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whathorselegs · 3 months

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Thinking about early relationship Soukoku again

About Dazai being reluctant to change anything about their dynamic. Everything in his life is so different to what it used to be, he's different. But him and Chuuya, their partnership? That's constant. He's afraid of it changing, afraid it will break somehow, that he'll mess things up and loose Chuuya for good.

So despite being a romantic at heart, he fights that change. He tries to keep things as much the same as they've always been before the relationship. He thinks it's the safest way to maintain it. Even after getting together, he still tries to hold some distance from Chuuya because he's afraid what will happen when he doesn't.

What he doesn't know is Chuuya secret craves the mundane coupley stuff that comes with relationships. His whole life has been one messed up event to the next. A relationship, going on dates, getting dumb matching sets, flowers, remembering anniversaries, that's a whole world of tenderness and care Chuuya's never had.

But he doesn't know how to go about it. Chuuya definitely doesn't know how to ask for it. So his attempts to engage in the romantic stuff are clumsy and forced.

Dazai seeing this, misunderstands, letting his own fears cloud his judgments. He thinks it's forced because its not something Chuuya wants, but that he feels he has to do. He sees this as their partnership changing, he thinks Chuuya is uncomfortable. (And Chuuya is, a little, from being out his comfort zone, but not in the way Dazai's thinking)

Its awkward and tensions keep building, because despite getting together, they are still terrible at just telling each other what they want.

Until it all implodes on them. They probably get into an argument over something really silly like matching mugs and half way through they realise how ridiculous they're being. Finally, they talk it out, which is still one hell of an embarrassing conversation, but they struggle through it. Because that's what you do when you're adults who care about each other, you talk.

And then, once Dazai has basically gotten permission to be the very embarrassing romantic he is, he doesn't hold back anymore. Something Chuuya almost definitely wasn't prepared for, but doesn't regret. (Even if he sometimes lies and says he does)

#bungou stray dogs #bsd skk #soukoku #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #my writing #I think they'd honestly have a very rocky start to their relationship #because surprise being able to kiss now does not fix their many problems #but they get through it because they love each other

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dootznbootz · 26 days

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Me, trying to unlearn shame and stop being a perfectionist:

#:'D #strugglinggggg #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writer problems #writers #Mad rambles #I love my ideas. I fucking hate how I WRITE. It feels sloppy and all over the place. You can see I have ADHD through my writing😩#writing memes #I'm trying to get better about just getting shit out there. :'D

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astorythatwritesitself · 2 months

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yes good day hi I am being COMPLETELY normal don't look at the tags about this Valentine's YCH from @valkblue 😭

#mass effect #shrios #shep tag #LOOK AT THEM THOUGH AGH #i have put Adrian through many problems and i will do it again but also she can get a kiss from her bf so it's okay #it's so sweet!!! they just Get To Have A Moment To Enjoy!!!#also PLEASE appreciate all the texture work on here with me like godDAMN!!!#thank you again SO much i have been wanting Shrios art with my shep specifically for over a decade now & this is SO good 😭#anyway time to play mass effect & figure out a writing i can attach this as a header image for

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cemeterything · 4 months

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Do you write stories?

occasionally, but mostly i just come up with ideas that never make it past the worldbuilding stage

#the problem with writing stories for me is that i always end up feeling like a certain plot point necessary to resolve and #continue the narrative feels too contrived. even though plenty of lauded authors have advanced their stories #through arguably 'contrived' means. because thats literally what fiction is about. making shit up.#but thats where i always get stuck. i cant reconcile with my own imagination

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theaceace · 4 months

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Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them.

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough.

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach.

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes.

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth.

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough. Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him.

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust.

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes.

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob.

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre, Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it.

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other.

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it.

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #hob gadling #This was originally going to be part of 'Em's retirement home for wayward Endless'#in which Dream retired and all of the other Endless followed (except destruction who didn't want someone else saddled with the job)#A sort of 5+1 thing with each of the ex-endless siblings interacting with dream and hob #and 1 of the current endless #But unfortunately my brain isn't up to that so you guys get this instead #Anyway I think a lot of problems would have been solved if Dream and Desire had gone through developmental stages like regular siblings #Here we see the 'toddler' phase. Hob is lucky they're not biting each other #Not exactly a writing tag

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starrysharks · 7 months

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a cat's hauntingly cute laugh rings out on this dark, candy-coated halloween night...!

#zeno's art #ocs #minty #soulstice circus #halloween #this piece was honestly SO MUCH FUN!!! there was a bit of turbulence but in the end i'm very proud of it #i've got values down well now so they weren't a big problem but halfway through i ended up changing a lot of the colors #because i wanted a more blue and pink look than purple and pink #but it worked out well #i also wanted to do a different angle which went nicely #in the end my favorite parts of the piece are his hair + stockings #as well as the cityscape (especially the streetlight which was added in spontaneously) and the pumpkitties!#this is also a redraw of a piece from around this time last year - i might post that in a seperate post as well #ok i'm writing all this on the 18th now - this should reach you on halloween night! (in US times)

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expectiations · 3 months

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Is it just me or does the phrase "dumb Darillium River" make your ears ring too?

That phrase hurts me like crazy because it takes away how the post-Manhattan events affected her so deeply. And now that we have the added knowledge that she gets to see her parents in New York even after Manhattan, THORS now presents itself in a different light.

River's resounding "the Doctor does not and has never loved me" cements the implication that she and the Doctor had a huge row after Manhattan. What would you feel if the love of your life told you he "does not and has never loved" you? Certainly not happy.

Do you know what grief does to one's mind? No matter how brilliant you are, grief changes you. Grief makes you a different person. I would know, having experienced it myself. And River, in her grief, jumped into a headspace that shut out (or tried hard to) the Doctor.

Yes, she should have recognized it was him she had unknowingly dragged along on her space Robin Hood quest, but for her, it isn't him. It wouldn't be. Because that was the last thing she had heard him say.

Grief and pain clouding her mind, she proudly asserts that no, the Doctor isn't there. He won't show up for her. He has never loved her. But of course, she loves him. She's never denied that. But he proves her wrong soon afterwards. Because she is the Woman The Doctor Loves.

So, yes, on the surface level, "dumb Darillium River" seems to be what THORS had made River to be. But no, it wasn't. It isn't. It was about a grieving River and a chance for the Doctor to right his wrong. (And yes, we were robbed of that kiss. Homie here quite clearly wanted one.)

originally posted over on twitter.

#I do have my problems with some parts of THORS but I just wanna defend post-Manhattan River because my girl went through some serious shit #i mean - row with eleven. his time with older River was up. he only saw younger and even younger versions of River. the next time he saw a #River post-Manhattan was on Trenzalore which was data ghost River. anyway that's the topic of my next thread and i'll be sharing it here to #river song meta #think piece: river song #i also need to make a new tag of my writing stuff so am gonna choose #tia thinks too much #lol #river song #doctor who #eleventh doctor #doctor x river #yowzah #the doctor #twelfth doctor #dw #the husbands of river song #doctorriver #bring back river song #dw musings #here's the thread i was talking about Tree in tumblr form! i sincerely hope i haven't driven you away with my incessant yapping 🥹#sometimes i worry that i talk too much 🫨

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sneez · 1 year

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victor kain chronic pain nation rise up (credit to @transdankovsky for this idea :-D)

/ id: two digital drawings. the first image shows victor kain and daniil dankovsky sitting together; daniil is taking victor’s pulse. inside a speech bubble above victor’s head is a screenshot of a question from the duolingo russian course, in which the sentence ‘я – хороший пациент, у меня всегда всë болит’ is translated as ‘i am a good patient, i always have pain everywhere’. the second image shows daniil looking politely horrified. end id. /

#artwork #pathologic #victor kain #daniil dankovsky #this might seem a bit out of left field given that i havent talked about it at all publicly but victor having chronic pain is one of my Most #Established and Important Headcanons and i think about it all the time. i should write something about it but i have lost the ability to #write it seems :-/ but i can still create Images! so here is one :-D #there is a lot of projection involved i will confess but i also think it makes a lot of sense for his character so i am not ashamed of that #not that anyone should be ashamed of projecting i just feel embarrassed when something is Too obvious. baring my soul via the depressed dad #anyway i imagine him to have multiple chronic illnesses and health problems but primarily fibromyalgia in the pain department #but he hasnt really realised that it's abnormal so he hasnt mentioned it to anyone. until he brings it up offhandedly to daniil (as #pictured) and daniil goes through every stage of grief at the same time #hes got problems. hes gottem #as i said it was icarus who had the idea and ive been thinking about it ever since :-D ily ic #thenks duolingo russian course for my life my russian is still incredibly sparse but im tryin. im getting somewhere. very (very) slowly #i hope you are all doing well my dear friends!!! i am so sorry i have been so absent this term has been absurdly busy :-( i miss you all

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lightningidle · 2 months

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Fig's line "I don't think I'm an artist, I think I'm just a good friend" has not left my head at all. Just...

You're Fig Faeth and your horns came in over the summer and you pick up the bard class as a form of adolescent rock 'n' roll rebellion, and it works! It's exactly the outlet you need! You give a guy you just met drumsticks and you start a band and it's good enough that within a year and a half you're touring. You are, in every sense, good at being a bard.

And then, finally, your junior year, you start to take it seriously. Your art goes from an outlet and a form of rebellion to a practice. A discipline. (Can rebellion exist within a discipline?) Your classmates know what they want to do with their work. They all have a thesis statement. And yeah, there's cohesion in the music you make, but you've never had to think about why you make it. You've never sat down and dissected what it is about bass that speaks to you. You've never poured over your lyrics to pick at any deeper meaning. Why should you? You don't play music for a grand design, you do it to... huh, why do you do it?

(Your art is the one form of self-expression that feels as safe as Disguise Self does, because even if you're pouring your heart onto the page and then screaming it in front of thousands of people, it's not like you're really making yourself known. You can sing I'm lonely, I'm scared, I'm furious, and your fans will sing it right back, and there will still be the distance between performer and audience to keep your heart safe.)

Now you're being asked to look inward to explain the artistic choices you're making, and you can't help but recoil at that, because you'd rather do anything than look inward. Meanwhile, your classmates have no problem with it, so you start to wonder if you're a real artist at all. Can your art be authentic if it only exists to bolster a thesis statement? Has your art been unauthentic this whole time because you've never really thought about a thesis statement before? Is that what makes it art, and not just the next track on somebody's teen angst playlist?

You can't think about yourself— acknowledging your own existence makes you want to puke. So if your music is an extension of yourself, (and it is, even if it's just because the spotlight reveals only what you want it to,) you can't think about your music. You can't. You have to. Your grade depends on it.

You're Fig Faeth, and you keep multiclassing because you'd rather be a good friend than a great artist. If introspection is what great art demands, then fuck it. You must not be a bard at all.

#Dimension 20 #fig faeth #fhjy #Idle Chatter #my last two years of college were when I started to get more and more nauseous about my own art #because I wasn't being taught how to make the art I wanted to make #the whole curriculum's focus was on gallery art #which infuriated me! I wanted to make art that didn't have to involve twelve layers of meaning and metaphor to be considered good!!#so I drove myself into the ground time and again trying to make (miserable) work that I thought would fit the criteria of a Real Artist #anyway it's been 4 years and I'm just now picking at why I don't enjoy creating anymore so Fig's whole arc has hit home in a major way #ALSO. AAAAALSO. THE ADHD STRUGGLE WE SEE WITH BOTH FIG AND KRISTEN. LOVING SOMETHING BUT STILL STRUGGLING WITH FOLLOW THROUGH #BEING TOLD YOU'RE NOT DOING ENOUGH WHEN IT'S SO FUCKING HARD JUST TO GET WHERE EVERYONE ELSE IS AND NOT UNDERSTANDING WHY IT'S HARD FOR YOU #it was easy and now that the rubber's hit the road it's hard for you but not for others so it must be YOU that's the problem #you must be lazy or stupid or just not suited to this after all even though it's part of a pattern that has been happening all your life #if you were good enough or cared enough then surely the discipline would come easily to you! the way it comes easily to all your classmates #SCREAMS I gotta stop before I write a second essay in the tags. I'm so normal you can trust me to be normal about D&D characters

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moonandris · 2 months

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#faye's polls #writeblr questions #writeblr polls #writing polls #writing questions #neurodivergent #neurotypical #neurodiversity #adhd problems #writers with adhd #writers with autism #just adhd things #adhd writers #i HATE having adhd yet also being a super creative person lmao it's like WHY did i get this super creative yet broken brain #i'm really curious to see the results because i love writing but it's so damn hard #i have adhd and it's SO challenging for me to even do tasks that make me happy WITH medication #so i am really hoping to connect with other writers who are going through the same struggles as me #and see if we can share tips and help each other out #because this world is NOT built for people with neurodivergent brains and it's hard out here! *cries in adhd*#so i think it's so important to interact with others and be part of a community that helps each other thrive #please and thank you if you reblog this i really appreciate it #have a blessed day my creative friends <3

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th3archivist · 11 months

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Writing is like watching a mildly interesting Netflix program.

It’s fun, and when you start you spend hours on it, but if you make the mistake of taking a break before you’re done, say goodbye to finishing it that month.

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stevethehairington · 6 months

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really fucking sick and tired of people who really fucking love the eddie book jumping on people who don't like or are even remotely critical of it's posts and like crusading their opinions around from the top of their high horses and shoving it down our throats.

if you like the book, great! that's awesome! love that for you! i am genuinely glad that you were able to find good in it and enjoy it!!

but not everyone did, and not everyone is going to agree with you. so, instead of going on some grand crusade where you find every single post that includes anything even remotely negative or negative adjacent or even neutrally critical and spending ALL this time and effort trying to provide unwanted rebuttals to every single thing, maybe you should just stay in your lane and find people who DO like the book and chat about it with them.

because i can PROMISE YOU, none of us appreciate it when you come onto our posts and start accusing us of "hating on" the author or "being rude" about her and her work and RIDICULOUS shit like that.

being critical of something and pointing out it's flaws is NOT inherently hating on it. i, frankly, do not know where people got that notion, but it's not fucking true so can we fucking quit assuming it is? and, critiquing something is also NOT the same as saying this is shit and it sucks and the author is a piece of garbage. again, where the fuck that came from is beyond me. you can be critical of something and still enjoy it. as soooo many of you love to point out, it's not perfect, why should it be perfect? so D U H. of course that means criticism can and should arise???

also. hot take (by which i mean ice fucking cold because it's NOT a fucking hot take), but going around toting FALSE facts as part of your "defense" does not make you or your argument look good. you, like the author, should maybe do a basic fact check first. 🙃

tldr, if you like the book, that's genuinely great, but stay in your fucking lane and stop seeking out posts from people who didn't like it to start shit in the notes.

#flight of icarus #stranger things #this has happened to me and to so many of my friends and im fucking SICK of it #i didn't even hate the book either!! i thought it was just okay #and yet i STILL get all these book lovers jumping down my throat about things i say about the book #things that - HONESTLY are not even like that scathing!!!!!#like god damn all im asking for is a little BASIC effort from the author and they all think thats me asking for her head on a platter #its NOT #i have no problem with the author #she's whatever to me honestly just a vessel through which the book was given to us #ALSO she is some nebulous blob way outside my orbit. AS IN any critiques i have of her and her work are NOT direct assaults on her???#like i dont fucking KNOW her #im not saying any of this to her face #she is a published writer she should KNOW the risks she is taking when she publishes her writing #not everyone is going to like it! there are going to be people who are critical of it! there are going to be people who hate it!#critiques and pointing out mistakes and wishing for things to have been different is not a fucking direct attack #those things are actually pretty fucking common responses to ANYTHING #and a lot of times theyre actually meant as useful helpful things geared towards improvement and not something to tear someone down with #some people on the internet need to go touch grass and learn how to CRITICALLY THINK again #the world is not as black and white as you think #n e ways. rant over. if you stuck around through all of that kudos to you. i am just. at the end of my rope with this bullshit.

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missmoonfrost · 2 months

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Wolfsbane potion - a wolfstar microfic

March 5 - Wolfsbane Potion - 277 words

Remus put the cup down on the kitchen table. His stomach twisted at the bitter smell.

He adjusted his chair, swept away a few crumbs, adjusted his chair again, and sighed.

He was being ridiculous, of course. He’d drank the Wolfsbane Potion every night during the weeks leading up to the full moon for some years now. What was a horrible taste to being able to keep his mind? He should be grateful. He was grateful.

Sirius came in. Stopped at the sight of him. Walked right over and gave him a kiss.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know what I’m fussing about,” Remus muttered and turned his face away.

Sirius sat down beside him and embraced him from behind, leaning his head against his shoulder.

“It’s silly,” Remus continued. “Just, sometimes I wish I didn’t need it. And then I get angry with myself for asking too much.”

Sirius gently fitted a strand of hair behind his ear and kissed his temple. “I don’t think wishing for things to be better is asking too much.”

“But it will never come true.”

“How do you know that? What if someone comes up with a permanent cure?”

“I should be grateful I have this. Don’t you remember the years before?” Remus argued, almost angrily.

“Yes, love, I remember. And I am grateful they’re over. That doesn’t mean you can’t acknowledge the parts that suck, too.” Remus pondered that for a moment and pressed his temple lovingly against Sirius' forehead, before straightening up. He grabbed the cup and swallowed its content, for once allowing himself to wince and moan at the taste without feeling bad about it.

@wolfstarmicrofic

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #remus x sirius #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius × remus #writing what i need #dealing with my real problems through fanfics

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prince-liest · 10 months

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more self-indulgent jgy abo headcanons

I read a fic so long ago that I no longer remember the fandom nor characters involved, but the thing about it that really stuck in my mind was that it was an abo-verse fic that used the concept that omegas have an ingrained biological need for physical (including platonic) affection, to the point where “touch-starvation” was a medical diagnosis

this is obviously extremely up my alley for ALL my blorbos, but consider jin guangyao in particular:

unlike the usual ‘omega pretending to be a beta’ trope, I think that once he is established at jinlintai, he would not really try to let people assume that he’s a beta. being an omega leads people not only into underestimating him, but also into offering him a certain degree of safety in providing a veil of stereotype-associated demureness, placidity, etc. it is more to his benefit for people to see him as a polite young man, perhaps even one who, yes, is a war hero - but people can’t quite imagine what kinds of things he must have done for that. surely nothing too bad.

but at the same time, this is the character who couldn't even serve tea to people as nie mingjue’s deputy without people making a show of wiping off their fingers after touching the cups. people know he is an omega, people judge him for being an omega on top of all the other things he is already judged for, but I suspect that most of the relevant and appropriate people in jinlintai avoid touching him unless absolutely necessary. in a world where casual contact is thoroughly commonplace just due to the socialities set up by their biology, jin guangyao has a personal space bubble of like 2-3 feet because he's the dirty son of a prostitute.

he walks through the halls, ostensibly the second young master of the tower, and feels like he is drowning in the physical manifestation of loneliness.

who does he have left? family? jin zixuan is not close to him, and frankly is likely an alpha raised by alphas to whom it would not even occur to that such needs need to be minded. jin guangshan certainly is aware, but is using it as leverage, allowing and denying contact as he see fits to manipulate jin guangyao the same way he does with his fatherly affection. there are his sworn brothers, but his relationship with nie mingjue is fraught: certainly da-ge wouldn’t withhold contact as punishment or leverage, but that doesn’t mean he wants to touch jin guangyao anymore, nor does he really understand how the necessity of it feels when he grew up with nie huaisang, an omega who has never been shy about taking whatever affection he wants. and er-ge... he just isn’t around enough.

lan xichen is still the best option, and by the time they have the opportunities to see each other, jin guangyao is pressing nails into his palms to stop from just plastering himself up against lan xichen’s side, which surely would be humiliating for both of them. but still, he’s so aware of it any time they’re in the same room, meting out as many small touches as he can get away with without embarrassing himself. lan xichen slips his fingers over jin guangyao’s wrists as he pulls him up from a bow, intending warm affection. jin guangyao doesn’t want to let him know that it feels like being allowed to gasp for a single breath of air before his head is shoved back underwater.

(with nie mingjue, it is worse. da-ge is just as aware as jin guangyao is when they touch, but for all the worst reasons.)

it is the strangest blessing whenever jin guangyao sees nie huaisang. it’s embarrassing, a little - the knowledge that nie huaisang understands, unlike most people in jin guangyao’s life. but nie huaisang takes that embarrassment onto his own self willingly, never hesitating before making a fool of himself in the way that only a terminally younger brother can, and simply flinging himself into his san-ge’s arms. it’s nostalgic, too: nie mingjue isn’t quite so aware of how important touch is with how proactive nie huaisang can be, and so during his days as deputy, it was often nie huaisang who gave meng yao what he could not ask for.

the cultivators at jinlintai look down on him just as the ones in the unclean realm did, but now there is no willing young master to soothe away the tangible, physical ache of it. more often than not, jin guangyao tucks his hands into his sleeves to hide the way his fingertips shake.

anyway this is my petition for jiang yanli to take two looks at this situation and promptly wrinkle her brows just the slightest amount, expressing quiet concern to jin zixuan that it’s strange how she doesn’t see anybody touch his half-brother very much, does she? and jin zixuan is a little confused, a little embarrassed, a little off-balance - he doesn’t feel close enough to jin guangyao to be that casual, but he’s an alpha, he doesn’t get it until jiang yanli explains to him, with a beta’s patience, the value of family bonds to an omega as well as jin zixuan’s responsibility as a brother (older brother? younger? his father claims older, but there’s no way to truly know - ), and isn’t it wonderful, having a little brother?

and then someone pats jin guangyao over the head until he’s feeling a little less strung-thin and out of options, he realizes he has to keep jin zixuan and jiang yanli alive lest he actually lose his mind (sympathy for da-ge? oh no...), and etc etc things end happily ever after, the end, QED.

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