#it’s my first attempt at a multi chapter in a very Very long time

[dantoru]

hello i posted a new fic 😊

🎈🌟 1/4 chapters (to be updated daily)

[itadorey]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: in an attempt to distract gojo, yaga sends him on a quest to locate you; a missing member of the zenin clan with prophetic dreams. genre: pre-relationship, humor, fluff notes: college gojo makes me feral. i think he would've been a menace. i also kind of want to continue this as a series of one shots (set in the same universe but not necessarily a multi-chapter fic). wc: ~3k song inspo ♫: ruby sparks by monet ngo

"i saw you in my dreams."

gojo chuckles at the words, a flirty smile appearing on his face as he tilts his head up to look at the person that's speaking to him. he can't help the way his eyes briefly widen when he sees your face, recognizing you as the very person he was sent to find.

he understands that yaga wants to give him a distraction, a getaway from all the shit that has happened to him in the past few years. but going undercover at the university of tokyo to locate you, a supposedly important jujutsu sorcerer, wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his post-high school years. now that you're standing in front of him, he can't really find it in himself to complain. not when he realizes just how pretty you are.

he quickly composes himself, leaning back in his seat before motioning for you to sit. you glance at the seat across from him uncertainly, refusing to move. there's a conflicted look on your face as you scan your surroundings, almost as if looking for an escape route. you look like you regret speaking in the first place.

"i'm flattered, really," gojo says, shamelessly checking you out over his sunglasses. "but that's kind of a cheesy pickup line, isn't it?"

your nose scrunches up at you look at him, and you stutter a few times as you lean against the table. gojo watches with an amused smile that quickly drops when you finally gather your thoughts. "ew! that was not an attempt to flirt with you!"

there's a moment of silence before you sigh and slip into the seat across from gojo. you place your elbows on the table, head in your hands as you stare down at the table. another minute passes before you look up, making brief eye contact with gojo's sunglasses before fully laying your head down. "listen, this is gonna sounds crazy."

"try me," gojo says, smirking as he leans forward. one of his elbows rests on the table, check in hand as he watches you struggle with your thoughts.

he's never met you before, hell, he hasn't even seen you before this moment, but the faint cursed energy that surrounds you lets him know exactly who you are. you're a member of the zen'in clan, labeled as missing when your parents fled a couple years after you were born. the discovery of your prophetic dreams had made you an instant target, and you had been so well hidden from society that even gojo and yaga had had a hard time finding you. there was absolutely no information on your childhood or adolescence, and the only way they had managed to locate you was due to a wayward curse you had taken upon yourself to exorcise. the recent spike of your cursed energy had caused an uproar in the jujutsu community, and a race had begun to see who could get to you first.

between jujutsu high, the zen'in clan, the higher-ups, and a special grade curse, gojo thought he was the best option.

"okay, come on," gojo says, standing up and stretching before pushing his chair in. you finally look up, frustration visible on your face as you stare at him. your expression quickly morphs into confusion when gojo gently grabs your arm, tugging you up from your seat and slinging your bag over his shoulder before interlocking arms with you.

"where are we going?" you ask, stumbling after him. he's taller than you, and you find yourself struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"we're gonna go get some coffee!" he says, smiling at you. "i know a place. besides, i wanna know all about those dreams you had of me."

"you don't think i'm lying to you?" you say, eyeing him skeptically. "or that i'm crazy?"

your question goes unanswered, but the look he sends you makes your stomach twist with nervousness. there's a glint in his eye that catches you off guard, and you find yourself wondering if he knows more than he's letting on.

your mind races as he walks you off campus, chatting your ear off as you go. he doesn't receive a single response from you, yet your silence doesn't seem to bother him. if anything, it only motivates him to talk even more, and you find yourself almost enjoying the way he doesn't let the silence last more than a few seconds.

"oh look! there it is," gojo says, fully capturing your attention as he motions towards a small café. it's a small, charming place, one street over, visible through the alleyway the two of you are currently standing in front of. you come to a full stop when he makes a move to walk down the alley, inadvertently pulling him back to your side when he realizes you won't budge.

"what's wrong?" he asks, leaning down to catch your eye. you're met with a startingly blue gaze, and you shift from one foot to another as you tear your eyes away from him. "oh, i know! i bet you're nervous for our date!"

"this isn't a date!" you snap, finally pulling your arm away from him. you can feel a headache coming as he giggles, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks into the alley. "wait!"

gojo halts at your words, turning around to fully face you. he watches you curiously as you take a few tentative steps forward, a shiver running down your spine when you enter the alley as well. there's a coldness seeping through your bones as you approach gojo, and when you turn to look behind you, it feels as though you've left the busy streets of tokyo completely.

"what's wrong?" gojo asks, the smile still on his face as he observes your reaction. you're almost certain that he knows something you don't at this point.

"this alley," you start, wringing your hands as you take a step back. "this is where we were. in my dream, i mean."

"and what exactly were we doing here?" gojo asks, his teasing tone earning a scowl from you. "this alley is quite inconspicuous, and we're all alone."

the insult you had ready dies on the tip of your tongue as you notice movement behind gojo, and his eyebrows furrow as he notices the sudden change in your demeanor.

"so, in my dream we were here. and you were in danger. i couldn't do anything to help and you—," you cut yourself off, nervousness coating your words as you start to close in on gojo. you ready yourself to fight, remembering every detail about your dream as the curse lurking in the alleyway reveals itself. you curse to yourself as it notices you, and you absentmindedly note that it seems be a grade 1 curse.

"and i?" gojo asks, curiosity coloring his words as he tilts his head in confusion. he hasn't moved at all, and you find yourself wondering if he can sense cursed spirits. in your dream it seemed like he could.

you inhale sharply as the curse lunges, and you notice too late that this scene isn't playing out the same way it had in your dream. you throw yourself at gojo, eyes wide with panic as you realize you're just a bit too far to reach him.

"you have to move!" you shriek, your heart pounding as gojo simply grins at you. he raises his hand silently, fingers twisting as he mutters something under his breath. the curse is killed instantly, and you find yourself collapsing to your knees as you look at gojo in shock.

"y-you—"

"me!" gojo cheers, cutting you off as he approaches you. he hauls you onto your feet and loops his arm with yours once again, guiding you past the disintegrating curse and emerging on the other side of the alley. you spare another glance back at the corpse, swallowing harshly before turning to look at the sorcerer standing next to you.

"who are you?" you ask quietly. the smile doesn't slip from gojo's face as he holds the cafe door open for you, following closely after you and guiding you to an empty table.

"how about we order first? and then i'll answer all of your questions," gojo says, picking up a stray menu and flipping through it casually as if he hasn't just taken down a grade 1 curse with ease. he notices your stare but doesn't comment on it, instead choosing to place the menu back on the table before waving over a server.

"can i get a slice of cake with two forks? oh! and two glasses of chocolate milk please."

gojo twiddles his thumbs as the two of you wait for your order, and you find yourself fully studying him for the first time since you approached him. he's sitting casually, leaning back slightly in a relaxed manner as he hums a song under his breath. when he notices your stare, he sends you a small grin and proceeds to go back to observing his surroundings.

he's much too relaxed for someone who just had an encounter with a curse, and you realize that he truly does know a lot more than you originally thought.

"here's your order!"

gojo thanks the server enthusiastically as you mutter your appreciation, your hands closing around the glass he pushes towards you without much thought.

"so, who are you?" you finally ask, repeating the question that gojo had ignored earlier. he laughs at your words, grabbing one of the forks and taking a bite of cake as he extends the other one to you. he waits for you to grab the fork, using his own to pick up another piece of cake before he notices you don't make a move to take it from him.

"what? you want me to feed you instead?" he asks, eyelashes fluttering as he gives you a flirty smile. he places the fork meant for you back on the table, leaning in closer and bringing his own fork to your mouth. "i guess that would be more date-like. okay, say ah!"

his enthusiasm dies down when he notices the frown tugging at your lips, and he deflates in defeat when you push his hand aside and reach for the other fork. you fiddle with it for a couple of seconds before placing it back down and looking at him with a glare.

"who are you?" you demand once more, your eye twitching in annoyance when gojo opens his mouth. you have no doubt he's about to say something stupid. "if you don't tell me, i will scream for help."

his mouth clamps shut as he studies you quietly, taking another bite of the cake before sighing.

"my name is gojo satoru," he finally says, holding his hand out to you as he introduces himself. you place your hand in his hesitantly, a gasp leaving you when he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. "and you, you're a zen'in."

gojo watches as your eyes go wide at his words, and you yank your hand out his grasp before looking around nervously.

"no, i'm not," you say quietly. "i've never heard that name in my life."

you receive a funny look from gojo, and he crosses his arms before snorting. "yeah, ok. i totally believe you."

"how do you know that name," you say quietly, your eyes still scanning your surroundings. your shoulders are tense, and gojo can tell that you're seconds away from sprinting out of your seat and away from him.

"it's a pretty well known name in the jujutsu world," gojo responds, his head tilting as he looks at you questioningly. "so you know about curses, but not about the clans?"

"sorry, i'm afraid learning about the politics of the jujutsu world was the least of my worries," you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you do so. gojo thinks it's kind of endearing. "the information on curses was much more important, so i kinda just tuned out my parents when they gave me that lecture."

gojo chuckles, shaking his head slightly at your words. he leans forward without much thought, holding out three fingers as he speaks. "there's three big jujutsu families that exist. there's the kamo clan, the gojo clan, and the zen'in clan. you and i belong to two of those. and all three of them are looking for you."

you shift in your seat at his words, giving him a wary glance before shrugging nonchalantly. "so you found me first. now what?"

there's a slight nervousness to your tone, causing gojo to frown. he shrugs, grabbing his glass and taking a drink. "i dunno. i wasn't sent on behalf of the gojo clan. i was sent by yaga masamichi, the principal of tokyo jujutsu high. we have no plans to turn you over to the higher-ups, it that makes this situation any better."

"then what do you plan on doing?"

"now that, i also don't know," gojo confesses. he notices the look of irritation on your face and chuckles. "all we know is that your power is too strong to be left unchecked. now, i'm not necessarily kidnapping you, but i am asking you to return to the school with me and speak with yaga. we think there's a way that your dreams could help jujutsu sorcerers know what they could possibly be dealing with on a mission ahead of time."

"i don't think that'll be possible," you mutter, frowning down at the table. you seem lost in thought, and gojo gives you a moment of silence before he speaks.

"what do you mean by that?" gojo's voice is soft, his eyebrows knit in concern as you give him a worried look.

"i mean that i don't think my dreams are reliable," you whisper, panic lacing your words.

"they're prophetic dreams!" gojo yells quietly. "what do you mean they're not reliable."

"ok, look," you say, pausing to reach for the half-eaten slice of cake. you finally take a bite, eyes lighting up as you hum with delight. "that is good! ok, anyways, i don't think my dreams are truly prophetic."

"that's literally not possible," gojo argues, eyes wide in disbelief. "it's a part of your cursed technique! everyone knows that the zen'in clan members with this ability are never wrong."

"well they are now!"

"what do you mean by that?"

"i mean that my dream wasn't accurate," you explain, taking another bite of the cake. you ignore gojo's confused look, sighing before pushing the plate back towards him. "that dream i had of you? yeah the real-life scenario didn't play out the way it was supposed to."

gojo's stare hardens as he processes your words, and he pushed the cake aside as he looks at you questioningly. "what do you mean it didn't play out the way it was supposed to?"

"you were supposed to die," you confess, your voice no louder than a whisper. the silence between the two of you is heavy, and you wonder if your admission was much too harsh. "in my dream, the curse attacked you after i failed to protect you. i don't know what changed."

"well, i'm the strongest sorcerer alive, so there's your answer," gojo says, an uncertain smile on his face as he tries to lighten the mood. "besides, i had to step up my game. i wasn't going to leave someone as precious as you to defend yourself."

his efforts pay off as you huff out a laugh. it's weak, but it manages to dispel the heaviness that had been previously present.

"listen," gojo begins, his tone uncharacteristically serious for the first time since you've approached him. "i'm not trying to freak you out or anything, but that's incredibly strange. there has never been a zen'in prophetic dream that didn't come true. i really think you should speak with yaga, or tengen. but i won't force you to."

"tengen?" you ask, confusion on your face as you look down at the table. "who's that?"

"long story," gojo breathes, making the decision to let yaga fill you in on that. "but what do you say? i'd really like to figure this out, but i kinda need you in order to be able to do that."

there's a moment of hesitation on your end, and gojo finds himself tensing up as he waits for you to speak. he's almost certain that you're going to decline, and he's afraid that once you walk out of the café, you'll be gone forever once again. his fears are dispelled when you look up to meet his gaze, determination clearly visible in your eyes as you nod.

"okay, i'll go with you."

"great!" gojo says, his grin reappearing as he stands. he places a small wad of cash on the table before walking around the table to you and offering you his hand. you've barely slipped your hand into his before he tugs you towards him, his grin getting wider as you bump into his chest. you don't get the chance to say anything before he's walking out of the café, throwing a cursory glance around before heading down the street. "let's get out of here. we shouldn't stay in one place too long, just in case."

gojo chatters endlessly once again as you presumably head towards tokyo jujutsu high, and you find yourself staring at him as you recall your entire day in your mind. gojo satoru had single-handedly disrupted the course of fate, and neither one of you had any idea as to how.

you can feel a headache coming on the longer you stare at him, and you finally look away when he glances back at you and gives you a charming grin.

you have no idea who gojo satoru is, but if he has the power to change the course of your prophetic dreams, then you're determined to find out more about him.

and he sure as hell wasn't going to complain about that.

reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you for reading!!

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin x Time!Traveler!reader

chapter 1

Chapter 2 here

Okay I’m a little new to writing romance so please take it easy on me. Btw I’ll try to keep y/n as neutral as possible but since this is set in the ancient era and religion is very important, y/n shall be hinted as being Hindu since that’s the only one that seems neutral in this situation.

“Alright that's all for the lesson. And since its complete I expect all of you to be thorough with ‘Life of King Baldwin iv’ during this weekend since there will be a test on this very topic next wednesday. Have a great weekend by the way.” The professor stands up and closes his laptop and all the other students start packing up.

“He had a pretty hard life didn’t he?” One of your friends chimes in. You look at her unsurprised. “You mean king Baldwins?”

“Duh! Poor man suffered an incurable disease almost his entire life! Imagine having skin infested in bacteria, euggh!” She recoils in disgust. “Imagine the cure to that disease being bacteria itself! Pretty sure Leprosy can be cured using multi antibiotic therapy.” Another friend joins in the conversation. You finished packing up your bag so you get up. “But no matter what, you gotta respect him. He never used his illness as an excuse to be a bad king.”

“That’s true….” Your first friend agrees. “He’s tough. When I catch a normal cold I give up all of my responsibilities since I’m sick. Wonder how hard it must have been for him.” All of you exit the classroom. A few minutes go by and topics have changed. A fun conversation lasted for a while before it was time to go, so you three parted ways.

As you entered your home your first thought was to take a cold shower after a long, hot and sweaty day. While eagerly hopping into the shower you get reminded of the conversation you had with your friends a while ago. What did king Baldwin even look like? There were no images in your textbook. Curiosity got the best of you, making you draw back the shower curtains to leave. You wrapped a towel and went towards the table where you kept your mobile, typed a quick ‘King Baldwin the 4th images’ and hit enter. Two images popped up. One being an actual painting from the 12th century while the other being an image reconstructed by scientists which looked…realistic to say the least.

His face in the second photo was majestic. His mouth and nose were almost non-existent, having only two triangular shaped holes instead of a nose. His skin was dry, withered and stretched while having the hue of a dry leaf during autumn. Even though he was severely disfigured his eyes were pure and bright, having a child like innocence towards them. King Baldwin was…Quite handsome.

Okay that’s enough now snap out of it! It’s probably just some AI prompt message image anyway. If anyone found out you found him handsome they’d call you crazy. Plus now is not the time to fangirl over a dead king, now's the time to study. In an attempt to distract yourself you pick up your books to do work. Hours painfully go by as you study but finally, finally it was bedtime. You could care less about eating dinner or even taking a shower, you plop yourself onto your bed and wrap the soft blanket around your body. Thoughts about King Baldwin strike your mind again. Seriously, what's wrong with you?! Why is this man plaguing your thoughts all day?

A sigh escaped your mouth from irritation. If only it was possible to console him for his losses or better yet, cure him entirely. The world would have been a better place if he had the lifespan of a normal man.

But there is no point thinking about this, time to go to bed now. As you try to go to sleep your body keeps doing the fake fall thing, annoying you to the core. And finally when your bodys heartbeat was steady and your breathing was quiet, your body did that fake fall thing again but this time it was actually a real fall.

Eyes widen as you try to grab onto the air to prevent your fall but of course, you fail. Adrenaline rushes through your veins for that split second before you finally make an impact on the cobblestone path?

Owch! That fall really hurt, especially at the back of your shoulders! You hope it’s not bruised there. But after that reality check, you look around only to find yourself in some village?

You can see a few small huts and buildings beyond the grassy field. Where are you? How are you here? Why are you here? Too confused and dazed from the fall, you try to look around for people for help. That is until a holographic screen with text pops up.

Congratulations Ms. Y/n. Your wish to cure King Baldwin has been approved by the ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. You are now at Jerusalem, Year: 1181.

“What?”

Yes it’s true Ms.Y/n, you really are in the 12th century.

Your blood is now boiling in anger. “Just because….Someone wishes pity over a dead king DOES NOT ACTUALLY MEAN THEY WANT TO CURE HIM!” You try to grab onto the screen to shake it vigorously but your hands go right thru.

Now now, let’s calm down and try to get over with this together I’m sure we’ll find a solution.

“Calm down…CALM DOWN?!?!?!? I’m in the middle of nowhere in Jerusalem during the 12th century and you want me to CALM DOWN???? I don’t even know French and not to mention I’M NOT CHRISTIAN!” You were screaming with your hand in the air. Pretty sure you woke someone up.

Y-Yes but that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about communication, the language module for french had been uploaded into your brain while you fell here.

The screen flickers a little, maybe due to fear.

Uploaded knowledge? “But I’m a woman from the 21st century! I can’t live here! I’m wayy to accustomed to the privileges of my time!”

That’s one of my perks miss! By using currency of this time you may purchase products of your time thru me! The screen changes to an online store. For now you have access to basic necessities like food and clothes. As you complete missions you shall unlock other parts of the online market! The screens display brightness increases due to enthusiasm, convinced it has impressed you.

You however look at it in exasperated shock. “How is this even possible?” You say with dread in your voice. “Who sent me here?” You ask, no, demand.

Like I said You’ve been sent here by ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. I’m pretty sure you can’t read that since mortals don’t have the capacity to….

Mortals? Is this the play of some higher being? God even? Too many questions float through your head, making you visibly tired. You can feel the bottom of the skin beneath your eyes folding, an indicator you’re developing dark circles.

Ah. It looks like you’re tired. It’s night anyway. You should sleep.

“But where do I-”

“Excuse me madam.” You turn around to see a man standing behind you. “I’ve noticed you’ve been talking to yourself.”

So he can’t see the screen. From his ragged outfit he seems to be a commoner. He also genuinely seems worried so you guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.

“Yes, sorry for that.” You say embarrassingly while you get up. “You see I’m from the family of wandering traders, here to sell spices from my land. I was talking to myself since I was quite irritated at how I didn’t have an inn for the night.” The explanation seems responsible enough I guess.

“But I don’t see any goods with you… And how did a young lady such as yourself travel alone? Where is your husband?”

Crap. He’s doubting you. You need to give him a reasonable explanation fast or he’ll call you a witch or something.

“Oh no sir you’re mistaken! My father is the one who has the spices, it’s his business after all. We had to split ways during travel due to inconveniences, I’m merely here to help him!” You put on your best smile to convince him.

“O-Oh I’m sorry madame! H-Here let me lead you, I know an Inn nearby.” Good. Looks like he believes you. But now it’s your turn.

“I’m sorry sir but how can I trust you?” You step back a little. “What if you take advantage of me? How shall I testify my innocence? The locals would definitely believe you over me.”

“No no please don’t! I’m a married man. My wife’s right there.” he points at the lady standing just outside the house, looking worried. You look at her and she nods her head in reassurance. “You seem like a noble from your land madame judging from your colorful dress, why don’t the both of us show you where the inn is?”

Hmm….Guess colorful clothing is rare here. And he really does seem like he wants to help.

“Very well then. Both of you show me they way.” The man eagerly tells his wife the incident and both of them show you around. The screen follows you, showing you a winking emoticon.

Congrats Ms. Y/n! You have officially begun your first mission!

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 12 - Je T'ai Dans La Peau

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated... non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Our couple are sneaking around Aubrey Hall, trying to get time alone together, but it was always going to be noticed by a certain eagle-eyed mama. Sorry this has taken a while, life got very busy. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, September/October 1939

It's the early hours when you finally get a moment alone with Benedict.

Throughout the evening, including a raucous but entertaining family dinner, your attempts are stymied at every turn. At the end of the evening, Eloise shows you to your guest room and lingers long after you have gotten ready for bed, waxing lyrical about Phillip, her plans to get a place in London (“Come with me!”) and her ambitions to get a job at the British Library. 

You listen as intently as you can, but your eyes droop as you climb under the covers, the bed so plush, promising her you are still listening even when you settle into the pillows. At some point, you drift off, maybe her as well, but when you awaken, your wristwatch says it is after midnight, and she is gone from your room.

Just as you are drifting again, there is a soft knock at your door. You wonder if you heard correctly at first, but when it happens again, you sleepily alight from your bed. Upon opening, the sight before you has you wide awake - Benedict, looking cosy but dashing in navy blue silk pyjamas. After a quick check that the corridor is clear, you grab his arm and haul him into your room, closing and locking the door behind you.

You look at each other, breathing heavily for a beat, then crash into each other, him grabbing you and hauling you off the ground into his arm, your legs winding instantly around his hips as you kiss greedily, hungrily. He groans, cupping your jaw and kissing you more, always kissing, until you are breathless for air. Your need for him is like an eternal flame, burning slowly all the time, but the second he touches you, it roars, awakening something primal, a physical need that burns your lungs and aches deep inside.

“Can we?” 

“Can we what…?” He replies, lips sliding to your neck.

“Have sex?” 

“Oh god…I didn't bring protection,” Benedict rues, sinking his forehead onto your shoulder.

“Benedict!” you whine, a touch petulant.

“I’m sorry… I will go get it…” he offers apologetically.

“Don't you dare leave me again so soon,” you growl, winding yourself tighter around him.

He chuckles. “Then perhaps maybe we can just find pleasure in other ways…” his promise dusky as he lowers you onto the bed.

Half an hour later, you are staring at the ceiling, panting, utterly sated as he once again used his mouth to bring you to a shaking pinnacle, your cries muffled into a pillow.

“We must find somewhere private,” he sighs, his face resting on your belly as you card your fingers through his thick hair. “I like to hear you scream…” his wistful, cheeky addition makes you gasp and swat him gently on the shoulder. He laughs heartily and crawls up over you on all fours. “We can steal away somewhere on the grounds where no one would find us,” he assures, eyes shining in the low lamplight.

“I shall keep you to that promise, Mr Bridgerton,” you threaten softly, pushing his shoulders until he lies on his back, you hovering over him now. “Do you think you are capable of being as quiet as I was?”

“Why do you ask?” a flicker of confusion over his face, until your hand slides down his flat stomach and lands upon the warm bulge in his pyjamas.

“I would like to return the favour…” you offer, as his breath hitches beautifully. “I have never used my mouth as such, but you will teach me, won't you? Tell me what you like?”

His groan is like music as you shuffle lower, looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes as he stares down at you with utter devotion.

—

Bright sunlight slices through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains when you stir, sad to be alone. Benedict said he would leave at some point in the night but insisted you fall asleep in his arms. 

As you descend the main staircase, Eloise catches up to you, looping your arm in hers and dragging you to breakfast. It's a far cry from your trips to the boulangerie together for croissants. It is a full buffet with gleaming silver chafing dishes lined up on a sideboard.

“Is your life here always like this?” your mind boggles as you help yourself to scrambled eggs and some bacon.

“Yeah, pretty much. Boring, right?” She pulls a face.

“Your idea of boring is so very different to mine…” you respond drolly, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the ornate, long dining table.

No one else appears to be taking breakfast now, but as Eloise natters away, you always have one eye on the doorway, hopeful Benedict will come in. But he doesn't, so you agree to a post-breakfast walk around the estate with her to enjoy the unseasonably warm, early autumn day. 

However, as you head to the door, Violet appears as if from nowhere.

“Eloise dearest, I hope you did not forget our plans today…?”

You watch Eloise turn around in slow motion, a pained expression on her face. “Surely that can wait?” she appeals before tilting her head back towards you. “Mother is under the impression that now I am back home, I wish to join the Woman’s Institute,” 

“We only meet once a month, and today is that day,” Violet attests, looking at her expectantly. “You have been abroad for the best part of a year, my dear; I would appreciate this quality time with you.”

It's the most loving, motherly manipulation, and you can tell by the way Eloises’s shoulders slump that she cannot argue that point.

“Come with me?” she appeals brightly, tugging your arm.

“Only members are allowed, my dear.” Violet cuts in calmly. “Next month, I can petition for y/n here to join, but she would have to wait until then.”

As you observe their back-and-forth, Benedict appears, wandering down the main staircase, dressed casually in a collarless shirt and brown trousers. He looks so good that you are tongue-tied, wanting to run to him and jump into his arms. You realise you are staring and have to tear your eyes away quickly, but it's too late. You can feel Violet’s watchful eye, made worse by knowing you have a darkening blush over your cheeks.

“Good morning, ladies,” he breezes, doffing an imaginary cap that makes his wedding ring catch the sunlight.

“Benedict dear, Eloise and I are off to Canterbury today. But perhaps you could show y/n around the estate grounds while we are out?” Violet breezes, fixing her son with a winning smile.

His eyes shoot to you and yours to his, a warm flicker behind your ribs at the thought you get a few hours alone together.

“Yes, no problem,” he smiles, attempting nonchalance.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do…” is her parting shot as she gently drags Eloise towards the car outside.

“That covers a lot of ground; she's surprisingly daring,” Benedict states drolly as you watch them pile into the vehicle.

“Do you think she suspects something?” you ask faintly as you both stand in the doorway waving.

“Perhaps…” he concedes, not looking at you. “I suspect this was at least partially engineered. Not that I am complaining,” he adds hurriedly as the car pulls away.

“Same…” you offer quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

—

You are staring at the wispy clouds puffing gently over the sky, the long grass lush under your back, the midday early autumnal sun warm on your skin as you lay naked, entwined together in post-coital bliss on a remote hillside of the estate.

“You kept your promise, Mr Bridgerton, to find us a secluded spot together.” 

His crooked smile is boyish, and his eyes dance in the sunlight. “Indeed, I did. And I greatly enjoyed your screams,” he teases with a wink.

“Stop it,” you demure, burying your face into his armpit, enjoying the scent of his skin there.

“Don't be bashful now,” he chuckles, rearranging your bodies so you are under him, his head resting upon your chest. “I would keep any promise I made to you,” he continues after a pause. His tone sincere, his breath dusting warm over your nipple, and his ear pressed to the skin on your sternum as if listening to your heartbeat.

“And I to you,” you confess, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers mapping a constellation of freckles near his shoulder blade.

“Will you be wanting a divorce?” his question is almost hesitant—like he is torn between wanting to know and not know all at once.

“Would you want one?” you volley back, knowing it’s cowardly to answer his question with another.

“I see no reason to,” his words are quiet as he tilts his chin to look at you. “I do not plan to marry another,” he adds pointedly.

“Me neither…” you answer, meeting his gaze imploringly, wanting him to believe it. The last thing you want to do is go back to America now. You want to stay here with him—for as long as he will permit.

“You will stay here?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice, his left hand lacing with yours, wedding rings pressed together.

“I have my freedom to remain in this country. I wish to be nowhere else but here…” Your answer is so dangerously close to a confession of what you genuinely feel, but you hold back, even as you know your heart is now thudding hard under his ear.

“Here with me?” he flips up onto all fours and climbs over you, that beguiling smile seeming to capture his whole face.

“Yes, with you, if you’ll have me…” you smile back at him as he looms above, his face in shadow, his hair a riotous halo around his head, backlit by the sun.

“Oh, I will have you plenty of times…” his promise dusky as his lips land on yours.

“That sounds like a promise, Mr Bridgerton…” you join in the banter between kisses.

“And you know I keep my promises,” he smirks before grasping both of your hands in his and stretching them into the tangle of wildflowers above your heads as you get lost in each other's bodies again.

—

And so it continues, night after night, days becoming weeks. Stealing away precious moments together whenever possible, knowing the risk you are running but unable to resist any opportunity, physical longing takes over, falling into each other, desperate and yearning. As if a part of you lives under each other's skin. Every night, he comes to your room long after the house is asleep, and every night, you fracture around him, your ecstatic cries muffled into his dewy skin.

The clandestine nature is partly not wanting to confess to Eloise but also to keep it a secret from the world—a precious, rare thing, just a fledgling you want to shelter. Give it time to breathe and grow. Although, on some level, you know that Violet knows. Her glances at you both, when you are in the same room, feigning nothing untoward, are too pointed. Yet she says nothing outright. 

It's two weeks since you settled into Aubrey Hall when Eloise is in a sour mood one morning. She had just received a phone call from Phillip, and you suspect their London rendezvous has been delayed again.

“Why the hell are you still wearing that?” she grouses uncharitably, pointing at your wedding ring.

“It means a lot to me; it’s a symbol of our escape,” your answer is a partial truth.

Eloise can’t seem to find fault with that, so swings her attention elsewhere. “So what's your excuse?” she gruffs to Benedict, who is reading the paper on the opposite sofa.

Across the room, you sense Violet's pause in her jigsaw puzzle.

“Why does the jewellery I wear bother you so much, sister?” he evades, crumpling down his newspaper to shoot her a withering glance. “I’ve never heard you comment upon my signet ring.”

“That's completely different, and you know it,” Eloise decries. “That's a ring you inherited from Dad. Also, where were you last night?” She abruptly changes the subject.

“What do you mean?” he bristles slightly.

“I went to your room late to borrow the Agatha Christie book you stole,” she pauses to pull a pointed face. “And you weren't there. Your bed didn't even look like it had been slept in.”

“Are you my mother now?” he rebuffs airily. “If you must know, I couldn't sleep either; I was out.”

“Your car was here…”

“Out as in outside,” he shoots back, “walking the grounds by moonlight.”

He's not lying. He is, however, omitting the fact that you were with him. The summer house by the lake has become your new clandestine spot, fashioning a comfortable bed of towels and pool lounger cushions. You can make love passionately in secret without fear of interruption or being overheard, falling asleep wrapped in each other as you stare out of the French doors at the blanket of stars reflecting on the still water.

Eloise gives him a lingering side-eye but returns to the book—Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile. Once she is distracted, your eyes dart to Benedict, and he gives you a reassuring smile that you can't help but mirror, even as Violet peers at you mutely once again.

—

Later that day, you are perusing books in Anthony’s office when a painting of a man who looks remarkably like Benedict makes you stop short. Violet seems to materialise beside you.

“My husband, Edmund,” she explains, her voice wistful and evocative of the ache of lost love, undulled by the passage of time. “True love is a wondrous thing; never let it slip through your fingers, and treasure every moment,” she counsels, twisting to look at your face.

“I would never,” you answer quietly, even as you steadfastly refuse to do the same, staring at the painting, heart speeding up.

“That's a good thing, my dear, and don’t worry about the judgement of others, especially those who are spirited and headstrong.” She can only be referring to Eloise: “They all come around eventually, believe me.”

At that, you have to look at her askance, unable to hide the nerves on your face. “You know?” unable to resist any longer.

“I know my children better than they know themselves,” she responds lightly, “and I certainly know when they are hiding something,” she adds softly, saying but not saying so much.

It feels like a weight is lifted from your heart, the undeniable urge to confess to someone - unable to do so to your usual companion.

“I have no idea how to tell Eloise,” you rush out. “This was never my plan, not what I intended to happen,” you clarify. “Benedict sacrificed his future to give me my freedom.”

“You sacrificed yours too…” she gently interrupts.

“But I never wanted mine,” you admit, your eyes drifting back up to the handsome man in the painting as if admitting it to Benedict’s dad as much as his mum at your side. “At least, not once I met your son…. I thought I knew what I wanted in life. But I was a fool. And now… I….” you trail off, unable to finish.

“You love him, don't you?” It's a delicate, comforting inflexion.

“I can barely believe it myself; it's been such a short period of time. But yes…” you admit sotto voce, hanging your head as a tear wells in the corner of your eye.

“As I said, I know my children better than they know themselves,” she repeats, wrapping an arm around your back, “and I know when one of them is hopelessly in love.”

Your head jerks up in surprise, and you finally look into her kindly gaze, your heart a kaleidoscope.

“Yes, my dear. It may take him a while to say it,” she qualifies, “but it's no less true.”

That tear escapes your eye as she pulls you into a motherly hug. Already knowing this will be a secret you keep between you, for now at least.

“Welcome to the family, y/n.”

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[sashi-ya]

𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑨 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻. Trafalgar Law x F! Reader

🌨 a/n: so I recently been to Austria, a country I often visit since it's literally like a dream. (plus, my mom knew she was pregnant with me there, so I was used to come back to Innsbruck as much as I could with her). But in any case I got inspired there to write this little fic, that might -or not- be a multi chapter one if you all like it. The place exists and the scam part, happened to me -kinda, the airbnb existed, but not as it was listed :P- but in any case, please enjoy and don't forget to leave some feedback if you want more~ ❄ tw: a very sfw story, that might evolve into something else if you want me to keep writing about their trip 😏 ☃ wc: 2.6k

Hijacking for the first time, what could go wrong? Maybe everything, maybe nothing.

A two-month long trip all around Europe has found you on a little village of Austria. Your boots are cold, but luckily they are snow proof ones. Your skin all bumpy, your cheeks irritated. It’s been snowing all night, and despite the sun rising for now, some clouds in the sky menace with more white blessing to fall upon your shoulders very soon.

Those little mountain streets around the Alps are wonderful, they surround mountains going up and down and in a spiral way. But those are wonderful, as long as you can drive a car with heating. And you don’t have one right now.

The crunchy sound of the snow beneath your boots mix with the melody of a glacial river running in between the mountain and the road. It is certainly beautiful, the little rocks and stones being bathed by such pure and cold water, the rests of dry leaves and some moss growing on an everlasting shadow casted by tall, enormous peaks.  Everything is worth taking a picture, but you should prioritize your battery life this time around. The GPS is sometimes wonky, being that high can affect the service.

Many cars have passed by, but none of them have stopped. Little lorries carrying logs pass, cars completely drenched in dirty snow and that mix of salt that roads have during winters.

However, just when your hopes for finding someone to at least give you a ride to the next village were about to run out, the yellow shine of an old VW ban flashes before your eyes.

There, behind a curve -a very dangerous one if you ever went to the mountains- something smells like smoke and a tall man of white furry hat swears up to the skies.

You walk towards him, carefully. Who knows what is happening? Who knows who that man is capable of? There is one thing you are sure, however, and it is that this man is absolutely mad at his old van.

When peaking behind a dark wooden tree that’s now covered in spots of white snow, you discover the annoyed man is a young -handsome- one.

His van, a little rusty but still cute, seems to be having problems to keep going and the smoke coming from it shows it very well.

“Sir? Sir! Your van is catching fire!” you announce, realizing the smoke is indeed a very serious issue.

The guy of chocolate skin and tattooed hands turns around to look immediately at you and then to the back of the van. Those 70’s vehicles had actually their engines right in the back instead of the front.

And Indeed, you were right. Apparently the climb had been too tough for the poor old VW and its engine couldn’t take it any longer.

He quickly opens the back door, maybe searching for a fire extinguisher while you grab fistfuls of snow in an attempt to put down the incipient flames. Quickly enough, and with not many damages to count, the fire stops, and the only thing left is a big black spot on the back of the caravan.

“Thank you” he says, as dry as hopefully your socks. “No problem. What happened? Did the engine over heat?” you ask, curious despite his “I don’t want friends” face. “Yes; these hills are no joke. This never happened to my Polar, but there is always a first time…” he sighs, assessing the damage with a sad expression.

Apparently his van has a name; “Polar”. That’s very cute, and his eyes too. A golden shine in them looks even beautiful with the pristine white around. His tattoos do as well. You wonder about his name, and what is he doing on the road, but you are not sure if it’s proper to ask. However, he asks first.

“What are you doing here? do you have a car?” he mumbles, his voice is as attractive as he is. His eyes scan the place, but nothing catches his attention.

“No, I am actually hijacking. No one stopped so I started walking before the sun starts going down. I definitely got scammed; the Airbnb I was supposed to stay in didn’t, in fact, exist.

He grunts, almost silently. Apparently he is not happy with what happened to you but that’s it.

“Well, that’s so unsafe. I am sorry I can’t give you a ride right now. Apparently none of us have been blessed with good luck today” he says, walking around his vehicle with long legs covered in spotted jeans.

You nod. Your tongue is aching to ask about him, but you clearly catch the hint… he doesn’t want you there.

“Yep. Well, I wish you luck! I must keep going” “Same to you, be careful”

He doesn’t even look at you, something that makes you -somehow- very sad. In any case, you start walking away. There is no point in staying there… even if you have great mechanical skills that could help.

And as you do, you also have a very, very loud consciousness voice screaming at you on how could you leave him with no solution if you know it…

“Sir, you should check your water level…”  you shout, a few meters away from him. The sound of your voice echoes in the huge natural immensity of the Alps and his golden eyes finally fall upon you.

He stops moving for some seconds, lost in you. You, as well, wait for him to say something else. Something like “stay with me” or “don’t go”. A total stranger you want to hang up with. A total unknown woman he wants to protect.

“You know how to fix this?” “I do…”

Or so that was what you thought.  

No more than a couple of minutes took you to help him out. VW vans are noble machines; they are durable and easy to fix despite their particular design. And soon, as a part of your payment, the man that you learned is called Law and you drove away through intricate roads and huge snowflakes.

“Where are you going, (Name)-ya?” he asks, handing you an old cover from an old comic, Germa 66.

“I was supposed to stay for a couple of days in Bad Goisern, and then I thought of visiting Salzburg. I am on a long trip through Europe. What about you?”  you ask, cuddling with the blanket. A certain blessing for your freezing hands.

He nods, checking the breaks before going down the hill.

“I am too. I just graduated medical school and I thought of taking a little vacation before my residency starts. I’m going to be a surgeon. A cardiac surgeon” he tells, full of dreams he fails to cover up behind a tough guy expression.

You celebrate his success, and the next couple of hours become a ping pong of questions and answers. A smile on your face that leaves your cheeks hurting accompanies you until the sun hides and the little lights on the mountains start to scatter.

You didn’t want to go down in the first village, nor the second, nor the third. Law, didn’t want you to go down his van either. You named Salzburg, and he promised you to take you there.

But the night found both of you, and apparently your mechanical skills weren’t as good as you thought the would… Polar decided to stop, in the middle of nowhere during a dark, very dark winter night.

You close your eyes as the sound of rusty gears fail and Law’s annoyance grows stronger than ever. When Polar finally loses all of the power, Law manages to agonizingly park on the side of the road and a huge sighs escapes his lips.

You peak through your left eye; his DEATH tattooed fingers squeeze the wheel, and you know he will snap at any moment. But he doesn’t…

“I’m sorry. I thought- I-“ you try to give a plausible apologize, even though you had nothing to do with it.

“No. It is not your fault… it is mine- As we didn’t stop, I have completely forgotten to fuel Polar up” Law says, absolutely mortified for such stupid mistake. Apparently you were enough distraction to keep him from the basics of road tripping.

You breath alleviated and try to stop your upcoming laughter. Your grimacing did nothing to hide it, and a big burst of laughter took over the van and everything around.

Law looks at you pissed, but a soft smirk garnishes his lips. You can’t stop, perhaps it isn’t that funny… but you feel so happy right now. And you have no idea why, since you are literally stranded in a very dark wood with temperatures below 0C and snow pooling on top of that van.

“Welp, it’s ok. We should wait until tomorrow, then” you say, knowing the risks. “You- you prefer spending the night in here? aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asks, surprised.

“I am, in fact, scared of dying. That’s why I know very well I can’t walk during a snowstorm in the middle of the night in the Alps. Plus, you are too sweet to be considered a threat” you joke, searching for some chocolate inside your backpack.

Law narrows his eyes, deepening his frown. Apparently being called “sweet” and “not a threat” is not something he enjoys.

“I could cut you open and took all of your organs out during the night” he says, serious as hell. “Go for it. Don’t forget to steal my heart, doctor” you laugh, taking your jacket off.

Law is flabbergasted; he has never confronted someone like you before… but he is beginning to like it now.

A bar of chocolate that you had kept in your backpack for too long lays too close to his nose. You shake it, offering its sweetness to him.

He takes it but doesn’t eat it. Instead, his hand gets pressed against the window behind you. Law has pinned you against the door of your side. He is not a very muscular man, but he is indeed very tall and lean… if he wanted, he could do anything to you.

Your eyes widen, big as the moon. You swallow, thinking maybe walking through the forest might be a safer option.

“L-Law… I- didn’t mean to-“ you tremble, asking yourself where did you put the Victorinox blade you bought in Switzerland… it should be enough to defend yourself, right?

You notice his chest is also tattooed as his clothes open just a little. His arms, are too. His scent, despite the danger, smells deliciously tempting…

“Don’t trust strangers that easily, (Name)-ya” he whispers, a few centimetres from your lips. Letting you go after and biting the chocolate bar as if nothing has just happened.

You remain there, frozen up with your eyes widen and your lips softly trembling. He is, in fact, very right. Law is indeed a stranger, after all.

When oxygen finally begins to reach your lungs and brain again, you move and blink the dry eyes away. Silently you sit back, properly. You aren’t able to say anything, somehow you have run out of words.

You squeeze the blanket he gave you, covering you as much as you could, making yourself as tiny as possible on that old leather seat.

“Are you ok?” he asks, so nonchalantly.

“Ye-yes, I’m… ok” you mumble back, almost sticking yourself to the passenger door. “Is it ok if I go to sleep? I’m tired”

Law nods, confused. Maybe he was just joking around, but it did scare you big time. He goes down the van and opens the back doors. You look at him disappearing in the darkness until a very little glimpse of silver light coming from the moon filters through the doors.

But, soon after, fairy lights illuminate the back allowing you to discover a very cozy space behind the front seats.

“I am glad I installed this independently from the fuel tank. I have a little power generator for the back. It’s not a hotel bed, but it does the job” he says, showing you a precarious mattress covering the entire floor of the vehicle.

You smile softly, it looks cozy and pretty. The walls are full of random posters and maps, and there is even an old picture of a younger Law with three more guys wearing fancy hats with something written in the snow. You take a closer look at it, to discover it says, “Pirates of Heart” and you giggle. What a peculiar gang name.

“Law, this is really cute. You even have a lot of blankets and cushions!” you chime, easing a little bit.

“My best friend Bepo decorated it for me, I only helped him with the lights” he says, a little embarrassed.

You jump right back, leaving your backpack in the front seat and forgetting everything for the moment. What a reckless lover girl.

“I am going to sleep in the front seat, don’t worry. Use as many blankets as you need” he informs you, closing the back doors and leaving you there. You most probably were to say “no, stay here” but you simply couldn’t.

After all, this tattooed doctor is a gentleman. Right?

You let yourself rest for a bit on that improvised bed, with your sight blurring while looking at the fairy lights. The scent of the blankets and pillows is the same as him, something you secretly enjoy without even knowing. You catch a glimpse of the reflection of him sitting in the front through the back windows, at how he takes his hat off revealing a dark shade of onyx spiky hair.

For the next half an hour, or maybe less, you both become silent. The only sounds are the huge slaps of snow falling from the sky against the van and the subtle whistle of the wind filtering through the doors.

It is cold, but it’s probably colder in the front as Law is only using his Germa 66 blanket to cover up…

“Law? Are you awake?” you ask, shyly.

“Mh? Yes... why?” he asks back, with not much emotion but a soft tremble on his voice. He is probably cold, very cold.

“I feel bad for you; you must be freezing. There is plenty of room back here, you could sleep here. It’s ok with me” you say, taking advantage of not being in front of him.

Law takes a few minutes to move, but he ultimately does. He hops to where you are and sits there crossing his long legs. He is not wearing his black leather boots, so you can see Sora’s socks.

“Cool socks” you say, sitting right in front of him watching his cheeks go blushed. “Here, cover up. You are freezing, doc”

Both of you cover up with heavy blankets and fall into the mattress at the same time, facing each other.

Maybe, it is too strong to deny it. The attraction is natural, and you both can’t stop it… Exactly like the wind and cold reaching your skins.

“I am still cold” you mumble.

“I read in one of my books that the best way to keep the warmth of our bodies is to share it… skin to skin” he whispers, unable to take his eyes away from your lips.

“Is that so?” you breathe, coming closer to his embrace, allowing his arms to surround your frame and your hips to join with the other’s.

His forehead slowly touches yours, the bridge of your noses do as well. Your fingers, playfully but slowly, crawl to the crook of his neck. While his, squeeze your waist with delicate dominance. A leg that snake into the other’s, crossing, tangling…

Lips coming closer, so close. Breaths warming up, going faster and bumpy. Hearts that indeed had been stolen, the first kiss of two strangers, meeting for the very first time like two snowflakes join while falling from an endless sky

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWill they continue their journey together? 🦢

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I wish I could let everyone who's ever commented on one of my fics know just how much it means to me.

I'd be willing to bet a lot (if not even most) of other fic writers have a lot of the exact same struggles and worries I do. A lot of writers have this chronic fear that our stuff just isn't good. I worry that people only read my stuff out of pity. I obsess over kudos ratios, no matter how hard I try not to. I go through phases of feeling demoralized when working on a multi-chapter fic because you can pour your heart into it and there will be times when it feels like no one cares. I can get sad when it feels like my fics just won't get traction. I post so much because I love writing, primarily, but also because it feels like my attempt to constantly try and get ahead of that feeling that my writing is just garbage. I'd put good money on pretty much every fic author out there being able to identify with at least some of these things.

But the really, really excellent thing about ao3 - it is a very, very damn good archive. And one of the things it's very easy to view are comments. Whenever I start feeling these things, I'm able to go to my inbox or click on any fic I'm proud of, and I'll be able to find a bunch of lovely little letters just for me! The best cure to those feelings are always finding a few comments that soothe those insecurities - a comment that catches on to some bit of symbolism you're proud of, a long comment that someone put time into because they like your work, a string of fire emojis on a pwp.

It's no exagerration to say that if you've left a comment on any one of my fics, I've probably read it back over dozens of times while smiling and kicking my feet. So if you ever worry that you're not bringing much to the fandom outside of comments and cheerleading, let me be the first one to assure you: every comment you ever leave is more valuable than you'll ever know!

[kinardsevan]

BuckTommy/911 fic masterlist

as promised, here is your master list for everything I've written so far (and will continue to update as it changes):

(Divide added because this is getting kinda long now)

UPDATE: UNDER CONSTRUCTION - (this list is getting fairly long, so it may grow in to separate pages as I work on it in the coming days/weeks)

The Song Lyric Series:

Just as the title suggests, these have mostly been lyrically driven. The intention is for them to remain looser than a story, but so far it's been the same plot. (subject to change)

what if there's a little boy that needs a safe place :

Chapters: 1 Rating: M Warnings: n/a

“I’m sorry Evan,” Tommy stated genuinely as he watched Evan drop his towel and then redress. “I honestly don’t know what to say.” Evan huffed, unable to hold all the feelings in any longer. Everything felt so tight—his chest, his throat, his stomach. He couldn’t keep it all buried inside against Tommy’s lack of an answer. OR. The one in which Evan is not okay with a drunk rando flirting with his very beasty, very sexy boyfriend and it leads to professions of love.

they all led me to him (he's one of the good ones:

“I might’ve mentioned fucking you properly earlier this evening,” Tommy says, and even in the midst of wanting the older man to tear his body apart, Evan knows that this moment is as serious for Tommy as it was for Evan earlier. “Yeah,” Buck rasps, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Tommy. “Please do so.” “I’m not going to,” Tommy replies softly. OR. Tommy wants Evan to understand just how in love with him he is. Chapters: 1 Rating: E Warnings: n/a

i'll be here (and you can lay by my side) :

Chapters: 2/? Rating: E Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

When Tommy has to look back on this weekend in the years that come to pass, he won’t have the words to express how things went from so right, to so wrong. He’ll struggle to even find a way to comprehend the trauma inflicted by having his soul shredded right in front of his face and absolutely unable to prevent it. And at its worst, he won’t even have words to explain it all. OR. part 3.

Multi-Chapter Stories

your arson's match, my somber smile (the love of my life): Chapters: 4/? Rating: n/a (subject to change) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

In that moment, the nanosecond in which he had crystal clarity, only one thing mattered to him. As his feet finally slipped out from under him, just before the warped metal came swinging down at another angle, he looked Bobby in the eyes. “Tell Tommy I love him.” And then the world was black.

guilty as sin (i choose you and me, religiously): Chapters: 1/2 Rating: T Warnings: n/a

Buck and Tommy's first kiss, as told through Tommy's POV.

Never Til Now (Rolling Up The Welcome Mat) Chapters: 5/? Rating: M (for themes) Warnings: n/a

"Maybe there’s something about tangibility, about holding the real thing versus just the idea of it, but it cracks something open in him that hasn’t existed in a long time. Because all of a sudden, he can’t imagine not having this. Not getting to see Evan like this, every day. And it’s barely been thirty seconds." - In March 2025, with plans to propose, Tommy realizes Evan wants kids. the problem is, Tommy doesn't. In November of the same year, in a happenstance exchange, he meets their baby girl. (OR, we take a trip through a dual timeline in which the idea and reality of having kids drives Evan and Tommy apart, and then brings them back together.)

The Devil Doesn't Bargain Chapters: 12/? Rating: E Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Self-harm, Suicidality (discussed and attempted), PTSD, Anxiety, ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Tommy Kinard lived a whole life before he walked into Evan Buckley's life, and it's not one that he's offered up much of so far. Until Evan starts asking questions. Trigger warnings for sexual assault, abuse, and so forth.

you're the only one (who ever gave a damn) Chapters 2/2 Rating: M (for themes and mild sexual content) Warnings: Rape/Non-con

“I um… I don’t know,” he admits softly. “C’mon, Tommy,” Eddie replies. “No, not like that,” Tommy says, looking back up at Eddie. “Not like I don’t have a real excuse. I don’t know like…like I really don’t know, Eddie. I was drunk. I remember being at the bar with you and the other guys, and joking about you and Evan sparring the next time we were going to train, and then…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nothing. I woke up in a house I didn’t recognize.” Eddie stares at him, coffee cup in hand and mouth slack, and Tommy waits for the judgment to come. He’s fully prepared for Eddie to tell him what a dick he his for going home with some other guy and having drunken sex. But Eddie doesn’t speak. Eventually, he’s quiet so long that it makes Tommy uncomfortable. “Look, I know you’re over there judging me-..” Eddie blinks a few times, shaking out of his reverie as he lowers his coffee mug to the counter. “Tommy, man, that’s not cheating,” he states matter-of-factly.

a set of empty bones chapters: 9/? rating: E warnings: rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls. “Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him. Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge. “Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously. BTHB: "you can scream all you want", lacerations, betrayal

Minis:

the rhythm of your heartbeat: Evan has night-terrors. Tommy has to contend with them.

you are the reason: post 709 buck/bobby conversation in which Buck makes it to Tommy's.

Connecting: 709 deleted scene. Evan is getting dressed before the medal ceremony, and Tommy's pretty sure he's going to make them late.

oceans deep, rivers wide: Evan has a realization after a work incident. Tommy concurs. burn it to the ground: Tommy knew the first time he kissed Evan Buckley he was burning his whole life to the ground.

for a thousand years (and a thousand more): In which Tommy tells Evan what it was like falling in love with him. 30 Day Fluff Challenge: Concept list found here

Prompt Minis: here

Others/Oneshots:

something stronger than me (i can hardly stand up, i can hardly breathe): Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for language) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, TW: Self-harm, TW: Suicidal ideation

It had been years since he’d been down this low. At least, that’s how he’d been presenting it to others. But in the darkness of his apartment, where his boyfriend couldn’t see his legs because their schedules were conveniently not aligning ever since Gerrard’s arrival…his thighs were coated in fresh wounds.

The Saboteur: Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M (for language) Warnings: TW: homophobic language, TW: harrassment

Five times Tommy Kinard is faced with having to file a complaint against Vincent Gerrard, following his reinstatement at the 118.

take me to the other side Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for themes) Warnings: n/a

“So what’s on your mind,” Tommy asks him. “Are you imagining a specific scene? Or a particular want you’re thinking about?” “Not a scene, necessarily,” Evan says, twiddling his thumbs. He’s struggling to piece together the words in the right way to convey what he’s actually wanting. “Okay,” Tommy says, accepting his answer. When Evan doesn’t speak again right away, Tommy prompts him. “I want…?” Evan gulps. “I want…I-i want you to t-t-tie me up."

you're the only one (in the dark, i see) Chapters: 1/1 Ratings: T (for language) Warnings: n/a

He closes the door behind Tommy, his hand still resting on the handle for a beat as he stares at Tommy’s back. He wants answers, and if this is his last chance to get them, then God damn it, Evan’s going to get them. - Tommy breaks up with Evan after Gerrard's return to the 118. Evan is not okay with this decision.

BuckTommy Week 2024

Day 1, Date Night: Rating: General

clay wheels and no ghosting: Tommy and Evan attempt ceramics and talk about things.

Day 2, Emergency: Rating: M (suggestive language)

Under the Weather: Evan and Tommy fall ill

Day 3, Bad Weather Days Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence) Chapters: 2/2 its hurting (but it ain't dead) : Tommy is pissed. No one called him to ask him if he was cool with this idea, and it really doesn’t matter to him in the moment that they didn’t actually have to. It was Evan. They had allowed his boyfriend to put himself in the line of fire without bothering to even ask if that was something he was alright with. He wasn’t even forewarned; just showed up to a scene where they’d been asked to send extra support in plain clothes. But if he’d known…oh, if he’d known…

[misscammiedawn]

Ange Ushiromiya's Recontextualized Memory and Unprocessed Trauma in Umineko No Naku Kori Ni

CW: Full spoilers for Umineko, a mystery visual novel game which is best enjoyed without knowing spoilers in advance. The game and thus this essay will feature discussion of child abuse and suicide.

For those unfamiliar with my blog I have a tag called Media, Myself and I where I talk about positive/accurate representation of dissociative disorders in media.

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Today I want to talk about Umineko No Naku Kori Ni the third and fourth titles in 07th Expansion's "When They Cry" franchise. The game is a multi-layered fiction that starts off as an Agatha Christie inspired closed circle murder mystery taking place during the weekend of October 4th 1986. The murder mystery displayed has no more than 18 humans stranded on an island in the middle of a storm and the audience is invited to try to work out the mystery of what happened.

As the story progresses the audience are presented with a number of different possibilities, each an in-universe attempt to rationalize the tragedy that took place and killed all but two members of the Ushiromiya family.

It is eventually revealed that to the eyes of the world, no more than 18 humans were on the island that weekend and only one returned to their life afterwards. Some in the world have been quite focused on working out what happened during that weekend.

It's a complicated narrative that has multiple layers and each layer communicates not only with the audience reading the game but an audience of people in-universe trying to solve the mystery as well. When we first experienced the game we had joked that it was sold to us as Anime Homestuck but it ended up being Anime House of Leaves.

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The easiest way to describe the narrative structure is that the first 7 episodes of the game, each containing about 20 hours of narrative, have within them a fictionalized version of events written in-universe by people who may or may not have been present at the event with episode 8 is mostly its own thing. To explain in further detail would distract. The point is Umineko is a complicated narrative and there is too much to cover a play-by-play.

The narrative is intentionally convoluted and contradictory with part of the fun of playing the game being to work out what events are true and what the rules are for discerning "magic" from "truth".

Even with a concept as seemingly opaque as Truth, there is the often quoted "Without love it cannot be seen" motif, that our emotional connection to events will always color how we interpret events.

The story is remarkably long. How Long To Beat puts each half of the game up at about 60 hours. So that's 120 hours of pure reading with very little gameplay.

There are multiple plural characters ("Oh, I am one yet many", indeed) and we shall discuss them in due course, but for clarity I wish to focus my discussion today upon the relationship between a survivor and their histories. The novel has much to say on the topic.

The above image discussing the nature of truth is from Episode 4, the chapter where the protagonist is Ange Ushiromiya. Younger sister of the protagonist of the first Episodes, Battler Ushiromiya.

Ange, 6 years old at the time, was sick on the weekend of October 4th 1986 and was not present on the island for the massacre. One weekend she had a full and lively family and then in the span of a single week everyone she had a connection to was killed in unknowable circumstances, she was whisked away to live with her aunt, the sole survivor of the tragedy, and would live the life of a cursed child, forever haunted by the tragedy that stole away her life.

Ange's story takes place in "The World of 1998" where she seeks The Truth. She states multiple times how she is incapable of going on with her life until she knows The Truth.

The events of 1986 are presented via "forgeries", published stories which tell the story of the 1986 tragedy utilizing facts that are known about the family. Ange pours through them, attempting to uncover the truth. She suspects her aunt may be responsible. Why wouldn't she harbor suspicions? Aunt Eva was the only one of the no more than 18 humans to leave the island and became the sole inheritor of the Ushiromiya family fortune.

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is formed when an individual endures long-lasting and repeated bouts of ongoing trauma, typically in childhood. Survivors often find themselves caught in an inescapable cycle of grieving that lasts months and years beyond the loss and remains fresh and raw in spite of the time and changes that have occurred since the event. The individual is tethered to the past by an inability to move on from their loss. In psychology this is referred to as Complicated Grief and though it is most commonly discussed with death, it can present itself for grieving lost time, stolen youth and lives unlived.

Ange is riddled with Complicated Grief. Her story takes place 12 years after the events on the island of Rokkenjima and yet she constantly tells those around her that she is unable to live without knowing the truth. Ange's unprocessed grief is unearthed when her aunt, the only survivor of the massacre, passes away while maliciously refusing to give Ange any insight into the truth that she alone knew, twisting the knife as she turned over the family fortune to a child that was not her own beloved George.

Ange's sole reason for existing is to make peace with the tragedy of her past and Eva's final act was to tell her she would never have it and would instead live a cursed life of a victim in the public's eye. Eternally scrutinized and criticized.

Ange, now knowing that the only chance she had to be given the truth and still feeling that she needs it in order to live her life, runs away and starts a journey to either make peace with her tortured past or end her own life.

Ange's suicidal tendencies are played up dramatically and much of the final episode is the conflict between Ange's inability to live with her grief being played out in hyperbolic fiction. The stakes of the story amounting to "will she be able to live after learning The Truth."

But what is Truth? Would learning who is responsible for her family's death truly give her peace or would it only serve to trap her further in her endless cycle of grief?

Trauma therapy tends not to focus on Talk Therapy for the most part as such therapy indulges a survivor to dwell on their unprocessed traumas and will only serve to retraumatize the client. In many cases it is detrimental to perform Motivational Interviewing (reflective statements designed to display to a client that the clinician is listening and interpreting their words without offering direct guidance or intervention) or Rogerian "person centered" (a similar tactic designed to keep a client talking without engaging in a back-and-forth, every reply should be a prompt that inspires the client to continue sharing without boundaries and reach their own conclusions) techniques.

The reason why is that these forms of therapy have a belief that "the client holds all of the answers" and the clinician's job is to let the client get out of their own way and walk towards the answer. It is a solutions based therapy where the client is trusted to clear cognitive distortions and navigate around mental blocks between themselves and what they need.

Ange's stated goals are far from healthy.

In survivors their Core Beliefs are informed by their trauma. Those who were raised in a house of neglect may have an unresolved core belief that they are unworthy of love, those who feel shame and guilt for what happened/how they were treated may have a belief that "I should have..." - A helpful list of common negative core beliefs and positive beliefs that can be instilled, click here.

Trauma therapy contains an element of identifying these beliefs and where they originated and working to overcome them. There are many different therapies in the world that attempt to do this but they all include some element of processing trauma, accepting trauma and committing to the future.

In Ange's case she does not need to know what happened in order to live. She has to accept what happened and live.

To make this clear, should Ange learn what is presented to be The Truth it will break her and she will be unable to accept it and in doing so ends up unable to live.

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All of this is a prologue to talk about acceptance and our emotional connection to memory.

Prior to Eva's death, Ange was raised in a boarding school where she was ruthlessly bullied by the other students. Both Ange and her aunt are in the public eye for the scandal associated with the Rokkenjima massacre and Eva actively despises Ange and refuses to give her the care, nurture and privilege that the other students of the rich academy enjoy.

She lives a lonely and cursed life. Her one solace is getting to find time alone to sit and read her cousin Maria's "Grimoire", her journal. When she reads the journal she can clearly picture her cousin in her mind and interact with her. A form of "magic" that Maria taught Ange back when the two of them were friends, prior to the massacre in which Maria lost her life. In the past Maria had created a magical society called Mariage Sorciere and Ange was one of the members before being excommunicated.

We'll discuss it further in a while however while introducing Maria I wish to note that she was most likely forming a dissociative disorder prior to the massacre. The series writer Ryukishi07 was a social worker prior to his career in visual novels. He does a remarkably good job of displaying how abusive and neglectful family dynamics can impact a young mind. Maria, despite being 9 years old, has speech patterns linked to an infant's maturity, she often switches into a "witch" persona and she will hold up her stuffed animals and voice out their speech, treating them like separate individuals. She is bullied at school and her mother hits her when she does this but she is incapable of acting any other way. It's who she is.

A small portion of the second chapter even having some of the cousins stop to discuss the possibility that her overactive imagination and play-acting may contain elements of dissociative identity disorder. It's never fully confirmed and she dies at age 9, but Ryukishi07 displays a convincing depiction of extreme childhood neglect that would lead to a severe dissociative disorder had she have grown up.

We learn throughout the story that her journal contains sketches of many magical entities impressed upon the servants of the island and toys that Maria has. These entities becoming the magical cast of the "Gameboard".

Though not the focus of this particular essay, each episode of the game is depicted as a chess match between a game master (representing the author of a murder mystery) and an opponent (representing the reader trying to solve the mystery) and these matches take place in a world of purgatory. This world is populated by a magical cast of characters each of whom is paired with a member of the mundane cast on the island.

The game often repeats that it takes "two to create a universe". There needs to be one to imagine it and one to perceive it and mark it as real. This is displayed on the gameboard but it is also displayed with the way that for every imagined character who exists as part of the magical cast, there is the one who imagines and then there is one who their imagination is displayed onto.

Maria is a child of extreme neglect, as we will discuss soon, she had no one to displace her imagination upon (spare for her mother who she imagined as being possessed by an evil witch when she became violently abusive) and so she imbued life into her toys. Bringing Sakutarou, her stuffed lion doll, and her band of toy rabbits to life. This earned her the title "Witch of origins".

The magic in the game's universe operates on a rule that "it takes two to create a universe" logic. The concepts of Magic and Love being intertwined. "Without love it cannot be seen" has many meanings but in terms of creation it means that anyone can apply "the anti-magic toxin" of mistrust/disbelief by simply rejecting another person's reality.

So much of the magic and love in this world is built on trust and being able to believe in that which is shared. The concept is explored from many angles throughout the game, Episode 6 focusing on love in the form of trust between a writer and a reader and the contract between them requiring a murder mystery to be solvable and for a reader to earnestly engage with the fiction and accept it as it is written.

Within Mariage Sorciere, this love is to accept that the characters and imaginings of its members. To be a member is to accept all as it is presented. Sakutarou is a magical lion boy who speaks. To doubt this is to be excommunicated from the order, which is why Ange was kicked out of the witches alliance. To say Sakutarou wasn't real was tantamount to trying to kill him.

Maria's love is without doubt. In Episode 7 we learn that she is not capable of viewing people as anything more than how they present to the world. Her imagination paints how she perceives the world. When her mother's behavior drastically shifts when she enters a violent and abusive rage she firmly believes that her mother has been possessed by a cruel witch.

When a familiar adult approaches her speaking as the Golden Witch Beatrice, she does not see the adult. She only sees Beato. This is vital to her testimony throughout the game regarding the murder mysteries.

One last thing I wish to go over during this analysis of Ange and Maria and their relationship to their traumatic childhoods. That is the title of witch.

By now I hope it's been made clear that magic is imagination and love is trust. Whether it be testimony being believed, the contract between author and reader or the inner reality of one being seen and regarded and acknowledged by another.

As someone with DID, I like this concept a lot. It would be so easy to simply dismiss our condition and the presentations. But with love it can be seen.

The game shows a number of different types of witch. From the witch of origins who can make new imaginings that do not require another person to validate them to the Golden witch who has enough money to make reality via sheer financial coercion or the witch of truth who can make reality by asserting it to be so or witch of resurrection who can keep those who died alive in their memory.

Each witch is using their magical ability to "create" by taking their imagination and moving it out into the world. The Witch of Truth is a detective whose deductions are believed to be fact even if the accused disagrees. The Golden Witch can take any scheme or desire and pay people to make it a reality.

And Ange, the Witch of Resurrections, can bring back the dead by remembering them and keeping their voices in her heart. They live on in her writing. In her words. In her memory. So when she reads Maria's journal she can bring the Maria of 1986 into the world of 1998. When she reads of Maria's magical companions they can accompany her.

With this context, we return to Ange in her teen years.

Lonely and consumed by grief she is only able to find solace in imagining Maria with her, imagining Maria having forgiven her for saying Sakutarou wasn't real.

As she accepts the role of apprentice witch she is allowed to perceive Maria and her menagerie of imaginary friends.

Though there's a certain amount of strain and physical discomfort in maintaining the thought process of so many at once. Maria is able to do it remarkably easy but Ange has to struggle.

It's okay, Ange, dissociation headaches are an absolute bitch. They get better after a certain amount of stabilizing and communication work.

All the while she reads about Maria's home life.

To break the essay structure and be real for a moment. This segment hit me hard. I choked up crying and needed to take a break from the game for a while. The depiction of child neglect and abuse was too real and I feel it serves the fiction to depict it as such but it is a hard read. Please be kind to yourself as you read on.

Rosa Ushiromiya is the youngest of the Ushiromiya children, furthest from the inheritance and least respected of Kinzo's progeny. She likely suffered a large amount of abuse and neglect in her own childhood both physical from the eldest sibling, Kraus, emotional/psychological from her sister Eva and a combination of both from her other brother Rudolf.

Children raised in abusive households are more likely to develop personality disorders born from attachment trauma. A typical display of this is dichotomous thinking, praising and devaluing the same subject in waves based on stimulus. Within Borderline Personality Disorder, for instance, this is where the concept of Splitting and Black and White Thinking come from.

For Rosa, this manifests with her mood swings that have her violently scream and hit her daughter before lavishing her with apologies, affection and attention.

Every character in Umineko is burdened with a painful past. Each character feels the need to displace that pain outwards and project it onto other people. For instance Rosa displaces her pain onto Maria. Both of Ange's aunts displace theirs onto her. Kyrie displaces hers onto Battler.

Generational trauma is a heavy theme of this game.

Rosa makes her way as the head of a small fashion design label though she does not see a lot of success in her role. Early in adulthood she had a relationship that ended with her pregnant with Maria. Maria's father, upon learning of the pregnancy, left.

Rosa is young, lonely and feels that having a child makes it difficult for her to find love; in the time and culture of 1980s Japan being a single mother was seen as shameful. She finds that the best way she is able to date is to act like she does not have a daughter and take extended vacations across the country on weekends with her dates.

Leaving her daughter home alone.

Rosa has a number of hang-ups about the optics of leaving Maria in someone else's care, she is shown on multiple occasions in the story to fly into a rage when her ability to be a parent is put into question and she has massive cognitive dissonance in that she cannot bare to be seen as a bad mother and so she acts like a horrible mother to avoid looking bad.

I have seen a lot of debate on the logic here and first off, anyone who approaches this story with a view of "it does not make sense that a character acted this way" lacks the Love required to enjoy this story in full. The author enters a firm agreement with the audience to work within the confines of the fiction and not to disrespect the fiction by rejecting that which is offered. He will deceive us but never lie. In that we have to believe in the story.

But it's also a sign of those who have grown up with a proud optics obsessed parent and those who did not. Sad to say, I have experienced a few of the things which happen in this chapter and I have no doubt that Ryukishi07 saw some of it in his social worker career.

When Rosa leaves Maria alone at home, for days at a time, she orders her to never make anyone aware of her situation. More important than anything else never speak to the police about what goes on in this house.

That. I have lived that one.

What Ange reads and what Maria shows us in this episode is a weekend where Maria is home alone, her mother having forgotten a promise that was made to her and Maria is locked out of her house. She spends an entire evening searching for the lost key and eventually needs to seek a friendly store worker who recognizes her to get help.

This leads to police intervention, a social worker showing up at Rosa's house and...

I glossed over a lot. This is a dense book and this story takes up much of Episode 4. Suffice to say, Maria's friend Sakutarou was murdered in retaliation for Maria summoning attention of Rosa's bad parenting. Rosa abandoned her daughter for a full weekend after breaking a promise and when she was locked out and defenseless she asked for help and was violently punished for doing so.

Another function of the witch of origins is the ability to break the cycle of generational abuse. She does not take her pain and push it into someone else, she creates an imagined evil mother to hate and fear while continuing to love her 'real' mother. This way she never has to doubt the love she has for the mother who she has happy memories of and who custom crafted a lovely plush lion just for her.

Which leads to the discussion of trauma, memory and processing.

Ange, upon reading this story is crestfallen. She views Maria as a pitiable child, only to be confronted by MARIA who defends Rosa. Arguing that she legitimately forgot her promise, rather than deciding that her daughter was not worth the time or effort.

She claims constantly that Rosa is a good mother and that she is happy.

Maria, a being who can only view the world with love, despite being abused and hurt; chose to be happy and so through her magic it was so. She was happy.

There's a misconception I have seen and I will admit I held for myself upon reading Episode 4 that Maria was preaching to deceive ones own self in order to be happy. That it was enabling and accepting of her own abuse.

But this is actually one of the deepest things Umineko has to say about generational trauma...

Chapter 8 revisits the idea with a version of the gameboard where the Ange of 1986 is allowed to be on the island, something which was impossible because in truth she was not. Not even the witch of miracles could change that which is certain.

In this game, set by Ange's older brother BATTLER, the 6 year old Ange is treated to a fun halloween party with her aunt Eva run by her loving family. Throughout the entire story Grandfather Kinzo was made out to be the source of all evil and in this episode he is displayed as a kind and loving grandfather.

The entire reason I wanted to write this post and include it in my Media, Myself and I series (in lieu of discussing the overt plurality in the game, even) was due to a conversation Ange has with Battler about this deception.

Source: LP Archives - The full conversation can be found on this page for anyone who wants the full breakdown.

The entire story of Umineko is a struggle for those who experienced horrors to be able to come to terms with their memories and process them. This is true for Ange, it is true for Maria and it is true for the other members of the cast also.

Memory is malleable and uncertain and can and does become distorted due to understandings and contexts gained at a later stage, particularly when bias is in play.

For a graphic of how this works please look at this:

Source

The more a memory is reactivated the more it is eroded of its initial context and additional contexts bleed in. For Ange's circumstance she remembers her parents through the lens of knowing that her father was embroiled in legal troubles from his womanizing behavior. It is unlikely a 6 year old Ange remembers Rudolf in this light but her view of her father is painted through this lens and thus when she retrieves these memories the present context forces itself into the past.

This is just how the human mind works.

EMDR and other trauma treatments are focused on hijacking this system. When a traumatic memory plays out the amygdala processes the emotions and sense of danger which activates the nervous system. This process does not even require a conscious recollection; should a trauma memory be associated with a certain scent the nervous system will activate upon smelling it even if the survivor does not recall the event attached to the stimulus, the amygdala most certainly does.

I have spent too much of my life considering which of our memories had lavender scenting…

For EMDR the process involves retrieving the traumatic memory without allowing the client to reexperience it while ensuring they do so within the context of the present while highlighting safety and security. This allows the memory to be filtered through without the activating the nervous system. In some therapies this can be a process of re-parenting in which the emotional absence is provided either by the self or via a proxy. The idea is to allow the memory to break association with the trauma and be decontextualize until the memory no longer has negative associations.

Where I had assumed Maria's choice to be happy and think the best of her abuser was an act of enabling and self-deception, I now see was an attempt to stop dwelling on the negatives of the situation and allowing the past trauma to become a defining point within the present.

Maria cannot choose what happened to her. She can choose how she intends to live with what happened with her. She cannot know for certain what Rosa's motivation was in her actions. In fact as we go through the game the audience comes to be given some sympathetic information which though can never redeem Rosa's terrible parenting, can allow one inclined to feel sympathy for her. Like everyone else in the game, she's a victim too. Quite literally in 1986.

There's no way of knowing if she maliciously lied to her child and went off on vacation abandoning her or if she legitimately forgot her promise. No one is arguing that what Rosa did was forgivable. But it helps Maria continue living a happy existence knowing that she was loved and that the good memories she has of her mother are true, even if the bad ones are also true.

Maria, filled with love as she is, elected to see The Good Mommy and The Bad Mommy. Is this right or wrong? It's unimportant. What matters is if Maria can be happy.

Sakutarou was a stuffed lion said to be handcrafted by Rosa. Given as a gift and beloved above all things for Maria. When Rosa destroyed the Sakutarou doll the lion cub boy died and could not be resurrected by Beatrice because it was a unique item created by Rosa.

In Chapter 4's conclusion, Ange does the impossible and resurrects Sakutarou. She does this because Sakutarou was never a custom made doll crafed with love. He was a mass produced toy sold in travel gift stores that Rosa happened to pick up on her way home. She lied. Ange never tells Maria this. The miracle of Sakutarou's rebirth is enough. Knowing that the beloved handmade toy was not hand-crafted would not make Maria's life any better. Sometimes believing in magic is the best thing for someone living in a world painted by despair.

Funny that Ange understood that much for Maria and yet still sought after the One Truth up until the very end.

The finale of the game comes down to presenting this option to the player and by proxy Ange herself.

In a world where you cannot change the past and you cannot fully accept what happened, is it better to continue digging up the past and re-experiencing the trauma in hopes that there lays a truth that will make it all finally make sense or to try to make peace with the past and find moments of peace to hold onto. Holding to hate and pain only serves to bring the pain of the past into the present.

Ange, the witch of resurrection, has the ability to keep her family with her long after their death. Should she be haunted by the family that she was deprived or be happy for the limited memories she had and not be tethered to a world of the past she could never have possibly been part of.

Healing in Umineko is accepting love and making peace with loss. It is learning to live unburdened by tragedy and do the best with what was done to us.

If we cannot let go then we'll continue living in the world of the past turning over the events over and over trying to make sense of it and even if we are somehow granted the magical context, the one and only shining truth... it will only serve to make things worse. You can keep the past alive without letting the past control your future.

And Umineko does a remarkably good job of showing that.

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Gosh... that took far longer than I'd hoped. Umineko is a difficult piece of fiction to type about because so much of it is subjective and hard to present to a broad audience without providing ample context.

I'd hoped to talk about Yasu's DID but I suppose that shall have to await another update. My original draft for this discussion was to discuss the different forms of dissociative amnesia with Ange's story serving as an example of how recontextualizing memory works. I may yet go back and do a full amnesia based ramble in the coming months. I just needed to get at least one aspect of Umineko drafted as it's been living rent free in my brain since December.

If you enjoyed this breakdown and found it interesting, please check out some of my other Media, Myself and I essays.

Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal gear Solid 2 - Describing the sensation of derealization where the brain stops connecting associations between the self and the things one perceives in their surroundings. One example displaying how this impacts a person living with DPDR and the other showing an example of a game attempting to make a player share the experience with the player character.

DID and the healing process in Mr. Robot - A run down of the experiences of discovery, exploration, rejection and healing within DID as displayed in each season of Mr. Robot, along with a disappointed rundown of why the final episode fumbled the ball.

Bruce Banner and the roles of his alters - A breakdown of the formation of The Incredible Hulk's DID and what roles his many alters play.

Romantic relationships with systems - A look at the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot-Ross Banner in Hulk comics and a frank discussion between Betty and one of Bruce's alters about how relationships function in a system.

Personality Play in Penlight - A review of one of the routes for a hypnokink visual novel called Penlight in which the protagonist hypnotizes a woman to have an alter personality, along with some descriptions of how dangerous play like that works in real life and what the consequences could be.

[lunarthecorvus]

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (Not College/Uni) Kanej fanfiction recommendations

part of Lunar's soc fanficiton rec series

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Stains That Don't Wash Out by @SeeMaree

Wordcount: 79,901 Chapters: 19/19

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker, Most other characters

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Some referenced violence, mentions of torture, mentions of rape/non-con, nothing graphic described, basically if you've read the books this is less graphic, kaz is a farmer, and inej works with foster kids, basically an angsty slow burn, but also with attempted murder, and intermittent fluff, quite a lot of fluff really, but quite a lot of angst too, Autistic coded Kaz

Author's summary/notes: To think, when Inej had heard that someone had bought the old Rietveld place that ran alongside her family farm she’d been pleased. That was before she met the man. A more unpleasant and insulting person she couldn't imagine. But she's got bigger problems than an annoying neighbor. And as it turns out, so does he. My summary/notes: This fic was so sweet, I loved seeing older Inej being a social worker and running a camp for disadvantaged kids, it was so nice to see her being in charge and more free. I found it so fascinating to read Kaz and Inej meeting each other for the first time in adulthood, the way it adapted their dynamic was so interesting and I loved reading them get to know each other. There is definitely angst though... also Inej's parents are in it aaaa

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modern setting (series of modern au oneshots) by @whynotcherries

Wordcount: 6,689 Works: 3 Complete: No

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa

Author's summary/notes:

1. For a few moments: "If someone would’ve told her this would happen in advance, Inej Ghafa would’ve laughed in their face. This was exactly where she’d found herself waking rather peacefully, though: Kaz Brekker’s sofa, some blanket she’d never seen before carefully arranged to cover her entire body, and with the sound of someone walking around in the kitchen." Or, an accidental sleepover.

2. Will we last the night?: "He was particularly curious why, of all people, she’d chosen him to climb in a ferris wheel with. At the very least, that meant ten minutes being alone with someone that she hardly knew, and at worst… Well, they’d get stuck." Or, Kaz and Inej get stuck on a ferris wheel as their second time meeting.

3. Don't look back, not for anything: "Thankfully, she’d succeeded in getting out of the house with what they’d needed. She had not succeeded, however, in staying alert for the entire ride back to their part of town. Rather, he was fairly certain she’d fallen asleep next to him, her head resting heavy on his shoulder." Or, Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, and the struggles of night trips.

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When We Collide by @rupturedhaven

Wordcount: 106,364 Chapters: 9/? (still being updated)

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Pekka Rollins, Dima (Shadow and Bone TV), Genya Safin, David Kostyk, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Jan Van Eck, Alys Van Eck, Marya Hendriks, Nikolai Lantsov, Tolya Yul-Bataar, Tamar Kir-Bataar, Tante Heleen, Eroll Aerts, Isaak Andreyev

Tags: Kanej - Freeform, wesper, helnik - Freeform, modern day AU, Heist AU, Six of Crows, Found Family, AU/Source material hybrid, Other characters will show up eventually - Freeform, Potentially the start of a multi-fic universe, soc - Freeform, Six of Crows AU, Slow Burn, King of Scars

Author's summary/notes: The Bastard of the Barrel. The Wraith. The gambler. The wayward son. The Heartrender. The fugitive. A thirst for revenge brings the six of them together, but can they weather a storm of secrets, deceptions, unlikely friendships and heartbreak? And if so, who will they have become once the clouds disperse? Modern Day AU with a mix of elements from the books and show. Long-running narrative with plenty of time for all our favourite characters to show up... My summary/notes: I've recommended Rupturedhaven before beacuse they are such a good writer, would recommend every one of their fics. This fic has such good world-building and the heist is so fun to read. You will be sucked into this this fic and not want to put it down. The way it adapted the crows relationships was so interesting, its a modern crows hiest (I don't want to spoil it so go read it :)

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Adiago by @whatanybodygets

Wordcount: 81,074 Chapters: 7/12 (hasn't been updated in over a year but you NEED to read it)

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Nina Zenik, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Matthias Helvar

Tags: the gang's all here, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, mentions of past rape/non-con, Aged-Up Character(s), Touch-Averse Kaz Brekker, Minor Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Minor Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence

Author's summary/notes: Inej Ghafa is a principal dancer of the Kerch National Ballet, haunted by a past she'd rather forget. Kaz Brekker is a mob boss who holds the city in the palm of his hand. Perhaps if all were right with the world, two such people would never meet. Or perhaps fate will always give those who need each other a push in the right direction. It begins, as so many things in Ketterdam do, with a murder. My summary/notes: Of course I have to include a classic, its just a masterpiece and one of the most popular well known kanej fics. The writing is just so beautiful and this fic will take you on such a interesting journey. I loved reading Inej's pov in this fic, it really showed her struggles and her strength.

This category was asked for by the lovely @martinakl13 (p.s. check out her fics) <3

[unnamed-blob]

One way, or another, I'm gonna get ya

⇢ Pairing: Ghostface/Meg Thomas

⇢ Length: Multi-chapter

⇢ Synopsis: Left the only remaining survivor, Meg's best bet is to find the hatch before the killer does. Ghostface might have more in mind than just that though...

⇢ CW: SUGGESTIVE!! I am still very much a sfw blog but this is most certainly the most suggestive thing I have posted.

⇢ A/N: Inspired by slash's very wonderful GhostMeg artwork! Thank you very much for reviving my favorite ship!!

Meg bolted upwards, stray sparks nipping at her fingers as she hastily released the wires in the generator, waiting with baited breath. Above the mechanic chuffing, she could hear Dwight’s panicked scream cutting out, deathly silence darting into the space behind, pressing against her chest and making it hard to breathe. 

Her fingers twitched, eyes scanning the area around before the death tomb rang out, startling Meg enough for a flinch. She watched the Entity’s long grasp come down, reaching across the map to retrieve his body. Meg allowed herself a moment for her heart to bleed for her friend, no doubt killed in terror, before swiftly turning to her left to duck behind a large rock close to the wall.

Claudette had been the first to go, collected by the Entity off of a hook; Jake not too long after, mori’d, considering that he had never reached his second hook. 

She swallowed thickly, cautiously peeking out before darting to the next closest hiding spot. With Dwight gone, Meg was the last remaining survivor. And with two generators left to complete, she had better odds to find the hatch than to attempt the typical method.

She strained her ears for any careless scuffle against the ground to warn her of the incoming killer- not that the elusive, stealthy Ghostface would ever do such a thing- before hesitantly peeking out. When no killer lunged at her face, she tiptoed out, drawing herself in, taunt like a spring, before she burst into a sprint, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of her exit. 

All she had to do was find it first- and considering she’d run the map enough times to nearly know it like the back of her hand- it shouldn’t be too hard. … Hopefully. 

⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡⪢⪡

Meg panted, half hunched over as she hovered between two boulders, knees bent and poised to bolt. The bastard before stood casually, stance hardly tense- a lie though, Meg knew if she tried to bolt past him, he’d be at her before she could even blink. He idly twirled his knife in his grasp, before throwing it upwards, snatching it out of the air without taking his mask off of her for a moment. Meg hunched lower, skin prickling uncomfortably from his piercing gaze.

She flinched as he crossed an arm over his chest, propping his head on his other hand and tilting it slightly, sighing dramatically.

“Listen, darling-,” Ghostface drawled. Meg tensed, jerking to the left to fake him out before she leaped to the right. Her knees buckled, giving out from under her and she bit down on a yelp, stumbling to straighten herself.

She drew up, back into the same position, the killer before her now several paces closer, hands stretched out as if he were approaching a small, terrified animal.

Perhaps he had some reason to- Meg bristled uncomfortably, half tempted to bare her teeth at him, the air tense, her fatigue chaining her in place. Both of them knew she was cornered, Meg just wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

The hatch hadn’t been in any of its typical locations, and by the time Meg had wasted precious minutes nearly upturning the entire map for it, Ghostface had managed to catch a glimpse of her, locking in with vigorous precision. 

The game of cat and mouse had gone on longer than Meg had expected. Each moment she thought she was finally free to take a breather, Ghostface would leap out at her, trying to corral her as she’d bolt off by the skin of her teeth. By now her feet and legs ached from her constant running, and several strands of her hair had drifted loose from her braids and now clung uncomfortably to her wet skin. 

Obviously the killer looked no worse for wear, as calm and cocky as always. Meg knew him a tad bit better than that though, could see the tenseness in his shoulders, the coil in his frame, the jerkiness in his movements when he’d lunge and miss. He was tired of this.

Meg shifted uncomfortably, drawing into herself, trying to gather the last dredges of her strength for one last sprint. Maybe she’d get lucky this time, maybe the Entity would finally take pity on her and allow her her freedom from the trial (wishful thinking, but a girl could hope). 

Ghostface struck at her moment of absent mindedness, lunging at Meg before her head snapped in his direction, reflexes too strained and exhausted to react. She yelped, scrambling backwards as she tripped over her own feet, slamming against the hard ground.

She gasped for air, the breath knocked out of her as stars danced in her vision, the darkness at the edges slithering and threatening to cover her vision. She forced a breath in, coughing as her lungs protested and her throat threatened to close. Another and the darkness receded, Meg finally returning to her own body as she forced strained breaths before the action became second nature. Her vision wavered, swimming in colors, before finally settling, her brain processing the view a moment later as her breath hitched.

A long, desolate white mask filled her entire vision, close enough that Meg could hear the concealed breathing behind it, his covered gaze boring straight into her face. She tried to jolt away, realizing a moment too late that her movements were halted by Ghostface, a strong hand encircling each of her wrists and keeping them pinned down. Panic thrummed in her chest and Meg spurned it into her legs, kicking up at him and trying to draw her knees up high enough to hit him in the groin. 

The killer had prepared for that though, straddling her while she’d tried to catch her breath, a firm pressure on each side of her hips keeping her contained and him high enough that Meg couldn’t reach. 

A low chuckle came from him as panic flashed in Meg's eyes, her movements jerky and exhausted, straining against his hold and scrambling at the ground in an attempt for any leverage to shove herself away. He leaned in, the redhead freezing, watching with wide eyes as the mask pressed itself against the side of her neck, flinching as an exhale of warm air expelled against her vulnerable flesh. Her body locked stiffly, a cold chill crawling up her spine despite the sheen of sweat that coated her. 

Ghostface inhaled deeply and Meg cringed, uncomfortably attempting to shift away to no avail. He followed her movements, chuckling at her exasperation and panic.

“C’mon, I just want to play with you a bit, pretty girl,” he teased, Meg able to feel his grin against her neck. She tensed as fabric rustled next to her ear, straining to glance over for his next movements, heart jackhammering in her chest. A cheek pressed against hers and Meg flinched hard enough to nearly knock her head against the ground. She froze completely, blood settling into ice as the grin pressed against her throat, no fabric covering to protect her now. 

“Wait- wait-” she scrambled, panicked, flinching once more as a kiss pressed against her exposed collar, her blood thrumming against her veins. Warm air traveled upwards to her cheek, hovering above her as Meg tilted her head as far back as she could, eyes slammed shut before a soft sensation settled onto her face. 

She flinched once more, drawing into herself as much as she could, trying to raise her shoulders to hide herself. Ghostface gave a low chuckle, easily shifting to bury his nose in her neck, lowering closer onto above her as Meg panicked. 

“Wait- wait- you don’t-”, she kicked helplessly, tongue screwed into knots in her mouth, saliva evaporating in fear. She was a runner, darting away from grabs or weapons, leaping over windows, keeping at a distance. She wasn’t- what was she supposed to do for- for this?!

Her scrambled thoughts were interrupted with a soft pressure on the corner of her mouth, Meg stiffening as she startled. Ghostface’s shoulders shook in amusement at her reaction, lowering his body to trap her completely against the ground. 

“You weren’t thinking of a way to try to get away, were you, hun?” He teased as Meg panicked, legs kicking fruitlessly in the air as she strained against his hold. His mouth drifted close to hers before he shifted upwards, pressing a soft kiss to edge of her brow as she screwed her face up tensely. 

“You’re just so adorable. I could eat you right up,” he breathed above her, warm air fanning her face as the survivor pressed further into the ground, glancing desperately at the glimpses of the sky above his frame. The Entity would never let a match go on so long, punishing any attempts to take a break within its games. Where was it now?? Why hadn’t she been forcefully grabbed out of the trial yet?!

“Are you looking for help?” Ghostface teased, Meg’s gaze immediately snapping to him. She could only see his mouth curling into a satisfied, coy grin from her angle, drifting closer as Meg turned away once more.

“Oh don’t worry,” he soothed, a hand releasing her wrist to brush through her loose braid, snapping the elastic at the bottom to release it. A strand of her hair was gently clasped in his hand, pulled to his mouth as Meg trembled in exhaustion, tense in the face of the unknown. His lips pressed down, kissing it gently as his grin peeked over it, the redhead feeling as though she were doused in a bucket of cold water. 

“I made sure we wouldn’t get interrupted.”

[sincerely-sofie]

Hey! Just wanted to say thanks for making a story so well written I feel like I get second-hand depression every time I read the last two chapters. :)

I think I had more of a thing I was trying to do when I thought I should make an ask, so uh... any advice for a very average artist/writer who struggles with finding motivation for writing?

As payment, I offer you this picture of a dog.

Thanks so much for your kind words! I'm real insecure about my writing and it's clarity, so to hear that it's emotionally powerful means a lot to me, hehe :>

Ooooh man. Do I EVER have advice for artist/writer combo creators who struggle to find motivation for writing. C’mere buddy. Lean in reeeaaal close. Your fellow average artist/writer is gonna tell you a secret. Come on. Even closer. You ready? Okay.

The world has conned you into thinking motivation is necessary to write, or even do anything in general. It's a scam. Motivation is nice, but it's just the icing on the cake. You need a cake in the first place to even enjoy it.

(If you're interested, I’ve written about making your own motivation in the past. Intrinsically created motivation is a lot healthier of a sort of motivation to seek out than extrinsically located motivation, which is the motivation I’m mostly referring to in this post. I figure I’d link to it in case you’re having trouble getting enough oomph to want to even consider writing in the first place, as the rest of this post assumes you’re fairly comfortable with the writing process, but have trouble getting it done.)

Before I wrote The Present is a Gift, I had never truly finished a writing project— I had co-written the script for a video game that never got made and wrote the first short story in an anthology I started and never concluded. Other than that, I had nothing but a massive field of stories that I'd endlessly flit back and forth between, adding to each project I landed on for a time, but never lingering long enough to actually see anything to completion. I loved all of my projects and wanted to do them justice by finishing them, but I never was able to do anything close to that. There were multiple reasons for my struggle to do substantial work on my projects— but the greatest reason was by far my refusal to use anything but motivation as a reason to work on projects. I’d wait for myself to feel motivated to write anything. And I would only be motivated so frequently.

I attribute my newfound ability to break from my pattern of abandoning and rescuing projects over and over to one thing— I set up a writing routine.

I chose a time that worked best for me every weekday to pour myself a massive mug of my favorite edible battery acid (tropical punch Tampico, for anyone curious) sit down at my computer, put on my headphones, turn on one of those multi-hour-long pomodoro timer youtube videos that have pretty music in the background, and write. This was also in combination with an attempt to win at NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge where you try to write 50k words in November, which gave me a daily word count target to try and reach or exceed. NaNoWriMo’s deadline was also helpful— and so was a promise I made to myself to not work on projects other than TPiaG before it was completed— but the real reason I actually managed to write TPiaG was because every weekday I’d do my writing routine.

I was not motivated whatsoever at the start. I was anxious, intimidated, and very reluctant to write. But I committed to writing TPiaG to completion, no matter how I felt about it, because a lot of people wanted to read the story, and I didn’t want to let them down. Not the healthiest driving thought process, I will readily say, but it got me to sit in my chair at first. As time went on and I shook off the rust and reluctance, I wouldn’t feel as anxious about writing. I didn’t feel intimidated. I would wake up and think to myself “OH BOY, IT’S WRITING TIME!” and leap out of bed to start my routine. Motivation only came after I had already been writing every weekday for about three weeks. And the motivation stayed for as long as I kept up with my writing routine.

Don’t get me wrong— motivation is important. But waiting until you’re motivated to do something is a very unsteady way to go about life, and in my experience when that thought process is applied to writing, it means you’ll never finish anything and never be satisfied with your work. There’s a quote that I love that says “the motivation comes after you show up.” And it’s absolutely true.

Motivation loves momentum. You can set bait for it by writing consistently for a while, whereupon it will make its way into your brain and make itself at home for as long as you keep up the momentum you’ve gotten. If you just wait for motivation to stumble into you, you might get lucky, but only that— lucky. You won’t have gained any skills in cultivating your own motivation, and when that lucky motivation fizzles out, you’ll be left waiting for the possibility of another brief flash of motivation to take its place before you’re ready to write again.

[jetii]

Surprise self-rec time! Pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow writers to spread the positivity and help celebrate already written fics 💞

Thank you for the opportunity to gush about my fics! 💙 This was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It's like picking my favorite children.

Goodbye, and Other Possible Words (Echo x Medic!Reader)

I usually credit my Rex fic as the catalyst for my confidence to continue sharing my work publicly, but in reality it's this Echo x Reader fic that inspired me to keep going. I love love writing long one-shots with lots of backstory and emotion (and smut). Now as I'm typing this I realize I need to write more Echo asap.

Promises Made (Crosshair x Jedi!Reader Miniseries)

My first multi-part fic, and my first attempt at writing Crosshair. I wrote the first draft while on a road trip after being inspired by a random gifset of the "you're as bad as Hunter," "oh, I'm much worse" exchange between Crosshair and Omega. I then promptly lost about half of my work upon returning home, had a breakdown, abandoned it, and then came back and poured as much of my frustration into it as possible a month later. I'm so proud of the result, and it's one of precious few of my works I can reread without cringing.

Event Horizon (Rex x Jedi!Reader Longfic)

My passion project, my magnum opus, my current hyperfixation. After Promises Made proved to myself that I actually can start and finish a fic with multiple parts, I started writing this on the side. I woke up one day with the first line of the first chapter stuck in my head on a loop, and I had a few sleepless nights after of writing as much as I could get out, racing against the clock to beat the inevitable fade of inspiration I typically deal with. But the inspiration hasn't faded at all. We're only on chapter 6 of 52, but I've never been so dedicated to actually finishing something in my life. I have it all planned out now and at least half drafted. At the moment it's very Obi-Wan x Reader, but that's all about to change next week. And I'm so excited to eventually introduce my clone OCs into the mix.

[ghostoffuturespast]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo @morganlefaye79 @streetkid-named-desire @corpocyborg Thanks y'all! 🧡👻

The writing front has been very slow lately. Ideally I need like 6-8 hour blocks of time to just sit down and write, and my one day to do that has been occupied by social things and appointments the past few weeks. So writing has been minimal and in the tiniest bits and pieces. I do have a pretty solid 10 pages rn though, so I'll take it.

A lot of times for sections with a lot of dialogue, I'll write the dialogue first to make sure I really nail the flow of the conversation then go back and add all the speaker tags and actions. For this snippet I removed my mess of notes about who's saying what, so you all can have fun guessing lol!

One of my fav things to do is incorporate world-building and plot relevant details in as dialogue. It's a really seamless way of informing readers but it's also a subtle form of foreshadowing on my end.

Me and my multi-chapter setups, playin' the long game here...

Wash, sorry in advance for shit talking your woman. I think it's hilarious that Mitch is in on this too though lol

“–Militech’s been awfully agitated lately, saw a twenty vehicle caravan cruising around the 101 on that last scouting trip. Don’t think they’re planning on sniffing around here do you?” “If they were lookin’ for the panzer they would’ve come and collected by now. Think it’s the fact that Arasaka’s stocks are in the shitter. And it ain’t just them either. You know the corps, always tryin’ to sniff out opportunity.” “Yorinobu’s been doing a sloppy job of sweeping this whole debacle under the rug. Ever since he took over it’s been one mistake after another. It’s about time the whole empire toppled.”   “I imagine the president is trying to see how far she can push her luck.” "Don’t think it’ll hurt her chances? Even with it being an election year?" "Pfft, please. There hasn’t been an honest election since [insert date here]" “After her last attempt, you’d think President Myers would’ve learned her fucking lesson by now. Unification my ass.” "Well, with Arasaka hobbled and a newly elected mayor, what better time to test the waters? Militech and the NUSA have all the opening they need to jam their feet in the door." “Ugh, do we really have to talk about corp drama over dinner? Again. That is all you old farts have been talking about recently.” “Seeing as Militech backs the NUSA and that they’re contracted to guard the borders between the NUSA and the Free states. Yes, we are talking about it, Panam. As one of the leaders for this family you should be paying attention to these kinds of things. They are the ones we have to tangle with every time we move." “Yes, because politics is such an influence on all the illegal activities that are our livelihood. Does it really matter which corporation or government is in charge of what? They are all the same. We will figure it out regardless.”   "It helps to know the players on the table. Who they are. What they want. The more information you have the easier it is to navigate the situation, read the field." "As much as I see your point, I was really hoping to avoid the leadership lessons for at least one meal." "It’s not a responsibility you get to turn on and off, Panam." "Well, Saul, any chance those leadership lessons will help sort out the kitchen? It’s been mystery chili for the fifth night in a row."

Also, I found these fun series of videos which are an abbreviated history on NC! If you're into unraveling all the lore like I am or just need something that doesn't require a ton of research, these are great little primer!

Tagging with no pressure: All the people that tagged me @wanderingaldecaldo @morganlefaye79 @streetkid-named-desire @corpocyborg & @shimmer-like-agirl @baublekute @elmknight @mynonsenseistingling @vox-monstera @fly-amanitaa @spacervanguard @scarlettspectra

And it doesn't have to be writing or CP2077 related!

[loyal-house-of-lupin]

WIP Wednesday, October 30, filename #4

Hello! I hope you’re all doing well! So here we have #4 Snupin soulmate memory alteration. I have to make a little confession. I’m slightly afraid this will either be a very long one-shot, or a multi chaptered fic. This idea, in my head, is only growing and growing. But I love it too much to cut short haha.

In any case, I hope you love it. And thank you so much for requesting it! @aparticularbandit, @auburnlaughter, & @quietly-sleeping

***

The whole memory had just been so confusing. Looking back at their past, he was often ashamed at how he let Sirius and James get away with things. How he was the onlooker, or even worse, helped them get out of trouble. As long as the pranks were funny, or maybe a bit foul, it was fine. But they’d crossed the line far too often for that.

But sexual harassment? Would he really have kept quiet?

Worse, why couldn’t he remember it? Had he banned it from his mind because of the embarrassment? No. Usually these things kept replaying in his mind. As if to remind him of what a failure he was.

“You’ve never seen that before?” For the first time there was an uncertainty in Severus’s voice. One he’d never heard before. It scared him in some degree. Severus was the composed one out of the two of them. If he lost it, then what about Remus.

“I truly – truly haven’t. I’m not- I mean I wouldn’t, just I,” he attempted to form a sentence but his thoughts were a mess. The whole scene completely threw him off. He could’ve seen it happening, if it wasn’t for Severus insulting his oldest friend. Would he? “I wish I could say it is something we wouldn’t do. But I can’t. However. You’d never call Lily that?”

It remained quiet for such a long time Remus had to look up. Had to check if Severus was even in the room with him. He was. With his back to Remus leaning against a cabinet. It was almost a relieve he wasn’t the only one struggling with this, though it didn’t improve the whole situation. He couldn’t remember this scene, almost couldn’t believe it was true. Yet hadn’t Severus just commented that he hadn’t know Remus was a werewolf? How?

“How do you normally look back at a full moon night?”

The sudden question completely threw him off guard. How did he remember those nights?

“Uuuhm,” he said, blinking a few times as he tried his best to form an answer. “I… I don’t? I just wake up in the morning. Usually at an unknown location and try to apparate home? I’ve learned to do so without a wand.”

“No memories of the night.”

“No?”

“Why do you have memories of this specific one?” Severus delivered the line as he would any other. With a flat tone and a quiet voice. But it shook Remus’s world.

[fanaticsnail]

I have a question about your WIPs of a different kind: how do you not lose sight of all the WIPs and ideas when you write so many at the same time ? And what is your progress when crafting a Story (multi chapter or one Shot) in general? If its okay to ask?! To some, there work progress is very personal so i get If you don't wanna answer it 😊

Because i am over here like:

And I wanna cram all my initial ideas in one thing and then there is the next Idea and I get overwhelmed and then i forget little details and scenes i was so proud of. And then i am to overwhelmed to write anything down 🥺 or i wanna sleep and the ideas come to me just then and are gone the next morning haha 🥲

And you are more like this with your writing✨:

Also your recent WIP-List is soo exciting

Have a beautiful start of the day, Snail✨🍀i will go to bed now!

Oh no, believe you me -> I am exactly like that. My writing process is not pretty and all of my thoughts are maddening. Thank you for asking, I'm happy to show you exactly how my brain maps out if you like!

A glimpse of my writing process:

Snail: "Oh, I have this idea. I wonder what it would look like if I just..." writes a small introduction, gets overcome with the thoughts, watches it play out on my screen the longer I write, letting the words take over, surprised at the scenes coming out, genuinely shocked by the plot like watching a movie for the first time, nodding along and wondering how the hell that happened, writes a one sentence conclusion.

Snail: "...oh, but I can't just leave it there. I should just-." keeps writing, oh no now it's a lengthy series, playlists and soundtracks propel me to keep going, freaking out about the word count now, keep writing until satisfied with the conclusion.

And then it sits in my documents until it happens again for another fic. The amount of ideas I have for myself is insane, and I try to find the time to add a little bit per day for one or the other. Then I go through it and read it a bit later and format it then and see if I can get more giddy emotions to come out of it while editing.

Then there's the fics I haven't written that play out in my mind like a little story when I drive (obviously focussing on the road too) like the Cabaret at Baratie fic I've been attempting to write and map out for a few months now. I keep getting side tracked because I want you to not only have a "why choose" between Sanji and Zoro, but imagine it being the Heart Pirates, Cross Guild, Kid-Pirates, it just never ends.

Here's my current unhinged docs (I have blurred the ones that are a little incredibly NSFW).

When the ideas come to me at night, I usually text myself a note in the middle of it so I don't forget. The Apprentice with Mihawk and When You Had The Chance with Beckman were fics that came from the middle of the night prompts.

I'm also lucky enough to have some beautiful mutuals who chat to me and listen to my unhinged ramblings and add little points to spur me on. Chef-husband has also been on the receiving end of such ramblings. I also keep asks and requests in my ask box until I form something cohesive, which is why it takes me so long to answer some things.

SO TO SUM UP: I am exactly like this too.

How I think I write:

How I actually write:

[swanmaids]

End of Year Fic Recs

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

I've cheated a little and done 4 multichaps and 6 oneshots, soweee, I hope you can all forgive me. Also yes all my self recs are E-rated, not soweee

5 Series/Multichapter Fics

Shall these bones live by @undercat-overdog; m, cntw, 100k+, in progress, celebrimbor/sauron {got me onto the silvergifting train. gorgeous worldbuilding and dialogue.}

Swanmaiden by @wonderwafles ; g, nawa, 3k+, in progress, elwing/earendil {not just recommending for the title! perfect baby peredhil feelings.}

What the water gave me by @imakemywings; m, cntw, 27k, finduilas/nienor {canon. to meeeee. tender and healing.}

Ungoliant’s Bane by @polutrope ;g, nawa, 3k, earendil & eltwins, maglor & eltwins {great integration of early canon, great peredhil family}

5 One-Shots

Compass by @slightnettles; m, rape/noncon, 4k, morwen/aerin {incredible tribute to this underrated character.}

Ice Glossary by @sallysavestheday; g, nawa, 2k, fingon/maedhros, turgon/elenwe, fingon & turgon {excellent original concept and carried off perfectly.}

Less Wise by @meadowlarkx; e, nawa, 6k, f!maglor/f!thranduil {hot and angsty and gorgeous}

prick a finger, cut your hand by @welcomingdisaster, e, nawa, 3k, indis/miriel {impeccable sexy dyke drama}

submersible by @jouissants; t, nawa, >1k, maglor/uinen {unhinged, sexy, atmospheric horror in under 1000 words.}

A Thing That Sustains by @searchingforserendipity25; g, nawa, 2k, idril & anaire, idril & turgon & elenwe {perfect idril portrayal, every line hits.}

5 Oldies but Goodies

all they had to lend by gogollescent; g, cntw, 2k, elwing/earendil {beautiful bittersweet war of wrath fic}

Si la mar fuera de leche by chestnut_pod, t, nawa, 23k, elwing & elros, elros/wife {numenor worldbuilding and peredhil feels}

A Life's Work by @elwing; g, nawa, 2k, dirhavel {great understated portrayal of an underrated tragic character}

Sins of the Father by @zealouswerewolfcollector; t, nawa, 4k, turgon & nolofinweans {wonderful painful nolofinwean angst}

Finrod/Sauron One Thousand and One Nights AU by meadowlarkx; e, cntw, 27k+, in progress, finrod/sauron {lovely prose, hot, amazing characterisation}

5 Self Recs

one of your girls; e, nawa, 5k, celegorm/orome {celegorm, orome, and a dress. lowkey think it's my best fic}

the salt in the wound; e, cntw, 4k, luthien/curufin's wife {evil girl scissoring, also known as that fic with the knife handle}

we may rehearse most obscenely; e, nawa, 3k, celegorm/orome/vana {what if puck got spitroasted by oberon and titania... also known as celegorm, orome, and vana spend some time together.}

devoted to the sea; e, nawa, 3k, earendil/elwing, earendil/mermaids {attempting to apply bolt canon to silm canon for sexy purposes}

ebb and flow; e, nawa, 4k, earendil/elwing {my first e-rate, earendil is a very attentive husband to his pregnant wife :)}

I'll tag everyone who's been mentioned in this!