#and maybe this will inspire a better artist or writer to do something with it

[ariavar]

Alternate universe Dune where Paul Atreides is born female but since the Bene Gesserit can't have nice things, their designated Virgin Mary still ends up declaring herself the false messiah/emperor, starts the jihad, and gets the most toxic yuri story ever with Chani.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[theonottsbxtch]

FREE NOW | OP81

an: coming in to drop in my usual dose of pain! sorry guys! also i know london doesn't snow much i live there okay - for fictional purposes it snows like canada okay

wc: 4.6k

She had always imagined London as a city brimming with stories—something in the fog, in the way strangers passed each other without a glance, as though every life was a thread winding off into its own tangled skein. But sitting at the tiny table in the corner of a café just off Piccadilly, all she felt was an ache of silence. It settled into her bones, heavy and dull, refusing to leave as she stared down at the empty page of her notebook.

It wasn’t just that she was struggling to write; she’d had writer’s block before, countless times. This felt different, like an emptiness she couldn’t quite explain, as if she were looking for something and wasn’t sure she’d ever find it.

Outside, holiday lights twinkled from shop windows, the buzz of Christmas infecting the streets with a forced cheer that only made her feel more isolated. Her family, well… they hadn’t protested when she’d told them she’d be spending Christmas alone this year, though her mother’s voice had held a thin strain of relief, the same quiet resignation that crept into their few conversations. This was better, she told herself. No pretence of trying to belong.

A little bell jingled as the café door opened, sending a swirl of cold air and a few snowflakes across the room. She lifted her gaze, feeling the dullness lift, just slightly, as she watched the strangers filter in and take their places—shaking off scarves, brushing snow from their shoulders. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, exactly. A spark of inspiration, maybe. The start of a story that she could somehow pull from thin air.

Then she noticed him. He had slipped into the seat next to hers, a coffee between his hands as he stared out the window with an intense, almost brooding focus. She studied him, wondering if he was waiting for someone. The sharp angles of his profile, the tension in his shoulders, the way he held his coffee like it was anchoring him to something unseen. There was something almost familiar about it, that quiet ache that seemed to ripple off him.

She barely realised she’d spoken aloud until she heard her own voice break the silence between them.

“You do that too?”

He turned, startled, his gaze flickering to hers with a hint of surprise. “Do what?”

“People watch,” she said, feeling a faint, unexpected smile tug at her lips.

His face softened, just a little, and for a moment, she thought he might smile too. “I guess I do.”

The silence between them held, soft but charged, like the last still moment before a storm. She was suddenly aware of the faint smell of coffee in the air, of the warmth of the café and the cold press of London just outside. She couldn’t quite look away.

For the next week, they fell into a rhythm neither of them acknowledged aloud. Each morning, she would arrive at the café, order her coffee, and take her usual seat by the window. And almost without fail, he would appear shortly after, his movements precise and unhurried, as if the same quiet pull guided him there.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. London was vast, but habits could form anywhere, and the café had a kind of intimacy that made it easy to return to. But after the third day, she began to wonder.

They didn’t speak, not really. Sometimes, their eyes would meet briefly, a flicker of recognition that neither of them followed up on. She tried not to think too much about him, but he was impossible to ignore, sitting so near, his focus as sharp as it was restless. He scribbled occasionally in a leather notebook, his jaw tight, his gaze flicking to the window as if seeking answers he wasn’t finding.

She imagined he was an artist, or maybe a journalist. Someone chasing a story just as elusive as her own. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

It was on the eighth day that he finally broke the silence.

“You’ve been stuck all week, haven’t you?”

She looked up, startled, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the café. He was watching her now, his gaze steady and warm but laced with something sharper—curiosity, perhaps.

“I—what?” she asked, her cheeks warming.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Your notebook. You keep opening it, but you haven’t written anything.”

She hesitated, her instinct to deflect faltering under the weight of his gaze. There was no judgement there, just an odd kind of understanding that made her feel more exposed than she liked.

“I’m stuck,” she admitted finally, closing the notebook as if to prove her point. “Completely and hopelessly stuck.”

“What are you writing?”

Her fingers tightened on the cover. She wasn’t sure why she answered him. Maybe it was the way he asked, so simply, like the answer mattered. “A romance novel.”

He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment she thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, considering her with a thoughtful expression. “Romance, huh? No wonder you’re struggling.”

“Excuse me?” she said, a faint edge creeping into her voice.

“You’re not going to get much inspiration sitting in a coffee shop,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. Because he was right. The truth of it gnawed at her, even as she bristled.

“I’m only visiting London,” she said instead, as if that explained everything.

“Even better.”

She blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward then, his gaze pinning hers. “I’ll take you,” he said, as though it were already decided.

“Take me where?”

“Pack your things,” he said, standing abruptly and shrugging into his coat.

She blinked up at him, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting here for a week, and it’s obviously not working,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Come on. We’re going to Hyde Park.”

Her instinct was to refuse, to laugh it off and tell him she didn’t have time for distractions. But something about the way he said it—firm, certain, like it wasn’t a question—made her pause.

She hesitated. “It’s snowing.”

“That’s the point.” He glanced at her notebook. “Unless you’d rather keep staring at blank pages?”

That stung, but he wasn’t wrong. With a sigh, she slid her notebook into her bag, slung her coat over her shoulders, and followed him out of the café.

The snow fell softly, brushing against her cheeks and clinging to her hair as they walked to the nearest tube station. She didn’t bother to ask where they were going—he’d already told her, and besides, she had the strange sense that she could trust him, at least for now.

The tube was chaos. She clutched the cold metal pole for balance, acutely aware of the press of strangers around her. He stood just ahead of her, perfectly at ease, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other resting casually on a strap above his head.

“This is…” She searched for the word.

“Overwhelming?” he offered, glancing back at her.

“Beautiful,” she said, surprising herself. The movement, the noise, the life—it was nothing like home, where everything felt static and predictable.

He smiled, just slightly, and she wondered if he’d expected her to say something else.

When they finally emerged from the station, Hyde Park lay spread out before them, its open paths blanketed in fresh snow. The lamplight made the flakes glisten, casting an almost magical glow over the scene. Families bundled in scarves and hats wandered by, their laughter carrying through the cold air. A few children darted across the snow, throwing snowballs and leaving behind trails of footprints.

She inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. “This is perfect.”

“Told you,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of snow underfoot and the distant hum of the city. She found herself glancing at him more than once, studying the curve of his profile, the way his gaze seemed to take in everything and nothing all at once.

Finally, she broke the silence. “You’re not from here.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “What gave it away?”

“The accent,” she said with a small smile. “Australia?”

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t you home for Christmas?”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking away toward the trees. “Work,” he said simply.

There was a weight to the word that she didn’t miss, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded. “Same.”

“Work?”

“I have a deadline,” she said. “And, honestly, I don’t really enjoy spending Christmas at home.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets. “It’s complicated.”

“Fair enough.” He didn’t push, and she was grateful for it.

They continued to talk as they reached one of the gates, she found out his name was Oscar and that he was the eldest of four - all sisters. That he liked London at Christmas but nothing felt better than summer at home.

She didn’t know much about him, but the parts she knew she liked.She turned to face him, her breath visible in the cold air.

“Here,” he said, pulling out his phone and holding it toward her. “Give me your number.”

She hesitated, then took it and typed in her name—just her first name—and her number before handing it back.

He smiled, sliding the phone into his coat. “I’ll message you. Same time tomorrow?”

“What for?”

“We’ll go somewhere else,” he said. “More people to watch.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “All right. Tomorrow.”

“Good,” he said, turning toward the street. “And hey—bring that notebook.”

He walked away then, disappearing into the glow of a nearby lamppost. She stood there for a moment longer, the snow falling lightly around her, before turning back toward the tube station.

When she got back to her hotel room, she barely remembered slipping out of her coat and scarf before reaching for her notebook. The page that had stayed blank for days now stared back at her, expectant, but the words finally came.

She wrote about Hyde Park, about the snow dusting the trees like powdered sugar, the children’s laughter mingling with the crisp air. She described the quiet magic of it, the feeling of walking beside someone who wasn’t a stranger but wasn’t yet familiar, either. She wrote about the way the city moved even in the stillness, as though it never quite paused to catch its breath.

By the time she put her pen down, the clock on the bedside table read past midnight, and her eyelids felt heavy. She was just about to turn off the bedside lamp when her phone buzzed.

Tomorrow. Same café. Tower Bridge.

She stared at the message for a moment, then smiled faintly, typing a quick reply.

Okay.

The next morning, she found him waiting at their usual café, his coffee already in hand. This time, he didn’t waste any words. With a nod toward the door, he led her out into the bright winter morning.

The tube ride to Tower Bridge was quieter this time, the rush of the city somehow softened by the lingering snow. She leaned against the cool glass of the window, watching the stations blur past, while he sat across from her, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought.

When they finally emerged onto the bridge, the view stole her breath. The Thames stretched wide and glittering beneath them, the snow-covered rooftops of the city rising on either side. A faint breeze cut through the air, carrying with it the murmur of distant traffic and the occasional laugh of a passerby.

“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a bench overlooking the water.

They sat in easy silence, the cold biting at her cheeks as they watched the world unfold around them. Runners passed by, their breath visible in the air as their footsteps echoed on the pavement. Families ambled by, parents clutching the hands of toddlers bundled in bright coats, their faces red with the cold.

And then there were the couples—leaning close, sharing whispers and stolen kisses, moving through the snow-dusted streets as though nothing else existed.

She watched them longer than she meant to, a soft ache unfurling in her chest. She hadn’t thought about romance in a long time—not for herself, anyway. Writing about it was one thing, imagining love in all its sweeping, cinematic glory. But watching it here, in all its small, quiet moments, made her realise how far removed she felt from it.

“Good spot for people watching,” he said, breaking the silence.

She turned to him, surprised to find him watching her instead of the crowd. He had an easy, unreadable expression, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or understanding—that made her feel unsteady.

“It is,” she said softly, turning her gaze back to the bridge.

The bench shifted slightly as he leaned closer, and then she felt it—his arm, warm and solid, draping lightly over the back of the bench behind her. It wasn’t much, barely brushing her shoulders, but the warmth of it cut through the cold in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a moment, she let herself lean into it, just slightly, just enough to feel the quiet comfort of not being alone.

Her mind wandered as they sat there, the sound of the river mingling with the soft murmur of passersby. She could already feel the words taking shape, the scenes unfolding in her head—the way the light hit the water, the way couples moved through the world as if it were made just for them.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, the way his face softened as he watched the world move past. He didn’t say much, but she could feel the weight of his presence beside her, steady and grounding.

When she got back to her hotel later, she knew exactly what she’d write.

The days passed like pages of a book, each one filled with something unexpected. He didn’t ask her what she was doing tomorrow anymore—he simply texted her a time and a place, and she showed up. Each morning, they met at the café, where he’d already have his coffee, and then he’d whisk her away to some new corner of London.

On Tuesday, it was Covent Garden, where they wandered through the open market, listening to street musicians and watching shoppers bustle through the stalls. She watched a couple holding hands over steaming cups of mulled wine, their laughter bright against the cold air, and she jotted down notes in her notebook while he stood quietly beside her.

On Wednesday, they sat on a bench by the Serpentine in Hyde Park again, the water still and glassy beneath the pale winter sun. A group of friends threw breadcrumbs to a flock of ducks, their voices echoing over the water. She found herself leaning closer to him on the bench, the quiet between them no longer feeling like something to fill but something to savour.

Thursday brought them to Borough Market, where the air smelled of fresh bread and spiced cider. They stood in the crowd watching a vendor slice thick slabs of cheese for a customer, the chaos of the market swirling around them. “You see that guy over there?” he said, nodding toward a man balancing two grocery bags and a loaf of bread under his arm. “Think he’s a chef or just a guy with too many dinner parties?”

She laughed softly. “Dinner parties, definitely. He’s probably terrible at cooking, but his friends pretend it’s amazing.”

“I like that. You could use it in your book.”

“Maybe I will.”

By Friday, she stopped questioning his plans altogether. They spent the afternoon at Camden Lock, perched by the canal watching boats drift lazily by. They didn’t talk much, but when he rested his arm on the back of her chair, she didn’t move away. That night, when she returned to her hotel, she stayed up writing, the words pouring out of her with a kind of ease she hadn’t felt in months.

Saturday was Notting Hill, the pastel houses dusted with snow and the streets quiet in the early morning. They wandered down Portobello Road, pausing to watch a young family decorating their front stoop with twinkling lights.

“They’ll probably take them down on January first,” she murmured, watching the father lift his son onto his shoulders.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Some people like to hang onto things.”

She glanced at him, but he didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask.

By Sunday, the last day of the year, she realised how much these days had begun to mean to her. She woke up early, unable to sleep, and spent the morning writing, her pen racing across the pages. The world he’d shown her—the quiet moments, the people moving through the city in their own small orbits—was spilling onto the page in ways she hadn’t expected.

That evening, as the city prepared for New Year’s Eve, he texted her again. Meet me at the café. Tonight’s special.

She arrived to find him waiting outside, his breath visible in the cold air. He smiled when he saw her, and the warmth of it chased away the chill that had settled in her chest.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

They walked through the snow-dusted streets, the city alive with anticipation. Everywhere, people were gathering—couples arm in arm, friends laughing as they hurried to pubs and parties. The air was electric, charged with the anticipation of midnight, and she could feel it humming in her chest as they moved.

She glanced at her phone, the time glowing against the dark: 11:58 PM. Two minutes until the new year.

She stopped walking, her breath curling in front of her as she turned to look at him. He slowed, taking a step back toward her. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away, her heart beating a little too fast as her mind raced. For once, she didn’t want to overthink it. She was tired of going into every new year feeling like she’d missed out, of letting the weight of her family and her avoidance of Christmas follow her into January.

She wanted something to hold onto—a moment, a memory.

Her gaze flicked to his, steady and curious, and then she spoke before she could lose her nerve. “Can I kiss you?”

His brows lifted slightly, his surprise clear, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he searched her face, as if trying to make sense of her sudden shift.

“Kiss me?”

“It’s New Year’s,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the cold air between them. “And I just… I don’t want to go into next year with the same old memories. I want—just one moment, something good. Something to hold onto.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and she felt her stomach twist, already preparing for rejection. But then he stepped closer, his breath warm against the chill of the night.

“Okay,” he said, so quietly she barely heard it.

The first firework exploded above them, a cascade of silver light that lit up the snow-dusted bridge. And then his hand came up, brushing gently against her cheek, and he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was consuming, like the city itself had folded inward around them, leaving nothing but the warmth of his mouth on hers and the distant thunder of fireworks. Her hands found the front of his coat, gripping it as though letting go might undo the spell of the moment.

When he pulled back, her heart was racing, her breath unsteady. For a brief, dazzling moment, she thought this might actually be the start of something. But then his expression shifted, and she knew.

“I can’t,” he said quietly, stepping back just enough to let the cold air rush between them again.

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

He exhaled, his hand sliding through his hair as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I can’t give you anything. This—us—it wouldn’t work.”

Her stomach sank. “Why not?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might just walk away. But then he looked up, his expression conflicted. “I’m a Formula One driver,” he said, the words falling heavily between them.

She blinked, trying to piece together the sudden shift. “A…what?”

“Formula One,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I’m never in one place for long. My life is—it’s chaotic. It’s not fair to ask anyone to try to keep up with it.”

She stared at him, her mind scrambling to catch up. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said, his voice tight. “Not at first. You’re only here for a while, right? This was supposed to be…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“A distraction,” she finished for him, bitterness creeping into her voice.

“No,” he said quickly. “Not like that. I just—I didn’t think it would get this far.”

She swallowed hard, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she’d expected. “So, that’s it? That’s the reason?”

“It’s not just a reason,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s my life.”

Her chest felt heavy, like something inside her had collapsed. She looked at him, the way his jaw was tight, his eyes filled with something that might’ve been regret.

“We could try,” she said, hating the way her voice wavered.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping again. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, swallowing against the lump rising there. The fireworks were still going off above them, but they felt distant now, as though they belonged to someone else’s story.

He stepped forward slightly. “I’ll walk you back to the café,” he offered quietly.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

For a moment, he just stood there, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, stepping back. “Goodnight,” he said softly, before turning and walking away.

She stayed there for a moment, watching him disappear into the distance, before finally turning and walking back the way they’d co

The streets were alive with celebration—couples kissing beneath the fireworks, friends laughing and clinking glasses, strangers shouting “Happy New Year!” to anyone who’d listen. She walked through it all, alone, the cold seeping into her skin and the ache in her chest growing heavier with every step.

When she finally reached her hotel room, the city was quieting down, the last of the fireworks fading into the night. She closed the door behind her and sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at her notebook on the desk.

For the first time in days, she didn’t reach for it. Instead, she lay back and let the silence swallow her whole.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The airport was buzzing, as always. Crowds moving in every direction, the hum of conversation and the tinny voice of announcements echoing overhead. He’d been through so many terminals in so many cities that they all blurred together now—just another stop on the endless circuit of his life.

It was late afternoon, and he had time before his flight. A rare luxury. The race weekend in Austin had been exhausting, but he couldn’t even think about rest yet. His mind was elsewhere.

It had been months since London. Months since New Year’s Eve, since her. And still, she lingered. No matter how fast he drove, how far he travelled, she was there—in the quiet moments, in the cracks of his carefully controlled life.

He thought about her more than he wanted to admit. The way she’d leaned toward him on that bench by Tower Bridge. The way her voice had trembled when she’d asked if they could try, and the way he’d let her walk away. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision. But that didn’t stop him from replaying it over and over, from wondering if he’d made a mistake.

As he walked through the terminal, his eyes caught on a bookstore tucked between gates. He wasn’t much of a reader—his schedule didn’t leave much room for it—but something about it drew him in.

The display at the front of the store was bright and eye-catching, a wall of bestsellers stacked high with glossy covers. His gaze skimmed over them idly, his thoughts elsewhere, until one caught his attention.

The title: Free Now.

And beneath it, a name. Her name.

He froze, the noise of the airport fading to a dull roar as he stared at the book. It didn’t seem real, seeing her name there in bold, shiny print, like a beacon pulling him in. Before he could stop himself, he reached for a copy, his hands almost unsteady as he turned it over to read the back.

The blurb was short, but it was enough:

"Two strangers meet in London over the holidays—a writer searching for inspiration, and a man running from the weight of his own life. For a week, they share the city, its magic, its quiet moments, and the pieces of themselves they never intended to give away. But some love stories don’t end with forever—they end with goodbye."

His chest tightened. The words hit too close, carving into him with a precision that felt deliberate. He flipped the book open, skimming through the pages. The characters weren’t them, not exactly, but it was their story—their conversations, their quiet moments, the snowfall in Hyde Park, the fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

Then his eyes landed on a line, and the ground beneath him seemed to shift.

"I was brave when I kissed you in London, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask you to stay."

He read it again, the words sinking in like a knife twisting in his chest.

She had been brave. And he hadn’t.

The truth of it hit him harder than he expected. He could see her so clearly in his mind—the way she’d looked at him that night, her eyes full of something raw and hopeful, something he’d been too afraid to meet. She’d asked for something simple, something honest, and he’d walked away, thinking he was doing the right thing.

But was it?

The overhead speaker crackled, announcing a boarding call for his flight. He didn’t move. The book was still in his hands, the weight of it anchoring him in place.

Months had passed since London, and yet here she was, writing the story they could never have. It was all there on the page—the longing, the heartbreak, the ache he couldn’t seem to shake no matter how fast he ran.

He closed the book gently, his hands lingering on the cover. For the first time in years, he wondered if maybe the life he’d built wasn’t enough. If maybe he’d made a mistake that couldn’t be undone.

The crowd around him moved, people brushing past without a second glance, but he stood there, rooted in place, staring at her name like it was a lifeline he couldn’t quite reach.

She’d been brave. And now he wondered if he ever could be.

Before he could even stop himself, or take a minute to mull the idea over, he took his phone out and opened up Instagram. He hesitated for half a second before finding her Instagram.

oscarpiastri: hey

the end.

taglist: @sheblogs @iamred-iamyellow

[uchinagai]

Your endless love - ningning

➢Synopsis: once, teenage sweethearts, y/n and ningning, now meet each other as full-grown adults, expect, one life had to take a different, much harder patch. will they reunite? Or did ningning only return for a different reason?

➢Pairing : CEO!ningning x artist!y/n

➢Genre: angst, fluff but maybe only past... slightly suggestive almost there but a man has to interrupt, I really wanna point out it's angst! but gets better ...?? maybe

➢warnings: heavy topics, such as - suicide, death, arranged marriage or self-hatred, miscommunications, blackmailing, suggestive/smut, mention of a corpse but not g0re, mention of murder/possible murderer, 18+.

➢wk: 5.1k+

➢note: well... kind of inspired by my childhood Turkish drama I forgot the name of but till this day remember the heartbreak my 10-year-old ass went thru. I think that's all I have to say, hope you guys will enjoy it. :3 I'm not the best writer, I do this only for MY pure entertainment. not proofread. will there be pt.2? maybeee...

You lost five years of your life to keep your younger brother free, to save him from going to jail after he accidentally took the life of a woman. Given the choice between covering up his crime and your own freedom, you chose him. You loved your brother dearly, but the cost was far greater than you ever imagined.

They married you off to a man you could hardly stand—a man who seemed obsessed with you, and not in a way that felt like love. Yet, he called himself your husband and flaunted you like a prize that made you disgusted each day that passed. Five years had passed with the weight of that ring around your finger that was more of a rope, tightening taking away air from you.

But now, staring at your brother's pale body lying on the hospital bed, you felt a hollowness eating at your insides. Is this what you meant to waste your five years to?

Your fingers trembled as they traced over the red scar on his neck, feeling your own throat tighten as though a rope was there, suffocating you, too.

He looked ghostly, eyes closed, lips an unnatural shade of blue. You gripped his limp hand, sobbing and begging him to get up. It was all for nothing; your life was ripped apart, sacrificed to save him, only for him to take his own life out of guilt. In his last words, he admitted as much. A note lay beside him, neat and careful, explaining everything. He couldn’t bear the weight of watching you wither under the demands of a loveless marriage, sacrificed to protect him. He couldn’t stand hearing you cry through closed doors as he walked by with food for you, feeling helpless to fix what he had caused. And he couldn’t stand to see your parents throw you away, to a man who saw you only as something to possess. And it mostly saddened him knowing you were only capable of loving a person you met on a bus.

You were just 19, running to a bus you were going to miss at any second. The door closed right into your face as you banged on the door, begging the driver to open it. He did, thankfully. You thanked him as you tried to catch your breath.

‘That was a hard run’ you thought.

You looked around for a seat, but there was none.

‘Great. Just my luck.’

You tried to take a breath as you clutched onto the pole next to you. You set your canvas to a safe place and look around the bus, trying to spot the next muse of your art.

There you lock eyes with a girl. A beautiful one, looking right at you, with slight interest written on her face.

‘Woah she’s pretty’ you thought.

The girl stared back at you, not breaking eye contact. Her blonde hair fell in sleek, straight as it could be, as sunlight hit her eyes from the window. The light color framed her features in a way that made her look effortlessly striking. Her eyes held an intense, yet steady gaze, focused onto you, like you’re the only one in this crowded bus.

Your eyes roamed around, taking in her appearance.

Her lips painted a rich, dark red, stood out beautifully against her fair skin. God, she was pale—not sickly pale, but pale to the point that it was beautiful and reflected light off of her body.

She wore a simple outfit, a denim cropped jacket, with a black tube top perfectly sitting around her body. Her jeans matched her denim jacket.

As you stared, you felt an unfamiliar turn to the left as you broke eye contact that felt like it lasted ages. You looked out the window and realized that the bus you got on was not the one you thought it was, so here you were—going off in the wrong direction.

All you could do was panic and turn to the driver, asking when the nearest stop was. He reassured you it was soon, but you were already late.

It did not take a while to get to the stop, as you rushed off the bus.

But fuck! The canvas!

You turn, seeing the bus already off.

‘What a horrible day to be alive’

You mentally cursed at yourself as you were about to break down till an unfamiliar voice, filled with a sweet tone to it, broke you out of your thoughts.

You open your eyes that you closed due to stress hitting your nerves to be met with the same beautiful face, looking at you with a smile.

“I think you forgot this,” says the stranger as she reaches out your canvas.

‘What a great day to be alive’ you changed your thoughts in a second.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much!!” you say as you grab it and hug the canvas.

The girl giggles at the sight as you sigh.

“I can’t explain how grateful I am”

“It's not a problem, really”

“It should be! You had to get off of your ride to bring this for me”

“Oh yeah…” she says as you both chuckle at her lack of thinking.

“Well, I wasn’t rushing anywhere, seems like you are tho, need help?”

‘Is she an angel sent from the heavens for me?’ you thought as you nodded at her request.

“I was trying to get to my house… but seems like I got on the wrong bus,” you say defeated.

“Where were you headed off to?”

“Cheong-dong..”

It felt like you were rubbing into her that you were from a wealthy family.

The blonde looked at you, slightly taken back but she covered it with a smile.

“And you were trying to take a bus… there?”

You nod.

“Well, I forgot my car keys…”

“Let’s get you there then”

She says as she grabs your wrist without thinking, dragging you along with her back where the bus made a turn.

“So what were you doing out here?”

“I was in my studio... Painting”

“Figured,” she says as she chuckles.

“Oh right, what’s your name… at least got to know what’s the name of a beauty that is about to kidnap me” you say as you both burst into laughing.

“Ningning, it's Ningning, and I'm not gonna kidnap you,” she says as she reassures you. “Yours?”

“y/n”

“Pretty name, just like your face.”

And that is pretty much how it all started. Was it too cheesy to say you both fell in love at first sight? Maybe. But god she had you whipped.

Every little thing she did made you feel butterflies all over. The way she looked at you, waited for you in front of your studio and surprised you with a bunch of balloons attached to your car. How she played music that she loved while doing her homework in your presence. It was a matter of time and you two were official.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. The way her blonde hair fell to her face, the way her nose would scrunch up when she couldn't get the answer right. It made you all fall for her, and she was just as much in love with you.

You would always sketch her at different times while working or writing music. She was beautiful every single time. You mostly loved sketching her while sleeping, that’s when she looked most relaxed and calm, without a care in the world. You were always at her place because you didn’t know how your parents would react to… someone from the lower class.

But it did not matter.

You were in love.

You decided it was a good idea to tell your mom about it since she was always supportive of your decisions in life - painting? She got you a whole studio and the best paints in the world. Music? She installed speakers in the studio to enjoy it. So you told her, and at first, she easily accepted you and supported you.

Till she wasn’t.

You remember it like yesterday, calming your little brother from what he had just done. You couldn't believe it either? Your brother, hurting someone? But before you could even process that, you were pulled by your parents into a security room.

There he was, again. With that smug of his that made you feel uneasy with everything.

He pressed space. And there was your brother, with a gun, laughing and giggling, pointed at the girl. He thought the gun girl brought along for ‘roleplay’ was just a toy till he fired.

He pauses the footage.

“I delete this footage and do not turn it to the police… on one condition”

“Whatever you want!” your mom pleaded.

Then he looked at you and it all clicked. He wanted you. Then you looked at your parents.

Your mom was looking at you full of hope but your dad… He seemed just as against the idea as you were.

“We will have to talk this out first,” Your dad says as your mom looks at him unpleased with his decision.

But there was no point.

Your life was already decided

Now here you stand, watching as they lower the casket as you can only think about Ningning.

Your ‘husband’s’ hand was holding u firm against him. Like he was holding u for support but it suffocated you even more.

You couldn’t even cry, you felt numb. All of those years for what? For him to kill himself because he felt guilty? Bullshit.

As the time passed after the death, you felt yourself grow angrier than sad and the only person to be able to shut it down was Ningning. You kept looking back to old pictures, missing her, her touch, scent, everything.

At some point, you would stalk her socials, and try to keep up with her till she completely vanished from all social media. Her account was up but her last post was when she left back for her home country - china, and that was years ago.

Was she still in China? Did she come back? Does she still live in the same house?

It was another day, staking her dead account which was too much for you because most of the pictures that were posted, were taken by you, so you just went on a night walk by Han River, after another argument with Kai He always found a way to drain you, was it either verbally, physically, or mentally.’

You put on your earphones as you enjoyed the specific scent the water had. It was pretty chilly, so you dressed up warmly, a puffer jacket with a black scarf around your neck, wore simple black baggy jeans, and went on the walk. It calmed you down for sure and music playing in your ears that distracted you from unwanted thoughts.

But you stop in your tracks.

As the music was about to switch and earphones went silent for a few seconds, you heard it.

Honey-dripped voice giggling. All too familiar.

You couldn’t have mistaken that. It was basically recorded in your brain.

You shut your music off in an instant as you start looking around, searching for the familiar blonde hair… but it is nowhere to be seen.

Were you just imagining it?

But there was no way… right?

And then you heard it again, you were not going crazy.

You tried to follow the sound only to be met by a black-haired haired turned away from you. What was going on?

Till you saw it.

That beautiful side profile of hers, her nose scrunched up in laughing.

She went black… you thought as you just stood there, looking but not moving an inch. She was with a bunch of three other girls that you paid no mind to. It was just her, standing in front of you to reach but being so unreachable. Everyone was out of the picture like the world had stopped where it was her voice filling it up.

God knows how long you stayed there, watching, but it definitely caught the other three's attention as they nudged the black haired whispering something to her as she turned her head right at you.

It was like a spark went through you as her smiley gaze landed on you, but it quickly died down as her face dropped.

‘She hates me’ you thought due to her facial expression dropping as you felt tears forming. You wanted to run, hide, and never show yourself but it was like you were stuck in a quicksand, unable to move from your spot.

She stared back right at you till she turned her head towards her friends. Saying something that made them all look at you and then back to her.

You wanted to reach out, call her, touch her, explain yourself, but the lump stuck in your throat made it all impossible.

“Ningning!!” you choked out as she was about to start walking away, making her pause in her tracks making her turn to you, standing what felt like kilometers away. You were at a loss for words… she changed, in a good way, but everything about her was different. The way dressed, the way she did her makeup… the way she looked at you.

The last one hurt the most. Her expression was almost unreadable but it was full of hurt and hatred, and you understood her more than anything. You had no idea what to say to her. You haven’t even planned out how to talk to her, thinking she was still in China.

“Can we talk?” you say after a decade

“What is there to talk about?” she says, almost mocking you. Her honey voice was completely replaced with venom. It hurt but you couldn’t blame the girl either.

But she moved against her words because the next thing you knew, she was walking towards you.

‘What the hell is going on right now?’

“What are you gonna say? I’m sorry I ghosted you? Or are you gonna tell me you’re married, because I already know that, everyone in South Korea knew about y/n l/ns marriage BUT me.”

God, it hurts so bad, you couldn’t respond to her. You just stood there while Ningning looked at you like she hated your guts. It made you feel like you were trapped, with the door right in front of you, but it was locked away.

“Answer me y/n!” She yells, demanding an answer from you, knowing you physically couldn’t utter a word. You choke on your sob as you start crying. All you could do was cry.

As she stood there her scent was right in front of you, all you wanted was to grab her into a hug bury your head into her, and never let her go.

For Ningning it almost felt like an instinct to reach out and cup your face, wipe your tears away, and tell you everything was fine when it wasn’t fine, but she would do anything to stop you from crying in front of her. It ate her from inside as she saw your hand reach up to your face, covering your tears away.

The ring.

It should’ve been her who you were married to, not some guy Kai that she knew very well was from a very well-off family.

“I never meant it to get this bad,” you say between sobs as you fall to your knees in the middle of the bridge.

Ningning instantly went down with you as she held your head.

“What do you mean y/n, for god's sake speak to me at least once. Tell me you don’t actually love me so I can let you go”

That was your biggest fear as you looked up at her and clutched onto her wrist “No! No, that's not true!” You yell, desperate for her as she looks at you. Her eyes slowly welled up with tears as she bit her lower lip.

“You’re making everything harder than it should be y/n…”

“I had to Ningning, I couldn’t pick…-” you say as the lump in your throat chokes you from saying anything else.

“What you couldn’t pick”

“My own future…”

Ningnings heart hurt. She didn’t know what you meant at all but one thing was clear to her - everything was against your own wishes. That was enough for her to grab you into a long overdue hug as she held you tight against her.

You melt into her arms as you wrap your arms around her neck, clutching onto her shirt as you sobbed into her. You two stayed this way for a long time till you finally calmed down and steadily started breathing, enjoying her arms around you.

It made you feel complete.

Like you were missing a part of you, and now that it’s back, you would give anything to keep it with you.

She took you to her new place—one that, to your surprise, was just a street away from your own house so near that you almost thought she got it on purpose to stalk you. You could step into the driveway and you were able to see your own house clearly.

‘Seems like she built herself up’ you thought as you stood out in the driveway, staring at your prison perfectly on display while having a blanket wrapped around you.

The younger girl stepped out with two cups of hot chocolate. As she reached one to you.

You guys left her friends behind as she drove you to hers, even though she knew where you lived. She wanted you to be with her only.

Only then you were gonna be able to tell her everything.

You grabbed the cup and held it with you.

“If you’re wondering, yes. I did buy the house to be close to you.”

You felt it coming. You knew it was her dream to live at least close to you, if not with you.

“It’s pretty”

“Yeah, it is.” She says as she slowly turns her head to you. “Care to tell me, properly?..”

“My brother is dead.” You said as you looked back at her. “He’s gone while I suffered for five years because of him.”

‘Suffered’ made Ningnings's ears perk up and feel uneasy.

“You know my… husband, kai. He threatened me that he would leak footage of my brother accidentally killing a woman. To stop him from doing so, I married him.”

“Y/n I’m so—“

“You didn’t know, nobody does, so don’t stress yourself” You smile at her as she sends you a weak smile back at you.

You take a sip from your drink as you turn your head back, now seeing movement in front of your house. It was Kai, slamming his car door and screaming at the staff.

“I couldn’t make sense why you would marry him when I saw him act like a spoiled male brat, but now it all makes sense,” she says as she giggles at his outburst as you crack a smile.

“He’s a boy, seriously. He might be leading his daddy’s company but it will go downhill with his outbursts in around 1-2 years.”

“Then another rival company down,” Ningning says as she turns back to her house and you instantly follow her in.

“CEO Ningning?” You question with a teasing smile as you lean against the kitchen island, next to her.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” She says as she leans on the counter, playing into your game.

“Maybe… you always looked… good working,” you say as you lean towards her now.

It was like something flipped in her as she grabbed your waist and trapped you between her and the counter.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you”

You looked at her, like a prey trapped with a predator. God, you missed her, the way she touched you, or looked at you. You couldn’t even answer her as you wrapped your arms around her smashing your lips on her, which she responded to immediately.

Her hands went down to your waist, placing herself between your legs as your hands went to her hair, thuggin' at it which caused her to whine into your mouth.

You break the kiss as you look at her with hooded eyes, telling her everything just by looking at her. In an instant you switched positions as now, you were trapping her.

“Let me make up for all the times we missed..” you mumble against her lips as you lay wet kisses from her jaw down to her neck.

The girl was sensitive and you were kissing all of her right spots so all she could do was whine and clutch onto the counter behind her.

Ningning was very impatient with you because it seemed like you were taking an awfully long time with her, so what could a girl do?

She positioned herself on your thigh before so now all she could do was grind against it, searching for some friction, but to no avail. You held her hips down, not letting her chase her desired feeling.

“Getting slightly impatient now are we?” You tease her as she looks at you with her.

At that, you both froze at an incoming doorbell, from the entrance of the driveway, which was guarded with a getaway. It causes both of you to groan as she looks at the security camera installed:

It was your husband, looking as if he's composed and calm but you can read him like an open book: a hint of anger in his left eye, a slight dent in his cheek on his right, which means he is biting on that side, clenched jaw and car in the background messily parked by him. He was mad, for whatever reason.

But how did he know you were even here? And what was he even doing here, in front of Ningning's house?

What confused you even more was, why was Ningning seemingly all okay with it?!. It was like she was expecting him so she opened the gate for him as he walked up the driveway, taken aback by seeing you from the ceiling-tall window.

“Mr. Kai,” she says as she greets him offering her hand to shake, but there is no point in it, he is staring dead at you, not even glancing at Ningning waiting for a handshake. She takes her hand back and chuckles seeing the staring battle between the two. You were staring at him, without any emotion showing, scared that he might suspect something between the two of you.

“We are childhood friends, Mr. Kai, no hard feelings”

“Oh are you guys now?” he says as he turns his head, eyes still on you, but then he looks at Ningning and sends her the psychotic smile that made your skin crawl every time you saw it. You knew he was mad and in an attempt to calm him down, you took a step towards him grabbed his upper arm, and looked at him. The touch was gentle, and that did not go unnoticed by Ningning. Now she was the one clenching her jaw as she looked away.

“Kai don’t cause a scene, she's my friend, we were catching up,” you whisper as he looks down at you. He glares at you but looks up masking it perfectly.

“And here I was, wondering where my wife went,” he says and giggles which Ningning can only manage to send him a fake smile.

‘My wife’ coming from his mouth made Ningning livid. She should be the one saying it. She should be the one you wake up next to but here she was, in front of him.

“We have to go back,” you say as you turn to Ningning “ We are having lunch, right?” you say to him as he nods and grabs your wrist.

“We will talk another time, Ning Yi Zhuo” It was probably your first time hearing her actual name from someone other than her or her parents. But the question was… why would Kai and Ningning even speak about and how did they know each other?

It didn’t take two weeks for you to figure out why would they speak - they’re basically rivals in their job.

Both your husband and Ningning were law firm CEOs and the rivalry between the companies was pretty much known to mankind. So here they were, standing, a drink between their finger at a dinner party, hosted by someone you did not care slightly about.

But what you DID care about, was that the invited person had a chance to bring a plus one. You, as Kai’s wife, were his plus one. But who was Ningning’s plus one? She would never go alone to these kinds of parties, so you hawked around the big room full of people, trying to spot someone you had no idea about.

Till your eyes landed on a familiar one from the day on the bridge with Ningning. The girl had pink hair - very unusual for this kind of dinner, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. You trailed her movements before she approached Ningning, making you clench your jaw.

The way she leaned in, whispered into her ear, backed away, looked at ningning, everything, made your blood boil, why the hell were they so close? But then again, you shouldn’t be the jealous one, you were the reason for the breakup, after all.

You looked away, not wanting to anger yourself with the scenery unfolding right in front of you, that you had no control of. It made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

And to top it all, Kai walked over. ‘Great’ you thought, as you mentally got ready to brush off his arm around your shoulder, a move you mastered he loved. But before you could do that, he leaned down to your ear, whispering:

‘Ning yi zhuo is approaching, act like a loving wife, for once, goddamit’

All this caught you off guard, and you looked straight ahead, seeing he wasn’t lying. Ningning was slowly making her way over you two, arms hooked with a pink-haired stranger, as you decided to use this moment.

Be lovely-dovey with your ‘perfect husband’.

So you put your arm up to your shoulder, Kai expecting you to brush him off, even after he asked but instead, you held his hand, as you looked up to him with a reassuring smile, that completely caught him off guard and softened up with his touch around you.

As that happened right in front of Ningning, she wanted to break a glass on his head that he was holding. But what confused her more was, why were you smiling back at him? Didn’t you hate him? Did you just lie to her?

She approaches you two as she reaches out her hand to shake Kai as she looks at him, trying to maintain her composure, that you saw right thru of. ‘It was working as you turned your head towards the couple in front of you two. You send them a small smile as a greeting and watch the two of them shake hands.

“Mr. Kai, so nice to see you,” she says with a smile, you noticed how the left side of her cheek slightly shivered which was obvious she was not having any of the things that were unfolding in front of her.

“Same goes for you, Yizhuo,” he says as he smiles, which you knew was genuine, probably due to you letting him hold your hand. He shifts his gaze onto the pink-haired girl. “Who is this girl? First time seeing someone with hair like… that. Here” he paused, wanting to point out it was not normal to have hair color as bright to a place as honorable and noble as this dinner.

“This is Aeri, my friend,” She says, annoyance visible in her tone. “I think we should go somewhere private, No?” she suggests as you notice the change of posture and stiffness of your husband around you.

Was he always like this?

You didn’t know, you never let him close enough to feel his emotions thru touch.

He slid off hand from your shoulder as he grabbed both of them and turned you towards him, gently as he layed kiss on your forehead, whispering ‘don’t go too far’ as you nodded and smiled up to him. 

What were you even doing?

You watched to walk away, as you let out a breath you did not know were holding in as you turned to the aeri girl, sending her a smile as you excuse yourself but you stop when you hear someone call out your name.

You turned realizing it’s Aeri.

“y/n!”

“Yes?” you say as you smile at her, to be polite.

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I said, be careful”

“Okay? Thank you?” you say confused as you turn on your heel and walk away, replying her words over and over. You walked mindlessly as you arrived to womens restroom and by the corner you hear muffled sounds, what seemed like two persons talking, but they sounded angry at one another. You didn’t wanna be involved but it was right near the bathroom so you walked over, clearly hearing the conversation.

The low whisper-yelling made it obvious to you, who was one of them.

Ningning.

But who was she arguing with???

“Yizhuo stay out of my fucking business!” another whisper yell, but louder.

Kai.

What the hell is going on?

“Your little precious ‘wife’ needs to know the asshole and murder you are, kai.”

Murderer.

It rang in your head, the same feeling of air slowly being taken from you came back, just like when you heard about your brothers passing, but before you process all of that you hear him bite back.

“And you need to stop messing with her head. You only came back to get revenge on me, leave her alone, we both know you don’t care about her, Yizhuo!”

Things just kept getting worse.

She only came back for… revenge? That’s what you only were to her?? A plaything for her to get revenge on your, alleged murderer husband??

What was going on, you had no idea but need to get away was huge so you ran.

You ran out, crying, causing everyone to look at your running figure, confused and taken aback. 

You ran till you own legs couldn’t support you.

You fell on the street sidewalk, staring at your own hands, hands that held his in your own.

hands that touched Ningning.

‘She was just using me’ is all you could think and repeat over and over.

Till your own mind shuts off on you.

finished.

god, this has been in my drafts for a while, heh..

[evolucious]

Midnight Brew : Zayne x Reader

For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive. 

But then, almost inperceptibly, he smiled.

pairing : zayne x reader (no gender specific terms are used to describe the reader)

prompt : our apartments are opposite each other and your kitchen window faces my kitchen window, so we always see each other making coffee at 3am. (aka, you and zayne sneak glances at each other before you decide to do something about it)

genre : sfw, fluff, slice of life, zayne please get some sleep

word count : 1,050

a/n : heyo, i've dusted off my tumblr skills to dive headfirst into another hyperfixation. this is just a one shot i couldn't get out of my brain so i slapped my keyboard and here we are. I'll probaby post more but feel free to dm or request any prompts/pairing!

It was another sleepless night, and the quiet hum of the city was the only sound breaking the stillness. With slow deliberate movements, you wrap yourself in your robe, the soft fabric offering protection against the predawn chill. You found yourself once again in the kitchen, guided more by muscle memory than conscious thought. The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through the window, casting a gentle light over your counter as you began the familiar ritual of making coffee.

As the coffee brewed, you leaned against the counter and looked out the window. The city never truly slept, but it had moments of stillness, especially at 3 am. You had always found solace in these quiet hours, the world outside muted and calm. The soft hum of distant traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind created a soothing backdrop to your nightly ritual.

The building opposite yours had always been a source of idle curiosity. You often glanced at the darkened windows, imagining the lives inside. One window was illuminated, the soft light spilling out and creating a beacon in the night. There, just as he had been for the past few nights, stood your neighbor, a man with dark, tousled hair and a pensive expression, moving with a quiet grace as he prepared his own cup of coffee. You watched him for a moment, intrigued by the way he seemed so absorbed in his thoughts. There was something almost mesmerizing about the scene, and you found yourself drawn to it night after night. It had become a silent companionship, a shared moment of solitude.

The first time you had noticed him, it had been purely accidental. A restless night had driven you to the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee, and as you gazed out the window, your eyes had landed on the man in the opposite building. He had been so engrossed in his own routine that he hadn’t noticed you, and you had quickly looked away, feeling a bit like an intruder. But over the next few nights, your curiosity got the better of you, and you began to look for him. 

You found yourself wondering about his life. Why was he awake at such an ungodly hour? Did he suffer from insomnia like you, or was there something else that kept him up? Maybe he worked odd hours, or perhaps he was an artist or a writer, finding inspiration in the silence of the night. Your imagination ran wild with possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last. He became a character in your own personal narrative, a small comfort in the vast loneliness of the night. 

Each night, as your late-night coffee ritual continued, you would glance out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man across the way. He was always there, his presence a comforting constant in the silent hours. You began to notice little details about him—the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought, the soft smile that played on his lips as he read something amusing.

One night, as you prepared your coffee, you felt the familiar pull to look out the window. To your surprise, the man was already there, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, you both stood frozen, caught in each other’s eyes. A surge of panic gripped you, and you wondered if he would find your silent observation intrusive. 

But then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

It was a small smile, but it warmed you more than the coffee in your hands. You returned the gesture, feeling a strange connection form between you in that silent exchange. From that night on, the smiles became a regular part of your routine, a wordless greeting that made the lonely hours feel less empty.

Despite the comfort these nightly interactions brought, your mind was constantly buzzing with thoughts and questions. Who was this man? What was his story? And most importantly, why did it matter so much to you? You found yourself thinking about him during the day, wondering if he thought about you too. It was strange to feel such a strong connection to someone you had never spoken to, yet the bond felt real and significant.

But tonight, as you prepared your coffee, you decided to take a chance. You rummaged through a drawer until you found a piece of paper and a marker. Your heart pounded in your chest as you scribbled a quick message:

"Couldn't sleep either? - Y/N"

Taking a deep breath, you held the note up to the window, praying that the streetlights would provide enough illumination for him to read it. For a moment, there was no response, and you felt a pang of doubt. Had you been too forward? But then, he stepped closer, squinting to read your message. A slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded before disappearing from view. When he returned, he held up his own note:

"Work keeps me up. Wanna share a cup? - Zayne"

Your heart skipped a beat. Zayne. Finally, you had a name to go with the face. You quickly wrote back:

"Meet downstairs?"

Zayne raised his mug with a nod and a smile, and you felt a flutter of excitement as you grabbed your mug and slipped on some shoes. You made your way down to the entrance of your building, your mind racing with possibilities. When you stepped outside, he was already there, leaning casually against the wall with his mug in hand. The cool night air washed over you, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and hope. He looked up as you approached, his smile warm and inviting.

"Hi," you said, feeling a bit shy now that you were face-to-face.

"Hi," he replied, his voice as smooth and soothing as you had imagined. "I suppose our midnight coffee rituals have finally converged."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension melt away. "It seems so. I hope you don't mind me intruding on your solitude."

"Not at all," he assured you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "In fact, I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk. It's not every day you find someone who shares your unusual habits."

{pls dont repost i beg}

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.   ��

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[oniraki]

Broken into fractures

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

TW : Mental health, Psych ward, mentions of : self harm, suicide wishes/attempts , severe trauma (both Simon and reader), dark themes , angst, hurt/comfort , swearing , nicotine and psychiatric medication/sedation use - maybe too much tagging but it's better safe than sorry I guess?

AN : inspired by all the fantastic artists and writers here I gathered the courage to try and write something up myself. Hope I don't mess shit up .. please have patience with me for I really don't know what I am doing right now (and English is not my first language..)

"you're in time out Mr.Riley.." his psychiatrist says in a hushed tone, making Simon's head throb painfully. He does not like that bawbag of a man with his silly round glasses and his pathetic attempts to comb his hair in a way, that would hide his growing baldness. Simon tries to focus on Doc.Hershal's words but instead his eyes are glued to a coffee stain on the man's button down.

"Mr.Riley do you even pay attention?" A grunt is the only response that so called doctor gets out of him. The man sighs. "You hurt another patient, Mr.Riley.." he tries again and Simon chuckles hoarsely. "I'm well aware of that. He had it coming for some time .." - "You broke his nose." The doctor states more urgently, observing Simon's features as far as possible, since half of his face is hidden behind a black scarf.

"Fucking hell..should've broken his neck instead." Dr.Hershal shakes his head. "We have talked about this plenty of times, didn't we, Mr.Riley? This is no healthy way of coping with your feelings. This is unacceptable behavior above all of it. Every patient has a right to be here, to heal and to be safe while doing so"

Simon could feel his blood boil, hear it rushing through his whole body. Safety? He was talking about safety after all, that happened earlier that day? "Where was her right of safety when that fucker had his hands all over her...?!" The psychiatrist nods "I have heard about the incident. But that does not justify your aggressive behavior. That was something to be dealt with by the hospitals staff, Mr.Riley."

Incident. The nurses should've handled this. "And still nobody showed up fast enough to put her out of her misery, for fucks sake!"

His heart was beating way too fast, his bruised hands shaking in his lap. Knuckles cut open from that other man's broken teeth. He felt no shame, no regret. He'd do it all over again. Do anything to keep you safe, to protect you from harm. Even if it ment that he had to be locked up here longer than he had anticipated.

He'd do it for you.

Anything..

_______

The light was nearly blinding you as you crossed the threshold of the door, leading to the cage on the hospitals rooftop. You've never been entitled to garden privileges, going out alone and wandering around the paths between old trees and decorative bushes. You couldn't be trusted, the nurses always explained with that sorry, kinda pittying smile on their faces. You'd be a danger to yourself, they'd argue. Couldn't risk you hurting yourself, fulfilling your death wish..

The cage was just a sorry excuse of a garden. An area with fake grass and plants, some benches, secured by a Chain-link fence.. but it was your only escape from the sterile and sad gray walls of the ward, crushing you between them until you couldn't breathe. Closing you in, never letting you go. The flickering of the neon lights, the squeaking of the linoleum floor. Cold,blood sucking fingers that had a hold of you. Everything designed to torture and torment you furthermore.

The only way for you to leave that place was in a body bag. That much you were sure of.

"Hey scare-bear.." you whispered as you let yourself slump down on the fake grass next to Simon. He didn't even flinch or look at you at your sudden intrusion of his space. Not even when your head was leaning against his biceps. No words or sounds left his lips as he fetched a cigarette out of the box, lighting it up on the one he was smoking and then offering it to you. You stayed in comfortable silence for a smoke or two. Simon could feel the tension leaving his body, how his shoulders relaxed more and more with every passing minute. You were here. With him. Not in the observation room with that big window, directly connected to the nurses office. Not sedated and fixated. Not alone.. never alone, as long as he could impede it.

You sneaked your arm around his, your hand engulfing his with featherlight touches. The nurses patched him up properly after his emergency session with Hershal.

"'m sorry, love." You could feel the vibration of Simon's voice. Calming and soothing as a lullaby. He still didn't look at you, instead he kept his gaze on the sundown, throwing another cigarette butt off of the roof. "nothing to be sorry for, Si. It's my fault they relieved you of all of your privileges.." you murmured kinda dejected, petting his hand ever so lovingly.

Simon huffed, shaking his head eagerly, nearly making his hood fall down. "I'd trade every fucking, meaningless privelege if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Stop acting like it was your fault. You didn't ask him to touch you.. should've killed that bastard the second he tried to get close to you the first time."

Your movements stilled for a long moment until you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"they all told you to stay away from me, didn't they...?" Your voice was merely anything above a whisper. Simon only grunted in response. "As if that's ever going to happen. Nothing can stop me from being near you, little gremlin."

"but what, if they're right, scare-bear?" You ask, now avoiding his gaze that lingers on your face. "What if.. I'm no good for you? Making your condition worse..?" You thought intensely about it for the last couple of weeks. Simon used to make progress, used to get better.. at least until you came along. Certainly it hast to be your fault. "Is that what they believe or what you believe?" He snapped at you, hating himself for the harshness in his voice immediately.

You heard the night nurses whisper about you and Simon. About you being a liability to him. Stopping his progress, pulling him down into your dark abyss.

Your mind began spiraling again.

"I need words, love. Talk to me.. don't shut me out. Not again.." he demanded softly, freeing his arm out of your grasp. He'd leave you, right ? Because he realized how much of a burden you were.

But instead of getting up and leaving he placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him gently, as if he might break you.

But by now your thoughts and emotions were cutting too deep, pulling you into a kind of headspace where'd you go nonverbal ..

Burden. Threat. Liability. Rotten heart and soul inside a useless, broken body. Not good enough. Not loveable.

Why can't you finally die?

" 'm here, lovie. I got you." He whispered into the crown of your head. "It's okay not to be okay right now. We'll get through it, together."

Oh how you just wanted to believe him..

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Oh my God, your latest Cat AU prompt had me in a chokehold. Please keep writing them (of course when or if you want to, frfr) 🙏 Love em!!

I love your art and stories, I always have my eye out for you on my feed. Thank you for your time and gifting us your art.

Have you thought of mashing this all together into one big story/continuous chapters? Do you like getting ask prompts? Do you own cats? What's your favorite candy? (Haha ok maybe those last questions are unrelated, but I lost my childhood girlboss kitty who would steal pizza slices off the stove and fight coyotes reminds me of cat!Horangi and I'm a slut for sweets)

Thanks again for your time and hope all is well!

Okay, so, this is a long ask so forgive me for rambling a bit.

Most imortantly, thank you so so much for your support! As an up-and-coming writer on tumblr, this means the world to me. I cannot stress how thankful I am for all the messages, comments, reblogs and likes. Everything means so so much to me. I know I'm not the best artist/writer out there, but anythign you guys give me makes me smile, laugh and feel like I actually finally have a place in fandom. I finally feel like I'm not just observing, but actually adding to a community (Sideplug here's a konig tumblr community I started: https://www.tumblr.com/join/IsfMVrTZ). I cannot thank you all enough for giving me a place here at the table.

Now, as for CatHybrid!CoD, it's weird. I have a lot of thoughts of what's going on in the background (namely Shadow Company, TF141, and the rest of KorTac and what they're up to) but I really like to focus on König and Horangi because, ya know, they're my favs. I love those two goofballs. I think they're great and I love love love writing for them. Unfortunately, I'm really bad at coming up with random prompts on my own, so yes, I rely on asks to make Cat Hybrid!CoD a thing. I absolutely need asks. I love the asks because they inspire me to flesh out this world all the time. I cannot stress how much I appreciate them.

I would like to make a longer story, but I know the story ends with König and Horangi revealing their true hybrid status to reader and thus revealing the secret. Part of the joy of this story is keeping the secret, right? So it's hard because on one hand, I want to keep the secret forever, but I know the truth has to come out eventually. I don't know how to make the story yet because of that. I just get so conflicted. I could try it out though if you'd like? It's something to consider. I'm going up north to my parents for Christmas, so I might not have anything before then. Forgive me for that.

Finally, I do have a cat! Part of the big reason I'm going up north is to bring my senior cat back home with me. I feel bad moving an older cat, but Clovis is bonded to me. He gets miserable when I leave. I had to leave him behind when I moved out to college, but now I found a place where I can keep him with me. I love him so so much and he loves me, so I'm bringing him home where I can give him all the care he needs.

Since I have a cat, I know how painful it is to lose your best friend. It's heart wrenching beyond belief. I hope you're feeling okay now, and I hope your little girl is somewhere better now. I cannot stress how haunting the grief is. You learn to live, but in the beginning? I am still a bit shaken honestly. I hope Cat!Horangi can continue to inspire joy for you and make you smile.

Favourite candy? Candy corn, lindor's milk/peppermint/white chocolate, cadbury/lindt milk/white chocolate and the like. I don't like darrk chocolate so much (I got an 11lb bar of dark chocolate years ago and it was too much).

But yeah! Please send asks, they make this whole au real. I love them dearly. I'm not always the most timely in answering them (one in my inbox hasn't been answered because I'm still setting up the software to be able to ask it) but yeah, I do love asks. They always make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

[shadowriel]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

Thanks to everyone who tagged me! I've been a bit out of touch with the fandom this year, but I always love this community we've made ourselves. If you see this or are mentioned below, consider yourself tagged!

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

Almost 22k

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

Just 1 (but it was a banger!)

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I've started 3 new fics, adding to my ever growing list of WIPs

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Whiskey Over Wine (aka the country Feysand AU I didn't know I needed). It's completely self-indulgent but also incredibly descriptive and well-written?? I'm currently drafting the Nessian instalment, and it's reminding me how much I love the setting.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Probably Until Sunrise, which was my gift exchange fic for @witchlingsandwyverns. I am normally a modern AU girlie, but I really thought the perfect gift would stray from that and incorporate the kind of emotions/dynamics that work better in a different setting. I'm so so happy with how it's turning out so far - I think it's a great combination of my typical banter with an added level of yearning!

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

is this what home feels like? which is the recent Feysand nanny/single dad AU I started. I've had this idea at the back of my mind for forever, and it really surprised me when all the bubbling thoughts finally clicked into place.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Maybe is this what home feels like? ... I was too anxious to make a Tumblr post about it, so it was a bit under the radar in terms of me talking about it

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

So, so many! @witchlingsandwyverns and @velidewrites come to mind, but I have a million pieces of fanart that live in my head rent-free. I don't know if they have Tumblr but @/flavie5dub on IG has me in the best kind of chokehold.

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

Can I just tag everyone for this??

@howlingcaptaincommando (@talons-and-teeth) directly helped contributed to the brain rot that is masked!Az in from the ghost of your lips (to the haunting of mine). I genuinely heard @tunaababee shrieking about Cowboy!Rhys as I wrote Whiskey Over Wine, so that was incredibly motivating.

And these people inspired me in so so many ways: @yourstarsmyscars @thesistersarcheron @foundress0fnothing @damedechance @wilde-knight @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @reverie-tales @bearbluebooks @witch-and-her-witcher @thelovelymadone @foreverinelysian (and genuinely everyone in UBC)

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

I'm pretty sure this is the first year I read a fic by @bibliophiliaxvignette , and I was lucky enough to have her as my secret Santa for the gift exchange! Our vibes match so well, so her writing has been an amazing discovery.

And @the-new-ribbon! Their gwynriel makes me such a giggling mess, and I love it!

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

None this year!

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

My proudest accomplishment is that I actually found joy in writing! 2024 was an incredibly challenging year for me and, for most of it, writing felt impossible, but I'm glad there were times that it provided a much needed escape.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

It's an ongoing lesson, but I've been realizing more about how to make writing more sustainable for me. Like in many aspects of my life, I push myself too hard and that often leads to burnout. That's definitely something I'm working on.

14. Any advice you’d like to share with new or aspiring writers?

Above all else, have fun! Write the kind of fics you want to write, and try not to get lost in the struggles of writing "better" or producing more content.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

To not put too much pressure on myself!

I'd also really like to reprioritize all my old WIPs and give myself permission to abandon some (even if I feel myself attached to them). Beyond that, I've been dying to do a full re-write for the STEMinist fics (but that may be something for 2026)

[ghostingpen]

hi!! i’ve been meaning to ask u abt this for a while, but the pic u posted of your 2025 journal inspired me to reach out. i would rly like to get back into using a journal as a way to organize, plan, and feel more in control of my life. i used to use a bullet journal throughout high school and college. but my situation is different now (no classes or defined work schedule) and i remember often having a hard time keeping up with it + missing a day or two and then just falling off. i also tend to be a perfectionist and get stressed out abt making The Perfect layout. ig i’m just wondering if you have any tips or advice for getting started again and figuring out a setup that feels good + manageable? i’d send this as a message but i feel this might be helpful for other ppl too. ty!!!

(rubs hands together) ty for asking >:3 i was in your boat too for a while, and what a lot of bullet journalers tend to understandably forget is that the bullet journal system is customizable and flexible. what this also means is that you can frankenstein the bullet journal method and create your system made up of sewn together components of various other methods.

if your primary goal with your notebook is feel more in control and present in your life, then it's important to view it as a second brain. it is reasonable to believe that not all brains work alike. when combining both thoughts, you can start to see the reason why many people who try the bullet journal method are unable to keep it up long-term. they try to be too rigid with the method. they expect themselves to create artsy complicated layouts that aren't actually conducive to their brain. they need to have the same notebook as other people, the same pens, the same supplies.

but each of our minds work differently. when you believe that, then it becomes easier to accept that your notebook does not have to look the same as others to be successful. you aren't failing because you're unable to work with the system the way others do. it is the current system failing you, and that simply means it's time to tweak it and change it as necessary until it becomes more compatible with your brain. maybe the size of the notebook is the problem. or the type of paper. for example: i find that tall and skinny notebooks like the traveler's notebook work best for me. but maybe you prefer big a4 sized notebooks. i also refuse to work on anything that isn't grid paper. but maybe lined paper works better for you.

for me, i use my notebook as a writer the way an artist keeps a sketchbook.

that means i don't play with the layouts unless it serves me. my creativity is expressed solely in the pages i want to be creative in, like when i'm writing fiction or sketching storyboards, but i am intentionally not creative and artistic in the basic setup.

for the basic setup, i'm using a hybrid system of the basic bullet journal method and the life hacker. my intentions are to be mindful of the goals i want to achieve and keep some memory of each day. otherwise it feels as though the month has gone on without me and before i know it, it's the next month and i remember nothing of the past few weeks.

i make sure to keep an index on the back of my notebook. i write down page numbers of pages i want to refer back to later.

i start with a "one line a day" page:

that way, if i miss a few days, i can always try to catch up and write down a single line of what i remembered that day. i also tell myself it's okay to write "i don't remember what happened" on days where that happens. in a way, that also indicates something about that day - usually that i was too depressed to engage with my interests, and that's important to log.

then i set up a basic monthly spread to track upcoming events, bills to pay, habits, tasks i want to do that month, and goals i want to achieve. i also added a d20 roll every day just for fun. if i really need the guidance, whatever i rolled that day determines how i go about with my day.

i also don't really treat it like a chore. i miss days here and there, but when that happens i just set the next day up and move on. this notebook is meant to serve me, not the other way around!

this notebook also serves as my commonplace book. if you've seen me occasionally tag posts as #commonplace, that's me saving posts to write down in my notebook. i love to save advice i appreciated, quotes that resonate with me, and other bits and bobs of information i'd want to re-read in the future.

i also like to write down my thoughts on topics that interest me. it actually is one of my biggest passions and special interests: optimizing a notebook system for myself and helping others find their system. so if you flipped through my current notebook, you'll find rambles about notebook systems and how simply following trends is ineffective.

hope this helps!! i wrote a lot more than i thought i would dfkghdf but this is a huge interest of mine.

[oh-no-its-dragons]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup (Distrated Version)

aka only the ones I can do off the top of my head after the first few questions because otherwise I'll never get this done

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

On AO3, I've got 150,559 words for the year.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

Oooh "complete" is not a thing I'm good at, but let me see...

Looks like there were three multichapter fics and about twenty one-shots. I've gotten better at making something a series instead of an open-ended multi-chapter fic when that's what makes more sense for it.

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Started posting? Only three. I've got a few more in my WIP files but they don't count until there's something posted somewhere.

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

This is a super hard question for me and not only because I forget everything exists once it's posted. Maybe Country Air? I'm enjoying The Cure Is Worse Than The Poison except for when I hate it. I had a lot more fun writing Defying Gravity than I expected, and Early Tyrrish Romantic Poetry was an act of love so it's especially close to my heart.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Gotta be the faux-translated ancient dramatic poems, lol.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Defying Gravity probably surprised me the most- there's probably two or three points in there where I had a good idea of what would happen and then when I got there it just. Didn't happen that way.

9. Who is an artist/author that inspired you?

Can I just list the entire Riders Quadrant discord? Because seriously I had so much fun writing fic and talking about it this year. @suebswrites helped me restructure both Poison and Defying Gravity in ways that made them better. @alexandia03 and @siobhanbooks and @essjaywrites and @tegantales all made me think a probably unhealthy amount about Imrrick. @yanny-77 and @siobhanbooks made me fall in love with Bodoc and Bodhi in general. @fantasywithkassidy's adorable Altitude Adjustment is directly responsible for the modern-with-magic AU Moth and I are starting. @lizardsrunfast and @saranova and @hockeyspiral23 are incredible writers who all inspired my design work which has been like a whole new bonus hobby. @illustratinghan and @essjaywrites and (ig)cuddlydevil1114 and (ig)mangaurania all make me want to be a better artist every time I pick up my tablet. I'm blanking on tumblr names for Mint and Mara_Leigh but both of them blew my mind too, and @overjoyedisland and @shipmistress9 and @caeli0306 all writing amazing stuff and @serahadmoni and @greeneyedwildthing killing me with the meta and... shit I'm sure I'm forgetting people too. This fandom is so fucking talented.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

I mean, the whole fandom? I discovered the whole fandom. I'm endlessly impressed by how many people in this fandom wrote for the first time this year and are killing it right out of the gate, y'all are amazing.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

@sarcasticmothwrites is my favorite person in the world

like how it started is they picked up Fourth Wing as a lucky day at the library and read it in less than a week and made me read it immediately and we couldn't stop talking about it. and then I made them join the discord, and we either co-write or beta everything for each other anyway because we're just that couple. lol.

14. What is your advice?

Write what makes you happy. Try things because they seem fun or because you always wanted to and haven't yet. If you told me a year ago I'd be designing t-shirts and making stickers I'd have laughed. I learned to make discord emotes! I got my first tattoo! In 2025 I'm going to try getting acrylic charms done and I'm going to try doing my own embroidered weapons patches for my denim jacket.

Just find time to do what brings you joy and celebrate with other people when they find their joy.

[letrune]

You know what annoys me in Harry Potter?

And let us imagine for a moment that the author is Hatsune Miku. That it is an adaptation of Neil Cicierega's Potter Puppet Pals. That Warner Bros is not holding the franchise with patents and trademarks well beyond the powers of even millionaires.

Ah, nice to imagine, isn't it? Still with me?

The books are wasted potential. Every new thing coming in helps to show how the magical world is as flawed and xenophobic as regular, mundane version of it. Slavery, segregation by "blood purity", racial segregation, magic supremacy and cishet white male magic supremacy, too.

And then a downtrotten guy shows up. He is a hero, has loads of cash and a fame beyond his age. You would think the dude from the literal closet would CHANGE THE SYSTEM. To push along a new, better, more liberated, more equal world. Maybe even prevent the next bad guy from rising by removing the key aspects that made him rise to power, like slavery, the segregations, the supremacist ideas, and so on. Even if just pushing it in a way.

You would think the main character would fix the system. You know why?

Because every fantasy story, even if by just getting the just and wise king or queen on the throne, does that. The Lord of the Rings does not end by blowing up Sauron. It goes on, the world has to be changed to prevent a new, different Sauron. We saw glimpes on how anyone, even the purest heart, could go down that path.

So why can't this boy who lives in a closet? It is WASTED POTENTIAL. Imagine the stories you can tell! Now that you got a better world coming, would the old jerks not hate it? Would some change? What new issues arise? It is a fantasy, so you can do whatever you want - and then go the Man in Black route and have the magical slowly dripped into the mundane. Or, again, as with the (comic book) Men in Black, we had shown how even the utopian parts get issues not seen before, all based on xenophobia, human folly, etc.

You make a status quo that sucks, and then GO AND CHANGE IT. The big bad in a bad system is not the guy with the biggest gun, but the system that fails.

Oh, sure, you can make a story about the cyclical nature of revolutions - and yes, a bloodless revolution is the best for the little people, but in fiction, we may have the bad guys represent issues. So, you can make a story where a revolution leads to another in the next cycle. But...

You have to change the bad systems. Say that some things may change. Even if it is just a new school being put forward in the end, with empathy, and two characters talking about how the world will change if they keep going on... You have to change. The utopian status quo is the only one what the audience may like to be returned to.

When Bilbo comes back to the Shire, it is almost the same, but Bilbo himself changed. It was a bit for the better, but not that much that new stories could not be told... and what he thought as the status quo is shown to have changed. He became more artistic. He wrote a book, inspired by his "miserable adventure"... and then, later, Tolkien slipped in the ring from the sequel. It was not in the original draft! The ending did not changed, but we had a plot hook.

Though, Tolkien already had given us all the potential in the story. He hinted at a bigger world.

So imagine Miku, writing a thing but then she does not develop the things. The potential goes wasted, and when it returns, it has this "stop nagging me, here, a stupid retcon for your stupid questions" thing. Potential squandered! Wasted! No wonder the fans would go to write their own, for better or worse.

I am so happy Hatsune Miku is a talented writer and not some woman slipping into right-wing hatred, akin to some dude who loves gold and the aesthetics of power, and having none of it in his tiny hands or something. That would be-

Oh. I just realised the intro to this rant. Well, now that the train is deralied, what is my point?

If you write a story with systemic issues, you should at least attempt to resolve some of them. You got slavery? Have the main character and their friends free slaves and ban slavery when they get the power to do so.

You got a sort of space cyborg wizard nazi movement? Your character has the potential to punch them in the face, alongside B. J. Blazkowicz and Captain America, WHILE ALSO breaking the systems the space cyborg wizard nazies rely on. In fact, it should be what you do, because while your heroes give the cool action scenes, they also show their intelligence and empathy by PREVENTING new space cyborg wizard nazies coming into existence and fixing the inequalities in the world.

Sure, it is not as cool to see Mr. Potter to write a new constitution about equal rights than seeing him in a wizard duel with wizard nazies, but you can have both. This is fantasy!

You can get the audience to believe that a man can fly, that a single guy can save the world by throwing a ring into a volcano, or that a boy living in a closet is a chosen one - letting them change the world for the better is not a stretch, it is catharsis! That is where the happy ending happens.

[arimiadev]

2024 Year in Review

If 2023 was a new leaf for me, then 2024 was a year of tying up loose ends. I started off 2024 with multiple unfinished projects that needed wrapping up—more than I like having open at any time.

Canvas Menagerie was entering its 2nd year of development, I was in the midst of finishing Asphodelium—which was supposed to be a Winter Jam 2023 project—and a separate Winter Jam 2022 project, Lost Lune, that only had a partial amount of progress made on it. Suffice to say, I was somewhat in over my head with unfinished games.

I’m the type that is self motivated while working, but I can get overwhelmed when I have several projects in progress (including game dev, marketing, IRL, etc). So, clearly I needed to actually finish some things, even though my games were just hobby projects.

…But, I also had to start some new projects. An idea I’ve had for a while was an otome sequel to Crimson Waves on the Emerald Sea, something I told myself I wouldn’t make unless I could get a writer and artist to help me with it. Well, guess what my Otome Jam 2024 project was…

In February I set up a new side website—Arimia’s Doujin Den! It’s a little blog for me to share the doujin fan games I’ve collected over the years, many of which no longer have any internet presence at all. It takes a lot of passion and dedication to make an indie game but maybe even a touch more for a fan game, and I don’t want that passion to go to waste. I’ve only catalogued a few so far, but I want to do even more in the future.

However, about halfway through 2024 I was laid off from my software development job very suddenly. I was partially expecting for months to be laid off at any point as the company has lay offs every single month, but it was still incredibly sudden. I had hoped to at least make it through to the end of the year, not only half the year!

I also began doing social media work for Studio Everium, an indie otome studio. I’ve only ever worked at Studio Élan for marketing (and this marks my 5th year there!) so it’s been a fun change of pace to help share even more visual novels to the world. Speaking of Élan, I spent a few weekends this year traveling and attending conventions! We had booths at Offkai Expo and Otakon, where we sold our yuri games and met a lot of fans & fellow developers. It was my first time going to a convention outside of Memphis and was so fun to finally meet so many friends (and make new ones).

At the tail end of the year, I finished rereading Umineko in October (on the 5th, of course), which I hadn’t read since….middle school. It was such a refreshing reread, to not only read something made with so much love for the world but also to confirm that it was just as good—even better, with fresh eyes on the queer narrative—than I remembered. Anyway, that’s what led me to get back into reading novels. I wanted to see some of r07’s inspiration for it, so I picked up And Then There Were None and dived into several other of Christie’s tales, which led me to joining an in-person book club (where all of the members could be my parents/grandparents…!) to force myself to get out more.

Projects

Canvas Menagerie

My main goal for 2024 was to finish writing Canvas Menagerie, but my secret internal goal was to finish the entire game—and I did! Just a couple of weeks ago I managed to release it to the world after 3 years of solo development. It’s not exactly what I envisioned it being when I started outlining it (and I definitely chunked and rewrote my outlines several times), but I’m still happy with how it came out.

I’m also happy to finally have a commercial game out that doesn’t have my writings & art from early college (that’s practically high school…!!). It’s something I’ve been somewhat self conscious about for a few years—to be honest, I don’t like my prior commercial works. I can only look at them and cringe somewhat, knowing how old the writing and art is. Now I finally have a commercial project I’m (mostly) proud of.

The final game ended up being 138k words with 15+ CGs and 10+ character sprites. I did all of the work on the project, outside of the backgrounds, music, and GUI design. I’m thankful for all of the people who supported the project to the end!

I was also able to do a lifelong goal—have a physical release for one of my games!

These were handmade by myself. I think they came out pretty cute~

Asphodelium

My other main goal for 2024 was to finish and release Asphodelium. Well, about that….

I did end up finishing it, releasing it in January. That version was right at 40k words long with 1 story line and 2 slightly different endings. But, well… I wanted to do more with it!

I got several extremely positive comments after releasing it and I loved writing Aster & Hazel’s push-and-pull relationship, so I started secretly working on an expansion afterwards. The main story already covers a lot of ideas regarding cults, but I wanted to expand upon it even more. There’s plenty more aspects I want to touch on such as the depersonalization cult members experience and the idea of self identity after leaving a cult. It’s a completely different vibe from the comfyness of Canvas Menagerie, to say the least!

I’m currently aiming to make it a full commercial release sometime in the first half of 2025 by adding a new story path (with at least a couple of new endings), at least 25k more words, and several new CGs. I’ve already written 14k words and drawn 2 new CGs, so it’s progressing smoothly. This will be the main project I’m working on going into 2025.

Crimson Waves on the Emerald Sea: Amaranthine Moon

As mentioned before, I couldn’t go the entire year without starting a new long-term project of course. I began preparing as soon as Asphodelium was out the door to attempt a sequel to my 2021 fantasy mystery visual novel Crimson Waves on the Emerald Sea. I say “attempt” as I went into the planning phase sure that I would only make it if I was able to find solid partners to make the projects with—after all, I had enough projects to work on solo! It’s been years since I directed a project without my writing and art, so I wanted to give it a shot again.

I was lucky to find Runa Winters to helm the writing based off of my terribly shoddy outline & character notes, Iron to edit it into a cohesive narrative, and Dule to bring the colorful cast to life. Together, we were able to get a demo out and also later get featured on the IGN YouTube as part of the Dames 4 Games Fall Showcase!

Witch You Want

Over at Élan, in September we wanted to try something new—a game jam! Several of us had already entered game jams in the past (and I had just finished a game jam—more on that later), so we thought it’d be a good way to rejuvenate ourselves and our creative juices.

I lead a team with Natasha Luna providing her wonderful writing and Dani creating our own magic with their lovely illustrations. The premise is simple—a local witch desperately needs help making enough potions for the festival that weekend. She’s just, like, only slightly incompetent and ditzy. Slightly.

We made the game in under a month alongside 3 other yuri visual novels from the game jam. I did all of the programming, with some outside assistance from Feniks. I think it turned out pretty cute!

Dahlia

Around April I got the itch to join a game jam (we hadn’t decided to do an internal jam at Élan quite yet) and became interested in the Velox series of jams. They’re Ludum Dare-inspired visual novel game jams which is absolutely perfect for me. I got my start making games with Ludum Dare, as a bunch of my first visual novels were Ludum Dare entries. They taught me how to actually make a game from start to finish and set deadlines for myself.

I entered Velox Formido, which was by far the strictest game jam I’ve ever entered. You have 36 hours to make a visual novel. Still, somehow I was able to make a story with 2 character sprites and multiple endings in the time frame. I think it came out rather nice, as the art direction came out exactly as I imagined.

Starlit Regrets

After entering Velox Formido, I found I really liked the format and was eager to enter the next in the series. In August they held Velox Fabula 2, a 10 day long version of the jam. This gave me a lot more room to work with my idea—maybe a bit too much!

Starlit Regrets is a melancholic story focused on reminiscing and letting the player guide the narrative, both the past and present. It has quite a few different scenes in it depending on choices and 5 endings over 15k words long (I don’t know how I was able to churn out that much in such a short time)! Most of my long visual novels are very linear, so it’s fun to try branching narratives for my shorter games.

Articles

Continuing from last year, I interviewed other visual novel developers! I was lucky to have Katelyn from GB Patch Games, Gabby from Two and a Half Studios, and Tony & Abby from Black Tabby Games all sit down with me in 2024 to talk about their visual novels and how they approach the medium.

Interviewing other developers is still a bit nerve-wracking for me, but it always turns out to be a fun and informative experience.

After getting home from Offkai Expo, I wrote up an overview of our (wonderful) experiences as well as some takeaways from it. We had a great time selling there, but it’s not something that can easily be replicated…!

And continuing from last year’s article looking over Mahoyo’s very questionable marketing campaign, I took a look at both Mahoyo and Tsukihime remake‘s approach to visual direction. So no badmouthing Aniplex this time, but instead praising Type-Moon’s art direction.

My last blog post for the year was also partially a postmortem for Canvas Menagerie. I’ve been on a lot of projects in varying states of being finished, so it was a big relief to finally finish my 3 year long project. I hope it’ll help other developers push themselves across the finish line…!

Art

This year I did a lot of art assets! 4 of the images here are in-game assets and 4 are promotional artworks for the games.

I also participated in Umitober this year, an Inktober-inspired month-long art event where you draw Umineko arts based on different themes each day. Most of my submissions were sketches as I wanted to just try a bunch of different poses and focus on quantity over quality—the best way to get better is to draw a lot, so I used it as pose practice.

Goals

2024 Goals:

Fully write Act 3 of Canvas Menagerie: This was the lite version of this goal. I actually wanted to fully finish the visual novel but didn’t want to overshoot, as I was still working a full time job. Suffice to say I cleared this goal with flying colors.

Release the full version & an artbook for Asphodelium: I actually forgot I was going to release an artbook with the original release… Well, I hope I’ll release one with the extended cut next year. I made an artbook for Canvas Menagerie which was a lot of fun, so I want to do it again.

Go to an out-of-town convention: I’ve never been to an anime convention outside of Memphis…until now! I was able to travel to Offkai Expo and Otakon this year which was so amazing.

Share more VNs I like: I was able to do this as well! I’ve started sharing my favorites from Spooktober after the event as well as cataloguing some of the doujin games I own on Neocities. It’s fun to be able to share some of the visual novel gems I’ve played.

2025 Goals:

Release the extended version for Asphodelium: In January I released the “full” version of Asphodelium, but as mentioned I want to extend it even more. This edition isn’t too far from being done, so I hope to release it in the first half of 2025.

Release Crimson Waves on the Emerald Sea: Amaranthine Moon: CWES: AM has had a lot of progress on the writing front, so I need to get back to scripting it…! We were originally thinking of releasing it Q1 2025 but want to give it more time in the oven. It’s only been in development for half a year as of now, so a later 2025 release would be great.

Fill an entire sketchbook: I have a sketchbook from 2 years ago I started for doing pose practice and this year I want to finally fully use the sketchbook with practices. Not full arts—just practicing everything.

Get back to kanji studies: I feel like this is a goal for a lot of people, hah. Given how often I try to navigate JP websites and play JP games, I need to get back to learning JP!

Document more doujin games: One of the hobbies I started in 2024 was archiving doujin games I have, as many don’t have any documentation online anymore. This is still a side project of mine, but I want to continue blogging about doujin games (namely fangames) and sharing these gems.

2024 certainly had a lot of ups and downs and changes and curveballs. Looking back on it, it was a better year for me than I thought it would be (and remember it being). I was able to finally travel on my own, meet so many friends, try new things, and find new joys.

I’m very nervous going into 2025 as my first year being a fulltime freelancer. I’ve got some cushions set in place, but it’s still a bit nerve-wracking. Now that I’m no longer in my early 20s, things are changing—but in a way, I’ve been finding myself through it. I want to be in visual novels for many more years to come. I love making visual novels, playing visual novels, talking about visual novels. I want to spend time with my friends, flying out to see them and going to conventions where I’m able to meet even more amazing people.

I hope this year will be kind to us all. Cultivate the space you want to live in and help the people you care about.

— Arimia

[prismaticpichu]

I really admire you, and in particular, your drive to create about the things you like most. I don't know if I've ever told you before, but it's just so wonderful that you can make these stories straight from the heart, and I hope I'll be able to have the same capacity you do some day. Creating is hard, but you're killing it, Pichu! You deserve every ounce of love you get <3

(It's also gotten to the point where I've started thinking "I would love to see a Pichu style fix it or silly story for these other characters I like that she's definitely never heard of" so let it be known how influential your style of fanfic is on my brain LOL)

Tdhddtygdhdhdhdhfh SCREECHING RN, HELLPP!! 😭😭💖💖 *melts into pink puddle on the floor*

…… *solidifies back into Pichu* I’m so, so, so, SO beyond honored to hear I can be a source of admiration <33 That’s legitimately not something I’ve seldom (if never) been told before, so plz know I’m literally on the cusp of tears rn ;-; ;-; ;-; <33

Creating from the heart is one of my #1 core values—sincerely. When it comes to creating pieces that other people are intended to see, I am a CORE believer that the best works are the one that were authenticity enjoyed throughout. That isn’t to say it may not cause some irritation or writer’s/artist’s block, but I do believe that something originally created with excitement and joy and inspiration has a much better flavor than those made out of obligation. It just has this… positive energy y’know?? A kind of aura that rubs off of people when they ultimately see the final product <333 (and, truthfully?? I’m saying this as someone who HAS created out of self-obligation before, and quickly came to dislike/see the much more obvious flaws in the creations~) Anywho, just a real long-winded way of saying that the heart is the core ingredient to any creative piece imo <333 It something feels like it’s a chore when it should be fun, maybe take a step back. Reevaluate. Reflect a little. Is there a way you can make this more enjoyable for yourself? Is art really worth genuine burnout, stress, and suffering? Bc I personally don’t believe it is ❤️

Also!!! Dhdhdhdhdhdh AHHH!! I’m screaming here!!! So so so honored and touched that my silly fix-its have penetrated someone else’s brain xDDD <333 I would love to expand my Fix-It fandoms in the future, even if it’s a slow process!! <33 I SHALL NEVER STOP IN MY JOURNEY OF SLAPPING BAND-AIDS ON DOOMED UNIVERSES 🤣🤣💖💖

Thank you so, so, SO much for the kind words!!! You have no idea how long this ask is gonna sit in my heart <33333

[iloveyou-writers]

Hi! I'm sorry this ended up longer than I intended to. I really needed to let it out, and I hope you can share some wisdom with me.

I am feeling hopeless about my writing today. Lately I've been fighting with thoughts about how I'm not getting better, and some jealousy completely pushed me to the edge.

For the past couple of months, I've been working on one of the biggest fanfic projects of mine. Normally I don't read on a fandom if I'm actively working for it, exactly because then I compare my writing to others', but since this is taking more time than my other stuff, I allowed myself to take a look today. I immediately found a story that I haven't seen before, and I was exited the whole time! It was great, and have me so much joy.

At first I was full of admiration towards the writer, and inspired to continue woekint on my own story. It was one of the best things I've ever read, and I immediately sat down to write a comment. Then something clicked. My story can't compare to this. The topics are so much different, but the way they write the characters, dialogues, everything, it's so much better.

I tried to tell myself I'm going to get better, but I just hate that despite having great ideas, the finished work will never live up to stories such as the one I read today. Because even though I know I've gotten better in the many years I've been writing, I never had any work I'm proud of, or one that fit the idea I started with. That what makes me feel the most hopeless.

This broke my heart, so I don't want to ignore it, even though I'm "technically" retired from tumblr.

I do want to offer my utmost respect to you for giving yourself boundaries due to knowing yourself well enough to acknowledge that you have an issue with envy.

It is so healthy that you try to work with what you know your attitude tends to be and that you set a boundary for yourself not to read fanfic while you're writing. It isn't that you're not allowed to ever read it, but while you're writing in the fandom. That's great. That's wonderful. I'm proud of you for that.

It can be really easy to fall into the hole of "I'm never going to be good enough." You read something and you can be so amazed by others. I'll bet, though, that if you wrote the exact story you just read, you would likely feel differently about it. Why? Because we artists are HARD on ourselves. It really is true when they say that artists are our own worst critics. We judge every word, every movement our characters make. Why? Because we know the story we're trying to tell. We know what we envisioned when we started typing.

To us, we're comparing our writing to what we wanted it to be.

Readers? Yeah, they can have expectations or hopes for writing, but they ultimately didn't know what we were envisioning while we wrote it. They only know what they read. So they see it with fresh eyes and they see it for what it is, not for what it was supposed to be.

So it's really easy for readers to see the amazing aspects of a writer's work when a writer might only see what they did wrong or what they had to change in order to make the story work.

It's still the same incredible piece. It's still wonderful and I'll bet you're a much better writer than you feel like you are. 💗🫂

Maybe take a step back. Maybe take a few days off, so that the feeling of being "worse" isn't so fresh. Maybe do something else or work on a totally different story. Busy your mind so it isn't focused on what you feel you're not doing right.

No one's perfect. I guarantee the writer that made the story you read is nitpicking the things they wish they didn't have to change or that they feel they could have worded better.

So cut yourself slack. Remember to love your writing, to love where you're at. Writing is a journey. It isn't about getting to the destination. It's about enjoying the ride there. :) You'll get there, just remember to appreciate your writing for what it is now. And one day, you'll be where you want to be. Just keep working at it and loving yourself and your work.

Thank you for reaching out and I really, really hope you find comfort in this response.

Happy writing, my dear nonnie. 💗 I'm wishing nothing but happiness and pride in your work.

~Hannah

[scary-flag]

People being all "Ed is just an emo babygirl after a breakup, like, who wouldn't act like that???" and yeah I LOVE emo babygirl Ed, but I do not think cutting off someone's toe and feeding it to them is really a sad babygirl action (although you go girlies, he did deserve that)

Jokes aside, though: We are NOT being told anything in specific, and his actions can be interpreted in various ways. Did he go fucking feral, all kraken and shit? Sure, but he also cried when looking at the lighthouse painting later, which tells us he did not really, like, vow to not give in to his emotions again or something.

On the other hand, we ARE explicitly told in canon that Ed is *not* mentally well, and I do not mean it in a bad way. Maybe we, as a fandom, should stop acting like Ed's PTSD and his trauma responses are something bad that we can't work with? Ed has every right to be sad. Ed has every right to be angry. He has every right to be fucking traumatised. And by making him feel those feelings the fanfic writers or fan artists are not necessarily being racist, homophobic or mental-illness-hating. Ed is just human and he has human feelings. People react in all kinds of ways to heartbreak and trauma.

I know we all love babygirl Ed, but keep in mind that woobifying his reaction to Stede leaving him, we are kind of writing off the whole mental health aspect of the character, which, I think, is super important in the show? Going as far as removing this aspect of Ed (and I have seen people who really believe Ed has absolutely zero issues) is kind of building the stupid "we shouldn't talk about mental illness" ableist taboo agenda.

(to read more about masculinity and rage in the context of POC experience, I recommend to dig into what @uselessheretic posts who is definitely better at writing in English than I am and likely more educated on the subject)

There is nothing wrong in wanting a character to be flawed. Flaws make us human

Another point: He is a PIRATE. Most people are not making him violent and angry because he's gay, nor because he's a POC. Most do it because he is a pirate, and if anything, the legendary pirates were generally known to be unhinged. Pirates stabbed people, keelhauled them, burnt whole villages down, traded slaves and r*ped. I know we all love OFMD and our blorbos, but let's not forget who the inspiration behind those characters were. No one does anything wrong by just by saying a pirate character HAS issues with his mental health, anger management or attitude. Some people just give Ed (or Izzy, or Stede, or any character honestly) more of the real-world pirate characteristics.

Yes, it is a comedy show, but in fan works it can become anything - a drama, a horror, a post-apocalyptic sci-fi slasher, whatever the author wants. So I think that people who do not interpret Ed's reaction to the breakup as basically a cutesy american teenager eating ice cream in bed listening to Evanescence are not necessarily wrong and neither do they have bad intentions.