#something that hopefully will compel a few people

[hyperfixat]

hbd to me!!!!!!! here’s a vent fic i wrote a few months ago so proceed with caution; reader attempted suicide, reader continues to have suicidal thoughts/attempts, reader seeks harm onto themself (both from external sources and self inflicted), reader is depressed!!! be sure to evaluate your mental state before reading this fic :3. this also contains a scene that i felt compelled to write for some reason involving assisted hygiene: idk i felt that needed a little acknowledgment..

ik its my birthday fic and it proably should be happy, but theres a bit of hurt comfort to this that i love and i polished it up to share so that hopefully u like it too.. again heed my warnings^

also final note; formatted on my pc, sprry if its funky

The first thing you feel upon waking up is disappointment.  This… you rub your face with your hands.  You can’t do anything right, you sigh.  Waking up is a clear sign of a failure as to your plans.

Although you frown as you observe your surroundings, this isn’t where you would be if someone had caught you attempting to take your life.  You wouldn’t be dumped in the middle of a sunny field.  This isn’t a hospital or ward, in fact there’s no sign of any modern buildings from where you sit.

Just where are you…?

You use shaky arms to lift yourself up, and begin to attempt to find a way home.  Or for something to just kill you.

What luck, you realize morbidly, you spawned on a plateau, and that’s all you allow yourself to think before breaking into a sprint and running both to and over the edge.

You hit the plains with a crack and you wheeze out a pained groan.  Before you can lift yourself up to try again or seek help or check for any witnesses, you feel your body fade away. It’s a weightless feeling as you sink into the earth of Teyvat.

There is not much pain, not as much as you had hoped or expected.  In ways this is a pro, for you are a coward in the face of pain no matter deserved or otherwise.

You fade, but not into the hold of death, at least you don’t think this is death, rather you fade from your spot crumpled on the ground into a sitting position firmly in the arms of an Anemo Statue of Seven.  The marble orb of Barbatos’ lookalike stops you from falling out of the statue’s arms and you heave a sigh.

How unfortunate.  It seems you cannot permanently die here.  Though… what if it was a fluke…?  With another bone deep sigh you fall to the ground and walk back to the ledge and stare down at the fifty foot drop.

Before you work up the courage to take the plunge a high, excited voice calls out for you.  You flinch, opening your eyes to see a youthful bard dressed in Mondstatian green, holding his hands out for you.  Venti is sprinting towards you and you take a step back nervously.  He seems to recognize you… but how could that be?  

His face falls as you back away and his sprint slows when he’s a few yards away from being able to reach out to you.  Venti calls your name again.  He falters, the smile adorning his face slips.

“Wait…” his voice wavers.  “What are you doing, Divine One?”

Why did he call you that…?  Is it some Mondstat greeting of sorts?  You can’t kill yourself in front of him and retraumatize the poor guy, so you allow him to get closer to you, and you don’t stop him when he sweeps his lythe form down into a kneeling bow.

“Hello.”  You greet, unsure of how one is supposed to act when approached by a fictional character.

Venti lifts his gaze from the ground up to your face, looking downright awestruck.

“I, we, have long awaited your descent, Divine One, it is an honor to have you grace the lands of Freedom with your presence first.”  

Uh-oh.  He seems to have confused you with someone else, because you are certainly no one special and definitely not any sort of divine.  How are you gonna break that to him without too much embarrassment on either of your parts?

“Please, come with me to the city, I’m certain the people will be delighted to host the one who shaped the world.”  His voice is high with a musical lilt, and it’s hard to decline him.

“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out dry, and you realize you’re terribly dehydrated.  “I think there’s been a mistake.  I’m not whoever you think I am.”

You take a step back, backing yourself up the hill onto higher ground.

“Whatever do you mean, Divine One?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

You shake your head, stepping further away from the Archon.  Venti reaches his hand out to grasp at the bottom hem of your pajama pants.  “Please!  I’ve waited so long for you.”  He falls onto his knees to beg.

Fuck, his eyes are so pretty when he pleads.  You don’t want to risk angering whatever God he’s mistaking you with, though, “Venti….”  

The blue-green sky of his eyes turns to the color of the ocean as tears well up in his waterline.  His whole body shivers when you utter his chosen name.  “I can keep it a secret from the public.  Surely only Archons and those blessed with a Vision will be able to sense you.  We can keep it quiet, please, Divine One, I beg of you.”

“I’m not this Divine One you speak of,” you kneel and place a hand on his hat.  Venti’s eyes search yours with confusion. As he lifts his head, your hand presses into the curve of his skull, making him lean harder into your touch.

“Th-That’s okay, please just stay in Mondstadt for a night, that’s all I wish.”  He doesn’t believe you, that’s clear, but he seems so eager to appease you.

You pause, looking away from the pathetically begging archon.  His hands clench on your pant fabric.

“Okay.  Just for the night.”  You hope no one else from Mondsat is as strange as Venti is…

“I don’t have any way to pay for this,” you smile at Diluc, placing a hand on the side of the glass to push it back across the counter.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you pay, please drink all you wish.  Let me know if it isn’t to your taste.”

“Does that apply to their guide as well, Master Diluc?”

“No.”

“A shame,” Venti sighs, taking a deep drink from his glass.

You have to hand it to Venti, he is a good guide.  He’s quick to shut down any vision holder you come across with a quick whisper in their ear, and he truly knows Mondstadt in and out.

The bell above the door jingles as it swings open, and you glance behind you in time to see Rosaria come strolling in with a timid Barbara clutching the back of her cathedral robes.  She must not visit the Angel’s Share much, seeing as the hydro-user looks around with quick, nervous eyes.  When her eyes land on you they widen comically, her small hand darting out to steady herself on Rosaria’s forearm.

—

“Farewell, my Divinity,” “Safe travels, Divine One,” and “May the wind bless your travels, Your Grace,” follow your retreating form as you make the hike to Dragonspine.  

Honestly you aren’t certain where you’re heading.  If the other nations treat you the same as Mondstadt, that's a no-go.  You won’t know unless you go, though.  Maybe you should head the same route the Traveler would.  That would mean Dragonspine is your next destination.  

Who will you meet there?  Albedo…?  He’s the only one you can think of that stays there.

As you begin the trek you realize; he’s a research-type dude, you hesitate to say scientist, but he does experiments and such.  Perhaps, you can make use of yourself by giving your body up to him to work on.  Surely an undying body would greatly interest the research of life?

After a surprisingly simple search you find him and present your proposition.

“Absolutely not,” Albedo dismisses you without thought.  He doesn’t even bother to spare you a look.  “That is blasphemy of the highest order, I’d suggest giving that attitude up sooner rather than later.”

You flinch back at the words, taking a step back into the chill of Dragonspine.

“I can offer you sanctuary here if you seek it, but I will not harm you.”  

“That’s…” not at all what you want.  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I must decline.”

His haunting blue eyes follow you down the snowy path to Liyue.  Once you are far too away to hear, he states calmly, “safe travels.”

As you walk down the icy paths lining the gravel streets you think… Albedo had rejected you just like that.  What’s the next step?

You might as well stop by Liyue Harbor, maybe meet some characters before… before maybe heading to Sumeru?  

Ahhah! It hits you then, the harbinger introduced in Sumeru: Il Dottore.  If Albedo had reservations, then Dottore would have none.

Even still, Liyue is a harbor.  You’re sure to find a way to Snezhnaya from there.

You almost get to the docks without drawing any attention to yourself.  Almost.

Your mistake laid in the fact that you passed the Golden House, the weekly Childe Boss fight.  In your defense you didn’t actually think he’d be in there.  And it’s not like you even went in, only going up the steps and around for a detour.  

And it was a quick route until a strangled gasp came from behind you, making you spin around in alarm.  There, Tartaglia stood, with pupils nearly the size of his gray-blue eyes, staring, completely enraptured by your visage.  Your knees buckle and you make to sprint, but your body is no match for a Fatui Harbinger.

In retrospect you’re not entirely sure what drove you to run, perhaps some fight or flight instinct buried inside of you.

His long hand wraps around your forearm, tugging you to a stop, you face him, and your face must portray your panic clearly because Tartaglia’s twists into sorrowful sympathy.

“My Divinity… it is an honor to meet you in the flesh.”

“Let go.”  He does, promptly so. 

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself.  May I ask where you are headed, and if you are in need of company?”

“No.  Thank you, Childe.” 

His face shifts into a serious look, nodding.  “Do you need an escort to Liyue then?  Is that where you’re heading?” 

“No.  I know where I’m going, and I much prefer to go alone.” It’s not entirely false, you know where you’re headed, just not how.

“Well… be safe, okay?  I hope to see you again.”

“I will.”  The lie comes out and you cringe, because its delivery falls flat and its so obviously untrue.

“Does Mr Zhongli know you’re here?  Surely you’re here to see Morax?” He strolls to your other side, offering a hand to lead you to the city.  You ignore the hand.

“Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

“I can’t let you leave alone in good conscience…. You don’t seem well.  Let me lead you to the harbor at least.”

Since he is as unmoving as stone, you let him take you to the main city, managing to ditch him before more people can know about your presence.

The boats docked at Liyue Harbor are hopeful.  “Where is this ship headed?” you ask one of the dock workers.  They look up at your voice before glancing at the ship they’re loading up with lumber.

“Snezhnaya.” They say glancing up at the grand vessel.  “Why?  Where’re you tryna go, friend?”  

“Snezhnaya.  How much does the fare cost, one way?”

—

“News of your travels have reached Snezhnaya, Divine One.”  Dottore starts, fixing his posture from a lean on a surgical table to something more proper.  You shake your head, the weariness you’ve accumulated on your journey weighing down on you.  You’re finally where you deserve to be.

“I’m not the Divine One you speak of, Dottore.”

“Hm?  Do you think so little of my intelligence?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

“No, it’s not that.  But I’m not.  I’m just a regular person.  And I came to you for a reason.”

“Oh?  The Creator themself, seeking me out?  It’s an honor,” the doctor bows to you, smirking at you from beneath his beaklike mask.

“I need you to hurt me.”

“What?”  He pulls himself up with a startled question.  “I’m afraid I misheard you, Divine One.”

“I can’t die, Dottore.  I’m giving myself to you, you…” you heave a sigh as you explain your reasoning.  “You could make use of me.  I’m not whoever you think I am, please just take me.  I don’t care what you do to me.”

“You’re… giving yourself to me?”  

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happens to my… patients?”

“Yes, that's why I’m here.  I can’t die, I imagine I would make a good test subject.”

“Is this a test?”  Dottore seems to be speaking to himself more than anything.  He pushes away from the table and paces to the back room of the lab, muttering madly to himself as he does so.  The door swings open with a loud screeching and you catch sight of multiple mops of blue hair and masks.  

His Segments.

You can hear a conversation ongoing between all of the parts of Zandik, it seems he doesn’t want to be rash and take you in too hastily.  You can understand his (their?) hesitancy; if a god offered themselves up to you, you would surely think it was a trap.  But you aren’t a god, so it should be a no brainer for him.  How often does he get consenting test subjects?

It seems this absurd idea of you being a higher power has infiltrated Snezhnaya as well, which is… not good. Everyone is saying you’re more than what you are, you can’t be a god, you barely consider yourself a human.

An older, completely unmasked Segment sticks his head out of the door, frowning once he makes eye contact with you.  There’s gray leaking from his roots into the teal of Dottore’s hair, and visible aging lines on his face; crows feet and tension on his cheekbones.  Glowing red eyes narrow upon meeting your own, mouth pulling into a tight line.

A younger segment, smaller in size and stature, with a nearly full face mask, only showing part of his mouth.  You think that is the one that the Fandom surrounding him dubbed Webttore.  You usually see pictures of him with a wide, jagged-tooth smile, but, like his older part, he looks solemn.

You wonder just how many Segments Il Dottore has, because you can still hear an entire conversation going on without the two.

The conversation seems to be dying down, not ending without a few red eyes peeking out from behind the door at you.  It’s surreal seeing so many versions of the same person at once; the youthful ones, eyes wide, and the older ones with wrinkles built with time and age, all at the same moment in time.

Eventually though, they do seem to come to a verdict: the Omega segment, the one you met upon walking into his lab, exits, closing the door behind him with a click that resonates through the room.

His answer is a simple word.  “No.”

Your heart drops and stomach sinks at the rejection, and based on il Dottore’s reaction it must show.  “Why?” your voice is small and sounds foreign to your own ears.

“I cannot forsake the true god in such a way, whether you acknowledge it or not, you have that power.”

All the turmoil and hardships it took to get here come crashing down, the light at the end of the tunnel is rejecting you.  You hadn’t known this was something that could happen, your… your savior, the one you were looking for is telling you no.  He won’t lay a finger on you, and it’s tearing you apart.  This was the only thing that kept you from burying yourself in the deep forest of Sumeru and letting yourself rot.

“Oh.” It’s shaky and you nod, trying to take it maturely.  “I see.”  Your voice is warbling like you're on the verge of tears.  Blinking rapidly to dispel the water from your eyes, you lower your head and make to scamper out of the lab.

Dottore lets out a heavy sigh, and his leather gloves wrap around your wrist.

“Wait.”  You nervously glance up at his mask.

“You said you would ‘give yourself to me,’ no?”

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, “yes.”  Has he suddenly changed his mind? You shouldn't get your hopes up.

“I will take you.  I doubt you will appreciate my intentions, but if I were to own you, you wouldn’t be able to complain.  After all, you will have done it to yourself.”

You don’t know what those words mean, but the stinging rejection welling up in your eyes turns to relief. “Thank you,” he doesn’t stop you from dashing to his side and wrapping your arms around his waist.  You press your face into his abdomen, letting his clothes soak up your tears.  A hesitant hand rubs over your spine, an effort to soothe you.

You pull yourself together, sucking in a deep breath of the sterile lab air.  

“Alright,” Dottore says after he deems you put together enough.  “Come.”  His hand covers your wrist, gently tugging you behind him.  You aren’t sure where he is leading you, as he takes you out of the lab.  The halls are tall and gorgeously crafted, intermittent with intricate moldings on the wall.  

It’s a small room you find yourself in, but it is infinitely better than the wilderness.  The size is comparable to an average hotel room.  Dottore instructs you to sit and stay on the bed, which you do obediently.  Nerves swirl inside of you, as to where he has gone and what he will bring back with - when he will return, if at all.

Il Dottore knows.  While he is not well versed on human, much less godly, psychology, he can tell you’re depressed when you first stumbled your way into his workstation. Besides, he’d be hard pressed to deny the rumors from various agents that had been located in places you’d traveled through.

With a small caddy in his hands Dottore kneels next to the nightstand and places a hand on your shoulder to force you to lay down.  “Arm.”  Is what he prompts for you to let him maneuver your arm to lay open and flat over the edge of the bed. 

The scent of alcohol alerts you to the sanitary wipe before you feel the chill of it.  You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling as you feel the slight pinch of a needle  and a clicking as an IV is deposited into your arm.  Out of the corner of your eye you see Dottore set up a drip, but you don’t bother to ask what it is, the excitement of the day catching up with you.

Il Dottore eventually leaves the room in silence after pushing an odd vial of liquid into the drip, not bothering to look behind him as he closes the door and leaves with confident strides.

Although it’s entirely possible it’s simply the Placebo Effect, as the drip spreads throughout your veins you can feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier.  Before long you can no longer keep them open and slip into a dreamless sleep.

You wake up to a Mirror Maiden tidying up the nightstand next to you.  You observe her work, wondering how she can manage to navigate with the blind pulled over her eyes.  She startles when she catches your eyes on her, though returns back to work, quietly disposing of the used needles from earlier.  You wonder what The Doctor has injected you with; wonder if he added more of whatever it is while you were unconscious.

There’s a brisk, impatient knock on the door and the Maiden straightens up, taking hold of everything to discard and striding over to change positions with Tartaglia behind the door.

You stay flat on your back, looking at the ginger in mild surprise.  Last you saw him he was in Liyue and set to stay for quite a while.  Had he heard you gave yourself away to Il Dottore?   Is he here to plead for you to change your mind?

But to your bemusement he stays quiet, walking over to and kneeling next to your bed.  Instead of speaking he merely rests his head on the nightstand, dull blue eyes gazing at you sadly, yet reverently.

You’re unsure of how long you look up at the ceiling, doing your best to ignore Tartaglia’s eyes on you.  His gaze is unwavering, and eventually, you turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry for my behavior in Liyue.  I was too excited to see you, and my manners deserted me.”

“It’s okay.” You croak, throat dry from sleep.  “I was dismissive as well.”

Dottore doesn’t bother to knock when he comes in.

“I see you’re awake and seem to have found a stray harbinger.”

Tartaglia doesn’t react to his entrance, merely moving to the far end of the bed, laying his head on the covers near your feet.  You realize someone has drapped a plain, solid color duvet over your body when you slept. 

“Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary?” Dottore asks, checking the emptied IV bag.  He unclips it and pulls a fresh one from his lab coat pocket.

You take the moment to assess (how do you spell it) your body.  In all honesty you’re feeling much better, the hydration from the drip really made a difference.

“I feel hydrated.”

Dottore hums, he sounds disinterested.  “How’s your appetite? Can you stomach anything for me?”  He clips a new bag onto the pole, screwing it into your IV’s tube. “Stand if you can.” 

Dottore’s eyes watch you intensely behind his mask, observing how you tremble when you put a leg onto the floor.  “Childe, help them and follow me.”

Tartaglia scrambles to steady your arm as you fully get out of the bed, wrapping the one without the needle in it around his shoulder to support you.  You stiffen, but aren’t in any position to be able to get around without him, not with the emptiness of your stomach and the way black fades into your vision when you stand.  “Get them to the restroom, take care of their needs.  I will return with what they will eat.”

“Come on, I got you,” Tartaglia assures as he leads you to the ensuite restroom. It’s nothing too fancy; simply a sink, shower, and toilet.

You eye the toilet, realizing how long it’s been since you’ve relieved yourself.  A shower would also be nice…

“Allow me to assist you, Divine One,” Tartaglia remains stoic and respectful as he shimmies your pants and underwear down your legs, letting you support yourself on his broad shoulders as you step out of the pant holes.  After making sure you get to the toilet safely he turns around and starts the shower faucet.

The sound of the water helps you get over your pee shyness and by the time Tartaglia finishes soaking and preparing a cloth for you, you’ve finished and are ready to bathe.

With weak arms you gather the hem of your shirt in your hands and remove the remainder of your clothes.

Tartaglia helps you get clean with warm, respectful touches, passing you the cloth for you to clean more intimate areas, before helping you out of the shower and wrapping a large, soft towel around your body.  It’s huge, covering the top of your bust to well past mid-calf, looping around your body almost twice.  He tucks the towel tightly with practiced precision. 

“Il Dottore will be back soon, I’ll help you get dressed before he returns.  Do you have any material preferences?”

—

You sit up in bed, feeling marginally better than the day before.  The day after that, and the day after that all proceed in a similar fashion; each time you feel just a little bit better.  More clear headed, a better appetite, less like a corpse walking.

Only after Dottore deems you well enough to remove the IV do you get your suspicions that it was more than just the proper nutrition making you feel better.  He still stops by your room twice a day for some shots; he encouraged you to choose where he would deposit them (when you said into your brain or through your chest, it did not amuse him).  It feels suspiciously like the antidepressants you’ve been on before.  

It only further confuses you, though.  Does he want you in a proper state of mind for something?  He has no reason other than unfounded faith to help you, you don’t like it.  It’s … uncomfortable receiving this type of care, knowing it’s only because they think you're better than who you really are.

The food they feed you, the clothes they dress you in, it's all much more than you deserve.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Pardon?” Dottore sets the syringe down with a metallic click.  Through his mask you can feel his gaze on you.

“You’re… you’re trying to— to…” the words fail you.

“Mitigate your depressive symptoms?  Yes, I am.  What of it?”  Il Dottore picks the syringe back up, pushing the knob back before stabbing it into the vial in his hand. He pulls the liquid up with ease before removing the needle and pushing to remove the excess air in the syringe.

“Why?”

“Hm?  Why would I not?”  He flicks the syringe and some liquid flies from the point of the needle.

“If I were anyone else you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Indeed.”

“Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not who you think I am?  That I’m just a normal human in a horrible situation of being unable to die?”

“That is not so.  Your skin cultures and biopsy results do not share that conclusion.  Even if you continue to deny your god-hood, it changes nothing. I know for certain who you are, and you will remain in my care until you utilize your divine right to revoke such.”

Biopsy? When on Earth — Teyvat? — did that happen?  But there’s more important things to discuss with him for now, not that you care how or when it happened.  You’re more surprised you never noticed, that’s all.

“You’re wrong!”  You wail, tears finally coming for the first time in a while.  You had thrown your head back to speak, but now you collapse in on yourself with your head between your arms and legs.  It’s humid, but saves you from having to look at the doctor and his unreadable bird mask.

“Oh my,” you hear Dottore murmur, then he sets his medical supplies to the side and places a hand on your shoulder. He remains there while you sob, when finally the lack of speech seems to reach the boiling point, he heaves a sigh.  “If it is of any consolation, if it were to come to my attention that you are not in any way godly or divine, I would treat you the same.  I’ve put far too much care into you to just toss you aside..”

That consoles you, if only a little, damn the drugs making you want to continue life to see the future.   But you broke the dam of tears, and it’ll take a while for them to stop; you need to cry out everything that led you here….

Your… attempt that put you in Teyvat, the one you tried right after arrival, the false death, all the eyes and praise that aren’t meant for you.  It’s dysphoric.  

The lurches of your body with your cries, stitches your sides and you sniffle harder into the crevice your body makes, the moisture of the confined body space blending in with your tears.

“There now,” Dottore says, quieter as you get so as well.  “Perhaps some more rest will do you good.  I’ll be at the ready whenever you wake.”

#verified hyperfixat post #genshin impact x reader #sagau #genshin comfort #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x reader #dottore #dottore fanfic #il dottore x reader #childe sagau #venti #genshin isekai #sagau isekai #genshin impact isekai #hurt comfort #heed the warnings

[meadowscarlet]

watercolor eyes ━━━ draco malfoy.

pairings: draco malfoy x fem!reader.

summary: it’s not your favorite thing to be stuck in a loveless marriage. much worse, being married to draco malfoy of all people, you despised and loathed him simultaneously, yet your heart craves for him while your mind opposes him and his entire persona. hopefully, you make clever decisions, or he’ll leave you with watercolor eyes.

warnings: arranged marriage, miscommunication, reader accuses draco of cheating, cursing and alcohol consumption.

author’s note: a reposted fic. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

When your future was planned and finalized, life began to lose its significance.

How could you not have anticipated something like this would happen at some point? Your parents had been preparing you for this since you were a little girl, yet the whole arrangement still felt enraging and terrible. Such a dreadful thing yet you can’t be disappointed, it was bound to happen but nevertheless, it just seemed presumptuous.

You were enamored with the concept of love as a child. You’d always admired how your father and mother act around each other—their eyes sparkling with blatant devotion, sweet honey utterances, and the naked love so evident in their faces—and you’d always wished for that.

Someone who loves you as much as you love them.

But, as they say, life may very well be cruel. When you realize that you will soon marry Draco Malfoy of all people, your little fairytale of love is shattered. You wanted to scream, complain, and say vile things that your mother would have chastised you for, but you couldn’t. This was your life, and you had to suffer and live it regardless of the injustice.

It was mangled and atrocious. An arranged marriage isn’t something you want to be a part of; two people who have no love for each other, not even a smidgeon of passion for each other, but who are forced to be together in a golden cage. Strangers in a relationship were like sand in the winter air, entirely at odds.

You needed to be away from all this for a while. When your family and the Malfoys ate lunch together, you were incredibly tired of the sparkling wine, the unrealistic politeness, and the tension of a stupid grin. It was uncomfortable for you, and even Draco appeared uneasy as he ate slowly and cautiously.

You were now in Hermione Granger's—actually, Weasley's—comfortable and pleasant home, which she shared with her husband Ron. She greeted you with a beaming smile and a compelling hug right away, and a part of you felt glad for the warmth she provided as she welcomed you into their home.

“How are you doing?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of the tea she had made for the two of you.

You hesitated, your hand clutching your skirt’s edge. “If that’s what you’re wondering about, I’m perfectly all right.”

When Hermione observed you, she knew you were lying. You and her had been best friends for your entire Hogwarts year, along with Ron and Harry, but you felt the closest to her and vice versa, so she knew you were deceiving by the look on her face, which was like a frown, and the way she squinted her eyes.

“You’re lying,” she remarked as she placed the tea on the table, her voice knowing.

“No, I’m not.”

Hermione sighed. “Y/N.”

“Fine,” you didn’t intend to be mean, but it just came out of nowhere, but thankfully Hermione didn’t seem disturbed; she’s probably accustomed to it. “I feel… conflicted.”

She frowned, her face deep in contemplation. “Does this have anything to do with your marriage to Malfoy?”

“Arranged marriage,” you corrected almost spitefully.

Hermione’s face had a pity look on it, which you didn’t like to see. She was well aware of your animosity for Draco; you’d rant about it all day in your dorms and even in the Great Hall, with Ron chiming in with a few supportive remarks. Even after the battle, you still despise the man you’re supposed to be entangled with.

It didn’t make any sense; Draco was the least suitable person for you to marry, and he wasn’t the sort of bloke you expected to be with. You were a pureblood Gryffindor, and it didn’t seem like a good match to be with someone as arrogant and conceited as Draco, who shamelessly flaunted his Slytherin pride in your years at Hogwarts, rubbing it in your face.

In comparison to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he didn’t harass or taunt you, but there were insults and sarcastic remarks about you, though they never went deep; you were resentful and petty, so you chose to detest him. When he’s at the back of the class, he’ll mostly tug at the ends of your braids, or he’ll mess with you in your free time and take up all of your time instead of doing what you want because of his irritating presence.

“I’m not justifying him, but don’t you think your hatred for him is a little insensitive?” With a shrug, Hermione continued, “He already apologized and even helped us in the war.”

Your eye twitched, possibly in irritation. “It makes no difference. I’m not interested in marrying him.”

“Can’t you just call it off? Perhaps if you told your parents, they’d understand.” Hermione suggested, her eyes lighting up.

“This is what they want for me, Hermione,” you stated grimly, your voice devoid of any hope. “And this is what I was conditioned to believe, that it’s for purebloods to have arranged marriages, but I’m confused…why Draco of all people?”

The door to Hermione’s house opened and footsteps emerged before she could say anything. Then someone—Ron—came into the room they were in. When he saw Hermione, he grinned broadly and looked relieved. Then when he saw you, he was taken aback but enthusiastically embraced you with a short hug.

Ron questioned, his freckles prominent on his face, “What are you doing here?” with a little grin. “Are you doing the therapy thing with Mione?”

Hermione appeared aloof, but her eyes shone with mirth. “I taught you the word therapy, and you use it every time Y/N visits here.”

You chuckled for the first time in a long time. “Maybe he’s right.”

Ron sat alongside Hermione in the couch across from you and laid his arm around her with a familiar knowing expression in his eye. “Malfoy?” he said, humor crossing his face.

You gave a tired sigh. “The one and only.”

You three conversed until it was past noon. You felt out of place and envious when you and your friends were conversing. You had yearned for the kind of love Ron and Hermione had. You’d watch Ron kiss Hermione’s cheeks or Hermione gently stroke Ron’s hands with a glimmer of longing in your eyes.

While you were passively observing, possibly in resentful longing, their eyes gleamed with genuine unconditional love, but you knew you could never be like that with Draco. You felt like you were outside a transparent glass, and Hermione and Ron were inside of it; you could see but not feel it. It’s so gruesome not to be bestowed with love. But you were ecstatic for them since they were happy with one other.

But what about you?

Maybe it was the occupants’ moods, or maybe it was just you, but the Malfoy manor felt cold and miserable. It finally occurred, the worst thing that could have happened was that you were already married to Draco. You were bound to one other not by love, but by iron chains, which encompassed you and forced you to be together.

Your love for each other was brittle, and you could see Draco was doing his best; he was impersonal, to be certain, but he attempted to communicate with you, albeit his tone was contrived and stiff. After your wedding kiss, he never touched you again; you remembered how frigid but soft his lips were on yours, but you despised the sensation of something fraudulent.

Like Hermione said, he changed, but your perception of him hasn’t altered at all. Draco, on the other hand, never mentioned what occurred at Hogwarts, about the taunts and insults, and neither did you. Now you were living in the Malfoy manor, a frigid place that didn’t seem friendly to you despite Narcissa’s warm greetings, and your room’s bed was cold, dismal, and exhausting.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Draco had said as you stood there, in your shared room, wary of the enormous single bed, hugging yourself since the chilly air was caressing your skin since you were only wearing a flimsy nightgown.

You didn’t say a word, not even a nod. You didn’t even look at Draco since the silence was so uncomfortable, enough that you went to bed and drew the covers over your body. You heard his sigh, which was most likely frustration, but you didn’t care as you closed your eyes and focused on oblivion.

And now you were in the bedroom, there in bed, reading with a tiny amount of light, half of your body covered by the comforter, and for the first time you felt peaceful, Draco wasn’t here, and strangely you felt comforted in the cold room’s isolation.

Most likely, you were brutalizing yourself. If you’re reading a romance novel and envisioning things occurring to yourself rather than fictional characters, you may have gone mad. However, as the familiar scent of Draco’s fragrance flooded your nose as you read about romanticism, the tranquility didn’t stay long.

Though you had uttered words—short and forceful—you did mostly ignore him in the months since you last spoke. Maybe you were being abrasive, because Draco was doing everything he could to make the marriage work, most likely to please his parents, but why couldn’t he just accept that he couldn’t make something like this work?

When you felt like the manor was suffocating you, you’d go out and see Hermione and Ron, or even Harry and Ginny. You’d stay in their homes since it was warm and welcoming, and it felt more like home than your own. You had wished for a household full of love and cheerful laughter more than anything else.

The words in your book were starting to lose their interpretation, and your thudding thoughts were distracting you. It’s just that you can’t help but feel betrayed by the injustice; you may consider yourself a lovesick, but you always wanted to experience that as a child, but life could be callous, and all you wanted was to love and be loved.

Like a frothing serpent, a sudden thought hissed through your mind. The idea of learning to love Draco popped up. You didn’t like the concept but you won’t deny you feel melancholy to him, on how his eyes always follow you whenever you attend pureblood events, on how he’d mutter if you’re alright, lingering his hand on your waist when you’re talking to other people, not quite touching.

You frowned and shook your head, attempting to focus on the words in the books and ignoring the yearning for something you shouldn’t even crave for.

Draco arrived at the manor quite late. His steps were a little unsteady, and his eyes were a little unhappy. He’d been out drinking with his friends Theo, Blaise, and Pansy, and the alcohol had apparently rushed into his system, causing him to become inebriated as he stumbled into their room.

Despite being slightly intoxicated, he entered the room discreetly, his gaze softening when he saw you. You were nearly buried in the bed, looking unusually troubled yet content as you read a book. You hadn’t noticed him yet, or perhaps you were ignoring him as you always were.

It bothers him or, more likely, his ego. He was well aware of your hatred for him until now, as evidenced by your pretty face, and perhaps he couldn’t blame you. He felt a pang of cynicism, though, because despite his apology for his actions during your Hogwarts years, you still didn’t like him. It was difficult to act as if he didn’t care about you and that he despised the whole thing as much as you did.

You eventually noticed him, and your enraptured eyes widened in surprise as you closed your book and clutched the duvet against you, as if trying to hide from him. Draco’s breath got caught in his throat as he realized how beautiful you were. Your face contorted into nothingness for a brief moment, almost delicately concerned. Draco was undecided as to whether he was disappointed or amused.

“Draco,” you finally acknowledge him, still unable to get out of bed. “…Where were you?” Your tone was disinterested, but at least you were talking to him.

He swayed slightly as he approached you, and he could see the apprehension in your eyes. “Hello, my wife,” he almost slurred, watching your face change with emotion. “Did you miss me?”

As Draco’s eyesight became fuzzy, you shook your head, your face unreadable. “Are you drunk?”

He chuckled as he proceeded to loosen his tie, completely oblivious to the fact that your eyes were drawn to the movement. “You seem concerned about my wellbeing.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

Draco only chuckled as he proceeded to the couch, shaky feet almost tripping him up, as he grunted and fell on the couch, you hesitantly got out of bed and moved closer to him. Your feet were light, and your breathing was quiet, and Draco concentrated on that, his back straining from his couch position, and his eyes blinking furiously.

“You’re drunk,” you said almost monotonously as you tentatively approached him and stared down at him.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice,” Draco muttered, his eyes almost drooping as he placed his arm over his eyes as if to prevent your being in his gaze.

“Did you have fun?” you sarcastically questioned, your arms crossed across your chest, the cold nipping at your delicate skin.

Instead of responding ordinarily, Draco opened his eyes, withdrew his arm, and gave you an euphoric look as his gaze wandered about you. He asked, gesturing to your hair, “Is your hair braided?”

You scowled and consciously touched your hair, which was braided but had become practically tangled in the hair ties since you had lay on the bed.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said as you started removing the hair ties from each side of your braid.

“No,” Draco exclaimed abruptly, leaping to his feet and snatching your wrist, halting your motions. “Don’t remove it…”

In your impeccable face, you had a surprised expression. Despite the swirl around him and his blurry vision, Draco could see the glint of affection in your eyes as you glanced at him. Draco would have cursed himself and probably regretted it, but he didn’t.

He took his hand from your wrist and gently tugged one of your braids in your hair, almost fondly, perhaps because he was intoxicated, but he couldn’t stop himself.

It frightens him.

Draco could tell your expression was impenetrable as you both stared for a while, his hand lingering over your braid. Because you were so motionless, he was certain you weren’t breathing. A flicker of something flashed over your face, then vanished as fast as it appeared. You took a hasty step back and narrowed your eyes at him.

He could only look at you, his hand hovering over the spot where you were only a moment earlier.

You sniffled. “You smell different,”

Draco was taken aback and questioned, “What?”

“You have the smell of a woman’s perfume.”

“What?” he asked again, completely baffled.

Your face was blank. “Did you really have fun?”

Your tone was accusing, your face was completely empty. But there were tears in your eyes, shimmering like lovely flecks of crystals, but they weren’t dropping, and it wasn’t the first time he’d seen you stop your crying. But it was evident in the silence that you were implying that he was cheating, and that thought was partially ridiculous.

Draco was well aware of your irrational hatred for him, but he had no idea how poorly you regarded him. Since you were ignoring him and acting as if he was invisible, he went out to spend time with his friends. He’d talk to his friends about his feelings and frustrations while drinking. Perhaps he smelt different because Pansy hugged him, platonically, and she’s dating Blaise for Merlin’s sake, maybe her aroma clung into Draco.

But the prospect of you dismissing his improvements or simply making him feel like shit made him say something, which he quickly regretted. “Do you blame me if I did?”

You froze, your eyes wide, and the misery on your face was palpable.

“You’re so fucking hard to love,” Draco continued, his mouth acting as if it had its own brain, and perhaps his inebriation was assisting him in saying things that struck you.

Draco’s voice was shaky and he staggered, collapsing against the couch and quietly grunting. He couldn’t read your face, and he didn’t really want to see your reaction, but he felt satisfied when he said that. The impact of the fall jarred his back, and he could hear shuffling.

You practically hissed, “Get up.”

Draco had a baffled expression on his face and exclaimed, “What are you doing, wife?” as you grabbed his arm and practically yanked him away from the couch.

Then you let go, and Draco sank into the bed’s soft cushion. Draco was rather hefty, so you let out a sigh of relief. His eyelids were droopy, but he had a mischievous grin on his lips as he made himself comfortable in bed.

“Are we—?”

“Sleep,” you demanded as you walked over to the other side of the bed, noticing Draco peering at you stupidly out of the corner of your eye. “What?”

“You’re going to let me sleep in the bed?” he asked, still completely baffled.

You felt compelled to smack him. “Would you rather sleep drunk on the couch?”

You grabbed a pillow and placed it between you and Draco, creating an internal barrier. As you fixed your side and the pillow, you could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t look at him once.

“There. So we’re still separated,” you replied nonchalantly as you lay down on your side.

“We’re already separated enough, don’t you think?” Draco mumbled sleepily.

You didn’t respond since you could hear soft snores next to you. Draco had already fallen asleep, leaving you alone in the dark, cold night, on the opposite side of the bed, with humid and sorrowful thoughts. You thought you were stupid, and perhaps you are, because you were being harsh and a brat.

You were in the garden at the time. It was lovely but bitterly chilly outside, and while you weren’t inside where Blaise and Pansy's wedding was taking place, you couldn’t help but crave some fresh air.

Despite the fact that they are both purebloods (which was almost likely set up as an arranged marriage) you can see they are much in love with each other. The way they stared at each other, sparkling crystal eyes with particles of devotion. You let out a tired sigh, oblivious to the fact that the door to the garden’s outside was opened and a figure stepped out.

“I figured I’d find you here,”

You fixed your gaze on the person. “Draco.”

He gave you a tentative smile and sat down on the bench next you, but not too close. At the same time, you were dissatisfied and relieved.

“I didn’t think Blaise or Pansy would settle…” you began hesitantly.

The sound of Draco’s chuckle was nearly pleasant in your ears. “They’re confusing. They break up and then get back together. I’m as surprised as you are.”

You discreetly remark, “They must really love each other.”

Draco remained silent and only gazed at you. You looked stunning, with the moonlight illuminating your features. Your outfit was lovely as well, but it was short and suggestive, causing you to shiver. He didn’t spend any time shrugging his coat and slung it over your shoulder, completely disregarding your protest.

“You look beautiful,” he says mindlessly. “But you’re cold.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, nearly frowning; was there a double meaning there?

“No problem, wife.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Draco smirked fiendishly, but there was distress in his eyes. “You’re my wife, aren’t you not?”

“It must be a burden.”

His smirk had vanished, as if he had been smacked. “Well, if it’s a burden, then I’m willing to bear it,” he murmured.

Something was moist in your eyes, but you blinked rapidly. You could feel Draco getting closer to you, but you didn’t say anything. You were overwhelmed, your heart ached, and you desperately wanted to pull Draco closer to you, but you were initially reluctant.

“Draco—“

Draco abruptly grasped your freezing hands in his warm ones, lifted them to his lips, and kissed your knuckles; he didn’t remove them thereafter, instead staring at you with piercing eyes. You felt torn as your breath became stuck in your throat.

“Don’t say anything unless you say you want this marriage between us as badly as I do,” he murmured, brushing your knuckles with his lips.

You were on the verge of gaping at him. “You wanted this?”

“Of course I did.”

“I assumed you didn’t like me and that all the affectionate gestures you made were all a ruse,” you added almost incoherently.

Draco pointed out, “You were the one who loathed me.”

Feeling guilty, you shut your eyes. “Shit. I wasted many months.”

“We both did,” Draco murmured, releasing your hand only to play with the ends of your hair, a smile hidden. It was a braid, to be specific.

“I’m deeply sorry, Draco.” you said. “I’ve always thought of you as a fiend and the bane of my existence, knowing that you can’t take love seriously. And I was so wrong; I was so focused on myself and my selfish desire to be loved that I was blinded to the fact that it was I who was sabotaging your efforts to give me what I wanted.”

Draco tugged on your braid with tenderness, and you smiled.

He almost begged, “Just tell me you’ll start to love me.”

You turned around to face him, then kissed him after closing the gap between you—things that had previously separated you, the barriers had finally been broken down. Before Draco could react, he stiffened and drew you closer by the waist.

You mumbled into his lips, “I already started, simply blinded that it took me so long to know.”

You were now loved—you could feel it, even taste it, and it felt good—and you knew it. Your heart would no longer ache, and you would no longer shed longing tears for someone. Tears of color, droplets on the palette, it’s no longer there. The only thing that mattered was Draco and his touch.

“Oh my Merlin,” A man’s voice groaned. “Did I miss something?”

You broke apart and began flushing. You gave a surprised squeak as you stared at the man. It was Ron, and you couldn’t tell whether he was amused or repulsed by his face.

“Perhaps an invitation,” Draco drawls as he shields your face from Ron’s gaze and cradles your head against his chest. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

You smacked his sides and muttered into his chest, “Be nice.”

“You were too focused on Y/N, it’s disgusting.”

Draco remarked almost smugly, “She’s my wife, I can stare at her for as long as I want.”

“Perhaps the therapy with Hermione was helpful,” Ron rolled his eyes as he began to walk away.

Draco was dumbfounded, but you just laughed.

#♡ — ani’s works. #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x fem!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy angst #draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco angst #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter #draco x female reader #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader

[izvmimi]

cw: part of mafia au. serious injury mention and hospital talk.

you should have known better to get involved.

now you sit, twiddling your thumbs, in a stranger's room, exasperated with the fact that you've had to tell nurse after tech after physician that you do not in fact know the man who's asleep in the hospital bed in the room with you, that all you are is a (now-reluctant) Good Samaritan who's gotten in over their head.

but what do you do when a young man falls directly into your arms, nearly taking you down with him?

you sigh, and bring one of your knees to your chest. you should have left as soon as the ambulance arrived, but somehow an unnecessary sense of responsibility compelled you to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, and that same morbid curiosity has kept you here. now that hours have passed, it would feel pointless to leave. perhaps that's sunk cost fallacy, you think, but you watch the young man slumber and sigh. perhaps you'll see this through.

you stare at the clock, then glance back at him, wondering how long it will be until he wakes, and how you'll introduce yourself. does he remember that he passed out in your arms? should you call him by his name, the one you just learned today from the worn id stuffed in the bloody wallet in the pocket of his jacket? what exactly is the etiquette when someone wakes up from surgery and is not surrounded by loved ones but an overly involved passerby?

you're strangers and yet by chance, now you're in the most intimate of spaces. you sigh, and hope someone can rescue from this situation, but alas his phone has not yet rung. it's been hours.

you check your own phone. about an hour ago you sent a message through Instagram to the man who last texted, thankful that izuku is the type of person who records people by their first and last name. 'Bakugou Katsuki' has not yet answered. you wonder if he even is a good person to message, given that he didn't seem all that nice in the message - 'where the fuck are you at?!' you've also messaged another man named 'Shoto Todoroki' with no profile picture (hopefully the right one), and wished you had a way to contact 'Mom <3'.

your own mother would think you were silly for staying this long, but part of you thinks that you would hate to be alone in a situation like this.

he'd stumbled into that train station, needing help but unable to form the words. you were the first person to notice the blood soaking through his clothes. you don't know anything about medicine but you moved quickly, and now you're here.

perhaps you should be concerned about why exactly a person would be walking around with stab wounds to the belly, but the young man is soft-featured, appearing far too gentle, particularly in sleep, to hurt anyone. you remind yourself that looks can be deceiving. perhaps he is insane, after all he seemed to smile right before he passed out.

the image of his smile lingers on your brain. you check your phone again. no reply.

and then you hear him shift.

suddenly you feel so vulnerable, your face drowning in heat. why are you here? he's wrapped up in blankets but moves a little too exuberantly, like he didn't just come out of anesthesia, and you open your mouth to tell him to slow down but nothing comes out. he looks around, a weary squint as he scans the room, and then his eyes settle on you.

they widen, a bright, brilliant green.

"fuck."

his voice is both everything and nothing like you expect. this also is committed to memory, just like his smile, just like his big green eyes.

you blink a few times in confusion, but you don't say anything. he continues to look at you, really take you in along with the surroundings, as he moves his limbs, fingers then wrists then arms and shoulders, as though in routine. you suspect this isn't the first time he's been knocked unconscious.

he's still looking at you, and you're still trying to come up with something to say, your voice choking in your throat.

"i-, i can explain," you start, but he's not listening.

"no fucking way these assholes killed me," he whispers under his breath.

you frown, but he's now talking a mile a minute, looking at his hands, then at you, then back at his hands.

"i can't fucking believe this!"

his head is in his hands now, and you're suddenly experiencing a quiet meltdown as he mutters to himself, something about how his mom will be pissed, how his friends will be pissed, how he cannot believe he let himself slip. this goes on for a few more minutes, and you observe, unsure of what to do before you decide to interrupt.

you stand, and approach.

"um... you're not dead."

your hand settles on his shoulder and he tenses, and you quickly withdraw your hand. what are you doing? you think.

"you're not dead! i'm sorry, i know this must be really strange and actually i think i'll leave now," you trail off, embarrassed.

"wait no, don't go." he replies quickly. you stop in your tracks, and turn back to look at him, and really see him again - cleaned up and confused, bandages wrapped around his broad torso and for a moment you realize he's also cute, or rather boyishly handsome, and then you feel like a creep.

he takes your arm by the wrist first, and when you look terrified, he lets go, quickly, whispering a quick sorry.

"it's just that you looked like an angel."

your eyes widen.

"god, i should stop talking, shouldn't i?" he says, red flushing over a spray of freckles on both cheeks, yet another thing you're noticing for the first time. both of you are warm and uncomfortable - his phone rings finally, and you grab it and toss it gently in his direction before gathering all your things and stepping out.

your heart beats so fast you think it might burst, and you press your hands to your warmed cheeks.

an angel. is that what you stayed to hear?

you can hear someone yelling on the phone at him but try not to eavesdrop. you've trespassed enough.

but you think again about how you were this stranger's guardian angel for the rest of the night.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #mimi's notes

[silverskye13]

Hi, I just came from reading the last chapter of RnS, and I am once again shaking by how strong it made me feel, which is also finally giving me the strength to ask this, finally.

How do you write compelling, logical emotions? Like, you are writing as you go, and yet I go back and everything reads with such a sound conclusion, like the characters are feeling what they're meant to be feeling, like their emotions are deeply complex and it's just, how? Are there any tips you can give?

Have you studied any writing theory, or have you got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement? Because I feel like there's oh so much I can get from "improving from writing more"

Thank you for the kind words. Gosh I'm glad the emotions all make sense. I feel like that's one of the harder things to juggle -- especially when posting chapter by chapter, where sometimes weeks go by between scenes. It gets easy to lose things.

Answers to questions [as best I can] under the cut, because I can see this getting long and rambly.

How do I write compelling, logical emotions?

Uhm! This is a bit hard for me to articulate, because writing emotions is very intuitive to me. I'm a very emotionally aware person -- generally speaking I can recognize how I'm feeling and why very quickly within myself. That, I think, helps being able to write them. But some tips that are hopefully helpful:

Study yourself Emotional intelligence aside, the best way to write feelings is to figure out what they feel like. It doesn't have to be in-depth. You don't have to psychoanalyze yourself. It is enough to be able to go "I'm nervous. My stomach feels tied in knots, my throat is dry." or "I'm happy. I feel like I could dance, there's energy I need to get rid of. I feel full to bursting." Any time you've read something and gone "Oh god, that's exactly what that feels like!" It's because someone sat down and studied it for a few minutes. Sit with the uncomfortable feelings, or bask in the good ones. Root yourself in the moment and really stew. It doesn't have to be for big life events. If a movie makes you feel excited, just take a second to describe how it feels. If a book makes you cry, give a thought to what the tears are like. The next time you sit down to write a feeling, you might not be able to remember exactly what it felt like, but you will probably remember the words you attached to it.

Emotions in real life aren't logical, but stories are If you've ever gotten really angry, or really sad, or just any Big emotion, you know they're often overwhelming and paralyzing in their own special little ways. It is so easy to get swept up in the feeling of a thing that your brain turns off, and your body does crazy irrational things, and then its hours later and you've calmed down and it feels like you'll never get that emotion back again, because it was just so... much. That is allowed to exist in a story, but writing incomprehensible feelings takes your reader out of it after awhile. We need something to stay rooted in, if only so we have a reason the character is feeling as they are. Story emotions have a beginning, middle and end that you can chart. We see what causes them, we feel them, they come down from the high, and then they get a resolution. All of that doesn't have to happen at the same time. The character can feel anger over something and it drives their progression for the rest of the book. But, if at the end of the story, we don't see a resolution, it gets harder to believe -- even if in real life, emotions aren't always nearly so neatly tied. [Depending on the type of story you're writing, sometimes you might choose to intentionally leave emotions unresolved by the end, but generally they're still addressed in a "X was still angry, and would always be, but life moves on" sort of way. As long as it was an intentional choice that thought was put into, and that's evident in the character, people will believe it on a writing/empathy level.]

Emotions keep your character relatable, so keep them reasonable Emotions are how your readers connect with your character. Its the little moments where you get into their head and empathize where your attachments grow. Being able to see not only that a character is feeling something, but also see why they feel that way, does a lot of heavy lifting for making you like a character. Even if their feelings are inherently irrational [ie. thinking your friend hates you because they don't want to hang out one day], if you know why the character would feel that way [main character has social anxiety, which has been a problem through the whole book] you can sympathize with them, and care about their struggles.

Think about body language There is so much more to emotion than just "his stomach tied itself in knots" and "his anger was a lightning strike." Emotions are movements and mannerisms. Even something as simple as pacing can convey a thousand different things: quick steps, talking with your hands, in fast circles, leaning forward, beaming [Excited, sharing ideas]. Slow, ponderous steps back and forth in a line down the hall, hands clasped behind your back, brow drawn, gaze low [Contemplative, troubled, turning an idea over and over]. Stomping, storming, glowering, fists clenched, stopping sometimes in front of the door you're pacing in front of, scowling and turning back to your solitude [angry, bracing yourself for an unpleasant confrontation, could be calming down or could be building yourself up to something]. Body language can sometimes convey more of an emotion to the reader than writing how the feeling feels can, especially in a limited POV where you're only inside one character's head.

Physical pacing to show emotion, through word choice Make. Your readers feel things. With punctuation. This is where reading poetry will really help your writing, tbh. Poetry is where punctuation gets really contemplative, really intentional, and you can use that to your advantage in prose too. My thoughts are running. You can tell they're running because I'm in a rush and the words are longer and this sentence is running just like I am. It's one step over and over and over, and ignoring periods for commas because commas feel a little more like a step and less like a hard rest -- and sometimes you do breaks because it feels like a tumble what does this make you feel? It's breathless your readers are waiting for you to stop so they can stop reading and it feels distressing like maybe it's panic or thinking too quick and -- There's something. Creeping. Up on you. A hesitant feeling, like a predator in the grass. There is something disjointed here. In the sentences. The hard stops make you pause. The longer sentences lull you into something. It feels off-balance. Unsafe. Are you scared? Hesitating? What is it, exactly, creeping? You can also get really crazy with it. A character isn't thinking clearly so y o u s ss t art b r e a k i n g up t he wo r d s. You have to be careful. It has to be legible still. But it can be bold, and it can mean something and it can be eye catching and it can be a thought without acknowledgement. Play in the space! Words are toys.

Emotions are your stakes, just as much as bodily harm is If your readers care about how your characters feel, you have a compelling tool to drive their care for the rest of the plot. It's not just bad enough that they could be physically hurt by a situation, putting them in emotional distress makes your readers distressed. This does, however, need balance. In the same way you wouldn't keep your foot on the gas in a car at all times from point A to point Z, lingering too long on one emotion when your readers are invested emotionally drains your readers. There needs to be periods of rest and happiness, to balance the periods of emotional turmoil, guilt, and apathy. If you've ever read a book and thought "Man this character is a crybaby, they never stop whining" or "this book is making me depressed. Everything keeps going wrong all the time!" the balance is skewed too far towards the sad/depressive emotions, and you are emotionally distancing yourself as a result. Something similar happens the other way, if you ever read something and feel like the characters are never in danger, or the plot isn't taking itself seriously. Everyone's tolerance for this is different, but generally speaking, adding small moments of comedy and levity to temper hardship can go a long way to keeping your characters emotionally relatable -- so many people cope with humor anyway.

Read and analyze what you like in other works For the same reason people trace a drawing when they're trying to figure out how the original artist drew it, for the same reason you first knit a pattern instead of knitting a sweater from scratch, pick up a book you love, that gets you emotionally invested in the characters, and really pick apart why you like it. Write down words or descriptions you thought hammered an idea home. Reread a scene once or twice and feel your heart squirm over it and ask yourself why? Just, sink your teeth in and analyze. It helps a lot.

And on the subject of analysis...

Have I studied any writing theory, or have I got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement?

Also kind of hard to answer! Specifically because I haven't studied much writing theory, outside of reading comprehension classes in high school that I'm 10 years removed from now. If I had to give advice, I think it would have to be from my experience which is: Read a lot and take notes.

You're correct, "practice writing" can only get you so far, in the sense that anything in a vacuum is hard to learn from. If I've only ever eaten a PB&J, it's gonna be real hard to learn how to make spaghetti. Chances are I don't even know tomatoes exist. So, read a lot, and read critically, and take notes.

When I say read critically: I mean read with your eyes open. Ask yourself "why?" as often as you can. A book makes you cry, why? Is it specific to the character? Is it because you want them to be happy or because they're going through something you've been through? A book makes you frustrated, why? Was an important plot point forgotten? Are the characters hard to understand? If so, why are they hard for you to understand? Does the author not explain their motives correctly, does it feel like you skipped a chapter? Or is it because their motives are understandable but you still think what they're doing is stupid? I recommend going back and reading your favorite book with that lens. "This is the best fight scene I've ever read!" Why? Was it important to the characters and therefore important to you? Did it wrap up a plot point well? Was it just fun watching the bad guy get beat up?

I learned how to do this first with descriptions. A few years ago I was reading Kings of the Wyld, and about halfway through the book I realized I thought Nicholas Eames was the best writer I'd ever read. That's objectively untrue, I'm sure there's some better, but it's how I felt and I wanted to know why. So I read the book again. I figured out it was because his descriptions were great. It wasn't just that I could see what was going on in my head, the descriptions told me things about the world.

"The wheat was as gold as the Summer Lord's beard." It's autumn, the wheat is ready to harvest and they have a god named the Summer Lord who is cloaked in gold. That's a lot of information packed into one sentence.

"He had learned long ago that harboring regrets was akin to stashing embers in your pockets: hopeless and bound to hurt." That says so much about the character. He has regrets, ones he's worried over so much he's learned how futile it is. And the image of someone holding onto embers because maybe they deserve that pain is poignant and relatable. We have all done something we regret.

I started writing down all the descriptions of his that I liked, picking them apart to see how they work. I like descriptors that inform you about the world, that are unique to the character, and that are rooted in the physical. I think that's successful writing, so I emulate it.

If you want to get better at writing, really study the stuff you like and ask yourself why you like it. If you can't do it in your head, if you can't just read a book and figure out what went well, write it down! It doesn't have to be a 10 page paper. Just writing "I loved X character and I think xyz reason is why" is enough to get you started. The more you practice figuring out what you like, the better you'll get at identifying and describing it. The more you know about those things, the better you can transfer it into your own work. Study can be really fun when you really dig your elbows into it.

I also think it's equally useful to do this to media you don't like. Pick a book you hate and do the same thing. Why don't you like it? Is it because you don't like the themes, or because the characters were too frustrating to relate to? Was it because the plot seemed forced? Were there plot points and ideas that seemed awesome that the author just ignored? Figure out what you don't like, what you think doesn't work, so you can figure out how to avoid it.

The thing about studying anything is: everything has rules. Learn the rules. Learn why the work [or why they don't]. That's studying.

Learning when its appropriate to follow or break them, that's writing.

This turned into a very, very long rant! Hopefully it helps :'D if not, my apologies.

#writing advice #answering asks #anonymous #writing #long post

[gayerthanevertbh]

criminal.

you met a woman from a penpal website and began to form a relationship with her, until you suddenly got comfortable with her and began to share fantasies that she had also dreamt of.

pairings | prisoner!dark!natasha x fem!reader

warnings | 18+ MINORS DNI! online talking, prisoner!natasha, dirty talking (online), rough sex on the couch, strap-on (used), pet names, dark!natasha, and daddy kink.

word count | 3.5k 

notes | this was anon requested and i hope this satisfies you, nonnon! i’m so sorry if it’s too late :( i am doing my best to get all of your requests. enjoy though!

navigation

When I heard of this website called Pen Pal from my friends, I was sketched up. I wasn’t the type of person who would message someone from the internet–let alone a stranger who could break into your house if they had your address. You can’t trust the internet these days. The only reason why I know this website is because of the lack of relationships that I have never gone through in my life. Although I did have a few crushes, they liked me back, but eventually, it turned into nothing like a cloud of dust. Did I want to be in a relationship? Sure, sometimes.

Okay maybe.

Anyway, I was scanning through the website and saw some of the inmates who seemed desperate as I was. These people, specifically women, wouldn’t pass my age. That didn’t matter though, I’d still like anyone even though they weren’t my age. No one caught my interest, especially with their boring information about themselves. Looking for a babe, I want someone who could send me nudes, if you got tits then ur good. This is the information that I don’t need, they are too forward. If you want to speak eloquently about railing someone, you might as well do it in the second stage of dating.

Until I see a profile that did catch my interest. Natasha Romanoff, 36 years old. “I like making new friends.”

She’s a real eye-catcher.

And, she’s not your typical American, she looked too European to be American. Perhaps she was Russian and possibly was born from there, unless I may have assumed it in a wrong way. I decided to click on her profile and gave her a small greeting message.

Me: hey! :D

I didn’t wait much for her reply since I had Calculus homework that I had to do, so I grabbed my pencil and went back to studying. It was almost midnight when she replied, and I was tireless when I received her message.

NatsRomanoff: Hey there :) what suddenly brings you here?

What suddenly brings you here, I thought as I read that message. I could say: nothing much, I just want to say you’re really pretty or I want you to lick my neck with your devilish tongue so that I could be compelled to you. Although the second option was too forward, too soon. I decided to type something else.

Me: my friends told me about this website, idk why. i think it’s because they think i’m pretty lonely, plus it’s also fun. as they said.

NatsRomanoff: Hahaha, that seems cute. I hope the people here doesn’t scare you off unless you’re only talking to one person.

Me: i only plan to talk to one person and hopefully that’s you

NatsRomanoff: You must be adorable, what’s your name?

Should I give her a piece of information about myself? Would it be risky enough to say my name and let her rattle all over me? Or would I not let her in and continue on with my basic life? Yes, basic. My life in the outside world isn’t as fun as it seems. I go to school, learn a few things, have my piano lessons, and come back home with a gaunt look on my face that wasn’t too inviting. Go on, tell her! My head won’t stop telling me to do so, my fingers are on the keyboard as I try to think of any other names that I would use.

Me: Y/N. you?

NatsRomanoff: Pretty name :) Natasha, even though you can see that in my bio.

Me: sorry. i was trying to be formal lol

NatsRomanoff: What’s your sexuality? I don’t want to assume that you’re a girl or a boy, or neither.

Me: i’m a girl!

NatsRomanoff: Cute :) so can I call you a pretty girl then?

I try my hardest not to form a smile or a significant sparkling feeling inside of me as I know that I could fall for someone on the internet in less than a month. But heck, I blushed hard.

Me: yes, why not haha

NatsRomanoff: :)) how old are you, pretty girl?

Me: I’m nineteen, almost twenty in two months!

NatsRomanoff: That’s cute, really adorable I’m gonna be honest. You don’t mind talking to someone older, yeah?

I put my laptop away for a short minute and thought long and hard about our age difference. We were seventeen years apart, she’s almost two decades older than me and I have this sort of romanticization of being with older people. They bring so much comfort to you that you ought to believe that they will always protect you and be more mature than you are, so that’s probably the reason why I love being in that type of situation in the first place. Though, I could never be in one. My parents would kill me.

But they aren’t here, so…

Me: not at all. :)

NatsRomanoff: I’d ask if you could send me a photo of you, but you can’t do that here.

Me: Well, when do you get out of prison?

NatsRomanoff: Two years, pretty girl. Why? Care to visit a poor old woman like me? :)

Me: aren’t we friends?

NatsRomanoff: Of course, we are. I’d like to see you someday, hoping you wouldn’t run off.

Me: why would you say that? lol

NatsRomanoff: Aren’t you scared that I’m some old woman who is a prisoner? You don’t know my crimes.

Me: do you want to tell them to me?

NatsRomanoff: I’d keep it a secret for now :) but, I’d like to see you someday. Anyway, I have to go. Can I talk to you again tomorrow? Pretty girl? :(

The real deal question was: why wasn’t I scared? Why was I willing enough to give myself to a prisoner? I wouldn’t know what she has done, I wouldn’t know anything about her. But she seemed so kind enough that she doesn’t give me the peevish and creepy vibes that I’d always feel when it comes to other people–especially her age. I bit my inner cheek and thought about what to type with her calling me a pretty girl. Referring to me as one even though I hardly believe in such a name like that.

Me: of course, tasha! goodnight :)

NatsRomanoff: Goodnight, pretty girl.

                                                           —

The next few days went pretty smoothly and ambling. It felt like I was in this word heaven as I called it whenever I would be talking to Natasha. Perhaps paradise would be a fitting term for our messages. My friends knew about Natasha, they even told me to flirt a little. But I gave them a hint that I wasn’t ready for anything like that, knowing what they were trying to tell me. Natasha knew a few facts about me that I told her a few days ago. And she gave me small pieces of information about her too, which made me admire her more. Before she got arrested, she was working at a bar and would spend her quality time at the library, telling me that she had a spot that is now taken by everyone else. I told her that I also like reading and that’s how we mostly connect; we send each other book recommendations. Apparently, she likes The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, she said the book reminded me of her–even though that was a little confusing on why. I told her about the book called The Price of Salt because of my age difference with Natasha. She said she had read that one, and we both laughed about it.

NatsRomanoff: You seem like such a smart girl for your age :) What school are you going to?

I read her message, again and again, thinking if I should tell her what school I’m attending. My friends told me not to give any information that would lead to my address, but it’s Natasha, right? She wouldn’t hurt me, even though I’d only known her for five days. Plus, she constantly reminds me that I don’t have to say anything that would offend me.

Me: columbia University, i have a scholarship. :)

NatsRomanoff: You must be academically inclined then :) Love smart girls like you.

Me: lol what does that mean?

NatsRomanoff: I’m sure you know what I’m trying to say.

No, I don’t know what she’s trying to imply–does that make me feel stupid?

Me: anyway, i have to do some reading before i go to bed :(

NatsRomanoff: Aw, come on :( I want to talk to you some more, stay here baby.

I almost threw my laptop in the air as I read that word. Baby, I thought with a whimsical smile on my face. She’s getting into me. I imagine her being in my bed right at this moment, her hand on my knee as she tells me so many stories about herself before her life in prison. Touch me, Natasha. Put your hand on my core, massage it and tell me how much I can be yours. Whisper into my ear and tell me that I’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, that you have to eat. That lewd thought quickly went away when I received another message from her.

NatsRomanoff: Can I call you baby?

Me: of course, you can.

NatsRomanoff: Good. I love us being friends, I haven’t talked to anyone like this in such a long time. I understand if you’re tired, I’ll message you soon. Goodnight, baby girl :)

                                                            —

Days have turned into weeks, weeks have turned into months, and I’ve caught myself falling in love with Natasha Romanoff, not knowing her criminal record or her basic life. Just a small fact about herself that she rarely tells me since she stated that she’s more interested in my life than hers. I didn’t mind, it’s not like I could ask her again, but it did get me wondering why on earth she wasn’t telling me in the first place?

I was lying down on my couch with a book sprawled all over my face, just like how I’d be in bed whenever I think about Natasha. We’ve said some dirty text to each other, but not in a way that we tell our fantasies to one another. I like to imagine a lot, it’s like I make them into my own little world and I drag her through it–let her know what I like and don’t like. I’ve never told anyone about my fantasy, nor hers. I guess we were practically the same people.

NatsRomanoff: I have something to tell you, but promise you won’t freak out.

Why would I freak out? Is she going to say something intense that would scare me off? There’s nothing that could scare me off when it’s only from her, or maybe that’s how submissive and giving I am.

Me: shoot.

NatsRomanoff: I have this fantasy of breaking into your house and watching you sleep. If not asleep, then you’d be standing there with a frightened look on your face. I would touch you without your consent and quiet you down since you’re a bad kitty. Is it okay if I say I want to touch you without your permission? How about if I slip my fingers inside of you without your permission? Would you still allow me? Just tell me to back off, I obviously won’t do anything if you say no. Think of it as a kink.

I felt myself beginning to get wet as I read through the whole message from her. She makes my body tremble with the need for her touch, how much I crave for her fingers or her tongue to lather up all over my skin. My face began to heat up like a kettle, my toes were curling against the sheets, and my hands were sweating as well as my forehead. I wanted what she wanted, I fantasized about it long before she did. Unless she has done it first, I wouldn’t really care. The fact that we share the same thought probably meant how much we are connected. I typed fast and sent it, moaning quietly with the raging thought of her breaking into my house with a threatening look on her face.

Me: that’s really hot, tash…

NatsRomanoff: Do you want that to happen, little girl?

Call me that again, call me your little girl, Natasha. I promise that I can be good to you, I’ll suck your thumb for you and kiss your neck, I’ll let you open me up and take me until I’m bursting into tears, you only know how to make my world shatter. You know.

Me: yes.

NatsRomanoff: Call me Daddy, baby.

Me: Daddy.

NatsRomanoff: You love Daddy?

Me: yes.

NatsRomanoff: I have a strap-on in my cell, did you know that? Before you, I’d fuck girls with it. And now whenever I see that toy, I just want to use it on you so badly. I bet your pussy is tight, are you a virgin?

To her disappointment, I wasn’t. I’ve had sex with a girl twice, but it wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. Losing your virginity should be special, and it wasn’t. As much as I want to say it felt nice, it’s not as good as I thought it would be. Or maybe, I was expecting an older person willing to take me instead. Could that be Natasha when she comes out in two years? I can’t wait any longer, I could feel my legs opening up for her.

Me: i’ve had sex before :( is that okay with you?

NatsRomanoff: That’s okay baby. I’m a little disappointed that you’ve had sex, but it’s alright. Promise me no one else will touch your pussy except me. Promise me.

Me: i promise.

NatsRomanoff: I love you, little girl. Can’t wait to see you.

That was her final message before she went offline, and it made my eyes quirk in confusion. Can’t wait to see you. Was there a possible chance that she escaped from prison and broke into my home, fulfilling our fantasies of one another? Couldn’t be true, she wouldn’t do such a thing.

I decided to close my laptop and turned off my lamp, my body shifting against the mattress while I had my legs pressed hard against each other–shamefully trying to get some friction that would make me think of her lewdly once more as my nipples started to perk with the chill thought.

                                                           —

I tried texting Natasha over and over again for a whole week, but she never responded. It took me time to realize that maybe she has met someone else who was willing to give themselves to her, to be much more open when it comes to sex. Was it because I was not a virgin? Did she shame me for that? Or maybe, just maybe, she has escaped prison and is finding my location?

Stupid, stupid thoughts. She wouldn’t know my location, but I’ve given her a hint now since I went to Columbia University. It’s not that I was frightened, maybe a little, but it was because I don’t know anything much about her that she’s capable enough to hurt me.

I tried surpassing the thought and went back home soundly with my keys jangling on my bag, it was attached to the metal zipper. Except that, the door was unlocked, which gave me a thought of someone breaking in. Could it be Natasha? Was she fulfilling the fantasies that we’ve created together? I shook my head and walked to the apartment–getting a different feeling from the atmosphere. Everything seemed normal, perhaps I might’ve forgotten to lock my home. I dropped my schoolbag on the ground and removed my jacket, the hair on my skin getting sensitive because of the cold mystic air from the outside of my window. I turned around and almost stumbled on the couch when suddenly I saw a figure who was standing in front of me, I didn’t know who it was.

“What the fuck?!” I exclaimed, stepping away from the redhead woman–who’s honestly very daunting–as I tried to find a piece of glass or any object that would be my self-defense. Instead, she gives me an evil smirk and wraps her free arm around my neck, pulling me close to her until I realize who this person was.

This was, in fact, Natasha Romanoff. She has escaped prison.

I didn’t even give her my address.

“Shh,” she coos over and over again, cupping my face tightly. I do admit I was trying to free myself from her, but she was so strong. “You’re so beautiful in real life, and so tiny. C’mere, don’t be scared. It’s me, Natasha, why are you trying to fret me?”

“L-Let me go!” I said, kicking off my feet.

“Shh, stop baby stop…”

“No!” I screamed kicking my feet again, my hands trying to push her chest. But God forbid, she was undeniably strong. Her arms were wrapped around my torso like it was a life sentence, I kept screaming until I felt her hand smack against my left cheek–making me whimper aloud.

“If you scream again,” she breathes heavily and nips on my earlobe so that I could feel her warm breath–my core is beginning to pool with wetness. “I will cut your tongue out. You better stay fucking quiet.”

She never let go of my body and instead, kissed me hard on the lips. It felt consensual since I let her do it, and I almost melted from the kiss that I wasn’t expecting from her. Her mouth felt warm and cooled my lips, and I realized how we were both famished for our lips to touch. I never thought about it happening this way, though it felt romantic and incredibly arousing as she kisses my lips hard and passionate. I was desperate for her not to pull away, but she did with a pant.

“Gonna fulfill that fantasy we both wanted,” she whispers with a low grunt, pushing me to the couch while unbuckling her belt. “I have my fat cock with me, and I know how much you’re going to like it. So better yet open your legs and show me that pretty pussy of yours.”

I did not waste time removing my pants and snapping my legs together as the air hit my wet cunt. She sees the action and furrows her eyebrows, her hands in between my knees as she pushes them away, departing if you have a deeper term. Her eyes were so dark that you couldn’t see much green in them and her mouth was foaming when my bare cunt was shown, my clit beating hard.

“Gonna give yourself to me, m’kay? Gonna fucking ruin this hole until you’re mine. In fact, I’ll have to hurt you if you disobey me. Might as well break your legs so that you could never run off from me, understood?”

“But–”

A sharp slap made contact with my inner thigh as I gasped out in pain, mostly pleasure. She watches my lips being bitten by me and almost wanted her dildo pressed against my mouth, slithering herself in until she fucks my mouth as if it was the gaping hole of my vagina. I was ready–so ready–to submit myself to her, to make her smack me until I bled. I wanted her to do everything she wanted, let alone if she had to take me in the ass. I stare at her and notice how hungry she was for my pussy, please just fuck me.

She pulls down her pants and I see a dark purple dildo that looked insanely big for my preferred size. I looked at her with horror but she was smiling down at me, meaningless to say I have no way out. She brings the tip to my entrance and thrusts inside of me with one go, my mouth screaming in pain and pleasure. In an instant, my hand was around her neck and I felt her mouth kissing mine again–though this one was a sloppier one.

“Fuck,” she murmurs more to herself, enjoying the sight of her cock fully inside of my cunt. “Look at you, taking a prisoner’s dick. Ya like that, don’t you baby? Want me to fuck you on this couch?”

I nodded.

She snaps her hips into me, making the couch squeak with how forceful it was. I was moaning with each thrust, my chest burning up at how fast the pace was going–I couldn’t take it, she was so big. Yet, I didn’t care. I wanted her to do this to me, I wanted her to take me until I’ve become such a slut for her that everyone would know who I belonged to. She buries her face into the crook of my neck as I hear her let out a whiny moan.

“Oh, baby! Mmph, you fucking feel so good…” she pushes my hair away from my face to take a better look at me, and she chuckles. Fucking chuckles. “You are a slut, aren’t you? Tell me you’re my whore baby, come on–tell Daddy.”

“I-I’m–” my breath hitches as I felt my breasts bouncing up and down with the speed of her shallow thrusts. I’ve grown wetter than I imagined. “I’m your whore, Daddy…”

“Daddy is crazy ‘bout you,” she sniffs into my neck heavily that I practically heard it. “Gonna make this pussy mine. I’ll make sure of it.”

this was insanely hot for me i’m sorry

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #dark natasha #black widow x reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff fic #prisoner!natasha #a's oneshots!

[radiosummons]

Even though Wolfwood is very much not an actual Catholic priest, I do find it compelling that Vash--someone without any religious beliefs and minimal exposure to "Christianity," courtesy of Rem (OG Trigun)--is the most faithful of the two.

And by "faithful," I don't mean so much in a religious or Christian sort of sense. More that Vash holds onto his faith that there is good in people and that everyone is worth saving. That the taking of a life is something so unspeakable to him that it will literally cause him immense mental, emotional and physical pain when he is forced to do so. His unshakeable belief, i.e. his faith that every life is precious and no one is beyond redepmtion irregardless of how morally corrupt an individual may be is so foundational to who he is as a character.

While I've only really experienced this through anime and various other Japanese based video games, I do enjoy seeing depictions of Christian iconography and concepts form non-Western creators. I love the art and memes of Vash being a "biblically accurate angel" (even though Plants aren't angels, I am so fucking happy that people are picking up on the unintentional symbolism) and I do enjoy the amount of, again, art and memes of Wolfwood being a cringefail Catholic priest.

But I also love the non-Western depiction of Christianity in Trigun, or rather the apocalyptic remnants of it. Despite the fact I have lost my ability to have faith in a higher being (and my own personal beef/distate with the Catholic Church/conservative Christianity as a whole), I find the worldbuilding of Trigun fascinating in this aspect as it provides its audience an alternative form of a global religion that's very relevant to our daily lives.

In Trigun, Christianity is very much a shadow of its former self, a leftover remnant of humanity--more specifically, a remnant of an old forgotten belief system--that has been essentialy been lost. Save for a few remaining Bibles and some memories of particular Catholic iconography/symbolism.

But overall, that's all that remains. Just familiar symbols and various rituals that some people are able to recall from their former lives.

So the decision to pair Vash up with someone like Wolfwood, someone who has lost his faith in humanity as a whole but has resolved himself to protect those that he can (or rather, deems worthy of saving) ... I find that relationship absolutely fascinating. Because I'd argue that in most Western depictions of a holy man (typically Christian and typically Catholic, let's be real), it's usually the holy man that is doing the saving. Or at the very least, is usually helping guide the other characters on their own paths towards redemption.

Despite the fact Wolfwood isn't an actual priest but instead an assassin trained by a mercenary group using the guise of an old religion (again, that most of humanity has clearly forgotten about), I find it to be a wonderful storywriting choice to make Vash the "holy man."

They're both incredibly tragic characters that burden themselves with crippling destinies. Destinies that ultimately lead to their own destruction, but hopefully all for the greater good. Vash holds faith that maybe, just maybe, he can make Nai realize the error of his ways and turn over a new leaf.

Understandably, Wolfwood finds this way of thinking horribly childish and naive. He even takes it as a personal insult when Vash continues to insist that killing people, even if it's for the sake of protecting someone else, is wrong.

But Vash isn't wrong for wanting to see the good in people. To borrow a quote from Everything Everywhere All At Once: "You tell me it's a cruel world, and we're all running around in circles. I know that. I've been on this earth just as many days as you. When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything. I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight."

Granted, Vash doesn't express his beliefs as eloquently as this. But that doesn't really matter, though. Because Wolfwood doesn't need Vash to make express himself this way for Wolfwood to finally understand him. Vash, by the simple of virtue of being himself, is a good person who chooses to see the good in others.

And Wolfwood ... Wolfwood is someone who chooses to see the bad.

Wolfwood cannot quite bring himself to view the world the way Vash does. And Vash will never be able to share Wolfwood's opinions regarding who is worthy of living, either. But they respect each other and understand where the other person is coming from.

It does take Wolfwood a lot longer to understand Vash as a person, let alone his faith in humanity. But when he does, it's so satisfying to watch Vash become someone important to him. Someone that he wants to protects. Because if Vash won't defend himself, Wolfwood resolves to be the one to protect Vash.

Even if Vash doesn't really want that.

It's so fucking amazing to see these two clash over their ideals, whether it's in the form of playful teasing or straight up beating the shit out of each other. But they stay together and hold each other in such high regard despite their conflicting beliefs.

To me, one of the most beautiful aspescts of Trigun is that Wolfwood--a man of faith but only in name--gets to have such a close connection with Vash--a man of faith through and through--and that because of their relationship, they both inspire a existential AND spiritual crisis within one another.

Because in a world that makes no sense, they both find faith in each other. And if that isn't the most beautiful shit you've ever seen, then I don't know what is.

#trigun #trigun meta #og trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash #trigun vash #trigun wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood #vashwood #i've got a LOT of feelings about these two #yes i quoted #everything everywhere all at once #it just fits okay? #i haven't posted any trigun shit in a while #here's my way of making up for that

[cinnamonest]

Hello all. Sorry for my radio silence until now, here's a half-vent-post, half-update-post for the mess I have going on.

So, my second doctor's appointment... I am very grateful to have a wonderful employer who let me take some time off, so since I've been not great, I've gone to stay with my parents for the week.

I am experiencing what I was told is something called "polydipsia," which I can only describe as something I would come up with if I were asked to devise a new method of psychological torture. It's the sensation of intense, constant thirst, but drinking water doesn't do anything. Like, you know how normally when you're super thirsty and drink water, you feel a sensation of relief when you drink water? That doesn't happen. When you swallow and put the glass down, the thirst is just as intense as it was before you drank, it just... does nothing. You just stay insanely, incredibly thirsty, nonstop, and there is nothing you can do, no amount of drinking makes the sensation go away, but you keep getting the urge to drink because that's what your brain compels you to do.

It was mild at first, now it's reached a point that I'm chugging bottles of water, just nonstop, can barely sleep due to thirst. I know it could be so much worse and a lot of people have much worse things and this is minor by comparison, and I'm very grateful this isn't painful, but it's driving me insane. Just the constant sensation that you're trying to fix but nothing alleviates it at all despite trying is frustrating in a way I cannot describe and it's slowly worn me down to the point of psychological exhaustion.

Apparently, this may be due to some kidney issue. If so that means basically all that water I'm drinking, is actually not being absorbed by my body, my kidneys do nothing, so basically it's as if I'm not drinking at all. So, effects of dehydration as well.

At first with the urgent care doctor I went to initially, I was told that I am not diabetic due to blood sugar normal levels and that I had a kidney problem I needed to see a specialist for. Then I finally got an appointment with the primary care doctor, who said that may be incorrect because diabetes would easily explain the polydipsia. However, the last blood sample they took for lab work they did a few days ago came back and it turns out, once again, I am in fact NOT diabetic.

They drew even more blood and did a series of extensive fluids tests, basically measuring the contents by electrolyte, so I would get updates of lab results sent to me reading like "potassium - normal" and "chloride - normal" etc etc as they test each component. Everything kept coming back as being at normal levels until it hit sodium, and then for some reason, sodium and only sodium got flagged as being imbalanced.

I may have "diabetes insipidus", I'll just have to wait for testing results.

Unfortunately, with comically impeccable timing, I needed wisdom teeth taken out as it's apparently already begun to undo my previous expensive orthodontic work, so I just got out of wisdom tooth surgery yesterday. However, since I have ADHD meds (which are amphetamines) flowing through my body, they put me under general anesthesia rather than laughing gas.

So it's done, my mouth is stuffed with gauze, I'm numb with opioids for the gaping holes in my gums, I feel like a pincushion with the number of needles that have been stuffed in me in the last 72 hours, but it's done and hopefully I won't need anything more.

#i am so grateful my employer made this easy and was so understanding i love her #a few years ago at my old job i nearly got fired because i had to be rushed to the hospital and thus missed work #'we expected you to be there and you didn't show? you didn't even call me to let me know?' #like oh right my bad sorry for being unconscious #also on the bright side being given anesthesia rather than laughing gas means I didnt have that embarrassing loopy post-surgery phase #however i was still very like spacey and dizzy and disoriented while waking up which isnt quite the same but #the lady was like 'here's your jacket you can put it back on now' and I said 'thank you' and immediately dropped it on the ground #or so my mother recalled to me #sorry miss nurse

[darkonekrisrewrite]

Can you list the problems of hero society please

Sure thing 👍

It'll be a long list:

The over reliance on heroes has lead to the civilians becoming uncaring and unwilling to do the bare minimum of effort in human decency. Not even trying to help a child clearly in need (tenko, leading to the second part of shigaraki's villain origin story) and only willing to help deku (a young hero also pretty clearly in need of help) when it benefited them.

2. Quirk (or lack of) Persecution. Toga being a big example in her quirk's function of needing/being compelled to blood, and her parents/hero society personnel treating her terribly, causing her to eventually break and reject them/become a villain in turn.

Aoyama is also an example in a different way, his parents were trying to help him from the suffering (bad treatment by peers most likely) of being quirkless but in doing so made them all AFO's pawns. Plus how deku was treated. And tying in to this example 👇

3. Heteromorph (quirk appearance) discrimination. Spinner, shoji, 'ordinary woman' mutant. Everything about them being the most prevalent examples of hero society being horrible to those who are different.

4. Government assassinations and child soldiers. Lady nagant and hawks, taken in and trained since young children to be killers and spies.

Also the system being willing to send the hero students into literal war zones, TWICE. (Not twice as in Jin, twice as in the pro heroes/government were using the hero students to fight in both wars against the villains.) (Also unless someone who is specifically against these things, calls them out and gets into a position of power, there's nothing stopping these things from happening again in the future.)

5. Heroes who don't have good intentions. Endeavor created Dabi as an unintended consequence of his obsession with surpassing All-might, and many other heroes only signed up for the fame, money and opportunities that being a hero brings, leading to many of them bailing out when things got dark.

It is true that everyone has their own individual reasons, but when your actions can decide the course of all society's future/other people's lives, core motivations should definitely be found out as soon as possible and taken into account.

6. Refusing to acknowledge the incredibly obvious threat of the quirk singularity. The pro heroes and some students were almost immediately able to realize something was up when they saw children with very powerful quirks in the remedial course, recognizing just by looking that the children's quirks were more powerful than their's were at that age. A few inspiring moments and everyone forgot all about it.

I guess nobody looked into Eri's past too? Since her quirk killing her father never came up again.

Not to mention, though uncertain canon, the whole third movie was centered around this doomsday and not a single hero cared, even deku's heroic answer to the villain was just: "You should have tried harder man!!"

Though in fairness, Deku's answer might change with his current character development...hopefully.

7. Other examples are heroes getting so many brand deals, being celebrities and the hero scoreboard stuff.

Not outright corrupt but can definitely cause problems if taken in the wrong ways.

Those are all the flaws I can think of right now, hope this answers your ask.

#bnha #hero society #mha #ask and replies

[blaisenova]

I got a request, and if it's okay can it be platonic?

If it can, how about classic and Error friendship? Cause Error hates aus, and classics the original.

but of course!!

i fucking love the man child, and, naturally, i adore myself some classic too. funnily enough, this is actually a dynamic i don't often see explored, and it's one i've definitely neglected in my own years of making undertale content. BUT THAT ENDS TODAY!!

i'm not sure if you had anything specific in mind, but i just kind of came up with an idea and ran with it, so hopefully it turned out okay LOL. i'm pretty content with it. i always love putting error in space, as a treat.

story is below the cut, and i'll reblog with the ao3 link once it's posted there, but you, my dear tumblr user, get to see it first <3

thanks so much for the request!!

The multiverse was an infinitely expanding place, much to Error’s chagrin, and that meant that there were some rather peculiar concepts out there. Error had never been one for the unusual, though, so the more bizarre corners of the multiverse served to do nothing but piss him off. Really, there were very few universes that he genuinely appreciated the existence of, and those were Undernovella, Outertale, and Undertale. The first and second were, admittedly, born out of a particular bias – Asgoro was just such a compelling character. And who doesn’t like space? Sue him! – and the third was because Undertale was the only real universe out there; the rest were nothing but mistakes; accidents; copies that didn’t print quite right. So, naturally, when given the opportunity to bother one of the Classic Sanses of the multiverse, Error leapt at the opportunity.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for him to be met with a Classic in his line of work, especially considering the special care he took with them; all it took was one fool’s mistake to turn an Undertale into something else entirely, after all, and that was the last thing Error wanted. There should only be one Sans per universe, both in and out of the timeline. Any… extras were glitches already – Errors, if you will – so, really, it was a mercy to get rid of them. Spare everyone the trouble of another him.

As often as Error was met with Classic, however, it wasn’t until his last Genocide that he actually struck up what might be called a “friendship” – admittedly, Error had never quite figured out the meaning of the word despite Blue’s attempts to teach him (though, Blue had also admitted that their whole “friendship” was a ploy, back in the day, before there was another error in the universe, so, really, who was to say what he knew) – but, sometimes, it was hard to tell if people really wanted to hang out with him or if he was just holding them captive on accident. Again.

It was especially complicated when Error was Classic’s “ride,” if you will. Classic had completely forbidden Error from spending time in his universe – which was insulting as much as it was understandable – and Error had forbidden the two from spending time in the anti-void – because the last thing he needed was another Blue situation – so the two, often, passed their hours in other universes, particularly Outertale. Not every Sans had the ability to travel from universe to universe, however – and thank the fucking stars for that. There’s no telling what kind of universes would be made if people could just go wherever they pleased – so Error was Classic’s taxi to the rest of the multiverse. It created a bit of an odd power dynamic that Error, admittedly, kind of enjoyed; he could go see Classic whenever he wanted, but Classic would always have to wait for him to show up first. If that’s what friendship was, then maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

Either way, Classic was everything that the rest of the multiverse wasn’t in that, unlike everyone else, he was meant to be there.

In all honesty, Error didn’t particularly enjoy the actual personality of his companion – there was something about it that made his bones buzz unpleasantly, like static, and reminded him of a past long gone and just out of memory’s reach – but it was so impossibly rare to meet someone that wasn’t an anomaly that Error found himself enjoying Classic’s company nonetheless.

Which was why – as he normally did when he was too caught up in his own thoughts to realise what he was doing – Error found himself stepping through a glitch in the fabric of the multiverse, met with the pleasant sound of snow crunching beneath his slipper. The slush immediately soaked through his shoes, chilling his toes and making him shiver with glitches. He peered upwards at the blurred cavern ceiling that hung above, dappled with the sparkling cyan gems that he used to pretend were stars; it was easier now, to pretend, when his vision was so awful. Though, even then, nothing compared to the real thing, and what was the use of pretending when, now, he could access the stars with a mere flick of the wrist?

With that same unconsciousness that came with years of habit, Error, after a short walk, easily found himself before the forest’s sentry station, where a nearly identical copy – if you ignored the marks of the anti-void or their lack thereof – snoozed away his shift, as he always did.

“Hey,” he called, voice particularly distorted with his effort to project, and a pleased smile fell over his face as the sound effectively roused his companion.

The skeleton blinked awake with that same bleary slowness that all tale Sanses did, rubbing the sleep from his sockets with a closed-mouth yawn. It took him a moment to register what had woken him as he shook the snow that had fallen onto his skull back to the ground, and his smile widened at the sight of the glitch before him. Admittedly, it was a welcome change in greeting than the usual wariness or screams that he received in the typical universe, but, then again, Classic had always been a special case in every way involving Error.

“Hey,” he returned, in that same languid tone as always. “Long time snow see.”

With a distorted bark of laughter, Error returned, “Yeah. It’s ice to see you again.”

“Good one,” Classic snickered. He stretched, slowly, filling the air with the soft pop of bones, then, as if to refute his efforts, hunched right back over into the same horrible position as before; head leaned on his arms, looking like he was still half asleep which, knowing him, he probably was. “Seriously. It’s been a while. Where’ve you been? Or do I wanna know?”

“Busy,” was all he answered, and the strings that stuck to his cheeks itched at the notion.

Sockets slipping shut in a poorly concealed cringe, Classic hummed. “I guess I don’t.”

“We’re going to see the stars,” Error said, instead of responding. With a flick of his wrist, a door opened to the rest of the multiverse, and the dark vastness of space shone through, spotted with all manner of colourful stars, both big and small; the heat of their presence could be felt through the opening, and the feeling prompted Classic to sit up. 

He peered through the portal with that same uncertain fascination as he always did, eyelights darting over each celestial body with increasing longing. Nevertheless, when he managed to tear his gaze from the beyond and back to what was right in front of him, he fixed Error was a peculiar look with squinted sockets. “That a request?”

Error followed suit in his expression, head cocked to the side. “What?”

“Are you asking me to go?” he elaborated with an almost mocking deliberation. “Or making me?”

With a confused shake of his head, Error glanced back at the expanse of space for a moment before returning his gaze to the other him. His eyelights moved over his face, in the same way Classic’s did to the stars, as if searching for something. “Don’t you want to?”

For reasons Error couldn’t possibly hope to discern, Classic seemed to relax at the question, his expression turning back to that half-lidded smile. Having friends was weird. “I guess I can make some space in my schedule,” he said. “Beats working.”

“You were sleeping,” Error corrected with another confused frown.

“Yeah,” Classic agreed before, with a shit-eating grin that gave Error a better idea of why Papyrus was so annoyed all the time, “on the job.”

Frowning, Error let out a distorted sigh and considered how attached he really was to the multiverse’s veritable “original.” Attached enough, perhaps. It was fortunate that Classic was, overall, quiet, especially when faced with the silence-inspiring view of the stars that he was so seldom met with in his own universe, or, at least, not in ways that he properly remembered. Surrounded by something so vast and beautiful, what was there to say? Words seemed meaningless, small; som

“Are you coming or not?” Error grumbled, jerking his head towards the portal.

Finally standing to his feet – which, hilariously, didn’t grant him much extra height compared to when he’d been sitting – Classic nodded shortly and flashed him yet another grin. “Not in the mood for comet-y, are we?” he huffed. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”

Without gracing the pun with a response – though, admittedly, it had been a good one – Error stepped into the other universe. Immediately, the distinction between the soggy snow beneath his feet and the crumbly softness of the planet’s surface was clear, and, despite the distinct lack of oxygen, it felt easier to breathe. They’d ended up where they always did when they went to Outertale: some place on the other side of the planet, where the sun didn’t touch and, so, neither did the monsters. Without the mark of monsterkind, the planet itself was overwhelmingly grey, feeling rather underwhelming in comparison to the infinite picture of stars, and planets, and space dust that sprawled outwards before them, impossibly more vibrant and colourful once the portal snapped shut behind them and shut out the light of Snowdin. Though, Error supposed, just about anything would feel underwhelming in the face of something like this. Even he felt small beneath the expanse.

“I always forget how big it is,” Classic mumbled from somewhere close behind, and Error couldn't help but jump at the sound.

In a wave of glitches, he glanced back towards his companion. There was something about space – about being faced with what he could never have – that seemed to make Classic vulnerable in a way that Error hated; the way that he stared out into the void that somehow felt kinder than the other voids lacked that guarded nature – that wall – that usually stood so unwaveringly. It was a display of genuineness that Error didn’t quite feel he deserved, though he couldn’t say why.

Tearing his gaze from the other him, Error forced himself to peer at the stars once more, focusing on a particularly vivid patch of space dust. “It’s infinite,” he hummed. “‘Course it’s big.”

“Infinite’s a terrible descriptor,” Classic said with a huff of laughter. He carefully sat himself on the planet’s sheer edge, legs swinging in the open space with that characteristic recklessness that Error couldn’t help but wonder if it, from time to time, could be attributed to a certain call of the void that he, too, experienced. “It’s meaningless,” he continued. “So large that it’s incomprehensible.”

Following Classic’s example, Error perched himself on the edge. It was more of a crouch than a sit, really, leaving plenty of space and the ability to leap up and away should he need to. The first few times he’d done it, Classic had questioned the behaviour, and Error hadn’t really known how to answer. Now, the other skeleton didn’t even bat an eye. It was nice to be understood; or, if not understood, at least tolerated for his peculiarities. Maybe that was enough.

“This is nothing compared to the rest of the multiverse,” he finally answered. “Just an infinity inside of an infinity.”

The words were met with a shiver so subtle that Error might not have picked up on it if Classic weren’t so exactly like him. “Geez,” he said, with a bit of a breathless laugh. “Existential.”

“Existential?” he echoed, browbones furrowing as he peered back at his companion.

“Yeah,” Classic confirmed. “Makes you feel meaningless, knowing how small a part of the multiverse you are. So small you can’t even comprehend just how massive the rest of it is.”

A short huff of laughter fell from Error. “Everyone’s equally a part of infinity.”

“Equally meaningless, maybe,” came the grumble.

Another snort. “Yeah, most of ‘em.” His eyelights turned back towards the multiverse’s pocket infinity. The view was blurry without his glasses, but maybe it was the bigger picture that mattered more than the parts of it. What did it matter if he was missing a few stars? “It’s crazy how unlikely it is that some of these universes should exist, but they’re here, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Error huffed. He ran his hand over the rough ground beneath him, rolling a pebble around with the tip of his finger in an unconscious attempt to dispel the frustrated energy that was building in him at the conversation topic. “Like, Underswap – the one where you and your bro are, like… swapped around – you wanna know how likely that is to exist?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me either way,” Classic mumbled, but Error ignored him.

“It’s a probability of 1 divided by 9,109,043,495. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.” His fingers habitually moved up towards his sockets, running over the grooves left by his strings and blinking away magic. “Isn’t that ridiculous? It’s like the multiverse is just trying to spite me; to spite itself.”

“That’s pretty incredible, actually.” The words were accompanied by a shuffling sound, and Error peeked towards the other, idly noting the way that he’d pulled his legs up into a cross-legged position.

“Incredibly annoying, maybe,” he grumbled.

For reasons Error didn’t quite understand, his frustration earned a laugh. “If something with such a low probability of existing, nevertheless, exists, then I guess it’s got to have meaning, after all. Maybe we all do, even in unquantifiable, improbable infinity,” Classic snickered. That thoughtful vulnerability was back in his gaze, and Error watched his eyelights trace invisible constellations. “You’ve got a real interesting way of reassuring someone, you know.” 

Frowning, Error cocked his head to the side. “What? Who am I reassuring? Of what?”

#blaise writes #undertale #undertale au #error sans #errortale #sans #sans au #sans undertale #undertale fanart #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #god i've missed writing for this fandom #it's been too damn long

[emikotatsuya]

Sensation's Rewrite Prologue

I decided to post the finished rewrite for the prologue here on Tumblr just so people can get a feel for some of the additions and for some new readers to hopefully look forward to when I'm done rewriting Sensation. Anyway, I hope you lovely readers enjoy it!

Regarding human nature, morality is questioned in almost every decision they make. To survive in this world, they make so many drastically different choices that humans like to put into the vague terms of Good and Evil. Humans are also hypocritical creatures, acting on their selfish desires and beliefs. One person will choose and be seen as a good person, while someone else will make the same decision and somehow be seen as the bad guy. The lines are blurred so often that there never seems to be an actual line between those opposing sides. It's easier to call it a gray area, but only some people are satisfied with just that. Humans need constant reassurance that they are making the right choices. That they're the protagonists of their own story, and any minor inconvenience is the antagonist.

In the depths of a hidden world, behind the general public, those lines are more thought out and clearly stated. Forces beyond normal human comprehension exist and sometimes threaten their lives without them ever knowing. All because they don't harbor the necessary eyes to see it. Behind the scenes, the more or less good guys are Jujutsu Sorcerers. Those men and women have been born with the ability to see cursed spirits and can harness the cursed energy those spirits are made of to defend humanity from them. 

As for the bad guys, it is easy to say that cursed spirits are the set-in-stone villains. They are primarily mindless beings that move on instinct. However, some have become more powerful and evolved to be able to think and even talk in some cases. They may even gain a humanoid form if lucky, usually only present in powerful cursed spirits. That said, it goes without saying that Jujutsu Sorcerers are not all harbingers of goodwill. Having powers no average human has can quickly go to the head. Even though this happens, you never see a cursed spirit trying to be a good Samaritan. Right?

I thought about what it would be like if that wasn't the case as I walked down the dirt path deep within the woods outside of town and headed to the tiny log cabin I called my home. Almost two decades ago, I opened my eyes for the first time. Born from nothing but the forest's foreboding, I took my first steps. I had wandered the forest aimlessly for days without knowing why I existed. The first few months after my alleged 'birth', I ran into my first cursed spirit. 

It was small and looked more like a ball of flesh than anything else. When it had noticed me, it had coward away. Sensing something that I could not perceive myself at the time. Something compelled me to believe that somehow, we were the same species, or at least made of the same thing. Though, of course, at the time, I had no idea what a cursed spirit was or how they were made. It didn't take long for my curiosity to turn into panic once the cursed spirit realized I wasn't a threat and somehow bit my hand clean off. I don't remember what happened next, but when I came to, the curse was nowhere to be seen, and my hand was somehow back. After that, I made a conscious effort to stay away from cursed spirits. I was scared I was going to get attacked again.

About a month later, I finally found my way to town outside the forest. That was when I discovered what humans were. I didn't go down immediately, scared they would harm me like the curse did. I watched the humans go about their lives from the cover of the forest's darkness. For a bit, that was enough. 

I was simply content on watching. Humans were so fascinating; they were of different shapes and sizes with similar forms. They were social creatures, I learned soon enough, and eventually, I longed to be down there with them. One day, I noticed a cursed spirit had wandered from the forest and crawled down to the town. That was when I first learned of the basic instinct of cursed spirits to prey on humans. 

I desperately wanted to go down there and help, warn them of the dangers, but my fears had held me back. However, I didn't have to in the end, as a jujutsu sorcerer had been notified of the attack and had come swiftly to deal with the problem. They didn't sense me by some miracle, but I saw firsthand how strong they could be and how they killed cursed spirits without hesitation. I remember being scared to death at the thought of returning to the forest's edge after that, wondering If I would be the next one for the slaughter. Eventually, I gathered some courage and resumed my people-watching.

One day, by mere accident, I somehow changed my form. I barely noticed the change, but my eye level was lower than usual. I was suddenly shorter than I was initially. While wandering around the forest and eventually finding a river near where I live now, I was shocked to see a human face staring back at me. As embarrassing as it was, I thought a human was trapped under the water, unable to fathom that I could ever look like that. 

However, after my initial panic to rescue said human, I realized that it was actually me that I was staring at. I remember a wave of relief washing over me to finally not see the monstrous face I had grown used to seeing in my reflection. Since that day, I never changed back. I traveled down to the town below that day with my new form. I had apparently taken the form of a five-year-old child, so the adults who had first noticed me freaked out when they saw me. I was caked with dirt, my hair was matted, and I was naked. Clothes, sadly, did not come with the transformation, though at the time, I didn't know the importance of clothes.

Before I knew it, one of the townspeople rushed me to their home and threw me into a warm bath. Scrubbing away all the dirt and grime before almost tearing my hair as they brushed the knots out. They had bombarded me with many questions, all worried for my well-being. It was overwhelming. Now that I think back on it, they probably thought I was abused and had been abandoned in the forest to die. After all, no 'child' looks like that if they came from a loving family.

However, at the time, I couldn't answer them even if I had wanted to. I didn't know how to speak or dress myself. I remember the look on an elderly woman's face when she noticed how confused I looked when she had given me a tiny dress that one of the other townsfolk had run out and bought for me. Her look of pure sadness at the realization that I didn't even know how to put clothes on will forever be ingrained in my memory. The townsfolk there at the time had spent a good few hours trying to get clothes onto me. 

I had apparently struggled and squirmed so much that they had to hold me down just to put the dress on. When they were done, I finally looked like an ordinary little girl. After everything slowly settled down, the townsfolk decided what to do with me. Some tried to find my parents, though that was arduous since I didn't have any. They tried to take me in at some point, but I ran back into the forest. After all, that day was the first time I interacted with humans, and it was too much too soon.

The next day, after calming down, I returned to the town. The townsfolk had been worried and kept watch at the forest's edge. Only a few wanted to search for me in the forest because it was considered haunted. I wasn't surprised because of the number of Cursed Spirits born in it. That was when I met my Papa, a young man who had heard of what had happened and was the first person on the scene when I was spotted the next day. 

He had asked me if I wanted to live with him, but the thought of him or anyone finding out about what I was, or another Jujutsu Sorcerer coming by, had ended in me, no matter how tempting the offer had been, outright refusing him. Even if it wasn't a dangerous offer, the forest had become my home, and I couldn't bear to leave it after all this time. After some discussion, they eventually decided I would join Elementary school. Before I could join, however, they had to set up a place for me to stay. So, some builders from the village ended up renovating an old abandoned cabin in the woods. 

For the first year, one of the school teachers would walk up to the cabin and walk me all the way down to the elementary school. I would have dinner with the young man, who would walk me back to the cabin. The other kids in my grade had thought I was weird since I didn't talk, and eventually, a rumor circulated that I was an orphan. I didn't make any friends because of it. Over that first year, my form slowly changed, aging as if I were a human; after that year, I finally learned how to talk and, eventually, how to read and write. However, I had a terrible stutter whenever I did talk, as my vocal cords were not used to it.

About a month after I could talk a sentence, the young man brought something up during dinner one night. "So, what's your name, little one?" I looked up from my food to look up at him curiously. "M-m-my n-name?" I barely managed out. Ms and Ns at the start of words were the hardest to pronounce for me. "Yes, your name. A good little girl like you must have a wonderful name." I lowered my head to look back at the food, my hand tightening around the fork. "I don't have a n-name." Not long after I had said that the young man dropped his glass, causing it to shatter on the floor below; the noise made me flinch with how loud it was. "They didn't even give you a name?" 

I knew he meant to whisper it, but his emotions got the better of him. It confused me; why was he so angry? Had I done something wrong? "I-I'm sorry." His head snapped back at me, and he quickly threw his hands up. "No, no! It isn't your fault. It will never be your fault. It's just.." He trailed off. "I'll tell you when you're older; let me clean this up, okay? You continue eating your food," I nodded softly as I ate. The young man was hunched over on the floor, cleaning up the shards of glass and the water that had spilled everywhere. 

Once our plates had been emptied of food, I sat on one of the stools on the island in the kitchen while he washed the dishes. "So," He started. "Would you like me to give you a name?" My head perked up at that. A name? My own name? I couldn't help but shyly nod, giddy at the idea of receiving a name. He chuckled at my reaction and thoughtfully held his chin in his hands. "Hmm, I think I'll call you (Y/n), and for your last name, why not mine? From now on, you'll be (Y/N) Chibana." He grinned at me, "Awe- now that I think about it, I never told you my name earlier; sorry about that, kiddo, my name is Hisato Chibana. In my family, Chibana means 'A Thousand Blossoms.' You'll grow into that quite nicely. My little Hana."

That was the day my father officially adopted me. And he had wasted no time taking up his new role as my father. He was a patient man and never once got angry at me for my struggles to speak or if I was having trouble with my school work since I was starting school later than the other kids. Father had picked up everything and moved into the cabin in the woods with me not even two weeks after I started school. His neighbors had tried to stop him, warning him of the forest's dangers, but he simply smiled and said. "If I wasn't there for my daughter, then what kind of father would I be?" It was nice knowing he was there for me. It took me forever to properly warm up and see him as my Papa. I remember a day when he gave the principal an earful after he found out how some of the kids were making fun of the fact I was adopted since they couldn't exactly make fun of the fact I was an orphan anymore. 

When we got home that day, he sighed deeply and ruffled my hair as he told me to help him prepare the ingredients for dinner. "Don't listen to them, my little hana. You just have a different circumstance than them, but that doesn't make them better than you. You are an amazing young girl. I couldn't have wished for a better daughter," Is what he had told me, with a warm smile on his face. It had made him look so bright. I had clung to his leg for the rest of the night.

When I turned eleven, my happy life with my father ended. It was the middle of class, and I sat alone at one of the tables. The classroom was situated where there were fewer students than tables, and since the students were allowed to sit wherever they liked, I was the only one at my table. The teacher at the front of the room was teaching us multiplication when the phone rang. She told us to all settle down as he headed to the back of the class to answer the phone. "Yes, hello? Yes. She's here..what?" I saw the teacher go pale as her eyes landed on me, and I immediately knew something was up. "Ok..yes, I'll tell her. Alright, goodbye." 

The teacher hung up the phone."Chibana-San, please come with me." Everyone's eyes were on me as I slowly got out of my chair and followed our teacher out of the classroom. We didn't walk far, just to a different classroom that wasn't used at the moment; she sat me down at one of the tables. "Alright, Chibana-san, I must tell you some important news. It has to do with your father, Mister Chibana." I slowly nodded, my hands slightly shaking under the table as I feared the worst. "You see..while your dad was at work today, a little accident happened." The teacher looked at me with so much pity that I almost couldn't stand to look at her. "Is he ok?" I could barely hear my voice; I had spoken so softly. She shook her head, hanging low as she tried not to cry. After all, it wasn't every day you had to deliver news like this to an eleven-year-old. "Y-Your father got caught up in it, and he- he lost his life." In the end, she couldn't hold back the tears. And just like that, my world came crashing down around me.

Six years ago, my father died due to a workplace accident. They were working on construction, and some beams weren't tied correctly, so when the ropes gave way, my Papa was crushed under its weight when it fell. The information hit me like a ton of bricks at the time. The one person in my life who had helped me through each day, who cared about me, was gone forever. A week after his death, was when his funeral was held. 

Papa was beloved in town. He was an upstanding citizen who loved to help people. Never failed to put a smile on everyone's face, so it wasn't a surprise that so many people had shown up. I can't remember a single person there that day besides my teacher, but I remember the heavy feeling in my gut each time they looked at me in pity. Whispering to one another how dreadful it was for me to lose my father so young, all while I was still in earshot. Others, the more superstitious, whispered how it was my fault, that I must have been a bad omen. My teacher led me away shortly after the comments started getting out of hand. Only when I got home did I finally cry, finally began to fully grieve his death. For the first time in years, I was alone again. I didn't leave his room for a good few days. Soaking his pillows with my tears, I eventually believed those comments were accurate. Everyone at school believed it, after all, which only worsened the bullying.

Back to the present, and out of my depressing thoughts, I set down the groceries I had bought in town by the door. A sigh escaped my lips as I dug around in my pockets for my house key before opening the door. I crouched down to pick up the groceries before entering the cabin. "Papa...I'm home," I called out into the empty house as I closed the door behind me and locked it. Moving into the kitchen, I set the groceries down on the counter. I heard tiny footsteps and smiled softly as I turned around."Yes, yes, I'm home, Rose."

A few feet away was a pure white angora cat with heterochromatic eyes. The cat's eyes were blue and yellow, which reminded me of jewels. As I often shortened it, Primrose, or Rose, appeared shortly after Papa died. It was about a month after the funeral, if I remember correctly. But I could remember the night Rose came into my life so clearly.

After another long day at school, I only wanted to cry in Papa's room. Middle School was already hard to get through with all the bullying; now that Papa was gone, it felt more like I was trapped in hell. I set my backpack by the sofa before returning to Papa's room. I collapsed onto the bed and let out a shaky breath. It wasn't long before the tears began to fall from my face.

Every time I cried over Papa, it felt like another part of me was dying. How could humans even handle emotions like this? Doesn't it just eat them from the inside out? My arms wrapped around his pillow in a vice. Holding it tighter and tighter with every wail that left my mouth. The pain in my heart was unbearable. The moon shone through the window onto my form, and at that moment, it felt like I was being set on fire. I didn't want the light on me. I didn't deserve it. Not after everything I've cau-

A drawn-out mewl from the window snapped me out of my thoughts. The sudden sound caught me off guard, and I sat up, forgetting my grief only for a moment. A pure white cat with a slightly fluffy mane was on the window sill. The cat's eyes shun like jewels against the moonlight, and my eyes widened at seeing its eyes being two different colors. Its left eye was a beautiful honey color, and its right eye was a light blue. All things considered, it was a beautiful cat.

Before I could speak, the cat jumped onto the bed, startling me further. It walked over, unafraid, and laid down in my lap. It looked up at me and stared. Despite my initial shock, a soft, somber smile graces my lips. "Are you all alone too?" I wiped my tears and gently petted the cat on the head; in response, the cat meowed back as if in reply. "what's your name?" I looked the cat over. "It looks like you don't have an owner..you must really be all alone.." I looked that cat over, "I think..I'll call you Primrose."

Primrose tilted her head slightly, looking at me with curiosity. I shook my head, 'I've done enough reminiscing for one day.' I crouched down and petted her. "Yes, I know, you're hungry. Don't worry; I got you your fancy tuna." A soft laugh left my lips as I rummaged through the plastic bags and got out a can of tuna. The only brand that Rose will eat is an expensive one, but I can't bring myself to not buy it for her. Rose helped me through a lot of the heartbreak of losing my Papa. Now, as a Fourth-year in high school, Primrose remains my one and only friend.

I opened a drawer and got out the can opener. I opened the can and set it on the counter for Primrose to enjoy. After feeding my feline companion, I got to work on putting away the groceries. "Did you behave while I was away at school today?" I said as I looked over my shoulder and put some food in the fridge. Primrose, in response, looked away from me. Being an expressive cat, I could tell she was offended. "Oh, come on, you know I'm only kidding."

I threw away the plastic bags along with the now-empty tuna can. "Come on, Rose..let's say hello to Papa." We walked down the hall to a room adjacent to mine, and I opened the door. Across the room was a small shrine. I sat on the pillow in front of it and looked at the picture of my Papa. He was just getting into his thirties when he died, which came with the light facial hair he had started to grow. He had shaggy hair and eyes that always reminded me of honey. The highlight of the old picture was his bright, warm smile. One that barely ever left his face. One that I was so used to seeing.

I lit the incense on the shrine and clasped my hands together. "Hey Papa, school was okay today. It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either." My eyes closed as I thought about my Papa. "My grades are doing good. I've been studying really hard as of late." My eyelids fluttered open as my eyes made contact with the eyes in the picture. I missed hearing his voice, feeling his warmth whenever he hugged me, and laughing at his cheesy jokes.

"I...I've been thinking about the past a lot today.." I couldn't look at his face anymore, and I looked down. "I'm...so sorry that I never told you...I hope you can forgive me from where you are in heaven..or wherever you are." I couldn't stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks as my hands fell to my sides, forming into fists as I dug my nails into my palms. "Would you still consider me your daughter if you knew what I am? Would you still call me your little Hana, knowing what my kind does to humans?" 

I felt like I couldn't breathe as I fell to my hands and knees and watched the tears fell onto the hardwood floor. "No matter how much I think about it, the guilt keeps eating away at my soul. Was I really the cause of your death? Did I doom you?" I jolted upward with a slight yelp as Primrose sunk her teeth into my arms."Ow! Rose, why did you-" I stopped as I noticed the distress in Primrose's eyes. I took deep breaths before letting out a long sigh as a half-hearted smile graced my lips."Thank you, Rose. I had another episode, didn't I?"

Primrose nuzzled her head against my arm and walked toward the door. My smile faded into something softer as I got up, glancing at my father's portrait. "I'll see you again tomorrow, Papa." I left the room with Primrose and closed the door behind me. "What would I do without you? You might as well be my emotional support animal at this rate." I watched Primrose walk toward my room, and I couldn't help but chuckle. "Right, you need your beauty sleep." I stretched my back before rubbing where Rose had bit my arm. "She bit me hard. Even left a mark, fun."

I decided that I was just going to skip dinner tonight and go back outside for a walk in the forest. So I headed for the door, unlocked it, and stepped outside. It was almost nighttime, and the sun was just about to set. My head tilted toward the sky to absorb the colors cast over it. 'It should be that time of day, right?' With that thought, I headed back down the path. Just up ahead was my destination, a small bridge that crossed over a river.

From what my Papa told me, this bridge was constructed years ago, and when the builders were grabbing stones to make up the bridge, they somehow found a big piece of emerald caked in dirt. Over the years, the dirt fell away because of rain, and the emerald was eventually revealed. Sadly, the townsfolk couldn't get it out because of where it was located on the bridge since the wall would have to be broken. Around this time of day, because of the angle it had been placed in the bridge, only during this time, when the sun started to set, did the sun's light shine through the emerald perfectly and make a beautiful design on the river's surface. Some myth was also connected to the bridge, but I can't remember it.

I stopped beside the emerald in the bridge and looked over the railing. On most days, it cast a nice green glow on the ripples of the water. Yet, today, it seemed to not be the case as the water almost had a red look. I rubbed my eyes several times to ensure I wasn't seeing things. 'That's never happened before. Is there dirt on it?' I peeked on the other side of the emerald gemstone and saw nothing. "Maybe it's a little early?" I whispered to myself softly before I took a deep breath. 'Something about this situation doesn't sit right with me.'

I shook my head and turned around. The last thing I wanted was to come face to face with another cursed spirit because I was stressing over a weird bridge. I headed back inside, locked the door, and headed down the hall and into my room. Primrose was lying on my bed, sleeping soundly. I crawled into bed, trying not to disturb her. "Good night, Rose." I closed my eyes and tried my best to go to sleep.

Underneath the river's waters lay a plaque, long forgotten. Words carved into it told a small tale of the bridge. "Beware thy soul who views the river red, For soon a terrible fate lies ahead. When visiting the gem of the river so fair, Pray your fate isn't worse than death, beware!"

#yandere #yandere male #yandere jujutsu kaisen #x reader #yandere x reader #prologue #yandere reverse harem #yandere various

[sflow-er]

Some thoughts on writing and posting fic

In the last few days, there have been some lovely posts by fic writers, encouraging an anon who was thinking of posting their first fic but worried about readership. That kind of got me thinking as well, especially as my magnum opus just reached a bit of a milestone on ao3:

Those 50,000 hits (and 1,151 kudos) blow me away, and I'm forever grateful for each and every one of them - but this isn't a post about that. It's a post about how there is no point in comparing these stats to my latest fic, which will take a while to even break 500 hits (and hopefully 50 kudos). Or any of my other fics, for that matter.

Below are some of my personal thoughts on fic writing, the factors that I believe affect the popularity of a fic, and the motivational impact of engagement. My perspective is obviously that of a niche writer, but I think these observations could also be of interest to new writers or anyone struggling with such comparisons. I'll put a cut here because this got very long, but the TL:DR is this:

I write for myself, not for my readers. I post for my readers, not for the numbers.

A quick bit of background info: I have a pretty long history of sharing my writing. When I was little, I used to make comics & picture books for my younger brother, and in secondary school, I used to write stories in my English notebooks that only my teacher ever got to read. In my teens, I wrote fanfic in a couple of obscure fandoms and even a novel-length original story. The readership was just a handful of people, including my closest Internet and IRL friends, and I was very happy with that.

Before YR came along, I had not managed to write a creative text in over a decade. My studies and work had put out the spark, and I thought it was gone for good. So when YR reignited it, I very much started writing for myself. I'm sure every writer knows that feeling of something taking shape in your head and begging to be let out, as well as the satisfaction of seeing it all come together on your screen. At least I really hope they do.

Still, I knew right off the bat that I wanted to share the fic. I didn't care how many people read it, I just really hoped someone would. I missed the feeling of seeing people get joy out of something I created and connecting with them through it. Especially as I didn't have any other outlet for my YR thoughts and feels at the time. I also wanted to contribute something to the fandom that helped me regain this long-lost part of myself - and of course I could use some encouraging feedback too.

So that was how my magnum opus started out, and because of the timing, it became more popular than I imagined. The fandom was young (I started posting in August 2021, S2 wasn't even confirmed until September) and everyone was just really hungry for more. The vast majority of fics were focused on Wilmon from the start, but people were interested in pretty much anything exploring the rich and still largely undiscovered world of the show. My fic was niche and I had neither the guts nor the platform to promote it, but many people still found it.

I consider myself unbelievably lucky to have started posting at such an opportune time. The fandom has evolved in these 2+ years, and things are quite different for authors starting out now.

For one thing, the chorus of writers has expanded as more people have discovered the show and been inspired by it. As wonderful as that is, it does make it harder for any single voice to stand out. I think promoting one's work in fandom spheres such as tumblr and writing compelling tags and descriptions on ao3 has probably become more important, and of course it also helps if you've got some existing readers who follow your work.

Because for another thing, the readership has changed. Some fans have either left entirely or only follow their favourite writers now, while others have joined. New fans tend to start with the fandom classics, other wonderful recommendations, or the fics with the most kudos or comments. Which makes a lot of sense when there are thousands of fics to choose from, but it inevitably puts newer and more obscure writers at a disadvantage. Furthermore, it feels as if the number of readers who prefer completed fics may have increased, as people have seen some fics get abandoned along the way (and they now have more completed works to choose from). Again, that's very understandable, but it can feel discouraging to multi-chap writers.

I also can't help but wonder if there's been a shift in the fandom's interests, especially since S2. There's more canon to follow or disregard now, and people have had more time to develop fanon and their personal headcanons. All that affects what they want to read.

For example, the developments in S2 may have put some people off certain characters/ships/dynamics or made them fall in love with others. They may have started curating their reading to their hopes and expectations for S3. Some might even favour AUs to avoid speculation or guarantee Wilmon endgame, or they might long for fics solely focused on Wilmon and their love after they spent so much of S2 apart. There's nothing wrong with any of these approaches - but they do curb the already lower interest in fics focused on other characters, gen fics, rarepairs, unusual takes, and so on

To circle back to the example of my first fic, it would not get that kind of engagement if I started posting it now. It might be more popular than my other fics thanks to Wilmon featuring prominently as side characters, but it would still be outsider POV. In fact, even readers interested in the characters I focused on might be deterred by, say, the slow burn and lack of sexual content (now that those characters are a more established non-canon side ship and there's more fic available).

In a lot of ways, it's paradoxical to even speculate on this. If I started my first fic now, it would either be a totally different story (compliant with S2), or it might not be finished at all. What those 50,000 hits don't tell you is that a large portion of them were people checking for updates. The project completely took over my life for 10 months, and I doubt I would've got through some of the rough patches without the wonderful readers who were excited to follow it as a WIP, even when my updates got sparse from all the stress. My other fics would either not exist at all or have far less engagement if it wasn't for the loyal readers left over from that first fic, and the first fic wouldn't have as many reads without all the people who have reread it (as I know some have). And of course it is now also benefiting from the large number of existing kudos.

Anyway. My point is that comparing stats is neither fair nor useful, and that doesn't just apply to my own fics or niche fics in general. Every fic is published at a certain point in time or over a certain period of time, in a fandom that is always in flux. The things that inspire us as writers may not align with the interests of the readers - or even if they do, the readers might not notice or be aware of it.

So the question is, how to reconcile the need to share your work and connect with people with the ever-changing odds of those people finding your work?

I'm not going to lie, sometimes it is extremely hard. I often feel really low and doubt myself a lot after posting, but I think I've made it to a point where I don't get too caught up on it anymore.

One key thing is to draw a distinction between the writing and posting. The writing itself should always be primarily for me, because it's my creative energy, time, and effort that goes into it. I should be able to retain that feeling of satisfaction and pride in the story itself, because if I hang my hopes on the audience and they simply don't find the fic, I will just feel like it was all wasted. The value of the fic and especially my value as a writer cannot be tied to anyone else's reaction or lack of it.

Still, the two distinct parts of the process are never completely separate for me. I'm sure they can be for some writers, but I do need that feeling of connecting with people through my creations, and the extra motivation to stick with the effort (to get through longer projects, or to start new ones).

So the second thing I do is, I try to hold on to the mindset I used to have as a kid or teen writing for my brother, my teacher, or my friends. To internalise that my readers aren't numbers on a screen, but real, human people who have taken an interest in this thing I've created. They've allowed me to share it with them and had thoughts on it (whether they put those in a comment or not). Maybe it was just a moment's diversion for them, or maybe it actually moved them. Either way, we connected for a while.

Here, I must acknowledge again that I am incredibly privileged. I've got a handful of regulars who have been reading me since August 2021, and another handful who have jumped on board along the way. Many of them not only read but also comment on what I post. Even that latest two-parter I mentioned at the start has 19 comment threads, and I'm fully aware of how rare and precious that is.

But the fact remains that the contrast to my first fic has still been an adjustment, and I find that thinking about engagement in terms of people rather than numbers has helped me put it into perspective.

I could never find a room full of people to read my writing in real life, but there they are, reading it on their phones or computers and leaving twenty hits on my fic. Every person leaving kudos is basically equivalent to my teacher returning my notebook with that single check mark that meant "I read this and I enjoyed it." As for the individual comments, they aren't too different from my very small group of friends in high school telling me they loved something and couldn't wait for more. In a way, they're even more amazing, because these people don't even know me, but they are still investing their time and emotions into my fics!

Of course this mindset also has its pitfalls. I often feel like I'm letting people down by not writing faster, for example, but that's just one more thing I need to work on. All in all, I feel like I'm definitely on to something here, so thank you for letting me share these thoughts with you!

#young royals #young royals fanfic #young royals fic #fic writing #writing motivation

[dolphyn]

I’ve been following the development of yandere simulator from the sidelines for years and years, since nearly the beginning of the project. I don’t know that I ever considered myself an actual “fan” considering I never actually played the game or joined the fandom— I really just watched the development videos, read the posts on the development blog and checked up on it from time to time out of curiosity because I found the concept of the game itself morbidly intriguing as well as being interested by such an open development process. And every few months I would remember it existed and check back to see how far along it was, growing ever more amazed with every passing year that it still wasn’t even close to being finished.

I would also check out the game’s official website and was fascinated by the debunk page the dev put up. It seemed so odd and out of place and full of the most ridiculous things. What were people looking into the game for the first time supposed to think upon seeing an extensive page full of weird drama like that, running into it on the official game website?

I still found the game concept interesting, even if I knew I myself would never play it. I knew I would probably watch letsplays of it to sate my curiosity if it ever came out. And so I was ambivalent about the dev himself because I could pretty easily separate him from my casual interest in the game. I thought of him as a guy with some interesting ideas who was really really really bad at planning and prioritizing and delegation and receiving criticism and dealing with hate… and though I didn’t admire him, I felt sympathy for him. Nobody’s perfect, right? And I still do think people that did things like send him pictures of gore and animal abuse or told him to kill himself were doing unforgivable things for petty enjoyment.

And so while I took a lot of his debunking with a grain of salt and eye rolling when it was obvious he was in the wrong despite frustrating circumstances pushing him to say stupid things, I also figured it wasn’t that big a deal and everyone was getting up in arms over things that ultimately didn’t matter. And when I would see YandereDev hate crop up, discussing the long development time, his inefficient code, his continued Patreon earnings… I rolled my eyes at that too, figuring that people were piling on some ultimately harmless dude who was taking forever to release a game he was letting people play for free so it didn’t really matter. Again, as I was really only a casual observer from the sidelines, I didn’t look deeply into anything and I simply made assumptions.

I don’t even know what compelled me to visit the development blog this week, but I was immediately met with his “I’m Sorry” blog post, which obviously caught my attention— as I’m sure it caught the attention of thousands of people just like me who only had a casual interest in the game and developer and held a neutral stance on the guy himself.

I read it. I’d read tons of his debunking and drama-addressing posts over the years where he went over all the intricacies of whatever latest thing he’d been accused of and pointed the blame elsewhere. But this was different. He was sorry, he was taking accountability, he was admitting that he screwed up and did something so horribly wrong that it was costing him all his volunteers and supporters. This was huge. This is undoubtedly the final nail in the coffin for the game at last.

But of course, as I read it, I thought “wow, that’s terrible. But at least he finally had the guts to own up to it and really apologize, which is more than most people in his position do— and more than he’s ever done in the past when addressing controversies. Sucks for him that a mistake like that ruined all these long years of work… but at least he seems to realize it was his own doing, and hopefully now he can get some help and change for the better, blah blah blah”.

Basically, exactly the reaction he was hoping to draw from neutral parties like me. He presented everything so perfectly. Admitting right off the bat that he messed up. Explaining the situation and interjecting to remind the audience that what he did was not okay despite the justifications he found himself making. Making a large donation with the caveat that he knew it didn’t erase what he did and that actions speak louder than words. And then linking to the victim’s statement she made stating that she approached him, that she does not feel traumatized, and that the video accusing him was posted against her wishes and she thinks that everything got blown out of proportion.

With no further context than that, it’s a pretty cut and dry case, right? He made a huge mistake, owned up to it, made a sizable donation, and the victim wasn’t a victim at all and the one making the callout in the first place was disrespecting and hurting the victim by posting whatever video it was he was referring to. But there’s no need to watch the video because he already explained himself thoroughly in the blog post. And anyway, searching for the video and watching it will only fuel the flames and make things worse for the victim!

And so anyone reading that post, who had not heard of any of the allegations beforehand, would obviously come away from it thinking YandereDev made the mistake of becoming platonic friends with a 16 year old girl and invited her to group voice chats where he and his adult friends made inappropriate jokes with each other, never really considering the implications of the 16 year old in their midst hearing their jokes. And that the girl’s friends pressured her into releasing a manipulative video on a drama channel that took his jokes out of context in order to gain clout and take down a guy they hated for the views. And that these fake friends manipulated her and disrespected her wishes and ruined her life and are the real villains of this whole story. Because YandereDev took accountability and apologized and admitted it was all true.

He did this expecting that everyone who saw the blog post first would not seek out the video. Because you would be horrible if you did, right? The victim didn’t want it out there! And anyway, Dev already admitted to making these jokes and agreed that it wasn’t okay! So there’s no point in watching the video unless, of course, you’re morbidly curious about what exactly he said that was being construed as so bad that all his volunteers and voice actors are finally cutting ties with him for good.

Well, I was morbidly curious.

And despite feeling guilty for seeking out the video that the victim apparently didn’t want out there, I found myself searching for it anyway. And I found it immediately. And upon clicking it, several things became immediately obvious.

YandereDev said it was made by a drama YouTuber, but one look at her channel told me she was a gaming YouTuber and scrolling through her videos, it was obvious that she had never posted anything like this before. So already, I had been misled on one point. Then upon reading the pinned comment, it became obvious that the video had, at one point, been taken down by the victim’s request… and then reuploaded also at her request. The victim had changed her mind and now supported the video, which YandereDev did not see fit to update his blog readers on, happy to let them continue believing that the victim did not support the callout and didn’t want anyone seeing the video. So now, relieved of my guilt and suspicious of these two counts of manipulation on YandereDev’s part that became immediately obvious upon a few seconds of research, I watched the video.

And it’s amazing how having the full context of a situation can make you do a complete 180.

Upon watching the video, hearing the voice chats for myself, and— most damning— reading the Snapchat logs… it was incredibly obvious that YandereDev had completely downplayed and misrepresented the situation to put himself in a less heinous light. Because it’s one thing to make the mistake of letting a teenager overhear you and your friends make some dirty jokes together because you consider them a platonic friend who’s “one of the guys”— which is how he described the situation on his blog. It’s another thing entirely to have a private voice chat with a 16 year old girl (who is implicitly high on presumably marijuana and unable to legally consent to anything— regardless of age) and repeatedly call her cute (unprompted), tell her that she’s hot because she’s skinny (unprompted), ask if she wants to take your virginity, repeatedly ask in a teasing tone if you’re a “bad guy” for talking to her that way, and then (unprompted) go on a long ramble about how puberty sexualizes minors and implicitly say that it’s okay for people to find children sexy as soon as they begin developing breasts and wide hips because that’s how nature works. Which he did not mention on his blog post.

What he also did not mention were the Snapchat logs where he was again having a completely private conversation with a 16 year old girl completely devoid of these “guys” that she was apparently “one of”. He did not mention that he privately told a 16 year old girl that being attracted to a 17 year old was 96% okay and acceptable. He did not mention that he privately told a 16 year old girl that it would be erotic if she sent him videos of herself dressing/undressing. He did not mention that he privately told a 16 year old girl that if she sent nudes to him that he would keep them a secret. He did not mention that he privately told a 16 year old girl who was offering to send him nude photos that he couldn’t explicitly ask for her to send him nudes, but that he liked hot ladies, wink wink. He did not mention that he privately told a 16 year old girl that he was not emotionally available for a romantic relationship and that the only thing he could get out of their continued correspondence were photos of her for him to masturbate to.

But, you know. Those are the exact same sorts of jokes he probably makes with all his 30-something guy friends all the time, right? I can just picture him telling his goofy man friends that it would be erotic if they sent him videos of themselves undressing for him to masturbate to. Goofy jokes! He pals around with his friends like that all the time, and it’s really no different that he said the same things to a 16 year old girl! He wasn’t even thinking about the implications of such goofy silly jokes! Which is why he repeatedly brought up her age and promised to keep things a secret and responded to her concerns about child porn and mentioned that if she kept screenshots of the conversation she could use them to condemn him someday! Silly jokes he did not realize the implications of!

So by this time I’m obviously horrified, right? As any normal human being would be. Sick to my stomach that I almost rolled my eyes and went on with my day thinking YandereDev was a flawed person who ultimately wanted to make up for a dumb mistake he made that could have happened to anybody— exactly what he hoped I would do. And then I got to the part where he started begging the victim not to let the video get released.

And that was the most damning of all. It’s sickly funny how he linked to the victim’s Reddit statement where she showed screenshots of Ally begging her to go through with the video, calling her words disgusting and manipulative. Even if Ally WAS being manipulative… you only need to compare it to what YandereDev said to the victim to see how night and day it is. I’m not gonna pretend anybody in this situation is 100% perfectly blameless and made perfect decisions… but there is somebody who is very clearly MORE in the wrong. To the point where he was coaching her on what to say to her friends, weaponizing her status as the victim. Did he seriously not understand the irony of telling her to say “It is my right as the victim and what I say goes, no questions asked”? I don’t even need to go into any of it because all you have to do is watch it and everything becomes disgustingly crystal clear.

Which is why YandereDev didn’t want anybody to watch it. Because anybody that did would come to the correct conclusion that he’s a disgusting predator. But he couldn’t stop the video from coming out and he knew it was impossible to deny the truth of the recordings… and he did damage control in the most effective way he could. When his last-ditch desperate effort to manipulate the victim into stopping the video from coming out failed, he had to issue an apology. And it had to be a good one. One that was good enough that nobody would look further into the situation. One that was good enough that people wouldn’t bother to search for the video and hear the recordings and see his words for themselves. One that made himself out to be a guy who made a stupid mistake— a mistake easy to sympathize with and understand— that he was horrified by and taking full accountability for. And once people see that, they take him at his word. After all, he clearly has nothing to hide considering he admitted to it, right?

Thank god for morbid curiosity.

Anyway… all of this to say that because of my experience, I felt like all his fans and supporters who were fooled by him deserved to know the full truth and come to their own conclusions like I did. After all, you look through the comments on his blog post and they’re full of people who were just like me: disappointed, but ultimately respecting that he owned up to his mistake and believing he can get better, so they’re still supporting him. People who want to believe the best in others. People who believe people can change. People who dislike cancel culture. People who ultimately have good intentions. People who I think would change their tunes real quick if they actually saw the video.

And so, after years of following the blog from the sidelines, I finally made my first post, making sure to word it as neutrally as possible and in a way that would get even blind supporters to consider the idea:

“I believe that most of the people in this comment section— and browsing the comments without leaving any themselves— are good people. That they are sympathetic and empathetic and ultimately want to do the right thing and make the right calls. I believe that of most people in general. I think it’s a noble thing to forgive when you’ve been wronged. Of course, none of us have been personally wronged in this situation, so it is not actually up to us to do any forgiving, only to pass judgment for ourselves and make decisions as to how we personally feel and wish to proceed.

So to anyone reading this comment: I believe that, most likely, you consider yourself a reasonable, rational, independent individual who is able to look at all the facts of a situation and come to your own conclusions independently. And so you’ve read this apology and you’ve also likely looked at the screenshots he linked of the victim’s statement and drawn your conclusions from there.

But if you really want to consider yourself truly informed— If you really want to be sure you have all the facts so nobody can try and upset you by claiming you don’t know what’s going on— I strongly encourage you to watch the video he is referring to and listen to the voice recordings and read the Snapchat logs for yourself. Even if it is only to confirm for yourself that the video is indeed edited in a manipulative way and so you can find more out about this mysterious YouTuber who uploaded it and draw your own conclusions as to why she did it. I encourage you to watch it in its entirety, as I am sure you read YandereDev’s apology in its entirety. It is likely that many who have seen the video have not bothered to read YandereDev’s response or read the victim’s Reddit comments. If only to get a leg up on such people, I encourage everyone here to see for themselves what the other side of this situation is saying. Only then will you be able to decide fully for yourself to put your support behind YandereDev and his game. If you come to this conclusion independently upon seeing all sides of the situation, it will only serve to make your support all the stronger. Of course, there is a chance that upon seeing all the evidence, you may also independently decide that you do not accept the apology and wish to withdraw your support. You will never know unless you watch the video and know the situation in its entirety instead of only seeing part of the conversation. I believe none of you willingly want to be part of an echo chamber.

He did not link to the video, but the one he is referring to is by a YouTuber named AllyMcC. She does not appear to be a drama YouTuber, but appears to be a gaming YouTuber. As far as I can tell, this is the only video of this nature she has ever posted on this particular channel, having only posted LetsPlays before this. The video was taken down at the request of the victim, but then put back up also by request of the victim if the screenshots she provided in the pinned comment can be believed. So if you are worried you are harming the victim by watching the video, it seems that she no longer disapproves of the video and now supports it. The video is called “The New Allegations and Evidence Against YandereDev”. It is easy to find through YouTube’s search function.

YandereDev admits here in this post that everything he said aloud and typed as shown in this video is real. In his edit discussing fake screenshots, he seems to be referring to ones cropping up in other videos discussing the situation such as a Discord screenshot of his discussions with a 12 year old involving her period, which has been proven to be fake. Another one you might see in other videos is one where he suggests giving people free merch if they provide him with nude photographs, which has also been proven to be fake. Neither of these false screenshots are used in AllyMcC’s video. Everything in her video was admitted here in this very blog post to be real things that he said, including the Snapchat logs. If the Snapchat logs were fake, I believe wholeheartedly that YandereDev would have mentioned it here, as he is historically very thorough about debunking anything he didn’t actually say. If you believe his apology, then you must also believe his admission that he really said everything showcased in the video.

All of that said, I again encourage anyone reading this comment that has not watched the video to look into it and come to your own conclusion for your own peace of mind one way or another. The only way truth can prevail is by looking at every single piece of evidence provided so that falsehoods can be sorted out. Please watch the video and read the entirety of YandereDev’s blog post. Only then will you have the full story. There is obviously a lot of nuance to the situation and many shades of grey, but I believe that people deserve to see everything and sort out for themselves how they feel. Neither YandereDev nor AllyMcC can tell you how you feel or what action to take, or whether to forgive or not to forgive, support or not support. Only you can, by making a fully informed decision.

I hope this comment is not deleted, as it is only meant to encourage the readers of this blog to see the situation in its entirety and independently decide how they feel from there.”

My comment never made it past moderation. I suppose it makes sense. The whole point of the blog post was worded very specifically to manipulate readers into NOT searching for the video and coming to their own conclusions… so a comment actively encouraging this could not ever be allowed lest YandereDev lose the few supporters he has left. If you look through the comments that DID survive moderation, you will see they are uniformly supportive. Many of them express that they are disappointed, that what he did was wrong… but ultimately they’re glad he apologized and hope the game can continue and that they understand everyone makes mistakes and can move on from them. Of the current 377 comments on the blog that haven’t been censored, not a single one of them provides any indication that the commenter watched the video, and that they took YandereDev’s blog post and his link to the victim’s Reddit thread at complete face value. However, there are comments expressing that somebody should make an exposé on ALLY to show how manipulative SHE is… which is hilarious, as that would involve watching her video. So I hope people see that comment and think “I should do that, I better gather evidence” and end up watching the video and seeing the context they missed.

Anyway, this has been long and rambling, but this whole thing has been swirling around in my head for the past 3 days and I really just needed to get it all out. Moral of the story is… It’s important to do your research, people. No matter how much you think you know, no matter how little you think you can learn from someone you’re positive you won’t agree with, it always pays to get all sides of a story before committing to a position.

#YandereDev #yandere dev #Yandere Simulator

[shady-tavern]

Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

***

The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass. 

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days. 

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd. 

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one. 

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes. 

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transparentdiplomatlandgoth @cheesecakev2 @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @aprilraine

#my writing #short story #quin was so chatty #I hope this is an enjoyable read #implied murder #i have no idea why the tagging didn't work for everyone #going to look into it #anyway #hope you enjoy this little thing I cobbled together for quin #and his very much not really tragic backstory #he's just one greedy mf #it's a bit weird to me that there is so little dialogue #but it just worked better this way somehow #anywho #there might be a Drabble for Deals and Revelry later #for quin and his love #he's really just a very fun character to write for #hope I didn't overlook too many spelling mistakes

[monsterkissed]

hey this little gem is on sale for the next week or so and if you want your Genuine Queer Rep Media with an actual plot and a bit of edge and bite to it i cannot recommend this weird little scifi find-the-traitor game enough

you (male, female or nb) wake up on a spaceship with a growing cast of very weird people, one or more of which (including possibly You) are gnosia, weird aliens out to whittle the crew down one by one, and your spaceship's safeguarding protocols won't let any of you leave until the ship is gnosia-free. your job (assuming you are not on the team doing the whittling) is to join the crew in interrogatory debates and investigations/angry panicked shouting matches to try and determine who is most suspicious, who is protecting who and why, and hopefully put the gnosia on ice before they can overwhelm you.

characters (including you) can be assigned roles such as a doctor, who can test iced bodies for gnosianess, or a guardian who can protect one character each night from... whatever gnosia do to people (only gnosia really know just what that is, and we're all humans here... right?). so it's a werewolf/mafia game in space basically, but what i found really compelling about it was how you gradually get a knack not just for puzzling out who is who each round on a pure logical basis but also by getting to know the characters and take advantage of their quirks and terrible personalities. made a few errors and the rest of the crew are closing in on you? appeal to the lonely otaku to back you up, he's desperate for friends and has no standards! the normally sweet, good-natured beluga in a spacesuit is suddenly accusing people right out of the gate; has she noticed something amiss or is her aggression a hint that she's actually a gnosia? if you're really struggling to crack a round maybe the elitist non-binary genius with a lightning-fast knack for spotting inconsistencies can point you in the right direction, assuming that the rest of the crew didn't get sick of their blatant machinations in the first round and vote them into cold storage.

it has a big, branching, zero escape-style plot and some delightful scifi worldbuilding. there is not a single character who does not have something bizarre and unnerving lurking in their history that may or may not be related to the current gnosia-infestation situation and the branches range from goofy and lighthearted to pitch black in tone without feeling strained. there are some characters who will just never tell you who they are as a human, but will let things slip if they become gnosia, there are branches that can only be solved by protecting or eliminating certain people while on certain sides, there are times when losing will show you a way forward. the overarching story has some really fun and interesting twists and concepts and genuinely did hit me a little in my cold, miserable heart by the end.

it is a good game i think and more people should play it so that people know what i am talking about when i wax enthusiastic about it

#gnosia

[themswritinwords]

Mostly!

I've been in and out of doctors offices and the hospital for the past 2-3 months, which is in itself exhausting and not really conducive to writing. Add in the end-of-year holidays coming up, at least four more appointments in the next month, my child's first ever dance recital and all the prep that entails (way more than I thought), a cross-country trip to visit family, and some other personal stuff on top of all that, and I might still be a bit absent. I'm hoping by the second week of January I'll be back to some kind of routine, which hopefully means being more active here too. (Gotta build that dying-platform social media, amirite?)

But! Despite losing approximately 1/3 to 1/2 of my blood volume in the space of a month (0/10 do NOT recommend), I did actually get stuff done. Important stuff! I did DVpit on Discord, got requests, and actually got those sent out before the major hospitalization adventures. I polished up a finished manuscript and actually got it out to some beta readers. Excitingly, I also got my first two full requests ever, and got those sent off with minimal freaking out and rethinking my entire everything.

No word on the fulls yet, but the beta readers are all coming back with the same kind of feedback:

"engaging," "couldn't put it down," "hysterical," "cinematic," "powerful," and my personal favorite, "WOW." (if i had a nickel for every all-caps WOW i got on this manuscript, I'd have 3 nickels; which isn't a lot but it's weird exciting that it happened 3 different times)

Okay, I lied. My personal favorite was the single, solitary, italicized, "Holy shit."

So for once I'm feeling pretty good about myself and my writing! And that's in spite of one of my worries for this manuscript coming true: I got some details wrong and the Car People noticed. And yet! Despite something being egregiously wrong, they said they didn't care because the story was "so engaging it didn't matter." (Still gonna fix it, though. Now that I know, those inaccurate spark plugs will haunt me.)

I also managed to dust off an old project-- my oldest to date that's still functional as a story-- and figured out how to fix all the problems that led me to shelve it in the first place. I have a plan. I have a workable outline. I fixed the stagnant characters and plot and the massive plot holes all at once with minimal scrapping and without trashing my most favorite (and compelling) aspects.

Most importantly, I'm excited to work on it.

After finishing this latest project and then having my whole body fall apart piece after piece for almost a full quarter of a year, it feels like I haven't wanted to write in a long time, let alone been excited to do so. But here I am, getting words down and dusting off Spotify playlists. It feels really, really good.

So here's to the next few months. They might still be rocky and stressful, but I'm recovering in more ways than just the physical. I hope the end of the year brings you joy and peace in whatever ways you need it most, and that the new year finds you well and, most importantly, happy. If not, please know I'm here for you and rooting for you. My askbox and DMs are always open. <3

#personal #hiatus update #writing #writeblr #health #wips #writers of tumblr #writing community

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E7 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

If you want to read from the beginning:

Episode 1

My character cheat sheet

Hongniang - Head LIW at Jade Pavilion

Lady Lishu - child bride concubine

Lady Ah Duo - one of the top 4 concubines

Lady Lihua - concubine who was poisoned by face power

Crystal Pavilion - Lady Lihua's residence

Jade Pavilion - Lady Gyokuyou's residence

Xiaolan - Maomao's servant girl friend

Lihaku - military officer who gave Maomao a hairpin

The Verdigris House - brothel

Luomen - Maomao's dad

Maomao has been ordered to rest since she was poisoned last episode. Her friends are worried and demand she take time to let herself heal. Maomao would rather not, but so far she is compliant.

And now that she has time to think, some of the things she has been repressing are rising. She's thinking about her father and wondering if he is okay. I suspect that she hasn't spent a lot of time with the grief of losing her old life. But grief is something that is inside you, not something you can run away from. Now that she is still, there is no where to hide from it.

Her trauma is also making itself known. She admits to feeling uncomfortable without her freckles painted on. Her altered appearance has been a shield she wore to protect herself from the male gaze.

The fact that she is processing her grief and trauma is actually a good sign that she is in a place that she feel safe. And I credit that to the love and care she receives at the Jade Pavilion.

But Maomao can only tolerate so much of this kind of introspection, so she paints her freckles on and goes to ask to be allowed to work. Apparently, most of the people at the garden party thought Maomao was literally a different person and Lady Gyokuyou is fine with Maomao hiding her true face.

Gaoshun has been at the pavilion all morning, just waiting for an opportunity to talk to Maomao, and not for any other reason, especially not to spend time with Hongniang. Lady Gyokuyou sent this high ranking official out to the yard to pull weeds because he was making eyes at Hongniang bored. Once again Maomao notes that Gaoshun is prime husband material. If only he weren't a "eunuch." My prediction here is that he is a private guard/official to Jinshi who was assigned to the rear palace along with his master, rather than a regular eunuch or palace official.

Jinshi actually sent Maomao the poisonous soup that she asked for. Gaoshun wants her to promise she won't drink it. Lol.

Maomao is out here using fingerprinting analysis to solve this crime. She deduces how many people have touched the bowl and is compelled to tell Gaoshun her theories on Lady Lishu's food taster. A fuller extent of the bullying that Lady Lishu experiences is painted. It turns out her ladies in waiting are even more terrible than Lady Lihua's.

The person who added the poison touched the rim of the bowl which is something servants handling food are trained not to do. So that eliminates a few suspects. Maomao has passed what she knows to Gaoshun, and therefore Jinshi. Hopefully he will have some insight.

But not tonight. We are seeing an exhausted Jinshi for the first time. He hasn't slept, or changed his clothes, and now he doesn't have the energy to be formal. Gaoshun scolds him for it.

Gaoshun: Your true nature's starting to show.

Jinshi: Who cares? There's nobody here.

Gaoshun: You're forgetting me.

Jinshi: A little slack, if you please.

Gaoshun: No.

As it turns out, Gaoshun has been looking after Jinshi since the day he was born. Yet, despite their long relationship, Jinshi is not permitted to relax in his company. I feel bad for Jinshi here. His relationship with Gaoshun may be the closest one he has, and yet even this is so formal. It has to be a lonely existence.

And as if we hadn't picked up that Jinshi is in fact a prince, this whole conversation offers more evidence. He has had a minder since the day he was born, and the dignity of his station must be maintained at all times.

And if that isn't enough, Jinshi's hairpin is a symbol of his status. Gaoshun is frustrated that Jinshi just tossed this hairpin of great importance.

It's something only special individuals can wear.

Xiaolan informs Maomao that she can use the hairpin she was gifted to request that the man who gave it to her escort her outside the palace. Maomao is enthusiastic about the idea. And two men have given her a pin. I'm guessing she'll ask the bouncy military officer before Jinshi, even though she knows him better. Things are complicated with Jinshi and there are so many unnamed feelings between them. Asking Jinshi would mean something. Whereas Lihaku means nothing to Maomao. He is a means to an end.

Not Maomao questioning whether Jinshi qualifies as a man! OMG!

But considering how one of them lost a certain part of their anatomy does he still count?

And Lihaku is... kind of a shitty guy. He's repulsed that Maomao isn't as beautiful as she was at the party, accuses her of being clueless, and trying to take advantage of him. His tune drastically changes when Maomao makes an offer to get him a night with a high ranking courtesan.

And this is why Maomao chose Lihaku to be her escort rather than Jinshi. This is what she has to trade. An introduction to a famous courtesan would not be of interest to the two women, or the "eunuch" who gave her hair pins, but it very much interests Lihaku. This is just a business transaction for both Maomao and Lihaku, but it is a successful one. Maomao has secured an escort to take her home.

Maomao's pavilion friends are enthused for her. They essentially are acting like Maomao has accepted a proposal. They don't question her on why the man she is leaving the palace with is a different guy than Jinshi who they saw give her a hairpin first. They are simply happy for Maomao's good fortune. Maomao understands none of that. Lady Gyokuyou knows that Maomao doesn't understand about the hairpins and she spares a thought for Jinshi saying:

A pity. His poor heart. When he finds out, it's going to shatter.

Which delights her. Lady Gyokuyou is looking forward to seeing Jinshi suffer. Me too.

And sure enough, when he visits a day too late, Lady Gyokuyou delivers the new about Maomao in the most devastating way she can, implying that Maomao has eloped. She then laughs at Jinshi's horrified reaction before softening the news by letting him know she'll return in 3 days. Lady Gyokuyou is my hero.

As we enter the pleasure district, Maomao describes the various roles the women there play. The Three Princesses of Verdigris House are revered by all. They outrank everyone else. Courtesans in general are respected and there are many girls who hope to be one. Though it's very competitive. Girls will become servants and train to become a courtesan but there is no guarantee they will achieve it. This show is always showing us the various roles that women play in this society.

The Madame of Verdigris House greets Maomao with a violent gut punch. She does allow Lihaku to enter the brothel and meet with one of the princesses. Turns out Maomao is paying half of all of her earnings from the palace for this opportunity. And it's still not enough. She's in debt to the brothel. That's probably not a good thing. In fact, I could see that going very, very wrong. She's going to need to be careful.

Maomao returns home, and things are weird with her dad.

Maomao: Hello Dad. I'm home.

Luomen: Oh. Welcome back. You were gone awhile.

Maomao is so happy to see him. She's smiling the whole time, but the casual interaction after her disappearing without a trace and coming back after so long, is weird.

After Maomao falls asleep, Luomen is reflecting and thinks:

The Rear Palace? What a twist of fate.

What do mean Luomen?!

Do you mean generally? Like oh, look how this poor girl who used to live on the bad side of town and work hard to scrape by, is now living in the palace and hanging out with royalty?

Or do you mean specifically? Is there some reason that Maomao being in the rear palace is remarkable? Does she have some hidden connection to the palace? Does she know?

Very little JinMao content in this episode. Which is probably good because they have some things to think about about after all the events of the day of the garden party.

We might be seeing the beginnings of Jinshi unraveling. He's either unable or unwilling to keep up all the walls he's kept until now. Maomao somehow slipped through and he's starting to question if it's worth the effort to keep them up. He tested taking them down with Gaoshun, but was rebuffed. But the cracks have already begun forming and it's only a matter of time before things start to give. He's had a taste of something real and I doubt he can go back to the way things were before.

Maomao on the other hand is running. She had some time to think in the beginning of the episode and she's scared. The emotions are so big and scary. And for as honest and straightforward as Maomao is, she is not good at being vulnerable. It's not a coincidence that she left the palace right after all that happened with Jinshi the day of the garden party. She needs to get away from the palace and Jinshi so she can evaluate how she feels and decide what she wants to do.

Maomao returns home, back to a place where she knew who she was and what she wanted. But she's changed from her time in the palace, and she needs to examine that. Her desires have also changed. Does she really want to leave the palace and return to work for her father?

There are parallel stories being played out between Maomao and Jinshi. Both of them have changed and can't return to the way things were before.

It will be interesting to see how these characters adjust to change, and how their stories will differ or reflect each other.

Most of Jinshi's challenges seem to be external; the pressures of his status, the condfines of his station. He seems willing, perhaps even eager, to face the rising emotions.

Maomao on the other hand has a lot more freedom and less external pressure than Jinshi (ironic because she's an indentured servant), but she instead struggles with internal stressors; the scars of trauma, and fear of intimacy. She fears the rising emotions.

For both of them, there is no going back, and they will have to adjust to the changes and face the challenges that result. There is no way out but through.

But hopefully they will come together face their challenges side by side.

🤞

If you want to read these from the beginning:

Episode 1

Next episode:

Episode 8

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao