#Notes app why did i ever abandon you

[crowcat-writes]

FUCK YEAH I LOVE POLYSQUAD!!!!! I'm literally quaking in my boots waiting for the fanfic ik its gonna be good now

-your beloved hyphen anon 🤭

yay! My accidental deviation from the prompt isn’t an issue!

in all honesty I am just trying to figure out how and where to stop the piece for now (might update it later because i am getting mildly attached to the concept) because I wrote it all in tumblr drafts and HOOO FUCKING BOY IS THAT NOT A GOOD METHOD FOR WRITING

[seonghw4ffles]

princess fluffy-cupcake-sparkles

i'll be the laziest superman, so follow me !

playing happy fools, poppin love ..

yeosang x fem!reader

au: a school project at a flower garden

genre: grumpy!yeosang x sunshine!reader, fluff, tsundere, a piece of dialogue, a jealous-but-dont-wanna-admit-it yeosang

wc: 1.0k

summary: if yeosang hated animals but only tolerated them for you

tw: yeosang jelly of wooyoung

note: inspired by that one scene in ouabh and dude i was like ooo yeosang HELP ong i js pulled this out of my notes app tbh there is no reason for anything TT i love nonchalant yeosang so much idk why....

yeosang stood far from the venue, his back to a large stone. a mysterious creature, which he soon figures is a cat, approaches him and starts to sniff his shoes. he struggles, unfamiliar with dealing with animals.

the cat was white coated, with large patches of orange and black laid all over itself. a calico cat, but yeosang does not know that. he is not familiar with whatever sort of cat breeds there are or its names, nor does he care.

he tried to kick it away, but it does not leave.

"interesting..." he mutters.

yeosang notices that you have already arrived from the payment stall, though he does not react.

you are at the botanical garden with yeosang, required to take pictures for a school travel project of visiting significant places around town.

when you find a cat meandering around his feet, you giggle. "it must like you!!"

"perhaps it does." he looks down at the cat and stares at it.

previously, you insisted to pay for the entry fee, but yeosang blackmailed you to not do so, to use his card instead.

he sighs and then speaks to it. "leave me alone, mutt."

as he says so, his eyes subtly widen with agitation at the fact it does not want to leave.

"you should name it. spill some ideas," you smile as you look down to the cat.

yeosang looks up at you in confusion and disbelief, as if it was a foolish act to name a random animal from the woods.

"what?"

"why should i? it's not my pet, it's just a stray." he replies, dismissing your suggestion.

but he keeps his gaze on the little animal, which doesn't seem to leave him alone.

"hmm." he starts to speak to it. "stay if you wish... but do not expect any attention from me."

you chuckle at his decision to talk to the cat, becoming more and more amused. it is visible that you already grew fond of the stray cat.

"you should name it....." you hum, lost in thought for ideas, "oh!! i know!! you should name it princess fluffy-cupcake-sparkles!!"

"that name is completely ridiculous," he says, his expression becoming a form of disgust when he looks back down at the cat. "how does a creature like this deserve such a name? if i had a pet, which i never will, the name would make sense."

you look up from the cat to yeosang, your expression dissipating to a blank, empty stare of disappointment. you almost choose to abandon this whole project despite its relevance to your grading, solely to leave yeosang to do it all alone.

"next time i choose a partner to do this project with, it'll be with someone who has a sense of humour. maybe someone like wooyoung."

yeosang's gaze ever so slowly travels from your toes to your eyes, his face turning to indifference. he ignores the cat and its intentions, looking directly at you.

a moment of silence ensues as he attempts to figure out what to say.

"yes, go ahead and partner with wooyoung. i would like to see the result of your foolish decision."

you get surprised by the sudden tone. the answer is also astonishing, as you expected a response of apathy. "oh come on, it was even more of a foolish decision to partner with you," you reply.

"you chose to do this with me simply because you did not have friends. it was foolish on your part to believe things would be of joy for you," he says, maintaining his usual tone.

you tried not to take offence.

he looks down at the cat and finally, with a heavy sigh, he decides to entertain the idea of naming it.

"fine, i will name it. but not with that stupid name."

you're taken back. you're surprised by how easily he is induced, knowing how dense of an individual he is. he seemed to be affected by the mere mention of your choice of a partner being wooyoung, to the major extent that he had to agree to do such a thing.

"if i didn't know you better, i would say you're jealous of him," you say.

he stays silent for a moment, glaring back up at you again. "jealousy is not something i am used to feeling," he pauses, his voice vastly unwelcoming."i did not agree to talk or joke about wooyoung."

a moment of silence ensues between the two of you. the cat continues sniffing around and starts to walk towards him again. it circles around his feet, rubbing itself to his leather boots.

"princess fluffy-cupcake-sprinkles already claims you as his owner," you smile.

"do not associate me with the cat." yeosang says, and you can sense that his patience with your jokes are starting to dwindle. the cat steps a short distance away from him after a few moments and simply stares at him from afar, growing bored of him.

you chuckle at the reaction of yeosang. "i dont know why you dislike such adorable creatures."

he shakes his head and groans.

"its a mere animal. why am i expected to pay any attention to it?" he sighs.

he attempts find relish in the cat for you're very sake, but he knows very well that the cat is annoying him more and more by its mere presence alone.

with one last glance, the cat finally leaves and moves on elsewhere.

he relaxes a bit, but his expression remains unchanged. he clears his throat. "now that that's taken care of, let's go."

"wait," you say. yeosang turns right after he starts walking to the venue, watching you carefully sneak over towards the cat again. he is in major disappointment to your stupid, futile decisions.

you manage to pick up the cat, and it does not run. "yeosang!!" you hold up the obedient feline and smile widely.

he instantly softens. 

"well, what do you intend with that thing?" he asks.

"take the pictures with it!!" you reply. you carry the cat over your shoulder, and you run over to yeosang. 

"do you believe the garden allows it?" he says with a genuine intent of reminding you that you are stepping into a neat garden of flowers.

"how could they refuse it? look!" you hold up the damn cat, smiling illuminantly. "princess fluffy-cupcake-sparkles!!"

he refuses to admit what you're smile does to him.

"princess.." he struggles, ashamed of the lengths he goes for you. "princess fluffy-cupcake-sparkles."

[gin-juice-tonic]

can i ask how youre able to make so many comics or if you have any tips for aspiring internet funny comic makers? your gag comics are always so creative and funny and well-executed, and your longer form stuff is just a delight to read, i would love to know if u have any advice/insight into yr process

I'm not good at advice so you will have to bear with me here. Also I'm putting it under a readmore cause images make it into a long post. The like first 3/4th of this I talk about specific comics I did, but if you scroll to the end I tried to give some general advice.

My stuff is unfortunately very inspiration-based as opposed to planning-based. So my process might not be helpful if you're looking for something structured... The first thing I should say is I write down basically anything that pops into my head ever. I have a bunch of nonsensical tumblr drafts,

I have stuff in my phones notes app,

I have pages and pages of papers and post-it notes littering my apartment (if you want to know the extent, my sister asked me how I could live with my apartment being so "messy". The only messy thing in it is my papers scattered about). I find the paper stuff the best, because I can draw instead of just writing down concepts.

This is the page I did for the comic about Stan "comforting" Dipper over his unrequited crush on Wendy. (The tumblr version being here)

You will notice aside from the order on the page being strange and some scratched out dialogue, there's not really evidence of a 'plan' here. That's because I was just drawing this as I was thinking it. You will also notice there are two random unrelated Ford drawings in the middle of the page. That's because I was drawing ANYTHING that I was thinking of.

And when I say write down anything, I do mean it. Write down something you did that week, something you remember from when you were 8, something you said out loud and laughed at, things you thought about in the shower, a fact you learned, what your friend had for dinner. See if you can apply it to something. I've mentioned before that this comic only exists because I ran out of toilet paper and went to buy a large bulk pack of it...

When I already have a base idea and just want to expand on it, I usually draw first ask questions later, and things seem to just snowball into being a story. As an example, for the comic I did about Dipper's swimsuit, the base idea was just "Dipper and Stan both wear fully covering swimwear - because they're trans and its what they're comfortable with." But when I went to look up what Dipper wore to the pool, i noticed mabel had a Star one piece suit

Dipper has a star hat in the first episode that he loses, right? SO why don't we give him a matching star one piece that he abandons.

Of course then that single drawing CREATES the story, because we have to explain how he eventually ends up in what he's wearing in the episode. And then I just draw and draw and draw until either the comic ends or I can't continue for whatever reason. The outline for the full thing usually forms while I'm drawing. If I'm worried about forgetting, I'll write down what comes next.

Some of this stuff I didn't stick to, or greatly expanded upon. It's good to be flexible with what you're doing. If something you originally intended only to be a throwaway bit inspires you, roll with it and keep going. (If it ends up being nothing, you can always discard it or turn it into something else later anyway)

I did the swimsuit one basically fully on my computer, but if you want to see another paper based one, a lot of the comic with the kid stans and crampelter I'm doing currently is down on paper.

If you can make out my writing, you can see it says "Crampelter has found out about Stan and Ford's boxing identities" at the top there, which was the general main idea of this part of the comic. This one was a lot more planned than the dipper swimsuit one. There's multiple pages of this sort of stuff, and I knew the idea I wanted was "If Ford and Stan are trans, why would they still be called those names as kids?" (So I guess the takeaway from this one is if you're wanting a structured comic, write down the main idea on the top of a page and brainstorm dialogue and drawings on it?)

There's a lot of sort of floating heads with dialogue, all that matters is I get the emotions or general idea drawn. They're important for me to draw out because being able to "see" the scene (even if I'm seeing it heavily unfinished) is what usually inspires the next bit of the comic.

And I know I talked like a lot already but some general other advice:

Draw, ask questions about what you've drawn, draw more to answer the questions, see if those new drawings ask any new questions, continue this process till you come to a satisfying resolution.

It's fine to not draw something immediately after you've thought of it. I have a lot of things I've just squirreled away for later. And in the same vein its okay to drag something old up that you've never used and try to work with it.

I almost always put on music while I'm trying to think of things. Something I feel fits the mood of what I'm doing tonally. And then I usually just put the same song on repeat, though some people im sure would feel like that is psychological torture. But its helpful to me.

This might sound silly if you're someone who leaves the house a societally normal amount, but I try to go out into the world and do things so I get new ideas and experiences I can build on. Sometimes those things are literally just "go to the park", but sometimes it's venturing out somewhere several hours away or doing an activity i'd never care to do normally... I try to take note of anything that stood out to me and write down thoughts or feelings I had during.

When it comes to trying to be "funny", you should try to make yourself laugh first. Not only because you want your comics to bring yourself joy, but also because its just hard to make stuff you don't care about (And harder to be consistent about it). Though if you think of something and you don't really think its funny, you don't have to throw it away! You might be surprised what other people end up liking. So don't kill yourself to write jokes you yourself don't really get, but if your brain spits out something on its own you dont care much for, it still may be gold to someone else.

It's okay to make comics about simple and relatable things. People love relating. And depending on what you're writing about, that relatability may be really needed!

Everyone has something of value to say. Even if you yourself don't feel like the things you're saying matter, or that they're too silly or un-serious to matter. They matter.

[rcmclachlan]

Fic Writers Q&A

I was tagged by the ever lovely @cecilyv! Thanks <3

How many wips do you have currently?

*stares tiredly into the camera* Like, nine. I'm only actively working on four, though, because I don't think I like the others. They know what they did.

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

The correct answer is all of them, because the first blush of a new pairing has faded and now I'm settled in, so it's like pulling teeth. I have a million ideas, and every time I start to write one I end up abandoning it for something else. And so it goes, and so it goes. The closest to done is the Tommy & Jee hangout fic. I'm not sure how I want it to end and it's driving me batty.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

It looks like me being woken out of a sound sleep around 4am with a tiny shard of a scene in my head. I then turn over and try to go back to sleep, but the scene is already in its like 20th mitotic division. Finally I give up the ghost and sullenly pull up the notes app on my phone. This is how it happens almost every single time. Y'all, I'm so tired.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Nah, but I usually will find a song to play on repeat softly in the background—something with a steady beat but isn't too loud or complicated. The flavor of the week is "Hysteria" by Def Leppard.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

My heart says 'write an outline' but my head says 'no, dummy, haven't you learned by now that when you write an outline I think it means we've gotten the whole story out so we don't actually need to write anything?' It's my curse: every time I write an outline, my brain seems to clap its hands like it's already finished the job and the need to write the actual story completely disappears. So now I just wing it (with varying results).

Tagging: @dadvans, @beefcakekinard, @sonatine, @ripeteeth, @waldorph, @rageprufrock, @lemonistas and anyone else who wants to!

[otakween]

Digimon Frontier (Manhua) - Volume 2

I wonder if anyone on tumblr has read this manhua in its physical form since it was only released in Australia. Also, how many manhua/manga are the Aussies hiding from us?? lol

Ch. 8

Oh okay, so in this version of the story digicode is called a "digital password" (for some...reason)

I do like how this artist draws Junpei. He looked cute with his hair all tousled in this chapter.

Ch. 9

Huh. They completely cut out all of the comedy from this "episode." Nothing about Calmaramon being ugly and her fanboys abandoning her and nothing about her spinning out of control and defeating herself...womp womp.

I'm attempting to read this on my Boox ereader to enhance my experience. Maybe it will motivate me to read quicker lol. I'd be curious to hear my mutuals' preferred format/app for reading emanga. I use a big mix of stuff but in this case it's Tachiyomi + eink

Ch. 10

Yikes, that was so disjointed and weird! They went from the fight with Duskmon back to the Calmaramon fight. I thought that the scans were uploaded in the wrong order or something, but nope!

The transition to the real world was so clunky and confusing.

I did like Duskmon's chapter art, that was pretty badass. His mask looks a little funky though (the fangs are more gnarly)

Ch. 11

More cut scenes messing things up: Takuya expresses his guilt for Koji's predicament, but they never bothered to go over Takuya's reckless plan to fight Duskmon, so it's totally unclear why he's guilty in the first place. Also, we see Takuya go to the real world, but we never see his epiphany for why he should go back to the digital world, he just kinda appears in the next fight scene. -sigh- Who needs character motivations or emotions amirite?

At least they cut out the tickle torture scene. Grateful for that decision...

I think this is the most expressive I've ever seen Mercuremon lol. I hope we see more of him in the franchise, his design is so original.

Ch. 12

I'm still not over how unimpressive the Frontier digivolutions are in some cases. Wolfmon and BeoWolfmon are basically the same thing. I think they straight up got Koji's digivolution name wrong here (called BeoWolfmon Garummon), so that made things extra confusing and anti-climactic lol.

A lot of things were so unclear in this chapter: it wasn't clear that Seraphimon was lending his strength, it wasn't clear how Koji realized that Koichi was a human, and the flashbacks were poorly integrated as well. Also, how did the kids end up inside Sephirothmon and not Bokomon and Neemon? Unclear.

I do appreciate how easy it is to tell Koichi and Koji apart. I feel like they did a good job making them very distinct yet still keeping it clear that they're twins.

Ch. 13

Damn, just terrible translation. They kept calling Seraphimon Ophanimon over and over again. At one point they had the wrong name right next to the correct name on the same page!! How is it possible to be THAT careless!? (I noticed that the scanner acknowledged this in their between chapters' note lol).

It was good to get another look at BlackSeraphimon's design. I already said this in my anime commentary, but it would have been way cooler if we got more of these combo designs from villains using heroes powers...

Ch. 14

I don't have many complaints for this chapter, it was done relatively well. I feel like Koichi's grandma was more explicitly negative when explaining what Koichi's father did to him ("abandoned").

The scene where Takuya is like "are you crazy? You should fight him because he's your brother" also felt weird to me. Like, what if they hurt him badly by mistake? Maybe humans can only be killed if you scan their digicode so there's no risk?

[eternally-frozen]

A deer in the headlights

Synopsis: You date doesn’t show up after hours of you waiting. In frustration you drive over to Pantalone’s house, knowing he’ll always comfort you. Little did you keep in mind that deers run around at this time of the year.

Warning: Yandere, car crash, implicated kidnapping/human trafficking, Pantalone is rich, dead/mangled body 

Note: I am back. For now...

Special thanks to @teabutmakeitazure​. You’re amazing and a literal angel. Thank you for reading through this and telling me it’s not shit XD

"Hey, it’s me. Your phone has been on voicemail for a while now – you’re probably asleep, but I'm almost at your house. I know, I know, I shouldn't come to your house in the middle of the night but once again, you were right."

There is a short silence. The road ahead is barely lit up and abandoned for the most part. It’s no surprise that the banker lives in a big house isolated from the busy capital.

"It’s really annoying y’know. I wish I could see through people like you do."

You sigh. You’re rambling again, how embarrassing. 

You hope Pantalone leaves his voicemails unread, but you know better.

“Anyways, I’m almost at your home. I got the key to the gates, so I’m entering your property. Sorry, not sorry.”

There is a short silence before you end the voicemail. You previously had the phone on loudspeaker, and although you know you shouldn’t drive and call, the road to Pantalone’s home was – and will always be – abandoned.

You’ve never seen a single car on this road.

Your headlights illuminate the black road more than the dim lights on the side of the path do.

Hours before you'd been getting ready for a date that ended up ghosting you. It wasn't the first time you'd been in a fancy restaurant either. Nowadays the dating apps had been full of losers that'd leave you without ever showing up.

Not to mention how awkward you felt when you arrived at the restaurant sitting alone for an hour or so on the table hired for two.

You wonder why those assholes bother at all to reserve tables when they're never planning to show up.

The ride is silent and your thoughts feel like they’re getting louder and louder. You still somewhat await a call from him. If it turns out he'd really been asleep you'd feel extremely guilty to bother him for something as stupid as being abandoned on your first date.

The longer you think about it, the better the idea of adopting a cat sounds.

As you continue forward, the gates surrounding property come in sight. 

It still surprises you how much he owns. He lives miles away from his neighbor. He's got a charming personality but he always seemed to appreciate the quiet over the chaos in the capital of Snezhnaya.

You can't blame him.

As your car rides past the open gates the forest part of his property comes in view. Or, that’s the best way to describe it at least. A hundred meters filled with trees and nature before you actually approach his house.

Your frown turns into a smile when you hear the upbeat tune of your ringtone.

“Pantalone!” You hold your phone to your mouth.

“Darling, would you be so kind to tell me where are you right now?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Did or did you not listen to the voicemail.” You ask. If he asks you that question he surely already knew you were on the way, but in your voicemail you had told him you’d be approaching his house, and that was a few minutes ago.

You heat some voices in the background on his end of the call. In confusion you take your eyes off the road, adjusting your volume to hear him better.

“Are you busy?”

You take a quick look forward and then turn back to your phone again.

In a split second you hear a crash. You let go of the gas button and the hand that had still been on the steering wheel drifts to your right side until the car crashes into yet another force.

You momentarily are stuck unable to breath, the wind got pushed out of your lungs and you have trouble to fully grasp what had happened.

Did a deer wander around his property..?

“Y/n!” You hear Pantalone’s voice through your phone from a distance. Did your phone get thrown back to the back or front during your crash?

He seems to be talking to some other people.

The voices from the phone make your head throb louder and you find yourself climbing out of your seat.

Just walk it off, walk it off.

Your body sways and you put your hand onto your car to keep yourself upright.

When you look at the front window of you car you realise that the window had broken into millions of pieces. They litter the inside of your car and the outside. There’s blood as well. You don’t feel pain, is it the adrenaline?

Right.

The deer.

You continue to block out the voices coming from your phone as you make your way around the car, still one of your hands pushed against it, until you’re facing the road.

Now that your car is facing the trees it’s hard to make out what’s on the street.

Still, it’s hard to miss the silhouette crawling forward.

You lift a hand to your head.

A silhouette?

You blink a few times. The world is still spinning and you force your eyes closed for a few moments. The voices in the background become louder and louder, making your head hurt more and more. Your body starts to feel less warm and pain suddenly floods over your being.

The silhouette on the floor is still there when you open your eyes.

It seems to be crawling forward away from the house.

Right��

Pantalone.

You turn around back to the car. You need to let him know to call for an ambulance.

A light blinds your face and your headache becomes unbearable until it moves away from you.

When you follow the light you see the girl crawling forward on the pavement.

Her clothes are ripped, blood pools up around the middle of her body and she seems awfully skinny, underweight even.

Did you hit…

“Y/n.” Pantalone shields the sight from you with his body and his eyes move over your body.

“Can you move?” He asks.

His figure is hazy, you see his head move around but you can’t see where he’s looking at. You don’t really process what he’s saying any more.

“Let’s get you inside, alright?”

He seems calm…so, you’re fine.

Pantalone wouldn’t lie to you.

You got into a car crash because you hit a deer and in shock you ran into a tree, you hit your head and now you’re dizzy.

Simple.

A hand moves you forward and you follow. You see many lights as you continue forward, you hear many voices too, but Pantalone’s is next to you. His warmth makes you continue forward.

•

The next time you open your eyes, you’re in Pantalone’s room.

You know this because he once showed you his collection of Liyuen jewerly after you couldn’t decide whether to get it yourself or some from Inazuma.

The sun is up and your headache has died down. When you look outside you can see that the sun is above the horizon. It looks like it’s the late morning already.

You think of last night.

You can clearly remember the date-gone-wrong, the crash too, but you can’t recall how you got to Pantalone’s house. Did you pass out?

You know you shouldn’t have called without driving, and you know you shouldn’t have assumed his roads would be abandoned as always,

But…

Was it really a deer that got in your way..?

As you shovel through your memories, you hear Pantalone enter the room unannounced. His expression shifts from a frown to something you’d describe as relief.

He apologises for entering before knocking.

“It’s alright. I’m the one who should say sorry. I…”

You frown, trying to remember what happened. “I can remember crashing my car but anything after that is fuzzy.” You stop for another moment, “It’s like my brain stopped working.”

Pantalone sits down on the edge of the bed and he places his hand near yours. “The doctors told me you had a concussion. Nothing time can’t fix, but you should remain here in my care until you’ve fully healed.”

You put your hands up in a defending motion and give an chuckle. “I’ve already made a big enough mess. I wouldn’t want to bother you more.”

You place your hands down onto the blanket that covers your legs. You are dressed in an oversized pajama, you assume it’s Pantalone’s, and you wonder where your own clothes are.

Pantalone tilts his head and eyes you over his glasses. You know that look, he’s sent it many times before when you told him you met yet another seemingly perfect guy. It’s a look that warns you, something to remind you of the reality.

He places his hand on yours, you realise he’s wearing gloves today, and he squeezes gently.

“You can depend on me, my dear. I’ve already informed my costumers that meetings in my house will be put off for the upcoming week.”

You sigh, a mix of disappointment in yourself and frustration.

“I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t call and drive but-“ You groan in frustration, bringing your knees to your chest and burying you head into your hands. “I just didn’t realise deers can waltz into your property.”

You fling your hand forward in frustration. “Just my luck.”

It’s silent for a moment and you grow nervous thinking Pantalone might be mad. When you lift your head up from your knees you look up at him.

He has one of his hands under his chin. He appears to be lost in thought, slightly frowning and lips pursed.

“Pantalone?”

His head moves to turn towards you. His frown turns into a soft smile and he puts his hand on your knee. “Just thinking.”

He continues, “I’ll make sure to fix everything for you. In the meantime, take some time to rest, my dear. I shall be here if you need anything.”

You nod and he stands up, patting your knee affectionately before he disappears back into the corridor.

As much as his presence calms you, you have a certain feeling of dread.

You’re missing something.

You try to sum up last night’s events one more time.

Date, he doesn’t show up, you decide to go to Pantalone instead of home, you cant reach him, you leave a voicemail… He calls back and you crash when you adjust your volume.

Why did you adjust your volume?

The background noise.

Right, you adjusted the volume and looked away, but you didn’t crash into the tree immediately. Something ran from the woods into the street, right where you were riding.

You remember vaguely getting out of the car, but you’re uncertain.

‘At least I’m not hurt.’

When you try to go back to sleep you find yourself unable to. A vague imagine of a mangled body comes up in your mind over and over again.

You sit up and hoist the covers from your form.

Pantalone always favored exported silk and rich feathered blankets and pillows. When you step out of his bed you’re met with the cruel winter cold.

It’s almost enough to keep you forever in his bed.

But curiosity takes over your body and you find yourself walking over to the window.

The curtains are closed but you lift one side.

In the sunlight the main road is visible up till it reaches the gate.

Your car is gone,

But you see the long trail of blood on the street.

The imagine of the mangled woman pops up in your head once more. Her dirty and worn out clothes, her leg that had been twisted at an inhumane angle, her bones that stuck out from beneath her skin.

“Y/n.”

You let the curtain fall from your grasp and you turn around.

Another flash pops up in your mind. You remember the man that walked up to you with the flashlight, the other people who Pantalone yelled at, the way the woman started begging for her life when one of the men crushed her skull with his boot.

Two hands place themselves sturdy on your shoulders. You snap out of your shock and you jolt backwards, or you try to. Pantalone’s hands keep you in place.

His expression is calm, friendly, as ever. His eyes remain closed and he users you back to his bed, telling you that you’re still unwell and that you need rest.

You ask him about the woman.

“My dear, whatever you think you saw, you brain is shaken from the crash. When I, alone, came to your car you were already passed out. I ended up calling one of my friends who works as a vet to pick up the dead dear and another friend to take your car away.”

He gently brushes his fingers from your forehead to your cheek before placing them at his side once more.

“The doctors already told me something like this might happen.”

He looks solemnly down at you.

“That, my dear, is why you should stay here. I can take care of you until you’re healed.”

You nod your head. It’s slow and unsure, but you nod and place your trust in Pantalone. You’ve been friends for so long… He wouldn’t lie to you.

You laugh shortly.

“Why would there be a woman running around at night on your property anyways.”

He opens his eyes halfway.

“Right.”

[dreamypurplesky]

So I wrote a letter for my ex best friend who doesn't want to talk to me anymore for reasons best known to him. I never post anything I write because that makes me feel vulnerable and I hate it. But this time I figured that if there's even a slightest chance of this letter reaching him, it's through the internet and not in the depths of my notes app. So I'm baring my soul to strangers by putting this out there, please treat it kindly.

A letter to my dearest friend.

Yes, you heard it right. You're my dearest friend even if we don't talk anymore. Actually, that doesn't change anything at all, nothing can. You'll always be my dearest friend. Suck it up. I'm writing this because I'm starting to forget you and it scares the shit out of me. I was laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, reminiscing our time together - like I've done countless nights so far. More specifically, I was trying to piece together a poem about you in which I needed to list a few things that you like. My mind went blank for a brief moment. That's not good. I used to be able to instantly say that you liked music, making music. You also liked playing basketball and training in jiu-jitsu and programming. You liked looking up at the stars. You liked talking about philosophical stuff and you liked photography. That was what brought us closer in the first place. You liked working out and you liked mangoes. This is just me panicking and noting down everything I remember about you so if it ever starts to fade away, I can come back here to retain my memory. You also liked me. Oh, how could I ever forget that? You were probably the first person who ever actually liked me. I never thought I'd have to try so hard not to forget you. Our memories have claw marks on them from me holding on too tight. But I guess it was stupid of me to expect this to last forever. I mean, the world was in lockdown when we met so we were just two kids who had plenty of time to kill. Looking back, it probably didn't mean anything more than that to you. Or did it? I don't know. The way you moved on so easily tells me my guess is correct. However, it was very real for me. It was more than just a friendship developed out of boredom. You showed me who I really am, taught me how to value myself, and left me with so many beautiful moments to cherish. I've always told everyone I've met after you that there can never be another guy like you. I adore you, I really do. And it has got me fucked up. I'm out here stalking your Linkedin, for fuck's sake, like someone who has lost their goddamn mind. You've got a girlfriend and a big boy job and all, why would you bother to engage with a sad girl you met online who wrote poems about you? I understand your decision. I'll always understand. I promised, remember? Nothing you do will ever be looked down upon by me.

Tumhari narazagi bhi hume qubool hai,

kyuki vo tumhari hai.

Or jo tumhara hai,

vo mujhe sabse pyaara hai.

(Even your abandonment is accepted by me, as it is yours. And what's yours, is the dearest to me)

I wake up in the middle of the night and frantically check my discord to see if, perhaps, a miracle occurred that made you text. I always go back to sleep disheartened. But it's okay, I don't blame any of it on you. In fact, I'm grateful that I even got to know you. And I'm so pissed at myself for letting you go that first time. I am sorry for taking you granted. Your birthday's coming up soon and as much as I want to wish you, I don't want you to think I'm some desperate creep, even though I am. So I'll just write a note on The Unsent Project and console myself. If this message ever reaches you av, know that you can always come back to me. Even if it's 50 years later and the world is ending. I'll always wait to hear from you again.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Hullo.

I am Asking about Kafka. You are now compelled to tell me about your OC. I need to know.

JUMPING AROUND THE ROOM OKAY OKAY!!!!

I had to pace around this ask made me very excited.

Please have a Bonus Kafka while I try to explain him, or at least summarise him.

One of the most key things with him is his name, as though he’s changed a lot over the year or so I’ve had him, one thing has remained, and that’s the fact his story is loosely based on/inspired by Kafka’s metamorphosis, though in a more metaphoric sense. The name was initially a place holder I think, as a nod to his inspiration, but I ended up liking it, so it stuck!

To summarise the general information on him though:

He and his sister grew up in the coastal town of Willowby after their parent’s death in a car crash. They were taken in by their grandparents, neither of whom were keen on raising children again, though they did try, to a degree, but the disdain became evident as the two grew older, and they were left to their own devices more and more with age. Kafka ended up taking on a lot of responsibilities for his sister, and argues that he practically raised her.

With the recent death of their grandmother, and their grandfather having died a few years prior, Kafka has become the sole caretaker of his sister, but, for all his insistence it was he who raised her, he doesn’t actually believe himself cut out for the role. He struggles a lot with his own mental health, particularly an intense paranoia, and fears that his tendency to act on that will impact Unmei and her life more now that he’s meant to be the one looking out for her completely. He doesn’t think he’s enough, and unintentionally pushes her a way because of this, believing she’d be better off with the guidance of his friends or the shopkeeper — Stanley — who they’ve known since childhood and who’s taken on a fairly active role in their lives.

(He doesn’t realise he’s triggering her own fears or abandonment and being left behind).

In terms of the main story, Kafka is the first character to be targeted by a group of ‘spirits’, or, one of the spirits in said group. He ends up encountering her on their sixth investigation. Up until now, most of their ghostly endeavours have been more amusing, a bit of a laugh between friends, but this one is painfully real, and it becomes harder for Kafka to deny that. They’re in an old lighthouse when he sees Unmei run outside after something, and being as it’s beginning to storm, Kafka panics and chases after her. He can barely see between the rain and the late hour, and ends up in a field he does not recognise.

That’s where he meets her.

It’s a girl — eight or nine maybe — donning a mask that resembles some sort of grinning cat. She puts her finger to her mouth, as if to shush him, and he opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by Unmei barrelling into him, calling his name in distress.

They return back to the lighthouse together, and the ghost hunt is called off early after the others see the state of them. Kafka tries to confront Unmei about why she ran off, but she refuses to say anything, and he’s left more worried and scared than ever.

Then, the haunting starts, and everything gets worse for him. Sometimes you’re just tormented by a girl that may or may not be dead and you just have to go to band practice anyway and pretend you’re normal. He isn’t even sure if what he’s seeing and experiencing is real for a while, and even when he’s sure it might be, there’s always that little bit of doubt in his own sanity, something Cheshire uses against him. It’s also why he elects not to tell anyone that a spirit may have latched onto him from the lighthouse, because what if it’s all in his head? (It doesn’t make it any less terrifying Kafka please tell someone—)

There’s also like a whole thing with Kafka and cannibalism but don’t think too hard on that right now.

Horrors aside, please have some Kafka from my notes app because I was bored in college today and had no signal or WiFi.

It should be noted he’s typically a lot sweeter and more nervous than this when talking to people. It’s just around his sister that he acts louder and sounds meaner. The Cain instinct gets activated and it’s free real estate from then on.

They love each other really.

I’ll stop myself now otherwise I will just go on an essay about him.

I’m also being a little careful I think because Kafka’s story does touch on a lot of mental health related stuff and fears and I’m not sure how to give content warnings for that yet!

[beautyofsorrow]

2, 4, 7, 18, 46

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

evil. evil question. why would you make me think about my multichaps. ok so i tried the intensive outlining thing, i really did, and it flopped so bad because i'm pretty sure i have adhd which, among many other things, means i need novelty in order to stay interested in a thing. but i also need STRUCTURE so i know where i'm GOING or i'll never FINISH so i have started doing this thing where i have the vague outline of what happens and then go from there. for without anesthetic, i had a pretty good idea of what i thought the first four chapters entailed before i ever sat down at the word doc, just so i'd have a measure of security behind this wildly ambitious idea. turns out it was only enough for three chapters and i am spinning my wheels a little on the fourth/fifth/sixth, but it's going so much better than my last multichap did, and i haven't abandoned it like my first. so yay! it's my own version of what i call the ann patchett method of drafting (see "the getaway car" in this is the story of a happy marriage for more details on that, dear mutuals who are not zanna). more adhd, but just rigorous enough to keep me from walking out. this seems to be working, but it's also nerve-wracking because oh no, what if i get ?? chapters deep and i've written myself into a corner? (the answer: girl calm down, it's fanfiction and you're supposed to be having fun)

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

i rifle through the fridge at 10pm looking for a very specific food that does not exist and then get mad at myself when i realize i am gonna have to write it into existence.

see also: my love for the characters (/horny and emotional). a desperate need for non-romantic sexually intimate relationships in media. upsetting plotholes in canon. deranged character dynamics. weird takes on popular tropes. religious trauma. family estrangement. being queer. i also read a lot of books and find plenty of sparks ideas juice inside them, usually in their style and execution. i looooooooove studying form and how it influences a book's plot.

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

whatever best serves the story! and/or whatever i feel i can handle best in a given moment. for example, the first time i tried my hand at sex pollen (drown me in glitter, glitter and gold) i had no fucking clue how to write from a sex-pollened person's POV, so the answer was to stay in la'an's head the entire fic. that let me get really comfy with the story so that by the time i had to write her being all high on horny juice, it flowed much more easily than if i had started in una's POV, who's dosed from the start. also, it was a much better, funnier, and stronger fic that way. la'an's mortification really came through and allowed me to hit a lot of comedic beats i wouldn't have been able to hit due to una's temporary plunge into angst.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

i do all three lol. mostly during and after. sometimes i'll have one from the start and it will stick; other times it will change to something else halfway through. many many times i will come screaming into ur DMs complaining about being done with a fic but not having title tags or summary. i started keeping a file in my notes app of lines of poetry i love, and i'll occasionally plunder them for titles. i'll also yoink song lyrics (just give me trust and watch what'll happen), riff on character quotes or episode titles (without anesthetic, ad astra), or rotate the fic in my head until something appropriately vibe-y presents itself (dress me down and hold me open, aces wild, stitch)

46. How would you describe your style?

contemplative, lyric and/or comedic (depending on the fic), & character-driven

[tedwinisconfused]

20 Author Questions

Tagged by @blackbird-brewster, thank you, this was so fun!!!

How many works do you have on AO3?

Only five so far!

2. What's your total AO3 wordcount!

83,545 apparently, which is much more than I expected.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently and on AO3, only Criminal Minds, but in my time on ff dot net I also wrote for House MD, Grey's Anatomy, Once Upon A Time, Oz the Great and Powerful, and Annie (in hindsight, what a random assortment??)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Twin Flames (377 kudos)

Sin to Win (234 kudos)

midnight (184 kudos)

lean for me (170 kudos)

All This and Heaven Too (73)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I always respond to comments! Usually whenever I update with a new chapter. Comments make me so so happy (seriously I cannot even begin to describe it) so I really want to show my appreciation to readers, even though I'm usually quite bad at thinking of ways to reply.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hm most of my fics are unfinished, but if all goes to plan, midnight or All This and Heaven Too will probably have the most bittersweet endings.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Twin Flames! Maybe lean for me too if I ever finish that.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on AO3 so far. I used to get some hate on ff dot net, but I think commenting culture in general is a bit harsher over there so.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Only unpublished for myself so far haha. But (perhaps controversial) if I ever post any it's going to be f/f omegaverse because it's underrated and there's a tragic lack of it everywhere.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written?

Definitely! I'm obsessed with fusion crossovers and there's lots of half-finished ones in my docs and notes app. My only published one so far (and I suppose the craziest) is my Criminal Minds x Twilight crossover midnight though.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! I hope not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had someone ask to translate Sin to Win into Chinese, which was really cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I co-wrote like three chapters of a OUAT fic with my ex-best friend years ago, but I think we got bored and abandoned it, so no clue if it's out there somewhere still.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Easily JJ/Emily, literally do not get me started on how tragic they are, idk what it is but I've never been so obsessed with a ship before.

15. What's a fic you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Sorry to anyone who likes it because it was my most popular fic until very recently, but probably Sin to Win. I really hate what I did with the plot from Chapter 2 onwards and I'm confused about what past-me thought a cognitive interview was, because that's almost definitely not how they work. The plot's just a mess that I'm not sure how to unravel lol. I am still totally in love with the premise though, so maybe in the future I'll start over and delete the last few chapters.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I would definitely say writing descriptions (easily one of my favourite parts of writing in general), I love getting to capture a vibe.

Also conciseness (thanks to every English teacher I've ever had, and all the hundred word short stories I was forced to enter as a teen lol) although it can definitely be a double-edged sword when trying to reach higher wordcounts.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

OMG definitely dialogue. Idk if people reading my fics can tell but I avoid it as much as possible, and that's because between my autism and social anxiety, I just genuinely do not know/understand what people are supposed to say in a conversation + how (although I definitely think I've at least improved in structuring dialogue realistically), especially in character.

Also, just like, plots, lol.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Personally, I tend to prefer for the writer to just be like, "she said in French." I'm bilingual, English is my second language, and I feel like often when people write poly-lingual characters in particular they're kind of clumsy about the character using another language. I've definitely seen people do it very well though!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh boy, I'm actually not sure if I remember, I must have been like twelve or thirteen at the time. I'm going to tentatively guess Grey's Anatomy.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

It's between Twin Flames (my baby, the first fic I've ever finished) and All This and Heaven Too (I loved writing young JJ and Emily so much).

No pressure tags: @kingofhellsdaydream @introverted-author @ellegreenawayslover + anyone else who fancies it

[grandpasauce]

@arlathvhenan tagged me for some WIP goodness so here, have this unfinished WIP that’s been sitting in my notes app for an undetermined amount of time.

This is set a few years after Trespasser.

Solas/f!Lavellan obvs

-

This is something that dawns on her one grueling evening, when the hairs on her neck stand on-end. She’s in an abandoned temple—ancient and degraded enough to be mistaken for any of the Evanuris’—where vines entrench the crippled mosaics, uproot long-standing pillars and make home between the rubble. And that’s all it really is: Rubble. That Solas values it more than the lives of every living creature doesn’t make it anything more.

The thought lurches her stomach, perseveres despite the dread that braces her body the moment she senses someone nearby. Venatori, most likely. She’s barely evaded them three days now. Comparable to ants, typically, but three days of brisk and sleepless travel make even her muscles weary. Not only that—her mana is nearly sapped. And she’s never been one for hand to hand combat, lyrium-laden prosthetic aside.

“You must leave.”

That’s when she realizes it’s probably not Venatori. Turns out, she would have preferred Venatori.

He’s indistinct—shaded by the backdrop of that blasted, blistering northern sun—but his voice is unmistakeable. Solas stands under the archway of a glimmering ruin, obstructing her only exit from the shrine. Figures she would have sought refuge in the one fully enclosed space this wreckage offered.

“The Venatori make to surround you.” Solas continues, evenly. Sunlight glares off the point of his golden shoulder plate. “They will not wait much longer.”

She scoffs, “You don’t say.”

“I will not ask why you were out here alone.”

“Alright.”

“Nevertheless, you must leave. There is nothing for you—“

“—what are you doing here?” She cocks her head, “How did you find me?”

He’s quiet then, moves out of the walkway until she’s able to make out his features entirely. There’s a heaviness under his eyes, something hard in the crease of his brow she’s not comfortable seeing. The air fluxes, pressing against her—a split moment of contortion as though reality were flickering around him. And yet, it is all so familiar to her. The makings of him are seared into her memory even still, like his face were as commonplace as the back of her hand. She hasn’t seen it in years. She sometimes wonders if she’d even recognize her own hand, were it to reappear by some miracle. Now she knows. She would.

She would.

“They are my doing.” Solas says evenly. “And, as such, I will deal with them. I’d prefer it were you gone before that happens.”

Danyla nods, thoughtfully.

When she doesn’t move, Solas inclines his head ever so. “You will leave, then?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Where do you suggest I go, Solas?” She shrugs, “You’ve said as much—they’ve surrounded me.”

“If you make haste, you may—“

“—and why would I do that?” Danyla snaps. “I’ve been running for days. I’m exhausted. If you’re going to kill them anyways, I’ll just wait until then.”

Solas’ jaw flexes, gaze hovering over her shoulder while he deliberates. Or fumes. It’s reasonable to assume there’s a factor beyond Danyla’s Safety that begs her absence. She can’t begin to theorize what, but it’s causing him enough strife to make her curious.

Solas nods after a few moments. “I may have a solution.”

There is an eluvian nearby, apparently. Solas shows her to it, only a few minutes walk from the ruined temple, through an illusory tangle of verdant shrubbery. His steps fall uncannily silent as they walk. She follows in his shadow, paying close mind to keep him decidedly ahead of her.

Once they arrive, his eyes flash—the mirage dispelled—and he motions for her to enter the unveiled eluvian.

“You first,” She insists.

They emerge somewhere in the crossroads—at least, that is what she deduces. The room is dilapidated, stone ceiling crumbling into a crude skylight, and the kaleidoscope of colors that filters in is recognizable—in an unnerving and otherworldly sort of way. Otherwise, she might have mistaken their surroundings for an old, elvhen room somewhere in Thedas. There’s no windows, just stone walls smothered with tattered bookcases and veilfire sconces. If not for the four poster bed in the center, she’d equate the space to the Vir Dirthara.

It’s certainly derelict enough to compare. She nearly falls flat over something the moment she walks forward.

“What is this place?” Danyla asks, squinting into the darkness—the aperture in the ceiling only lending so much aid. “It’s a mess.”

“I have not used this refuge for some time,” Solas stands beside her, hands clasped behind his back. “You will not remain here long, I assure you—and we have limited options, as you seem fit to remind me.”

“Oh—it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” Danyla bites back, if a little lackluster considering her preoccupation with the skylight. Or rather, the writing desk hovering precariously over the skylight. At first, she thinks it merely crossroad debris—but it fails to drift along with the rest after a time.

Solas sighs, a sound both exasperated and resigning. Her chest aches.

She looks at him, the corner of her mouth twitching at the unimpressed quirk of his brow.

“Well, go on.” She waves him off. He blinks, igniting the room’s veilfire. It washes the bookshelves blue and flutters across Solas’ pensive demeanor. He leaves her, then, with the halfhearted request to not touch anything, though he doubtlessly knows she will.

She is tired, though, and figures if there were anything damning to be found, Solas wouldn’t have left her here to begin with. So her snooping is more cursory than inquisitive, picking at the plethora of books that have managed surprisingly well through the ages. Most of them are not new to her, recommended once upon a time by Solas himself. He apparently has favorites.

When her reading grows stale, she checks on the writing desk from before, finding it tempting only for the fact that it eludes her. The eluvian’s reflection allows her to cantrip the muck of the past three days from her gear, her face, and her gnarled knot-of-a-braid.

Then, she sleeps—too exhausted to bother with sitting up worried for the safety of a figure from legend. If there is mercy to be spared, let it be granted to the Venatori. Solas had a way of terrorizing even hardened Ben-Hassrath before their deaths. Maybe wariness would be the wiser reaction under the care of such a man—if she could even call him one anymore. But she’s also wise enough to understand if Solas wanted her dead, she would be. That he even cared to warn her of the Venatori shows he is not entirely lost. Not yet.

She will be gone from him soon, regardless.

She wakes to a shift in light. It flits against her eyelids, lulling her from slumber until she notices him. His feet settle near the foot of the bed, like he were touching ground from the air. And then she realizes, perhaps that is exactly what he was doing. The implications of flight magic are too exhaustive for her to ponder so soon after waking up, though, so she files the thought away for another time.

His back is to her, but he knows she’s awake. The shadowy drape of his robe drifts to a stillness against his knees, and she considers how she misses his old attire. Homely as it might have been to some, at least it would be familiar.

“How long have I been asleep?” She utters, rolling her neck in a stretch. The bed is massive. The ancient elves were not gargantuan in stature, but the furniture certainly gave that impression.

“Not long. You are free to go.” Solas says, still turned from her. He strides to the eluvian, activating it wordlessly before finally regaling her with, at least, the side of his face. He’s expectant, and strangely eager to be rid of her.

She decides not to comment that only prisoners go free.

-

Thanks for tagging me!!!!

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 2

Welcome, anyone and everyone coming here from Chapter 1! If you’re one such person, then I must have been at least somewhat entertaining for you to have come here for more.

So! The second installment of my Pokémon Reborn screenshot Let’s Play. I actually planned on posting this yesterday, but I discovered that Tumblr has a "daily image upload limit", which...because of how many parts this chapter is, I ended up reaching, so I had no choice but to wait until today.

As alluded to in the previous chapter, I’ve decided on a new method of taking notes for commentary as I play the game- and by that I mean I’m just taking brief notes using the Notepad app on my phone off the side while I play. Quicker than writing out all the commentary as I go, right? I vibed with it pretty well throughout the making of Chapter 2- you can see the change in results for yourself, with how much longer this part is compared to the last one (hence my issue with the image upload limit).

Also- another slight change to how these are being written.

In order to make it less awkward for me to distinguish between me X (the actual real-world person writing all of this) and the in-game X (the player avatar Pokémon Trainer) in my writing, I will henceforth be referring to my player character in these posts with an actual name, that name being: Xera.

Why didn’t I just give my character this name in the first place instead of naming her after myself, you ask? Simple: I did not consider how off it would feel writing-wise to keep trying to refer to me myself IRL and my player avatar differently when the names are literally the same. 

Normally, naming my characters after myself is fine for me- calling my player avatars in certain games “X” is second nature by now. However, normally I’m also just playing games myself, alone, I’m not usually writing down commentary and posting it publicly. Therefore, there’s no need for me to distinguish which is which in writing, because I’m not writing down anything. So, to emphasize: this is for my own sake, you’re all able to tell the difference I’m sure, but this is to make writing recaps and commentary easier for me in the future. 

Don’t worry, Xera will be just as much of an avatar/player surrogate as ever as I simultaneously attempt to develop my own sense of character for her; yes, these can and will coexist, you cannot stop me.

Oh, speaking of recaps!! What actually happened in the last part? Well, in summary:

I chose and named my avatar (one can just say “X” is like a nickname for her or something if they want), at the same time discovering brunettes don’t exist in this world and thus choosing to be someone with white hair instead.

Xera meets Ame, a fellow white-haired lady who is also the manager of the Reborn Pokémon League and is thus trying to recruit other Trainers to sign up for it.

Ame brings up an Incident(TM) in Reborn’s semi-recent past that wrecked the League and almost left the region abandoned. She does not elaborate.

Ame also asks Xera if she had some message/password for her (she didn’t). She still does not elaborate.

A fedora-wearing ghost figure appears, then disappears just as quickly. Shortly after, the train we’re all on crashes into the train station (called Grandview Station) and explodes.

Just before the explosion, Ame is able to save Xera by tackling her and herself out of one of the train’s windows in a certified “MISS PRESIDENT LOOK OUT!!” moment.

Xera awakes to find Grandview Station in ruins, with everyone else on the train (including the other Trainers) presumably killed.

A green-haired woman named Julia arrives on the scene, drawn to the sounds of explosions and death and destruction. Ame is not amused.

Ame determines that this was a deliberate attack and heads off to help with the investigation, instructing Xera to go look for another Trainer who was supposed to register as well. She is to then head for a building called Grand Hall, where she will receive a starter Pokémon.

After Ame leaves, Julia properly introduces herself: a cheerleader with a love of all things explosive and also the Electric Gym Leader.

Absolutely no technical issues with Tumblr and private post URLs took place at all, everything was uploaded correctly the first time.

And now- the second chapter! Let’s see how this’ll go with the changes to commentary-writing and avatar naming I brought up.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

[downin-thevalley]

Sunsets and Junimos

I’m so glad some people liked my feast of the winter star fic!!! Here’s another little ficlet from my notes app lol, it’s some fluff that involves some of the community center gameplay! Enjoy!! c:

“Am I about to get murdered?”

“Seb.”

“Well, when someone is led to a mysterious abandoned building with no context other than ‘follow me, I need to show you something’, sometimes they end up murdered.”

Augustine laughed and rolled her eyes. “You’re not gonna get murdered.”

“That’s exactly what a murderer would say!” He exclaimed as they walked to the middle of the community center.

“I’m serious, Seb,” she said, “there’s something here that I’ve really been wanting to share with you.”

He looked around doubtfully. “I mean, I’ve been in here loads. Sam and Abigail and I used to hang out here back in the day, back before all the windows were boarded up.”

“I know,” Augustine said seriously. “But when you were here, did you ever… see anything? Feel any sort of presence?”

“No…” he looked at her almost suspiciously. “No, I can’t say I ever did. It’s just an abandoned building.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, it’s more than that.” She stepped past him and looked around. “He’s safe, you can come on out, little fellas.”

Sebastian stumbled backwards, eyes wide, looking wildly from Augustine to the Junimos that began to appear.

“Wh—I—I don’t—what??”

Augustine giggled. “They’re called Junimos. They’re forest spirits who are helping me fix up the community center.”

He flinched as a Junimo…walked? Glided? Across his feet.

“How on Earth do these guys help you with that? Am I dreaming?”

“Not dreaming,” she giggled again. “I bring them things they need, and they show their appreciation by magically restoring each room, one by one. They give me gifts and fix up things around town, too.”

“Magic,” he said, nodding frantically. “Yeah, magic, of course. Why not?”

She took a step towards him and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I know, I know, it’s pretty freaky. I thought so too at first, but now it’s just a normal part of my life; a normal part of my life that I want to share with you.”

Sebastian looked around at all the junimos bouncing about the community center. Once he started to get past the shock of it all, he had to admit that they were pretty cute…

“How long has this been going on?”

“Practically since I got here,” Augustine said as she sat on the floor. “Lewis showed it to me just a few days after I moved in. I saw the junimos then, but he didn’t. Then I got a letter from that wizard, and he—“

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he interrupted, “the wizard contacted you?”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure how he knew what I’d seen either. But he translated these scrolls the junimos had, made me drink some weird forest juice, and now I can communicate with them!”

Sebastian stared blankly back at her. “Yeah,” he said, “totally normal part of your life.”

She laughed again. “Here, let me show you.”

She stood, offering a hand to Sebastian to do the same. She led him to what seemed to be a very old, empty pantry. She walked to the middle of the room where on the floor lay a scroll in a language Sebastian didn’t recognize. She opened her bag, pulled out a peach, and placed it on the scroll. She took a few steps back so that she stood next to Sebastian.

“What happens no—“

Before he could finish his thought, more junimos began to appear out of thin air. They both jumped.

“Yeah, that part startles me, too,” she said casually over the squeaking noises the junimos were making.

After a flash of light, the barren pantry was transformed; the shelves that were previously rotting away were solid and sturdy, and packed with non perishable foods; large barrels were stacked in the corner; there were baskets full of fresh fruits and vegetables; it seemed the kitchen the pantry was attached to had been restored, too.

“Wow,” was all Sebastian could say as they both looked around in awe.

“Look!” Augustine said, pointing, “This is my favorite part!”

Moving across the ground was a green junimo holding a gold star above its… head? Body?

“Is that where those stars above the fireplace came from? I wondered why there were only a few,” said Sebastian.

“Yeah. I don’t know what’ll happen when all the stars are settled there, but I can’t wait to find out!”

Augustine gave Sebastian a quick tour of the rooms that had already been restored; so far those were the boiler room, the craft room, and the corner of the main open area with the fish tank. After the tour, Sebastian had a chance to show Augustine something he knew about the community center: an easy passageway that gave them access to the roof.

“Sam found this one time we went exploring back here,” said Sebastian as he helped Augustine up onto the roof behind him. “I’d come and sit up here when I needed to get away from things, before I had my bike and found the lookout.”

“You can see a surprising amount of the town from up here,” said Augustine.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, “the sunset looks beautiful over Pam and Penny’s trailer.”

“I know you’re making a joke, but it does, honestly.”

“And if you stand waaay on your tiptoes,” he said as he did so, “you can sorta see the beach.”

Augustine followed suit, delighted by the new view. “There’s Willy’s shop! Wow, look at the way the sunlight shines off the ocean, isn’t that lovely?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said as he looked over at Augustine, smiling to himself as he watched her observe the valley. “I could admire this view forever.”

[bthearst]

update #2.

NaNoWrimo, BookTwitter, Rejections -- oh my!

THIS IS A LONG ONE.

It's been a doozy of a month with the beginning of the holidays, nighttime knocking on my frosty bedroom window by 4:30pm, and the ongoing decline of the accursed bird app. The days keep coming and they don't stop coming.

Starting off this post with a celebration of the devastating total of 20k words achieved on this year's Nano project. It's only devastating because, as a completionist, seeing goals left unmet is the equivalent of taking 10d6 damage to the soul. Last year saw the birth of The Unbinding, with 50k written in November and another 20k added at the beginning of December to round up its first draft. I thought that with that manuscript currently being queried, I would be able to tackle a fresh new story, and this was my first mistake which turned into a necessary lesson, one I've been fighting for the last three weeks.

You see, The Unbinding is the first project that I have ever seriously committed to publishing through traditional means. I've been writing for upwards of 15 years and it wasn't until summer of 2021 that I came to accept that I could, and should, hold myself to the same esteem that I hold my favorite writers to. This meant that I would be buckling down, rewriting, and revising a story I truly fell in love with. Revising is like pulling teeth for me, so I established myself as a one-and-done type of person from the get-go. Outline and outline well, leave no scene unscrutinized. This meant I had a pretty solid base, an impenetrable one, when I began last year's Nano. So, five drafts in (five!), I decided that this was as good as the manuscript was getting. I called it a day, participated in two whole Twitter pitch events, and sent out my first query batch.

Every writer is different. I've read about writers pitching third drafts, fourth, tenth, twentieth, and landing agents. After all, the amount of revising that goes into a book is never-ending. After all, by the time some agents get back to you, you'll be another two revisions in.

This is hubris speaking. Don't you fucking listen to it.

I set this manuscript aside for three whole months. Had it sent to beta readers go through it while I focused on other things. And it was all well and good until I realized that nothing -- nothing -- that I put down on this year's Nano felt right. Every word felt rushed, wrong, empty, and while yes sometimes this is what it's like to write a first draft, I realized that I just wasn't having fun with it. The story may be good, but I was fighting something else inside my head that I didn't want to acknowledge, and that's that The Unbinding wasn't ready. I was tackling a new project and 'abandoning' something that held me in a vice grip for the better part of ten months.

"But, Mitch," you say, "if it wasn't ready, why the hell did you start querying it?!" One word (Or two, depending on how you look at it.): BookTwitter.

Twitter is the internet's hub for writers trying to break out into the scene. You have your users who post daily prompts for writers to QRT with their nifty little graphics and fun snippets of their epics, promos left and right, follow chains, the whole shebang. It's a place where young authors build a readership based off engagement and the wringing of the algorithm.

I am not a Twitter person. Sure I've been using the app in tandem with Tumblr since 2011, but I've never been savvy at it. Good lord did I try to be savvy though, engaging with said games and graphics but alas, I'm also not a graphic designer so my moodboards weren't as stunning as those WIP spotlights with 200+ notes.

That being said, I plucked a handful of books during my year-long foray into that side of the internet. It's a great platform to find diverse books by diverse authors, but it's also a place that is oversaturated with everything. Advice from querying writers, authors prepping for their debuts, agents searching for manuscripts, all going by at rapid speeds. The dreaded "this is what's selling so if you want to sell your manuscript you need to jump on it RIGHT NOW or else you'll miss your window".

So I did. Queer Gothics are in right now, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Even when the story felt like it needed work, I went for it. I wanted to be in with the cool kids, wanted to make friends with all these hip zoomers clawing their way into tradpub. I focused so much on it that I lost sight of what truly mattered-- writing the story I need to write. Writing is rewriting, after all. I wasn't sick and tired of looking at this manuscript. In fact, I was still excited to work on it, make it into the best thing it could possibly be.

Since the whole Musky Man debacle started going down, I decided to simply cut back on my Twitter usage. It was making me miserable for a variety of reasons, but mainly because it isn't just for writing or the laughs. There's no way to curate that damn place, so one tweet will be about this cool new book that I would want to preorder and the next is about mass shootings and the government sanctioned genocide of trans people. As a trans QPOC, I literally cannot continue to split what little brain power I can spare towards creativity between doomscrolling and trying to squeeze myself into zoomer spaces.

I'm a writer. A cave-dwelling hermit. I am not designed to market myself, I do not have an algorithm-based software in my brain that enables me to build engagement, to grow my follower number on Twitter so that when agents ask me to link my profile on their query tracker submissions they can look at it and go "oh yes we can get a best-seller upon launch on these numbers alone!" It's exhausting. I'm an adult who's constantly fighting for their life, to make ends meet, to keep a roof over my head, to not spiral into depression every time I see another gut-wrenching article. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to blast on social media while also trying to write a damn book.

Shit's fucked, lads. I wish I had an answer to this. I don't. All I can do is step away, recalibrate, buckle down on creating, and start swinging again.

In short, The Unbinding is facing a major rewrite. Restructuring the plot for many a reason. Of the ten queries I sent out, I've gotten three rejections, and the jury's still out on the other seven.

I'm actually not discouraged by said rejections, either. There's this feeling of accomplishment that comes with every one I receive, an opportunity to learn, the understanding that I'm here, that I've done it, that I have something to put out in the world. It's daunting, terrifying, exhausting, but goddamn am I enjoying the ride. With any luck I won't get any full manuscript requests now that I've decided to go back in, but if it does happen, I'll just be completely honest with them.

I'm also fairly certain that my query packet was a hot fucking mess because I'm not joking when I say I have no idea what I'm doing. Beta readers? Critiques? Nah. I'm rawdogging this shit (for now).

BUT ALL OF THIS ASIDE---

The Wilds (first longer-ish play) has been workshopped and is currently in its second draft. What was meant to be a one-act has grown to a considerable length, but we're going with the flow and seeing where it takes us.

The Untitled Folk Horror story is still in the pre-drafting stage. I'm knee-deep in research, found some good sources while learning that my researcher badge on campus has finally been revoked thanks to me graduating last May, so things are getting a little harder to find. Who knew it would be this hard to find anything about a colonized culture from its own people rather than their colonizers, especially when two whole powers did their best to destroy everything during their invasions? Hurr.

So yeah. This concludes this very long post. Went to the library today to pick up a book I had placed on hold, ended up walking out with three whole books. Said book is What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher, and depending on if the mood strikes, I'll write a little review on it on here!

Cheers.

[fruitycasket]

Movie Night

Summary: Chase goes over to Henrik’s house to watch a movie.

Word Count: 3,444

Notes: Yet another case of “I liked it when I first wrote it but now I don’t know”. It’s up on my Ao3, too (RottenFruitz) but I don’t feel like linking it right now.

Chase got Henrik’s text in the morning. Really early in the morning. Four AM. He didn’t see it until eight, of course: Hey, we should hang out again today. Can you come over later? We can watch a movie and eat something.

He squinted at the message for a long while, mostly because his messaging app was so bright against the darkness of his room, but also because he was considering the offer. It was one of many Henrik had been sending him since they’d reunited. He accepted sometimes. A lot of times he didn’t.

Chase's instinct was to be suspicious. Guys like Henrik didn't hang out with guys like him, even if they'd been close friends before. But just as he had typed out no, i don’t think today is good, he hesitated.

No, no Henrik is nice. Tentatively, he told himself Henrik enjoyed his company. Henrik wanted to get to know him. Henrik had missed him. And now, with Jack comatose and Chase in a worse headspace than ever before, he wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself.

His thumb hovered over the send button.

You’re a terrible friend, he chastised himself, All he wants to do is check up on you, to talk, to have fun. It’s not like you have a lot of time left to put it off.

Chase changed his response: okay, i’ll be over at like 3pm or something

Henrik was pleased with the answer: That’s fine by me. I’ll get us burgers and sodas. They’re on me.

And he was buying food? Again?

Chase sat up and rubbed his eyes. This wouldn’t be so bad after all, something to eat other than sandwiches and microwave dinners would be nice. There wasn’t much else in his fridge, aside from the milk, eggs, cheese, and ham Henrik had bought for him upon seeing how barren it was.

Still, he could’ve gone without Henrik holding it over his head, trying to use it to entice Chase over to his house or out to a restaurant when he wasn’t feeling up to it. It was… whatever. He was willing to trade food for a favor but if that was what Henrik wanted out of him, why not just say so up front? Must’ve been worried Chase would refuse the food. Like he would ever be so stubborn.

Chase spent the next six hours loafing. Lying in bed, slowly getting dressed, having a bite to eat so he wasn’t completely starving, playing video games, then scrolling through all his social medias until he was in so deep he was only roused by a familiar nausea.

It distracted him for a second. He thought maybe he could ignore it, that it would go away on its own like it sometimes did, but it kept coming in waves. First mild and annoying, then steadily growing urgent and painful until the telltale pre-vomit wetness in his mouth was impossible to ignore.

It felt like he’d eaten a thousand pounds of food in the span of thirty minutes, like his stomach was too full. He could hear it and feel it, something heavy in his abdomen, roiling and churning, crawling up his throat like it was alive. Reflexively he touched his upper lip. His fingers came back bloody.

“Ah, shit,” Chase grunted. He stood, abandoning his phone to sprint into his bathroom and vomit.

He had pretty much nothing in his stomach. Once the butter-sandwich had come up it was nothing but acid and blood.

And it was not normal blood.

It was viscous, dark, writhing, like a bunch of oozy slugs all glued together by their own slime, restlessly swimming over and around each other.

The first time it’d happened he was too intoxicated to think much of it. It was probably a fever dream or a hallucination.

But then it happened again, and again, and the blood was real, the nausea was real. And sometimes it oozed from his eyes and nose, and then he realized.

He was dying. That had to be it. He felt fine, but no fine person throws up blood every now and then, and definitely not in such large amounts.

He went to a doctor. They didn’t find anything wrong, by all accounts his health was perfect (liver and brain aside), and with no way to predict when he would start bleeding and throwing up, he couldn’t show them what was going on. For all they knew, he was just hallucinating it.

After that, Chase decided not to tell anyone. He couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know when it would kill him, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have said anything. Why would he? So everyone could spend the next however-many days leading up to it being miserable?

It was part of the reason he changed his mind. Henrik ought to have some nice memories of him that weren’t from highschool. He wasn’t fond of who he was then, more so than who he was now. And if Henrik was going to lose two friends so close together…

Chase grimaced. He stared into the blood at the bottom of his toilet bowl. His muddy reflection stared back with red eyes and huge pupils. It was almost smiling, the shimmering lines crooking his mouth upward as if it was amused at his impending death.

He hated that stupid face and its stupid smile and its stupid whispery voice. Not that it actually talked, but he imagined it did sometimes. It had nothing to say today, though.

Chase cleaned his toilet to the best of his ability, then changed clothes just to be safe.

It was time to go to Henrik’s house.

Before he could think of an excuse to duck out, Chase left his apartment.

The trip there had him antsy. Every time he got the chance, he checked his text messages to make sure he really had been invited.

Henrik was too nice for a beat up person like Chase, and so was his house. It was weird sitting inside it, even Stacy’s place wasn’t so… pristine (but that was probably because Henrik didn’t have kids running around). Wouldn’t it be suspicious for the neighbors? Would they even care? He inspected his head scars with the pads of his fingers. Why would they be suspicious? They make me look cool, he told himself, And they’re conversation starters.

Yeah, really terrible ones, the cynical part of him sneered, You want to tell Henrik how you got that ear blasted off?

No. No he didn’t.

Chase got to Henrik’s front door thirty minutes late.

He took a breath before he knocked. Positive thoughts, Brody, positive thoughts. You're not going to screw this up. You're not going to puke blood all over your friend's house. You're not bothering him, he asked you to come here.

The door opened and out stepped Henrik, smiling. “Chase, I was worried you wouldn’t show. Come in.”

“Sorry,” Chase stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed behind.

“Don’t be, that you came at all is good enough.”

Yeah, right. Chase tried to ignore the thought. “Um, cool. So, like… the movie and the food and stuff…”

“Oh, of course,” Henrik led him into the living room and patted his nice leather couch, “You just sit and let me get everything.” He looked… sort of angry? For a second. “And I’m guessing you didn’t eat breakfast, either.”

“I did eat something, actually,” Chase said a little angrier than he meant to, “A sandwich.”

“Oh? Good.” Henrik was already in the kitchen by the time he said that, so Chase couldn’t get a read on whether he was being serious. His voice was sort of flat, and with a kitchen wall between them and no facial expressions to read…

He thinks you’re a child, that you can’t take care of yourself. And he’s right.

Chase grumbled. No, good things only. Nothing’s wrong. He meant to be nice, obviously.

Henrik returned with two warm, unlabeled paper bags and two bottles of soda. “I just ordered what you had last time,” he said as he handed Chase his food, “And I figured we could find something to watch while we ate.”

“Oh, sure,” Chase said. He ate as soon as the bag was in his lap.

Henrik sat beside him and grabbed a remote to turn the TV on, but he never took his eyes off Chase.

“What?” Chase’s face got warm. Oh god, he was eating like a pig, wasn’t he?

“Nothing, it’s just. I thought if you’d had breakfast you’d be less hungry.”

“It wasn’t a big breakfast.”

“Mm,” Henrik leaned back, “I’ll find something while you do that.”

Chase started staring at the carpet. He ate slower this time, savoring every bite and sip until he was left with an empty plastic bottle and greasy paper bag.

By then, Henrik had picked some random underdog sports movie and was looking at Chase again. “That wasn’t really the first thing you ate today, was it?”

“You can’t take my word for it?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Henrik furrowed his brows, “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, it wasn’t, I mean,” Chase stuttered, “It’s not about you, I just like time by myself sometimes.”

“Of course, I know that. But with work in the way, it’s hard to check in on you all the time…” He took a sip of his own soda.

“Yeah, I get it,” Chase tossed his trash onto the coffee table and made himself comfortable. “I can take care of myself, though.”

“You can, but I don’t know how often you do,” Henrik sighed, “How about we forget it, for now?”

Chase noticed his shoulders were tense and relaxed. “Yeah. Let’s just hang out.”

They didn’t talk for a while, but Chase was fine with that. He was reminded of years gone by, where he and Henrik and Jack would pop into a fast food place and eat in silence for a little while. If it was rainy or cold outside, all the better.

The movie faded into background noise as Chase kept thinking, not about anything in particular, and not about anything particularly bad. This was nice, he was right to come. He was comfortable enough that he could’ve fallen asleep.

And he had to go and make it awkward.

Chase spoke before as he thought and regretted it immediately, "You didn't really buy me food just to force me into hanging out with you, did you?"

Henrik stared at him, took a sip of his drink, then spoke, "Well, no…"

Part of Chase was relieved, though he couldn't put his finger on why. "What'd you want, then?"

"Chase," Henrik frowned, "I was just being nice. Did anything I say earlier make you think"—

"Nah. I mean. Um," he was making it worse, "I'm just not used to it, that's all. Thanks."

“You’re welcome.” Henrik paused to look him over. There was a minute twitch in his face, nothing Chase could really pin down as one emotion or another. Concern, maybe? “Don’t fall asleep now.”

“But I’m not…” but he was. Chase was drowsy.

It occurred to him that this was unusual, how could he be so tired so suddenly, at three in the afternoon?

But he was always tired, wasn't he? He'd sometimes spend days off in bed for hours, too winded to move from the moment he woke up. This was just unfortunate timing, and, well he couldn't drive home.

Chase didn’t like doing it, not to someone he’d only just started properly hanging out with, but he wasn't too proud to ask to sleep on the couch than risking sleepily stumbling his way home.

"Henrik?" Chase found he was so tired his words slurred, "I'm really... you wouldn't mind if I...?" That wasn't a full sentence, he had to—but he was nodding off, he was too tired—he could barely keep his eyes open, much less lift his tongue.

There was a hand on his shoulder and a comforting voice and the feeling of being laid down, and then Chase was asleep.

Chase woke up in an unfamiliar place, a part of Henrik’s house he’d never seen before. It was chilly, and he was tucked into a warm, soft bed, in a sparsely decorated but otherwise nice room. It even had a bathroom.

Why wasn’t he on the couch?

His first thought was that Henrik had taken him to a guest room to spend the night. He would have been fine in the living room, but whatever.

Chase reached for his phone to see what time it was. It was nowhere to be found, not in his pocket or anywhere in the room he was in.

Okay, well, maybe Henrik had it charging, or something… Chase looked for any outlets in his room and found none, so his phone would need to be left in a different room to charge. He calmed down at the discovery. Henrik was just being nice, that was all.

Chase went for the door, turned the handle, and the door—the door, it—

The door didn’t—it wasn’t opening.

Why wasn’t it opening?

Chase was confused at first. He tried to unlock it, but there was no lock on this side of the door. He stepped back, took a breath, tried to think of a logical, not terrifying explanation.

Maybe the door was stuck. Maybe Henrik had company over, and he didn’t want some washed-up highschool friend sitting on his couch making things awkward. Maybe he thought Chase would try to steal something.

Chase tried the door again. His heart started to race. He knocked.

“Henrik!” he shouted.

No answer.

“Henrik?”

Nothing again.

Maybe he wasn’t home.

That was weird. Why would he lock Chase in a room and then leave?

He clung stubbornly to his last line of thought. Maybe he really was trying to keep him from stealing something while he ran an errand. Henrik was being begrudgingly nice to poor old Chase Brody, and had panicked when he suddenly had to stay over, and then locked him in this room to keep all his valuables safe.

A dick move, a majorly dick move, but okay.

Chase could handle that, he would just wait until Henrik got home and then leave and never talk to him again. That was all. That was easy.

He looked for a clock. There was none. And there were no windows, either, so no way to tell time based on the sky. He looked for anything that wasn’t a nightstand, a bed, and a rug, and found nothing.

His heart raced now.

He tried the door again. When that didn’t work he kicked it, hard. And then he screamed, “HENRIK!”

Silence.

Chase kicked the door, again. Again. Again.

It didn’t move an inch.

He should be able to do this, he was reasonably strong, wasn’t he? Maybe he was still full of drugs.

Chase paused.

Drugs.

He rubbed his temples as he recalled everything that had led up to this. He thought about Henrik’s insistence over the past week or so (“Chase, you should come over today! No, only today. Today’s the only day I’m free. Please? It’s been so long!”). He’d even brought up the groceries, after a point (“And after I paid for that food, you owe me one.”). It was never about a movie and catching up and getting close again.

Chase slumped against the door. There was no point in fooling himself, he knew exactly what had happened.

You’re a dumbass, Chase, he pressed his palms against his eyes, Did you think he really liked you? That he helped you for no reason? That he didn’t want something from you?

If it had been anyone else, you would have known. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t be here right now, you’d be home.

He tried the door one last time. Tried to open it, tried to break it, tried to scream for help.

Nothing.

It was like he’d had a bottle smashed over his head. He stumbled, dazedly back to the bed to wait. He hadn’t told anybody he’d be going here. Why would he? Henrik was… he was supposed to be a friend.

He tried not to think of why he was here, of what Henrik would do to him when he came back, if he’d ever get out. 

He failed.

Not only did he fail, he started thinking about Bri. He thought of what she would do when she realized her dad wasn’t coming to visit like he promised to, when she realized he wasn’t just nursing a hangover for a while—when she realized he was really gone.

Would anyone even look for him?

No, not for anyone living, anyway. They would think he’d…

That he’d…

Chase was distracted from the thought by the sound of a door nearby opening. Tentatively, he stepped towards his door and listened.

Footsteps, somewhere above him at first, then moving down, coming closer, growing louder until Henrik’s shoes cast two narrow shadows in the space between the door and the floor. Chase stepped back. His breath caught in his throat.

For a moment he thought he could escape. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, he could wait for Henrik to open the door and escape. He started to tiptoe back. His head was light as air, deprived of oxygen, but he refused to breathe until he had gotten to his bed.

One, two, three, Chase counted in his head, four, almost, almost… five…

“Chase?”

Shit.

Chase didn’t answer. He froze, afraid that his footsteps would give him away.

“You’re awake.”

Fuck.

Maybe it was just a good guess? Maybe maybe maybe—he kept fruitlessly hoping Henrik would open the door to check anyways.

He knew. He did not open the door.

“Don’t make this hard, please,” Henrik stepped closer and sat down. Almost his entire shadow filled the space between the door and the ground.

Chase gave in. Henrik was still his friend, right? Well, this wasn’t what friends did to each other but Henrik could still consider them friends, and if he behaved, he might let him go. “Henrik,” he said.

“Come sit by me.”

Chase listened. “Okay. I’m here now.”

“How are you doing?” Henrik asked.

Chase glared. He balled his hands into fists in his lap as he spoke, “Fine. A little tired, I don’t know.” He paused. “Did you…?”

“I… I put sedatives in your food,” Henrik seemed to be fidgeting behind the door, “I’m sorry.”

Chase knew it was true, he’d already figured it out, but hearing it come from Henrik’s mouth still hurt. The apology didn’t soften the blow.

“Can you unlock the door?” Chase asked. He winced immediately after. Too soon.

“No.”

Chase stood. “Why the hell not?!” Then he realized he was in no position to be getting snippy with his captor and corrected his tone, “Was it something I did?”

Henrik mumbled for a moment, then raised his voice, “I know you’re sick.”

“What,” Chase would have laughed if he wasn’t so scared, “You—you what? That’s why you did this to me?”

“Yes. it might seem cruel”—

“Henrik,” Chase cut him off, “Let me out. I’m sorry I lied to you but I just didn’t want you to worry, it was stupid, I know.”

“No.”

“This isn’t funny, Henrik!”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Henrik said. His tone was even, clinical. “I want to help you. I know how this ends, Chase, it ends with you like Jack, and I can’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that! I-I don’t—but, why? Why can’t you let me out?” Chase’s voice shuddered and broke in spite of his effort to control it.

“You’ll run away. You won’t get help.”

“I won’t run, I’ll go to a doctor. Henrik, please. What about Brianna? She'll wonder where I am, she’ll be worried!”

It took a long time for Henrik to answer. “No.” Chase didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m not going to do anything tonight, I’ll just feed you and let you settle in.”

Chase almost replied snarkily (“I feel so honored.”) but he clung to hope that Henrik really was planning to let him go. Good behavior would get him out faster. Might get him out faster. Would… hopefully get him out faster…

“I’m going to make you better, I promise. It’ll take time, but you’ll thank me when it’s done.” When Chase was silent again, Henrik sighed. “I’ll talk to you again later.”

And then, his footsteps were getting farther and farther away… 

And then he was gone.

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

@ninjastar107 oh so that gives them permission to completely utterly use their power to utterly destroy this page

That gives them the permission to post personal shit when I didn't post anything other than that photo at a CONVENTION, let alone that they dragged my family into it,

I don't care that they fucking cut me off I could care less about that it's called getting off their fucking high horse and having decent respect not to come out of nowhere after they asked to separate. Especially while I was on anesthesia and very emotionally vulnerable and with a reactive disorder you don't do that,

I respected that and was respecting that trying to cope in my own way, that you guys right now are telling me is not okay.

Did I ever once tag them? Did I ever once message them after that summer, or did you guys all assume it's all about you. And not that I was trying to move on and trying to heal through those because I did have bad thoughts, and I do have bad thoughts right now related to my problems that you guys further aggravate.

Why is it such a big deal? You're completely missing the reactive part of the disorder just because you don't think it affects someone like that do you know my head my thoughts do you know what kind of life I have led where I need to be defensive at every other turn or else I would get in trouble

You guys are acting like you're in my head telling me what I can and cannot do. If it was your goal to drive me out of this fandom because of this very toxic mentality congratulations you've won this page is now abandoned simple as that

Because I don't want to be around people that think that it's okay to drag other people's families in over a picture, think it's okay to tell another that their coping mechanism of saying something every couple months or so when they're having a bad day is not okay.

You all are telling me I'm not allowed to vent, I'm not allowed to cope.

Especially when this page was already dead to begin with you guys treat it like it's the world yet Diisoodles just did more damage then I ever could as a small unknown hated creator

They use their power to hurt another again look at the notes on all of my posts all of them I don't have the power they do they just basically bullied another creator off the app

I cover up the photo just like you guys ask and I still get that whole thing, who now is in the wrong when you've irreparably damaged me. Because there is no taking back what has been posted I can no longer use this name safely thanks to you guys because I already have been doxed once by people I'm this fandom,

And now someone that I cared for at one point, but I respectfully stayed away dealing with it on my own in my own way has done it again and the reason I can't safely use this name anymore

you don't think they won't do it again to hunt me down think again I'm probably already on some Reddit forum being ridiculed

Thank you for giving something for my therapist and I to talk about

If me posting a picture is doxing then that whole post of what they did is also doxing

You've become what you hate.

Especially since all of that happened in 2021-2022 and I told them I fucking told them I am desensitized due to the trauma in my life please tell me when I am making you uncomfortable I don't ever remember a time them speaking up

Look at all the emotions that they pointed out that I would get frustrated over I would do this over something do you break it apart and realize that that is triggering the reactive part of the disorder during a time I didn't know that was going on rejection triggers it

Do you guys acknowledge that they haven't had contact with me like me myself since last year to General Yasur I have changed but I'm not going to fucking keep quiet especially when my characters are plagiarized that's really going to help the distrustful part of my disorder.

When each of their characters has a part of mine Cerise Seer Xian Seer, Harker the darker one the black sheep Simone the Black sheep doing adult work, Chloe head of security at Borg Industries Zoe also head of security at Borg Industries now renamed Anastasia

Lilac violet both lawyers at Borg Industries both missing an arm both looking very similar like twins. I won't post the art here because the last time I did that trying to show evidence I got my whole life ripped apart

Felix has a cane and a vocal glitch later on I know there's a character with crutches that is an explorer just like Artemis,

Yet I'm not supposed to be pissy about this, I'm not supposed to be angry that's what everybody tells me.

I don't care about the concept since that's canon, it's the factor that like happened 2 days ago these guys now are too similar to each other and people thought I stole from them

I'm not supposed to be mad because that's what you guys are all saying that I have no right to feel any emotion that I do.

That I'm not allowed to cope genuinely just making fun of me and my frustration my anger calling me a clown

Especially when I thought it was my right to post my memories never expecting it would lead me to someone I trusted and I still did I had calmed down I wasn't making any more posts until somebody asked that a couple days ago

I didn't ask for my life to be ruined over a photo and some art because no matter if they realize it or not, if any of you realize what you have done.

It won't matter because it never mattered,

Goodbye

Hi I am Alanshee Valera

I am a Polyamorous Genderfluid physically but call me what you like,

I am also disabled, I have a Genetic disorder called Elhers Danlos Syndrome that is a root cause of many many other things that's gone wrong. I walk with a cane Forearm Crutches walker, I am an Ambulatory wheelchair user as well and require a KAFOS brace to keep my left knee from randomly buckling. I am also a covid long hauler. Here's me relaxing as my bed is my work station along with a picture of me in my wheelchair.

I have been Cosplaying for 9 years, Writing and Drawing for 10 years.

This page is now Abandoned

I stupidly posted some art and a photo of my side of the story for this Diisdoodles made it there personal mission to Doxx me back without my side or context or even being allowed to defend myself like I have been doing

It was June 2021 that I met Diisdoodles and now in April 2023 because of them I abandon this page because nobody has stopped and thought of the mentality aspect I have accountability for my actions and I have changed but nobody right now wants to acknowledge it I had every right to make those posts it was my way of coping

What is an all right is Diisdoodles suicide baiting constantly or other skeletons in their closet I could drag out just like they've dragged all mine out but you know what I'm not

I will never stoop down to the lowest level that Diisoodles has stepped down to

I write with a similar tone to Stephen King yet they left the contact out that I told them everybody hey I'm really desensitized to certain stuff so please please let me know if I make you uncomfortable because I know certain stuff of mine can be quite dark

I have no excuse for my family but with the white supremacist joke that's because they made me draw like this and then got frustrated and mad similarly to me when I said hey can I draw her with human skin I'm not comfortable with Elora looking like this,

They can't handle sharing their projects with other people and nobody nobody takes into account and is ignorant and blind to the many countless therapists and psychologists who say mental disorders do have problems that affect you day to day you are quite ignorant if you will not listen to the advice of literal doctors,

And so as many of us say oh a friendship is good, hunky dory until you start showing signs of your mental disorder case and point here,

Because I hope you look back in a couple years and realize you were telling a reactive person that they can't react to a situation and that is the worst thing you can do because that turns inward it makes you hate yourself

Like right now I am honest to God somebody strike me down if I'm lying struggling with suicidal ideation over this that everybody is right and I just need to end it all. I'm broken worthless all that bullshit running through my head,

But again you'll laugh at this because everybody laughs and thinks it's a grand ole time until the body ends up in the grave and they realize what damage they've truly done to another human. Especially one with these specific issues,

So take it all I don't care anymore, have a party over it even because if you can go to those lengths I bet you would go to that length,

The volatile nature is due to my reactive disorder I can't do anything but try to continually train myself to not be so reactive I wasn't going to post those messages but honestly I don't care I'm that numb anymore, you going to hurt me even further? Because I already think you've hurt me enough, you're just like your parents.

April 17, 2023