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#dungeon meshi fic is well. you certainly can see a glimpse of what has been a central source of grief for me for the past like four five yr
figbian · 23 days
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Tell Me of the dunmeshi wip đź‘€ that title bangs. also tell me about frat au and how much of it is based on The Frat.
dungeon meshi wip CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS so putting it under a readmore. everyone else has to suffer thru frat au info.
frat au is only Sort Of based on The Frat (dear readers, this fanfiction author joined a fraternity and is a brother of [loud car horn]). due to the like ways fe3h works narratively, it felt a lot more true to a Good AU to be honest to an all-male fraternity, so it draws on The Frat's past (as we didnt haze, but hazing definitely used to occur) as well as info from other fraternities or fraternity-like structures (and a handful of How Do College-Age Boys Behave anecdotes coming directly from my real life college-age brother who is Not a frat boy).
sylvain, dimitri, and others are in a frat. their fathers (plus rodrigue lol) were in this frat. etc. not exactly explored but crucial to the narrative: how traditional fraternities uphold like lineage and legacies in college settings and why that creates bad gatekeeping etc etc etc. basically the ways fraternities suck on an individual level (hazing, unhealthy relationship to substances, pressure to conform to a certain set of standards, etc) AND the ways they operate on a structural level in a shitty way.
the plot however is: sylvain returns from some time off at university. in his time off, he's effectively ghosted his friends and no one knows what happened/why he vanished. felix is recovering from an injury that delayed his journey to become a professional tennis star (<- lol). they've known each other for so long, they both have dead brothers, but also how much do they really know about each other?
posting this snippet SPECIFICALLY for brothers of [siren wail]. i think youll all recognize the inspo for 'the green room.'
“maybe we should shift to explosions,” raphael said as he came back into the room, looking over at the car crumpling into a tree playing on the television. “for the vibe.” “the vibe,” agreed sylvain, privately wondering if there was that much of a difference between crashes and explosions. he figured that any kind of disaster suited the green room. the windowless room in the phi ep basement––named for the carpeting, which had, once, allegedly, been green (sylvain’s efforts to deep clean last spring had failed to prove anything except that one should always wear shoes in the green room)––was less of a vibe and more…well. the couches were all leather––easier to clean if someone puked on them; the ceiling had suspicious stains; the walls were covered in bad murals painted over several years of pledging––and sylvain would know they were bad, being an art history major; the tv sat on a pile of wooden crates. at least the sound system wasn’t terrible. when sylvain wanted to impress girls, he never brought them to the green room. he sat back on the couch and spread his legs. “yeah, fuck it,” he heard himself say. “explosions.”
dungeon meshi fic is suuuper rough rn. its Probably a 5+1 of 5 times marcille's friends died and 1 time they didnt (hahaha) but what i have written so far is all about chilchuck going senile and dying. the fic is very obviously tackling like "what happens when the people you love and remember as young and full of life grow old, and how is preparing for someone's death as painful as their death itself" BUT ALSO is about "what if the dragon part of falin makes her age at the same rate as marcille...and how is that, in some ways, worse than if she just lived as a human did?" bcs As You Know im always interested in the question "when is it true that living beyond when the narrative expects you to is worse than dying?" that part just doesnt have a lot written.
there is NOT a lot written that i posted for wip wednesday but here:
chilchuck has lost most of his teeth, so he has to eat porridge and other soft foods. “at least it’s not monsters,” he says to marcille every morning, which was funny the first few times and now is depressing. “yeah,” says marcille, pouring some sugar into his tea. it’s unclear to marcille––who, despite having half a century to prepare for this, feels unprepared––exactly when chilchuck seems to think it is. he keeps asking about his wife, his shop, his daughters, whether or not they could resurrect falin.  “have i reached out to her?” he asks. his wife, he means. mostly he seems to think they’ve just defeated the winged lion. marcille has not gained much patience in last fifty eight years; having to admit to mistakes she made fifty eight years ago every day for the last couple of years has been––hard. it’s been hard. “no,” she says, gritting her teeth. chilchuck’s ex-wife died fourteen years ago. marcille learned many mornings ago it’s best to convince chilchuck to write her a letter that cannot be sent rather than make him relive his grief every day.
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