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weirdcultstuff https://weirdcultstuff.tumblr.com/post/668198506483318784/to-myself-raised-in-an-environment-that-glorified :

To myself, raised in an environment that glorified and romanticized restriction and suffering:

There is no victory in skipping dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, or morning coffee, or dessert.

There is no victory in refusing heaters and air conditioners and fans and heated blankets.

There is no victory in denying yourself sleep, or showers, or movement, or water, or a comfortable bed, or taking the elevator vs. the stairs.

There is no victory in refusing pain meds and heating pads and ice packs and medical help.

There is no victory in punishing yourself needlessly, in telling yourself that this pain you feel is because you are bad to the core and deserve it.

There is no victory in choking back your laughter and your tears, to keep an imagined equilibrium of safety that is really just a dry, cracked, empty, endless emotional desert.

You are here. You are in this body, and this body is yours. You deserve good things. You are alive, and that is messy and loud, and messy and loud are okay.

It’s okay to live abundantly. It’s okay to make mistakes, it’s okay to indulge. This paralysis of self-punishment, self-restriction, self-loathing is not healthy or good for you. (Your picture was not posted)

new work: Golden Towers

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so the new work winds up being that I’m catching up the FFP backstory to closer to the present day, with Ciri’s journey to Nilfgaard.

This is letting me go back and work a new character into the Vergen timeline real quick so I can have shenanigans going forward, so I appreciate everyone’s patience with the flashbacks.

Golden Towers, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/42597816

featuring Ciri being awkward and eldritch:

Oh– she’d seen his death; she remembered when this used to happen to her all the time, back during puberty. Now, it rarely happened. A shame she didn’t remember. Though, perhaps not a shame; blood did not sound pleasant. She looked into his face, studying that long pale oval, strong chin, long nose, flecked with freckles, cursory eyeliner somewhat smudged, in case that made the memory come back, but she knew by now not to tell him if she did remember. People didn’t want to know their deaths, not even if they seemed nice. And she had seen a nice death for him, as nice as deaths got, so she didn’t know why he thought she’d said anything about blood– but it was distant, shredding away, and she couldn’t summon a coherent recollection.

and Morvran being demi as fuck:

“You only care that she rides your horse well,” Tiron said shrewdly, which was more or less true. “You don’t even recognize the double-entendre.” Tiron seemed to be getting along beautifully with the Crown Princess. It helped that he was fluent in Nordling; his mother or grandmother or someone had spoken it, so he had learned it from youth, and could pass without an accent. But there were some notable gaps in his knowledge; among other things, he could not spell in Nordling to save his life. Fortunately, neither could most Nordlings.

Morvran shook his head. He knew riding was a euphemism for sex, and he knew enough to know why, but he couldn’t really envision it as applying to himself in any way, and did not find it salacious. He didn’t find much salacious, and he was aware this was something of a blind spot in himself, but it just meant he was cautious about the sorts of things he used as topics for offhand jokes. “I mean,” he said, “I get it, but it seems stupid to me.” (Your picture was not posted)

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funnytwittertweets https://funnytwittertweets.tumblr.com/post/698635203911057409:

[img desc: tweet by twitter user camiscribbles, which reads: ‘having bad memory as a writer is so efficient “you need fresh eyes on your manuscript” babe i am the fresh eyes, i’ve never seen this in my life’] (Your picture was not posted)