#the impact this project has had on me is hard to put into words. I'm so unbelievably glad I'm getting to watch the story unfold

[sketchy-tour]

Its funny that I could feel my WH hyperfixation slowly morph into just my genuine special interest. I worried at first, cause I thought my love for it had died. Because it was duller. But no no. Now it sits comfortably and idly in my mind. Unshaken. Comfortable. At home.

#text post #just rambling #I thought since I wasn't feeling that INTENSE LOVE AND NEED TO CREATE AND CONSUME ART then it meant I was phasing out #but no no. its very much still here. My brain is just now sharing its cake with other interests of mine #WH is currently mingling with and getting to know those other interests of mine in my brain. #I mean because of WH I've picked up OTHER interests! #I have a new found love for puppet media. a resparked appreciation for things whimsical and colorful! #CRAYONS! I BOUGHT CRAYONS! To experience the joy of just...coloring with crayons again! #the impact this project has had on me is hard to put into words. I'm so unbelievably glad I'm getting to watch the story unfold #and enjoy the characters and meet other people who like WH and talk endlessly about it and!!!!! AUGH!!!! I just love it so much! #OKAY IM DONE GUSHING!!!!

[wttcsms]

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction. 

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.” 

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary. 

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably. 

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride. 

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in. 

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word. 

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling. 

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.) 

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him. 

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks. 

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—” 

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.” 

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment. 

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.” 

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there? 

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word. 

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full. 

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. 

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.” 

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves. 

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves. 

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him. 

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity. 

You frown when he approaches you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend. 

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling. 

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself. 

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even. 

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation. 

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride. 

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.) 

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this. 

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance. 

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019   BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin. 

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in. 

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists. 

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka. 

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.” 

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her. 

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first. 

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night. 

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home. 

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do. 

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud. 

And rhythmic. 

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too. 

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then. 

There’s someone knocking at your door. 

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm? 

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear. 

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop. 

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief? 

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun. 

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window. 

This stranger must be a soldier. 

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall. 

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his. 

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long. 

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water. 

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours. 

It’s been a rough day. 

A rough week. 

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know? 

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize. 

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily. 

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan. 

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople. 

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom. 

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own. 

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying. 

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target. 

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body. 

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him. 

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard. 

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this. 

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next. 

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin. 

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that. 

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help. 

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then. 

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope. 

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent. 

Naoya Zenin is out for blood. 

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you. 

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches. 

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal. 

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one? 

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in. 

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too. 

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three. 

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom. 

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her. 

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again. 

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.” 

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals? 

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer. 

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back. 

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him. 

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all. 

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words. 

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.” 

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl. 

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run. 

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment? 

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself. 

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up. 

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister. 

“...helped out Sakura.” 

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl. 

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura. 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment. 

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement. 

“She a ring girl?” 

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?” 

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him. 

“You finally did it.” 

“Did what?” 

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june

[from-izzy]

that's him, that's just who he is | the boyz series introduction

"...and when I see him on my screen, no matter how things faded between us, I will always be able to put a smile on my face and tell them genuinely: that's him—that's the person who made a huge positive impact in my life. And when they ask back, "Really? How so?" I would simply shrug my shoulders and answer: that's just who he is—he's just capable of doing so."

» RELEASE DATE: as soon as possible! hopefully a week to a week and a half between each member! » WARNINGS (for this post—under 'keep reading' section): mentions of going through a tough time (not explicitly defined), healing and progress through the tough time (another warning will be mentioned if you do decide to read further! there is also a safe section after the gif) » WARNINGS (for the stories themselves): some have none, some do! but warnings according to the story will always be mentioned! navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series masterlist

ahhhh...where do i start?

i don't have a concrete idea/plan as to how this series is going to go yet. i don't have a story plan for each member yet either. all i have is the small indented idea and the sure idea that all the stories will be heavily inspired by each member's individual 'generation z' videos.

i'm pretty sure it will be a 'the boyz x reader' story series! currently, i'm settled with the idea that the reader is childhood/old friends with each member and they gradually drifted because life took them to different places. ultimately, the reader just looks back on their memories with each member. but, i don't think each story will be connected.

i was thinking of keeping a word limit of 2k for each story (we all know this isn't going to happen)

i chose the 'generation z' videos because i remember this being the videos that really 'pushed me' to stanning tbz. i've never seen these kinds of videos where idols talk openly about their feelings and i thought 'wait! i could implement this into a story!'

TRIGGER WARNING (safe after gif): mentions of going through a tough time (not explicitly defined), healing and progress through the tough time

addressing the 'personal healing project' part: i haven't been able to watch full videos and fully finish listening tbz related since august 11, 2023. today marks the 80th day that i've been stuck in the past and my own feelings.

long story short, something happened in my life and i had tbz content around me when the event occurred. unfortunately with tbz being there when it unfolded, everytime a song comes on or i see a picture of them, network of associations links me back to the event.

so i stopped listening, unfollowed tbz and all fan accounts specifically on instagram.

but thankfully for me...

i'm still able to write stories

i have seen improvement: able to see old pictures (day 18), unconsciously sung merry bad ending (day 26), consciously hummed lip gloss (day 37), finished up to the end of closer's second verse but backed out after (day 54), able to talk about tbz (day 66) etc.

it's been a hard journey but i have hope.

like changmin said in his 'generation z' video: still, i have hope. without hope, i don't think i can survive.

plus...i know that i still love and look up to the boyz so much.

because even though exposure therapy may still be too much for me now, the fact that time has done its work bit by bit, and i'm able to somewhat look at pictures of them, it means that i am healing.

this series...

is one of the topics that i wanted to 'experiment' with that i talked about in my about me page.

'generation z' pushed me into really stanning tbz and i just hope (and i hope endlessly) that maybe by going back to this video and implementing it to something i love (writing stories), that i'll be able to heal further.

tbz are having a comeback nov 20th! 🎉 i might not be able to follow them this comeback but please give them lots support!

as for this series...will you come along with me?

it's my first ever series ever since i started writing! i am so, very much excited!

i'll see you all soon!

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series masterlist

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️

#deoboyznet #k-labels #k-films #the boyz fanfic #the boyz x reader #the boyz x you #the boyz imagines #tbz x reader #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #tbz x y/n #tbz x you #sangyeon #jacob bae #younghoon #hyunjae #juyeon #kevin moon #new tbz #q tbz #haknyeon #sunwoo #eric sohn #lee sangyeon #jacob tbz #jacob the boyz #tbz fanfic #tbz angst #tbz fluff #tbz scenarios

[yabashiri]

I'm back with a bang. Project Fiction - an Irumatsu and Irujnko fic will be finally published in its entirety! First arc is up, at about 50k words and 7 chapters. Read more to see if it's your cup of tea.

Do you hate some things about DR canon? Do you wish the talent system in Hope's Peak was more explored? Then read no further! I'll copy some bullet points from PF's description on AO3 and explain them in more details.

This work has: - Heavy OOC for Iruma and Kaede

PF!Iruma is not lewd, but she's a hothead, a reserve course student, and she also likes basketball. Weird, right? She also has nothing to do with inventions, her true talent is more of an abstract concept in line with your usual 'hope' and 'despair' gimmicks. It allows me to create a story with no killing games, but filled with tension similar to how Death Note is considered a 'shounen' even though it's a detective mystery.

As for Kaede, be warned that she only appears in chapter 8 for the first time. Remember her pre!game line in v3? "I don't have faith in humanity". What if I based her entire character on that and pitted against this Iruma? You can't imagine how heated it gets. - In-depth exploration of how Hope's Peak works, what's a 'talent' and how it impacts the chosen students

Do you know how talents are assigned? How scouts do their work? How exactly Kamukura Izuru was made and what studying on the reserve course is like? I know, and I'll show you in great detail.

- Nods to the canon, while turning the plot of DR1 upside-down.

Junko's game plan stays the same: kill the council, rebel the reserve course, fill the world with despair. With Iruma, however... not all goes as planned. It's not a story about people stuck together until almost all of them die. We go from Hope's Peak to an open world, and you'll see famously neon Tokyo in all its glory.

- Heated gay arguments, a weird online game, absurd talents beyond your average human standards.

While the story goes beyond ships and their dynamics, it has that in spades. I also present to you a certain game by Team DANGAN, and it's not about a pun-making bear torturing students. Imagine Genshin Impact's combat but more tactical, focused on PvP. That -- and much more.

- An abundance of author notes. This one has a lot to say.

I'll be straight with you, I put a shit ton of details into my works. Chekhov's Armoury is a trope I came up with before I realized it existed. I'll give you fanarts, songs, memes. Basically I've never had a lot of readers so I had to get used to creating fan content by myself.

- Typos I am translating this work into English, and while I'm pretty confident in my abilities, I am not perfect. It's kinda hard to know how real people talk when you're not exposed to the language on a daily basis. If anyone wants to be my beta, I'll be honored.

Translating this thing is ungodly hard. Writing it took me 4 years and was even harder. This story means a lot to me, I put my heart and soul into it, and I truly hope someone will enjoy it as much as I do. I also hope someone makes a TV Tropes page for it one day :D This is my only dream as a creator.

Give it a shot -- you won't regret it.

I hope.

#danganronpa #New Danganronpa V3 #fanfiction #miu iruma #kaede akamatsu #ndrv3 #junko enoshima #Project Fiction #irumatsu

[sprout-fics]

I saw your post about feeling burnt out from a few days ago. I thought about writing to you, finding a way encourage you, something.

But from someone who's constantly straddling this line, take this (if you will): Burning out is called burning out because it feels like your energy, what makes you you, might burn so hot that it destroys itself. But it's because you have this energy, this core, this fuel inside you that you can burn at all. I hope that provides some comfort. You are talented beyond belief, and have a true gift. Hold on to that on the days the fire threatens to burn hotter than usual.

I wrote to you a few months ago about how much I saw myself in Fix. It was mind-blowing to me that you even replied, and I am so so grateful you did!

Things have...changed? Not necessarily for the worst, but, they have changed. Some things will never go back to what they were, and I'm trying to draw comfort from it, as much as the thought fills me with trepidation.

No matter what happens from here on out (for you, for me and for our darling girl Fix), I want you to know that your writing has had an undeniable impact on me. Fix makes me feel validated, and supported, and seen, and she feels like a sister to me. Most importantly, she fills me with hope.

And Em. So do you.

I've been staring at this message for the better part of an hour, trying to find the words to answer. I'm still not sure I have the words I'm looking for, but I want to respond anyways.

Thank you.

I started writing over a decade ago. 2012 was my first online fiction piece. I wrote because I didn't have a lot of friends, because I was anxious and sad and wanted to not be so lonely. Writing has since become one of the major points of my existence. I don't think I would exist without it. I often think that this is the reason why I'm here, is to tell stories.

Fix is one of them. In so many ways, Fix is myself. She's trying so so hard all the time, to the point where she will ignore herself. Even when she's hurting, she'll tell herself that she's not allowed to hurt, to ask for help, that she needs to be strong for herself and the people around her. She tells herself asking for help is a weakness, and that weakness is failure, and that failure is the ending to the relationships she so desperately wants to keep. At Fix's core, she can't stand being lonely again.

My fear of failure manifests in my push to improve my writing, to update consistently, to get the characters exactly right, to make sure I know what I'm talking about, to make sure I'm doing right by my readers. I'm realizing that the pressure I put on myself with writing is immense, and the reason for my burnout. Unbearable sometimes. I'm desperately afraid of losing motivation for my projects, because if I abandon them it means I failed. It isn't healthy, I know that. I'm trying to change it. It's hard.

But then I get messages like this. From people who have somehow been touched by my writing, who say the joy of it has somehow helped them. I've gotten messages from people thanking me for writing my stories because it provided them comfort in dark times. It means more to me than I can ever say in a hundred lifetimes. It means so much to me because that's what my writing did for me. Writing has saved me from myself on more than one occasion. Even in the darkest times writing stories has been my companion. That won't change.

You're right. Things will change. That's the nature of growth is that things will change. Some day I won't be so afraid of failure, and I'm trying to work on that. I think Fix is very much the same. Eventually, Fix realizes that even if she fails, she won't be alone. It doesn't change her. The people around her will still love her. I'm not sure I believe that yet, but I want to.

Thank you. A thousand times. Thank you.

#rainy day tag #about sprout

[swearyshera]

You have no idea how hands-shaking, looking-down-off-a-cliff scared I was to scroll down when Catra began to say sorry and got cut off. I had to take almost a full minute to brace myself cuz I was so afraid Glimmer would do the thing so many other protags have done where they just accept the apology for the sake of expediency or compassion or their own regrets or to focus on moving forward. Or to excuse away the apologizers actions as not their own because of manipulation or emotion. I've been waiting since Day One for this hoping it wouldn't be like those, especially considered canon didnt even attempt it and that left my love for this series feeling like it was missing a piece.

I could never expected it go this hard. Glimmer's grief and guilt and cold rage feels so tangible, and the sheer strength it feels like it took to both acknowledge and honestly deliver those feelings to Catra with no sugarcoating while not full-on attacking her with them and driving a wedge into the only refuge either of them have from Prime breaks my heart. Acknowledging Catra feels sorry but telling her flat out no apology or atonement could heal this, so if she feels sorry thats her own damn problem. A perfect interstice of emotional fortitude and frailty. I could never have dreamt of a moment this great.

Glimmer was always my fave in canon but this catapulted her into the fucking celestial firmament. The catharsis I'm feeling right now makes me feel like I could jump the goddamned moon. This moment alone is my favorite exploration of grief and forgiveness ive seen in a fandom like this since ATLA's The Southern Raiders. I cant wait to see your spin on the rest of this arc if its even a fraction this good. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this and for this project. Thank you.

This was such a hard scene to write. I'd had some ideas written down for this scene for quite a while, and we almost got a scene where they discussed what they would say to Adora instead, but I thought it would perhaps be more impactful to tackle the subject of Angella head on.

I'm not completely oblivious to the fact that many people wished Glimmer and Catra had approached the topic of what happened to Angella in canon. And again, I'd never say that this blog is a 'fix-it' for the stuff people didn't like, but sometimes there's stuff that I wish had been in the show - this was one of those things.

But knowing I wanted to put in a scene and actually writing it are two different things. I was so nervous when this one went out, because I worried that people would react negatively to it (but you didn't, thanks everyone!). You're right that having Glimmer go "Oh, sure, don't worry about it" would have felt hollow and really undercut the whole 'Angella is dead' thing. But equally, if Glimmer had said "Sorry isn't enough, I hate you and will never forgive you", it would have been hard to reconcile that level of sheer hatred with them working together later on.

I chose Glimmer's words quite carefully here. I wanted to show that her opting to take her mother's actions as one of heroic sacrifice rather than a desperate last-ditch attempt to save Etheria from Catra's mistake was for her own benefit, not Catra's. Glimmer makes that choice to discard Catra's part in it every day because that's the only way she can manage her grief (especially when face-to-face with Catra), not because she wants Catra to feel better. And that rejection of the apology was not so much a "Your apology means nothing" as it was "Don't try and complicate the way I'm dealing with this." Sorry means she has to reconcile that Catra feels guilt. Sorry upsets her grieving process. She doesn't want it.

I'm so excited for everyone to see the rest of this arc, particularly how things develop through Corridors. We'll soon be seeing Horde Prime step up his manipulation of Catra's depression, and more about how that is affecting her and driving her to desperation. But we also get those bittersweet flashbacks, the reminders that Adora has always been on her side - even when they've been on opposing sides of a war. And finally, the climax of the episode where Catra saves Glimmer, and (at least here) leaves Adora with some chilling words. I always feel like I become a better writer with every episode, and I am so proud of some of the stuff you're about to see.

[sunhatllama]

Hello, for chreon request: Sick Fic but the sick is a bioweapon 👉👈🥺 who gets got and the consequences are up to u <3 -leonisdumbasallhell🔪

HI @leonisdumbasallhell !! omg you're one of my favorite blogs. I love this premise so I made it quite a bit bigger than I was originally going to, so this is part 1! (I promise the sick part of this sickfic will come eventually LOL)

Rating: M

Contains: blood, strong language, description of injuries

Tags: Married Chreon, Infection, Major Character Injury

Word Count: 1556

Part 1/? | Next ->

Please Don't Leave Me (Part 1)

A Resident Evil fic request

"—eon. Where...you? Respond." 

The fuzzy masculine voice rang in his right ear. It was coming from his earpiece, he realized. Whoever they were sounded worried, but Leon was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts, much less forming words.

He was on the floor, stretched out on his side, and there was an ache in his chest that he was all too familiar with. He had some bruised—if not broken—ribs. Fuck. He groaned, forcing himself to open his eyes, and judging by the way his vision swam, he knew he probably had a concussion.

He looked around and was treated with a blurry sight of the ceiling, ropes and hooks hanging from dark beams. He could hear water lapping against a shoreline and the occasional thump of wooden boats hitting the dock.

"Leon! Please respond, baby," the voice called again, this time more clear, but also louder, and Leon tried not to wince at the volume.

"...what?" Leon replied, pushing himself into a sitting position, swallowing against the nausea building in his throat. The world was spinning and it took everything in him not to fall back to the floor. There was also a strange pulsing in the veins in his arms that he swore was familiar. Looking down, he noticed that there were dark lines streaming down his forearms in a web-like pattern. Infection. He was infected. Part of him knew he should have been worried, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Where are you? You were supposed to be at the rendezvous point 30 minutes ago," a woman spoke, and Leon strained his mind, finally remembering her name. It was Rebecca, how could he have forgotten?

He thought he should answer her question before they yelled again. "Hit my head. By the docks. Might be infected." Each word sent a piercing pain through his skull and he swallowed the rising bile. God, he hated getting hit in the head.

There was a slew of swear words that Leon couldn't distinguish, then a shaky forced breath. "I'm coming for you." That was Chris. Chris was coming. He must have been who was talking to him earlier.

"Keep him talking, he probably has a concussion," Rebecca said, voice wavering slightly. "I'll get the vaccine ready."

"Alright," Chris said, then switched his attention. "Leon?" His voice was soft and Leon let out a sigh of relief. His husband would make everything better. "What can you see from where you are? I need to be able to find you."

Leon tried to focus again, this time putting more effort into it. Chris asked him, so he would try his best. Squinting, his sight realigned and he searched his environment for anything Chris could recognize. The first thing he saw was a pretty big rock from out the window of the building.

"...a boulder."

"A boulder? Okay, good. Anything else, sweetie? Doesn't have to be big."

Leon groaned, letting himself fall back onto the wet floorboards, a musty mist erupting at the impact. He could see blood pooling out of the corner of his eye, the crimson puddle growing the longer he lay. His skin felt like it was on fire and he could feel sweat budding across his hairline and neck, probably mixing with the blood coating his skin. There was a lot of it. Shit. "Hooks," he exhaled, answering Chris's question.

"Okay I think I know where you are," he replied, a little breathless, the earpiece stuttering slightly. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"Hot. Tired." He wasn't feeling very good, his vision turning dark at the edges. He didn’t know if Chris replied, but he couldn’t discern any words over the roaring in his head. 

A flurry of heavy footsteps came from his right side and he closed his eyes, the rumbling sending a wave of pain through his head. "Leon!" Chris yelled, this time voice clear and nearly booming, the words echoing against the waves.

Leon tried to turn towards the man, head rolling, but the movement made his vision whiten. "Chris," he whined.

The man kneeled at his side and Leon gasped for breath. It was getting harder to breathe and his chest felt heavy. 

"Don't worry, I've got you." In an instant, Leon was lifted off the ground and into his arms and Leon yelped, falling limp, eyes closing. "Stay awake. Please, Leon. C'mon, stay with me."

Leon lost track of time, his mind swimming with every sway of Chris's body, but never entirely falling unconscious, as much as he wished to do so. The man's chest rumbled, the vibrations deep and comforting. The familiar scent of gunpowder, sweat, leather, and something uniquely Chris overwhelmed him and he relaxed even further. A sharp voice came at him and he whined, trying to open his eyes, lids fluttering. A stab to his neck sent him recoiling and he pressed further into his husband’s chest with a cry.

As if a veil had been lifted, some of his pain went away and he finally felt like he could breathe again, a numbness in his limbs he didn’t realize was there dissipating in an instant, a flush of fluid rushing to the tips of his fingers. He gasped, gulping in air now that it was easier.

"That was the vaccine, Leon. You awake?" That was Rebecca.

Leon groaned, opening his eyes more easily than before, seeing Rebecca and Chris in his field of view, blurry faces focusing. "...huh?"

"There you are." Chris's chest rumbled again. The man looked down at him with unmasked relief, holding Leon tightly. He smiled, but his eyes were glassy. 

“Hi,” he said, trying to smile, but he didn’t think he succeeded, for Chris frowned the moment he tried.

The man turned to Rebecca, voice wavering for a moment. “Why are his veins still black?”

The words should have worried him, and a part of his brain was sending off alarm bells, but he ignored it. He strained to look at his arms, seeing they were still darker than normal.

“I’m not sure—he should be fine after the vaccine. Doesn’t he have T-Virus immunity and Plaga antibodies?” Leon was annoyed that they were talking about him like he wasn’t there.

“Yes, he does. Shouldn’t that be helping him?”

“I think it is. If this is a mutated form of the virus, the vaccine might not be as effective. I will have to test his blood to be sure. Let’s hurry back to the helicopter before he gets worse. I can check over his other injuries on the ride back.”

“C’n I’sleep?” Leon slurred, feeling a wave of exhaustion come over him. He wanted nothing more than to pass out for a week, waiting for the pain to stop. 

Chris looked down at him, squeezing him tighter, an air of alarm radiating from his expression. “No, not yet, baby. Rebecca has to check out that concussion of yours first.”

Leon whined but forced his eyes open a little more, trying to stay awake for Chris. Their pace seemed to speed up and his body started rocking more frequently. His head was going fuzzy again. “Tired, Chr’s.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, voice wavering with emotion. “Can you try your best for me? We’re almost there.”

The next time Leon was aware, they were maneuvering him into the helicopter and onto a stretcher. He panicked, losing contact with Chris, and tried to struggle against the hands on his body. Chris. Chris. Where was Chris? He felt a sob beginning to build before a hand grasped his in a tight grip.

“I’m here Lee, we just need to get you secured before we fly.”

All of Leon’s energy left in an instant, heaving out a shaky breath. Chris was there. Everything would be okay. He shut his eyes, brow furrowing at the spike of pain in his head.

Soft fingers pried open each of his eyelids and shined a light straight to his retinas. It shocked him, but all he could do was whine and try to turn his head in futile.

A voice from far away spoke. “Pupils… dilated.”

Chris squeezed his hand again. “You’re…great, baby.” Leon could barely hear the words, but they comforted him all the same, and he took a calming breath.

Someone was bandaging his head and arm, something he didn’t know was injured. He supposed that could have been where he was infected. The pressure on his wounds made his back arch as he tried to get away, crying out before gasping for breath. The pressure on his hand tightened and he forced himself to focus on the touch. Leon wanted nothing more than to pass out and not have to deal with this pain, but Chris asked him to try, and he always tried for his husband. Words were passed between the people around him, but he couldn’t catch them all, recognizing, “Infection,” “Concussion,” and “Sick”. 

The helicopter blades started to spin and a roaring pierced his ears. He yelped, trying to lift his arms to cover the reverberating sound. Hands grabbed his head gently and surprisingly moved to cover Leon’s ears for him, and he melted at the touch, deflating as the deafening roar lessened. 

Before he could thank whoever was helping, another stab in his neck sent him careening into blessed unconsciousness.

#resident evil #leon s kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #chris redfield #chris x leon #leon x chris #chreon #writing #writing prompt #ask #fic request #🦙's writing

[corrodedcoughin]

Okay so this one comes with a bit of backstory so congrats your getting anon lore

I am the child of somone with a traumatic brain injury and chronic migraines so the Steve has migraines and a traumatic brain injury headcannon is very important to me

One thing that I have never seen addressed (possibly because people don't know about them) are aphasias now there are very sever ones of these where people lose almost all ability to talk but that's not the kind I think Steve has that usually comes from a stroke

No I'm talking about aphasias that cause him to switch words and not relize it. (Example my father at the beginning of quarantine kept saying killer teens instead of quarantine)

Now there is alot of angst potential here around people not realizing and just thinking he's dumb. Steve not remembering words and getting things mixed up without realizing it. Not one of them would think anything else. Until he finds it on a list of side effects his doctor gave him. And while sometimes they can laugh about it other times he just get frustrated because he's trying to communicate and he can't properly

I also feel like Steve when he has bad days he puts things in the wrong places (my family has found dry goods in the refrigerator before so I'm thinking cereal in the fridge might be something he does)

There are also times when he can't be around anyone (he loves them but they make it hurt I'm not going to make it too sad I'm gonna say this is a once like a three month thing for Steve this really depends on the severity of the brain injury and individual situations)

He also is more sensitive to air pressure even if it takes him a while to figure out what it is

This is just one thing that I'm really happy to see a Fandom address because it is so personal to me. I lived from ages 7 to 18 with someone who had a tbi and it's nice for head injuries to be acknowledged

-✏️

anon thank you so much for telling me this and sharing your ideas. I can completely see what you are saying and you are right, this is something that goes unaddressed and I’m guilty of that too. I work in adult health and social care and have worked in rehab in tbi wards and the community.

Aphasias are so common in this area and are so personal from person to person. Ataxic movements (decreased muscle control and tone) and sensory processing issues can look minor but hugely impact a person. I’m not saying any of this to try and educate you, you’ll have a much deeper knowledge than I ever could, I’m just hoping to highlight this to anyone reading who doesn’t have experience with brain injuries.

If you ever feel like writing Steve with a tbi I’ll happily read it and promote it because it is important. Maybe he has secret hopes of ‘spontaneous recovery’ that is talked about all too frequently. Maybe he has aids and adaptions to his house to make his life easier - grips for door handles when his own grip is playing up, memory aids insides the doors of cupboards to tell him what goes where, a grab rail or chair in the shower because he’s fallen one too many times and after Eddie finds out he talks to Steve and they agree that this might keep him a little less bruised.

Everyone is sensitive to him but sometimes that’s just too much, he wants to be treated like normal, like he isn’t mixing words up more than he ‘should’, that he can take a whole morning to remember the word for spoon when it’s sitting right at the edge of his brain but he can’t make it come out.

It’s hard, even on good days it’s hard and yeah, he has to seclude himself from the watching eyes and ‘how are you feeling today Steve?’ Like he has to give a daily update. He knows they care which is why it hurts all the more, he used to be the babysitter, the protector and now he feels that the roles are reversed.

What Steve doesn’t realise is how much he’s still doing for everyone. Never stopped doing for everyone. Checking in with them, asking how their games/rehearsals/projects/assignments are going, trying to find out if there is anything they need that he can get for them. Steve is still hugely his old self, he just can’t see it.

Sometimes he just can’t contain the anger or sadness or frustration at himself. He knows this is part of it. Has been told that mood processing can be impacted. He takes himself away when he thinks he is being ‘too much’ but his friends don’t let him. They pull him back in and hold him close, letting him know that they love him, all parts of him and that isn’t going to change

#✏️ #I hope this is okay anon I’m really hoping this time came across right #I don’t for a second think that you don’t know any of this becuase you do #I just want to give you the time to take the lead here #if that’s okay? #tbi are such a huge thing and I just didn’t know how to do it sensitively and respectfully #so if this hits a bad nerve please just say #and I’ll delete my answer and just keep your ask there #I won’t be offended #thank you again I really mean it #stranger things #steve harrington #ask

[jimposts]

recently I watched a playthrough of TBG (The beginner's guide) and I have some thoughts!!! Note these aren't going to be very professional and I'm bound to get things wrong lol. Feel free to correct me! Also goes all over the place I'm not used to this lol

(Spoilers to the game please be aware of that before reading the forbidden fruit!!!!)

Okay holy shit so first off. I wanna give a hand to Davey Wreden (shorten to Wreden) to making such a wonderfully produce piece of media. Because it feels grounding in way.

So let's start off with the basic story!

You play as an unknown person who is being told by Wreden about the series of games you about to play. They were made by a person named Coda, who was a friend of Wreden.

Sounds very basic right right? WELL LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE SEXY THING CALLED PROJECTION

Wreden details how he would show Coda's games to others for praise. But Wreden would reframe the game into his own vision. For example, Coda had a love of making this one prison game over and over again. Wreden took this, and told others how Coda was on a downward spiral. How he was trapped in himself. Whether is was that symbolic or not shouldn't have been up to Wreden. Showing someone's piece of work and saying "yes this is what it is" isn't really right. Especially if you yourself aren't the artist.

Wreden had interpretations that I found interesting yes, but to claim that's what Coda was isn't fair. To show words in his mouth claiming he's depressed. That fucks with people. It's invading the person's personal boundaries.

What I didn't mention was Coda had made these games in private, manly for himself. Wreden showed this to people, without permission from the creator. And sure he did it to show Coda a positive but, was it really for Coda? Wreden loved the praise people would give Coda, but it was going to Wreden since Coda wasn't physically there.

It got to the point where Coda could barely put his soul into games anymore. The reason Coda (in my opinion) was able to make games quick were since he just found them fun to make. He put his heart into it, and that can make someone hyper focus on it. When his game process slowed down, it was him finding it so hard to put his heart into it anymore. He felt that pressure from knowing his friend was looking at his games.

And you can see at first this impacts him in a sorta positive way when his 5 month game comes out (the one about doing chores around the home). Wreden says Coda could be seen with a smile. This could show how coda felt at the time. He's happy he's being able to be recognized for his work. For soemthing he put his heart into.

But in the game you could technically see parts of the cracks (I could be over analyzing shh) when how the characters interact. It's purely one sided which was honestly Coda's and Wreden's relationship throughout the game. Which makes me so sad.

Y'know what's a huge gut punch. Coda's final game he ever made. He tells Wreden everything wrong. Including how he has to stop adding light posts. The very thing Wreden loves to highlight at the end of Coda's game.

To wrap up so that this isn't a whole 1k mess of words. This game has a good depiction of co denpence themes without directly showing you. And how even doing a selfless act can harm others and hell assuming it.

God I'm in love with this game I wanna talk about it forever (also I forgot to mention alot in this so....pt 2 soon lol)

#jaxytxt #the beginner's guide #davey wreden #<<<< love that guy fr #analysis #tbg davey wreden #tbg game #tbg analysis #baby's first analysis

[mahikacorpus]

ARTIST STATEMENT

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for the support given to me to even start this project. My partner who let me call and complain to them about line weight or fingers being the bane of my existence, my professor who did her best to reign me in from biting off more than I could chew, my kasamas who let me ask them questions about schooling in the Philippines, thank you to everyone who listened or offered a suggestion. Thank you to the library for letting me check out an odd number of books, heaps at a time (and telling me that it's cool if I returned one late because its due date wouldn't change from the same day I checked it out.)

It went through many more revisions than I anticipated and had to place this project on pause a few times while life happened around me, but I finally have my bits and pieces that I'm really proud of putting out into the world! Obviously, I wish that I was able to complete the entire piece but sometimes the message you want to imbue into the world through art has to be on pause while you use your physical body to put the work in.

What made you want to make a komik?

I wanted to make a komik because I think that the visual medium of storytelling is so interesting since unlike oral storytelling or prose, the words aren't the only important element. Poses, lighting, color, detail vs lack of detail, and brush choices, are all incredibly important in tone and what an illustrator wants to convey. It was also an important medium to me based on the message of my story which puts images and words in a hard tension with each other. A picture can mean a million different things based on the text captioned underneath it. But when that caption, or those words are used to paint a unreliable narrative, it's important to wonder why and examine to what end.

What aspects of the class did you take inspiration from/where did you use your research?

Each section was inspired and based off of research I had done about the medium I was exploring. For example, with the newspaper, I took a lot of inspiration from how the news right now use certain words in order to paint the narrative that best serves a certain political idea. For example, the adultification of people of color, usually black children, in order to dehumanize them and garner less sympathy. Studies have been done by USC and Georgetown University about the negative impact that it has on young children, particularly young black girl's mental health. It is also important to note that while these intuitions have studies on the adultification bias, they also actively ignore the adultification bias that is currently affecting Palestinian children who are being murdered by Israeli soldiers.

However, I also heavily researched newspapers during Duterte's presidency in the Philippines during his war on drugs and the extrajudicial killings that took place. Language in the media was very important as is shown in the documentary about Maria Ressa: A Thousand Cuts. This documentary not only helped with the newpaper angle that I was interested in, but also the online small reporting blog that is called Snapport in the komik--after Rappler in real life. There is a very political conversation surrounding the usage of language a mainly visual based medium. When words are repressed or censored, can an image do the work on its own?

As for the final section, the Zine section, I took the most inspiration from Bamboo Girl and Call Out Queen. Along with looking into other Filipino zines from the Philippine Zine Collection. Since they tend to be the most DIY and freeform, I decided to really have fun with format and layout.

What conversations did you want to engage with?

I wanted to talk to a sort of demonization power that the media has and how it is so easy to use it to affect the social consciousness. I've thought about this a lot since learning about the Philippines under Martial Law. Because the Marcos not only had control of the narrative, mainly through cultural/media presence, but also through being the ones actively rewriting the history books. However, on the other end, how social media (which hasn't been regulated to the point of news outlets) allows for these stories to be heard and told.

I also wanted to look at the power of images versus words. In the komik, the first page is words over-powering a small image. The words are targeted and biased solely based on opinion. But as the story progresses, it's clear to see how the beginning narrative ripples through the community. How people the farthest away from the scene, mainly due to class or privilege, feel educated enough to speak up on it due to reading the news--without considering the bias the news might have toward affirming ideas of a lower class to the upper class. (This is something that has been prevalent all throughout the history of news, to the point that the first printed photo in a US newspaper was on March 4th, 1880 in the Daily Graphic, and the image was that of a shanty town. Giving the upper class something to gawk over at how people could live in such a way.)

It was important to me that the ending scene and beginning scene were the ones I focused on. I wanted to begin with words, dictating how you should feel about the blurred image of violence which is used more for shock value than important context, and ending with an image of coming together, of community and support, of love.

What was one of your biggest challenges?

Probably the most expected answer, time. It was consistently running against me, especially since I felt I kept spending the most time researching and revising rather than actually drawing. This ended up really kicking my butt, but also forcing me to pick the most important images and feelings I wanted my audience to come away from my piece with. It made me take this ginormous story which more than likely could've gotten away with me and made me distill it into its most saturated moments.

What did you fall short of?

There was so much more that I wanted to do and explore with formatting in conventional and unconventional ways that I'm not sure got across due to the small number of pages. However, I made sure to be 100% proud of the pages I produced, so I believe that's the silver lining.

#Mahika Corpus #Artist Statement

[majorproblems77]

11, 7, 17, 20 on Unraveling

Spoilers for Unravelling :)

11. Was There a scene that you'd hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

Hmm, this one's a hard one. But Sky's death. I didn't want to do MCD in unravelling to begin with and hadn't planned on doing so in my original outline of the story. I even had most of that section written where he just collapsed from exhaustion instead. (It's why in most of the chapters it's not mentioned too much until the chain chapter later. Even though you go through 4 chapters with Weave. Between it occurring and getting back to them.)

I tried so many things to keep it out of MCD territory. But it just didn't have that gut-punch impact I wanted. I love it when a writer's words grab my heart and tear it out of my chest. And to be honest I wanted Unravelling to have that same impact.

It's a very important story to me. I'm very happy with the result.

7. What inspired the idea for the plot?

The starter inspo begain with @/Kikker-oma's work Sunshine, which has Sky looking over a cliff face and his expression is what triggered something in me. Cause I've felt like that. The exact face, the half-lidded expression. The way that you just. Think.

After posting a gift of silence and struggles in the aftermath, I went back and looked at the piece again. And thought. What if i took those feelings and projected them onto the character that at the time. I really only kinda knew still.

Didn't know where to start, so I begain writing the outlines for something which would have been my first Curse reveal story. (Fun fact this turned into Fall of the Chosen) Then realised that, wait. What if I did a guilt story instaid. What if I put my own spin on it.

17. What was the hardest scene to write?

Weaver fighting demise. The way I've got those battles split. I tried to write out full fight scenes for his fight with demise while defending Sky. But each time i did it just turned into throw ball win game. Which is obviously not what i wanted.

I wanted him to do some sort of yarn ball battle technique where he rapidly throws them and uses the strings to tie up his foes etc. But in the end i had to dial back the scenes here mainly because i just couldn't get the exact fight i had in mind out of my head and onto the page.

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

Apart from just more people noticing it? jkjk, but that would be nice.

The significance of putting the three sets of three groups together like I have. Why I've split them up like I have. etc. Splitting up the chain into the pieces of the Triforce.

There are some very good ideas and some people hit it on the nose but not many people spotted it, which is a shame cause I'm continuing with that story in the next book, and I hope I dont need to do too much building with it beforehand. As the results are much more important.

god I love talking about this book I could do it all day I'm so proud of it. Thanks for all the questions, i will happily take more :D

Ask me questions using this! :)

#ramble corner with major #corner answers with major #AJ beloved! #thanks for the ask! #Ask game #unravelling #unravelling my beloved #im so proud of what it became in the end #especially as its my first long form LU book #That book is big! #And its finished #which is even more scary

[marvellousstawler]

Halloween 2023 but the post was due yesterday

As a result it's not themed, sorry, no Halloweeny business from me, my life is almost constantly spooky themed so there's no point. I'll have you know that I did wear a werewolf costume to my important government job though. I was softly encouraged to remove the lipstick-and-eyeliner cheek scratches, but allowed to keep the fluffy mitten-hat.

Art I'm going to tentatively declare that what I've been doing this week counts as art. Actually I'm going to rescind my tentativeness because it absolutely does.

First one is fairly straightforward. Because I'm too cheap to buy one, I made a pinboard out of spare cardboard wrapped in cable tape to facilitate my now-much-larger pin collection following PAX. Now my whole room stinks of the tape but it's worth it because the pinboard works very well and I didn't spend a cent. Well. On the board. Maybe don't ask about the pins.

For the next one, some backstory: Pokémon has permeated my mind for about four-fifths of my life, I own and have completed at least one game from every generation since 3 including rom hacks, and I have not once actually completed the pokedex. So that is what I have endeavoured to do -- take Young Marv's stockpiled trove of TCG cards both real and fake, and arrange them in order to create a physical pokedex. Every card that I don't have, or that the mystery box of 80 random 2nd-hand cards I bought online can't fill, I will have to draw myself. So we'll see if Future Marv can complete that one before she expires too.

Writing Okay so it probably started with a conversation with a coworker/new friend following my declaration of the physical pokedex project, about the various overly convoluted fan theories I have about Cynthia (Pokémon) specifically, which led to me discussing those with Sammy (my best friend for whom I'm using a psuedonym because she's on here and she doesn't need her brand poisoned by mine), which led to us yes-anding each other about it way too hard, which led to "what if Cynthia went back in time in Pokémon Legends Arceus instead of Akari," which led to a short improvised script of a moment between Cynthia and Cogita which was way too sweet and impactful, which led to "oh no I might actually have to write this fanfic now," which led to Sammy's simple, one-word reply: "Nano!" So a big thank you/fuck you to Sammy for removing my excuse to put off this fic just like all the others. Way to keep me accountable for my own work, you wonderful asshole.

I'm very excited because this has all reignited a love for Pokémon which I had feared was suddenly and resolutely dead. Why? Well, it's because of a cruel prank. Some people at Nintendo pulled a fast one on everyone a while back, trying to convince the whole community that there are nine generations now, when everyone knows that there are only eight, and the series ended with the release of PLA, and the end of the anime. It seems that some people in the community have been completely duped into believing that "Gen Nine" is real, and it's pretty mean-spirited of the people responsible to give them false hope like that. Which made me pretty upset, evidently. So yeah, it's good to put that negative episode aside and go back to focusing on my bullshit about Cynthia, Cogita and the male one, and all the lore around them I can squeeze into a fanfic.

Reading Okay, apparently I have failed to placate the nostalgia beast by managing to feed her a goddamn unicorn -- the last copy in the only store I found that sold it, of a volume of the YGO manga (a manga with a bajilion volumes) featuring my favourite duel of my favourite character, who of course is Mai because I'm only allowed to stan semi-irrelevant blonde ladies in all forms of media (it's a real burden). No instead, the nostalgia beast was so ravenous that she made me fixate on finding two YGO structure decks, at the only store I found that sells them (bit of a theme in this city), to subject poor Sammy to playing a game with me because I've never tried. And in all the nostalgia beasts constant squawking, I forgot to pick up those copies of Donuts that I was going to get last week.

Oh what's that? You want to actually know what I read? In the reading section? Well, exactly one volume of Donuts Under A Crescent Moon, hours and hours of lore and theories written by Sammy over text, and an obscene amount of info on YGO archetypes that had me saying "fuck this, I'll get a structure deck" within half an hour.

#journal #marvomakesathing #pokémon #cynthia pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #cogita #pokemon discourse #ygo #nostalgia #yes-and #pokedex #arts and crafts #procrastination #champion cynthia #cynthia #marv's obligation to only stan semi-irrelevant blonde girls

[manicpixieirl]

september 30, 2023

I’ve been walking a lot. I have no clear destination in mind, I just wake up and go. One mile becomes two, two becomes three, and before I know it I’ve walked four miles and I’m back home. I feel clear and present. I am engaged in my relationship, I am engaged in work, and I finally have enough energy to get up and walk. I didn’t know that consistent morning walks could indicate so much progress.

I am worried about what is going to happen when it gets too cold and dark to walk. Winter is always the hardest. In Maine, it gets cold in October and in November, the sun can set as early as 3:45. I am scared, but I will walk while I can. For as long as I can. With every walk, I return to myself.

Last week my therapist had to cancel on me and I didn’t know what to do so I walked. Work got overwhelming, so I walked.

I got anxious about whether or not my depression impacts my partner, so I walked.

What will I do when I can’t walk? What will I do when the sun disappears behind the clouds for months?

Maybe I will write. Writing feels like walking for my brain. It feels like letting out everything that’s been trapped inside. I am thankful for walks, but I am also thankful for the page, for my keyboard, for my brain that contains so much that I can place the overflow on a word document.

The next time my therapist has to cancel, I will write.

The next time work gets overwhelming, I will write.

The next time my anxious attachment style shows itself, I’ll write through it.

I have had increased motivation to walk, my sleep is better, and my lows are more manageable, but there are some side effects popping up from my medication.

I've been on Abilify for bipolar disorder for a few months now; long enough to feel balanced in moments of complete imbalance, long enough to develop a response time rather than have an immediate reaction when presented with a difficult or challenging situation. All this progress aside, I have to admit, it’s been months since I’ve experienced mania and sometimes I miss it.

Mania is a symptom of bipolar disorder that makes you feel like you’ve been touched by God. It's a high like no other. One of the most common questions on any intake forms that I have to fill out before I see a new specialist is how often I feel like I have a God Complex. My God Complex is gone and I'm forced to look for genuine self esteem, I can’t rely on my mania to provide that for me.

Another side effect that I noticed was that my ability to focus had gone completely down the drain. Deadlines used to be mania-inducing; manic-fixations on projects used to help me complete them. Now, deadlines are just dates on a calendar. I used to confidently enter a state of fixation that would push me towards the finish line of projects, deadlines, and even finishing chores.

I’ve figured out that mania isn’t always risky behavior and over-confidence, sometimes it’s hyperfixation. Sometimes it’s that heightened call to action that comes after the pressure of having put a few things off for a couple of weeks.

I can’t do that anymore. I have to learn new ways to manage my time and manage my deadlines, but it’s so hard when my attention seems to be in a million different places rather than where it should be. After talking with my psychiatrist about it, we came to the conclusion that I have another diagnoses - My mania helped me with my ADHD symptoms, it helped my ADHD so much that I went undiagnosed until my last Psychiatric appointment.

ADHD. That’s right, my mania was helpful. Now that the mania is lessening, we are discussing medication for ADHD. Another pill to help with another symptom.

I will accept all of the help I can. It feels good to be open to help after a decade of refusal. I just hope that help comes before the snow does.

#manic depressive #mentalhealthblog #mental heath support #recovery #mentalhealthsupport #medmanagement #bipolar #adhd

[ahmeddkm]

Writing Initiative #7

What have you learned about yourself doing this self-directed assignment?

I've learned so much from these courses! Going through all the assignments really put me through a rollercoaster of emotions, but it's helped me level up my creativity. I gotta say, I enjoyed documenting my progress on Tumblr - it made the whole process more fun. One thing I learned is how to research my topics better and ask myself the right questions. Like, what's the end goal here, and how do I get there? It's been super helpful in making my work more effective.

What did you find to be the most difficult aspect of your chosen assignment? Creativity? Research? Connecting design to research? Craft? Organizational skills? Time management? Something else entirely?

Out of all the challenges I faced during my assignment, the biggest obstacle was the word itself - farrago. It means a confused mixture, which can be interpreted in so many different ways without any specific rules or guidelines. Personally, I find it difficult to create something without a clear goal or direction. I prefer assignments that involve researching and creating something based on a specific vision. But I suppose that's just part of the learning process, right? Learning to create something out of a seemingly disorganized mess is a valuable skill in and of itself. It just took a bit of extra effort on my part to overcome this particular hurdle.

What did you enjoy about this opportunity?

There were so many aspects of this opportunity that I truly enjoyed. First and foremost, seeing the final outcome of the assignment was incredibly satisfying. It's always a great feeling to see your hard work pay off in such a tangible way. Additionally, I really enjoyed the presentation aspect of the opportunity. Being able to share my ideas and showcase what I had accomplished was a great experience. All in all, I'm extremely happy that I had the chance to be a part of this class. It was an amazing opportunity that I will always cherish.

How would you rate your performance over the course of the semester?

Looking back on my projects, I'm really proud of the work I accomplished. I was able to explore so many different ways of creating confusion through various mediums, including 3D, 2D, and even 4D. It was an incredible learning experience to be able to experiment with so many different techniques and see how they can be used to convey a certain message or feeling. Additionally, I'm very happy with the reflective piece I created. It's always rewarding to see your personal growth and progress reflected in your work.

Overall I would give myself an 18/20 rating.

What would you do differently now that you've had this opportunity to work this way?

I really like the idea of collaborating with AI to work on the reflective piece, but If I had more time, I would like to make a book filled with process work done in such a confusing way.

A word from me

Hi Paul! I just wanted to express my gratitude for the unique and interesting way that you structure your assignments. In the past, I've had professors assign work that didn't really resonate with me or that I didn't find particularly engaging, but your approach was refreshing and inspiring. Additionally, I really appreciated your cool attitude toward each student in the class. It helped to alleviate some of the stress and allowed me to fully enjoy the learning experience.

I always like to reflect on what I've learned and how it has impacted my creative process and designs as a whole. I have to admit that I lost the "have fun" aspect of creating posters or any 3D piece a while ago, but you reignited that passion in me. Your critiques, ideas, and stories were so helpful and inspiring, and I am deeply thankful for your guidance throughout the class. You are definitely going down as one of my favourite professors at OCAD.

I wish you a great summer, and I hope our paths cross again soon!

[just-an-enby-lemon]

speaking of multiverse crossovers: what characters and which versions of them would you like to put into a crossover like that?

Okay. I'm fighting really hard to give an interest answer instead of going Riddler because is fun and I have an hyperfixation.

I would love the X-Men but there would be too many characthers and it would have to be a very ambitious and long project for it to work. But they do have very distict and interesting versions. Specially Wolverine. Something about the different cartoon Wolverines meeting is already deeply satisfying for me but also Scott as a characther reading or the different ways Rogue and Jean deal with their power struggle (killing everything she touches and the phoenix). Besides Logan and the first two X-Man I would not consider the movies tbh. Also Logan has a podcast and I didn't listened to it yet but I'm very curious. Storm, Magneto, Kitty, Mistique. All the other X-Man also deserve it because in the end it would be not only a narrative but a deep characther analisys.

I think Bruce as well. Something about the different ways he dealt with his trauma, the different relations he had with his code and with his rogues and specially with his support system. Batman is a deeply popular and therefore has a lot of very different adaptations and it would be interesting to see what they all have in common what they can teach each other and what the writers considered central traits. Maybe categorize them. It's interesting.

The Doom Patrol FOR SURE. They have a lot of runs (and same goes for the TV show) exploring meta concepts in interesting ways and also to do amazing characther work. And therefore this plot would fit their style pretty well. And bring interesting new takes for a story that is already very characther based.

The Titans. I think they have enought versions and in a lot they can at the same time also reflect the changes the Justice League had in different words as the impact they made on this kids change constantly.

If they had more interresting adaptations the Fantastic Four. But since they don't an analitical huge anthology with notes would be AMAZING. Would I ever be abble to buy it? Not really. But still.

Luke Cage. Most characthers that are members of minorities would fit this type of project like a glove because it brings interesting thematics that can go to both the main story and the characther analisys. But Luke is the one with a lot of cross media variety and that's very important.

Lex Luthor. Superman changes more between ages than versions but Luthor? It wohld be fascinating and also seeing Luthor fighting eich himself would be fun.

Constantine, Zatanna and any magic user really but specially ones with a lot of crossmedia adaptations. I hate to saw it but it could be an MCU project with Strange.

Wanda and Tony but the only way for it to happen would be via MARVEL and the whole point of the comparisson would be about how big companies corrupt you, societies and art (a very clear subtext) and I doubt the MCU would let me criticize Disney and point out the problem of two of their most beloved characthers.

There is others. But I think this are the major ones. Again a lot of Batman Rogues and Batfam members specialy Riddler also fit but I'm too biased to really express it well.

What about you? Wich characthers would you use to this type of narrative?

#multiverse #marvel #dc #ask

[overwheat]

This is just a venting, putting feels into words and off my chest post.

In the end I'll know I'll be fine, just gotta feel my feels, continue to work on managing my emotions and just take things one day at a time.

---------

Being self aware of your emotional triggers, while a good thing, really sucks when they randomly get hit by such little things and throws you off cause now you're emotionally down while mentally working to not let your thoughts spiral and dramatically overthink everything.

The big one for me that's been hitting lately, probably due to it being winter and holiday season now (woo seasonal depression), has been seemingly getting sidelined and ignored by people which makes me feel excluded, like I'm not wanted and so my fear of abandonment goes off.

When those feelings overtake me all I instinctively want to do is just withdraw from everything and isolate myself but, having figured out it was a coping mechanism I developed as a kid, I've grown to really not like doing it.

For me I know it can be a good thing to do for a little while to process emotions and such but, I also know it can turn long-term which is the part I don't like and am afraid of doing cause I don't wanna shut people out.

-----

I was on my own a lot growing up due to my mom and first step-dad working all the time and throughout elementary and middle school I had almost no friends so I was rarely invited to anything and got bullied a lot.

I wasn't aware of the impact this would have on me at that time and didn't realize how lonely I actually was until High School when the friend group I became a part of did stuff together constantly, hung out everyday after school and on weekends and this continued after graduating and well into our twenties, it was awesome.

Suddenly I had a group of people that included me and wanted me there, it was a sense of family I hadn't experienced until then and slowly over the last decade I've been realizing how fucked my childhood really was.

Now being in my mid-thirties, most everyone I'm still friends with from then and my early twenties have other priorities in their own families, spouses, careers with differing schedules and personal projects they focus on so we're not doing stuff all the time like we used to.

I am genuinely happy for all of them, I fully understand that life happens and it's not like I'm expecting them to make me a priority or anything.

It's just with being single (have been my entire adult life) and better understanding what I went through in my childhood, that feeling of loneliness is back cause I'm mostly on my own again.

I can function fine on my own and be perfectly content with entertaining myself since that was my entire childhood, so it's not that I have a hard time doing that, it's just that it's all I ever really knew until High School and since having gotten that experience of being with people that wanted me around and included me, I really don't want to go back to being that alone.

Logically I know none of what I'm feeling is really true but seeing everyone I know finding love, success and striving in their personal growth I feel like I'm falling behind and being outgrown. I feel like I'm not good enough for anyone to be deeply close to, to be a constant part of their life, I feel like I'm not wanted around anymore and that I'm easily replaced and that I don't matter to anyone.

I know it's not fair to myself to compare where I'm at with others but emotions do what emotions do and when these feelings manage to hit, they hit painfully hard and makes pulling myself out difficult.

----

Earlier this year I found out about and figured out that I identify as demisexual, which made a lot of past experiences make so much more sense and why it always felt like I was constantly late to the party in wanting to woo anyone.

It just takes me longer to know if I actually have a romantic interest in someone since I need a strong emotional connection with them. Also explains why I've always been a fan of the friends to lovers trope in media.

With most of my past experiences by the time the realization I was interested happened, the other person was already romantically unavailable.

Ultimately in life I really want someone to be partners with, not just in a romantic relationship.

I want a best friend to go on random adventures with, to snuggle up and watch shows and movies, to sleep & wake up next to, a partner in crime, someone to love and be loved by, someone to fully trust can be there for me and for them to have that trust in me when either of us need support and for us to want and put in the work on growing and building our partnership and individual selves, someone to just experience life with and come home to and talk about our day.

I want to be emotionally and intimately wanted and to know, to trust, that want is genuine and to give that feeling to someone in return.

I am absolutely terrified though that I'll never have that experience, forever be the third wheel and that I'll die as alone as I was growing up.