#The Undeserved and Unfinished

[ace-writer-lani]

Edit: lol I have decided to give the first sentence of each fic

-TCoS&D: "To put it lightly, Bianca was stressed."

-TLLoG: "Silently, Nico slipped into the office where he found Will hunched over...something."

-AA&A: "'He's watching again.'"

-TU&U: "'You're going to be late.'"

-AFR: "Jason thought he had died."

-L&L: "'Finished,' Will announced, barging into the room."

-LT: "The black-haired girl was starting to creep Clarisse out."

[sydneys-adamu]

okay but carmy and sydney’s conversation (or lack thereof) in apologies is just in direct opposition to their talk under the table and it’s,,, unbelievably delicious.

like optics wise the lighting, writing and direction are incredibly sterile and cold and silent (notice there’s absolutely no track playing behind them). carmy and syd are almost as far as they can get from each other while still having a conversation where as under the table they were as close as they could get without literally being on top of each other. and the difference is so distinct because it’s cold and disconnected but there’s one thing that connects these two scenes and actually holds the essence of who these two are to each other.

it’s the want. the want is still there.

you deserve my full focus. / I don’t want it to be so hard to keep up with me.

what if I just fuck up and fail? / I don’t think it’s my place to be [at ever]

I won’t let you. / it’s ever. you should come.

you’re not alone. / you should get some rest.

neither are you. / you good?

both times, no matter how close or far, the conversation can’t end with sydney feeling like a fuck up or undeserving despite the fact that carmen is unaware that is exactly how he’s making her feel not through his words but his actions.

it’s difficult, because he’s not trying to inflict this on her but he is and it’s making her spiral. sydney can’t find the words to bring it up so it’s left at “I’ve been wanting to talk about…” and “I wanna run something by you…” they’re frozen. and they’ve both been since friends and family.

but the thing is that being frozen doesn’t mean they don’t care about each other or that they want it to be this way it’s clear as day that they do not. they both hate the way things are and at this point carmy doesn’t see a reason he even deserves sydney’s concern. that’s why when she asks how he is he starts talking about a plate. a lifeless dish that carmy can’t seem to leave alone. even when syd tries to reach out to him he still wants it perfect for her so much that he’s pushed her out. just like he was during demo they’re all the same patterns.

one talk under a table was never gonna fix everything but it was a fundamental start. they have to keep growing from half truths and unfinished conversations even when they get uncomfortable. they have to work through the good and bad, the comfort of the bear not being open yet versus the reality of this life together they chose. the one they explicitly want together but don’t know how to handle yet.

it’s just a process that they’re handling like real people and it’s everything. literally everything to see them grow and see how painfully non-linear it is for them both. but all roads lead somewhere and both of theirs are heading straight toward each other until eventually they’re gonna fucking crash.

@ambeauty said this amazing thing about their inability to have a conversation above a table and it never left my head

[yuki2sksksk]

Just watched the first episode of KNY season 4 and I absolutely love the animation. The breathing style, the soundtracks and everything. It's only the first episode but it's very chaotic already 🤣

Giyushino rambling here, but I love the subtle signs of Shinobu's concern over Giyuu. You can see it in the way she asked him to explain himself on leaving the unfinished meeting, how she said something along the line of Giyuu keeps leaving things out of context. Unlike the others who seemed mildly annoyed and ticked off by his distant attitude, Shinobu just wants his explanation, for him to speak out and make efforts to not be misunderstood. Even after the meeting, she raised the question regarding Giyuu's participation in the training.

Giyuu keeps worrying her to no end. Sometimes with how they act towards each other, I wonder if Shinobu made it clear to Giyuu that she wanted him to make acquaintance with the other slayers and he was just like "no thank you" so that pissed her off and she made it her mission to annoy him " you have no friends lololol" just so he could get tired of her poking and heed her advice.

I think there's an understanding between Shinobu and Giyuu of their positions as Hashiras. Giyuu doesn't think he deserves it but he's not going to say it to Shinobu, who is physically the weakest and still managed to raise her rank. He might not get social cues much, but he thinks it would be an insult for the hardworking Insect Hashira if he steps down from his position just because he feels undeserved. And Shinobu, who's sharp and sometimes cares too much, probably picks up Giyuu's feelings over his position so maybe that's why she wants her to make friends with others just so he could make more connections and feel worthy of his spot.

Talking about Shinobu, I am betting that she gives Inosuke an earful of scolding after seeing the damage he did on the window.b

[ithseem]

Scars

Summary: Alan's been dealing with intrusive thoughts and is spiralling deep into self-loathing. Maybe you can help to ease that?

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Rating: teen and up

Content warnings: brief depictions of murder, blood, self-loathing, intrusive thoughts, low self esteem, depictions of physical and emotional scars, angst

crossposted to ao3

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan hadn't exactly been dealt the best hand in life. Growing up, he got into more than his share of scrapes, earning scars from some of them. He supposed this was to be expected, given his circumstances, so he never really paid them any mind. That is, until the night he committed the greatest atrocity—he had taken a life. With his bare hands, no less. Though he was unscathed, he could never see his scars in the same indifferent light again. Now all he could do was swallow his horror and disgust and carry on with his day. Sometimes literally, as bile would often threaten to climb up his throat.

Being the captain of Vagastrom did have some of its perks, though. None of his dorm mates really gave much thought to his scars. Although, some of them were fascinated by them, much to his dismay. Was this really all they saw? Just battle scars? Trophies of a life hard-lived? The thought churned his stomach, bile rising as he clenched his fists, the jagged lines on his knuckles mocking him. They didn’t understand—how could they? These weren’t badges of honor. They were brands, seared into his skin by the worst thing he’d ever done.

Part of him wanted them to at least see what it was like. To have their hands sullied by blood and dirt. To see the look of utter disbelief and betrayal upon their victim’s face. To have that feel as if that blood permanently caked onto their hands. To have those images burned into their retinas. But he still knew that no matter how much anger simmered inside him—at his dorm mates for their casual fascination or, more often, at himself—he couldn’t wish the same fate upon them. The thought of any of them committing an act as vile as murder made his chest tighten. He couldn’t bear the idea of them waking up to bloodied hands, unable to scrub the memory clean, condemned to carry the unbearable weight of their own guilt if they survived jail time. The scars might heal, but the rot inside never did. And the intrusive thoughts of wanting them to experience that just cemented that for him SO firmly. 

And then you came into the picture. Little did Alan expect that things would take a massive turn after meeting you. He would sometimes catch you watching him absently stare at his hands. At first you would look away, and quite frankly, he wished it would stay that way. You having that level of fear of him would make things a lot easier for him, but his own desire to have you around told him otherwise. Why did you have to get so comfortable around him? Why did he let himself get so… attached to you? And why do you look at his hands with concern? He’s the last person who needs, or rather, deserves any semblance of concern, let alone from you. Your neck is constantly on the line even without the curse, so why spend any thought on him?

“...Lan.”

“Alan?”

“Earth to Alan?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. That’s right… You were supposed to be reviewing documents with him. He looked at your pile of unfinished documents and noticed the difference between yours and his own. How long was he spacing out?

“Is... Is everything okay?” You asked. There you go again, showing him undeserved worry.

“Yeah…” he replied. “Just a little spaced out.”

You stared at him uncomprehendingly before ultimately deciding to take a small break. It’s not like staring at his hands while a stack of documents sat in front of him would accomplish anything, so he agreed. But what you said next really took him aback.

“Can I see your hands please?”

“Um… Okay?”

He held out his hands toward you, although not without hesitation. His fingers suddenly felt a lot heavier than normal. Immediately your fingers traced over the lines over his scars and his breath hitched. In any normal circumstance, he’d melt into your soft, warm hands without any hesitation. They were a balm to his larger, more calloused ones, but right now all he wanted to do was pull away from you. You were the last person who deserves to have their own hands sullied by his. As if the blood from his own hands would stain your own. Of course, this was cruel for him as well, since your kindness and gentle hands were a reminder of everything he craved. But he didn’t deserve this from you. And you didn’t deserve the sins seeping from his hands onto your own. As if your own curse wasn’t enough. Why do you have to dirty your own hands willingly? His thoughts drifted to the times he absent-mindedly patted your head, and he sensed the bile burning in his chest again.

You must have sensed Alan was starting to pull away, so you tighten your grip slightly.

“Please give me a moment,” you said, the lines of concern becoming more pronounced. Alan didn’t like where this was going. At least, that’s what he told himself.

You reached for a pen and started to scribble something on his hands where his scars were. “What are you doing?” he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly.

 He watched as the pen rather clumsily glided across his hands. But the strokes still had purpose behind them, and even he could tell that much. He was too entranced to say anything as he watched the small, intricate shapes materialize. You soon stopped once you covered all the scars you could see on his hands. His hands and his chest suddenly felt lighter, much to his own shock.

“Why did you do that…?” Alan muttered.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through exactly,” You replied. “But I can’t just sit idly by while you’re suffering!”

“You-”

“You may see yourself as a monster, but I know that’s not true.” It didn’t look like you were going to back down. He let you carry on knowing you had a lot more to say. A lot more lies. But he couldn’t help but feel comforted.

“Even if the rumours are true, that you killed someone, it’s clear that you regret doing it. So much so that it’s going to consume you. I don’t know the full backstory behind these scars, but I don’t want you to look at them with so much disgust.”

It looks like you were holding back tears at this point. But still you kept going.

“These are the same hands that saved me and Sho from Takeru. I like how they feel when you pat my head. They helped me to stay grounded while I was spiralling in my own thoughts. So please…”

The words seem to have gotten stuck in your throat. 

“You shouldn’t feel sad for me,” Alan finally said, unable to look you in the eye. “I don’t deserve it.”

But you were more stubborn than he expected. You shook your head, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over. “Don't say that,” you said. Your voice was trembling, but it was steady enough to carry the weight of your words. “You think you’re beyond saving, that you don’t deserve kindness, but that’s not your choice to make. You mean something to me, to Sho, to everyone who’s still here because of you.”

Alan’s throat tightened as he looked away, his jaw clenching. He wanted to argue, to throw your words back at you, but he couldn’t. The tears that welled in your eyes only seemed to fuel your resolve.

“Stop it,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “Stop making me out to be someone I’m not. I don’t want you to…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t want you to look at me like that. Like… Like I’m worth something.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand, tentative yet firm. ”But you are worth something. You just can’t see it right now. I know you’ve made mistakes—ones I can’t begin to imagine—but you’re still here, trying. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

He flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away this time. His heart ached, torn between the comfort of your words and the crushing weight of his guilt. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t need to know everything,” you replied, your hand wrapping gently around his own. “I just need to know who you are now. And right now, you’re someone who’s hurting, someone who’s trying to carry the weight of the world alone. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

For a moment, the room was silent. The warmth of your hand seeped into his, a reminder of something he thought he’d lost long ago. He hated himself for craving it, for letting your words sink in even just a little.

“I…” His voice faltered. He didn’t know what to say. Alan had heard of the phrase "kill them with kindness,' but right now he thinks you might quite literally do that to him.

“You’re not alone, Alan,” you said softly, your tears finally spilling over. “And no matter how much you push me away, I’m not going to leave you behind.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. Maybe he didn’t deserve this. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight it anymore. Right now he let himself succumb to the warmth of your embrace. That's all he needed at the moment.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Wow. That was a doozy to write. Hope you enjoyed

Also edited to make the story tighter

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

arcane s2 - review

okay so now that i have given my two cents on caitvi and i've had enough time to digest s2 of arcane, what do i think about the rest of it?

overall, i have mixed feelings about it. i didn't hate it but i feel like a lot of the themes and ideas were poorly executed, especially compared to s1.

(huge spoilers to arcane below!)

but let me start with the positives:

the animation OBVIOUSLY. huge props to the animators, s1 was already phenomenonal and s2 lived up to the hype, animation-wise. the fight scenes especially were just *mwah* chef's kiss.

the character designs were great. caitlyn looks a lot prettier with the middle parting. vi's emo phase is really hot. jinx's designs in the alternate universe and the finale were iconic. jayce's beard and disheveled look was just chef's kiss. jesus viktor was hot as fuck.

the voice actors did an amazing job obviously, and i didn't expect anything less from them.

jayce's and viktor's relationship was so good despite not having all that much screentime when you think about it. they interact in the beginning when viktor wakes up from his hex-coma and then reunite and fight and make up in the final few episodes. but because of their relationship that was built up in the first season, it all worked out smoothly and made for a very natural progression in their relationship.

jinx's redemption was pretty good. not the BEST but it was carried out well enough, especially in just 9 episodes. i didn't feel like it was rushed or undeserved. her sacrifice in the end was heartbreaking but it felt natural and not shoehorned in for some added angst.

and now for the negatives:

1. the pacing was really bad, in my opinion. they had only 9 episodes but they stuffed in so many subplots into this season that it felt overwhelming.

maybe i'm just stupid but i couldn't keep up with half of the stuff that was going on and some parts of the finale didn't make a whole lot of sense to me.

like the whole storyline with mel and ambessa and the black rose was a blur to me. i honestly don't know what happened in the end after ambessa dies.

the whole deal with singed and vander and whatnot was also really murky. like i get the overall premise but it was really hard for me to grasp every single detail.

maybe this is just a me problem and i'm too dumb to follow more than two storylines at the same time. but s1 already had a lot going on and it was still a tad bit easier to follow.

s2 was just crammed with a whole bunch of different characters pursuing different goals and facing different obstacles, 9 episodes weren't enough to give all of it a satisfying conclusion. and as a result, some of the arcs felt rushed and unfinished.

like what happened to the whole found family thing with sevika, jinx and isha? they were beginning to get closer and form a good relationship but then suddenly, sevika is pushed out of the image and we never see how she reacts to jinx and isha's death.

2. while i don't think that caitvi is abusive, i still don't think the ship was great. it was just super rushed and there is a grain of truth to what caitvi antis are saying.

like yeah, caitlyn being an enforcer and seeing nothing wrong with it was.. questionable. wasn't the whole point of s1 that enforcers were ruining the lives of the people in zaun? wasn't police brutality and classism the main theme of this series? how come vi's parents were killed by enforcers and she was unfairly imprisoned for years by enforcers, but somehow she ends up dating an enforcer?

before s2 came out, i expected caitlyn to give up her job after realizing how corrupt it was. i thought that would be the natural progression of her arc, especially since she's seen how much the people of the undercity has suffered at the hands of enforcers. but nope, she keeps her job and it's never addressed in the end.

i don't think that caitlyn hitting vi once out of frustration and once out of necessity makes her a domestic abuser. but i do think it's kind of icky for vi to end up in a relationship with an enforcer, and for the show to frame it in a semi-positive manner. it's not entirely romanticized but the problems with it aren't really addressed either.

3. i feel like the themes of classism wasn't as well addressed in this season as it was in the first one. the first season had a strong message and it stuck to it. the second season was all over the place and then suddenly, there's viktor and the whole glorious evolution or whatever, and the conflict between piltover and zaun is pushed aside.

i like that sevika becomes part of the council in the end but is she the only one representing the undercity? is one person enough to speak for all these people in zaun? at least it's true to real life, i guess.

overall, i felt like the message was a lot more murky in this season. this ties to my first complaint because while s1 had a lot of storylines too, they followed a common theme. war, classism, and how privilege and the lack thereof affects people. s2's storylines are just all over the place and none of them seem to follow a theme. at least some of them could have been discarded.

4. i briefly mentioned this before but the fact that jinx stops experiencing her hallucinations never made sense to me. especially after she accidentally killed silco, shouldn't they get worse? it is implied that she has schizophrenia and c-ptsd so i really don't understand how silco's death suddenly got rid of most of her symptoms.

she still sees and hears the hallucinations from time to time and her mental state is definitely far from stable, but it was still such a huge jump from her psychotic breakdown in the s1 finale.

so yeah, these are my thoughts about arcane s2. there were more pros than cons but the cons still outweigh the pros, simply because of how much impact they had on the plot.

i'm generally not one to demand more seasons or episodes out of a series where the writers have already told the story they wanted to tell, but arcane s2 was so rushed and so filled to the brim with different characters and storylines, i couldn't help but feel like it would have benefited from having more episodes to play everything out more slowly.

i still liked this series a lot and i enjoyed watching it, but i'm not blind to its flaws and i try not to be biased.

[peepergirll]

FIRST TWO DRAWINGS FOR DANNYS BIRTHDAY !! Might post evrn morr art later I am not sane anyways take these for now (explaination/Danny yap for the 2nd one under the cut cuz I feel the need to explain myself for making sad art on his birthday)

Okay so short explaination for the 2nd/unfinished looking one (I lowkey hate it but I am posting it anyways cuz it took me an ungodly amount of time....): Basically I feel like Danny might hate his birthdays, because he thinks its the day that he ruined his mothers life, by literally just being born the way he was. He knows that if it wasn't for him, she would have been alive and happy, so he can't really see his birthday as a happy day/something that should be celebrated. Therefore he feels undeserving of a party and such, and thinks people shouldnt go out of their way to bake him a cake/buy him gifts and stuff, since all he can really feel is an insane amount of guilt for literally just having been born if that makes any sense at all. Okay yeah sooo thats why I drew that and if you actually read this then uhh thanks ur very cool frfr!!

[seivsite]

SWEET NOTHINGS.

includes: itoshi sae x fem!reader. hurt/comfort ( it’s mostly the latter ), established relationship, he calls you spanish petnames, lowkey self indulgent — wc: 620

It was 3:56 am, and she had lost track of how long (Name) had been sitting on the couch, eagerly awaiting Sae’s return. Earlier, she had attempted to find solace in sleep, but restlessness took hold, leaving her uncomfortable and yearning for Sae’s tender embrace. She’s acutely aware of her obligation to be in bed, particularly with morning classes awaiting her on the horizon. Yet, an unexplained surge of melancholy envelops her, its origin a mystery dancing in the shadows of her consciousness. Unaware of the silent tears that have slipped from her eyes, she remains lost in the depths of her emotions, unable to decipher their cryptic whispers.

The bedroom doors swung open, unveiling the figure of Sae. Snapping out of her trance, her gaze locked onto Sae, her eyes shimmering with tears. Sae instinctively closed the distance between them, his thumb tenderly wiping away the cascading tears. Kneeling down, he sought to truly see her face and softly inquired, “What’s troubling you, mi amor?”

She averted her gaze from his eyes filled with concern, and Sae, recognizing her need for solace, gently enveloped her in his embrace. Guiding her head towards the shelter of his chest, he tenderly wove his fingers through her hair, seeking to offer solace and comfort, silently whispering reassurance with each gentle stroke.

Mumbled apologies escaped her lips as she nestled her head upon his shoulder. Sae tilted his head in perplexity, his voice gentle as he inquired, “For what?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she continued, “I don’t understand why you’re with me. What makes me special? I feel undeserving of your love and presence—”

Without hesitation, Sae silenced her worries with a tender kiss, unwilling to entertain her self-deprecating thoughts. For in his eyes, she was a radiant, captivating presence, the embodiment of love and beauty that surpassed all measure.

As their lips separated, Sae delicately pressed his forehead against hers, their closeness becoming a profound expression of his unwavering devotion and genuine care.

“Do not let those words escape your lips,” Sae implored, his voice a gentle caress. “In my life, you are the very essence of perfection, the embodiment of all that is extraordinary. My love for you knows no bounds, and it shatters my heart to witness you question your worth. Please, trust in the love I hold for you.”

Tears continued to flow down (Name)’s face, not borne of sadness, but instead fueled by overwhelming happiness and gratitude. Sae tenderly cradled her in his arms, pressing gentle kisses upon her forehead, whispering sweet nothings. With each passing moment, her sobs began to subside, finding solace in his comforting presence.

Sae suggested they freshen up, leading (Name) to the bathroom. While he took a swift shower, (Name) tended to her tear-stained face, indulging in a long overdue skincare routine alongside him. Giggles escaped her lips as Sae’s serum threatened to spill onto the counter, a lighthearted moment amid their shared intimacy.

By the time they were done, the first rays of the rising sun painted the sky in a soft palette of colours, heralding the dawning of a new day. (Name) had made the decision to call in sick, and Sae, sensing her weariness, insisted that she take much-needed rest by his side. They found their way to the comfort of the bed, where Sae enveloped her in a tender embrace.

“Sleep well, mi sol,” he whispered, planting a gentle kiss upon her lips.

She responded with a contented hum, the weariness from her earlier emotional release finally catching up with her. Drifting into the realm of dreams, she found solace and tranquillity in the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, surrendering herself to a peaceful slumber.

NOTES. i forgot i had this in my drafts unfinished, so, here’s the finished piece! mi amor means my love, mi sol means my sun. i think sae calling his s/o his sun while he’s like the moon ykyk its kinda cute to me i rly like the idea heheehhe

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim @rintosei @m8bius

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[craziestfangirl98]

That was an amazing amazing finale. I was soooo worried that we would loose out on some key points. But it stuck the landing brilliantly. I have zero complaints.

The moment Dohoi went to see HyeonHo about the case, I knew that HyeonHo would not take the route and I think that was the moment of healing for him. For so long he has been seeing himself as a failure. He is stuck at the moment where he saw himself in the mirror holding a knife to his father. He is stuck at the moment he called the police earlier and it went the wrong way and hurt the only person who has cared for him, something he still feels guilt over. He is stuck at the moment where he decided that although he hasn't actually gotten into Hanseol Uni, he is going to let people believe that because he loves the reverence people have over that. They have been haunting him for so long. And will probably continue to do so. So the moment he chooses to call the police when he sees Gwangmo at the school being hurt is a break through moment for him. It has me sobbing like a baby.

I love the way the tutoring centre all came together because they realise that as much as he did falsify his credentials he still helped the kids improve.

I love that Juyeong gets to be a little more vocal, honest. Seeing Dohoi be able to live life honestly makes it easier to stop walking on eggshells for him because it's such a stepping point.

I loved that we got to finally also give HyeonHo some relief. There has always been this anxiety about what he means in Dohoi's life, so seeing him and Dohoi saying that he was his friend must mean so much to him and means so much more to me. It doesn't feel empty or undeserved or unfinished. It has a completion to all the angst of not just the past 10 years but more.

On a side note: it feels so powerful to think that one instance, had such a significant impact on adding to the guilt of all three of them because they only knew their own side of the stories. At the same time the one person who probably should feel guilty couldn't give a damn.

The moments of pure domesticity, them going back to the village and reckoning with the moments in the past. Juyeong absolutely refusing to accept any kind of a separation. Everything was put there to bring everything together, help us see just why they work well together. Till last week we were all at various levels of worried about them not being able to end the series together because I personally didn't fully get what would rectify the mistakes and hurt they've caused each other and themselves and these moments gives us a breathe of relief because it's no longer suffocating and suppressing but rather let's them breathe. I love it.

The fact that Juyeong gets to keep Taekwondo for himself still is so important to me because I was constantly thinking since I started, how they are gonna 'fix' the curse and just by letting it be what it is supposed to he they have healed so much.

Also! Loooooove Juyeong's colleagues spilling his sob story. We stan!

I ESPECIALLY LOVED the conversation about going back to uni, Dohoi being sooooo exhausted with Juyeong's bathroom habits and the final scene with Dohoi seeing Juyeong's search history.

Juyeong's search history reminded me of Jiang Tian's 'moments' in The On1y One and again absolutely wrecked me.

All in all, it was fantastic and I am going to keep coming back to this so so much.

[sanyastraightfrombrain]

Honestly I like Hazbin much more than helluva but you can see how they are running out of time they're given

The pacing is a mess and most emotional beats feel undeserved. (Esp Angel's growth. We had only 1 episode focused on him and it wasn't him "redeeming" himself - it was just showing his situation (+ a bit of Huskerdust bonding) I don't think this is entirely writers' fault - Hazbin has a big story to tell and not enough time to do so because if your show isn't a hit from a get go - bye bye.

Scott Pilgrim's recent anime is an example - they were unsure that they'll get another season so they ended up making a season long story because otherwise they would be left with unfinished project

Now I know that Hazbin was already renewed for a second season even before premiere but we don't know when the writer team got the news

Still, the pacing should be criticized because the writing could be much better if writers kept in mind their limited time to tell the story.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @prince-buck-diaz @jesuisici33 @spotsandsocks @rewritetheending @wikiangela @hippolotamus @panbuckley @devirnis @roy-kents

Thank you my beloveds! 💖

I swear I am so close to finishing first son au, I can practically taste it, but I am admittedly breaking my heart a little on the journey, so uh, have this

Buck leaves Chimney in the living room, turning on his heel and walking towards the bathroom.

Silent. Careful. A roaming ghost only there because of unfinished business.

Everything around him goes fuzzy, or maybe it’s him that is blurring, his edges no longer defined or corporeal, stretched too thin by his devastation, now just a tormented thing that isn’t whole because his real body is still in the waiting room at MedStar Georgetown University Hospital, caught in limbo, reaching for the heaven of Eddie’s embrace as he’s dragged down by the hell-crafted impossibility of living without him.

No amount of repeating Bobby’s words, Eddie is stable. He made it through surgery. They think he’s gonna pull through, does anything to reassure him.

Buck blinks and he’s in the shower.

Water slides down his body, a wet, sluggish crawl that adapts to the shape of him, its touch not as smooth or as clinging as Eddie’s. It drags away oil and dirt and blood, cleansing his body, but Buck doesn’t feel clean, not in the way he does when Eddie smiles at him or laughs at something he said or showers his son with praise and affection.

The water is tinted red.

Paler than what spilled across cobblestone.

Thinner than what sank into Buck’s skin.

Heavy droplets pound against his face, the spray relentless as it tries to wash away a stain that is stuck in Buck like gnarled roots of a gigantic tree, immovable and eternal.

The world turns to static.

Droplets of crimson heat splattering across his face and neck. Smearing. Caressing. Falling. Metallic. Thick. Holy life stricken, sent to another. An aberration of communion. Communion he took unwilling and undeserving, damning his soul for all eternity.

Everything shimmers back into focus. Warm water and pale grey tile.

Buck watches the clear water possessed with pink strains move down his body and splash down against the tile, rushing towards the drain, swirling, twirling, dancing before it disappears.

Reality wobbles again, what is real and in front of him twisting until it resembles choppy, blaring images that are forever imprinted on his eyelids.

Stickiness of stolen life pooling on skin and fabric. Red so dark it’s black seeping into cracks between the cobblestones. Life leaking out and reaching for Buck. Hurtling towards him even as it fades away. Helpless and frozen, standing still, already wishing he could drain his own heart dry of blood so that red life would stream in Eddie’s veins once again, just like the poet Keats said.

No pressure tagging: @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @oliverstaark @jamietarts @paranoidbean @anxieteandbiscuits @the-likesofus @911onabc @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley @transbuck @cowboy-buddie @honestlydarkprincess @heartbeatdiaz @rogerzsteven @buddierights @monsterrae1 @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @folk-fae @fleurdebeton @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @housewifebuck and anyone else who wants to share!

[ace-writer-lani]

Holy shit I just thought of the most angsty plot point for one of my wips.

...sorry Will Solace.

[2x4swrites]

an unfinished Aragorn/Boromir fic. muse fizzled out and I have other writing projects to worry about, but I’m happy enough with it that I’ll post it as-is.

light D/s + rope bondage, Aragorn taking care of Boromir

It is not the first time they have found themselves in this situation.

The first time had been a welcome surprise; Aragorn experimentally pushed boundaries and was delighted when Boromir met him, albeit with some defiance. These moments began as a temporary balm for frayed nerves and dark thoughts, grounding Boromir in the moment as Aragorn play-acted King.

Aragorn had worried, but in the end it was enough. Boromir frightened Frodo, but did not harm him.

He was injured, but he survived.

Aragorn knew he wasn’t ready to hear such things at the time, but he was proud of Boromir.

Legolas and Gimli went ahead to pursue Merry and Pippin; Aragorn remained with Boromir, moving slowly but steadily after them. Aragorn will sing his thanks eternally that Boromir did not worsen his injuries as they travelled.

In the end, Frodo triumphed, and now they were here.

In Minas Tirith, in the king’s chambers. Aragorn prepares everything carefully. He builds a fire, humming to himself as the room warms. He positions his chair before the fireplace, then neatly folds a blanket and places it beside the chair. It is as he finishes changing from his royal garb into a more simple tunic and soft velvet gilet that the door bursts open. Aragorn huffs out a soft laugh; he can hear Boromir’s rancor fade as soon as he takes in the scene before him, muttered curses dying on his steward’s lips.

Aragorn turns, smiling gently and extending a hand towards Boromir. “It has been some time and you are overburdened, uiveleth.”

“…Aye.” Boromir takes Aragorn’s hand, a shiver running through him.

“Will you ready yourself for me?”

“I will.” Boromir nods. Aragorn lifts his hand, pressing a kiss to Boromir’s knuckles before moving to lock the door to his chambers. They have few hard rules for times such as these, and Boromir’s own preparations will dictate the tone. He is unsurprised to find Boromir has left his trousers on; his steward often feels pleasure is a reward he is undeserving of.

Boromir kneels on the prepared blanket, cushioned against the hard floor. Aragorn takes a moment to study him, drinking in the half-bare form of his lover and most trusted aide as he considers what Boromir most needs. He is struck with love for this jewel of a man, testing the waters by lightly cupping Boromir’s cheek. Boromir sags into the gentle touch and Aragorn’s course is decided.

He steps away only long enough to grab a length of elven rope, kneeling before Boromir to work. Deft fingers begin to build a harness— raph cirion, starting with two loops about the wrists before drawing the arms against the chest and wrapping around the torso. Aragorn is well familiar with the harness, the sensation not unlike a tight hug. By the time he’s finished, Boromir’s eyes have closed, expression utterly unguarded.

Aragorn presses a gentle kiss to Boromir’s brow before he stands, sitting down in the chair beside his steward and gently guiding Boromir’s cheek to rest against his leg. Boromir exhales, nuzzling against Aragorn’s knee as his king begins to card his fingers through Boromir’s hair. With his free hand, Aragorn lifts the book he’d left resting on the arm of the wooden chair and begins to read.

Of course, he doesn’t expect to get particularly far in his book. He gently scratches the base of Boromir’s skull, watching with a slight smile as Boromir melts into the steady touch. It gladdens him, that he’s able to offer Boromir such respite.

“You have done so well for me.” Aragorn praises, smile widening as Boromir lets out a pleased hum. It had taken much work before Boromir would readily accept such praise from his king. “I raw ‘lórin nín. How lucky I am to have you by my side.”

“…Yours.” Boromir’s voice is a low rumble; the pad of Aragorn’s thumb affectionately strokes the base of Boromir’s jaw.

“Aye, mine. I’d like you closer, I think.” Aragorn says with a hum. He stills Boromir’s restless shifting with a light tug of his hair, a gentle correction. “I will take care of you tonight, gûr nín.”

There is a subtle clench of Boromir’s jaw, but it eases the moment his king’s fingers brush over the curve of his cheekbone. It still was not easy for Boromir to accept his king’s care, though he had become less stubborn over time. Aragorn does not mind overmuch; Boromir’s stubbornness was part of the reason he’d fallen for the man.

He sets his book aside and rises, holding Boromir’s elbow and helping him to his feet. Boromir sways slightly, unsteady, as Aragorn moves the blanket in front of his chair. Once he sits back down, Boromir sinks to his knees between Aragorn’s legs and immediately presses his cheek to Aragorn’s inner thigh with a blissful sigh. Eyes closed, he does not see Aragorn’s grin, but he can hear it in his king’s voice.

“Much better, now I can see your beautiful face.”

Boromir snorts, cracking an eye open to fix Aragorn with a disbelieving look as long fingers resume smoothing through his hair. Aragorn affectionately brushes his foot against Boromir’s calf as he smiles. The adoration in his eyes leaves Boromir warm, flushed down to his chest as he noses against Aragorn’s thigh. He’d never been able to stand that look for long, brilliant as the sun and all for him.

“You are lovely. Eventually you’ll believe me when I tell you.” Aragorn chuckles, cupping Boromir’s cheek for a moment. “Mîr gelair en edain. I vîr nín, uiveleth. Ci dhail athan ilegol.” [Shining jewel of men. My jewel, eternal-love. You are more lovely than all else.]

“Yours.” Boromir repeats, half-kissing the cloth of Aragorn’s trousers. Aragorn tucks a lock of his hair back, tracing the shell of Boromir’s ear.

“Forever and always.” Aragorn nods, voice soft and full of love. Such adoration, such grace, pouring forth from Aragorn’s heart— and for him. When he is aware of himself, Boromir oft wonders how he could possibly deserve it; as he is now, he can do little but bask in it, his king’s adoration gentling his restless mind. Aragorn knew from the first, he lives to serve. Boromir had never expected to be served in turn, always assuming he was destined to a life beyond himself, his own pleasure an afterthought.

His very being, an afterthought. Body, mind, and soul to be given in service of something greater.

Aragorn was a caring lord, however, and could read Boromir like an open book. At times, it was still uncanny. Boromir can only feel gratitude for it, now, as Aragorn bends forward and draws him up to capture his lips in a kiss.

Lips trail from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his throat— Aragorn nips at his collarbone before sinking his teeth into the flesh of Boromir’s broad shoulder. Boromir could not stop the moan that escapes him if he tried, a shiver coursing through him as Aragorn lays his claim. Another bite follows and Boromir gasps, body going lax.

“Perhaps this will help remind you exactly how important you are to me. You are indispensable, my steward. You need not work yourself to the bone.” Aragorn’s fingers trace the pale skin between the ropes crossing his back and Boromir trembles.

“…My king.” Boromir starts, in that low tone that tells Aragorn he is struggling not to argue. Aragorn smiles softly, drawing Boromir fully into his lap, his arms wrapped snugly around his bound steward to support him. He nuzzles his cheek against Boromir’s, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Would you prefer I punish you for your stubbornness?”

Boromir lets out a soft, pleased hum at the scratch of Aragorn’s beard. He doesn’t reply; Aragorn laces his fingers through Boromir’s hair and tugs his head back, kissing the delicate stretch of his throat.

“Boromir.” he warns, “I will not punish you undeservedly.”

“Strider…” Boromir bares his teeth in a sneer, aiming to push buttons.

“Hush.” Aragorn releases his grip on Boromir’s hair, soothingly carding through the hair at the nape of Boromir’s neck, scratching gently. “I suspect my kindness is punishment enough.”

Boromir whines, and Aragorn knows he is right. Some small yet vocal part of Boromir’s mind still insists that Aragorn is degrading himself. That he is not worthy enough to be loved by the king. He hefts Boromir up with a grunt, carrying him the few short steps to their bed before laying him down. He watches as Boromir stretches out his legs with an instinctive hum. Boromir is truly captivating, the fine ropes binding his arms to his chest serving to highlight the fluid shift of his muscles. After a silent moment, Aragorn slides a hand over Boromir’s clothed thigh, squeezing.

“I will not punish you undeservedly, simply because you think you will dirty me.” Aragorn catches the lace on Boromir’s trousers with his teeth, tugging them open. Boromir whines beneath him, squirming slightly. “That is the truth of it, isn’t it? Some part of you is still convinced you are not worthy.”

He gently pushes off Boromir’s trousers, pressing a kiss to his stomach just beside the pretty curve of Boromir’s half-hard cock. “I will not touch you here unless you ask me to. Understand?”

Boromir nods, panting softly through his nose. He watches as Aragorn moves to retrieve more of the silken elvish rope; with deft fingers, Aragorn begins to bind Boromir’s calf to his thigh. Another favorite tie, loeth e-deleg; the carefully-wound rope frames Boromir’s legs beautifully. Aragorn’s hands stroke pale skin as he carefully checks his knots and adjusts the tension. Boromir shudders, exhaling through his nose as he slowly goes lax. Aragorn can’t help but smirk, pressing a kiss to Boromir’s knee— it amazes him sometimes, just how much tension Boromir could carry, how easily he wound himself up.

Once both legs are bound, Boromir’s breathing has slowed and his cock grown fully erect, curved beautifully and resting against his belly. Much as he longs to, Aragorn does not touch. He stands where Boromir can see him, undressing and laying his clothes neatly aside.

“Beautiful…” Boromir breathes, once Aragorn stands bare before him, squirming slightly against the ropes restraining him. Aragorn flashes him a warm smile, ducking his head

“You flatter me, uiveleth. You are the most gorgeous of all to my eyes.” he says, joining Boromir on the bed. Bound as he is, Boromir can do little but comply with Aragorn’s maneuvering. He draws his steward close, until they are skin to skin, Boromir straddling Aragorn’s thigh, his cheek on Aragorn’s shoulder.

Aragorn’s fingers trace the gaps between the ropes, brushing teasingly over pale skin. “I will only touch you if you ask. You may rut against me to find your pleasure, if you are too stubborn to use your words. Either way, you must dirty me— I welcome it.”

Boromir sets his jaw, stubborn, nose buried against Aragorn’s throat. Aragorn chuckles, pressing a kiss to soft, blond hair.

“…Even if you are correct in your assumption that I am degrading myself, is it so implausible that I would choose to do so? Can you truly see no world where I would willingly bring myself to your level, simply to love you? Do you know what you do to me?” deft fingers tease the cleft of Boromir’s ass and Boromir instinctively presses into the touch, cock dragging against Aragorn’s hip. He lets out a shuddering breath, staying stubbornly silent.

—

Loeth e-deleg (spiral of the leg)

Raph cirion (fisherman’s harness)

[piecesofmoon]

To the year that is passing by in the blink of an eye, an early goodbye.

December 1st, unreal as such. A fever dream playing all the moments like flashback - the last seven seconds before death. The first of the last, forcing my way to an unrehearsed beginning, past the discomfort of comforting void.

Unfulfilled dreams, unfinished conversations, unwanted pain, unexpected laughter, undeserved love, unfathomable ties; I carry it along the first of the last.

The last month, the last chance to look back, the last hope to forget and forgive, the last attempt to sew together torn bonds or leave them behind.

The last expression of love and hatred, the last laughters and cries, truths and lies of this year.

A truth - I despised this year. A lie- I despised this year.

December 1st, unreal as such. I grew up a little too fast, this year was mean. I loved a little too much, an unreal year you have been.

~piecesofmoom

[lususnatura]

"Why stay in Gotham?"

throughout his life, blamore found that he'd made a surprising discovery that sometimes, the most difficult questions were the ones thought to be simple; ones like 'what do you believe in?' and 'do you like who you are?' but blamore couldn't remember a single time where a question had been posed to it about why it had stayed here all this time, when it could've easily gone back to france, or literally anywhere else. he supposed this was probably because no one ever really cared enough to ask — or, because when someone actually tried to wrestle something genuine out of it regarding what it referred to as its past life, blamore had this nasty habit of lashing out at them.

the good moments of it were hard to remember after all; mere flashes compared to all of the bad times, which were like an ever-present smog in blamore's mind. it was a mistake to open up to harley about how all of his remaining family members were likely still in annecy and so it was alone here. but at the same time, blamore almost felt kind of grateful that she asked it this question. it completely stopped in its tracks when those words escaped the other's mouth; the sound of rain beating down on the umbrella blamore carried, as well as a sharp inhale, being the only thing to fill the silence between them for a few moments.

he was still here because he wanted everyone here to suffer like how he suffered. day after day, and night after night, the creature had tried its best to do what its father would've wanted it to do after all: to 'help people because they can always be better.' but after a long line of both perceived and real betrayals by people, blamore had cast out that very same ideology, as all it had caused it was pain. if only sacha (his father) hadn't believed in these undeserving people so much... he'd still be alive, he thought. blamore turned on its heel then to face harley as it pursed its lips. with its eyes focused on the ground and blinking rapidly, it then spoke up, ❝ why does anyone stay here? just because i told you i have family in france, harley, doesn't mean that they would welcome me back into their lives with open arms. ❞

blamore's red-rimmed eyes darted up to meet harley's then. due to stress, it's grip on the umbrella it held tightened slightly, ❝ so i guess it's just a matter of me not having anywhere else to stay. and i've got unfinished business here, because i did not become like this on my own. ❞

[helenofblackthorns]

the fact I've seen a couple people say the reason for the lack of mourning for Kit in ChoT was because cc "didn't want to write sad scenes"... if she didn't want to write sad scenes she shouldn't have killed off a main character????? like why kill off someone and then not follow through with some sort of narrative weight (which is probably going to be sad. because someone died.)

like writing 101 is to not kill off characters unless it serves some sort of purpose, whether plot wise or character wise. even if that purpose is to show how dangerous the situation is for everyone else. but for that to be effective it can't just... exist in a vacuum. there should be notable changes in other characters behaviour bc of the loss, or how the plot unfolds afterwards. death is kinda a big deal & the writing should reflect that! there should be a gaping hole in the group you can feel, a definitive change story that wouldn't exist if the death hadn't happened, especially for a main character.

and the way Kit's death is written... doesn't reflect any of this. like he hadn't died the book would have ended exactly the same. and honestly the whole thing is kinda a slap in the face for readers just because we have read three books with Kit & fallen in love with him as a character. we deserve mourn him! we deserve to have moment where we get to cry alongside the characters for more than a couple sentences! and the fact we don't makes the whole thing feel unfinished & that the ending is undeserved. like for me at least, reading the epilogue was a "that's it?" moment, it all felt too good to be true (and a bit fan-servicey). like I was just expecting this moment that never came & it left me feel unbalanced. at the very least someone could have spared an "ave atque vale" like come on now.

[brasideios]

I really should stop paying attention to the AI stuff but this is seriously getting to me; so much so that I’m considering quitting writing altogether.

I’ve been digging into my thoughts about this lately and I wanted to break it down a little here; to explain to myself, as well as you poor souls who engage with my bullshit, why I think AI fundamentally sucks and why I’m struggling to find a way to share my work anymore.

It begins with the fact that I strongly dislike the entire concept of traditional publishing.

In a nutshell, publishing houses get to decide what you, the consumer, will read, always based on what will be popular and make them the most money. They have the power to decide what you can’t read, what you shouldn’t read.

How many excellent stories have never been published because they weren’t riding the zeitgeist?

Millions. Millions.

And let’s not get into the ridiculously low percentage of income an author makes from a book published by a traditional publisher. Holy shit, it’s appalling.

Even as an indie author I earn about 32c for every $12USD sale of an ebook at best, and it is much, much worse through a publishing house.

Anyway. I digress.

In my opinion, all stories have a place, a meaning for the people who are listening for them, which is why finding the fanfiction world was so amazing to me.

Every voice here has an equal chance of being heard, and equally, we all have a chance to find the story we’ve been looking for. No one can stop you from publishing whatever it is you feel compelled to say. Whatever it is that drives and moves you.

It was honestly a relief to find stories without perfect prose and grammar getting the love they rightly deserve. Stories with silly or fun premises, LGBTQ+ people taking centre stage or - *insert thing that the publishing world would never publish here* - because it makes people ‘happy’ (whatever emotional form that takes) - both to write and to read.

But that well is poisoned by the people cashing in on that work via AI scraping, making unknowing slaves of creative people - pouring their love and time into a piece of writing only to have it stolen.

And in their own way, people using AI to make stories are just as bad. They too want to take advantage of the labour of others to get some buzz of dopamine from kudos/likes or whatever, which is completely unearned and undeserved.

I’m just going to mention here, while I’m on the subject - if you’re one of those wretches feeding other people’s unfinished fics to the AI to get an ending - I hate you so much there aren’t words. You are actually the worst. I hope none of my followers would do this - but if you do, check yourself.

Moving on…

The thing is, I just can’t understand how writers especially (and not just fic writers) can’t see that AI rips out the heart of storytelling.

Writing as a process is entirely personal; it comes from inside the self. At least in my experience, the process is more important than the end result. The discovery and exploration of themes and emotions entirely your own is only to be found in the process; it can’t be replicated by a computer spitting out strings of words others wrote.

It just can’t.

And I’m just going to say this now - if you, as a writer, don’t think this is important at all - if you don’t think that coming up with ideas and developing them yourself is literally what writing is - then I honestly don’t know what you’re doing, but it isn’t writing.

Anyway (again).

Where in all of this is there a place for a writer who doesn’t want their stories to be grist for the mill, to be regurgitated in some altered, souless form and sold off as if it was someone else’s?

Who’s sick to death of putting money in some other son of a bitches pocket, while they do the work out of love and passion?

I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.

As it stands, we are powerless to stop any of this unless we simply stop writing, or sharing that writing. That’s a miserable acknowledgment to have to make for someone who quite literally just wants to write and share those stories with others without them being stolen.

It shouldn’t be a lot to ask.