#long story short scenario

[nottheweirdest]

Play the 'tell me your trauma without telling me your trauma' game by sharing your comfort character

[takatul]

Twisted Wonderland self-aware!Yuu except they’re empathic.

When I say self-aware!Yuu I don’t mean a scenario where Yuu transmigrated into Twisted Wonderland with memories intact.

When I say self-aware!Yuu I mean someone who knows themselves better than anyone else.

They know they have flaws. They know that, sometimes, their flaws will get in the way. Whether it’s shutting down emotionally, not being able to express themselves properly, or something to do with a physical ability. Their flaws will always follow them around. Even in Twisted Wonderland.

And yet, self-aware!Yuu is still kind. Still loving all of their strengths and flaws.

Ace needing a place to stay after Riddle off’d-his-head? “Yes, of course you can sleepover.”

Deuce breaking down after letting his delinquent side out? “No, you’re not a bad guy— you just protected me and Grim from those bullies!”

Riddle having a crisis after his overblot? “I don’t accept your apology. Not yet at least. But I can understand why acted this way… you’re allowed to feel angry about your past. You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

No matter how wrong the opponent is, self-aware!Yuu always empathizes with them in the end.

Maybe one day, someone confronts them about it. I can see Leona or Azul or Rollo and maybe Jamil. They’re people who have experienced and or seen how terrible people can be.

“Why are you so nice all the time? You’re too thought. Too kind. Good people like you always end up last.”

Perhaps self-aware!Yuu will look at them with a stoic face. Perhaps a shocked expression, accompanied by a frantic gasp. Perhaps even small laugh at their question. And just as the confronting student was about to retort again, self-aware!Yuu will smile.

“Well, I’m not a good person. I just do what I think is right.”

Self-aware!Yuu will sit down, watching activities unfold around them— heart still bursting full of kindness. They’ll pat the empty space beside them. An invitation, but it’s up to the student to take the initiative.

“It’s everyone’s first time living after all. May as well make it kind.”

Soon enough, if the student plucks their courage, they’ll sit and slowly learn how to become self-aware too.

banner credit: @bunnysrph

[canisalbus]

Role-Reversal guy here again, your addition to the AU was so sweet and so true. Love the idea that what gets Machete to finally let go of his desire of power and control is seeing Vasco dejected and trapped. Having too choose between his life's work and the political influence that probably took him years to build (especially as a "low born") and the love of his life in another universe, but this time, he can't find a way to compromise.

This Vasco can't love him the same way and be himself the same way if Machete doesn't finally take the bullet and realize that abandoning all for love is a option. Having to go back to his roots and having to live a quaint life is probably really hard for him, especially with Vasco taking years to fully recover of the indoctrination and pain, but I think reopening a small library in the country-side and having Vasco as his "totally platonic roommate" makes everything worth it in the end.

Thank U for listening to my rambling, you answering to the first ask really made my day. Continue being a amazing artist and honestly, a amazing writer <3

.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Been a while, ain't it

[whumble-beeee]

The Name of The Game

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game. 

If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…

Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]

* * * * * * * *

“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”

The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly. 

Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.

“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?” 

He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.

 “Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”

Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–

He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive. 

Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible. 

Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.

“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”

Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”

Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”

He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.

“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

He didn't actually even hurt me, did he? 

“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–” 

I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you. 

He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.

“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”

Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down. 

And just stared.

Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?

“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”

“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”

Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”

Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”

“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”

“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”

The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.

Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!” 

Deeby snorted.

“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…" 

He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.

“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”

Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”

That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?

“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”

Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”

Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.

“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”

Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”

“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”

Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”

Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.

“Why?”

“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”

“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”

“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”

He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.

Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little. 

“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”

Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.

 Hm. Stan may have gone too far.

“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”

“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”

Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.

Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.

But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.

“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”

As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.

A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.

The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…

This really was hopeless, wasn't it? 

He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain. 

But the light would still die all the same.

He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!

And this bitch–

“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”

Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.

“No. I don't.”

Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.

“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”

The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…

“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”

Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound. 

“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”

Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs. 

Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.

“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”

Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.

“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat. 

“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!” 

“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”

He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.

He could never stop himself.

Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.

No. No, no, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.

“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.

And silence.

And the entire world went still.

Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.

His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.

At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.

“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”

“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”

The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.

“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move. 

“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”

Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'. 

All the same.

“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”

“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”

“Alright, Stan, enough!”

“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”

“The name's Declan.”

The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What–… What did you just–?”

It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.

“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”

“I– wait–!”

“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”

Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed. 

He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!

“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”

“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”

Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes. 

“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”

Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.

“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”

Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!

Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash. 

“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.

Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”

What if you come back with more torture tools? 

What if you don't come back at all? 

I still have more questions for you. 

You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt! 

I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.

Even you are better than no one at all.

“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”

Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”

And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence. 

Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He clutched the jacket closer. 

Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.

Declan.

Declan Cansano.

Professional Superhero-Hunter.

Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.

And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe | @lovethiswriting

[lightasthesun]

you know what I think would be really funny?

Truth or dare or something similar with pre-relationship codywan.

[paimonial-rage]

continuation of ur kazuha reply: him not gaining feelings consciously doesn’t eliminate the idea of him gaining feelings unconsciously. hypothetically, let’s say he does gain feelings unconsciously but eventually realises of his feelings, how would he take to that? would he be the type to be disturbed at his feelings or is he more accepting? basically, how would kazuha take to realising he has a crush on someone? — @milkstore

You’re definitely right about him gaining feelings without realizing. I’m going to be honest here, the way he’d react to falling for someone would probably change depending on the situation. That being said, if you want the answer I like the most… Although he’d see the signs, he’d stubbornly ignore them. He’d notice that he’s drawn to reader. He’d notice he can’t ignore them. He’d notice he wants to stay with them. But giving in would go against what he believes he needs to do. So he’d do his best to avoid reader, while also simultaneously being unable to ignore them, so he’d be drawn back.

If you ask my personal opinion, kinda going back to his character quest and the Golden Apple Archipelago arc, Kazuha is the kind of person that tends to ignore things that makes him uncomfortable. He prioritizes having his peace of mind over everything else. I’m not saying he’s ignoring trauma from the past, but I believe he has a tendency to convince himself that he’s okay with things when he’s really not. I mean, both events focus on his relationship to his family. At the end of both events, he says he wishes to learn more of his family and to fulfill what he perceives to be his obligations to them. But where did we see him after? Barely in Inazuma.

So to say he’d be either disturbed or accepting would be inaccurate, in my opinion. Kazuha is like water. He takes the path of least resistance. Feeling something toward a situation represents resistance, so he’d rather just pretend it doesn’t exist. He’ll only confront it when he absolutely has to. I kinda go in more about it here and here.

[stergeon]

for the writer ask

💭🚦💛 💌

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

this is a real marketing major-ass answer (from your local marketing major), but i love sharing knowledge and telling stories. writing’s one of those things that’s a bit of a compulsion for me—i’m always writing something. i took a five-year break from fiction writing before i stumbled ass-first into fanfic last year, but even in those years when i was focusing on my career, i was writing guides and trainings and a ton of other stuff—just not anything fun, lol.

writing is also so cathartic. sometimes i set out to tell a specific story, but at other times, a particular emotion gets me in a vice grip and i have to put it to words before it’ll go away. my stories tend to wind up as emotional dumping grounds as a result.

i don’t write things pulled directly from my own life, but there are bits and pieces of myself and things that have happened to me scattered throughout stuff i’ve written, and usually when i’m about 75% of the way through a piece, i’ll realize it’s absolutely related to something i’m currently going through. funny how art works that way, even when you don’t intend for it to.

and occasionally i just have a fire lit under my ass about an issue and i get so hot about it that i gotta compile my thoughts. looking at you, silver snow

🚦 What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

look, i would love nothing more for them girls (pick whichever girls you please) to have a happy ending where they kiss and are stupid in love for the rest of forever. i love reading those kinds of stories. but in my heart of hearts, i love an ambiguous ending. i like when there are still questions after the story ends. i like thinking about where things could go or how the characters will go on after the events of the story. like, shared space could be read as having a happy ending, but i don’t really think it is. and with the victors; the vestiges, well. you’ll see :0)

come to think of it, i’m not sure i’ve ever written a happily-ever-after, but i don’t think i’ve ever written a 100% bad ending, either. i read too many bury-your-gays stories and watched too many sad european queer coming-of-age films in my youth to ever be happy putting that kinda thing out into the world. i want to write about love with all its ugliness, but not despair or hopelessness. i think what most appeals to me about an ambiguous ending is that lingering feeling of hope. it’s not the same as the kind you get from a happily-ever-after, and something about it speaks to me.

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

honestly? how to take criticism. i took a creative writing class in high school where we had to read our work out loud and then receive feedback on it from the other writers in the class, and that did a lot for me. going into that class, i’d already been writing for forever and had won some little local writing contests and such, so i was a wee bit of a pretentious douche. but i’d never gotten real critique before beyond, essentially, spelling and grammar checks. it humbled me lol. it made me grow so much as a writer, and i could see where i needed to improve or where my head was wedged way too far up my own ass for others to follow. it also helped me recognize strengths i didn’t know i had, and that was huge. it’s easy to get into a self-doubt spiral when making creative work, and good, constructive criticism can do so much to help avoid that.

to this day i love critique. i like knowing what worked or didn’t work so that i can continue to improve as a writer and do better next time. did my themes land? did something really work, but another part fall flat? i’d love to know!! i try to treat everything i write as practice for the next thing, and frankly that’s helped take some of the pressure off so i don’t go into total Perfectionist Mode.

i know critique is kind of a sensitive topic in fan spaces, but i think that’s because a lot of people have gotten unsolicited criticism that is purely critical and isn’t constructive. but getting good, constructive criticism will do so much to help a person grow as a writer. it’s scary, and sometimes it hurts! writing is very personal for most people, and it stings when things aren’t received the way you think they will be. but i know i’ve grown more from having my failures pointed out (and, very importantly, having the good things about those efforts acknowledged) than anything else.

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

actually Just answered this in another ask!

[acealistair]

pls send positive vibes my way

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

The tag rambles in (the post about moth/dead!us fluttering around Foul Legacy) have given me even more random angsty ideas hehehe

Also, for a bit of size context, I personally would see us as an Atlas Moth (they're very pretty, just like everyone here <3).

"in an alternate universe Childe vanished and a sparkly moth started following you around" Ack okay but the simultaneous misery and nostalgia at getting a mini version of the big moth that we love so much. Honestly, I think that prospect would just break us, so here's a few ideas and whatnot: - Underside of the moth's wings would be sparkly, while the topside would probably be some sort of dark purple. - Antennae that look like Legacy's horns <3 <3 - Literal-moth moth would probably try to stick around our hands as much as possible - Unfortunately, we can't pet him like we could when he was mothman. Because, y'know, fragile creature and all that.

"ohhh if the moth gets hurt (because it's so easy for them to get hurt) Foul Legacy starts sobbing" - Moths can't fly again if a wing breaks, unfortunately ;-; - Frankly, I can indeed see Foul Legacy just end up sobbing at a wing of ours being broken (ooo that's a new idea, maybe I'll touch it later...) - Us, with a broken wing, crawling over and around both his claws and mask, also maybe nestling in his fur(hair)? - Uncertain if a soul moth (as I'm gonna call us) needs nutrients like a regular moth. However, if we do, then Foul Legacy may just stop by forests or something frequently in order to keep as as healthy as we can be <3



~ :D Anon (Sorry it took me so long, was busy with tests ehe)

Note: I removed the link, hopefully it'll send this time? If it does, then woop-

aaaa yeah tumblr asks can be very VERY finicky especially on anon for some reason??? once i tried to send one in and it wouldn't let me because i had too many commas, tsk tsk!!! (original ask here <33)

Foul Legacy little moth: !!!! oh my goodness imagine you're in that state where you're trying so hard to cling onto hope, trying so hard to seem fine so you don't worry your friends and family- and it seems like the little moth that started following you everywhere only helps you heal, or at least people think it should since it's a constant, comforting presence

but the moth knows the truth- it knows how you sometimes break down when you're alone in your room, no matter how happy you try to seem during the day. it knows how you cry into your hands, your sobs of "where could he be?" as you despair over your lost Abyssal monster, your missing Foul Legacy

the little moth can only perch on your fingers, fuzzy antennae waving in your face like it's trying to wipe away your tears, and despite your sadness you still find the energy to cup your friend in your hands and smile wearily- just as kind as Childe remembers

you little moth: Foul Legacy will break if his tiny moth companion gets hurt- even more so if it was by him, even on accident. his talons and armor is sharp, deadly to something so small and delicate, and he cradles the moth in his hands and weeps. the little insect flicks its antennae, almost as if it's trying to reassure him, but all he can see is the rip in the poor thing's wing

he doesn't know the moth is you, intent on keeping him company even after death- he simply knows that it feels familiar, that the creature is dear to him and someone to be treasured, for when else will a moth willingly become friends with a beast? he swears you keep you safe from now on, allowing you to snuggle into his fluff or hair, away from his claws and teeth. occasionally you'll go and perch on one of his horns, happily enjoying the breeze that you can't fly in anymore, at least not as well

on particularly peaceful days he tentatively allows you to sit on one of his claws, basking in the sun and looking awfully proud of yourself despite being a moth. you flutter your wings and he flutters his back, and Legacy can see you happily waving your antennae in the air

at those moments, Childe knows peace

[lamelanee]

Me: I like them.

My friend: Omg who do you have a crush on?

Me: Well, idk if I’d call it a crush. It’s more like… a platonic crush.

My friend: Ohhh, so it’s like a friend crush, where you just really want to be friends with them.

Me in my head: I want a relationship where we are dating and we hug and maybe give each other kisses on the head, and we love each other. Everything like a normal relationship, except there’s no pressure to do anything. Like…. It’s platonic love. They are mine and I am theirs, but we don’t have to anything except hold hands every once in a while. I want to be their friend and their partner. “Partner.” That’s the perfect word. “Lover” could also be used to describe us, but that usually comes with a bunch of romance. I want a partner who is my best friend who I love who I rely on who is my everything. And our relationship is our relationship. What we do, we do, what we don’t, we don’t. We don’t even need a label. As long as we are in the same page about our relationship and what it means, then we are soulmates.

Me actually: Uhhh…. Yeah, sure.

[scalproie]

I have a whole essay about vegeta in me but my phone is at 9% so youre all spared right now

[tariah23]

I’ve been writing some goiji and it made me think of you! I hope you have been having a decent time. Ijichi nation is rising 🫡

This ask is akin to dangling my favorite treats in front of my face, I feel like a cat about to attempt to wake up their owner because they’re hungry AF

[rhaenys-queenofkhyrulzz]

Sup moots it's ya girl rhae coming to you live from her home 2 days after brutally stabbing herself in the eye with a wooden staff

[bunnie-the-idiot]

the kids online safety act passed the u.s. senate.

long story short (for anyone who hadn't heard of this before) the kids online safety act, aka kosa, is a bill that will censor online content and resources for lgbtq+ matters, reproductive healthcare, activism (INCLUDING PALESTINE AND LIKELY OTHER CRISES GOING ON LIKE IN CONGO OR SUDAN), mental health, etc. everywhere--its effects likely won't be contained to just america.

today, july 30th, 2024, the senate passed it 91-3. it has officially moved to the house of representatives.

is this a pretty massive setback? yes. do you have every right to be scared, sad, angry, or whatever else about this happening? absolutely. but should you give up hope completely? NO!

even though kosa passed the senate, the house is on break/august recess at the moment. we have around an entire month to get emails, calls, and faxes in to house reps, maybe more depending on when they decide to vote on it.

should it pass the house and get signed into law, we still have a whole 18 months before it actually goes into effect. this is plenty of time for digital rights orgs (e.g. fight for the future, the electronic frontier foundation) and other groups that oppose it to file a lawsuit against it. even if, worst-case scenario, it flies through the house immediately after the recess ends, we can still fight this up to march 2026.

so, yes, remember what's at stake here, but also remember that it's not over yet. we lost a battle, not the war.

below are some resources to learn more about kosa and how to contact your reps (first link) + a page that lets you directly contact progressive house reps, sign an open letter opposing the bill, and view others' testimonies against it (second link):

FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.

[sereniv]

apologies are hard and can be embarassing

but life is too short to let your grandma go to bed sad