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mondaymelon · 1 year ago

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₊˚ෆ 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓, 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔? | lyney, neuvillette, wriothesely x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: established relationship, fluffity fluff !! art by @/puna_822 on twitter, edited by me!

⤷ shh!! secret relationships with the fontaine men ₊˚ෆ

— Lyney will keep the secret well, of course. He’s a jack of all trades, and a little bit of misconception is nothing taxing for someone who can trick the eye with just a simple swipe of his hands.

…Though, his personality often brings much more to deal with behind the scenes. His every action is designed as a ruse, trying to draw any and every reaction from you - whether it be making you irritated as can be or practically burning from his smooth words. He’ll at the red on your face with a light smirk gracing his lips. “Embarrassed, now, are we? Mhm, best wipe it off your face though, lest anyone find out~”

Dealing with the magician was a headache. A delightful one, but painful nonetheless. He has a habit of saying whatever he wants, and it doesn’t help that he’s so good at it too. His tongue can twist poems out of thin air, or pickup lines at the drop of a hat. The number of times Lynette had glanced over at you with a concerned gaze was far more than you could count, and it would be only a matter of time before another carefully crafted sentence sent the entire mirage into collapse. The two of you had only decided to keep your relationship private in the first place due to work affairs. It’d just make things more frustrating if people were aware of the connection. In earlier weeks, you had tried to confront the man about the entire predicament, but he had only laughed it off with a shrug of his shoulders and a jesting beam.

“Oh, don’t tell me that the words I tell you every day still make you so flustered? Archons, you really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you? Although, for you, I suppose I’m no different…”

When Freminet had eventually voiced his worries, gently holding your hands and saying, “A-Are you okay? Your face is really red, are you sick? Should I walk y-you home?”, there was no other choice but to shake your head, cover your flushed cheeks as best you could with a hand, and tell a blatant lie that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

There most certainly was, and it was the cat-like man who stood off to the side, a sly smirk on his face and one of his eyes closed in a wink. Not helping, Lyney.

When would the day come for you to be the one to make him flustered? Perhaps it was sooner than you thought, on his opening night for the new season. You weren’t sure if he had expected to see you in the crowd, but as he was performing his wonderous tricks, eyes sweeping over the hundreds present, his shimmering lilac eyes locked onto yours. His professional smile stretched a little wider, and as he pulled a dove out of his hat with a flourish of his arms, beamed. The astonished look on your face was something he’d be sure not to forget.

As soon as the lights dim onstage, he hurries off of it, giving Lynette a quick farewell and combing back his unruly hair with his fingers. He spots you standing by the exit, holding… a bouquet of roses in your arms? They were a beautiful sight, yet paled in comparison to how ethereal you looked in the moment, the spotlights afar illuminating your face with a glow and your eyes sparkling with delight. This always happens when the two of you are alone - he’ll switch from verbal affection to physical, and this time is no exception. He sweeps you into his arms, slotting his lips against yours as he pulls you into a deep kiss that leaves you breathless and red. However, this time, the blush dusting your cheeks is not only on your face but his, as he takes the flowers in his arms with a bright smile.

“For me, love? Come now, I can’t possibly keep how good we are together from everyone else, can I?” ₊˚ෆ

— Neuvillette is… an interesting case. For starters, he’s baffled at the concept of keeping the relationship a secret. Elaborate that you don’t want to ruin his reputation as a perfect, just, and stone-cold judge, and he’ll oblige… reluctantly. He still doesn’t understand - just why can’t he show you how much he loves you in public?

For now, he’ll have to chalk it up as more human affairs that he’s deemed too complicated to figure out. Ground rules have been laid out - no mentioning the relationship, no telling anyone either… not even the melusines, which was a fair case, since they’d be sure to spread the news faster than wildfire. The mortal realm is far more puzzling than it seems, he concludes somberly. An unfamiliar world that was arduous to coexist in. It’ll be alright, though, as long as he can intertwine his fingers with yours and look into your eyes and-

“N- Sir Neuvillette… not here!” You chide quietly, slowly withdrawing your hand from his. His face falls into an instant, brows furrowing. He’ll bite his tongue, for your sake, and remain silent, yet his fingers twitch. Archons, his hands feel so much better when they’re in yours. The man watches with dejected eyes as you whip your head around anxiously, before gesturing for Neuvillette to bend down. He complies, and matches himself to your height, yet immediately pauses any motion as soon as he feels your lips brush against his forehead. You brush a stray lock of his behind his reddened ears, a grin curving on your lips.

“Don’t be too disappointed, okay? I don’t want it to rain on my way back home~” You beam slyly as you lean away, witnessing Neuvillette’s expression undergo several stages - downcast, shocked, flustered… and then a small smile graces his expression.

“I’ll see you when I get home. Don’t wait up for me. The case might run late.” Neuvillette chuckles to himself, straightening his posture as he softly pinches your cheek, laughing at the way you begin to pout. It’s something the melusines told him to do, and he’s glad he listened - your face is soft, and he has to hold himself back from kissing you. He can hear people around the corner, their voices growing closer. “Get home safe.”

“Love?” Whenever the dragon enters home, he’ll call you by the name he’s unable to call you anywhere else - something he loathes with a burning sensation in his chest. “Are you…” His voice fades as he sees you curled up on the couch, eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling with every breath. Had you tried to stay up for him? Cute. He takes you in his arms and brings you to the bedroom, carefully arranging the pillows and blankets around your sleeping form. You stir in your state, lids slowly fluttering open as you stare at the man above you with drowsy eyes.

“Neuvi?” The use of his nickname makes his heart flutter. It’s utterly incomparable to what you call him at work, “Sir Neuvillette.” Too rigid. You giggle at the sight of him, still half-asleep, and cup his face in your hands. “Welcome home… did I fall asleep? Ah, I’m sorry, I guess I was too tired…?”

The smile on his face won’t leave.

Yes, moments like these allowed him to continue this strange human practice.

He places his hands on yours, reveling in your warmth.

“Sleep, love.” ₊˚ෆ

— Wriothesley’s used to being professional. If he wasn’t, his work would be a lifetime more demanding than it was at the moment - although, perhaps even that’d be easier than keeping himself away from you until watchful eyes are no longer present.

He’s touchy whenever he’s with you. He likes leaning into your figure, even if you’re shorter than him, just to take in the way you embrace him back, but he loves the feeling of your fingers with his even more. It makes him feel… giddy, light, like he could drift away with the slightest breeze.

And that’s an issue. In order for you to remain safe, he’ll have to stay hushed about you being his lover. He’s made enemies, that much is natural. Of course, he’ll comply with your wishes to keep the relationship private. You could tell him to eat dirt and he’d do just that. Things like that are second nature now. Before, he had no trouble lasting weeks, or months in the Fortress of Meropide at once. After all, there was no driving incentive to head back to the city of Fontaine other than greeting the melusines, dropping off official papers, or, his guilty pleasure, ordering bags upon bags of tea from the mainland, so that he’d have more than enough to drink at the fortress. Now that you were here, however, how could he possibly stay away longer than a few days? If your hands in his were what made him float away, your smile brought him back, with a racing heart in his chest and a smile spread across his features. He’d give the world to see your smile, since it was his world. A single laugh from you would cause the background to fade to white, and rouse his heart and face into a flustered mess.

The prisoners notice a difference. Of course, they don’t know who this mysterious person the duke is seeing, but all they know is that they’re certainly working wonders. On miraculous, wondrous days, they'll even catch a glimpse of a smile on his face while he’s sitting at his desk, sifting through paperwork. As time passes, the news only grows more widespread, eventually reaching the ears of the ludex himself. It’s true, there is an apparent change - one that he captures on the duke’s more frequent visits to land. For a while, fables and tales of Wriothelsey’s mysterious lover spread throughout the city from ear to ear in hushed, excited whispers.

He’ll tease you about it, of course, but he’s really just rather intrigued. Has he really changed that much after meeting you? He doesn’t think so, but he wouldn’t put it past himself. “Darling, darling…” He repeats your petname when you don’t immediately react. “Darling, c’mon…” He can feel the pout creeping on his lips.

“Impatient, are we, Wrio?” You sigh as you turn away from your work, and his icy eyes light up in an instant. You stroke your hand through his hair gently, carding your fingers through the soft, dark strands, and you can see the way Wriothelsey simply melts under your touch. “You’ve been seeking me quite often these days, haven’t you?”

Maybe he has changed. Staring up at you with half-lidded eyes and a smile playing on his lips, feeling his ears warm, perhaps that conjecture has been solidified as the truth.

“Is it so wrong to wish for you, darling?”

(a/n) ngl i kinda hate this fanfic. everything about it. everyone seems so ooc and the prompt is barely even mentioned ew ew ew not my best work by far please dont tell me writers block is coming back i hate that big bad scary thing

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife

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judasgot-it · 6 months ago

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Soulmate AU

"I can't believe you said that. You know that's going to be on my chest for the rest of my life now, right?"

Scenario: You and your soulmate meet. It's hard convincing yourselves that it's a good thing.

I'm timeskipping a bit, think of this as a sort of slowburn lol.

8,700 k words (jesus crhist)

Every person had spots on their body that marked the things that showed what their soulmate did that day.

Typically, they appeared at the age of five. Usually, they would be words and sentences, or pictures, sometimes depicting ideas. It was representative of what their soulmate was like - sometimes they were in different languages, or had patterns that only their soulmate could discern.

There was always one mark that would appear, and stay on the body for what was usually for the rest of someone's life. Sometimes small, sometimes big.

Some people were born with theirs. Others had theirs appear at the end of their life. They were rather random, it seemed.

Yours was strange. It wasn't a picture, and it wasn't a poem. It wasn't a sentence, and it wasn't anything compared to your family or classmates. When you were twelve, you had gained a large pattern on your back - something that if you reached around, you could feel mostly with your fingers.

If you squinted, you could maybe see it, but it seemed invisible.

Your mother had told you that it was almost like a scar, but it wasn't ugly. There was a pattern, but no one seemed to really know what it meant.

It was hard to really know what it was from looking at it in the mirror. To you, it looked like just a splattering of lighter and darker skin, now slightly raised in some areas. It was only visible in the light, and looked like you had splashed bleach on your skin.

All you knew was that it hadn't gone away in weeks. The doctor had said that it was most likely one of those marks that lived forever, and was possibly a sign that your soulmate was blind. Either that or some sort of fucked up artist.

It had left you angry for months. You didn't know why, but it upset you - maybe because you had expected a poem that would tell you how much you were adored, like your friend had. Or cute portrait, of some beautiful vacation spot.

You still wanted to dream. But instead, you got something had you scratching your back like a madman, trying to understand something that you couldn't. It left you impatient, trying to understand a puzzle that apparently, only a blind man or an asshole could solve.

Maybe both.

When you met your soulmate, you were going to slap the shit out of him.

At sixteen, you had debated on whether or not your soulmate was worth 'waiting for' or 'finding'. There was a big debate going on for decades anyway - was it worth falling in love with your soulmate?

Part of you wanted to try falling in love with someone else. Maybe it was because you had seen soulmates who hated each other - they had words permanently etched onto their bodies that said:

"I hate you" and "I hope that you die"

Seemed like proof enough that it was fake.

Your own soulmate seemed less like a real concept, and more like a cloud in the sky. There were never pictures of his day, or that many words to hear about. It was only feelings - there were cuts that had showed up along your skin, long lines that were in concerning places.

Once you had one show up along your chest, underneath your breast. You weren't sure if it would work, but you had written "Stay alive" and hoped it would show up along his skin. You wrote it in Sharpie and kept it there for days, just in case he needed the reminder.

He never seemed to have any words back. The only words you ever read on your skin were concerning. Once, words had shown up along your arm, written in a messy cursive, almost impossible to read:

"Go ahead and kill yourself. I don't need you anyway."

That started to convince you that your soulmate might have deserved the knife in the chest.

Despite this, you could never bring yourself to go past a second date. None of the guys who asked you out seemed to really 'click' in the way you really thought you would.

One of them was so bad, you had taken the Sharpie out and had added "I love you" close to where you remember adding the line.

If your soulmate really was blind, it was most likely a stupid thing to write - if it even showed up. But it made you feel better in the moment, so what was the harm?

When you were in your 20s, you had graduated university.

You didn't know what your soulmate was doing, but you had started to care less than you did when you were younger.

Before, it tore at you - there were a lot of dreams and ideas you had of what he was like, and what it would be like when you finally met the one person made for you.

Over time, you learned to accept that there was a chance you might not ever meet him. You knew people like that - those whose soulmates died, and those who never had them. Those who had met them late in life, and were still living good lives.

You had become content. In a way, your life had become better, knowing that you didn't need someone else there in order to live your own life.

There were friends you had. And you had an apartment. And now, you had a new job, one that was respectable and you had worked hard for. Life was looking up.

Part of you was convinced that your soulmate was either dead or still living a life that would lead to it. The marks that showed up were the same as when you were sixteen - they were lesser than before, but they were still scary when they did show up.

There were more words now as well. Something changed, as they were more positive.

"Stay behind me, I'll protect you."

That was one that had shown up today. Along your inner thigh, making you glad you wore shorts today.

Maybe he wasn't in a gang but was just a cop with a bad attitude. Unfortunately, your soulmate had never said his name, and you had no clues as to how to find him.

This job was great. But god, the military really couldn't keep a damn thing organized.

You might be the only person who knew where anything was at this point. Which left you carrying several boxes of confidential files to the office of Ouchi Fukuchi directly, because no one else knew where to find the paperwork that was needed.

He was also three months behind on all of it. Which was fine, it was only a matter of national security, after all. It wasn't an important thing, really. Who cared?

You weren't stressed about it at all.

"Do you need help?" A voice filtered through the elevator, and you almost cried with relief. The boxes were heavy, and based on the man's voice, he sounded like someone who actually could handle carrying them.

Unlike you at the moment, who was using every last bit of strength you had in order to keep them from spilling all over the carpet at the moment.

You worked at a desk. This was more lifting in a day than you did a year. Yes, of course you could use some help. Obviously.

"Yes. Can you push the number for Mr. Fukuchi's office? And also grab one of these boxes? If you aren't busy."

You were praying that he wasn't busy. Those few seconds as you waited felt like hell, but eventually you felt the man's hands touch your own, taking the boxes from your arms and relieving the agonizing weight from your spine.

Sighing, you leaned against the elevator door, feeling how it slowly lifted up to the highest story. Slowly, because despite appearances, the Hunting Dogs headquarters had disgustingly slow elevators despite the million-dollar planes they had parked in the vicinity.

The stairs might have been faster, honestly.

You could also have avoided the man's staring - the brunette was tall, and he glanced at your exposed skin as if you were naked. You turned to the doors, avoiding his gaze.

"Do you, know your soulmate?"

The man was blunt, his honey eyes staring directly at your wrist. He was holding the boxes as if they weighed nothing, and watching him made your back hurt more. What did they feed those military guys?

"No, I don't. Sorry, I know it's nasty. I feel bad for whoever Tecchou is, he doesn't seem to get along with him."

You tried to laugh it off, looking down at your wrist. Right there, you could see what your soulmate had said today, in the same messy cursive he always spoke in:

"Go to hell Tecchou, your food is always shit and I hope you die."

It had only shown up right when you had to go and deliver the files. Because of course it did - your soulmate really had to embarrass you like that in front of everyone.

You remembered when you were twelve you said you would smack the shit out of him. Maybe you would still do that, because right now it felt embarrassing to be stared at like that.

It wasn't your fault your soulmate had such a foul mouth.

Now you were going to meet the leader of the Hunting Dogs, and he was going to see what an embarrassment of a soulmate you had.

Thank god it wasn't on your forehead, at least.

The doors of the elevator opened, and you tried to keep your body straight and rigid, waiting for a greeting from Fukuchi himself. You watched the brunette walk in with the files, straight to the front of the desk as if it were habit.

You followed behind him, hoping you made a good impression.

"Ouchi Fukuchi! I am-"

Before you could finish your greeting, the man held a hand towards you.

"Tecchou, didn't I tell you to take a walk?" The older man was stern, and you stayed silent in hopes that he didn't turn his cold gaze towards you.

"...She looked like she was struggling." His voice was deep and monotone, and he looked almost bored from behind the stack of files he was hiding behind.

"So you decided to be an errand boy?"

"Yes."

There was a silence. You couldn't tell what was going on between the two men, but you were terrified. The look Fukuchi gave was terrifying, worse than was portrayed in the films you had seen before - he was scarier in person. His gaze was intense, as if he was trying to kill the man with his eyes.

"Sir, if I may add. They are very heavy, and I appreciated the help a lot."

You didn't know what came over you. Both men looked at you, and it had you putting your arms and head down, praying that the floor would eat you.

Fuck. You just needed to deliver the files and just go back to your office. You didn't even work for the Hunting Dogs, you worked for a completely different part of the government. This wasn't your business to get into.

"Sorry. Um...Those files, there is a file on top about their contents. They are to be completed and sent out ASAP. Requested by the prime minister. Apologies."

Your voice was firm, despite the sweat that was collecting on your palms. Without looking at anyone or anything, you nodded at the men and walked out, pressing the button for the ground floor several times.

This was terrifying.

The Hunting Dogs were hunting you. Ironic, but you now had one of them showing up at your office, wanting to 'talk' - what was there to even talk about?

You had only been there for maybe ten minutes at most, like, a week ago. If something happened in that facility, you had no part in it.

If you could, you would hide underneath your desk forever. But that most likely made them think you were guilty of whatever crime they suspected you of, and you did not want to seem like a criminal to them.

Their investigation tactics were more than infamous. You did not want to become another horror story.

Steeling yourself, you walked out, bracing for the inevitable interrogation that was about to follow. The man that was waiting for you was standing with a little girl - you vaguely remembered her as the vice-captain, although the man you couldn't really place his name.

His two-toned hair seemed familiar though. You might have seen it on a photograph before, when you were told about the group in a discussion about how lazy they were with paperwork. His closed eyes seemed strange, but tried to avoid them.

The man smiled at you, and it seemed more calculating than warm and friendly. The girl, someone you remembered to be known for her combat skills, didn't seem to be interested. She only blinked at you, bored at your office outfit.

You had to convince him that you were innocent. Of whatever it was that they had thought you were guilty of.

"So. Trying to get all pretty for me?"

The man was grinning, and you didn't know what to say. He had taken a step closer, and out tried to stay as still as possible, slowing your breathing.

If it was fight or flight, you chose freeze.

Keeping your face calm was hard, but you paused your breaths, trying your best to keep your body as cool as possible as the two didn't state why it was urgent that they speak to you. In the middle of your work day.

"Um. Is there a reason why you guys asked to see me?"

You were staring at the daisy-haired man's forehead, praying that he didn't notice that you were trying your hardest to not make eye contact with him.

"Did you deliver files to Fukuchi?"

The girl was bored, rocking her feet back and forth, slapping the man next to her with her ponytail.

"Um. Yes. I did."

"And did you meet a man named Tecchou Suehiro while you were there?"

"The brunette?"

"Yes. And tall, with three stupid tattoos under his eyes. Did you meet him?"

"I believe so, yes. He helped me carry the files to Mr. Fukuchi's office."

"What did your arm say that day?"

That was an odd question. That wouldn't have something to do with any sort of crime, would it? Or were you not thinking straight?

"Oh. Something about killing a man named Tecchou."

It felt like a pause button had been pressed at that moment.

Tecchou was an uncommon name. And Fukuchi had certainly called that man in the elevator by that name as well. How could you have missed that detail?

"...Why are you asking me about that?"

Tecchou had asked about the mark too, now that you had thought of it.

"Did my soulmate kill him?"

Either that, or Tecchou had killed him, and this was how you were going to find out that your soulmate was dead. He was dead and gone before you had ever gotten to meet him. Just one of those tragic cases of a love that never got to happen.

You steeled yourself for the news, taking in a deep breath.

"Jouno your soulmate is stupid."

The girl walked away, huffing and shaking her head. The man in front of you, Jouno, clapped your shoulder, breathing out a sigh.

"Tecchou is still alive. Unfortunatly."

The man's eyes hadn't opened to look at you, staying closed as he struggled to find the words. He was in your space, and you could taste how he struggled to find the words to say what he wanted to say.

Somehow, he was still smiling through the awkwardness, but you had started to realize-

He was blind. And your soulmate.

Your soulmate was always blind.

The strange spot on your back made more sense now. It wasn't some stupid art piece, but most certainly something he felt because he was blind.

"-I don't think I need to say anything. You know."

The man gave up on forming sentences, instead choosing to rub your shoulder and smile.

"Um. Yeah."

You spent nearly twenty years waiting to meet this man, and this is all you had to say? Wasn't there something more?

"Um. Shouldn't we do something?" His hand was still on you, and you didn't know if you should tell him to let go or not. This was the first time you had ever met, and frankly - you actually liked it a little bit. He was warm, and he didn't give you a weird feeling compared to some other people.

"Do what?"

"I don't know. We're soulmates. Shouldn't we like, have a moment?"

In the movies you had seen, there were soulmates who would meet and have a 'magical contact' moment. You couldn't look into his eyes and swoon, but surely he was having a magic moment right now? Wasn't he going to ask you on a date and try to live with you forever or something?

This should have been the start of...something.

"No. This is good enough. Honestly, I'd rather not see you again."

Or not.

His face didn't portray anything - he was still smiling, as if he was working at a front desk and not meeting his soulmate for the first time. You felt like you were looking into it, but surely he also wanted something more?

That smile couldn't be real.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's nothing with you, but it's probably best if we don't try to make this a thing."

He let go finally, and that shoulder felt cold as he stepped away. You didn't know what to say, watching as he slowly removed himself from the little bubble the two of you had.

There was magic, and there was no magic. It was a mirage, more like it.

"So. You just, wanted to meet me, I guess?"

"Just know that you're alive. And you are. Good for us."

Us. But there is no us, because there is no thing, apparently. Just a him, and now you had to suppose a you. A lonely, singular you.

"Sorry. Um. Yeah, okay. Then let's not talk. That's fine."

It wasn't. Or maybe it was. You didn't know what to think, because your soulmate, who you now knew was the Hunting Dog Jouno, had come and gone in what felt like a matter of seconds.

But you supposed that was the end of it. You met your soulmate, and you would never see him again.

So why were you about to cry?

Ever since that meeting, the universe had been playing tricks on you. Or whoever had deemed soulmates to be a thing.

Before, whatever Jouno had put onto your body was so abstract that you could barely understand it. Now it felt like he was playing tricks on you.

"If I die, I don't care."

It felt like he was playing a game. You had only met him once, but if he died, you would care.

You would care so much.

The petty part of you had taken to those high school days, grabbing your sharpie and writing little responses underneath those types of sentences.

"I care." and "I love you, stay safe." was something you had started to write over and over again on your body.

It likely didn't matter. He was blind. But if it ever showed up on his skin, you hoped someone on his team would see it.

Part of you wanted to write it on your forehead and neck, just to shame him. Maybe he didn't care, but you cared - he would have everyone know just how much his soulmate cares about him.

But you didn't want to wash that off. You also were sure that your concealer wasn't going to cover that up.

It would just make the both of you look stupid.

Your day was just going great.

Great. As in, you were stuck next to a shitty criminal, who was pulling at your nice dress and tearing the buttons along the back.

This was expensive.

God. What a dickhead.

And who was going to save you from this guy? He had some weird fucked up ability, and it was freaking you out.

You didn't really deal with that stuff.

This was a time when you chose to freeze again. You wanted to choose something else - to fight back and be brave, or to run, do something.

But you felt frozen. It was honestly hard to breathe, but that might have been from how your dress was pulling against your neck, restricting your airflow.

"Oh shit, it's the Hunting Dogs."

The guy next to you groaned, and you tried your hardest to disappear as you felt him tug and pull you around.

The gunshots were loud, and you were stuck choosing between covering your ears and pulling against your dress as the man tried to choke you with it.

You chose your ears, in the end. However many gunshots he fired, you didn't count, instead trying your best to become a ball. One that would be unmovable, immune to the hellfire that was happening.

Maybe if you became deadweight, he would drop you and run away. He had no reason for you, right?

You didn't know why he chose to use you as a distraction anyway. This was your day off, couldn't he have chosen any other person?

"Goddammit, I said get up!"

The man pulled at your hair, and you screamed. As much as you fought back, clawing at his arms, he started to drag you away from his little spot in the building, to the open area where you could see a whole crowd had gathered.

It was hard to see if any of the Hunting Dogs were actually there, as you could only focus on the pain you were in.

Weren't they going to do their jobs? What the fuck was taking so long.

This felt like it was taking forever. This guy was tugging you around, and talking about something that you couldn't even bring yourself to care about. It was something that a man who would try to blow up a building would say - they're spying on us, they're killing us, they made it all up. Whoever they are, and whoever the us is. It didn't matter, because now your day was ruined.

Maybe you were pathetic, still trying to fight back. The guy seemed ridiculously strong.

"Run."

The word was whispered to you, in a soft voice and with a gentle hand on your back. It might have only been a second - but the moment the grip loosened on your hair, you took the moment to run.

God knows where. But you ran. It might have been the fastest you had ever been in your life, if you were being honest with yourself.

You were just glad the nightmare was over.

Ever since that...event. You haven't had a good dream since.

It was hard too. You would wake up to the violent hair pulling, the smells, and there would be that voice at the end each time.

You would be crying, and each time the voice would say something different. In real life, all he had said was "Run" but in your dreams, he said rather sweet things.

They were things that frankly, you had wanted to hear. He had a gentle voice for a man, and it was hard to believe that it was the same voice as your soulmate.

You kept pretending that it wasn't him. As time went on, you were more hurt by the words he said, you started to pretend that the voice you heard was just a different man you had conjured up.

Something you made while you were delirious with fear. And now he was haunting your dreams, because you were a lonely and loveless woman, who couldn't stop crying in her kitchen because she was scared of something that had already happened.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid, and you just wanted to be over it. But for some reason, you were left sitting at the table again, forcing yourself to drink a glass of water and play through another round of solitaire.

The knocking on the door scared the shit out of you.

...

Another knock.

Fuck.

Gettting up, you stalked slowly to the door, hoping that the intruder to your miserable peace wouldn't hear your approach the door. You wanted to pretend you weren't there, even if it was obvious you were home.

Another knock.

Loud ones. Impatient ones.

"I know you're in there. Listen, I just need to talk to you real quick."

Peeping through the peephole, you saw him - Jouno, who was clad in a dandelion bedhead and grey sweatpants. His hoodie was a strange faded color, and you were sure it was old enough to be his father's.

Taking a moment, you breathed as you watched him. It was hard to believe he was standing there, actually at the front of your door.

At like what, two in the morning?

You opened the door a little bit, feeling the cold night air breeze by. It made you pull yourself closer together, as the shirt you wore barely covered you enough to protect you from the cold.

Thank god Jouno was blind at least. He would see a lot more than he bargained for, you imagined.

"...What do you want?" You wished you could have your voice sound firm, like an interrogator. But you could still hear the tears in your voice, and it made you want to hide in your bed like a mole dug into the dirt.

You sounded so lame.

"Listen. Let me in, real quick."

He was smiling, the same one that you saw when you first met him. Like a fucking customer service representative, trying to sell you something. At two in the morning.

"I'm not a booty call."

"No, what? Just let me inside-" You started to close the door, not caring for the force you used. He could handle it.

"Bring me flowers if you want to ask me for anything next time."

Jouno fought back easily, but was polite enough to stay between the door and the entryway. He only kept half of his body there to maintain conversation, allowing you the ability to slam the door on him if you so wished.

It was tempting, at that moment.

"I need you to listen. This isn't sex or anything."

"Can't you say it in the morning? Some people sleep."

That was a lie, but you weren't in the right mind to speak to him at that moment. He made you emotional - maybe his whole existence was making you feel too much, but that was likely heightened by the fact that you hadn't slept well for the last few nights.

"That's exactly it! You aren't sleeping. Now I can't sleep. So let me in, because I want to go to sleep-"

He pushed through your hold of the door. He had both let himself in, and you had let him.

"You're so selfish."

For some stupid reason, you had let him into your home and had already started to cry again. It had taken so long to calm down, and now you were starting the process all over again.

God, you were really starting to hate your soulmate for doing this to you.

"What? What's selfish about that?"

"You came here just so you could sleep. Why don't you figure out a way to go to sleep on your own!"

The words were spilling out of your mouth, and frankly whatever you said was not even registering in your brain.

All you knew was that you were feeling a lot at the moment. You hadn't felt like this since you were twelve and had the big mark show up on your back, making you mad for weeks.

Maybe you were still mad. And you were remembering it all just now.

Or maybe you were just really tired.

"I did try! I took enough melatonin to kill a man, but you won't let me sleep with your stupid nightmares!"

The man in front of you looked stressed, and you wanted to feel bad. But at the moment, your mind could only think of the worst words to say to him, to twist anything to try and hurt him.

You took a breath. A deep one, feeling how you were choking your brain from oxygen.

Why were you screaming at each other at two in the morning?

"Listen. I know PTSD is stressful, but you can find a way to cope with it, can't you?"

Jouno put his hands on your shoulders. He stepped into your space, and he was so close you could smell the coffee on his breath.

Maybe it wasn't you, but the caffeine he was drinking so goddamn late into the night.

"I don't have PTSD. I've never been to war."

"Then what is this then." He shook you, as if you were the stupid one here, despite walking over to someone's home in the middle of the night.

"Just something I need to get over."

That's something you had always been told. And you were sure it was something that would go away. Eventually.

"See. This is the problem. You don't even know how to deal with the problem you have. And now, I can't sleep."

The man didn't give you a chance to argue back. Before you could say anything, he hauled you onto his shoulder, his hand traveling along your back.

Desperately, you grabbed at his sweatshirt, pulling at the fabric and praying you wouldn't fall onto your face.

"Where's your bedroom? You're sleeping whether you want to or not."

Without caring to listen, he attempted to navigate your home anyway. It was a little entertaining, feeling how he turned his body in circles as he tried to figure out where to go.

"That's the wrong way. It's the other way. On the left."

You pitied him. If only a little bit.

"Is sleeping really that hard for you?"

Your bed wasn't small, but Jouno made it feel small with just his presence alone. His body was warmer than yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him as you laid side by side, with a few fingers space between each other.

Now that you had though about it, you never had really made space for another person in your bed before. There really was only enough space for you.

"I have a strange man in my bed, can you blame me?"

"I'm your soulmate, I'm not just anyone."

Now he wanted to be something. When he wanted it to benefit him.

Maybe you were deeply bitter about the way he rejected ever wanting to be anything at all.

"You really are selfish, you know? You said you didn't want this to be a thing, but now you're going on about being my soulmate."

Because that meant something. It meant having an actual bond, a sort of relationship. This wasn't anything - at most, you had vague conversations, and now he was just a man in your bed who was upset at you for a stupid reason.

And you were mad at him. And you hoped he knew that.

"I wouldn't do this if I couldn't sleep. We're just...people who need each other."

His voice sounded off. As off as you could tell, as if he was lying, even to himself.

Why did he say these things if even he didn't believe them?

"Do I really need you?" You said the words only loud enough that the pillow could hear you, hoping that he had finally managed to go to sleep, or thought that you had.

But you felt him turn around, bouncing the bed and pulling at the blanket the two of you shared.

Of course he heard it somehow. What a freak.

"Clearly! You couldn't even save yourself. You're lucky I was there."

He was closer now, his voice nearly kissing your ears. You groaned, his volume too loud for your wallowing.

"That's your job, isn't it? To save people?"

Waving him off, you didn't bother to face him - like it would matter, when he couldn't even see you. Instead, you hugged the pillow in front of you closer, feeling how the cold fabric kissing your exposed skin.

It was rather cold for the summertime.

"...I didn't want to know you more, because I didn't want you to be hurt."

His breath tickled your neck, and somewhere along the bed you could feel his fingers dance along the fabric, far too close to your shoulders.

You didn't know him too well, but his touch didn't bother you as much as you wanted to pretend it did.

"How were you going to hurt me?"

"My job. I'm going to die, eventually. It'll be a miracle if I reach 40."

His voice was gentle, without the tone of an insurance agent. He sounded honest; speaking as if he really meant what he said.

It left you breathless, and you had to remind yourself that you needed to breathe in order to live.

"That doesn't mean anything. I would still like to know you when you're here."

There was a laugh behind you, a tired one. Maybe he was only saying these things because he was also exhausted.

A lack of sleep was worse than drugs, you had once heard before.

You couldn't even open your eyes anymore at this point. It was just your mind fighting you.

"That would be nice. But I'm not the best person, I would just make your life miserable. You're right, I am really selfish."

"I know. But I think you're worth it Jouno."

After that night, something felt different. Your body felt different.

For one thing, you now had Jouno's phone number. He had texted you, and told you to call him in case of emergencies only.

You had learned that meant when you couldn't couldn't sleep, he really couldn't sleep. And when you couldn't eat, he couldn't eat. and it was an emergency.

Maybe because he was blind, his soulbond appeared differently. It wasn't visual at all, but instead tormented him with your own physical sensations.

It had you wondering if he had ever felt your pain. Or felt anything else you felt.

It wasn't a conversation you were willing to have just yet. You had just started to feel comfortable texting and calling him.

Having him sleep in the same bed was as far as you two had gone, and it had only happened a few times after. He had shared meals with you as well, after you lost your appetite from a bad stomach bug.

It was a strange relationship you had formed. You weren't sure if you were ever going to get closer than you were.

Maybe you were ok with knowing him like this. Like a strange acquaintance, learning weird bits and pieces about him, with unanswered questions that you were too scared to ask.

He was your soulmate. Maybe he didn't need to be anything more than that.

"You know, because of you, I can't really go out shirtless anymore."

Jouno was relaxed against the table, bored as he played around with the food on his plate. Recently he wasn't able to each much at all, and you had stayed over for the last while.

But it didn't seem to have much to do with you. Right now you were stuffed, and it seemed like it was all on Jouno at the moment. He had only eaten a quarter of his plate, and you had considered feeding it to him like a child so he would eat more of it.

"Why?"

"Because. You put this on my chest."

Jouno leaned up from the table and forgot his food; taking off his cotton T-shirt, revealing what you had always believed would be there.

Two lines, right by a little ugly scar - "Stay safe, I love you."

They were a little close together, not a work of art by any means. Your handwriting on someone's skin looked...funny. Almost unreal. It looked blotched out, and it reminded you too well of how stupid you were as a teenager, tracing over the Sharpie over and over again, hoping your blind soulmate would see it.

"You're mad about it?"

"It looks like a shitty tattoo."

That was your one mark on him forever. And he called it a shitty tattoo. It wasn't like the stupid daily quotes and one-liners, it was forever.

God forbid you care about someone.

"...I thought you got stabbed." You didn't really see the point in getting hurt by what he said in anymore. This was just how Jouno was.

"Did you feel it?"

"Don't get excited! No! Weirdo!"

You kicked him from underneath the table, easily kicking at his long calves as they stuck out towards your space. Always your space, because he was a tall freak who loved to walk into the space of others, and yours was his favorite.

The man in front of you only giggled, playing footsie with his too-cold feet.

"I see it. Every time you get hurt, it shows up on my skin. You don't really give me pictures or colors. Sometimes I see sentences, but it's not enough. But I always know when you get hurt."

Which was true. You didn't have his scars, but you knew when they hurt. Because the little lines showed up.

"Not enough? Do you like hearing about my day?"

The man's voice sounded ecstatic, smiling as he trapped your feet between his own, almost in a handshake. Maybe he was playing with you, trying to flirt when he didn't mean it at all.

"I like it when you say positive things. It's not really common, you usually are threatening to kill people. It gets boring after a while."

You let him win, instead choosing to take a bite out of his uneaten food. It was right there, and you might as well take your chance, right?

"Well it did help me find you, didn't it?"

"I guess. Yeah."

You tried to take another bite, but the daisy-haired man took you hand and led the fork straight to his mouth. Part of you wanted to kill him, if it wasn't his food you were stealing from.

Maybe you actually cared about him, despite how weird he was.

"Can I ask you something?"

Jouno nodded, starting to eat now knowing that you were willing to take from his plate. Watching him was funny - trying to be as unmessy as he could, while smearing half of his face in sauce.

It was a little cute, seeing him struggle each time.

"Since I was twelve, there's this...mark, on my back. It's not really something you can see, but something you can more feel. It should be related to you, since no doctor has had an explanation for it."

Saying that was strange. The culprit was right in front of you, and now you were asking him politely, despite him being a man who broke into your home at least three times now.

"What do you think it is?" He spoke with his mouthful and no table manners, and at this rate you would rather have him eat with his hands.

"I don't know! Some fucked up masterpiece by a blind asshole I'm attached to for life. If you're an artist, I'm smacking the shit out of you."

You were starting to remember that promise when you were twelve. It really irked you that you hadn't kept to it yet.

"What? Why?"

"Because it's annoying."

Since it showed up, it ruined a lot of things for you - your expectations of your relationship, your fantasies, your dreams. It was really a bad premonition, because Jouno was just like that mark - fucking impossible to understand. And stuck to you for life.

"I can't believe you think the mark that signifies me, and our bond, is annoying. Wow, you hate me."

"You called mine a shitty tattoo!"

He stopped chewing like a marmot, going back slowly as he registered your words.

"...Okay. And?"

"Whatever. But you should get it." At the very least, if he was going to be a thorn in your side forever, he was going to be a useful one, and solve this for you.

"Why would I?"

"Don't play coy with me! That's how soulmates work! Didn't anyone tell you anything!"

"No not really. I honestly figured I would die before I met you, so I never cared."

He said this normally, as if he had said it before. It was just more dinner talk to him, as he chewed senselessly on his salad.

"...what?"

"I just never thought it would matter. I didn't think we would even meet, and I never thought about what would happen next. I don't think it's that big of a deal, really."

The world turned silent to you, as you heard him say that.

I never cared. I don't think its that big of a deal.

Then what were you doing here?

You never got your answer for that mark.

Stupid Jouno had disappeared to East Europe for the last two weeks, and you haven't heard back from him. Maybe you didn't want to.

He never cared.

You had spent years, before even knowing him, caring about what he would be like. You cared when he got stabbed, and you cared even when he rejected you.

But he never cared at all.

Did he never think about you? Not when you had broken your wrist? He felt your pain, didn't he feel that?

When you went to work today, you thought about getting hit by a car and seeing if he would call. Just to know if you were okay.

But that was selfish. He was probably busy, and making someone else feel the pain of getting hit by a car was more than a dick move.

You also needed that money from your job. They paid your rent, not your soulmate. That would stay a fantasy, and a dead one; where you and Jouno could function like a normal couple, and live together and maybe even get married.

If he was just a normal man. Who didn't say stupid things and hurt your feelings that you hated you had.

It was ruining the makeup that you spent hours on this morning.

"Hey."

"...It's been two months, and that's all you have to say? Hey?"

You had been ready to receive the news that he had died while he was there. Or at least see it on TV. He was practically MIA with the other Hunting Dogs, and no one in the government knew what the hell was going on.

"Listen. It's been a rough two months. When I come back, I want to see you. First thing.

"The hell am I to you? A dog? Should I come back with the morning newspaper?"

"I didn't realize you came with perks." He sounded exhausted over the phone, but his laugh was still the same. It managed to annoy you as well, even after not hearing it for two months.

"Go fuck yourself!"

"...Are you mad at me?"

Yes. You honestly had been mad at him since you knew him, but that wasn't something you wanted to admit to yet.

"No. You just caught me at a bad time."

"Just be at my apartment, alright? And wear that short dress with the strings. Or nothing at all."

"Is this a bootycall?"

"I call you for more things than that."

What an asshole. Jouno was supposed to be a logical man, but he had no clue how to navigate a human relationship it seemed. It was as if he was stepping on seashells every time, and you had to watch them crumble underneath his stupid boots.

He is horrible at navigating anyone's emotions. He only seemed to be able to hurt them.

You tried to keep your voice calm, despite the fact you wanted to cry. Part of you was proud that only your eyes were wet, knowing that Jouno wouldn't know how much he bothered you with his stupidity.

"We aren't anything. This is something."

"...Can we be something? I miss you."

He was almost whimpering over the receiver, and you hoped that someone on the other end could record what he looked like. Because he must have looked funny, begging and pleading like a dog.

"I'm expecting flowers. Or chocolate."

"You like dark, right? You have horrible tastebuds."

"Says the idiot who drinks more milk than coffee." He really should just add an espresso shot to his glass of milk, it was disgusting how much he added and then claimed he loved caffeine.

"Okay. Whatever. Love you."

God, what the hell was wrong with Jouno?

"The mark on your back."

Jouno's hand trailed up your spine, his fingers dancing along the little lines that made up the mark, as if reading it like a page in a book.

It felt good.

"Yeah?"

"It's a map." His lips were right above your ear, and you could feel how his breath fanned across your face. This man had no sense of personal space around you.

"Okay. And of what?"

"It's a map of my childhood home. I haven't been there in years. I don't know why it's on your back."

His fingers went lower, to the little part that was raised more than the rest. It looked like a mole, although the skin around it gave the impression of a faded scar, from what you had been told.

"How do you know it's a map?"

"I memorize everywhere I've been."

"And you know just by feeling it?" His hand splayed out against your back, making you feel small. Jouno's hands were not as soft as voice, and you could feel the work he put in them as his callouses brushed against your skin.

"I've never felt it before. But I know. It's strange that it's on your body."

"Well, it means something. It's been there since forever."

Over a decade now. It had taunted you for over a decade.

"...I haven't been there in a long time."

The man plopped his body down next to you, drapping half of himself on top of you. He was heavy, and his face was nearly smushed against your own as he lay there, as if he were a weighted blanket and not a man.

"You know there's another half of the bed, right? You own a king-sized mattress."

And silk sheets, that smelt really good.

He could roll over and still have space to spread out. There was no reason for him to treat your space like it was his own.

"You smell good." To exaggerate, he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you closer, smelling your neck and ear as if you were a living room candle.

You tried to push him away, laughing as he stuck his nose in the one ticklish spot along your neck, but it was hard to fight in the position you were in. Pulling against his hair and kicking against him was futile as he pulled you in closer, grabbing you two into a hold as he decided that your sweaty body was the best thing he had smelled since soap had been invented.

"Freak!" It was hard to stay serious as his arm danced along your sides, having you choke on the word as it sputtered out in laughter.

Jouno only laughed at your struggles. Because of course they were funny to a sadist like him.

"I um. I got you flowers."

Jouno looked funny when he tried to be anything other than a soldier or an asshole.

He dressed up - and not to beat a man to death, but because he was seeing you. On a date.

The first one since you had actually known each other. It was such a mundane thing, but it felt like you were seeing a wild animal playing dress up. His hair was done as nice as it usually was, and he was dressed in an outfit that you could picture him wearing to an event - he looked like he didn't have a criminal record.

The flowers added to it, bouncing from in front of him and between his side, as if he had never given a woman flowers in his life before.

His smile said otherwise, which couldn't help but make you laugh inside.

"For?"

"To apologize." He decided to push them into your hands, grabbing them around the stems and making sure you weren't going to drop them to the floor.

You would never do that. They smelled too nice.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"There's a lot of times I've made you cry. Usually, you apologize for that." His voice was low, as he fixed the bouquet he couldn't see. His hands were nervously looking for things to pick at, as if they had eyes of their own and could fix the world one little detail at a time.

His face stayed frozen in his stupid little smile.

"Well, it's not like I'm upset about it now."

"Can't you just accept some flowers?"

His hands decided to fix your hair, brushing down flyaways that didn't exist. If you stared only at his smile, you would think he was as calm as a still pond.

"...They're nice." They were your favorites. They matched what your childhood self had pictured for her stupid little wedding day. One you had given up on, but still wanted to believe in.

Maybe still did, in some way.

Jouno wasn't exactly what you pictured - he looked more like a fox than a handsome prince, and the way he smelled your head right now was more weird than romantic, but you were willing to take it.

He might have been your handsome prince.

"So is there a date planned? Or are we just standing in a park?"

"Why do you always question me?"

"You don't really know what you're doing."

Jouno was a brilliant man in a lot of things. But god he could not make up his mind when it came to you and what he wanted out of this.

Was this really that hard?

"You've seen me at work."

"Okay? Are we going to kill bank robbers or something? Is that our first date?"

The man most certainly had his gun on him, which confused you, because you knew that he hated using it more than any other weapon he owned. But yet you were sure that tucked away in his Chelsea boots was his little handgun, that he would pull out in a moment's notice.

Maybe he had one tucked away in his pants somewhere. He didn't seem to bring his sword, which is the only weapon he hadn't complained about to you yet.

"...It's the boring romance stuff. You like that."

"It's not boring-"

"I've seen your movies. It's boring."

He rolled his shoulders back, scanning the park as his earring danced against his neck.

"And what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. Never really thought about it." His hands started to dance along your jacket, pulling against the lapels as if there was lint that he could actually see.

"Maybe you actually like the boring stuff, and just don't know it."

You started to ignore him, instead deigning to walk ahead of him with the bouquet he gave you.

Were you going to carry this the entire time?

"A walk in the park? You think that's fun?" He only took two big steps to catch up to you, and you dared to kick at him. You didn't care if you were trying to trip a blind man - Jouno wasn't a regular blind man, and he would probably throw you both into the grass eventually after one of you said something stupid.

"It's fun when it's with people you love."

Taking the bouquet, you gently slapped him with it. The daisy-haired man snorted back.

This is close enough to what you wanted.

Hey guys ignore the fact that I originally uploaded this half unfinished yesterday! This is for my Valentine's day event, so go check that out lol. Also sorry that its. So long.

#if you see me reuploading this no you did not!#I'm trying something #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd #jouno x reader #jouno x you #jouno saigiku x reader #also this is so ooc im so sorry what am i on

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deminetly · 2 months ago

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୨NOT SO DEEP JOURNALING PROMPTS୧

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if somebody were to make a love potion for you, what should they add in?

make a collage about your dream future

describe how you imagine pictures in your head

your fig tree

the loot you would drop in a video game

what are you currently feeling, wearing, thinking, loving, needing, wanting, hating, regretting, missing?

write down every single thought that comes up until the page is full

whats in my bag collage

write down a guide to having a good/productive day

your life story as a playlist

3-5 things you would save in a fire

“maybe I was born to…” (and add things that make you happy)

random and specific things that would “fix” you (ex: a new journal, a really sweet cup of tea)

what were you interested in as a child? go out and do those things and write down how you felt. did it feel the same as it did when you were younger?

if you could switch lives with someone forever then who would it be?

what kind of planet would you want to live in if you were an alien? (weather, gravity, nature, magic, creatures etc)

ask people you know for movie recommendations, watch and analyse the movies. why do you think they like the movie?

make up totally useless superpowers for superheroes

write down all of the lives you would be happy living

make a resume

deep dive on why you’re always sad on your birthday

write down small things that make life worth living

think of the coolest person you know. what makes them cool?how are you guys similar?

write down all of the best feelings in the world but make them really specific

instead of writing about your day, make a comic

plan a party. who’s coming? where is it? is there a theme?

draw your emotions as people

write down all of your favourite lyrics and analyse them. how are they similar? why do you like them? how do you relate to them?

write down a few things you’re never tried and don’t think you would like then go out and try doing one of them. write about how you felt. were you right about not liking it?

would you enjoy living on a boat?

what was the last risk you took? do you regret it?

which lessons are you learning at this stage of your life?

do you believe in magic, miracles and coincidences?

whats something that younger you wouldn’t believe about your current life?

how do you want people to feel around you?

think of a plot for a movie

list your favourite sensations (smells, sounds etc)

try to explain your favourite movie or show that someone who’s never seen it

write about your favourite spot in your city

choose a random word concept and write a silly poem about it

list small things that make you happy

list different ways to say I love you

make a maze

make a word puzzle

write about your day like chapter in a book or newspaper article

list your favourite childhood memories

invent something new (music genre, word, gum flavor etc)

draw monster, give it a personality and name

your starter pack

what would you do if you were rich?

list random facts you’ve learned recently

write an essay/letter to God listing reasons why you should get what you want

where would you live if you were a fairy?

list fictional places you would visit

list random life lessons you’ve learned

rate every song in an album

where would you live if you were a fairy

if you were cartoon character, what would your catchphrase be?

if you were to write a book or a movie, what would it be about?

list features that ‘arent beautiful’ according to the beauty standard but you find unique and gorgeous

your solutions to the trolley problem

whats your favourite form of art and why?

if you were a perfume, what would be the top, middle and base notes?

draw yourself then write down everything thats been on your mind lately just floating around you

if you were to participate in a talent show, then what with your talent to be?

if october was a man

write a poem about pomegranate

“im easy to please, all i need is…” and list random things you like

search up “what do you see? draw it” from pinterest and draw what you see

read a book and write down some new words you learned or just words you thought sounded nice

what do you think your energy/aura looks like?

write down all the songs that remind you of yourself

whats something that loves and kills?

would you like living in the universe of your favourite movie/show? why?

how does your favourite song make you feel?

write daily entries about an imaginary royal life you live

go on a walk, write down all the locations of the prettiest places, capture them (print or draw pictures and write about how they make you feel)

imagine you’re hosting a tea party for your past, present and future self. what stories or secrets what they share with each other?

if you could bottle up any feeling from a specific moment in your life to keep forever, what would it be?

try to remember a wish that you made a long time ago, how would you feel if it came true now?

what memory do you revisit the most and why do you think it holds such power over you?

what piece of advice would you give to a traveller who was about to embark on a journey inside of your mind?

do you think dreams have meanings?

if your personality was a landscape, what would it look like? would it be a forest, desert, a bustling city or something entirely different like a magical kingdom?

imagine your life is a book and a new character enters in this chapter, who are they and what role do they play in your story?

if you could speak directly to the moon tonight, what would you say or ask and what do you hope she would reply?

if your life was a fairytale, what would be the reoccurring magical object and what does it symbolise for you?

write a new ending to a significant chapter of your life, changing one key decision or event. how does this ending shape the person you become?

write about a dream you wish you had while sleeping but never did

you find a golden key in your pocket that opens a door to a parallel universe where one aspect of your life is completely different. what is it? how do you feel in this new version of your life?

if your life had a colour palette what would it look like? what does each colour represent?

write a message, seal it in a bottle and toss it into the sea of possibility. what do you write? who do you hope finds it?

write a letter to your current self from the perspective of your inner child. what advice, reminders or dreams do they want you to remember?

trace your hand and in it draw things youre holding onto even though you know you shouldnt

“me core” page (add lyrics, characters and pictures that represent you, your vibe)

start labelling every day like a TV show episode

make a sticker pocket

write the whole page in a fun font

instead of writing, draw how you feel

make bingo cards

write something with every pencil and pen that are in your pencil case

put your playlist on shuffle and write down every lyric you relate to until the page is full

design a tattoo you would get

draw how you think different peoples fridges would look like (ocs, characters, celebrities, your friends)

write down as many (good) memories from your childhood as you can remember

get three random words and write a story or silly poem, including all of them

write about someone or something that keeps occurring in your dreams. why do you think that is?

who are your favourite and least favourite characters? why? how do you see yourself in these characters?

if you had to get a tattoo right now, what would you get? what meaning does it have to you?

where is the most ideal place to read a book?

write a short story about how the stars were created

what have been the biggest changes you have noticed in yourself in the span of a year?

would you be okay with your life if it stayed exactly how it is now? if no, what would you want to change?

would you want to live in your favourite show/movie? why?

who brings out the best in you? what about the worst?

write about your life events this month like a chapter in a book

“this reminds me of me” page

make up a different personality for each letter of the alphabet and assign people that you know letters according to their personalities

list all of the songs you know by heart

are you a dreamer or a realist?

whats the first thing you notice about people?

define beauty

do you think your name fits you?

design a dress while in a high vibrational state and then design another (different) one while in a low vibrational state

how would you explain dancing and singing to an alien?

what are the first things you notice about a person?

define beauty

have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? who?

do you think your social media profile is an accurate representation of you?

do you think your appearance is an accurate representation of you?

what’s the exact opposite of you? which qualities do you like and which ones do you not?

what do you think people that have had a big impact on you would say about you?

format a page like a tumblr post

draw a song

if you were to switch places with someone and they had to pretend to be you, what would you tell them?

analyse people you have liked. what do they have in common? why did you like them? why do you not like them anymore?

#journal prompts #journaling #journal #prompts #writing prompts #whimsical #whimsy #thought daughter #journaling prompts

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wormandzeewriting · 15 days ago

Text

This is a poetry blog run by @urlocalwormtoday (Worm) and @honeyzee312 (Zee)!

Here are their blurbs;

＿＿＿＿＿＿

Hello, Zee here! Let’s take a moment to brief what you’ll find with my writing.

I make up words pretty often, use obsolete/archaic words, and borrow words from other languages (especially German), so if you see a word and have no idea what it means, that may just be Zee Shenanigans™! Usually I’ll define a nonce word somewhere, so check the tags, comments, or even title (ex; ‘Trear Means Savage’) of the poem! If you’re still confused, then leave a comment, drop into our asks, or PM me!

(Check the comments of this post for a list of my made-up words with definitions!)

Along with the nonsense words, a lot of my poetry is nonsense too. Some have stories in them, others are just me playing with words, and a few are odd thoughts that I managed to write down! If you are curious about the origins of any of my poems, don’t be afraid to ask about it!

Some poems reference other works (ex; ‘Icarus’, ‘Thoughts on that poem about Sam McGee.’, & ‘Fish in a Birdcage’). If I ever reference, quote, or otherwise use someone else’s work without giving proper credit, please let me know.

Next, I’ll walk you through what is okay to do with my poetry and what is not.

Reblogs, comments, likes, sharing, etc. 〜 I encourage this!

Polite corrections on misspellings or grammar 〜 This is alright to do, I’m grateful for the help!

Rude comments 〜 Do not do this. If you write a clearly rude or disrespectful comment under one of my poems, I will delete it.

Using my poetry in something of your own (song, book, poem, etcetera) 〜 Please reach out to me to talk, or at least credit me.

That’s it for now, I’ll hand you off to my best bud Worm!

＿＿＿＿＿＿

Hiya, poetry enjoyers and literally anyone else! You probably don't know me, and I don't blame you because honestly I leave notes about myself few and far between when I post any writing. So, lemme formally introduce myself!

Here, I go by Worm. Both for privacy reasons and to make things easier! I go by she/her and, embarrassingly, sometimes forget to post things I'm proud of here. Whoops. I'm not too adept at making words, mainly because I have very little faith in myself to make something comprehensible! xD

Most of my writings are about things I've experienced/witnessed/felt in my day-to-day life. Occasionally, though, I write about characters (original or not) or other, really obscure topics. I also enjoy writing about concepts or animals on occasion!

I love tucking odd, hard to spot symbolism in some of my poems, so keep an eye out for that! Some of the references are impossible to get, mainly because nobody else would ever get them but myself, and I do apologize for that! Even though I'm not particularly sorry.

I love when people interact with any of my poems! Liking, re-blogging, commenting, even if it's just a critique! All I ask is that you be nice and respectful when you interact, prettiest please.

I worry I'm making this too long, but oh well.

As I mentioned before, sometimes I like to hide backwards meanings or otherwise cryptic expressions in my poems. Of course, they only pop up on occasion, which makes them even harder to notice and then subsequently connect dots to.

Because of this, I encourage you to comment, reblog, or shoot me an ask letting me know you'd like to hear me break them down in more detail!

There are some poems that I won't be able to explain certain aspects of for, again, privacy reasons, but I'll attempt to explain them all in the most detail I can. ^^'

This was supposed to be a quick summary and is now getting too long. Whoops again.

Goodbye !! Hope you enjoy any of my future poems ! :D

#poetry #original poetry #pinned post #information #this is an official blog for official poems and official stuff !!!#blog rules

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dreamerwitches · 8 months ago

Note

Could you do a redesign of Yuu and Shii? Not because they're bad designs, but I want to see how you'd do their concepts

This was hard cause I really so like their designs, especially Yu. But I still gave it a go!

For Yu, my idea was to make her more like her original yellow sprite (the og one from her event). Its interesting what they changed like the stitches on her forehead, her soul gem under her horn, her shorts and her tails. This isnt the best but it was fun to give it a go. Her hooves and such would be the same

Im a little less fond of Shi since she has some weird design choices that I dont get. Like, why does she have four arms? Why does she have pickaxes? Eh… I still havent seen her story sadly cause its not on the wiki yet. So instead I had three inspirations: death, yume nikki and a lion. Hear me out…

Death was chosen because its a literal translation of her name. She has a big spooky reaper cape and of course, a scythe. I still dont get the pickaxes ToT

Yume Nikki was chosen because of her dream links (if you dont know it im not explaining it all here, please play it or look it up, its worth your time if you like pmmm/witches). The checks would be coloured like Madotsuki’s jumper pattern. If you spot the other reference I will give you a kiss

Now the final inspo is the lion and the unicorn. A story aspect/poem from Alice through the looking glass (book, not shitty movie). When these two were both revealed I was really hoping Shi’s doppel would be a lion but alas not… I think it really works for a magical girl pairing and also..! The Alice stories are both dreams! It all fits together!

#Ask #yu #shi

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

Text

Your Captain

Engineer Mark x gn!reader

Requested by Anon:

"Sweet! Can i request a angst and fluff fic with engineer mark? Where captain overworks themselves, not taking care of themselves at all, marks sees it but doesn't want to bother them too much about it

And eventually they get really sick and collapse infront of mark

With angst prompts #12 and #17 thank youuuu"

12. "You could have died."

17. "No, no, no, you can't close your eyes right now!"

Tbh this fic started as a completely different concept but I think it fit really well with this request so yah

Warnings: loss of identity, mentions of the warp core events, mentions of death, overworking, exhaustion, hurt/comfort, angst

Word Count: 3906

Masterlist

Tag List Form

The realization is slow. Not in the way a predator creeps on an unsuspecting victim. Nor in the way an illness would, slowly taking over your body and mind until you can no longer ignore your decreasing abilities. No. It’s not even noticeable at first. Little hints here and there, indicative of something bigger.

And then it dawned on you. Suddenly. Like a spark igniting a rampant fire.

It happened when you looked up. The sky was different here. Strange. Nothing like Earth’s. There were no constellations - at least not yet. Two moons circled and twirled around the planet. Your new home.

You had neglected to look up since you landed. You couldn’t blame anyone. There was simply too much to do - buildings in need of building, resources to discover and study, maps to draw up of the surrounding area. Not only that, you joined your leads wherever you could.

You assisted Celci as she and her team revived colonists. You welcomed each new citizen with a smile and Welcome to our new planet! All 100,000 of them. Celci told you to take a break, get a nap, eat something. You would argue that everyone deserved to be welcomed, and it helped you get a grasp on just how many carpenters, engineers, scientists, medics, gun hands and others there actually were. She gave you a worried and disapproving side eye, but she couldn’t do anything to stop you.

Gunther worked to set up a perimeter where the first buildings could be set up. You helped to plan out which buildings went where, and exactly where your borders should be laid. And when he started setting up armed droids to keep an eye out for raging wildlife that could threaten your new beginnings? You were all too happy to put yourself to work, hauling the heavy automechanicals to each designated spot. If he made a comment about exerting yourself, you ignored it and kept on working.

Burt, with the lack of necessity for warp-core engineering (the thought made you flinch), helped out in home-building. He acted as foreman, making sure each sheet of metal had its place. As the framework finished, he and his team went in to affix lights and other electronic necessities. A few engineers even took plumbing jobs. (There was, unfortunately, a lack of those sent over from Earth.) Quiet as he was, the only time he pointed out your willingness to dive head first and help build foundations, framework and walls, was in a poetic waxing after a rather large building neared completion. You said it was a beautiful poem, but you didn’t quite understand its meaning. (You did.)

And Mark. Oh, god, Mark. With each new job you threw yourself into, he was always right there, running around like a headless chicken trying to help. If you were building a wall, he was right behind you (sometimes even right next to you, holding the metal in place as you bolted it in), keeping you up to date with the progress of the colony, messages from Earth, and other such things. He worried over you the most out of anyone else.

You couldn’t blame him, honestly. After the… adventure you both went on, you wouldn’t give yourself the time of day to even close your eyes. Once dark settled in, you threw yourself into paperwork and managerial nonsense. You couldn’t stop.

It had been one of these nights when you realized. You just finished talking to Celci, discussing the discoveries being made. The scientists just started working with the security crew to go out on excursions to study the flora and fauna. They just brought back a strange plant that they believed could be medicinal. It was exciting, truly.

But Celci had been short with the discussion. She had her arms crossed the whole time, shutting down branching topics with quick retorts. You need rest, she’d scolded. She shoved a protein bar in your hand and sent you to your tent, with orders not to do any work tomorrow. When you tried to protest, she enacted a rule that stated she - as lead officer for medical - could confine you to your quarters if you were not at your peak health, physical or otherwise. You couldn’t argue with her, and so trudged like a pouting child toward the temporary camp of tents everyone was staying in.

That’s when you looked up. You stopped, staring at the unfamiliar stars, the strange moons that lacked craters. The Invincible could just be seen, hovering in the atmosphere. You were waiting for orders from Earth to know what to do with her. You refused to dismantle the grand spaceship. Most likely, it would continue to remain high above the planet, run by a skeleton crew. Forever up there. Alone.

That is when the realization overcame you.

It was slow. And then it all came crashing down over top of you like a tsunami. A growing sense of guilt filled your chest. Was that it? Guilt. No, maybe it was… loss. Yes. A powerful sense of grief within you, bubbling to the surface.

Maybe it had always been there. You couldn’t rightly tell. But it was powerful. It grew, bubbling like a thick paste within you until it reached your tear ducts and buckled your knees. The ground was warm beneath you, and the sky full of strange new stars blurred into a swirl of watercolors. Maybe this was how Van Gogh saw the world. Through tears.

“Captain?”

Your lip trembled. You couldn’t look at him.

A warm body knelt next to you on the ground. His dark eyes burned into your skin, searching desperately for answers. Why were you crying? Why were you sitting out in the middle of the camp, staring at the sky? When he glanced up, following your gaze, he caught sight of the Invincible. He mentally damned the ship.

Was it because of the ship that you were crying? Far too often to be healthy, he, too, stared up at the ship. He remembered the warp core. The mistakes he made, and the ones he caused.

He had no idea what you saw up there. You never spoke about it. Now he wished he had. He wished he asked. He wished he knew what worlds, what alternate realities, what different timelines you’d witnessed. Maybe then he could understand what was wrong.

“Cap…?”

Your eyes were red now. Your face crinkled with grief and sorrow, fighting back the onslaught of tears. You gasped in a shaky breath. Out came a whisper. He thought, perhaps, you would tell him about the things you’d seen. You witnessed thousands of deaths; he had, too. But that was not what came out of your mouth.

“I don’t remember my name.”

Mark was stunned. Shock and confusion overtook his body. Your name? Well, of course, your name was… It’s…

Confused and frustrated, he remembered the IDs on file for every single crew member. He sifted through so many every day, trying to keep track of who was who. It took a few taps on his wrist pad to pull up your ID. He skimmed it for himself before holding out his arm to show you.

The image was fairly recent, only from a few months ago. But you looked… brighter. Hopeful. Determined. Your hair was a little shorter then, too. The bags under your eyes from rigorous study weren’t as prominent as they were now. You looked like a hollow shell of who you once were.

And, yes, that was your name. Or… was it? Was it really your name after everything that had happened?

No. That was their name.

You shook your head and furiously wiped at the tears on your cheeks. Every crass name, criminal title, and disparaging nickname flooded your mind. No. They didn’t have those titles. They didn’t deserve the hatred and vitriol that followed you through that wormhole. They were not the Captain. And you were not them.

“That’s not my name anymore,” you croaked. You shook your head again. You looked like a child having a breakdown in kindergarten over a broken toy. “That’s- That’s not me anymore.”

Mark couldn’t say he really understood why. The image of you, all crooked grins and academy-fresh confidence, was you. He remembered you gushing to him over flying your first airplane, and going through the rigorous training of outer-space flying. He remembered because it was you who gave him the idea for all those stupid windows. When you gushed over being so close to the night sky you felt you could reach out and pluck Polaris right out of the inky black.

But when he looked from the picture to you? He was reminded of the hardships. How you jumped from universe to universe, wracking up casualties, just to save him. And he started to get it. You went through too much to be even near the same plane of existence as your young, naive self.

“Who am I, Mark?”

When you fell to press your face unceremoniously into his shoulder, he wasted no time wrapping you up in his arms. The ID flickered away as the screen turned off. He tried to hold on tight enough to physically stop you from shaking with your sobs, but it was impossible.

“You’re our Captain.”

Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. But they were the only words he could find.

Anybody who passed by pretended they didn’t see anything. He hoped, anyway. He couldn’t meet their eyes. All he could do was hold on, as you had done for him once. Your sobs turned into stifled cries, and then only whimpers. He wasn’t concerned at first. In fact, he was a little relieved you were beginning to calm down. Until you became completely limp in his hold.

Even then, he still paused a second, before pulling you back until he could see your face. Had your skin always been so dull?

He shook you slightly. Maybe you were just sleeping, right? Your eyelids didn’t even flutter. Panic shot through his heart.

He shook you again, harder this time. No response.

“Captain?” Another shake, perhaps a little more vigorously than he intended. Your body was a rag doll, flopped in his lap. “No, no, no, you can’t close your eyes right now!”

His mind, scared and jumping to all the worst conclusions, raced to figure out what to do. He laid you on the ground and pressed an ear against your chest.

…

……

Okay. There’s a heartbeat. A little weaker than he thought was normal, but it was there. And your chest was moving, albeit slowly, with each breath. He pulled away. His hands, calloused with years of fiddling with wires and heavy machinery, floundered in the air. He didn’t know what to do.

Desperate cries for help, for Cici, for anyone were ripped from his lungs. He was gasping for air by the time half the camp rushed out to see what the commotion was. He couldn’t catch his breath until you were safe again.

He just needed you to be safe.

Word spread about the Captain’s health quickly. Mark couldn’t say he was surprised. Actually, he was sort of embarrassed.

That night - almost a week ago now - Celci had rushed to his side. She was the rational and cool-headed one. She commanded medics to grab a stretcher, to ready an IV, prepare a bed and equipment. All the while he screeched like a banshee, whaling for his old friend.

Uncharacteristically, though, she didn’t say a word about it. Nobody did. (Or, at least, not when he was within earshot.) She grabbed him a chair, some water and snacks, even a blanket. And as he sat by the Captain’s side, a permanent frown etched within his features, she kept him up to date on your condition and on the colony.

He knew his fears were wholly rational. After jumping through wormholes and witnessing first hand what consequences it brought, it was only natural for him to fret over the permanence of life now.

How stupid he’d been. Really. How many times did he grab your hand and jump back into the wormhole? More than he could count on one hand. The way he would be torn apart by a black hole or exploded by a supernova, and still step out of that pod with a giddy little grin, asking, almost begging, the Captain to jump in again. And again. And again.

Vaguely he remembered an airlock.

Neither of you were immortal now. Honestly, he hated immortality. It seems to amazing in theory…

He drags a hand down his face with a sigh. His shoulders are hunched. He leans his elbows against the edge of your bed.

He’s tired. Not like before. This wasn’t an exhaustion fueled by some silly false heroics or nonstop building of a catalyst to all your issues. No. He was exhausted with worry, and fear, and- God, emotions he didn’t even have words for. It all sat heavy in his soul.

Guilt, he decided to call it. But different. Guilt if it was slightly to the left.

Celci told him you just passed out from exhaustion and overworking yourself. Maybe he felt guilty for not picking up on it sooner, or for stopping you before it got so bad. It’s not as if the bags under your eyes were invisible, or that the way you carelessly rushed in to help every single person in need was subtle. He should have noticed.

Maybe then you would remember your name. Or, he thought back to your ID, believe you’re still you.

He wished his mind could shut up, for once.

A distraction. That’s what he needed, yeah.

He dragged his eyes from your face to your monitor. He was never very good with medical stuff. The numbers were odd. Was that blood pressure normal? Too high? Too low? Hell if he knew. Was your heart beating fast enough?

He contemplated for a brief moment the components that went into a monitor like that. The wires, connectors, screws, bolts, etc. And then he remembered this machine was making sure you were still alive. The idea of dismantling it was no longer appealing.

He turned to the IV next. A slow, continuous drip of fluids, hooked up to your arm. Needles always gave him a bad feeling. He felt nauseous looking at it.

Strange flowers caught his attention next. There were no roses or tulips or irises out here. Just… Well, they didn’t have names yet. The exobiologists were working on formulating latin names, genuses, and everything else that came with cataloging different flora. They were still beautiful, he couldn’t deny it. Bright orange petals with neon blue stamens that glowed at night. Razor-leaved stems that started as purple by the bloom and morphed into an odd black hue. They looked poisonous, actually. He was sure they wouldn’t be allowed in here if that was the case.

Paper was becoming a luxury at this point. Not that it mattered much, with everything accessible at the press of a button on their wrists. Still, they thought it would be best to ration out the remaining scraps throughout the colony. And everyone, seemingly unanimously, decided to use the rare material to write get well soon cards.

The little folds of parchment filled every possible surface. With 100,003 people writing get well and thank you, at some point the excess of good will notes had to be tucked away in a bin to be read later. He caught a nurse, once, rotating out the cards.

His frown softened when he thought of the very human way in which they cared about you. How human to utilize a precious resource just to say Thank you, wake up soon. How human to see something beautiful in nature, and to display it tenderly next to you. We found something beautiful, it made us think of you. How very human for those who stopped by, who saw him ever at your side like a steadfast protector, rested a hand on his shoulder or patted him on the back. You are not alone in your pain.

He wished, desperately, that you could be awake to witness the love humanity so freely handed out. Maybe then you could rediscover who you were.

“You look like shit.”

Mark startled awake. When did he fall asleep? Ah, dammit, it was dark outside. He must have been out for hours. He scrubbed at the exhaustion crusting his eyelids shut.

Wait…

His body froze. He was too scared to breathe. His heart was racing.

He couldn’t have heard that. He couldn’t have.

Heart in his throat, he slowly removed his hand from his eye and dragged his eye along your frame, still tucked safely under the blanket. Sure enough, when he finally reached your face, there was a smug grin waiting for him.

And with a jolt, his body came back to life.

You watched, half-amused as Mark threw himself from his chair to press a Call Nurse button on the opposite side of your bed. His eyes were wide and frantic. His hair was a mess. Bags under his eyes carried the weight of the world, tears of relief slipping down his cheeks before he could even think to stop them.

“You’re- You’re awake!” he croaked. His hands instinctively grabbed onto your shoulders. They were trembling.

You tried to reach up to hold onto his shoulder, maybe even his face to feel his concerning amount of stubble, but it felt so heavy. You held onto his forearm instead. “How long-?”

Celci came storming in, looking about as frantic as Mark, but better put together. Once she saw you were conscious, her expression morphed to be somewhere between joy and fury. Uh oh.

“Captain!” The only freedom from her intense stare came when she checked your vitals. Mark backed away so she had plenty of room to do so, but he kept a hand on one of your shoulders. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet. “I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’, but I told you this was going to happen if you kept pushing yourself so hard!”

“What exactly happened?”

The cryonics lead faltered. Mark gave her a pleading look. She realized, for the first time since stepping in here, that he had been- no, was crying. She had never seen him cry before.

Celci sighed and tapped a few things into her wrist pad. “I’m assigning you to bedrest and low-effort work until you decide to put your needs before those of the colony.” She leveled you with a concerned stare. “The colony needs you, Captain. You can’t be everywhere at once, helping with every last fiber of your being, no matter how much you want to. Let the rest of us carry the responsibilities we were sent here to carry.”

Mark turned away to wipe away his tears before she could glare at him next and give him a lecture, too. She huffed, nodded to you with a Captain, and left.

The air was thick. Things unsaid hung around in the air like dust caught in a sunbeam - everywhere you look and hard to ignore.

Mark didn’t look at you as he tried to gather himself together. The motes would continue lingering until he was ready to answer your questions.

Deciding to give him some space (as much as you could while bedridden), you looked to the side. The hordes of cards was utterly overwhelming. Each one was different from the next. Some had Captain written on the front in neat cursive, heavy-handed scrawls, or chicken scratch. Some people did their ‘C’s differently, or slurred their writing together in their plain-text handwriting. Other cards simple said Get well soon! or Feel better! You could see small paragraphs of writing inside the folds.

A rush of warmth flooded your chest. All of the command leads, all of the colonists - everyone thought about you. Maybe the idea of being thought of was just so foreign, but you didn’t think in any earnest capacity that this many people would care. The Leads, sure, you spent so much time with them up on the ship (more than they realized), but the most contact the vast majority of the colonists had with you was the simple welcome you gave them as they were thawed. And yet. Despite it all. Everyone had left a card.

Everyone cared about you.

The warm feeling in your chest turned sour as you remembered your conversation with Mark last night. (Was it last night?) The way the stars glimmered back without a care for you. The way you squeezed that protein bar so tight it became mush in its package. The way Mark held you.

I don’t remember my name.

Who am I, Mark?

You squeezed his arm, as much as you could in your weakened state.

You’re our Captain.

Reddened eyes met yours. His eyes were so dark, but they held a thousand thoughts, emotions, and ideas behind them. You remembered looking into those eyes, as you held onto him, refused to let him go even as he called you hateful names and ripped the crystal from your palm.

“You’ve been asleep for a week.” He sniffed. His hand trembled as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Cici said… You were overworking yourself, pushing yourself past your limit just to be there for everybody, and you weren’t taking care of yourself like you should have been and she said-” He swallowed thickly, fighting to speak through the lump in his throat. “You could have died.”

Oh. It had been that bad? You couldn’t recall feeling weak. Though, maybe it was from the endless running you did during the warp core fiasco. How long had you been awake during that endless nightmare? Your body had recovered once the cycle was broken, but your mind…

“I’m sorry.” It was all you could say. His shoulders fell. “I didn’t…” Your voice was quiet, almost too soft to be a whisper. As if you were afraid to say what was on your mind. “When we were in the wormhole, I was so tired. We both were. But it’s like, I don’t even know what it’s like to feel tired anymore, because nothing compares to what happened.”

You looked up at him, like a child seeking approval. In your eyes, he saw universes colliding, supernovas, and someone who never gave up hope. For the briefest hint of a second, he saw that same determined graduate from the ID.

“Does that make sense?”

He nodded without thinking. His hand left your shoulder, following the length of your arm to hold your hand. You didn’t have gloves on. It was… odd. He ignored the calloused scar that brushed against his palm. “I feel the same. I remember building the… it. I didn’t sleep at all, then. And now that I can, it feels… wrong. I’m not tired, but I am. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“I think we both need a nap.”

He huffed. It was nice to see him smile again. “On your orders, Captain.” His grin flickered, eyes darkened. “If you’d like, you can choose a different name. It wouldn’t be too hard to change your ID.”

“No,” you said. You smiled. “You were right, all along.”

“About what?”

“I’m your Captain.”

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat

@cryptidjester

@your-voice-is-mellifluous

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half-an-hour-hence · 1 year ago

Text

Headcanons For Each Of The Ghosts’s Favourite Thing About Christmas Day

Kitty: Receiving and opening presents, but I also think that she loves to give them to others as well. She gets very happy when someone considers her and has really thought about what she might like, and she loves to see the joy on other people’s faces when they open her presents to them.

Captain: He really enjoys the evenings, after everyone has got over the excitement of the day and there’s a nice lulled atmosphere. The time in between Christmas dinner and watching a movie is the best; he’s got many memories of having wonderful conversations with people during both life and death. Obviously he also thoroughly enjoys the Kings/Queens speech.

Fanny: She likes to go on a walk before opening any presents to admire the day and the changes the season has brought to the grounds of Button House.

Julian: The mere concept of not having to work on Christmas Day was his favourite thing while he was alive. It allowed him to have an excuse as to why he was wasted at 10am. Now he’s not a huge fan of the day, because of the guilt he feels about not being around his family at Christmas.

Robin: Robin loves Christmas movies. Especially Elf. Every year he watches them with the same excitement as he did when he first saw them.

Mary: She loves admiring all of the decorations in the house, especially all of the multicoloured lights. They make her so happy. Sometimes she goes up to the roof to try and spot the twinkle of other lights on houses in the distance.

Humphrey: Humphrey’s favourite thing is the Christmas crackers. He’s always whole during dinner, and he pretends to pull one with Pat. Alison slides the jokes over to where he’s sitting so that he can tell them to everyone. He likes to hear everyone laugh.

Thomas: Aside from the mistletoe, Thomas really enjoys Christmas carols, especially after all the ghosts sang In The Bleak Midwinter with Alison. He practices for weeks before Christmas Day, and then performs a carol (and occasionally a poem, too) after dinner.

Pat: He loves Christmas dinner and the familial feeling that accompanies it. Even though he can’t eat anything anymore, Pat still finds joy in watching Alison and Mike enjoy their meal, and joins in with the conversations the other ghosts are having while sitting around the table. When he was alive, he also loved doing all the stereotypical ‘dad’ stuff that dads do on Christmas - like picking up the wrapping paper and making sure he got every single reaction to opening a present on camera.

Happy Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts headcanon #kitty higham #the captain ghosts #julian fawcett #fanny button #mary ghosts #pat butcher #thomas thorne #humphrey bone #robin ghosts

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antimony-medusa · 10 months ago

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

I was tagged by @regicidal-optimism

In no particular order:

A World Away (A Step Apart), (14,531 words) my OW superhero/supervillain romance with identity shenanigans, a dystopian world, and in-world supervillain RPF social media posts. This one was so fun to write. I've spent a lot of time on various social medias over the years and I delved into it for the fake discourse, and some of those social media jokes are some of my favourite things I've written. Plus I got to make up two guys that I love, OW is so fun.

A Hundred Things You Have Not Dreamed Of, (27,743 words), a DSMP emduo au in a vaguely superhero au about coming back from dehumanization. This fic was the one where I had to go holy shit I really do keep writing about food as healing I need to start tagging that on my fic, but also I just had a great deal of fun delving into, on the one hand, the hurt/comfort of expecting pain and not getting it, and on the other hand, the actual legitimate joys you can find in the small good things of a life you're choosing to live, even if baldly speaking it's not a great life. Like these guys don't know how to cook, and they live in a shitty apartment, and they have minimum wage food service jobs and don't have internet, but they also have friendship and community and 3 meals a day, and a laptop that can play videos, and that can also be something to appreciate. Plus it was a really fun challenge to take characters who basically don't act like the characters at all, because of trauma, and show them gradually growing into themselves. I still love this one a lot.

three deaths, no burials, one sunrise, (804 words). Oh boy. This one. DSMP, and c!wilbur focused, and second person, and inspired by a richard silken poem and a ursula vernon speech and a post about how wilbur didn't get a grave. At this point I don't even know if that's true canon, but I love this fic for how completely it took over my brain, I sat down and wrote it in one setting. Fuckin' pulled out of me like unspooling rope hand over hand. Having complicated feelings about your death and how it was marked or unmarked by the people around you, and exploring that through video game statistics, is something that can be so personal.

The Totem Of Undying Job, (62,696 words), DSMP, the syndicate heist Las Nevadas. So oh man, this was written in the era of the prison arc and you can probably tell, but I am still proud of how much I went into existing lore for the characterizations, not to mention proud of pulling off a long-fic. I keep thinking of it and going "man I should write more prey duo", or "I should write more tntduo", or "dang, beeduo slaps", or what have you. The first full and complete novel-length thing I had written in almost a decade, and I still think it hangs together, concepted and written entirely just me with myself in a google doc. The way I approach writing is very different nowdays, but I still love this one and I'm proud of pulling it off.

And honestly there's a lot of fics jockeying for this final spot, but I will give it to Soothing Natural Energies by Rebalancing External Wealth, Today, At Rekindled Flames Marriage Therapy Conference, (4,482 words), my origins sneegza marriage fraud shenanigans heist. I wrote this one in 24 hours for an exchange, and I was absolutely digesting my own stomach with anxiety the whole time, but I got it done, and then I posted and people said it was funny! And it had good worldbuilding! They liked it! And I drank some coffee and sat down to read it and went what do you know, I also like this, I think it's funny. Sometimes when I go oh god can I actually write comedy I go back to this one and I remind myself that yes, I can feel out how punchlines work. Also that I should write more origins, it's delightful.

tagging: @chrysalizzm, @imperialkatwala, @creetchure, @lennjamin-o7, @droidofmay

(don't feel obligated, any of you, I was just mentally paging through the people I follow trying to find people who hadn't already been tagged.)

#my writing

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doctortwhohiddles · 1 year ago

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Thoroughlystupid has decided to come out of retirement to grace us with yet another exemplary show of her stupidity. And this is really a doozy. Prepare to cry with laughter.

The simplest explanation is the best. Exactly. So what is simpler? That Ben and Sophie are happily married and parents to 3 boys or the convoluted, ever changing narrative coming from the sQeptics butts? As far as piss poor reading comprehension and pretzel twisting goes, Thoroughlystupid is hard to beat with that utter nonsense. There's no zebra. There was never any zebras. It was always a horse. One the sQeptics keep beating even though it's long dead.

Then, her idiotic post continues with this:

The facts are thus: the poem is a popular one at weddings and isn't tied to the date of Kit's conception. There was a christening for all 3 kids. Ben has never said repeatedly said 3 boys. Lazy journalists did, not him. He knows how many kids he has. There's a freaking birth certificate for all 3 of them. The quote about Sophie is taken way out of context. We all know what she meant: no questions about my private life. Social media posts are no indicator of a person private life. Just because he wasn't spotted or that people did and didn't mention it doesn't mean he's in hiding. Add to that the fact that the sQeptics are blocked by almost everyone and you get this epic show of stupidity. It known and common courtesy to not take and post pictures of a stranger's kids. Again, not everyone is as an entitled asshole as the sQeptics. The kids are school aged and in school. Ffs, they sent them to school in the US when Ben was promoting TPoTD.

Nine years. Nine fucking years. That's how long they've been at it. And those are the only arguments they have to convince themselves. If any of what they are saying was true, it would have been in the press. There's no way the British tabloids would sit on a story like this.

So, for the SQeptics lurking: just stop. You know you have zero credible evidence to back your bullshit. You know Ben and Sophie are together. You know they have 3 boys. Those are all well known, documented facts. So stop acting like morons and start living in the real world. It's not has bad as you're making it out to be.

#team z #thoroughlyskeptic #ffs #the stupid it hurts #extreme denial syndrom

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academicfever · 4 days ago

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🌿 Infusing Joy into Your Days: A Multifaceted Guide

1. Sensory Joy (Engaging Your Senses Fully)

Touch: Wrap yourself in a soft blanket, wear your favorite cozy socks, or apply a scented lotion.

Smell: Light a candle, brew tea or coffee just for the aroma, or walk past a bakery and breathe it in.

Taste: Try a new fruit, make a fun snack plate (cheese, nuts, fruit, chocolate), or eat something nostalgic.

Sight: Change your laptop wallpaper to something inspiring, tidy up a small corner, or watch the sunset.

Sound: Play white noise, ASMR, or ambient café sounds when working. Sing in the shower (or hum if that’s easier).

🚀 2. Automotive & Motorsports Joy (Because You’re a Gearhead!)

Watch a classic F1 race or a legendary battle (Senna vs. Prost, Alonso's best defenses, etc.).

Listen to team radios—chaotic, funny, or emotional moments.

Sketch or design a dream car livery or create a fantasy motorsport team.

Watch car restoration videos or How It’s Made episodes on automotive tech.

Play a racing game, even casually—Forza, Gran Turismo, or even something simpler.

Read about a lesser-known motorsports history moment.

Find a weird car fact and share it somewhere (even if it’s just a journal entry).

📚 3. Intellectual Joy (Stimulating Curiosity & Learning for Fun)

Watch a TED Talk or a YouTube mini-doc on a topic outside of your field.

Read one interesting paragraph from a philosophy or science book.

Try explaining a concept (F1 aerodynamics? EV batteries? Climate policy?) in the simplest terms possible.

Listen to an audiobook while lying down with your eyes closed.

Learn one random word in a new language.

Write a small note on something fascinating you learned today.

🖋️ 4. Creative Joy (No Pressure, Just Play)

Write something purely for yourself—a mini poem, a journal entry, or a character sketch.

Doodle, even if it’s silly. Try drawing a tiny F1 car in the margins of your notes.

Make an aesthetic mood board for your ideal study space, dream travel spot, or even F1 team livery.

Play with fonts and handwriting—try calligraphy or make your notes look artistic.

Take a random photo during your day—anything that catches your eye.

Try a short, fun writing prompt: “If I could time travel to any moment in motorsports history, I’d go to…”

🏃‍♀️ 5. Movement & Physical Joy (Without Pressure)

Dance to one high-energy song before getting to work.

Stretch for 2 minutes between tasks.

Go for a non-goal-oriented walk—just observe what’s around you.

Try “barefoot grounding” if you’re outside—just standing on grass for a bit.

Do a few neck and shoulder rolls (especially if you’re at your desk for hours).

If you’re really tired, just lay on the floor and exist for a few minutes.

💬 6. Connection Joy (Finding Light in Relationships & Conversations)

Send a voice note to a friend instead of typing.

Comment something meaningful on a post that resonated with you.

Ask someone an interesting question—something beyond “how are you?”

Revisit an old conversation that made you laugh.

If you don’t have the energy to reply to messages, just react with an emoji—it still counts.

Write a letter (even if you never send it).

🌿 7. Nature Joy (Even in Small Doses)

Step outside for 5 minutes just to breathe.

Sit by a window with sunlight for a few minutes.

Pick up a leaf or rock that looks interesting and just observe it.

Watch birds or clouds for a bit—no overthinking, just look.

Bring a small plant into your space, or just Google pictures of beautiful forests.

🍵 8. Restorative Joy (Gentle, Nourishing Activities)

Have a “cozy reset” moment—change into comfy clothes, grab a warm drink, and do something low-energy.

Take a guilt-free nap (even if it’s just closing your eyes for 10 minutes).

Put on an eye mask and just lie down with calming music.

Watch an old comfort show or re-read a passage from a favorite book.

Have a slow, distraction-free meal—fully enjoy each bite.

🎉 9. Joy Through Play (Bringing Back Lightness & Fun)

Do a small, silly challenge—how fast can you type the alphabet?

Find a random trivia fact and drop it into a conversation.

Play a quick online game (Wordle? GeoGuessr? A car quiz?).

Look up weird world records just for fun.

Try a silly filter on your camera just to make yourself laugh.

💖 10. Gratitude & Perspective Joy (Reframing & Finding Lightness)

Write down one thing that went well today (even if it’s just “I got out of bed”).

List three things you’re grateful for—big or small.

Think of one past version of yourself who would be proud of how far you’ve come.

When feeling overwhelmed, ask: “Will this matter in a year?”

#studyblr #stem academia #women in stem #mental illness #mental health #positive mental attitude #study blog

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skydigiblogs · 9 months ago

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I Kind of Wanna Talk About the Translation of Digimon Liberator

So change of plans, I'm gonna pause before reading chapter 2 and talk about the translation so far. Full disclosure: I have a BFA in English and a lengthy background in Creative Writing. I only have like, a child's level of conversational Japanese under my belt, meanwhile. But our system is really fascinated with translation theory.

This isn't the first time I've talked about translation theory in Digimon on this blog, either (see this post), so if you're a regular, some of this might be familiar territory.

I'll only be talking about official profiles and chapter 1 for now, because I can't keep the thoughts quiet enough to read chapter 2 lmao.

[REALLY REALLY LONG POST BELOW THE CUT, I'M SERIOUS]

Defining Translation Theory

Before I can talk about the translation of Digimon Liberator, I want to briefly explain the concept of translation theory, as it's something I'm fairly interested in exploring through the Digimon franchise.

Translation theory is, essentially, the drive behind how a text is translated from one language to the next. Kind of self explanatory on the surface, it's complicated by the medium of a text, as well as whether certain elements can be cleanly translated from one language to another.

In this conversation, "original language" will refer to the language a text was in prior to translation. For Digimon, that's Japanese. "Host language" will refer to the language a text was translated into. For what I can read, that's English.

Certain mediums lend themselves well to translator's notes. If you've ever picked up a work in translation, this may be a foreword from the translator in books. Those of you familiar with fan subs will know these as those notes that show up on the top of the screen whenever something needs more context to fully convey (such as a linguistic joke or cultural reference).

I'm going to use an example from Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleur du Mal, my go-to on this topic thanks to how many translations there are and the fact that Les Fleur du Mal is a poetry collection. Specifically, i want you to look at "L'Albatross," (literally "The Albatross" in English). These two sites have a lot of translations (and the first site has the original French text available to read as well).

I'm not going to make you read all of the translations, but I do want them to help you understand the different ways translation theory can affect a text in its host language. Scan through a few and it becomes clear that every translator did something at least a little different. With poetry, this is quick to spot, because how a line reads can drastically change how the poem itself lands with an audience.

Generally, a few questions should come to mind when you're reading a translated work. This list isn't every question you should (or could) ask, of course, but these are some of the ones I think of:

Is this translation intended to be a literal (as close to 1:1) translation?

Additionally, is a literal translation even possible, linguistically?

If not, what form of writing is the translator engaging in?

(For example: if the original work has references to culturally distinct idioms, does the translator literally translate those idioms, or do they look for the closest idiom in the host language that conveys a similar meaning?)

The same can be asked of figurative language. What similes, metaphors, and so on are changed to make more sense in the host language, if at all?

What linguistic bias is on display in translation?

(A good example for understanding this would be the translation theory of Emily Wilson, who was the first woman to translate The Odyssey into English. She noticed a bias in the interpretation of language by her male predecessors in the field. More on that in the many articles she's been interviewed for, but I'll highlight the one she wrote for TIME back in 2017.)

And, perhaps, what is lost in the oral quality of a translation?

(Turning back to Baudelaire for a moment, French sounds different from English, on a fundamental level. Will a translator attempt to preserve the meterical qualities of an original work? Oral qualities refer to anything that can be heard when read aloud. Assonance, consonance, rhyme, slant rhyme, etc.. I think this is the easiest example to ponder over what is lost in translation, because it is fundamentally tied to the language itself.)

Okay, We Can Talk About Digimon Again

So, Digimon Liberator (in both forms) is a work in translation from its original language of Japanese. I think I'm not alone in saying that, regarding the comic's translation, everything looked pretty clean, showing an intent on Bandai's part to make sure the comic was legible to a Western audience.

I didn't notice any weird linguistic artifacts in the comic, and I haven't seen anyone complaining about its translation here on tumblr. I'm not talking about the comic, because I think the translation method applied is extremely effective!

Similarly, there are "lore" articles that explain the mechanics of the fictional universe from an in-universe perspective. They're written like promotional guides for players, and I think the style employed there works quite well. Any stiffness in the writing feels expected, because it's an in-universe article, where formality and a bit of reservation should be used.

What I want to talk about specifically is Chapter 1 of the novel. I just got done reading it (about an hour ago at this point since I've been working on this post so long lmfao).

It's obvious to me that a lot of thought is going into how this series is being translated. Similarly, it's obvious that it's not being machine-translated. My biggest examples for this come from two things I've noticed so far:

[ID: A screenshot of the Digimon Liberator official thumbnail for Winr's profile. Winr is a boy with pentagonal, green-framed glasses over his brown eyes. He has a neutral expression on his face. He wears a short sleeved blue and red hoodie with gold honeycomb patterns over a long sleeved yellow dress shirt. On a lanyard around his neck is a black and gold Digimon v-pet.]

This is Winr. Or, for those of you who can read Katakana, this is "Saikyo." I think it's actually "Saikiyo?" My point stands either way. If it's just "Saikyo," it's literally the superlative for "strongest." If it is "Saikiyo," I'm fairly certain it's still meant to evoke the word.

Why am I certain of that? Well, because his name in the host language is "Winr!" Which is a play on the word... well, "winner!"

I doubt a machine translation would be able to make this kind of wordplay, and it evidences to me that there is thought going on behind this translation and its legibility in its host language.

My other example is...

[ID: A screenshot of text that reads: "Please, I'll buy you some cute accessories next time, so please forgive me, Impmon!" "Ha! No way! I won't forgive you until you reflect on what you did!" "But what if it's like…mad cayuute?" "I don't need no darn cute accessories! And what do you mean by mad cayuute? Just say it's 'really cute'!"]

[ID: A screenshot of Japanese text that reads: 「お願い、こんどかわちいアクセサリー買ってあげるからゆるして、インプモン！」「やーだーねー！　今日ばっかりはユウキが反省するまでゆるさねーからな！」「でも“エグい”くらい“かわちい”よ……？」「カワチイアクセサリーなんていらねンだよ！　っていうかなーにがエグいだ！　なにがカワチイだ！　ちゃんと“スゴく”“可愛い”って言え！」]

Okay. Bear with me on this one. My Japanese isn't good enough to be able to read a literal translation on the whole section here, but I was curious about the "mad cayuute?" line in English. That struck me as a "this is something translated from a joke I might not get otherwise" line, especially with that phonetic drawing out of "cute."

Someone who's more fluent in Japanese might be able to help me out, because Impmon's speaking above my expertise LMAO.

In the third line of dialogue in the Japanese version, Yuuki says this word "かわちい" (phonetically, "kawachii"). I think it's interesting to see that it's even couched by quotation marks. I'm not as familiar with Japanese formatting, but it wouldn't surprise me if the use of quotation marks here is to bring attention to the way Yuuki speaks. The same formatting is used with "エグい" (phonetically, "egui") earlier in the line, which does have a literal translation as an adjective (I'm not listing out all the definitions I'm finding because I don't want to get too into the weeds with a language I have very minimal experience with though).

So What Does This Mean?

Like I said, the way the translation is being done suggests to me that there is at least one actual person working on the translation work. I don't know how many people are working on the translation team, as I can't find any credits on the site itself.

That said, I find it refreshing that there is evidence of some thought being put into the translation of the web novel. Now, I don't know what the deal was with Seekers, because I genuinely could not get myself interested in it. As much as I would love to do some comparative analysis of the translation in Liberators versus the translation in Seekers, you cannot convince me to read Seekers. I just don't have the patience.

Now, why do I bring this up?

Well, while I can't compare Liberators to Seekers, I do know some people had issues with the way Seekers was written. I think, reading Liberators, I want to talk about my criticisms with, strictly, the formatting and prose in the host language.

As we saw in the second example above, Japanese and English prose are formatted very differently. Those of you who also read through the Liberator chapters may have noticed that a lot of the dialogue is paragraphed in a way that groups them together. This is my first issue with the translation so far. I don't think Bandai will change the format (and I admit, it's helpful for doing comparative analysis like I did above), but separating out dialogue in English is important for legibility.

So too are dialogue tags, which aren't present in the original language in the same section I highlighted. In the section I used as an example, this isn't an issue, as both Yuuki and Impmon use each other's names in dialogue, marking the back and forth for the reader. But there was an example in chapter 1 that I needed to go back and reread after the paragraph.

(From Chapter 1.2)

[ID: Screenshot of text that reads:

"Anyway, it’s been bothering me. We could chalk it up to a bug, but there's something fishy about the new ability item and cards." “Ah, I agree. It’s kinda bothering me, too. Maybe we should consult Altea next time?" "Eh, I don't really like that Altea."

　The Altea that Yuuki mentioned is a member of the debugging team who supports them behind the scenes. Typically, she works alongside the Digimon Espimon to assist the GMs. Undoubtedly, Altea is the most knowledgeable about the system within their team and a reliable figure indeed.]

I'm not going to dig for the quote in Japanese, if only because I want to focus on the English translation here. If it's a matter of character voice, there's some argument that maybe the translation could have done something to differentiate Yuuki and Impmon here. However, while it would be an additive change, I think that the inclusion of dialogue tags would be the least intrusive means of preventing the kind of confusion I experienced with this section.

Anyone familiar with English prose will know that it's common in the beginning of a dialogue section to denote who's speaking within the first line or two of dialogue, especially with dialogue that does not communicate character on its own. Since it's just two people talking, you only need to show who one of the speakers is.

Ultimately, this is kind of an editing nitpick, and I'm really only bringing it up because I noticed it as an artifact of translation, rather than a sign of bad writing. Honestly, I'd love to learn more about formatting in Japanese novel writing, but that's a deep dive I'm not ready to embark on for a silly little tumblr post I'm writing about my initial thoughts about translation quality in Digimon Liberator. I do want to encourage everyone reading to consider translation theory when they're reading Liberator though, because it plays into the limitations of the medium.

The bigger issues I had with the translation are twofold: tense and syntax.

Tense is going to be easier to discuss here. The easiest way to explain it is thus: tense denotes temporality. "I ate a bagel" means that there is no longer a bagel in my bread box; "I am eating a bagel" means there's not a bagel in my bread box, it's in my hand; "I will eat a bagel" means there's a bagel in my bread box, not in my hand. Really simple explanation, but I want to give the explanation up front so we can look at Liberator's prose.

Let's look at Impmon's introduction.

"Impmon sighed deeply without turning its small, deep purple body toward her. A level 3 Evil Digimon, Impmon is characterized by its two long, clown-like horns, red gloves, and scarf." (1.1)

Notice how between sentences, we shift from "Impmon sighed," to "Impmon is." If the tense was consistent here, it might look like this (editing by me):

"Impmon sighs deeply without turning its small, deep purple body toward her. A level 3 Evil Digimon, Impmon is characterized by its two long, clown-like horns, red gloves, and scarf."

"Impmon sighed deeply without turning its small, deep purple body toward her. A level 3 Evil Digimon, Impmon was characterized by its two long, clown-like horns, red gloves, and scarf."

Tense in a piece generally needs to stay consistent, in the English language. A novel may bend this rule sometimes, but those tend to be in cases where it serves a narrative purpose. Flashbacks are an easy example of using tense to your advantage. Tense denotes time, and determines the forms of words used in a piece. Tense shifting can also be used in other creative applications, but the use in Liberator seems less a creative choice and more, well...

See the next section.

I also want to talk about syntax in the Liberator webnovel. Syntax refers to the way sentences are structured. It's a very broad subject, and the English language allows for some very diverse sentence structures.

I'll use the last example for illustration here, so that you can see what syntax can do to your experience of a piece:

"Impmon sighed deeply without turning its small, deep purple body toward her. A level 3 Evil Digimon, Impmon is characterized by its two long, clown-like horns, red gloves, and scarf." (1.1, original)

"Without turning its small, deep purple body toward her, Impmon sighed deeply. Two long, clown-like horns, red gloves, and scarf characterized the level 3 Evil Digimon, Impmon." (different syntax)

This is an exaggerated edit, but I want to get across how flexible English sentence structures are. Japanese, however, is a highly structured language by comparison, and if you aren't familiar with the syntax of Japanese, it might make you trip a little bit. When translating to English, the order of Japanese sentences is generally Subject-Object-Verb, as opposed to Subject-Verb-Object.

So in Japanese, the sentence "I / eat / a bagel" would be structured "I / a bagel / eat." "I" being the subject (what's doing the action), "a bagel" being the object (the thing being subjected to the action), and "eat" being the verb (the action being done).

(Technically Japanese doesn't have the same kind of particles as English but like. I don't have the technical knowledge of Japanese linguistics to go into it. The structure of Japanese is incredibly cool though, especially from the perspective of someone speaking a language that is a chaotic whirlwind of rules and exceptions.)

I bring this up because, when translating from Japanese to English, this means you have to restructure the sentence you are reading in order to fit general English syntax. That's work! And as we've been trying to illustrate, someone is definitely doing the translation work for Digimon Liberator!

However, one of the pitfalls of literal translations (which Liberator appears to primarily be, regarding its translation theory) is that you sometimes end up with a very dry text in the host language. Let's look at the very next line after Impmon's introduction, for an example.

"Having been with Yuuki since the beta-testing days, Impmon has been communicating with her like this for over half a year. There is no longer any reserve between them, and they're close to inseparable." (1.1)

Compared to later in chapter 1:

"There was no defending such recklessness. What had she been thinking, launching into battle without doing the necessary groundwork? It was her fault. There was no doubt about it." (1.1)

Okay. These two paragraphs have a very different rhythm to them. Do you see it? Diversity in syntax is crucial to momentum in a text, as it acts like grease on the wheels for a reader. The first of these two examples is comprised of two long, "rambly" sentences (for lack of a better word). The second example, in my opinion, shows a better use of syntax (though improvements could be made). It's broken into varied sentence lengths to help maintain movement.

If you want another example, let's circle back to Baudelaire for a second (you remember him from the beginning of this essay?). Poetry is heavily tied to its structure, like we discussed. That structure, like in the Liberator webnovel, is key to the movement of a piece.

I'm unsure to what length the syntax in the webnovel can be attributed to the translator, but distracting, stale syntax can be difficult for some readers to maintain interest in. I'm pushing along because I really like Impmon (and the new line looks sick as hell), but a less-invested reader may find Liberator difficult to follow because of these flaws.

Compared to the comic, which benefits from its visual storytelling (which serves as momentum on its own), the novel has only its prose to fall back on when maintaining readership.

TL;DR Digimon Liberator Needs an English Editor

Hire me Bandai /j

Joking aside, Digimon Liberator's webnovel, in its English translation, reminds me of the kind of shaky prose that a newer writer might produce. As I said in the last section, I'm not sure what role overhead has in maintaining the structure of the translation.

However, I think Digimon Liberator could benefit from an English language editor. Between oddities regarding dialogue tags, tense, and syntax, some readers may not have the patience to sit through this one otherwise. I find that a shame, too, considering the evidence someone is working hard on this translation!

It's not awful. Please don't take this big long essay to mean that's what I'm saying. But I have a BFA in English, like I said at the start, so I'm pretty good at sniffing out the kinds of writing pitfalls that make retaining readership difficult. Hell, it's the same instinct I use when I'm trying to determine what to read (whether that be professionally or unprofessionally published).

Writers tend to struggle with self-editing because they're so familiar with their own work. I'm uncertain if Bandai has an editing team on call for the Liberator novel, but if not, that needs to change. Putting the work of translation (a form of writing in itself) and editing on one person is too much. And if it's a team of translators, they should make sure at least someone is looking out to edit for English style.

#sky talks #digimon #digimon liberator #trying so hard to type with proper capitalization for once because this isn't just a silly little post like my usual #also ironically i am ending this with a conversation about editing but do not have the brain power to edit this whole thing #i may come back to this later to clean up any weird bits but at the end of the day this is a fan blog

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