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ailithnight · 1 year

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Okay, so, Brain Dead rejected soulmate AU but Danny is the one who rejected Tim.

Let's say in this world that there are many types of soul bonds.

You've got your standard and fairly common First Words and Skin Art.

Then you've got less common things like Shared Dreams, Colorblind Until You Meet, and Red String.

And then you've got the very rare Telepathic Bond and Empathic Bond.

Finally, there's the ultra rare, one in a million, Shared Pain* soul bonds. It helps that the flip side of this particular bond means Shared Comforts**, but still, it is not the kind of bond people hope for.

Naturally, Fenton luck dictates that this is what Danny (and by extension, his soulmate) gets stuck with.

And at first it's fine. Like, bumps and scrapes happen but it's no big deal. Then the bullying starts and Danny feels a bit guilty that his soulmate has to deal with it by proxy.

But, Danny learns how to minimize damage. And the way Danny can feel his soulmate gentle nursing the pains when he can't, indulging in extra comforts for the both of them, makes Danny think that maybe it's okay.

After all, if it was really to much, Danny's soulmate would have already rejected him.

And when Danny's soulmate starts getting a bit more roughed up when they're 13, naturally Danny returns the favor; never wishing to sever the bond, only wishing he could prevent the pain all together.

Then Danny turns 14.

Then Danny dies. But survives.

He cries that night, his soulmate desperately trying to push comfort through their bond while all Danny can think about is how he shouldn't have gone in that portal. He shouldn't have been so reckless. He should have PROTECTED them.

And to top it all off, suddenly he's not just Dash's personal punching bag. No, there's a whole host of ghostly rogues that like to come bother Danny. And maybe it was still okay when it was just ectopusses or Lunch Lady or Boxy.

But as more and more powerful ghosts come through, as the fights get harder and Danny takes more damage, the guilt over what he's subjecting his soulmate to eats at him.

And after Danny meets Vlad, the first enemy he faces that he really can't beat, he makes the decision. This isn't going to end. These fights, these pains...

Someday he's going to face an enemy that is going to grind him into the dirt. That's going to kill him again, probably slowly and unpleasantly, and Danny already subjected his soulmate to one death, he refuses to put him through another.

So Danny mentally reaches deep inside himself, real hands placing themselves above his heart.

Feeling around for the source of that gentle warmth his soulmate is pushing through their bond.

He finds it, grasping with imaginary hands while his real ones clench the fabric of his shirt.

Feels the way the warmth stutters. The sharp jolt of pain on his elbow as his soulmate probably knocks it when he realizes what Danny is doing.

Danny pays it no mind. He holds the bond between then tightly; tears welling up in his eyes as phantom arms wrap around himself, his soulmate's desperate plea for Danny not to do what he's about to.

Danny yanks, physical hands all but tearing the shirt off his chest as mental ones rip the bond from his and his soulmate's hearts.

The last pain they'll ever share comes crashing into him, the distinct Rejection scar crackling across his chest not unlike the Lichtenburg on his arm.

It hurts, but less than dying had.

Then the pain is gone. Or rather, that pain is gone.

The dull aches from the fight with Plasmius throb and a part Danny finds himself missing the soothing comforts his soulmate had provided him, emptiness filling the space they used to occupy.

But another part of Danny, the part that is more ghost than human, swells with pride knowing he has protected his soulmate from Danny's own inevitable fate.

As Danny inspects Rejection spidering out from his heart, a strange hollow giddiness settles in his stomach. It makes him giggle.

His brain notes that if Dash ever sees this, he'll assume he finally succeeded in making Danny's soulmate reject him.

Danny giggles harder.

Not that Danny will correct him. Or his friends or his sister when they find out for that matter. They worry enough about him as is. They don't need to know just how far Danny is willing to go to protect the people he loves.

He's stifling laughter now, trying not to wake the neighbors.

Sitting alone on the roof of Fentonworks at 3 in the morning, Danny laughs until he sobs, then laughs and sobs until he can't breathe, then laughs and sobs and struggles to breathe until a light blue mist comes gasping past he lips.

His hysterics taper of and he lets the now familiar cold feeling of his ghost form spread across his body, pausing only for a second when he notices the new spiderwebbing across the chest of his hazmat suit, just a shade darker than the rest of the black material.

Oh well. It's not too noticeable and if some sees it he can just pretend it was always there. Just like he's going to pretend the emptiness in his heart was always there. Where it belongs.

~~~

Tim is at the Bat Computer desperately searching for any kind of clue who and where his soulmate is.

Of course, Tim had searched before, been searching basically since grade school when it became clear his soulmate was dealing with either bullying or an abusive home.

But Tim's efforts had tripled lately. Ever since that fateful day 4 months ago when he'd practically had a seizure in the middle of family dinner.

It had felt like he was dying, the echos of electric shocks up his arm and into his heart coming through his soul bonds. Followed soon after by the sense of something terrifying and foreign opening up in his chest and forcing its way into every molecule of his body.

Tim is pretty sure he screamed.

It was several minutes before the sensations ended and a strange coldness filled his being. For a minute, Tim was terrified his soulmate had died, until the cold retreated to a place just beside his heart and phantom hands could be felt trying to comfort and soothe.

At the time, Tim thought that would be that. Some kind of terrible accident. A story his soulmate would tell him when they finally found each other.

But that wasn't that.

It started with that strange coldness never leaving the space beside his heart. Then sometimes the coldness would spread, filling his whole body for brief periods of time. Then those periods of time started to come with some kind of pain. A scrape, a bruise, sore muscles.

The kind of injuries Tim got on patrol as Robin.

Which was something he'd not been allowed to do near as much since the aftermath of that dinner when Bruce had learned what kind soul bond Tim had.

"Tim, you can't keep throwing yourself into the line of fire. It's bad enough when you get hurt, but for your soulmate to have to suffer too?"

Stupid Bruce and his stupid rules. Tim and his soulmate had been fine before, thank you very much. And it wasn't Robin that got struck by lightning or something. Tim really isn't sure what kind of accident would result in the things he had felt that night, but electrocution is at least part of it.

But since then, Tim's soulmate had been getting more and more injuries at any and all hours of the day. If Tim had been worried before distressed now. Something had happened and now Tim's soulmate who was already dealing with something before now seemed to be in constant danger. Tim needs to find them, needs to help them, make them safe.

He doesn't look, doesn't take his eyes off the news articles on the screen as a presence appears behind him. No 2 presences. And the elevator dings bringing a third. But Tim keeps scanning articles, looking for some clue about a kid getting electrocuted and a town gaining a young vigilante shortly after.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, gravelly voice speaking in gentle tones. "It's almost 4am son." Tim doesn't respond. Bruce sighs and spins the chair around. Dick and Alfred are both there looking concerned and stern respectively. "It's bed time."

"My soulmate is in trouble. They're not safe. I need to find them. And you're worried about my bed time?"

"You need some sleep, Master Tim. You won't know you've found anything if you're to tired to see straight." Bruce nods and Dick puts on his best big brother face.

"Get some rest, Tim. We can keep looking later."

Tim opens his mouth to argue, but pauses at the strange tugging sensation in his heart. He briefly wonders what trouble his soulmate is in now before he realizes what the almost feeling of hands on his soul bond means.

He gasps and jerks in the chair, knocking his elbow on the arm rest and the warm blanket he'd cocooned himself in to send comfort back to his soulmate off his shoulders.

Even Alfred's expression turns concerned when Tim wraps his arms around himself, trying to convey along the soul bond his plea for his soul mate not to do this.

"Tim?" Tim isn't sure which family member speaks. Can't focus on it as his soulmate yanks on the bond, ripping it and the strange comfortable coldness out.

Tim cries out, three sets of hands immediately moving in to comfort him. Sight and sound turn to static as Rejection burns across his chest not unlike the electrocution had crawled up his arm four months ago.

Then the pain vanishes.

And Tim looks up at Bruce, knows he's got tears rolling down his face, searching pitifully for a father's comfort.

"They Rejected me."

Bruce startles, but quickly stoops down to wrap Tim in a hug and Dick lays a comforting hand on Tim's head and Alfred retreats probably to make something comforting and Tim cries at the emptiness where the bond should be and the now too warm spot beside his heart.

And yet, deep in his mind where gears are still turning, Tim resolves to still find his soulmate, even without the bond, if only to ask them why.

This was supposed to be a prompt, maybe a premise, but I got carried away.

So now y'all can have this piece of pain I have no intention of continuing. Enjoy!

And since I don't plan on continuing, if some else wants to run with it, have at and have fun!

*Shared Pain in this AU just means soulmates feel the pain, not that they recieve the injuries. So if a soulmate breaks an arm, the other will feel the break, but their arm will be physically fine.

**Shared Comforts meaning that soulmates also share good feelings. So if one person is all wrapped up comfy cozy in a nice thick blanket, the other also feels that warmth. But like with the pain, it's a phantom feeling. Won't keep the soulmate not bundled up from hypothermia.

#dp x dc #brain dead #rejected soulmate au #my writing #I am aware that Tim is probably super ooc #Buuuut #I don't care #Blorbos are squishy so you can contort them to fit your narrative #Right?#Right

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saint-end · 5 months

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"Yulia is the keeper of the hooks I may use to take hold of Eva’s soul."

#yulia lyuricheva #art #fanart #pathologic #digital art #i simply do not have the words to express just how much i love yulia she is just soooooo everything #i am so sad you never really meet her in artemys route in classic #i want to write her the most down bad melancholic love letters (and get rejected over and over)

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bluerosefox · 1 year

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Everything, including the bride. WAIT, BRIDE?!

Pariah Dark had, much like in the afterlife, had been a tyrant ruler when he was alive. He ruled with an iron fist and despite having many trophy concubines (from conquests and others) he wanted his actual partner to have some intelligence. So he set up a magical puzzle box and whoever solved it would have the honor of being his 'Queen'.... That was all before he died of course and later forgot about the box when he set his conquering sights on the Infinte Realms.

But some things from the living can still count even in death.

So when Tim Drake found the box at his first and only archeologist dig site he was brought to with his parents and solved said box after sneaking off with it he unknowingly became the Ghost Kings 'bride'.... Unknowingly he dodged that huge bullet when years later Danny Phantom beat Pariah Dark in rites of conquest and gained everything under Pariah's name...

Including his future 'bride.'

#danny phantom dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #batman #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #tim drake #brain dead #dead tired #they both find out about their impending marriage funnily enough because of Ra's #he tried magically binding Tim to the League someway #only for it to be rejected harshly with Danny's symbols appearing #and the magic binding them drags Danny to Tim in a way as if saying 'hey someone is trying to bind your 'wife' King stop them'#Ra's trying to make Tim his heir again by any means #No one was expecting a Ghost King to appear though #Tim and Danny both look for ways to free each other from it but.... they eventually fall for the other #a lot of miscommunication after thinking they arent good for the other and they both think the other wants to be free #Tim does wish he wasnt such a smart cookie as a kid but at least hes not bond to Pariah Dark anymore #Danny is a much better future spouse... Tim just wishes he wasnt referred to as the 'wife' and 'future queen' though by other ghosts #Danny wishes he didnt have to inherit anything after beating Pariah Dark but here we are #Tim is very cute though and Danny finds himself actually working smoothly with him.#they both click very easily. Tim helps Danny study for school and while Danny reminds Tim its okay to take breaks from being CEO.#however they both are still terrible with sleep management

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thissortofsorcery · 16 days

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ok but

a fic where Anakin’s had a crush on Obi-Wan since forever, and actually makes a move when he’s like sixteen. But Obi-Wan sits him down and explains very kindly how anyone his own age being attracted to a teenager would be actually terrible, and very unsafe. Anakin stubbornly refuses to accept that, but Obi-Wan just shakes his head and says Anakin will understand when he’s older (Obi-Wan doesn’t feel anything but familial love for Anakin at this point)

And then, when Anakin gets a padawan of his own, he approaches Obi-Wan to say that actually, his Master was right. It wouldn’t be a good thing for a Master to be into their padawan like that. He’s grateful Obi-Wan dealt with it so carefully and turned him down.

And then, as the clone wars stretch on, Obi-Wan comes to realize just how much his feelings for Anakin have changed. And it’s too late now - Anakin’s made it perfectly clear how he wouldn’t welcome Obi-Wan’s feelings.

(Of course, Obi-Wan is wrong)

#obikin #unrequited to requited after rejection is such a good flavor of fic actually #sorcery writes #mine

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marigoldjesus · 1 year

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A summer's thunderstorm is hot and dry / A lover's kiss underneath the river's bridge/ I could name every mystery bruise after you like a comet or a shooting star/ blink and you'll miss it/ we ate the birds/ their spines and rubber feet/ feeding the ghosts that live in us/ does my ghost for you frost a window and write I love you / chill your skin into goosebumps/ I still feel the clumps of soil underneath my fingernails/ dissolving between my fingertips /were we bright dead things / in ultraviolet light/ were we makeup sex / and sticky thighs / A halo of flowers and childhood stickers stuck onto our bodies / Were we a glowing blue flatscreen in a dark room and empty wine bottles/ i wanted to create a time loop where we meet here / I try to mouth a prayer of you /and your words / where i only half believe in it /I dip my head in the fading sun/ while you wake up somewhere in California

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astriiformes · 2 months

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Hi, i just learned about the scientific revolution in europe at school. Can you tell me why you dont think scientific revolutions exist? im curious!

So I feel like I have to lead with the fact that I'm kind of arguing two different points when I say scientific revolutions aren't really a thing

One is that I'm objecting to a specific, extremely foundational theory of scientific revolutions that was put forth by the philosopher Thomas Kuhn, which I think really misrepresents how science is actually practiced in the name of fitting things to a nice model. The other is that I think the fundamental problem with the idea is that it's too vague to effectively describe an actual process that happens.

It's certainly true that there are important advances in science that get referred to as "revolutions" that fundamentally changed their fields -- the shift from the Ptolemaic model of the Solar System to the Copernican one, Darwin's theory of evolution, etc. But there are historians of science (who I tend to agree with) that feel that terming these advances "revolutions" ignores the fact that science is an continuous, accretional process, and somewhat sensationalizes the process of scientific change in the name of celebrating particular scientists or theories over others.

Kuhn's model that he put forth in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (which is one of those books that itself stirred a great deal of activity in a number of fields) suggests science evolves via what he called "paradigm shifts," where new ideas become fundamentally incompatible with the old model or way of doing things, causing a total overturn in the way scientists see the world, and establishing a new paradigm -- which will eventually cave to another when it, too, ceases to function effectively as a model. This theory became extraordinarily popular when it was published, but it's somewhat telling who it's remained popular with. Economists, political scientists, and literary theorists still use Kuhn, but historians of science, in my experience at least, see his work as historically significant but incompatible with how history is actually studied.

Kuhn posits that between paradigm shifts there are periods of "normal science" where paradigms are unquestioned and anomalies in the current model are largely ignored, until they reach a critical mass and cause a scientific revolution. In reality though, there is often real discussion of those anomalies, and I think the scientific process is not nearly so content to ignore them as Kuhn thinks. Throughout history, we see people expressing a real discontent with unsolved mysteries the current scientific model fails to explain, and glossing over those simply because the individuals in question didn't manage to formulate breakthrough theories to "solve" those problems props up the somewhat infamous "great men" model of history of science, where we focus only on the most famous people in the field as significant instead of acknowledging that science is a social enterprise and no research happens in a vacuum!

Beyond disagreeing with Kuhn specifically though, I think the idea of scientific revolutions vastly simplifies how science evolves and changes, and is ultimately a really ahistorical way of thinking about shifts in thinking. Take the example of the shift from Ptolemaic, geocentric thought to the heliocentric Copernican model of the solar system. When does this supposed "revolution" in thought actually start, and when does it "end" by becoming firmly established? You could argue that the publication of Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium in 1543 was the beginning of the shift in thinking -- but of course, then you have the problem of asking where Copernicus' ideas came from in the first place.

The "great men" model of history would suggest Copernicus was a uniquely talented individual who managed to suggest something no one else had ever put forth, but realistically, he was influenced by the scientists who came before him, just like anyone else. There were real objections to the Ptolemaic model during the medieval era! One of the most famous problems in medieval astronomy was the fact that assuming a geocentric model makes the behavior of the planets seem really weird to an observer on Earth, referred to as retrograde motion, which had to be solved with a complicated system of epicycles that people knew wasn't quite working, even if they weren't able to put together exactly why. There were even ancient Greek astronomers who suggested that the sun was at the center of the solar system, going all the way back to Aristarchus of Samos who lived from around 310-230 BCE!

Putting an end point to the Copernican revolution poses similar challenges. Some people opt to suggest that what Copernicus started, either Galileo or Newton finished (which in and of itself means the "revolution" lasted around 100-150 years), but are we defining the shift in terms of new theories, or the consensus of the scientific community? The latter is much harder to pinpoint, and in my opinion as an aspiring historian of science, also much more important. Again, science doesn't happen in a vacuum. Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton may be more famous than their peers, but that doesn't mean the rest of the Renaissance scientific community didn't matter.

Ultimately it's a matter of simple models like Kuhn's (or other definitions of scientific revolutions) being insufficient to explain the complexity of history. Both because science is a complex endeavor, and because it isn't independent from the rest of history. Sure, it's genuinely amazing to consider that Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium and the anatomist Andreas Vesalius' similarly influential De humani corporis fabrica were published the same year, and it says something about the intellectual climate of the time. But does it say something about science only, or is it also worth remembering that the introduction of typographic printing a century prior drastically changed how scientists communicated and whose ideas stuck and were remembered? On a similar note, we credit Darwin with suggesting the theory of evolution (and I could write a similarly long response just on the many, many influences in geology and biology both that went into his formulation of said theory), but what does it say that Alfred Russel Wallace independently came up with the theory of natural selection around the same time? Is it sheer coincidence, or does it have more to do with conversations that were already happening in the scientific community both men belonged to that predated the publication of the Origin?

I think that the concept of scientific revolutions is an important part of the history of the history of science, and has its place when talking about how we conceive of certain periods of history. But I'm a skeptic of it being a particularly accurate model, largely on the grounds of objecting to the "great men" model of history and the idea that shifts in thinking can be boiled down to a few important names and dates.

There's a famous Isaac Newton quote (which, fittingly, did not originate with Newton himself, but can be traced back even further to several medieval thinkers) in which he states "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants." I would argue that science, as an endeavor, is far more like standing on the shoulder of several hundred thousand other people in a trenchcoat. This social element of research is exactly why it's so hard to pull apart any one particular revolution, even when fairly revolutionary theories change the direction of the research that's happening. Ideas belong to a long evolutionary chain, and even if it occasionally goes through periods of punctuated equilibrium, dividing that history into periods of revolution and stagnancy ignores the rich scientific tradition of the "in-between" periods, and the contributions of scientists who never became famous for their work.

#SORRY FOR WRITING A NOVEL #i hope this makes sense and that i am not too deep in the history of science theory to give a good explanation #a much shorter tl;dr answer would be that my stance towards scientific revolutions is more skepticism than total rejection #but hyperbole gets the job done a lot faster haha #getting to the point that i really should have a #history of science tag

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aka-indulgence · 4 months

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Got a oneshot! Have a fic where Sans rejects your romantic pursuits with a happy twist ;)

CW: Flashback section containing Sans’ ex, where he wasn’t having a good time

(Sans & Gender Neutral Reader)

Sans doesn’t know what he thinks about the whole romance thing after a disastrous start. What happens when a precious friend confesses?

——————

It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Sans didn’t think much of it when you came that day. Sans would often usually invite you over anyway, though today you were first to ask him if you could visit. Which was fine- he’s never as comfortable with anyone else as much as he was comfortable with you. (Maybe Papyrus, but even then there were things Sans wouldn’t tell his brother because he didn’t want to burden him with problems that Sans would rather burden himself with.)

You were laughing. He always loved it when you laughed.

“so i told him: paper-thin skin? buddy. pal. i ain’t got skin.”

You were in an uproar, slapping your knee. “Oh my god! I’d give the world to see the look on his face,”

“oh yeah. definitely unforgettable. man got so red faced he looked like he was gonna burst. he then stomped out like an angry toddler.”

You were giggling, before the both of you fell into a silence. That was a normal part of conversations, Sans was used to it. Especially with you, the silence was never unwelcome. But this time… something felt different. The air has shifted. Your carefree expression had changed into something more contemplative. He wasn’t sure what it was, then. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to read too deep into it.

You spoke up.

“... Hey Sans? Can I tell you something?”

Why was he nervous?

“... yeah?”

“It’s… um. Give me a second…” you laughed nervously. “Haha, sorry, I feel a little sick.”

Sans’ brows furrowed. “what’s up? you ok..?”

You huffed. “Ok. Yeah. Sorry for ruining the moment? But uh… it’s been on my mind for a while, and I have to tell you. I hope you’re ok with me saying this but. I like you, Sans. Kind of… a lot?”

… Ringing. Sans hears ringing. It feels like something in his soul crashed.

“... Sans?”

Sans wasn’t there. His mind was somewhere else.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

Her face broke into despair. She wouldn’t look his way. She didn’t even say a word to him.

“w… wait. why are you… where are you going?”

“I can’t be here.”

It was years ago. Monsters had lived on the surface for about a year. She was one of Papyrus’ friends, and their first meeting had been wonderful. It still leaves an ache in his chest when he thinks about it now, how hopeful he was when he met her. She was fun, always got Sans involved in social events, always found her way towards him when he was sitting on the sidelines while Papyrus took the stage.

“hey i wouldn’t recommend the punch.”

“Why not?”

“y’see, i like funny things. and that thing… it ain’t got a punchline.”

“... Are you seriously punning?”

“i think i’m being funny.”

“Hah, that’s so stupid,”

She was laughing. But when Sans thinks about it now, maybe it was a pitying one. Sans wasn’t one to judge, puns didn’t win everyone over.

She quickly became a regular in his life, the first human friend he’s made since the surface, one that seemed more interested in him than his brother. She would even pout and joke when Sans didn’t give her enough attention which was cute, at the time. It was easy introducing her to his friends, with how often she tagged along with him.

She would put her arm over his shoulders, hug him, get so close to kissing but miss… Sans never initiated, but only because he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with. It was nice to have someone so affectionate with him.

He really liked having her in his life.

And then… came that fateful day.

“I was going to wait for you. But you never asked me out.”

“what do you mean…?”

“I know you’re smart, Sans. I’ve been obvious. I just don’t know if you even like me.”

He didn’t know where this had come from. He was suddenly put on the spot, struggling to give her an answer, an answer that he knew she wanted. But Sans was lost.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

“...”

She was stoic. She was upset with him, she left him alone in his room after he brought out the games he was hoping to play together. Had he made a mistake…? Was he really that dense? Was he just terrible with commitment?

She… she deserved better.

So he decided to fix it. At least, he thought he was fixing it. Though it turned to be a decision Sans would regret soon after.

He showed up at her door the next night. She hadn’t responded to his texts, his calls. Not even Papyrus’. He felt guilty, like he ruined something perfectly good.

i can’t lose her.

Sans was starting to panic if she maybe had left- then the door opened. Sans soul shook when he saw how her face fell when she saw his face. She was going to retreat back into her room.

“w-wait! please listen to me,” His hand was at the door. “i… i made a mistake. you’re important to me, ok? and i think i want… to be with you.”

His soul sung when she finally looked him in the eyes. There were tears in hers, but she was smiling, and he was happy to have her hugging him again. The tension snapping was a relief. That he saved himself. But even then he wondered… why did it taste bitter to say those last few words?

It… didn’t last long. More and more of Sans’ time was taken up by her, which… should be a good thing. Couples should spend lots of time together, right? But he didn’t have time for his friends anymore. Everytime she went out, he needed to come with.

“Sans, you smell like ketchup.”

“oh… yeah, i put too much on my hotdog.”

“Come on, you need to eat something better. People keep telling me you smell like grease.”

“... really?”

“Yeah. Here, I got you new clothes. Crisp!”

“oh… thanks.”

“Get ready, I’m planning to go at six.”

He was becoming active. He was going out every day, he wasn’t locking himself in his room.

It was for the better, he told himself. She brought out the life in him.

… Sans always thought he was intuitive. He was the best at reading people. He’s the judge. It came to him like breathing.

But apparently, he had been blinded. He had a hard time trusting himself. That maybe his gut feeling was wrong.

“SANS…”

Papyrus had found him alone during a party, having escaped to the bathroom. His sockets had bags under them. His face was dripping with water. He just… needed to rest. Without anyone else around.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“yeah… i am. just needed to freshen up is all.”

Papyrus looked so… sad. He hadn’t seen his brother frown so deeply, in a way that made Sans feel guilty.

“SANS. I KNOW YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED TO PROTECT ME FROM YOUR FEELINGS EVEN THOUGH I DON’T NEED YOU TO DO THAT BUT… YOU HAVEN’T LIED SINCE WE SURFACED, AND NOW IT’S BACK. AND I THINK… YOU MIGHT BE LYING TO YOURSELF AS WELL. BROTHER… WHAT’S THE MATTER?”

Sans was getting sloppy. He looked away from him, to the mirror- he couldn’t handle that sorrowful look on Papyrus’ face. All that did though, was force him to confront his own expression. His signature smile wasn’t even there. And Sans couldn’t muster the energy to bring it back.

“I DON’T WANT TO PRY, IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT… Could This Have Something To Do With Her?”

Sans should’ve said no. Denied it. Told Paps that everything was fine and he was just… just overwhelmed. But he didn’t.

“i… maybe. i…” He exhaled through his phalanges, staring at the bottom of the sink. “i don’t know if i love her, pap. at least… romantically. i’m… i’m trying paps, i’m trying, i should- she deserves to have someone love her. i want to love her.”

Papyrus finishes his thought for him.

“BUT YOU DON’T.”

“... no.”

Sans felt horrible. He felt like he was leading her on. But Sans really thought that he loved her. He did! He cared for her!

… But not in the way she wanted.

And Sans didn’t want to pretend anymore.

“What did it? Did… did you find another person??”

“no. it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what changed?!”

She was shouting. Sans didn’t like the shouting. She never took kindly to him giving anyone- anything else attention. Sans tried to fix it, at first. He thought he was the problem until he got the messages asking him where he was, why he was so absent.

“nothing has, it was just a lot of little things. i’m sorry. i don’t love you in that way.”

“... How could you say something so horrible!?”

It was a good thing they hadn’t moved in together. She had insisted on moving, and that was one thing Sans could put his foot down about. He has a couple of old shirts and pants at her place from the nights he’s stayed, but nothing he’ll miss much. Lots of them were clothes she approved. It smelled like perfume. Even when he thought he was in love with her he thought moving together then was too fast.

She blocked him. Cut him out. Told her friends how Sans didn’t try hard enough when she put in the effort. Sans was never a crier- but he was in tears, hiding in his room. He would talk about it with Papyrus, but right then, he didn’t want anyone to hear. He wanted to throw his phone, he wanted to scream at her. He loved her! Maybe- maybe he never wanted to date her, maybe, if they hadn’t they’d still be friends but she always just… took too much.

It was nice when Papyrus chose to cut her off, to show support for him. It was ironic, even though Sans was the one she always chased, she always seemed to be on good terms with Papyrus. Even would ask him to put in a word for her after their arguments.

Sans was fine now. No- more than fine. Sans was happy. His time with her being a mere bump during his time on the surface.

Then, not too long after, he met you.

He never realized what was missing until he met you. You gave him space, and you never asked him to change for you. You… you liked who he was, you liked Sans.

After her Sans was afraid to attach so fast but… he really, really wanted to keep you in his life. He might even like you, more than a friend would. But he wasn’t ready to start another storm in his life.

As he looked into your eyes, he felt his soul sink. He wasn’t ready for it to end.

“... i… i’m sorry,” Why was the air so hot? “i… i… hhh,”

“Huh?”

It was a little hard to breathe. Which should be impossible. He’s a skeleton… air… air literally moves through his ribcage. He isn’t… uh… what’s happening?

You were frowning. Oh no. Were you upset?

“S-Sans? Are you ok?”

Sans was gripping the couch too tightly, phalanges digging into the couch cushions, close to ripping them. Beads of sweat were rolling down his skull. He suddenly felt pathetic… panicking over you.

“Sans?”

His eyelights darted back to you, bringing him back to the present. You looked so confused… he felt so guilty.

no… i can’t do it again.

“i… sorry. i don’t… mean to panic in front of you but… are you upset?”

“About what? I’m… Sans, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

He presses a hand to his face, then takes a deep breath. His mind was in a frizzle and he had to explain to you now before he goes crazy.

“sorry, my mind is a mess right now. i… i don’t want to make you sad. but i don’t know if i’m ready for a relationship right now. and it isn’t you, it’s… it’s me. i don’t want to take away your hope or anything but… i don’t know if i’ll ever be ready for a romantic relationship.”

You blinked at him.

“Oh,”

Sans tensed. Expecting you to explode, or cry, or yell at him, run out the house, hate him, oh god he ruined everything-

“Sans, that’s… ok?”

“...”

what?

“w… what do you mean?”

You’re confused. Sans was too. You shift your eyes left and right.

“I mean… that’s ok. I just didn’t want to make you upset is all, and w… why are you looking at me like that?”

Was he dreaming? His eyelight flashed yellow, as if he could find something. He scanned your face, your eyes, your nose- looking for a shudder, a twitch, even a pulse out of place.

Your face was neutral. Was it just hard to read you?

“you know, you can tell me if you’re upset.” Sans was telling the truth. “i can take it. i’d rather you tell me straight to my face if you are. i… i don’t want to lose you.”

You look startled at his sudden pleading, before giving him a pitiful smile. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Sans? Can you look at me?” You asked in a soft voice.

It was difficult to look up. He knows you, you’re not the type to yell at him or to curse him for little things. He’d trust his judgment but he’s been mistaken before. Nonetheless, slowly, he tilts his skull up to you. When he does, he sees the determination in your eyes, a fierce yet gentle look.

��Sans. Believe me, I’m ok. You’re not going to lose me if you tell me no. Ok?”

“m… mhm,”

Your serious expression melts a little when you start snickering. “Sans, I… I didn’t even get to finish my sentence. I was about to tell you that I’ll understand if you don’t wanna do a whole romance with me, I’ll be fine! I think it’d be great, and I stand by saying I like you a lot. But, I also like where we are right now, and staying like this is pretty nice too. Just being with you is fun, and whether you’re my friend or my boyfriend, that’s not going to change. So… if you’re ok with staying friends after my confession, I think I’d like that.”

The static of panic started to fade away, and a feeling of calm washed over him. The relief was so potent that Sans could feel his sockets start to sting.

h… heh… i was worrying for nothing.

“yes. god, i’d like that too,” Sans wobbles, phalange wiping his socket. “i was scared that if… if i said no you’d hate me.”

“Pfft,” you snort, before you quickly covered your mouth. “Sorry that wasn’t, I’m not laughing at you. I just want to know what made you think that?”

You bump him gently on the shoulder with your fist. “I thought you knew me!”

Sans snickers, a bit more giggly than usual. “i do! i just have doubts when it comes to romance nowadays,” He sighed. “so… you’re really ok with being friends?”

“Yeah! What’s so bad about being friends anyway? As long as you’re not weirded out by me, if I still get to see you, I count that as a win.”

Sans thought the same thing. He smiled.

“yeah… you’re right.”

It was definitely a win having you in his life.

You go oof! When all of a sudden Sans tugs you into a hug, squeezing you tightly.

“i’m… i’m glad i met you.”

You take him in for a moment, before wrapping your arms around him. You squeeze him back.

“Me too.”

#i used to get really sad reading sans rejection angst fics #then i thought about this to myself #and i feel better :>#sans is cool and i love him uvu #aka writing #angst is a speck in the window and reader deals with it nicely #gender neutral reader

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dduane · 1 month

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Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

#writing #writing advice #fanfic #rejection

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forgetme-eternally-blissfully · 1 year

Text

Choi Han sees a weird stick in Cale’s hair.

“Oh, wait Cale-nim, let me…” With the slight height advantage, Cale doesn’t actually have a choice but to let the swordmaster do as he wishes.

For moment he fiddles around, trying to grab the elusive, tangled object, when he suddenly feels Cale lean into his hand. He watches with bated breath as Cale closes his eyes.

(‘Ah, I’m so tired that I’m leaning on Choi Han. Aigoo, he must think I’m pathetic.)

Choi Han spends another minute to get the stick out, claiming that it was particularly stuck in his long hair. He burns this memory into his mind while also promising to never tell another soul.

Eruhaben is next. He notices the red head’s soft locks, freshly washed and neatly air-dried with magic. As a dragon, he doesn’t think twice about the temptation, standing from his spot on the couch to test if Cale’s hair is even half as soft as it appears to be.

It is, he learns.

(Cale shivers. Is Eruhaben threatening him? Just in case, Cale bows his head to hide his fearful expression.)

The dragon watches with amusement, thinking that it’s only natural to offer one’s head to a dragon as powerful as him. Until he feels Cale almost… press into his palm absentmindedly. Eruhaben vividly feels the exact moment that his heart melts into a puddle of affection.

He definitely will use this against the bastard next time he has the opportunity.

Oddly, On and Hong figure it out next. Cale is sitting in his usual chair, reading a book with his hair falling into his face picturesquely. On recalls when Rosalyn did her hair up with a pretty pin, making it easy to move around without getting in her face.

On considers if Cale would mind On experimenting a little, immediately coming to the conclusion that he wouldn’t give two shits.

She transforms into her human form and moves behind the chair. Of course, Cale doesn’t bat an eye at her unusual movements. When she gathers his hair up in her hands, he doesn’t miss a beat, leaning back to give her better access. He only changes the angle of his book so he can still read. Hong observes his sister from Cale’s lap with curiosity.

Her upbeat attitude is ruined quickly because she doesn’t know how to braid nor tie up hair, and is missing the necessary bows and pins to do it in the first place. She runs her fingers through his vibrant red hair as she tries to remember what Rosalyn did.

Hong’s eyes go wide. Cale had stopped reading as his sister continued her ministrations, closing his eyes and leaning back, relaxing into his seat. Hong urgently signals for his sister to witness this.

Her eyes narrow in on the sight with a calculating gaze. She changes the way her hands run through his hair, simply running her fingers through and carefully untangling it instead. Cale’s face gradually loses its constant pinch.

(‘Yes, the children should do whatever they want, even play with my hair.’ Cale internally nods to himself.)

On, unlike Choi Han or Eruhaben, tests her limits. She continues her gentle pattern without pausing. After a few minutes, both of the cats hear Cale’s breathing taper away into a relaxed rhythm. On silently makes eye contact with her brother, and they make a secret promise to not make a big deal about this, lest this trick never work again.

They hear Ron before he enters the room and On casually returns to her car form, stealthily and softly landing on Cale’s lap. Ron enters, pausing at the sight of his puppy young master.

Smiling benignly, he darkly assumes that Cale had been so exhausted that he managed to fall asleep in the middle of reading.

On and Hong don’t correct him.

If Cale has an especially bitter lemon tea that night, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. Not when the crown prince calls him soon after it arrives.

He arrives at the palace where the Crown Prince learns of this spreading secret. Cale uses his superior glib tongue to force a frown on Alberu’s exhausted expression, and the exasperated hyung sighs, walking around to the couch where his dongaeng is sprawled. He places a hand on his shoulder, threatening Cale with a high political position if he doesn’t stop doing dangerous things and causing trouble.

Cale shudders and agrees. Alberu smiles at this, his hand moving to ruffle his adorable dongsaeng’s hair.

(Cale sighs, closing his eyes and humoring his affectionate hyung. He leans back, questioning why everyone has been so touchy lately.)

Alberu feels his heart stop and stutter at the fragile sight. Cale looks completely at ease, slumped in the couch cushions and pressing his head into Alberu’s palm like a cat. His lip is quirked up slightly, but Alberu would bet a golden plaque that Cale hasn’t a single idea on what he looks like right now, otherwise he wouldn’t be even half as relaxed as he is right now.

He resembles a lazy cat. He’s being pet whilst lounging, with a content and pleased expression edging on his face. If this goes on long enough, Cale might even fall asleep.

Alberu continues talking without letting his smile leak through into his words, stroking the top of Cale’s head in an absent minded motion.

(Cale ignores the sneaking chill on the back of his neck, too focused on Alberu’s words about the kingdom. The petting is a bit strange, but Alberu is the crown prince, so he’ll allow it.)

As predicted, Cale doesn’t mention it.

After a minute though, Cale starts to frown, beginning to acknowledge the feeling that he’s being scammed somehow.

“Hyung, do you have a headache?”

Alberu acts like a polite and caring hyung, starting to massage Cale’s head.

(Cale frowns more. Something is definitely going on.)

Cale opens his eyes, protesting. “Your highness, my health is perfect at the moment. You, our shining sun, couldn’t possibly-“ Alberu changes from massaging to running his fingers through Cale’s hair.

(Cale sighs, cutting off. It was just a ploy to play with Cale’s hair. He should’ve expected his highness to scam him in this way too.)

Alberu grins when Cale stops talking, looking resigned to his fate. He goes completely limp, and Alberu’s blunt fingernails scratch against Cale’s scalp gently. Cale visibly shudders at the feeling.

(‘Too scary, what if he scratches and draws blood? If Raon finds out, he’s going to feed me soggy apple pie…’)

Alberu preens at finding Cale’s weakness.

On slyly asks Rosalyn to do up Cale’s hair one day- as an experiment- and is extremely pleased when Cale not only agrees, but he closes his eyes and falls asleep soon after the Mage is done gently tugging his hair into place and adorning it with intricate pins and accessories. Choi Han walks in on this scene and threatens Rosalyn to keep it a secret (after melting a bit on the inside). She agrees with a sly smile.

If only Cale knew how everyone was going to use this to scam him in the future…

Eventually the misconception that Cale likes to have his hair played with goes around the entire group. Cale- of course- is completely clueless. He just thinks that everyone suddenly became obsessed with his hair.

Ron is the only one who can’t get Cale to relax. Even Bud somewhat managed it, but Cale stays vigilant no matter what his old butler does. Ron finds his puppy young master to be amusing.

Cale really doesn’t understand what they want with his hair. Do they want his hair?

(He asks Ron for a trim a few days later. Ron only cuts off the dead ends and leaves it neat but long, much to the young masters displeasure.)

#for the record cale is definitely somewhat enjoying it. he’s just oblivious to his own emotions #and rejects all ideas of enjoying physical affection. bc all he needs is his slacker life and nothing else #so if he gets used to the petting and feels more relaxed afterwards… it’s purely coincidental #tcf #I’ve been mimicking the writing style of tcf recently and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing yet #… I should write smth and ask my sibling to peer review it and tell me if it’s better or worse than my style before #trash of the count’s family #lcf #lout of the counts family #cale henituse #choi han #eruhaben #on and hong #alberu crossman #rosalyn tcf #ron molan #not a reblog

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lovesickeros · 2 months

Text

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #tsaritsa #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa x reader #this is. technically not a sequel but not a prequel but a secret third thing (mental health crisis)#kidding i just wanted 2 write the prev fic from more reader oriented pov bc it wasnt fucked up enough!!!!!#i need fucked up reader who is irreparably changed in horrifying ways!!!!!! and they cant die bc teyvat kinda needs them 2 uh #exist at all. and if u die well thats it. hits reset button #the horrifying fate of a mortal forced to be a god against their will and all the drawbacks that come with it #where is love to be found when they all cannot see themselves as anything but beneath you? there will always be imbalance #oh they try. they claw and scramble and beg but being the creator has changed you.#none of their worship. none of their sacrifices and gifts and pleas make you feel a thing and what a haunting thing it must be #do they reject it? delude themselves into thinking that they must try harder?#or do they accept that this is a god? absolute. horrifying in its entirety. something that even the archons cannot truly understand #a manmade god who seeks absolution in only the most heretical. the most blasphemous #literally shaking chewing on the bars of my cage LET ME OUT #i love deep dives like this sorry 2 everyone i made think i was normal my bad #i just think immortality and godhood r funky concepts and i love making them WORSE #also this took so long because i was playing b@Idurs g@t3 3 erm. censored so it doesnt show up in tags PLEASE DONT SHOW UP IN TAGS #taking i need the tsaritsa to bite me to a whole new entirely worse level!!#i just think (starts talking for 5 hours straight and doesnt Shut Up)#this one is also. considerably more openly fucked up then the other fic. even if its hidden behind flowery language uh. take it seriously.#okay im done no more angst its fluff from here on out i need 2 be NORMAL. i am a normal well functioning adult. maybe.

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