eyes.

“I require your help.” Starfire said.

“What kinda help?” Beast Boy asked.

“The future is not as it should be. We must find Warp. I will free you from this--” Beast Boy stopped Starfire from continuing her sentence.

“This cage isn't to keep me in! It's to keep those maniacs out!” he explained in a panicked tone, referring to a group of kids. “Look. After the Titans broke up, I tried the whole solo-hero thing. Got my butt kicked, a lot. So now, well…”

He turned into a chicken briefly to illustrate his point. “ Besides, I'm in the showbiz now.” Starfire could tell he wasn’t happy with where he was, but there was nothing she could do. She left Beast Boy and went to find Raven.

She found Raven in a room in a broken down building. She was standing in a pure white room, wearing a white cloak to match. Her back was facing Starfire when she arrived.

“Raven?” she squeaked, inching into the room. “Raven, it is Starfire, your friend”

“No such thing.” she groaned, her back still facing Starfire. Starfire’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Please, Raven I-”

“Just another figment. Don’t even look.”

“You must listen! I am here because-” she pleads, but Raven stops her.

“I’m never coming back! Go away!” she yells, Starfire backing up in fear. “It has to go away. Just like before. Just like all the others.” Starfire frowns in realization. She must not think I’m real; she thinks it's all in her head.

“Your mind.” she says softly, approaching the cloaked woman. “Without friends, you must have--” Starfire was about to touch Raven, but her familiar dark shield formed around her. She gasps, then eventually leaves the room in defeat. There was one last person she could try talking to. You.

She walked by the Jump City beach, the same place where you got your powers all those years ago. Suddenly, you rose out of the ocean, the water around you carrying you onto shore. Your face was stuck in a permanent glare, different to your constant smiles as a teen. You were taller, definitely had a few wrinkles, and you were wearing Atlantean clothing. Starfire flinched at your sudden arrival.

“Aquagirl! how-”

“I don’t go by Aquagirl anymore. I am Queen (y/n), ruler of Atlantis. And word gets around when one of your old teammates who had disappeared 20 years ago is roaming Jump City again, even at the bottom of the ocean.” You say coldly, eyeing her as she shrunk at the sight of you.

“What had happened to you, my friend?” she asked.

You sigh, recalling your memories. “After you disappeared and the team disbanded, I vowed to never be as soft and vulnerable as I was then. I moved to Atlantis, and was eventually appointed ruler.”

“Oh my, that sounds terrible!” Starfire exclaimed. “I need your help my friend-”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s not terrible, I am quite fine just the way I am. And we were friends 20 years ago; things have changed.” You turn your back to her. “I must get going; there’s much I need to do.” Starfire stares at you in sadness as you walk back into the ocean, the water swallowing you up and the waves lapping like normal.

Starfire trudges through the snow-covered city, when a laser blast knocks her back. Her eyes raise to meet with Warp’s, his weapon aimed at her.

“What’s the matter, dear? Have I come at a bad time?” he snarls, opening fire once more. She dodges his shots and fires back, but the starbolts simply bounce off his modern armor. She tried to hit him close up but he held up his hand and ice formed around her midair. The large chunk of ice containing Starfire drops and shatters, leaving Starfire on the ground, shivering. She glares at Warp, who now has deeper wrinkles on his face.

“You have become so old,” she notes, still on the ground.

“That's what happens when someone steals my vortex regulator.” he says, holding out his hand. “The regulator, if you please. I really must get back to my future.” She stands up and takes the lens out from her belt. She couldn’t let him leave, especially when she’s stuck in a future like this. She held the disk next to her and warmed up a starbolt, as if to hold it hostage.

“If you ever wish to see your future you will repair the damage you have done to my past!” she yelled, anger bubbling up inside her. The villain laughed.

“Damage? Silly girl. There's nothing wrong with your past. One cannot damage history, because history cannot be changed.” He held up the clock and continued. “I went back in time to steal this because history says it disappeared. And history says it disappeared because I went back to steal it. Past, present, future. It's all written in stone, my dear.”

Starfire stood in disbelief dropping her glowing hand. No… this can't be the future we’re destined to live. Such terrible lives… she thought. Warp walked up to her shocked state and took the lens out of her hand.

“And nothing you do can ever change it.” he scoffed. Warp prepared to blast her when he was knocked into the alleyway by an unknown figure. Starfire snapped back into reality and looked around for you had knocked the villain back. A dark silhouette lept forward and threw Warp against the end wall of the alley. They threw disks at the villain, the area around him exploding. When the smoke cleared, Starfire could see that Warp had used a force field. He released his shield only to be met with the mysterious figure dropping down towards him. He stared straight at Starfire.

“Another time, perhaps.” he said. Before the shadowed person could reached him, he dropped into the ground. The person who had tried to fight him landed right where Warp had been, and as they straightened up, Starfire inched forward to see who it was.

“It’s good to see you again.” the person said. Starfire could recognize that voice from anywhere, and apparently, anytime.

“Robin?” she asked.

“I haven’t used that name in a long time.” he said, finally stepping out of the shadows. He looked nothing like the Boy Wonder she knew. His traffic-light esque uniform was replaced by a black suit with a blue bird on the front. He still wore a mask and he now had long, black hair.

“Call me… Nightwing.”

Starfire found herself in Robin’s (or Nightwing’s) base. She looked at a glass case of his old uniform, a feeling of melancholy washing over her. She was glad that he was ok, but the Robin she once knew was now nothing more than a mannequin display. Nightwing wrapped a blanket around her with a small smile.

Nightwing finally spoke. “So I’ve heard you’ve been looking for help.”

Starfire sighed. “There is nothing you can do. There is nothing anyone can do. The past cannot be repaired, the future cannot be altered, no matter how wrong it seems.”

“So it’s impossible.” Nightwing determined from her rant, walking towards a bunch of computers. “Good. If memory serves, we've done the impossible before.”

Nightwing’s words had surprised Starfire. None of the others had said anything as hopeful since she’d arrived here. A small fire of hope blossomed inside of her.

“I held on to this,” Nightwing says, pressing a button from a device. “...just in case.” Starfire’s eyes widened, realizing that it was a T-communicator. The communicator began to flash red, and to Starfire’s delight, so did her neck piece and wrist guard.

At the bottom of the ocean, you sat on a throne, talking to your advisers. As they left, your seashell necklace began to flash red. You looked at it in surprise, recognizing what it meant: it was an emergency signal that Robin had put in your necklace while you were still in a team. Even after 20 years, he had never used it until now. You began to get up from your throne when a group of your advisors came back, swarming you with scrolls and questions. You sat back down, a bitter feeling in your throat.

Beast Boy’s belt had flashed red whilst he was performing a trick in his animal form. He quickly jumped back into human form. He observed his belt for a moment before stepping back, hanging his head.

Cyborg's robotic eye flashed red as he sat alone in the Titans Tower. He immediately got up and started towards the door, only to be stopped by the wires keeping him alive and stuck inside the tower. He looks back at the power source.

Raven still stands alone in the room, her back facing the door. The brooch of her cloak flashes red, and without looking at it, she covers it with her hand.

Starfire and Nightwing venture to Jump City museum, where they find Warp, fixing his time travel suit. He wields the lens that he took from Starfire to his suit, whilst talking to himself.

“Tick-tock.” he laughs. “Just a few more seconds, and I shall finally--” his sentence was cut off by Nightwing knocking the tool out of his hand, revealing him and Starfire’s position.

“The future will have to wait.” Nightwing says, extending his staff. “You just ran out of time.”

Warp growls and fires laser beams at them, causing them to split up to avoid getting hit. Starfire shoots her starbolts at Warp again, despite them getting deflected by his force field. Nightwing however, jumped down on him again, using his staff to crush one of his lasers. He turns to face Nightwing, but Starfire lands a hit on his back with her starbolt. He tries to laser Starfire but has to dodge Nightwing’s staff attacks that barely strike him. He fights quickly and with fury, eventually knocking Warp flat on his back. The two heroes step close to him to inspect him. But Warp grins, and uses his second laser to blow a hole through the roof, snow and rubble falling onto Starfire.

“Star!” Nightwing yells, but Warp blasts him back with his laser. Warp runs over to the tool he dropped and started repairing his suit again as Nightwing helped Starfire up. Suddenly, he was blasted back by a familiar blue ray. Starfire and Nightwing turn to see Cyborg, his arm cannon smoking, but being able to function without any wires.

“Boo-yah” he says with a grimace.

“Cyborg!” Starfire exclaims, flying over to the half robot. “You are repaired!”

“Glad you could make it,” Nightwing says, joining them.

“Wouldn't have missed it. Now who said y'all could start without me?” Cyborg said as Warp stood back up.

“So sorry,” Warp said, holding up another device. “Perhaps I should finish you first!” Before he could use the device, he was attacked by a green lion, Beast Boy. Warp looked at the lens he was repairing, now crackling with electricity. In anger, he pointed a laser at him, but a jet of water shot up from the floor. You ran into view, a trident now in your hand.

“Heard you guys needed help!” you yell, a hint of a smile peeking out from your stoic face.

Before Warp could fall to the ground again, he is overtaken by magic, and thrown into the side of the wall. Raven materializes, still wearing a white cloak.

“Nobody hurts my friends,” she said, reminiscent of the first time you met her.

“Dude, that is so unfair,” Beast Boy whines, comparing his bald head to Nightwing’s flowing hair. The six Titans turn to see Warp, who has managed to create a wormhole, despite his suit being damaged.

“It seems my time has come,” Warp said, preparing to walk through the wormhole. Nightwing threw a birdarang at Warp, Warp throwing his own disk to intercept it. Starfire watched in awe as the birdirang sliced through Warp’s disk and hit him in the chest, right where the lens sat.

“Uh?! No! NOOOOO!” the six of you watched in horror as Warp regressed in age until he was nothing more than a screaming infant.

“Ok, I am not changing any diapers.” Beast Boy said, staring at the baby.

Cyborg looked at Starfire. “We gotta get you home. Come on!” he pointed at the wormhole, which was shrinking. He took the lens from the suit and put it in his arm cannon. He fired at the wormhole, making it bigger.

“Im redirecting the wormhole.” Cyborg said, turning to Starfire. “Starfire! Go!” She steps towards the portal and looks back at her friends. Their lives seemed so lonely and.. dissatisfying. Is this life they were destined to live?

“Please, must this really be our future?” She asked. The rest of you looked at her silently, sadness in your eyes. “Is there nothing I can do to change it?” Nightwing stepped up and looked directly into her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Star. There isn't time.” Nightwing said. He placed the clock that Warp had stolen in her hand and his other hand on her shoulder. He gives her one last smile before stepping back towards the other Titans, beckoning her to enter the portal. Starfire took a deep breath, and walked into the portal.

Jump City Museum - 2004

“Starfire!” Robin yells, trying to dive in after her, only for the portal to close and him to fall on the floor. You pull him up from the ground and look around. Starfire was gone.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Beast Boy stared at the place the portal was. “Um, where did she-?”

Another portal opens with a brilliant flash between Beast Boy and Cyborg. Starfire falls out, curled around an item. You all rushed towards her.

“Dude!”

“Whoa!”

“Star! What happened?” Robin asked as the portal behind her closed.

“History said it disappeared.” Starfire said, straightening and revealing the clock warp had just stolen. “But history was wrong!”

The boys stared at her dumbstruck but you laughed, diving in for a hug.

You stood with the other titans as Starfire recounted her story. You covered your mouth in awe to find out what happened to you and the others in the future.

“Then Nightwing handed me the clock and I entered the vortex.” she finished.

“Woah,” Raven said, shocked by the recount of Starfire’s story.

“Bald?!” Beast Boy yells, grabbing at his hair. “You're telling me I'm going to be bald?!”

“Gosh, Star, all of our lives seem so terrible,” you say, thinking about what Starfire had said about you. You were a queen (which was cool), but you were also a cold hearted bitch (super uncool). You didn’t want that to happen, and more importantly for you to no longer be friends with the other Titans.

“Guess you were right about all that Rekmas stuff,” Cyborg said, slightly concerned.

“I don't want us to drift apart. Does it all have to happen? Isn't there anything we can-” Robin worries out loud, but Starfire stops him.

“Our friendship has already changed Warp's past. I believe it can also change our future.” Starfire says with a smile.

“Yeah I mean, the original reason we “broke up” was because of Starfire disappearing, and since she’s here now, we aren’t breaking up!” You chimed in, grinning at the other Titans.

Raven picks up the broken necklace with her telekinesis, stringing them back together.

“So… is it too late to do this festival-of-friendship thing?” she asks.

Starfire’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, it’s never too late!”

You all put on the bulbous necklaces Starfire brought in the morning.

“HAPPY BORTHOG!!!” Cyborg cheers.

“I thought it was Blort-Hog,” Beast Boy wondered.

“Okay, I feel like a wind-chime.” Raven groans.

“A very cool wind-chime,” you winked.

Starfire put the last necklace on Robin. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“So… Nightwing, huh?” he asked.

“Don’t even think about it bird brain,” you yelled from across the room, causing him to blush. You all burst out into laughter. The tower stayed cheerful the rest of the night.

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recurring-polynya · 2 years

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Writing/Art Update 2/25/2022

Ugh, the vibes are poor, fam.

I am stuck in what we call in my family, an “I want to wear a shirt but I don’t want to wear a shirt” situation (after a particularly epic and strangely relatable tantrum my son threw as a toddler). I want to write, but when I sit down to write, nothing comes out. I have fifteen stories to work on and none of them interest me. It’s hard to even think about them. Even when I do manage to write some, I don’t like what I’ve written. I don’t feel funny. I haven’t felt funny in ages. I actually have some ideas for some Tumblr posts I want to do, but I just haven’t because of the not-funny thing.

I think the actual problem (in addition to the never-ending stream of distressing and depressing world events) is that I am under-stimulated. There is not enough enrichment in the enclosure. For so much of my life, I have had to carve out time to write and draw, and those became the primary thing I did with my free time. Currently, I have a lot of free time, but I don’t have any energy/attention span for writing and there’s nothing else I want to do, either. I’ve read about the creative cycle, and I know that taking in other media is an important part of idea renewal. I have some stuff I have told myself I want to read and some video games that, in theory, I would like to play, but I just can’t because I would rather write, except that I don’t want to write. What I really want is for someone else to drop a 100k Renruki fanfic on ao3 so I can devour it, but that seems... somewhat unlikely. Art is...okay. I just finished a piece that was extremely tedious to color and immediately started a new one, but it doesn’t scratch the itch the way writing does. I have two phone games that I have been playing for most of the pandemic, and I am in the awful endgame for both of them where I have unlocked 98% of the content, and it’s soullessly grinding out the finish (like, I could certainly quit both of them now, it’s not even like there’s gonna be some big payoff, but I don’t want to, I want the games to have more content. At least one of them still updates from time to time, the other one hasn’t been supported for years).

People tell me to take a break all the time, but one of the major problems is that writing and running this dumb blog is literally the only coping mechanism I have for dealing with my depression, so taking a break is kinda...fraught. I know that sounds dramatic, but I did two years of therapy and my therapist was like “wow you sure are impervious to everything I can think of, it’s so great that you have the fanfic thing, tell me more about your fanfic” (I did try some antidepressants at some point, and they ranged in effectiveness from “did nothing” to “severely fucked me up”.)

Anyway, I’m trying to do other stuff that’s not writing (if I ever feel the *urge* to write, I certainly will, but I’m not making myself sit down to stare into the endless void of the monitor until I write a single sentence). I caught up on my household chores. I ordered seeds for the garden. I have been trying to convince myself to work on my taxes, but surprisingly, I don’t really feel like doing that, either.

Here are my accomplishments for the week:

Depressing Academy Story - Wrung hands over extensively, did not manage to finish. Should probably re-read, but cannot bring myself to.

Tattoo Artist AU - Currently at 13,638 (+664, but I rewrote most of a chapter and I’m actually surprised this wasn’t negative). Ought to be excited about writing the next chapter, but am just not, which is the main sign that something is going sideways in my brain.

Dreadful Porno - I think I goofed up the word count on this last time and it was at 1263, not +1263. In any case, it’s at 2286 now (so maybe +1023??) but I think I’ve completely lost interest in it again. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Finished coloring (1) illustration for the last chapter of Hearts, you will see it in 2 weeks

#writing update #art update #sorry for the depression post y'all #but i find other people talking about their depression very helpful so i try to be Real about it #anhedonia? i barely knew 'er!

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leogichidaa · 2 years

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Psychoanalysis Sunday #7

Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst

Part 1 | Previous | Next

Regulus walks into the office and looks around, perplexed. Then he breaks into an uncharacteristic smile. Next to the chaise lounge he had been accustomed to laying on was an upholstered chair. "You redecorated," he says.

"There are several reasons for the sofa," the analyst replies. "None of which are to make you uncomfortable. If you truly hate the sofa, you needn't use it."

"Thank you," Regulus says, sitting down on the chair. He is practically swallowed by it, but he is still smiling.

"You are pleased by this."

Regulus nods. "Yes. You listened to me. Hardly anyone ever listens to me."

"That is what I am here for, Regulus. To listen to you. Have you not found that to be the case?"

Regulus furrows his brow. "But you also did what I wanted. You changed something especially for me. That hardly ever happens either."

"I see," the analyst says. "This simple convenience sends a message to you that you are valued and cared for."

"I suppose."

"You are valued and cared for, Regulus."

Regulus squirms, suddenly uncomfortable. "If you say so," he mutters.

"Why does it unsettle you to hear it said outright?"

"I don't know. It feels...wrong."

"Hmm," the analyst says, writing something on his notepad. "Let us shift gears slightly. I want to return to the incident last week, where your mother left you in the bookstore."

Regulus makes a face. "Must we?"

"I am afraid we must."

Regulus sighs. "What about it?

"You confessed that you enjoyed those hours alone in the bookstore. I have to admit that reaction surprised me."

"It surprised me too," Regulus says.

"And you were ashamed of your reaction."

"Yes. Being away from my family should not make me happy. Being left alone for hours should be distressing, right? You even said it was atypical."

"You are correct, it is unusual. And yes, most children your age would find a separation like that distressing. I think it is a mistake to assume that the fault lies in you, however. Most mothers do not forget about their children for hours at a time."

"It is not her fault!" Regulus says defensively. "It—she is overwhelmed. Sirius is always upsetting her. Anyone would be a bit—"

The analyst holds up a hand. "I did not intend to imply that the fault lies solely in your mother, either. I am merely illustrating that the dynamic in your family is not typical. Therefore, an atypical response from you is, in the context of your family, a natural response."

Regulus sets his jaw. "My family is not typical because we are exceptional. We are better than common folk."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Yes!"

"You believe that it is a sign that you are exceptional to be abandoned by your mother for half a day?"

Regulus hesitates. "Yes. Perhaps you just cannot understand the way our family operates because you are too common."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I am better equipped to understand your family objectively because I am not a part of it."

"No. What you think about my family is wrong. They are good people, the best people."

"Why, then, were the best six hours of your life the hours that you spent alone and away from your family?"

Regulus' face is hot with anger and, despite his best efforts, tears are streaming down his face. He does not have an answer for this question. "I love my family," he chokes out finally.

"I know you do," the analyst says softly. "It is possible to love a thing and recognize its imperfections, though. Every family has areas for improvement, no matter how exceptional."

Regulus wipes away his tears, but they keep spilling out. "I love my family," he repeats. He can think of nothing else to say.

#bruh the analyst never should have made a connection between atypical and exceptional #Regulus latched on to that immediately and he will never let it die lmao #my family is weird? that is because they are SUPERIOR #anyway sorry if this sucks #I was up all last night throwing up #so I kind of threw it together last minute this morning before work #Regulus Black #psychoanalysis sunday

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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

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@bug-a-bean

Jester giggles at the man who just got nailed in the eye by one of Luc’s toy bolts, still snug in her mama’s tight embrace. Veth cheerfully strides past him into the storeroom already praising her son. An underground crime base might not be a good home, but there’s enough family here to still light a warm fire in her heart.

Mama soon lets her go and tells her, “Luc has been a tiny terror for everyone in this bar.”

“Good for him, they deserve it.”

She grins, and Jester can already guess one man she must be thinking of.

“Hey, Mama?”

“Yes, my dear?”

Get it together, Jester. She inhales, tries to recall the exact phrasing she came up with an hour ago for this question, and says all in one go, “If, you know, someone you were seeing told you they loved you and you didn't say it back right away, would it be because you didn't feel the same way? Or would it be maybe because you felt, like, a little embarrassed, or because maybe, like, you just weren't sure of your feelings? Or do you think it could be that you just weren't into them?”

Mama fixes a bemused gaze on her, looking like she’s working on parsing what her daughter just said. She cringes a little, already feeling her cheeks start to warm.

“I think,” she eventually begins, “that it depends a lot on the person. It could be one of those things, or it could be two, or all, or none. People have strange reasons for what they say sometimes, my sapphire. I know that I have told others that I loved them for many different reasons in the past.”

Jester chews her lip, tracing random loops on the surface of the table. “Yeah, yeah.”

“If it has not been very long, then I think you should give them a little bit of time. Not too much time—you deserve an answer, after all. But a little bit of time. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

“Okay. Okay, that makes sense.” It did take her some time, too, after all.

Mama’s hand lays itself on top of Jester’s and stills her aimless finger-scribbling. Her mother’s smile is warm, her brow gently furrowed. “If I may ask, my darling. Who are you so worried about?”

Jester glances aside, biting her lip again and trying to summon up the courage for a mother-daughter talk about Fjord. “Um.”

“Is it your half-orc friend, or the human man with the books strapped on him?”

Wait. She blinks up at her mama, confused.

Mama raises an eyebrow and sits back a little. “Oh, so not that man?” she says wryly.

“Caleb?” asks Jester, and it comes out almost as high-pitched as a tea kettle. “Why were you thinking of Caleb, Mama?”

Her mother’s gaze is that of her poker face when meeting a potential client. She rests a hand on her cheek, finger tapping against her cheekbone as she studies Jester thoughtfully. “Do you really want to know?”

The laden tone warns Jester to falter, but she barrels ahead without care to say, “Yes, of course I do!”

Mama still considers her with a carefully concealed expression.

Jester frowns, pulling her hand from hers to lean back in her seat and cross her arms instead. Still watching her mother with impatience.

Caleb? she thinks again. Mama thinks that I—or he—that I could be asking about him—or about us—

She recalls Caleb's plain, boring sitting room without a stained-glass window, sitting next to him on his couch with the crackle of the fireplace suffusing the air. He held the book between them to show off the illustrations as he translated, and they sat so close Jester almost felt the warmth of his shoulder on her cheek and the vibration of his gentle, mellow voice in his chest.

He wanted to read that story to her. He wanted to tell her about his mother and his childhood. The story was so sweet, and his smiles felt like they were for her.

Just for her.

Oh man, her entire face feels like it's on fire.

“I did not see a lot,” says Mama slowly. “But it did seem like—”

“Oh man,” Jester cries out loud and buries her face in her hands.

After a moment, she feels her mama's hand begin to card through her hair and tuck strands behind her ears.

“No wonder you always told me to stay away from it,” she mumbles eventually.

Mama gently removes her hands from her face, and Jester looks up with a twisted pout at her sympathetic expression as she cradles her hands. “Oh, my sapphire. I would ask what mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but I think I prefer this over the past week.”

Jester laughs a little humorlessly. “Yeah. I didn’t think he liked me, Mama. Or... I don’t know. I wasn’t sure.”

“So you’ve been worried about both of them,” Mama guesses.

“Maybe? I mean, I was—I asked because I’m kind of dating Fjord and I told him I loved him last night.” She groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, what am I supposed to do now?”

Her mother’s thumb strokes over the backs of her hands. “You don’t have to make a decision right now.”

“But I have to soon.”

“Probably. What do you feel?”

Jester’s frown twists again. She likes Fjord, but she doesn’t know what the future looks like with him. She likes Caleb—and maybe he likes her back—but she doesn’t know if that future will last. Or if he will want to like her back. At least she knows Fjord does. “Confused. Conflicted. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Mama.”

“Of course not,” she replies. “But sometimes we cannot help it, not if we want to be true to ourselves. Take care of yourself, my Jester. You already worry plenty enough for all the other people you love.”

She nods, staring down at the table.

Mama tucks a hand beneath her chin and raises her face to smile reassuringly at her, then caresses her cheek. “It will be okay. I’ve seen you grow so much. I’m confident you will figure it out.”

Jester smiles weakly in return, trying to absorb the warmth of her words. “Thanks, Mama.”

#cr #cr fanfiction #widojest #jester lavorre #marion lavorre #mentions of f/j #prim writes #prim post #bug-a-bean

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

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A Touchy One

Is this incredibly self-indulgent? Yes. Am I posting this anyways? Also yes! I dug this up somewhere in my WIP folder and decided this deserves to be finished.

This is the first thing I've posted in forever, and I know (and am sorry) that it's no OWBABH update (that will come, too, I promise), but take this in the meantime. I am finally feeling like writing again, so here's to hoping I won't take as long next time. Have fun reading!

Summary: The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

Or: how two people, who do not like being touched learn to enjoy each other's closeness, featuring a sex-repulsed Jaskier and our resident grumpy witcher.

Warnings: none, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

It has been scarcely more than a brush of his fingertips across his forearm, but still Geralt did jump and scoot away as if burned. He even faintly remembers growling quietly, although he's not quite sure if that was a later addition of his mind. He distinctly remembers the surprised, and slightly hurt expression on Jaskier's face, though.

After that, there has been no touching for quite some time. Until one night, when Geralt returned from a contract too tired to rid himself of his armour and simply flopped face down onto the bed in the inn they were staying at. Jaskier drew close, hesitantly hovering at his side, one hand extended. "May I?" he asked quietly.

The bard patiently waited for his grunt of approval, before hauling him upright, deftly unbuckling his armour and putting it away. Geralt was half asleep during the whole process, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's shoulder, while fighting the urge to pull him close.

The bard is a touchy one, and although that seemed odd and startled Geralt in the beginning, it now is the most natural thing in the world. Because the thing is, the bard isn't necessarily a touchy one. He is a spacey one. Comes with the profession, he guesses.

Wherever Jaskier goes, he brings a stage with him, announcing his presence with loud songs and colours as well as grand gestures, uncaring for other people's opinions. It is only natural, that with every other spread of his arms he brushes against someone. And it's also mostly natural that, as his travelling companion, those touches mostly reach Geralt.

Just as natural as touching him in return. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world. There is seldom a moment when the bard isn't touching him, be it a hand on his forearm, an elbow nudging his side, or his dirty feet in his lap. And it isn't as if the bard is the only one to initiate that kind of intimacy. Geralt delights in throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder, steadying him with a reassuring hand on his back after he had too much to drink, or wrestling him into a river. He especially delights in waking up cuddled close to his bard, their limbs and scents intertwining, both of them too lazy to start the day.

He can't remember when that had started, if he's quite honest. He thinks it was maybe five years after they first met, that they arrived at an inn tired and battered, as well as soaking wet from the thunderstorm outside only to discover that there was only one bed left.

After tucking the witcher into bed, the bard threatened to slip from his grasp. "Jaskier," Geralt slurred after a failed attempt to grab his wrist.

"Yes, dear witcher?"

"C'me 'ere." Geralt doesn't quite remember the motion accompanied by his words, too much asleep for that already, but according to Jaskier he made 'grabby hands'. Despite that embarrassing escapade, the bard beamed and indulged him, slipping into the single bed next to him and cradling him tight to his chest. Geralt never slept so soundly in his entire life.

He thought that he would mind, if he is honest. He never liked anyone invading his space before, and Jaskier is nothing if not invading. It took them a bit to establish some boundaries, to find out what made the other snarl and pull back or vanish come morning. Geralt doesn't like his potions to be messed with and Jaskier is very protective of his notebook. Geralt prefers to be cuddled instead of doing the cuddling part and Jaskier allows no hands from his hips to his knees, although he doesn't mind waking up with Geralt draped over him from chest to toe.

Other taboos soon soften until they are abandoned completely. Like the bag-sharing ban, for example, or clothes. In the first few months of cuddles and touches, Jaskier enacted his strict shirts-and-pants-required-policy with vigour, only to be the one to ultimately forego it. Geralt still smiles at the memory.

It was an especially hot summer, maybe a decade into their acquaintance and Geralt just wrestled the bard into a clear creek. They were sodding wet, Jaskier huffing indignantly, in nothing but their smallclothes, too lazy to dry off if the sun was about to do the work anyways. Seeing him standing there, shaking his wet hair, his hands on his hips, did something funny to Geralt's stomach. As if it dropped and lifted at the same time.

Before knew what he was doing, he tossed Jaskier his clothes. "Get dressed," he ordered gruffly and spread his arms, "and come here."

Jaskier looked at the garments in his hands and sneered. "Oh, fuck no," he spat out. "You want a hug, Geralt of Rivia?" He threw the dirty clothes back at him and spread his arms. "Come and get it."

Geralt let them hit him. Although that also might have been the shock of Jaskier so readily abolishing his most adamant requirement. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure, you daft witcher. Now come here before I dry and start melting again."

Geralt has never been so quick to comply to a request. He lunged to tackle Jaskier to the ground, happily sprawling across him until they were both sweaty again. He was shoved off unceremoniously and then coerced into another bath in the river.

That night they didn't bother to get dressed either. Not when setting up their camp next to the creek, not when Jaskier got out his lute, not when Geralt started cooking their dinner. Certainly not when going to sleep.

Maybe it ought to feel weird. It's a weird thing to embrace your friend like a lover, is it not? It didn't, though. It doesn't. In fact, it feels like most natural thing in the world.

The bard is a touchy one. But that is not the reason why he is odd. The reason why he is odd, is his reaction to being touched in turn. He often startles and pulls away, just like Geralt has.

They are lying in bed one evening, entangled like they always are, Jaskier on Geralt's chest (the bard insisted they swap for once), Geralt carding his fingers through his bard's hair. There was a performance, earlier that day, and Jaskier made the acquaintance of a nice-looking gentleman. Geralt resigned himself already to the fact that he would go to bed alone that night.

But then, the man reached out to place a hand on Jaskier's knee. The bard froze up and a moment later he was plastered against his witcher's side, insisting they go to bed. It is a strange behaviour, although not the first time he has seen Jaskier react that way. The question burns on his tongue and, of course, Jaskier notices.

"What is it?"

Geralt tenses beneath him. Fifteen years and still not brave enough to ask. "Hm."

"Don't be daft," the bard chides, "we both know something's on your mind. Out with it."

There's no evading a determined bard, Geralt discovered that a long time ago. "You... don't like to be touched," he notices. Which is an odd thing to say to the half-naked man sprawled across his chest, with his ankles hooked around his calves. But they are odd people and an odd pair, so that's neither here nor there.

He is quiet for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that Geralt feels the need to check with a quiet "Jaskier?" if he hasn't fallen asleep.

"Hm," the bard replies quietly. "That's not strictly true."

"Not strictly untrue either."

Jaskier sighs with a resignation of a man who knows he cannot hide, but doesn't particularly want too either. Still, it takes him a long time to reply: "I don't mind the touching. I... am not a great fan of what comes after."

Geralt freezes, his fingers tangled in Jaskier's hair, trying and failing to decipher that statement. "What comes after?"

"Oh, you know..." Jaskier makes a very illustrative gesture.

"Ah." Yes, he knows what comes after. He is, in fact, a great fan of what comes after. "You mean you don't like men?"

"Oh no, don't get me wrong. I like men and women well enough, just... not in my bed."

He frowns and looks down again at the man sprawled across his chest who must surely notice his heart beating rapidly. "Jaskier..."

"Hm?"

"I'm in your bed."

"Yes, I know, but that's different. I don't like them naked in my bed."

"Jaskier," he says again, glancing down at their almost naked bodies pressed together.

"Oh, shut up, you great oaf," he hisses and grins. "You know what I mean. And you're... different."

"Hm. Why?"

"I don't know." Jaskier sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. "You just are. Never tried to shove your dick into me, for starters. Or tried to coax me to shove my dick into you."

He shrugs. "Never thought you'd be interested."

"I'm not. Are you?"

He shrugs again. "Does it matter, if you aren't?"

"I guess it doesn't. Still, are you?"

"Jaskier," he chides softly and does his best not to squirm under his inquisitive gaze. But the bard is unrelenting. Geralt sighs and raises his eyebrows as he answers. "You... are a very attractive man. I would gladly suck your cock, or let you suck mine, if you were so inclined. Seeing as you aren't... I would rather refrain from it, if it's all the same to you." He smiled and splayed his fingers over Jaskier's shoulder. "I assure you, not the most proficient cocksucking in the world could grant me greater bliss than I am in right now. There is nothing in the world that could persuade me to give up what we have, especially not something as insignificant as a roll in the hay."

"Oh." Jaskier's shoulders sag and for a moment Geralt fears he's said something wrong. But then a bright smile spreads on his bard's face that is mirrored by his own a moment later. "That's a relief. And thank you. I guess."

Geralt snorts, amused. "You're welcome." After a moment of silence, he adds: "Jaskier? You're different for me, too."

"I am?" The bard beams at him. "How so?"

He has to be exhausted. Or drunk. Or both. There is no other explanation for the next words that leave his mouth. "Because I love you," he hears himself say, to his own mortification.

But Jaskier just smiles and closes his eyes. "Oh," he breathes and languidly squirms closer, like a cat basking in the sun. Then, after a mortifying moment that feels like an eternity, with Geralt's heart thundering in his chest, he replies: "I love you, too, Geralt of Rivia."

He breathes out, relieved, and opts for holding his bard tighter. That's always a good option. It just feels right to share their space and share their silence. Natural.

He's not sure how long the quiet lasts before, for once, he's the one to break it: "Are we lovers?" Geralt asks suddenly, the question that has been occupying his mind for the past few minutes.

Jaskier sleepily blinks up at him. "Do you want us to be? I'm sure you could find a person better—"

"No, I don't think so," he interrupts him without hesitating.

Jaskier smiles again and it's a sweet expression, one that makes his heart speed up and his face go soft. "If we were lovers, Geralt...," he says after a while, "what would that mean for us?"

"You mean, what would change?"

"Yes."

"Hm." He gives him a long glance. "You said you are averse to naked people in your bed."

"I am," Jaskier confirms.

"Are you also averse to clothed people kissing you?"

Geralt feels stupid while asking it. Apparently, it is very stupid, for Jaskier immediately starts laughing. "No, my dear," he replies after having calmed down, "I am not averse to clothed people kissing me."

"In that case, I would like to kiss you from time to time."

"Like when?" Jaskier props himself up on an elbow and his lips curl into a different smile, one that's more teasing, more flirtatious than the soft expression before.

"Like now," he says before he can change his mind.

Jaskier hums and reaches out slowly, so that he cups Geralt's face with his hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. Then, he leans in, just as slowly, and presses his lips to the witcher's in a sweet kiss.

"Good?" Geralt asks when he pulls away.

"Good," Jaskier confirms.

"Good." He allows himself to smile as well, bright and unguarded like his bard taught him, and pulls him against his chest again. Once they're settled, he says, feeling a little silly: "I suppose I would also like a love poem or two, master poet."

"Oh, Geralt." Jaskier smooths a hand down his side and feels around until he finds Geralt's hand and can interlace their fingers. "Are you so daft as not to realise that each and every one of my poems for you's a love poem?" he mumbles and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Warmth spreads in his chest again and he smiles. "I had hoped," he replies and returns the gesture, "but I did not dare to presume." After a moment he adds: "Thank you."

"Always, love," Jaskier replies. "Now go to sleep. I'm knackered."

Feeling relieved and relaxed, holding his bard—his lover!— close, Geralt does.

The bard is a touchy one. And an odd one, although not for his relationship to touches. He's an odd one for loving a witcher. But said witcher is an odd and touchy one as well, so it's alright. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world.

#my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier

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