#anyway again sorry if this is incoherent or doesn't make much sense lol

[daz4i]

the hunting dogs are so fascinating tbh. like the core of them all seems to be about... idk if justice is the word, but like. doing the right thing. putting it above their feelings, usually. on the other hand, jouno and teruko seem to also have a sadistic streak to them (more prominent with jouno ofc), which should go against this sentiment, but actually serves to feed it.

it's interesting that fukuchi asked jouno to join the doa's cause, when at its core it WAS about justice and greater good etc. but. its process is so harmful that tecchou or teruko would likely not put up with it. at the end of the day, we saw that jouno wouldn't either.

this brings me to my next point - the double agents. starting with fukuchi since we already brought him up

i think. if you look at the hunting dogs as a vessel for justice and help. fukuchi fits right in - it's at his core as well, and he was willing to get hurt and eventually die over it. it's hard to pinpoint the core of the doa given what a mishmash of goals they have, but it's easy to see him stand out from them regardless. even in a design way, they all stand out and have really unique looks, while he's literally always in uniform. i wouldn't be surprised if that's a part of what i'm trying to say here - fukuchi belong in the hunting dogs, he is undoubtedly one of them.

meanwhile, tachihara... never seemed to put any emphasis on the same things? i don't think he has bad intentions or likes to harm anyone (he could've killed yosano but decided not to - not just giving up on his revenge plan, but technically his mission as well), but his whole Thing isn't really about justice or even particularly helping others. and i think it's like a thematic way to show that he really does belong in the mafia. his arc is more reminiscent of elememts in chuuya's or akutagawa's stories, for example, about belonging and finding a place and a group for himself. it's no wonder he ended up choosing it and was willing to go against fukuchi - their goals and values just don't align at all, even narratively speaking

i wish we got to see more of them. i think their goal is a bit basic but that's what makes it so flexible, as you can see in the differences between them, which are precisely what makes them interesting. there's a lot you can do with them, esp in contrast to the ada's goal of first and foremost helping and saving people (rather than maintaining a more nebulous concept like justice or law)

i dunno maybe i'm forgetting stuff here lol in which case forgive me, it is currently 3 am. maybe in the future i'll go over every chapter with them and phrase all this more coherently as well 🫡

[greenorangevioletgrass]

if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story. 

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried. 

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album…  boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck. 

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you. 

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation. 

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing. 

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more. 

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases. 

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice. 

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs. 

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?” 

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!” 

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children. 

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia. 

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits. 

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling. 

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you. 

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his. 

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there. 

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.” 

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago. 

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk. 

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you. 

[olasketches]

So the fight is really over...my glorious four armed giant spider is gone. Yuji really was foreshadowing about the slime thingy heh. I'm so happy to see the trio back and together again like you tell me this a year ago this is what was going to happen and I'd just give you a maniacal laugh. But I still don't know how to feel about Sukuna's end like we all knew he was going to die and in perspective it does feels satisfying. Sukuna being ripped apart from Megumi and his little convo with Megumi...yeah dude really is walking contradiction. Always saying he's living to die but actually doesn't want to die. Indirectly answering Kashimo's question. But his end just seems...eh? Like at first Kenjaku's end seemed like that to me too but it made sense later on. Kenjaku came in silence and went like that but Sukuna he was never like Kenjaku or Mahito so his ending being parallel to Mahito didn't really sit right with me and i actually wanted him to get anything but a glorious death but this feels...stale somehow? Idk he's still the same untrue to himself. Wish we could get more of his thought process. Or maybe this was it to show Sukuna's denial became his defeat. I just hoped for more emotionally charged defeat of his..but it's GeGe story I'm happy they're telling it like they want to.

Also Uraume and Hakari was funny too they fought all this time bonded, praised and just dipped. Makes me think if they had a binding vow with Sukuna too? Sorry for all the yap and incoherence. I'm just feeling underwhelmed? Overwhelmed? what are your thoughts regarding this chapter and Suku's end?

"my glorious four armed giant spider is gone" took me out sksksksk he's really just a bug when you think about it lol.

anyway thank you for sending me your ask. I really liked reading your thoughts and how you called suku out for being contradictory and a hypocrite till the very end AS YOU SHOULD THANK YOU!! honestly, this fact alone makes the whole chapter all the more special to me but on this in a sec cause I'm guessing the reaction to his demise is quite... well I guess ppl are not really happy with it..??? I mean some of them probably are and by "some" I mean *cough, cough* the haters *cough, cough* but well... I wouldn't know cause ONE I'm actually (and maybe surprisingly) super pleased and satisfied with this chapter and TWO, I didn't go and check others reaction to it lol I'm planning to keep it that way for now. I'm really not a big fan of twt fandoms spaces in fact I can't stand them... too much negativity and toxicity *shudders*.

so my thoughts... to put it simply, I loved it more than loved it actually. and yeah yeah sure he turned into a slimy lil bug which probably put many people off but hey let's not forget sukuna was basically like a parasite possessing megumi's body, so it makes sense that once peeled off only curse-like residues would remain... but I can understand why some stans didn't like that part. I personally found funny but that's just me lol.

and yeah the final seemed quite underwhelming, but I think that's what makes it so good. I didn't want sukuna's death to be the most interesting thing about his character and well it's not. rather than having a big an "after life" moment like jogo, gojo or kashimo, he spent his last moments with the only person who cared about the human sukuna so stubbornly tried to burry inside him.

I actually found his conclusion to be quite beautiful and moving, cause instead of being looked down upon by yuuji as many stans thought would be the case, he was offered something else entirely. something no one ever gave him - kindness and love. yes, I'm using the "L" word here cause in the end that's what it was... yuuji showed sukuna the true value of love. he accepted him and ask him to live with him despite everything sukuna has put him through. despite all the chaos chaos and distraction he caused him, yuuji still accepted him. he not only showed sukuna genuine empathy and compassion but also recognised that sukuna is really... just like him. when yuuji looked into (blop) sukuna's eyes (my beloved) he could only see himself. he realised that under different circumstances, he could've turned out like sukuna if he didn't have his grandpa by his side. he realised that if he could have turned out like sukuna then sukuna could've turned out like him too, that if only sukuna had someone who loved him and guided him and accepted him, he most likely wouldn't have turned into a curse, which is another thing I loved and cry about in this chapter.

sukuna only saw himself as a curse :")). he acknowledged yuuji and finally called him by his full name but in the end he still only think of himself as a "curse" not as human, not even as a god or king of curses but only a curse :")).

the reason why I loved just how "underwhelming" his death felt like is because instead of framing and defining his entire character by his his final moments, gege made the rest of his moments in the manga stand out EVEN MORE. instead of having a moment of reflection and introspection in this chapter as well as in chapter 265 or 266... and oh well entire shinjiku showdown basically, his character started to trip and reveal just how contradictory he is. sukuna claimed he was satisfied with his life and doesn't care about dying, he also claimed he doesn't care about ideals and even despised them, he also claimed he doesn't feel anything and he doesn't need others to satisfy him and then you have all those small moments when you realise "wait, that is not right" and you look back and rethink everything. sukuna does feel and he NEEDS others to satisfy him, cause that's what his entire "philosophy" hinges on.

"Every human has a unique and fleeting taste... which makes devouring them a perfect way to pass time until death"

he DID get excited when maki became the first person to ever give him a role

This is a first. You're the only one who ever forced a role upon me. (while grinning like a maniac)

and then megumi lied his bs out in the open and revealed that sukuna was afraid of death too, despite believing otherwise

Even something like you fears death...

this only goes to show that sukuna convinced himself (and many other readers) that he is not human, that he is above that, that he doesn't care about the things they do... but if even "something like him" feared death, got excited to be given a role, praised and encouraged others for their talents and skills and connected to them in one way another only to "pass time" or knew about flowers and caught a crayfish then that means... he must be human too.

and even if sukuna and the rest of the world couldn't and didn't want to accept that, there was one person who did. someone sukuna hurt the most, someone who saw him at his worst and at his weakest. someone who in the end still decided to show him love, because he belived sukuna is still worthy of love, despite everyone and maybe even sukuna himself, believing that he no longer is worthy of such thing.

"Even if no one else will accept you... I'll live with you" "Itadori Yuuji... don't underestimate me. I'm... a "curse"!

[greatprotector-if]

Hii, I want to make if game but I'm kinda slow writer. Also I have never written so many words like other authors and it's a bit paralyzing. Do you have any advice how to deal with it?

anon i am so sorry this is 100% just rambling. the TLDR; my advice to you is this: comparison is the thief of joy. i know it's hard not to compare yourself to others, it's a super natural instinct for most of us, but seriously, as long as you're doing the best that you can, it doesn't matter how much or how little everyone else is doing. try changing your scenery! write in a different location! write using different materials! don't even bother with proper grammar and punctuation or whether things sound good or make sense for your rough draft. just write. Don't go back and fix things. and it might suck and you might just end up having to rewrite the entire thing in the end but at least now you know what not to do! and i am wishing you the absolute best in all your if writing endeavours <3

i'm fr just a guy so i'm so sorry if this advice is shit. i'm not a professional. idk if you came to me just because you saw the "slow writer" in the intro post and you saw a kindred spirit, but just in case you are not aware.... i am such a slow writer and i'll be so honest when i started tgp by far the longest thing i'd written was 11k words and it took like... 10 months to finish. usually the stuff i wrote was 500 words in Total and i was also the type of fanfic writer on wattpad who'd post three chapters and then never touch the book ever again

so, not a great foundation for a game that requires this level of commitment, and i knew that!! but i dunno i was so excited about the idea and the characters and i felt like i needed to share it with the world so i just went fuck it and started. when i first got that intro post up i had nothing but a handful of characters, a vague idea and a dream.......

basically what i'm trying to say is. I get it.

and my advice to you is: just do it LOL just write your if game!!!

it will be scary and impostor syndrome is SUCH A BITCH. you will encounter authors who will write like 100k words in the time it takes you to write 5k and THAT IS OKAY. I FEEL THIS EVERY DAY. BUT YOUR WORTH IS NOT BASED ON HOW MANY WORDS YOU CAN WRITE IN AN HOUR, SO TRY YOUR BEST NOT TO BE TOO HARSH ON YOURSELF. COMPARISON IS THE THIEF OF JOY. if your best one day is 15 words and they aren't even good words? that's fine. at least you're getting something down. you are doing the best you can in that moment, and that's what's most important!!!

ALSO WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE. you cannot appeal to everyone. there will be people who simply will not enjoy your game and you know.. we ball anyway because there will also be people who LOVE YOUR GAME JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO, IF NOT MORE. i find that a lot of the time i'm stuck because i'm so worried about catering to my audience, and while it's okay to be conscious of these things, don't let it paralyze you. do not make your story about a bunch of bullshit you don't care about just because it's popular or something or you will just Never progress because you don't care about writing it. those days i shit out 1k (WHICH IS A LOT FOR ME IN ONE DAY) are because i'm like JUMPING OFF THE WALLS EXCITED ABOUT WHAT I'M WRITING ABOUT. WHO CARES IF WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IS CRINGE (cringe culture is dead anyway) OR SUPER NICHE OR WON'T GET YOU A MILLION FOLLOWERS IMMEDIATELY. i mean don't get me wrong validation feels so good i'm a bit of an attention whore myself but also you deserve to create things that make you feel good, and this is what sustains a long-term project. You know? You feel me? You pickin up what i'm putting down? plus there will always be other people who vibe with your story, no matter how much you think you're the only one it appeals to.

but just in case you aren't just here for incoherent moral support, i would highly recommend straying away from plain old google docs or whatever it is that you usually use to write and trying new things! pen and paper??? pen and Cardboard box (this one works really well for me for my art block for some reason LMAO)??? write while sitting on the stairs instead of at your desk??? stimuwrite 2.0 (i cannot recommend this enough the bubble wrap sounds are sooo good)???

also. remember that rough drafts are just that: Rough Drafts. just write!!! maybe it'll turn out great, but maybe it'll be complete shit. maybe it'll make you want to throw up just reading it back. DON'T DELETE IT AND WORRY ABOUT HOW TO MAKE IT SOUND BETTER. I DONT CARE IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY USED THE WORD "JUST" 3 TIMES IN 1 SENTENCE. AS LONG AS YOU GOT THE MESSAGE ACROSS ENOUGH FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND IT YOU'RE GOOD TO GO.

ok sorry i am mildly sleep deprived at the time of writing this i'm so sorry if i literally just didn't answer any kf your questions at any point in here. i have no idea what i'm doing i just roll with the punches!!!!!!

[elytrafemme]

HELLO!! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING?! IM GREAT! This chapter was so good, and I'm still riding my metaphorical high while writing this- Anyway, lots of things I want to talk about as per usual so imma get to it :D Tommy in this chapter was so....like- he's such a boi... Like you have got his dialogue mastered! it's literally just Tommy, like he's said that in canon. I always hate (love) when cs!Tommy is causally like, "We're brothers! Family! You are my person! :D" to Tubbo who just thinks, "No we're not, not really, I'm ruining your family, you were better off without me barging my way in your life" It's sad but I'm also a huge fan of dramatic irony and characters being entirely oblivious to the fact that they're loved. I really loved the quote, "You are my least favorite brother.” That’s not going to be much of an issue in a minute." Like dude, such a wonderfully stark contrast in energies between the two *chef's kiss* Open your damn eyes Tubbo, you literally are Tommy's brother smh. But seriously, your portrayal of clingyduo is always so well thought out and written, they are idiots who would do anything for the other's betterment, and it's so sweet. They just be vibing bein' teenage bois but with a pinch of (a ton of) depression thrown in for fun! Next I'm gonna talk about the scene with Tubbo and Phil, because holy cow was that some good writing, 10/10 would scream again! The mood for this was just so bleak, and the context makes it so clear to the reader (or at least to me) that Phil's gonna adopt him as soon as he mentions Tubbo's situation. Yet Tubbo just keeps planning his escape, how he'll survive, how he'll break the news to Tommy. It feels like the equivalent to watching a soldier march to their own death by choice. So miserable- I LOVE IT!! And his reaction to actually hearing that, no he won't be forced away, he'll be part of the family for real, he immediately goes into a state of panic because he doesn't feel like he should be adopted- that they don't deserve to have him ruin their family, but it doesn't defy logic. In fact, it makes more logical sense than the alternative, so it just matches what Tubbo's brain has been set up as. He goes with logic first, feelings second. But this reveals that he feels disgusted with himself to the point to where it doesn't fit with his logic, his whole base for living, he loses it and can't comprehend it. (Sorry if that part was incoherent I don't know how to use words lol) Anyway, it's all so consistent with his character in a way that turns his system of operation on its head, and exposes its flaws! And I really loved that whole paragraph using invasive species in an environment as an analogy for Tubbo in their family. So beautiful and sad that Tubbo literally thinks of himself as detrimental to the growth of his loved ones!

Now it's time for me to talk about *looks at smudged writing on hand* uh- fruit salad with mental illness..? Jokes aside, we got so much food this chapter, so much beeduo!! Per usual they had a gay as hell car ride, and Tubbo ranting about his hyperfixations- just amazing. And the fact that, at least in my interpretation, Tubbo is so used to and in love with Ranboo's voice that it's the first thing he thinks of to get out of panic. Mans cannot stand 5 seconds in silence and his immediate solution is to ask ranboo a gay-ass question- so good! And the line, "Tubbo has this stupid thought, sometimes, that if Ranboo’s talking, Tubbo can breathe again." THIS LINE IS JUST!!!!!! SO GOOD SO GOOOOOOOD. Tubbo always feels like he's suffocating and Ranboo helps him breathe!?!?! THE SYMBOLISM ITS AMAZING! And then we get all of Tubbo's spiraling self-hatred yet his desire to be loved in spite of him simply existing! He wants to hold onto Ranboo so tightly, but he's worried he'll suffocate him by proxy, and I just can't- it's so well done!! AND THEN WE FINALLY GET TUBBO OPENING UP ABOUT SOMETHING!!! And he's trying to mask why being adopted would be bad because he doesn't want Ranboo to defend him when he doesn't know how horrible Tubbo is! And Ranboo tries so hard, and doesn't know what to do, he literally loves him so much and wants to support him any way he can, and tubbo wants to help him too but thinks he's only making everything he touches worse!! And then when Tubbo was faced with the idea that he could be loved in spite of him being evil and gross and wrong he just breaks down and spills his guts out because he doesn't know how to live with that. Reading Tubbo finally open up was so cathartic and was just amazing. He felt so broken in that moment in comparison to the start of the chapter where he masquerades his misery with apathy or jokes. And just to destroy my heart some more because you thought it'd be funny, you made Ranboo open up a little too. Which meant even more to me, because Tubbo's been cracking at the seams for quite a few chapters now, we knew he would implode eventually. But Ranboo? For him it doesn't fester out of repression and denial, he feels and releases that misery all the time just not ever in front of Tubbo, so the fact that he was willing to share anything at all was such a giant breakthrough for him in the terms of their relationship. And I think this chapter really just secured beeduo as together in such a strong way. Because people connect through joy sure, but pain, empathy, that can be argued to bring them even closer. Okay, jeez I think I like cs!beeduo a little too much that was a lot of words lol. But yeah, those were my thoughts! This chapter made me really happy because the best thing to happen to characters who repress or shame all their trauma away is to talk about it to others. who could've guessed? Your imagery as usual was so vivid and brilliant, the spiraling scenes felt so real, and the dialogue felt so natural. Thank you for continuing to write this wonderful fic, because not only does it finally give me use for taking ib english, but it also makes me so so happy. I don't remember if I've said this yet or not, but if I have idc I'll say it again. You are the best dsmp fic writer for modern/human aus, never have I seen a better more realistic approach, you should feel proud! Until the next cough syrup tuesday mare! Have a good rest of your day! <333

HEY SORRY ITS BEEN ABOUT A WEEK HI!!!

one of the things that you can't really see fully because of the POVs but i always consider with cs!clingy scenes is the fact that a lot of cs!tubbo's confidence in the family dynamic as we know is sort of a farce because he doesn't feel like he belongs, but a lot of cs!tommy's force behind it also stems from some internal issues. i mean i'll go more into it in one of the later chapters but cs!tommy doesn't always have that confidence with his family. i don't know if that makes sense i'm a bit tired

"It feels like the equivalent to watching a soldier march to their own death by choice." love u saying this bc this is such a good way to describe it and im glad my writing could convey that feeling-- THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KIND WORDS! i had to be delicate w/ that part because i didn't want to villainize philza in some kind of way but it's also a really complicated situation, and tubbo kind of jumps to what he sees as the most just option but his compass regarding what would be the best and worst option is skewed due to his self loathing

i wonder if you do a lot of writing yourself because i really am amazed by how you describe all these character connections its super fucking cool. but yeah beeduo!!! the process to opening up is really hard and what i want to demonstrate is this ebb and flow, this trust of one another but not an inward trust of themselves, and the idea that you oftentimes don't really dump all your bullshit on someone at once, you have some days you say more and then some aside comments and its some combination of that (albeit i have to accelerate the pace for narrative reasons that characters admit things to each other but yknow, cant have an 100 chapt fic) im really glad you like those two and honestly appreciate that a lot, the beeduo in the next upcoming chapters is going to be interesting to write so reading that was a bit like a pep talk funnily enough HAHA <33

YOU ARE SO FUCKING KIND TO ME WHAT THE HELL... THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! genuinely like, the fact that cough syrup can mean that much to you makes every single roadblock worth it and even if i have like, just one person out there who really really likes the fic, i'm never going to give up on it. because that means the fucking world to me. i appreciate you so much <3

see you in a week :]

[orange-waterfalls]

The Deal

Illinois x gender neutral!reader

@lawfluff-evil ty for the prompt

A/N: It got to be way too long so I split it into two parts lol. Rated T for cursing. Second part will be posted soon, probably.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 2

"Oh hey, sorry if you fell in love with me. They always do…" and just like that, Illinois saunters out of the cave, leaving you with a rock and a banana. Cocky bastard you think. You look at the items in your hands, wondering what the hell you're supposed to do now. Some dust must have made its way to your nose because you sneeze. The rock turns to dust revealing a diamond inside. You gape, inspecting it for a moment before turning to the banana. You did get them from the same place…

You peel it.

Lo and behold, it's not just a banana, it's a golden banana. You ponder leaving and keeping all the treasure for yourself. Well, he didn't do anymore than you. Besides, he's the one who left you. You decide against it because, sadly, deep down, you're a good person. You run towards the exit, where Illinois went, hoping to catch up with him. You're far behind him, it seems, because you don't find him even after you exit the cave, where you find Mark. His suit is tattered and dirty and he's panting like he was just running for his life. Which… he was… technically. He looks up at you and glares.

"Thanks a lot, buddy, where the hell were you while I was getting chased by a sentient Boulder?!" He yells. You hold up the diamond and the gold. He raised his eyebrows.

"Forget everything bad I've ever said about you," he laughs and limps over to you. You wince at the sight and start to feel bad. "Where'd you find this?" You point to the cave. He laughs.

"We'll be rich! At least something good came out of the heist!" You furrow your eyebrows. Mark notices this and his smile falters a bit. "What's wrong?"

"I want to find someone," you say.

"You met them in there?" He asks. You nod. "Did he come out this way?" You nod again. Mark sighs. "Well… you brought this back… I guess it's the least I can do." You smile and throw your arms around him. He laughs and hugs you back. "Alright, don't get all mushy on me, now." He pulls back. "What does he look like?" You stare at Mark for a minute. He looks behind him, not knowing exactly what's happening. You bring your hand up and point to him. He points to himself. "He looks like me?" You nod. Mark crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Well, if he looks like me, how is he so special?" You tap your leg for a moment before answering.

"You know Indiana Jones?" You ask. Mark nods. You raise your eyebrows, expecting him to connect what you were saying. Mark laughs.

"He's Indiana Jones? Aw, are you a fan? Is that why you wanna see him again?" He teases. You glare at him and punch his arm. "Ah! Sorry sorry!" He stops laughing. "So, what's his name?" You pause, knowing what he's going to say as soon as you tell him, and he waits for your answer. You mumble incoherently. "Sorry?" He cups a hand around his ear and leans towards you. You take a deep breath.

"His name's Illinois…" you say. There's silence for a moment before Mark bursts out laughing. You almost start laughing too, but keep your composure.

"Illinois? Really?! Did he pick it himself?" He asks. You break and laugh as well. You both stand and laugh like idiots for a minute before stopping.

"So, uh… where exactly are we?" You ask. Mark shrugs.

"Something happened at the car… I think we teleported… somehow…" you punch the bridge of your nose.

"What even is today…" you sigh, annoyed. Mark chuckles and pats your shoulder.

"I know, I know," He consoles, Well, we should try to find society. Maybe we'll find your new boyfriend on the way" he teases. You scoff.

"One thing that I'm absolutely sure of is that he is not into me," you cross your arms.

"How do you know?" Mark asks. You clear your throat as you mimic Illinois' accent.

"Oh, and uh, sorry if you fell in love with me. Heh, they always do," you roll your eyes after you finish. Mark giggles.

"Oh no! He said that to you?" He asks sympathetically. You nod and sigh. He grabs your arm. "I am so sorry. But, if he doesn't like you, why do you what to find him?"

"Well, I wanted to return this diamond since he's the one who found the rock it was in," you explain. Mark stares at you like you're a crazy person. He takes a deep breath.

"That is uncharacteristically noble of you and I think we shouldn't," he says quickly. You gape at him.

"Mark!" You say accusingly.

"Well, he's the one who left before he found out! And he seems like a dick!" Mark sets his hands on his hips.

"He is a dick," you mumble angrily.

"Exactly! So… we can just… keep them! And sell them! And then we can be rich! Right? Wasn't that the purpose of robbing a museum in the first place?" He tries to convince you to keep the treasure. You sigh.

"No, Mark, we are good people…" you pause and Mark stares at you blankly. You start again. "We are… relatively fair people," he raised an eyebrow at you. You groan. "Ok we fucking suck. But this feels right! It's the right thing to do! Please, buddy? Pal? Friend?" You beg.

"Ugh, fine," Mark groans, "but I will use this against you at a later time." You smile and hug him. He tries not to, but grins and hugs you back. "So, which way should we go?" He asks.

"Oh, no, no, no," you chuckle, "you're not throwing this one onto me. You decide this time, sir."

"Oh. Uh… alright…" he rubs the back of his neck and looks around for a minute. "Uh… this way!" He points to the right of you, where there's a forest. You look at him weirdly, but follow him anyway. You two walk through the forest until you find a trail that leads you to a small village. You go up to a person.

"Excuse me, but, where are we?"

"Tijuana," the woman says. You feel like you've heard that before, but…

"Let me rephrase, what country are we in?"

"Mèxico," she answers. You turn to Mark.

"Mexico, Mark. We're in Mexico." You say.

"That's awesome. That's wonderful. That's great." He laughs, an angry tone in his voice. How the hell are we in Mexico?!" He yells. A couple people turn their heads, looking at him strangely. You set a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, buddy. It's alright." You see a flash of red and look to the side of you. You see wheels as well. Your eyes widen. You walk to the car and see that it's the same one you used to escape from the museum. "Mark." You call.

"What?" He snaps.

"I found the car," You state. His eyes widen as he runs over to you.

"Holy shit, thank God" he sighs.

"So, I think it'd be about a two hour drive back to L.A., but we would need more gas…" you comment. You turn to the people that have gathered to see what you're doing. "Hi, um, is there… is there a gas station around?" A boy goes inside one of the houses and brings back a can of gas. You raise your eyebrows. "Oh, no, we couldn't-" He pushes it towards you.

"Tomas! Tomas*!" He pressures. You turn to Mark, who shrugs his shoulders. You hesitantly take the can from the boy.

"Gracias**," you thank. The boy nods and smiles.

"Oh, uh have you guys seen a guy? Looks kinda like me but with a hat?" Mark asks the people.

"Sí***, he went to the bar," A man explains and points to said bar. You and Mark walk over. You go inside and see that the only people inside are Illinois and the bartender. It makes sense, it's still pretty early. Illinois notices you and smirks.

"Well, look who came back?" He teases. "Miss me too much?" You stare at him, unamused.

"No." You say angrily.

"Sure you didn't." He chuckles. "Look, bud, i already said I was sorry if you fell in love with me. I also already said I was married to the adventure." He explains. Mark leans over to you.

"I'm not gonna lie, he is suave," Mark admits. You punch his arm. "Ow!" He whines.

"I didn't come back because I love you." You say, which is… partially true… but mostly false. "I can back because that rock you left me turned into this," Mark holds up the large diamond. Illinois' smile falls a bit. "And that banana I got wasn't a banana," you hold up your gold. Illinois looks at you two before regaining his composure standing up from the bar stool.

"Well, since that rock was found by me, you can hand it over here, partner," he holds his hand out for the diamond. Mark doesn't move. Illinois looks at his hand and back at Mark.

"Well… they were the one who actually found out it was a diamond… you, you cocky bitch, left. I feel like they deserve to keep it." He states. You look at him, smiling. He could be a dick, but he was still your best friend. Illinois blinks and scoffs.

"Oh, is that so? And who might you be?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm their best friend," he claims, "and I think they deserve this more than you do." You look at Illinois, worried. You didn't know if he was violent or not. He didn't seem like it, but you can't just assume. He squints at Mark, and then laughs.

"Ain't you a lucky one?" He turns and says to you, "That's some friend you got here. Tell you what, we'll go on another adventure. We'll split whatever treasure we find, but whoever finds treasure first gets to keep the diamond as well." He suggests. You look at him. He's arrogant. He knows he's gonna win. So do you. You could just walk away and keep the diamond, but you do want to spend time with him. Get to know him better. You're already in love, might as well ride the train till it stops. You take a deep breath.

"Alright," you agree, "let's do it." You reach out to shake hands. Mark stops you.

"You sure about this?" He asks, "We can just… go home. Head back to base. We don't even have to keep the treasure, we can just leave." You knit your eyebrows. He turns fully towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders. "I don't want you to get hurt. Please." Your eyes soften and you smile at him. You put your hands on his shoulders.

"I'm pretty smart, Mark, and I can take care of myself. I'll be fine." You try to convince him. He still looks worried. You hand him the golden banana. "Either way, we'll still have this." He smiles.

"Yeah… alright. Sure," he finally gives in, "but you better not die on me." He warns. You nod. You turn to Illinois, who still has his hand out for you to take. You shake it.

"Deal." You agree. He smirks.

"Let's get going."

---

*Take it! Take it!

**Thank you

***Yes

Pardon my Spanish, I'm on my second year lol