#its so hard to write about this thing in depth i always feel like im forgetting to say *something* im just nervous.

[neoneun-au]

what the fuck

i was going to read one of the other (more recent) fics youve posted but when i went to your masterlist i remembered that i had never actually read this one. whether timing or whatever, i know i had started it a few times but i was just so distracted that i never got very far, though i knew one day would be the right time to sink into it. guess that was today

literally from the first paragraph i felt so so immersed in it. the setting, the narrative, the tone--everything was painted with such a fine, delicate brush. it just completely enveloped me and i was so so hooked immediately

i already knew youre a good writer. obviously. that was never in question. but there was something so transcendant about this one in particular. the allusions to fruit and food metaphors throughout, never too much but just enough to really pad the writing with such beauty and dynamism. it was just such a treat. such a complete joy to read.

it was so potent too, emotionally. i could feel it in the pit of my stomach the entire time. heart on edge, just waiting for a pin to drop. for the tension to let off. it walked such a fine balance of introspection and external forces and the whole time i just felt like i was on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping past, staring out over the horizon and just waiting for...something. waiting to jump, to fall, to be pushed, to see a ship come over a crest of a wave. it was just so deliciously paced and poignantly felt. im at a loss for words (obviously not literally since i keep typing but you know lol)

i was so immersed i didnt get much of a chance to clip out specific passages but there were a few that really stood out while reading enough to pull me out of my trance

this passage is everything. its the perfect example of how expertly crafted this entire thing was written as well. the choice of words, the sentence structure. it all comes together so well to convey the depth hiding in this humble farmer!au. it made me want to cry. very intensely. because havent we all felt this at some point. this yearning. this deep maw of need. greed for more.

then this line made me want to kill myself ! (in a good metaphorical way lol) these two back to back just. my god.

the readers imposter syndrome and their self sabotaging that always always ripples out to affect the lives of those that simply love them. so felt. so seen. so beautifully portrayed by you, dear writer.

"without your fingerprints all over him"

wow.

your writing is so lush. its so evocative. i have a hard time grasping for words that might convey how i felt about this and i continually come up short but im just in awe of how beautiful this story is. and to think i got to read it for free on tumblr dot com and it was written by such a dear, lovely, otherwise incredibly busy person lol

ill close my thoughts here by saying that ive read a lot of books in the last little while. a few classics. some that really resonated while i was reading them but that sort of drifted off as time went on and i wasnt present in their narratives anymore. i loved them. but i love this more. i can feel this slotting into my brain and lingering there at the edges. it makes me want to write.

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)  

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

[melanorhynchus-side]

the 51 post

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

I'm so sorry for not OC posting on tumblr. I have decided keeping my funny things in my friends' DMs only is actually maybe not the best if i want to continue talking about my OCs, so during the summer I will be posting about them more. but for now we will start with this thing! I will post about this in parts because i am slow. smiles !! Please note it uses it/its only. BIOLOGICAL LOG UPDATE [* You are currently here.] PSYCHOLOGICAL LOG UPDATE [wip] - ADDENDUM: STRESS [wip]

[subsequent logs and art will be reblogged to this post.]

art by @eggtomatosoup

T-05-51 - The Bloodbath

[These records continue off the information present within the Manager's Manual. Please consider [re-]reading it for information about the abnormality during its existence within Lobotomy Corporation.]

[...And don't comment about that last part around it, alright? It's already going through quite a bit as it is.]

BIOLOGICAL RECORD [UPDATE] -

Somehow, this abnormality has managed to bring itself into a superficially human form. This form appears to shift variably depending on when and how it is viewed, but it generally appears to look like a young female adult woman with waist length hair of a blue-grey color with bright red eyes. It bears an uncanny resemblance to the Library's Director and.... someone else, and tends to resemble an 'in between' of the two people [though the specifics, such as the way its face is built or its hair color fluctuate from one end of the scale to the other. Many have remarked this as unsettling, though it seems the abnormality cannot control this in any way.] Even with this appearance, its internal [? external?] anatomy seems to diverge greatly from the body it is attempting to replicate.

The greatest physical differences appear to affect the torso- it has a small duct, supposedly to screw on a showerhead, where its manubrium should be located. Underneath this, its torso opens up into a large basin similar to its original form. It appears to be shallow from a distance, but in reality it seems to have a depth inconsistent with its appearance- it typically is much deeper than it seems. The bottom of this basin along with its palms are lined with a soft, porous silicon-like skin [resembling a traction mat] that secretes the blood[*] that gives the abnormality its name.

[*NOTE - This blood is not actual blood. While it has similar behaviors to/has the properties of blood, such as coagulating in contact with air, it is not human blood. Instead, this substance is more like a digestive fluid, similar to gastric acids secreted within the stomach. This fluid allows the abnormality to digest its victims after dragging them into itself.]

[Because of this, in human form, its digestion is severely modified compared to both a human body and its original form to compensate for its lack of "proper" stomach. The abnormality can simply hold onto something organic, and start digesting it in its hand with the 'blood' secretions. The digested material gets absorbed into the glandular skin, which is naturally porous.] [Please be cautious with interacting with it physically because of this.]

Its skin is also strange in a similar manner - It is shiny, almost like porcelain or glass, but is still warm to the touch and appears to thermoregulate like a mammal.[*] It is clearly flexible, but under contact with high pressure, it appears to crack and shatter [though it is very sturdy either way]. It can be put back together without adhesives and appears to fuse back together naturally.

[*NOTE - The ins and outs of how it is able to maintain homeostasis is still unknown; however, it is hypothesized that the 'blood' that constantly leaks from its body keeps it from overheating from whatever method it uses to generate body heat- concentrations of glands can be found on the back of head releasing blood as well, despite there being no reason digestion-wise for it. It instead is used to dispel heat trapped by its hair. We can't know this for sure despite our best guesses, however, and it appears that the abnormality doesn't understand its own body much itself.] [Trust me, we asked.]

From what is given, it does not appear to have any other internal organ systems [and seems hollow], but can still vocalize [though with a very husky voice - most often compared to rattling, echoed piping overlaid on a feminine voice] and feel pain [though it seems to have a higher tolerance to pain than the average human being]. It is very clumsy with its new human body, and is prone to stumbling and tripping on itself- It tends to walk slowly to compensate for this lack of coordination. However, It has surprisingly good fine motor skills in its hands.

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

Some diagrams under the cut too though theyre OLD. so they may be slightly outdated but theyre servicable

anyway thanks for reading so far, because god damn. i have a lot to say. uhhh i'll be updating this in waves because i'm too excited to share and dont want to wait to compile everything in one place, but I also dont want to overwhelm people with too much information at once. hee hee....

youre free to ask any questions as I go, by the way! I love answering questions about my guys, especially from their bilogical standpoints. its just fun ok..... okkkkk... anyway [runs off] [ill be back with more soon]

[m1sa-w1sa]

Can you do all the fatui their react to that y/n was hiding traumatised past and that blaming them self and hide it all , and of course they comfort y/n beaxuse they always help the fauti with their problems

(Okie dokie! Coming right up!)

You are mine and I am yours

Pierro

•He probably found out if you told him upfront or he found you crying someplace

•when he told you spit it out he was shocked it would’ve been torture to go through that

•even if he might not be the best he would try everything that he has to make you feel better

•If it you were dating he would hold you close by your waist whispering nothing but sweetness in your ears

•If platonic he would make you a cup of tea or your favorite dish letting you cry on his shoulder

“Everything is alright dear..”

Capitano

•He would know somethings wrong when you started acting distant, maybe slightly sloppy on missions, more sleepy

•If he saw you crying he would quickly ask whats wrong his mask covering his slight worried expression

•If Romantic he would pull you close wrapping you in his coat with him sitting on his lap or just standing with him

•If Platonic he would take you for a walk maybe get you ice cream or something to eat after to make you feel better making sure to check in with you time to time

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

Dottore

•So you guys had little meet ups when your not with the other harbingers but if you miss that meet up he would go find you himself

•If he saw you in your room he would tilt your chin up as you tell him everything

•If romantic he would stay with you laying your head in his lap while doing his paperwork

•If Platonic he would hug you just really that patting your back soothing you slowly

(Your gonna have to know him for a really ling time for him to act like this towards you)

“Your foolish for not saying anything”

Columbina

•If you two were by each other sides alot she would quickly notice your different personality she would confront you

•When you tell her either platonic or romantic she would sing you a soft lullaby with your head on her lap as she would just caress your cheek softly

“Poor little you why didnt you say anything?”

Arlecchino

•Arlecchini works with kids so its noticed rather quickly

•It doesnt just go away lightly Alrecchibo sits and talks to you

•Romantic she would hold you on her lap letting you talk

•Platonic she would make your favorite food or drink

“You know I care..”

Punichella

I think I spelt his name wrong

• I dont really know how to write for him so ill try my best

•He is kinda like the cool grandpa that gives you good advice so im not going ti do a romantic for him

•He would make you tae and sit and chat with you letting you cry on his shoulder

Scaramouche

•Hes more colder than the others but if your with him most of the time hes going to notice

•When he finds out he would make you speak trying to get every single thing off of your chest, If romantic he would sit and cuddle you, kicking out anyone else that comes in

•A little same with Platonic hut your just next to him holding his hand tightly

“Idiot..”

Sandrone

•Again with her going in depth is a little hard for me but anyways!!!

•She would confront you immediately asking you questions about it

•Both romantic or Platonic she would carry you with her on her robot holding your hard caressing the back of your hand with her thumb softly

“Quite stupid to not say something..”

La Signora

•She loves you lots Platonic or Romantic

•she knows what pain feels like same with Scaramouche

•Either Platonic or romantic she would play with your hair brushing it out, doing different styles, adding accessories anything just to clam you down

“Your hair is tangled”

Pantalone

•So when he found out he would be worried for you

•He would ask you to tell him every single thing you like to tell him

•Both Romanic and Platonic he would take you shopping, spoiling your rotten only difference if romantic he would also take you on dates aswell

“Pick anything you like darling..”

Tartaglia

•He has siblings so he also notices quite quickly so he would find you as soon as possible to sit you down to have a chat

•He would cuddle you for maybe more than a hour as you talk patting your back, caressing your hair

•He would spoil you aswell and if romantic he would take you on dates aswell!!

(Finished!! This was fun but also pretty hard to write but i uope u enjoyed!)

[wato1876]

wato im halfway thru parrots unstable vid and the way you left actually hit me so hard. ARGHAGAGRG

everyone else acting: yeah, I don't know if this is it... wato1876: *on the verge of tears, staring at Wifies, "always have a way out"*

you make me sick /pos

I’m glad you enjoyed my amateur voice acting! Everyone puts in a lot of effort, I just find it very easy to put emotion in my words, and its fun, it adds depth to an otherwise very high octane. Disappointment is very common in unstable and that tone is heard a lot, but Wato wasn’t sad because *they themself* didn’t have a way out, yes they wanted to be safe, but essentially their entire world was crumbling around them, all their friends went every which way. Wato may have a hard outer shell, and extremely blunt, but what hurts more is seeing someone who cares so genuinely much about something being ripped at one by one. If Wato was the first to go, it wouldn’t have been as bad, but seeing everyone leave before him sunk him deeper and deeper into pain. The idea of Parrot seeing his final hope seep through his hands and the devastation he must feel really is what broke Wato.

I have experienced things like this IRL (obviously not as severe, but the sensation you get leaving high-school for the very last time, and standing alone as the field slowly clears for the very last time). I react the way I do because my character has a lot of empathy (the point it hurts him emotionally), and understands why people do things they do. Wemmbu abandoning Sky Civ -> He wants to save himself and truly didn’t care if it meant risking himself. Wifies leave Parrot last episode when going to Farlands -> He just wanted what was best for Parrot since he too saw Parrot ripping himself apart.

Wato secluded himself for so long because he knew he was susceptible to being hurt, and he knows having friends/attachments is a weakness. He knows they are but still cares about people. I tried to show Wato as a dynamic character that changes throughout the videos and reacts how any normal human would. Confused and scared. Not every line is perfect and every action won’t make full sense, but when have we- humans- been perfect.

I like the humanity in a character, the imperfections. That is what makes a good character. Not their tragic downfall, but just the limits of a being.

If I had a beefier computer, I’d make something insane. Editing speed because of lag is my only bottleneck. I love stories, always have. This is just a small slice of stories I want to convey. Even End Barrens was not to what I wanted it to be.

Wato1876

Thought I should at-least give y’all one big character lore drop before I go to bed for the night. What can I say, writing is fun.

[cripplecharacters]

hello! so, i currently have an oc in the works. i dont have much for his character yet, and hes kind of a blank slate at the moment, however, whilst trying to develop him i had the idea to give him a disability; its something i dont do with my characters very often, and i feel like it could give some depth and realism to his character. however, i..... dont know where to really start with it? i have the vague idea that i think id like him to have crutches, so some sort of leg disability, but just going off that its been hard for me to find any condition that feels quite right. im unsure about making him an amputee either; seemingly the "go to" for anyone who wants to make a physically disabled character. i want to try and represent a disability thats less fetishized by the general public, and looking through this blog here its definitely apparent that a lot of people are tired of seeing basic half amputee characters with overly functional prosthetics; i wanna avoid that. sorry this has gotten a bit rambly, but basically what im asking is,, do you have advice for what i could use as just. a general starting point in this? im terribly uneducated and lost at the moment and id love some help. thank you :]

Hi!

It's great that you're interested in writing a disabled character (with care)! I'm always happy to see more writers/artists/creatives do that.

You mentioned wanting to give him crutches, which is cool! Mobility aid users in media make me happy. However, you mentioned crutches as meaning a leg disability, which isn't always the case — and while I don't have statistics on it, I believe that most crutch users do not use them for leg-only problems, and a lot of them have the not-so-fetishized conditions. Here are some suggestions of what you could give your character, which hopefully gives you some ideas. If you need, you can get back to us with a more specific question after you figure out what exactly your character has! :-) (smile)

Cerebral palsy — probably the most common reason for using crutches in non-elderly people, and the most common (physical) disability in younger people in general. If your character has diplegic (meaning lower limbs affected) CP, he could use crutches and if he has hemiplegic (one arm and one leg affected) CP, then he could use a single crutch or a cane. Cerebral palsy is generally extremely underrepresented when compared to how many people have it IRL! Just be aware that there is a lot of research involved just about the condition itself — multiple types (spastic/ataxic/dyskinetic), different kinds of body involvement, tons of different mobility aids and orthotics to learn about. There is also hereditary spastic paraplegia, which is not the same as CP but similar and progressive.

Spinal cord injury — the general assumption is that all people with spinal cord injuries are fully paralyzed below the neck or waist, and that's not the case. If your character has an incomplete SCI on any level or just a very low level injury, he could be using crutches or switch between a wheelchair and crutches. It's essential to research SCIs to have them be more than “legs don't work, but that's literally it”. SCI can come with severe nerve pain, spasticity, atrophy, and a lot of other things. Worth noting that spinal cord injury could be traumatic, but could also be congenital (spina bifida) or illness related (polio, transverse myelitis, spinal stroke, or cancer, for example). You could think that it's overrepresented in media, but SCI is generally just used as a “default condition” for why a character is in a wheelchair, and a lot of these representations are unfortunately very shallow.

Paralysis — in the monoplegic sense here. Much more rare than the rest of the things here, but your character could have a single paralyzed leg, largely due to nerve damage. Could be traumatic or illness-related (e.g., cancer, infection, or multiple sclerosis).

Stroke (and other traumatic/acquired brain injuries) — stroke can cause a million different symptoms and depending on what happens to your character exactly, he might need crutches! A big portion of stroke survivors deal with hemiplegia and could use a crutch on their non-affected side, for example. Some kinds of stroke might cause your character to have troubles with balance and require a mobility aid to not fall. Of course stroke will also cause other symptoms for your character (it wouldn't be too realistic to only have him have problems with his legs) for example speech issues, headaches, or seizures. Stroke can happen to anyone, and it wouldn't be weird to have a younger character with it. Very common in real life but very rarely represented in fiction.

Limb difference — you can definitely write a character with a limb difference or an amputation without fetishizing it! The main concern with the fetishization is the concept of the robotic limb that works just as well as or even better than a meat leg, and thus the character is “fixed”. But your character could just… not use a prosthetic. A lot of congenital amputees, people with limb differences, or with high level (above knee) amputations might do that. He could also have a leg length difference, which could cause him to need crutches (for example, Morteza Mehrzad has one of his legs significantly shorter after a pelvic injury, and he uses crutches among other mobility aids).

Chronic pain — very broad category for too many specific conditions to count. Neuropathy in the legs and/or lower back could be a reason for using crutches, for example. Unhealed, or poorly healed past injuries. Arthritis in knees or hips. Hypermobility that makes him unsteady or dislocate joints. Pain in bones or muscles where he can't fully weight-bear.

Gait disorders — another broad category (sorry). Your character could have problems with his gait and need aids for that. It could be caused by dyspraxia (I have it), ataxia, progressive muscular dystrophy (there is a lot of different types), Parkinson's disease, or a lot of other things! Could also be injury related.

And of course you could have multiple characters that are disabled to make sure that there is some variety :)

I hope that the above list gave you some ideas for your character :-) (smile) if you have more questions, feel free to send another ask

mod Sasza

[impactrueno]

I saw your twt about holding back on telling stories with serious and deep tones and it reminded me of an issue I had a while back. Im a south park fan and I loved reading deep analysis of the characters. and south park being south park, people dont take it seriously and think its just funny so it doesnt deserve deep analysis like other forms of media. I always came across comments saying "its not that deep" or "doing all of that for south park" and I used to hate that so much because why are you commenting that under the authors post? In media there is like a "spectrum" of how deep you are in it as a fan, and it doesn't make you less of a fan if you like to binge watch the show when you feel like it because its funny. Someone who makes fan fiction and psychoanalyses the characters doesnt make them a better fan than you. I hate "it's not deep" because it is that deep to me, I enjoy it, but it dismisses critical thinking and discourages deep discussions about our interests. I want to learn more about the turning point for eric cartman and the friendship dynamics between the main 4. I want to read psychoanalysis of the characters and understand why they do the things they do. I loved reading fan fics with an author that understood how the characters work and put them in situations while making it believable. Whether the content was deep and serious or lighthearted and silly. I don't see those as cringe at all. What I see as cringe is trying to downplay someones time and effort. you dont care for it. cool, just dont make it our problem.

I believe in recent years, this cringe and its not that deep mentality is linked to media literacy/reading comprehension issues. On top of the fact, that fandoms right now has been "normalized", so alot of mean and rude kids and adults are in this space not having a mature and respectful conversation and discussions, as well as zero fandom etiquette. (I understand the past wasnt this magical respectful place but this behaviour has increased compared to past years).

Please don't worry about making deep content, its super fun and there will be fans of what you write/draw that will definitely be into it.

GOSH anon you are absolutely right. cringe culture has done some serious damage to people's creativity and freedom of expression. doing things in earnest is now cringe to so many people (specifically that 18-21 age where they think they're better than everyone else and everything is cringe to them, image is everything) and they actually give you shit for it?? it's crazy. the most harmless thing in the world. whenever my hey arnold comics would leave my target audience on instagram i would get the meanest comments for no fucking reason, because i was taking hey arnold "seriously" (nevermind that hey arnold is probably the nicktoon with the most emotional depth and moments besides ginger but i digress) but hey at least i'm not the one losing my marbles over some random cartoon comic on the internet.

i think rudeness in general has been too normalized not just in fandom, but in social media in general. it's sad. the only thing you can do about it is be kind as much as you can to counterbalance it. i'd like to think that rubs off on people just like how being rude rubbed off on them.

i said that thing about holding back because i'm admittedly too hard on myself sometimes. no one is calling me cringe or making fun of me for what i do, thankfully, people have been super cool and supportive. and it means a lot to me because i'm very earnest about everything i create, even when i try to hold back. i literally cannot help being myself. it's all i know how to do. i'm just glad i was able to grow a platform where i'm free to be openly passionate about the things i like, talk about them and why i like them, the little things that i find fascinating, the emotions they make me feel, all of that shit is awesome and i wish more people did that.

[blueiight]

can i ask your thoughts on the fandom’s heavy focus on louis as an object of desire? it sometimes feels to me like people are more interested in other characters reacting to louis than they are in louis himself. i know the “helen of troy” stuff is a joke but it genuinely seems like he’s often rendered oddly passive in his desirability, like we’re looking at him through the eyes of the other characters even though it’s his story (to be clear: in the fandom, not the actual show). or am i being uncharitable? either way, you always have interesting things to say about fandom reception.

i think the focus of louis as an object of desire arose largely in response to a lot of racially-charged nonsense about show louis, namely, where a loud minority of fans tried to deny the abuse and horror of season 1 and frame louis as the primary antagonist/abuser of his own story. which in of itself had the potential to go somewhere, especially considering the feminized role louis occupies in parts of season 1. unfortunately its spiraled off into its own dead end at this point to where now people, a year and a half removed from the release of s1, can box louis's character arc into this tale of getting all the hot boys to look her way. when this is a horror and tragedy series. romance is part of that, but is a piece of the full picture. classic romance is very much horror tbh but thats just me

if we're discussing the show strictly, majority of louis's relationships are antagonistic. even with his lovers, they love him as much as they seek to control him. 'his love is a small box that he keeps you in', trailer louis saying 'i knew who i was without those pieces [of myself?]' . so on and so forth. the first three episodes of season 1 are about louis's struggle to maintain a link with his mortal community, in the midst of increasing racist tensions against the city leaders, all as he struggles to come to terms with his existence as a vampire and how his relationship to lestat fits in relation to all these pieces of himself. doubly so, there is also the nature of the second interview in present time, and the sort of antagonism between daniel + louis as louis eventually pushes daniel into burning the old tape. the latter half of season 1, episodes 4-7 is squarely about the triad of lestat, louis, and claudia, how lestat increasingly tightens his hold over them both, claudia breaking them free of it, and louis's response to such. doubly so, daniel becomes more hostile the less he knows, and the more louis's composed 'master of his instincts' personage collapses to show the broken man thats underneath. armand comes in at the end bc the interview has reached a breaking point once more [as it did in the 1970s]. i know, im looking too hard into the meme, but so much of where louis errs, where his memory falters, where history is completely revised, has to do with the question of claudia. even book interview foundationally was about this grief, though not nearly with the level of depth+ gravity the show has added to the story.

where focusing on louis as an 'object of desire' most impedes analysis has to do with claudia as well, bc if u see louis as that solely, then what is claudia to u if not a 'child interfering in [louis's] romantic affairs'? why are people already seeking to write claudia off as a wayward child unduly 'taking out her anger on louis', when it was louis at the end of season 1 who strangled her against the wall and refused to let her burn lestat? when its louis in the trailer thats throwing claudia's words from season 1 back at her, evading her questions in the cafe? when claudia is having to dress as a baby doll and advertise with a sandwich board for a theater + a coven-master that all want her dead?

i think this is by nature of the fact that iwtv is canonly gay and isnt afraid of showing that, and modern fandom is mainly interested in romance. claudia's relationship to louis is secondary, if not tertiary, to all 'camps' of this tiny tiny fandom bc she is clearly established in s1 as not being a viable romantic option for louis, despite claudia's perspective and her story taking up the second half of the first season, and will continue to be important in the second season. the 'helen of troy' fixation on his desirability in relation to romantically viable vampires [or even men] seems to be another means by which fans can ignore this part of the story, just as the mutual abuse nonsense about louis being clarence thomas the third self hating black man who stole lestat's lunchables and is 'just as bad as the rest' drowned out and continues to drown out any other conversation for the past year and a half. it is very difficult to have conversations on this character precisely bc of this state of fandom, where many people seek to crack the whip over a fictional character for not being mother teresa and having a complex response to trauma, then instead of discussing that, some seek to fixate on the fact that mother teresa can be sexy, actually. when thats not the point. why is modern louis so full of grief and all but suicidal in dubai, if not for the fact that claudia is permanently dead, he still lives, he regrets something, and wants to find the truth under it all? the jokes are cute and all, but lets put our thinking caps on.

[roostertuftart]

is there a kyman (or any other kyle ship) fic that you feel has accurately characterized kyle? lately im struggling so much to find fics where kyle isn't completely ooc be it kyman or style TT

I don’t read ky//man because it just about never feels like an accurate portrayal to me, and the ship makes me intensely uncomfortable for a whole list of personal reasons. More power to you if it’s your thing but I just don’t find that pairing very compatible on a fundamental level, even as an enemies to lovers fan. I guess it just depends on how you see Kyle or the cartman + Kyle dynamic though, and where your comfort levels lie.

One of my fav Kyle characterizations I’ve always shouted out was I Don’t Want Antibody But You by @lozislaw and I cannot recommend good fanfics with a Kyle focus without mentioning @fayoftheforest my beloved/p. but I don’t honestly read a lot of fanfiction nowadays so I’m not a fantastic reference for that sort of thing. I’m trying to get back into the habit but it’s hard with college + the multiple projects I’m working on (comic + animation MAP 🫠) to find the time to even read my friends’ work, let alone the dozens being updated each day by various authors!! One day I’ll get back in the fanfic sphere. Probably. Maybe. Unlikely but… I’m hoping.

If you’re into comics, the Bitchless AU on Twitter is pretty great imo, as is much of what you find on Insta nowadays. Tereredemanaos’ work is gorgeous (they’re more Stan focused but still), and like. Anything by Buggself is also pretty fun. Survivors and Saviors is another good insta comic, and I’ve enjoyed Euphoralide quite a bit since it’s first rendition- It’s now being redone with improvement on art and writing (which is not to say it was ever bad in the first place). 0harpies has a fun werewolf comic in its early stages that seems to be centering Kyle as the focus, and lastly, I can’t not mention the amazing short Style comic by @meteooru that’s been crossposted onto Tumblr as well. Chef’s Kiss of Style comics.

Insta is kinda a treasure trove for South Park content but if you’re looking for long, in depth character studies that are absolutely going to be completed you may be a bit more out of luck, as all of these are in progress, mostly focus on a wider plot over intensive character relationship dynamics, and lastly, there��s yet to be many SP comics that fell into the completed category unless they were intended to be fairly short from the start. Give these comics a try though, if you’re willing to take the risk on them. The art is beautiful and I like all of their various takes on the characters.

[your-bigender-big-brother]

my gender is so confusing rn that its making me feel genuinely distressed and nauseous that i dont have a lable to explain it.

i dont know if there's even a term for it...

but im genderqueer, male, xenic, and agender all at once..

sometimes itll fluctuate in intensity. like ill be 50% boy for example.

other times its all of them at once.

and then sometimes its like im noting.

i like the term gendersatyr but its a mouthfull and hard to explain to people...

i genuinely feel like im about to cry over it, my autism likes to catagorize everything. i dont know what to do, i feel so confused?

should i just say im nonbinary? it doesnt really explain the full picture though.. i dont know.

Hello! I'm sorry to hear you're dealing with this.

Labels can't always encompass the entirety of our experiences, which is why I've started using multiple labels. "Bigender" is only half of what my gender is like and is a very surface-level term. I'm both male and neutrois, which could be called neutramale. But I feel that my malehood is maverine in nature. There isn't really a term for it, but I do call myself transmaverine. I use all of these terms at once to describe my genders, which is a good way to navigate anxiety about labels.

You likely won't find a single label that covers every single aspect but there are some that can help condense your genders into neater terms.

Axenovir describes a genderless and xenic male-related gender. Agendervir is genderless and male-aligned or male-related in some way. It doesn't include the xenic part though. Agender boy is a more specific term. Xenogxnder is genderless and xenogender, so you could say xenogxnder boy. Bxy is also a genderless boy label.

You can add -flux to any one of these labels and add xeno- wherever necessary. So xenobxyflux, axenovirflux, etc. Still, those are a mouthful. Using specific labels could differ depending on where you use them. Like, you can just use agender boy or genderqueer or nonbinary as a broad go-to term when you aren't in a space where you want to explain your gender. The more specific terms can be used in spaces where it's more relevant.

I simply call myself a nonbinary man wherever I go. It's simple, it's short, and it's easy for most people to understand. If someone asks what it means, I can say it means I am a man in a less conventional way. If I'm in generally queer spaces, online or offline, I might say I'm bigender or a bigender man. I can explain that I'm both a man and neutrois. But then I get really into the specific terminology when I'm writing essays that explain my gender in-depth or if someone has very specific questions about my gender. That's where I talk about transmaverinity and the experience of having an abinary manhood (rather than a nonbinary one.) It all depends on where I am and what the conversation is. This could be the same for you.

It's tough to find terms that fit us perfectly, which is why using a bunch of labels works really well. It's not a contradiction, just complexity.

There is also the option of coining your own term! It still requires some explaining, but maybe it's a good thing to have a brand-new word that might spark some curiosity and the chance to explain all the parts that make up your gender.

Also, gendersatyr is good. I like that term. I think it allows a lot of wiggle room. Yes, you will find yourself having to explain what it means. I often find myself having to explain what nonbinary means. That's just the nature of the queer experience sometimes. - 💙💚

[whiteoutzz]

Please give me your insights/headcanons on whiteout I want to understand her more but I don't really have a lot of headcanons on her. I can't just get a grasp on her character and come up with anything that makes sense (I also don't want to accidentally be ableist when headcanons stuff for her especially since I got into writing and I don't want to write something accidentally ableist.)

Ummm i was not really sure how to approach this one, but ill try! I think its alright to not understand her as a character, as we don't even get to know her that well.

From the surface level things I guess: She is subdued at quiet and had atypical way of speaking and thinking. She likes art and has hard time relating or understanding other dragons, but we briefly see her in comfortable environment, showing that she does have specific confidence to her. And... yeah that is not everything, but alot of it is. Truth be told, we dont know much about Whiteouts internal life.

I think what makes her click to me, is understanding that the text purposefully makes her unknown. If its good or bad writing choice i dont know, but we do get few references to how Whiteout is much more aware of things going on. Depth implied but not explored, left to readers interpretation.

But ignoring what i think of this writing choice, it does serve its purpouse. There is a barrier between Whiteout and other dragons, even dragons she loves. She does not understand them, and might never be able to understand some things, but she is also probably aware of the upcoming doom. She is observant after all, atleast with specific things.

Note. Alot of the things say there this are speculation and im not fully sure if they were intended to be read that way. Because we dont know alot about her, so im just filling the gaps.

Okay so. she watches her brother slowly spiral away, and maybe she always knew that was going to happen. In general her life is pretty miserable, and i dont think she is exactly satisfied with that. With art she creates, while its her interest, its also a coping mechanism, imagining of a better future. Before Thoughtful she doesnt have any real friends beside her brother. (i know that before darkstalker assassination she hangs out within his friend group and plays boardgames but i think while they are on positive relations, i dont think she is fully friends with them. They are friendly but not friends you know?) Id imagine them (Whiteout and Darkstalker) being closer when younger, as they had only eachother, but as Darkstalker is "one going wild" she is left behind in his shadow.

She is used to feeling like not a real person (dragon). She is just an accessory to others, watcher of pseudo god dragons tearing the world apart. Everything is slipping away from her, and soon she looses her family and is left alone with Thoughtful.

Whiteout in general lacks autonomy, both in text and within the story itself. She does not make things happen, but things happen to her. She has no say in the game other dragons are playing.

And i do think she is frustrated by this, it slowly showing overtime.

Also one aspect that intrigues me, but chapter two, before Whiteout hatches. Obviously its biased since its baby Darkstalker pov, but the "Whiteout does not hear the moons" thing. Her either not caring enough or not being aware of the silver right. It shows contrast between her and her brother, with her not desiring power, or maybe feeling apathy towards her place in universe (okay this one might go little far as speculation goes but whatever). It makes you wonder how Whiteout would be if she was 3moons born animus, but that is left for aus to speculate on.

As for heacannons um. Alot of them are mostly minor projections for me, like her having chronic pain or ocd or a lazy eye or whatever. Also shes autistic, obviously, but with her coding its. Yeah she is not canonically autistic but she very much reads as so.

But she also canonically has synesthesia, which i dont have. So um.

Also im sorry but i would need specific examples of headcanons you have for her, but you are probably good, but also i dont know since i dont have any example of that. Umm.

Is this good enough of a response?

[prettyboykatsuki]

not to come at you with unsolicited praise all of a sudden but im coming at ya with unsolicited but merited praise all of a sudden (or not so sudden i guess the togame piece prompted it but i do think abt this regularly) i really appreciate the way you really underline the humanity in each character you write, particularly with the reader. i think that can be such a challenging element to story and really hard to keep open enough but i like that you get in enough specificity to make them endearing while still broad. they feel human and not cartoonish the way a reader can sometimes come off, and that makes the experience of reading much more enjoyable. i also like that you're not afraid to vary the type of reader that you write, which i think also makes them feel like potentially real people (on par with the characters you're pairing them off with). personally, i really appreciate it. i was reading the ume and suo posts today and got the sense that we would not be a very good fit as a couple like they were real people i'd potentially interact with! (not upset abt it dont worry) and that's really rewarding to me, to have someone put like real measured thought into these things. i know it's just yk silly fun but still!

(also bc you reblogged the bachira fic -- i still cry abt that btw. im also the adrianne lenker anon so everytime "anything" comes on i cry out I WAS SCARED INDIGO BUT I WANTED TOOOO with tears down my cheeks thinking abt him childhood friends to lovers superior trope fr)

dude this is gonna make me cry.... SDKSKJD

the first part of this ask scared the shit out of me but im glad it was so kind and positive!!! i think this is one of those things you get better at as an x reader writer with a lot of practice. characterizing reader can be something of a challenge but it gets easier when you keep in mind that the goal is not to write a relatable story but an entertaining one if that makes any sense.

im really glad you feel a sense of humanity in my readers bc for me that is always the goal. i want these characters to feel less like you're reading a story and kinda like you're watching them since characterization is what i do the best (hopefully dkjsd) so it makes me happy.

!!!!!! im also really glad that you enjoy my varying characterizations for reader archetypes. i know that it can be kind of taboo on here for several reasons all of which i get. but i do like writing things about the way characters lean and what types they are attracted too since it adds a lot of depth. its not that those types or preferences are any end all be all but idk... i think its nice to show variety so u can make assessments like that yk!! or think of how ur personality would interact w them yk...

(ALSO ANON ITS U!!!! i think abt ur ask all the time whenever that song comes on. u are always so kind to me thank you so much!!! CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS BELOVED)

[ben-wisehart]

hi! do you ever feel like the bingqiu fandom is binghe biased? like a lot of the time its giving.. “wow binghe is our little precious bun who deserves the world and more! ..oh and stinky neet loser sqq is so blessed to have him lul” it feels unfair towards sqq :( it makes me sad hes no ones fave but thats okay like whatever right? but even when its bingqiu hes treated like an afterthought. like we have binghe fans criticising sqq for not doing more, sj fans are frankly delusional, sqh fans think hes “too mean” to their precious hamster, liushen fans only like him bc hes a good hole/dick for lqg (obligatory “not all men” lol) idk i only follow a handful of svsss twt accs because no one seems to like him, he feels either tolerated or treated as a gag character lol 🥹

i just dislike a lot of fanon bingqiu i think? i read all the books before hopping on twitter and i see some absolute rancid takes on there like the woobification of Shaun(tm) qinghua and jiumei.. which is easy enough to avoid tbf so whatever floats their boat idc. but when i follow bingqiu accs, it feels like OC x OC rather than ~bingqiu~ if that makes sense? like i LOVE the manipulative crybaby domtop x flustered thin face subby pillow princess they have going on!! and fanon bingqiu is just.. not it? and obv id never send hate or anything (i just block and keep it moving) but it makes it kinda sucky when the fandom is already teeny tiny and a large chunk of the fandom isnt what i envisioned/expected i guess which is so odd! when they essentially erase canon!! if it’s like some queerbaity ship or whatever, people can characterise them however they want but its like CANON how they act/are in bed/etc and its all taken away!!! idk im probably just whining sorry 😭

(i included all my thoughts here sorry for the spam!!)

hey, thanks for stopping by!! I definitely know what you mean with regards to SQQ, but I will assure you that there are very much still plenty of dedicated "sqq mains" out there. My sphere of influence on twitter is heavily biased toward people for whom sqq is their favourite character, so maybe I'm not getting a representative sample of the fandom overall, but he's definitely a very well loved character and has more than his fair share of people who do him justice in their writing and for whom he's their primary blorbo!! I remember posting this on reddit a while back and more than half of the responses (though admittedly a small sample size) had him as their fave. So, I don't think he's without appreciation!

But with that said, I do get where you’re coming from. I’m not gonna talk about readers who take his actions in bad faith and actively dislike him (HOW??), but as you’ve said, even among people who do like him, we don’t always understand him as well as we could. Most fans do get on some level that he’s an unreliable narrator, but it’s still very common for people to take him at face value and completely miss his depth. He’s a funny little guy with amusing narration, but he’s also kind and selfless, and he’s also smart and witty, and obnoxious and annoying, and frankly pretty insensitive, and deeply, deeply traumatised—and a million other things! He has layers.

I think all popular characters in fandom will inevitably start getting boiled down to a few key traits. And as somebody who’s been writing fic for 15 years, it’s really hard not to let your own biases colour your portrayal? I absolutely do it with SQQ!! I focus on his kinder, warmer aspects and downplay his flaws, I’ll readily admit that. We all get drawn to a favourite character for a certain trait, and that trait becomes the grit around which our interpretations form. If you’re somebody that likes silly characters, you’re going to write SQQ and dial his silliness up to eleven. If you like kind characters, you’ll write SQQ with emphasis on his kindness. None of these traits are OOC in and of themselves, but if you start to only read fanfic and don’t revisit the source material, you can get lost in what’s popular and forget all the depth that actually made them interesting in the first place. And once you’ve grown attached to a particular version of the characters in your head, it can be really hard to let go of it. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I'll add that I think protagonists are just particularly prone to this happening because they're usually the one the audience relates to most.

Idk if any of that really addresses the stuff you were talking about. You mentioned dom top Binghe/pillow princess sqq and to be honest I’m kind of reluctant to talk about this in depth because I’ve received negative comments in the past for supposedly being anti-bottom Binghe, when all I’ve ever said on this matter is that I think it’s a bit weird to insist that “I’m scared of hurting you so I might as well let you do it” is proof that Binghe is canonically a bottom. The fact that someone found that statement so threatening to their view of the characters that they would go to my ao3 page, click on the first fic they saw that happened to feature bottom SQQ and leave their holier-than-thou anonymous opinion there is just bizarre to me.

To be honest tho, it tends to be Binghe characterisation that puts me off moreso than Shen Qingqiu. The only SQQ characterisation that truly bothers me is when people write him as willing to hurt Binghe, or willing to do anything with underage Binghe, but there is a LOT of Binghe stuff that I’m sensitive too. Idk if you read this thread of mine but like, even my friends whom I love make “Binghe stalking/imprisoning/"atticwifing" SQQ” jokes and these bother me way more than any random stranger saying SQQ would get off on spanking Binghe.

And like, it’s kind of hard because objectively, Binghe is a very dark character, so it doesn't feel particularly OOC to say he would do those things, but it's about framing. It bothers me when the emphasis is on how fucked up he is and not how hard he's trying, because it implies a level of futility that I just don’t think is there in canon. To me the beauty of him is in how much doing right by SQQ doesn't come naturally to him, but he ultimately decides to do it anyway because he wants SQQ to be happy. (I feel it needs to be said that I don't mean this in a judgy "if you write dark Binghe you don't understand him and are a bad person" way. Just that I myself can't handle that, and I strongly disagree if you think it's where Bingqiu's relationship is headed).

but idk, I've found my corner and I'm very happy here. I actually don't read fic as often as you'd think, mostly because I am sooooo picky, so I totally get where you're coming from :) but the fandom is still decently sized and very diverse, so there are always going to be at least a few people who share your feelings, if you can find them!

[gemsofthegalaxy]

i absolutely will not name names but im rereading a fic i remember really really enjoying the first time around but now im lowkey kinda astounded by the main character's lack of agency in so much of the story. someone else posted a really interesting review of a different fic, (i stumbled across it, i dont generally read reviews of fics hosted off site and im kinda neutral-to-negative about the existence of them, but in this case...) it talked about how there was a trend of this particular character being "stripped" down, her canonical competency removed in part to facilitate the romantic narrative, as well as the overall plot. in the review they were like, "well, usually i dont like the propensity of fic to do this, but in this case it was just done so superbly its hard to fault it even if its a tactic i am generally critical of". and since that was pointed out to me, im noticing it more in other fics where like.

ugh

i GET it. i get it when youre writing a fic and you know intimately what its like to be highly competent or an overachiever (or told, growing up, that you were those things) but now you're struggling so you kinda wanna put your blorbo through that. and dont we always talk about putting blorbos into situations and how fun it is, the more psychologically taxing and devastating the better? but. most blorbos are men, generally. like. in general fandom trends male characters get fixated on. and yeah, maybe they're a little woobified but it CAN (not always, but can) come across, um, differently when we're putting women characters into situations that also sorta downplay their canonical competence and smarts and agency and baby-birdify them a little. like its still fun, but it feels different, has this slightly sinister or weird undertone. kind of like how a man can be a manchild and that narrative is funny and it can be deep, but it can also be shallow, but when it's a woman who has failed to launch there's this complexity about, it invites a depth because you have to ask but isnt she supposed to be mature? arent girls more mature than boys, weren't they taught to be, we need to examine this and why she's like this etc etc. the fact of the matter is its hard to look at the same tropes transplanted onto women characters and not view them a little differently (which is one of the reasons why i think people like to stick to the cishetman protags, it does reduce the inherent sort of complexity that other identities not only invite but sometimes force you to consider. i say this as neutrally as i can because i think its incredibly understandable we have this tendency, it goes way beyond individual taste and inclination)

anyway. the kicker is like, i literally started writing my own fic a few years back that had these same themes of this same woman going Through ItTM and being a mess and making poor decisions so again, I GET IT. i totally understand the temptation to woobyify a grown woman the way i might a man, but i still cant help but feel a bit more skeezy about it now that im a more mature woman myself. i do like lots of different types of characters, i can be okay with women who are passive or stereotypical, but having a character that is ... not... those things but shaping a narrative that makes her into that gets a teeny TIiiiinyyyyyyyyyyyyy side eye from me. or maybe its just not what im interested in at this very given moment and in a year or so ill brush it off and eat it up again. lol

[definitelynotshouting]

Hello again! Im so sorry to hear you feeling well when i sent in my ask the other day :( hoping that the life series drop tmrw will provide a much needed distraction for whatever you need it to :)

-☀️

"I know the, um, this morning didn't go… very well… but… if I could—""

"Good, he thinks, but it's a rote sentiment, not half so vicious as it had been only hours earlier."

- oh??? 👀 i am looking

- Im assuming this is the meeting they had about taking grian back to hermitcraft (and the revelation that grian feeds on emotions to survive)?? Very curious

- Now that metaphor about the childhood coat being stained is a lot more painful

-☀️

"even stolen energy can't make up for that."

"everything he'd never had the first time he— well, when Grian, the real Grian— had died."

- "stolen energy" omg i am biting ankles over this.

- And the "real Grian" thing. Yeah

- This is one of those moments where grian's whole situation is so much more potent and vivid. Imagining living as myself, but knowing im occupying someone elses body, and having my very lifeforce sustained by others?? Its not hard to understand why grian internalises and hates himself for being "a parasite". Idk thats probably very obvious to everyone else but this is the first time ive really thought about all of what that entails

-☀️

"Starving hands reach out from the depths of his mind to pull him back, stumbling, under that dark waterline."

- Love how the word "starving" implies that G falling asleep is more of a survival mechanism forcing him under so that his body can feed rather than only exhaustion

-☀️

"he's pressed a knife to every promise he's ever made since the day he emerged,"

- shaking you

-☀️

"His existence lies in the shadows of these distorted fractures, jagged hopes and dented dreams, forever fated to cut his hands on the fragments."

- AHHHHJSLDHSJSVSN

- Man 🧍

- Dont have any words. Just tears.

AAAAAAAAAA SUN ANON I ALWAYS LOVE SEEING YOU IN MY INBOX!!!! Gods im so glad these lines resonated with and interested you, they were a ton of fun to write

I have a brain today so i can actually expand on some of the things youve pointed out instead of just aiming heart eyes at you for the compliments fjsndjsjejke so for the first point, yes!!! Scar and Xisuma returned to the others post chap 6 and were like "Well that sucked!! Wow!!!!" I wouldnt say theyve given all the information to everybody, because they themselves aren't exactly ready to discuss that beyond the immediately required basics, but everyone else was given the gist: convo went badly, Grian is being taken back to Hermitcraft on Scar and Xisuma's insistence. Both Scar and Xisuma feel fucking horrible for how that conversation went down-- nobody had a good time there. So while the plan is to eventually get everyone up to speed, they're sorta taking this time to be miserable about what was essentially a fight that ended in stripping Grian of his autonomy

There's also a little cross-communication happening here in the background, btw: Scar and Xisuma have a pretty big picture now, but Tango, Mumbo, and Pearl have been fed that false info abt the potions being potentially useful. So, yknow :) just smth to keep in mind there haha

Your point about how it almost feels like Grian falling asleep is a survival mechanism is spot on the money. It's essentially him falling into a state of low power mode, where everything but his most basic of functions is shut down for a brief time in favour of preserving energy-- i would honestly consider it more equivalent to a coma than actual sleep. Hence Tango's concern, and subsequent relief when Grian woke up; the entire time he was unconscious, he was fully unresponsive. So, yknow. Real nerve-wracking to see, especially after that prior full week of unresponsiveness as his body struggled to maintain itself.

Tango's role here is indeed deliberate, both on a watsonian and doylist level!! The reason however is the exact same for both: Tango is a little more removed, personally, from this situation. Grian was-- and is-- his friend, ofc, but he's not as close to whats happening. Meanwhile, Xisuma is in 24/7 server babysitting mode, Pearl is not fit to be a caretaker, and Scar and Mumbo were tearing themselves apart by trying to sit and look after him. So Tango got assigned caretaker duties 😂😂😂😂 it was an effective way to divvy up tasks and keep everybody busy, and somewhat hilariously, so far Tango is the only person Grian isnt supremely upset with for one reason or another. And thats why he's continued to stay in caretaker mode lol he is truly just. The only guy who can rn

I also just sorta think of him as a surprisingly emotionally savvy fixer-type, in terms of personality. Like. I think he just gets what people set down in front of him, yknow? Although hell if he knows what to do with it once he's got em. He fumbles a lot, sure, and he defaults to fix-it mode, but he is getting the message when Grian essentially says "i dont wanna talk anymore" without actually saying it

As for Grian and his headspace, rn, theres definitely a complexity at work here where he wants to die and is very genuine in that, but he IS also grateful he's seeing his friends. He cant deny that. As painful as it is, he still loves them very much, and ultimately he's trying to do this for their own good as much as for his own sense of punishment and relief. I think like... now that he's really creeping up on what he has planned, and the pieces are suddenly becoming a reality, theres a bit of dissonance he's fighting against to stay on course. He wants his friends happy; he also wants to die. He's so overwhelmingly tired; he is, as much as he feels he doesnt deserve it, glad to have his friends close. That sort of hopelessness mixed with a warped sense of comfort that he got to see and interact with them one last time. If that makes any sense. Its a bit of complexity i wanted to make sure i added in, because people are so rarely fully decided on any course of action they choose to take, without even a single flicker of doubt (and especially one so final as this). Im glad youve picked up on that, and that you appreciate what i was trying to set down with it!!! :D

This was such a lovely message, as always-- you are very sweet, sun anon, and i appreciate you lots :] i hope you're having an excellent day!!!

[inbetween-beast-and-man]

Look you KNOW I love this old man and how deeply deeply diseased he is, but one of my favorite things about how you write him is how none of the humanizing you do in his characterization excuses the choices he's made. As much as [redacted] will jump through hoops to rationalize and justify the shitty things he does, you're always like "nah this guy sucks severely" which is both funny and appreciated. There IS also so much depth to him that instead of playing like a straight up tropey cop bad guy his story (including how much he sucks) is immensely tragic and the choices he makes are understandable, if not good. I lov you and I lov this old man

ACAB INCLUDES FINLAY YEAH I CANT SAY IT ENOUGH HE DOES HORRIBLE THINGS N HE SUCKS SEVERELY

But that deff dont take away from his reasoning. he genuinely does think hes making some good choices. not all. but deff some. and he'll be so fuckin bullheaded about it its not even funny.

OURGH ALSO YEAH FINLAY HAS A LOT OF DEPTH AND HE'S SUCH A COMPLEX LITTLE STRESS TOY TO BITE AND CHOMP AT. he's not always super open. but once he opens up its like. oh yeah. i get it now. he sucks. and he's a lil delusional and somewhat aware that he justifies things that simply cannot be justified and he will do it anyways. but it does all. come. from somewhere. its a tragedy.

I should draw finlay more when he was still a teacher. not carefree. but just a better time for him. its unfortunate how many of his own choices lead him on the path that he is now trying so hard to crawl his way out from.

EITHERWAY THIS WAS VERY SWEET AND GOOD FOR MY HEART THANK YOU SO MUCH AND EVERYONE ELSE TOO OFCRS. I will be sending anons later myself cuz man. everyone has such awesome characters. and everyone has been so very kind and welcoming and just nice to me and each other and I cannot express how much that is appriciated. <3 man. man. im like that horse in the beach but its got this soft happy color filter over it. yall make me feel so loved and welcome and thats amazing

[jigenstits]

huehue all i have is jigen alcoholism, but this isn't that

he's somehow touch-starved and touch-averse at the same time. he doesn't like when people touch him, but he also craves human contact. even the lupgang aren't exempt from this, but they have a higher chance of success, that he'll actually let them touch him. because he trusts them with his life, he's accepted that they have to touch him... and those are the moments he loves. for some reason. i guess he likes when people care about him.

why do i hc that? dunno chief, but i get that vibe from him.

second, goe has a hidden artistic depth(tm). i have sent this as anon to a different blog, i can't remember their name but screw it, i'll stuff it into your ask box too.

he does calligraphy. not the boring european calligraphy, that's more of lupin's domain. no, goemon does eastern calligraphy. there's several styles, based on what i found out. i don't remember them all, but i think goe would do zen calligraphy, as a different form of meditation (drawing a near perfect circle is pretty heccin hard), and cursive. the crux of cursive lies in its fluid form, the kana is simplified, shapes are connected into one elegant, fluid form. like goe's swordsmanship! if he writes haikus, he'd definitely write them as calligraphy too.

i wish i had more to offer, but alas.

p.s. i get really giddy when i see lupin things from your blog(s), i like your stuff (and the asks too!)

-🥃🚬

YES jigen is very odd about contact... i feel like its partly bc hes afraid of doing physical affection "wrong" somehow.. like he overthinks it so much hed just prefer to avoid it alltogether sometimes (and me being infected with brainrot: the only one really exempt from his whole "no touchy" mood is lupin. that man can touch him all he wants)

and YESSS oml ive always loved the idea of goe being artsy, being good with a sword gives him a surprisingly steady and precise hand for penmanship and general sketching/painting (lupin is secretly very jealous bc that stuff takes so much patience. which. lup is definitely lacking in)

also aaAA im so glad you like my posts?? :00 im- ahfggfhdghdfhgkjdj