#mewriting

[johannaflowers]

The twenty-fourth day of Writemas

I loved joining this challenge, although I‘ve just been part of it for the last 6 days. Thank you so much @agirlandherquill for organizing it and coming up with such beautiful prompts.

The prompts I used for this last iteration:

• „What do you mean you don't know how to dance?“

• A stable

• The chill of rain

Perfect for a bit of fluff on christmas.

———

Robin stood at the outer edge of the large tent, sipping mulled wine. The circus troupe had pushed all the seating aside so more people could fit. It was barely half an hour past the starting time they‘d announced but the tent was already filled to the brim.

She smiled. When René had suggested the party she‘d not been sure if it was a good idea, given the recent events. But looking at this enormous crowd it seemed like it was exactly what both the people of Rottenburg and the troupe had needed. Desperately so.

She let her gaze roam over the guests, halting at the musicians that had brought their instruments to improvise some dance tunes. A woman and a man from the town had joined as well, she playing a violin and he a sizeable drum he was carrying in front of his torso. The music they all played was raw, unpracticed. But none the less melodic and inviting. Maybe she would dance, too. After another cup of wine.

„I can‘t believe so many came.“

Robin turned to her right, where the sheriff - Emil, she reminded herself - had made his way through the masses to join her, carrying a paper cup of his own.

„I can‘t believe you came“, she replied and smirked at him. It still felt odd to talk to him without hating the guts out of him. But they‘d arrived at a truce when they‘d worked together at finding the culprits behind the harassing of the circus troupe. And if she were honest with herself, he wasn‘t half as bad as she‘d believed him to be in the beginning. Obviously she would never tell him that.

He turned away and looked into the crowd. „Me neither. But being an official comes with some responsibility, I suppose.“

Robin chuckled. Maybe he was more than okay (if she squinted). He cared for his people. And he always stood true to what he believed. Which was definitely more than she could say of most people she‘d gotten to know in her life.

„Say, can I ask you something?“, he said casually, his gaze still trained at the crowd.

„Go on“, she offered and took another sip from her cup.

„You have real, living elephants with you - right?“

„You‘ve seen them in the show, have you not?“

He turned to her and fixed her gaze with the eyes of a child, overflowing with curiosity. „Could i see them up close?“

Robin tilted her head to the side and arched an eyebrow. Maybe she even liked him (if she squinted).

She drowned the rest of her cup and dropped it into one of the baskets they‘d set up. „Follow me.“ Without waiting for a reply she mingled to find a way to the exit, hoping he‘d stay behind her.

As she stepped out of the tent she immediately felt raindrops on her skin. After the heat of the party inside, the chill of the cold dropplets gave her goosebumps. But she welcomed it, the stuffy air in the tent had been a bit overwhelming.

She jogged over to the tent they used as their stables and ducked through the canvas. It was warmer inside, the animals gave off enough heat. She could still hear the music from the large tent, although drowned out by the rain dripping on the roof.

Emil came in right behind her and raked his hand through his wet hair, pushing it out of his face. She‘d seen him do this quite a lot by now and to her dismay she didn‘t feel repulsed by it. Quite the opposite, in fact. Or was that the mulled wine talking?

„Tada“, she said, spreading her arms in a big gesture. „These are all the animals we have at Le Cirque du Mirage.“

Emil walked passed her and stared at the camels in disbelieve. „I‘ve never seen anything like this before.“

Robin smiled. She sometimes forgot how unusual her life was, how very differently people in towns like Rottenburg lived.

„The elephants are there“, she said and pointed to the back of the tent.

He walked over to the enclosure, quite visibly filled with awe. Robin followed in his wake and leaned against the fence, taking in his reaction.

„They‘re marvelous“, he said.

„Yes, quite. They‘re called Banya and Kato.“

Kato had turned his back to them. He didn‘t much care about people - unless they came with food. Banya however was as nosy as ever and immediately came closer to inspect the stranger. She only came to a halt when she almost ran down the fence and nonchalantly dropped her trunk on Emil‘s head.

He winced under the sudden weight but quickly regained his composure and carefully lifted his hand to touch the elephant‘s trunk. As she didn‘t withdraw it from him he started to pet her softly.

„Which one is that?“

„Banya. A girl.“

„She‘s beautiful.“

Robin smiled and nodded. „She is. And quite impetuous. Seems the party has gotten to your head, too, my girl, huh?“

Emil turned over to Robin an looked at her for a moment.

She couldn‘t entirely figure out why - was it his dark eyes fixating her with a hint of curious desire? Was it the music of the violin that made her sway to its melody? Or was it the wine that went straight to her head? Either way, right now, all she wanted was to get closer to him.

„Would you like to dance?“, she asked, her mouth already speaking before she could even think about it.

He shrugged. Not the answer she‘d expected. Although, what had she expected? She couldn‘t even say whether he had accepted the truce between them, much less if he also thought she was okay, maybe more than okay, maybe liked her.

„I don‘t know how to dance“, he added, as she didn‘t say anything.

„What do you mean you don‘t know how to dance?“

„I‘ve never learned it“ he said. The guilty look on his face amused Robin.

She walked over to him and took Banya‘s trunk that still rested on his head and pushed it aside. „Can I borrow him real quick?“, she asked the elephant. Banya snorted and treaded the straw beneath her feet. „Thanks, girl.“

Robin turned around and took Emil‘s hands in hers. They felt cool, almost cold, compared to the heat of her own. „It‘s simple, really“, she started to explain. „Just put your hands here“ - on her shoulder - „and here“ - on her hip - „and then we follow the music.“

He found her rhythm immediately, which didn‘t feel like he‘d never done this before. But she didn‘t want to spoil the moment, so she kept her mouth shut.

The violin changed to a slow serenade just that moment. Emil smiled at her. She smiled at him. He was an okay dancer. And she definitely liked him (if she squinted).

—-

Thank you so much for reading. The end felt a bit rushed because it is already past midnight and I‘m tired. But I think this scene gave me some very good ideas for continuing with the story. Hope you enjoyed it! Good night and have some nice christmas days.

[showersofstardust]

Remember that someone's behavior or lack of interaction is someone communicating too

If they don't engage,

If they avoid,

If they ignore,

If they deflect,

If they don't notice or acknowledge you

If they don't respect you,

If they don't apologize,

If they don't show interest,

If they don't listen,

If they make up excuses,

If they lie,

If they're always too busy,

If they take advantage...

This is them communicating. Honor yourself and find people who want you as much as you want them.

If they wanted to, they would. If they knew better, they'd do better.

[omokers]

first lines meme :3

tagged by @whetstonefires

Rules:  Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to, and see if there are any patterns

Going through my AO3. Unfortunately, I'm not a very prolific writer (yet!) and most of my writing has been focused on two works; the translated works I can't count, and anything before 2021 I don't want to look at. I'm going to be looking at the first line of each chapter instead. I'm also going to be including the first lines of the newest chapters I'm working on.

1. cathexis; CoD körangi priests AU. A priest returns to the church he was raised in, only to discover a sinister plot at large involving ritualistic murders and mysterious baby disappearances. He joins forces with a man who introduces himself as a Vatican exorcist to solve these mysteries.

“Horangi hyeong.” A small hand tugged at the edge of Horangi’s cassock. “Hyeong-aaaaa.” 

“—margin of between 8 and 10%. Despite this, Bell Motors has experienced a rise of 1.8%, while unprecedented losses of 9.6% have been recorded overnight for competitor K&W Mobility—”

“Okay, this is going to be the last one!” Horangi exclaimed, out of breath.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

(WIP) “We can’t always choose what’s best,” Father Jerome mused. “Sometimes it’s enough to choose the better option.”

2. rays crepuscular (as the sun makes its grave); DSMP vampires/hunters AU. A young vampire hunter deserts his ranks for his best friend, who has been turned into a vampire; they must now escape a city full of powers they can't fight before they are caught up in plots far beyond them.

His best friend lies dying in his arms.

Each tick of the shitty, off-time hotel clock lies in the space between them, every moment stretching and snapping like a rubber band pulled between the thumbs of a bored child in class.

The alleyway that leads to the small abandoned square where its dry, cracked fountain greets him.

I want to tell you a story. It’s about how, a very long time ago, the first vampire came to be.

And a cheer for absolutely fucked up sleep schedules, Tommy thinks distantly, as the incessant ringing of the twin bell alarm clock they’d been provided with in the hotel room reaches through the arms of sweet, sweet slumber and so rudely rattles him.

(WIP) From this day onwards, to the best of my knowledge and abilities, I swear to fulfill this covenant until my last dying breath:

To be honest, I don't think I've been writing enough to be able to derive any kind of meaningful rule from how I open these things. I think I've adopted different styles for each of my more recent works, if only because most of the second one listed here was written before the first.

It may be an unconscious choice on my end, beginning with the tense of each work and including several stylistic differences between the two. But, also, it could just be that my writing style has been evolving over the months I've spent "seriously writing" (or, at the very least, trying to write consistently instead of once a year when inspiration strikes).

Super clearly, with the more recent work I've been writing I've been beginning every single chapter with a line of dialogue. It puts the reader right into the middle of a scene without explaining where this is or what's going on. It does, however, serve to establish or foreshadow some things.

Meanwhile, with the older work. I've begun each chapter with some kind of explanation in most cases? It's a description in the three cases that isn't just someone talking. In the last (unpublished) chapter, the first line after the mantra that the character is chanting is another descriptive line about what the narrative character is doing.

I think I could stand to make the first lines of each chapter shorter and less convoluted in some cases. But then again, the first sentence of a full work as opposed to a chapter within it benefits the work when it's more effective in whatever way you want it to be effective in. Short and concise to be a hook, long and rambling if that serves another purpose. There's so much for me to learn still about writing, but I stand by the belief that anything, if used skillfully enough in writing, can serve a purpose.

Tagging @redactedcrow, @scifimagpie, and... stopping there because I don't have any more writing-prolific mutuals on tumblr. Don't feel pressured to do this. At all.

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

Why?

I’ve done it. It’s over. 

I let out a deep breath that turns into a burp. My belly lets out a gurgle. 

Another gorging come and gone. A party sized fast food order completely inside my fat, burgeoning, hefty gut. 

All that remains outside are wrappers, a few empty bags, and an empty cup. 

I lean back in my chair. It creaks slightly. I’m so full I can barely keep my eyes open, my body devoting all my energy to digesting my oversized meal. I let out a long, breathy sigh. 

The buttons on my shirt are straining and it has ridden up. It’s my favorite shirt. Soon I’ll grow out of it. It bothers me. But I cannot stop giving my stomach what it needs. 

I let my shirt just roll up the rest of the way. My full, satiated belly softly plops out in my lap. There isn’t really any space for anything else. My stomach easily covers about half of my gigantic thighs. I rub my huge, sensitive, engorged gut. Involuntary moans escape me. My smooth skin is soft and warm, my squishy fat presses in with my hands as I firmly push and precede over the swollen, fleshy orb in my lap. 

I’m so tuckered out. My whole evening. My valuable and limited free time…gone. Just like the 1000s of calories of food, my needy, heavy, inflated gut has consumed that entirely too. I have no choice now but to sleep off this multi person gathering sized meal. I can’t remain conscious much longer. 

I must get up. It’s so difficult. My belly weighs me down. It all sloshes inside me as I stand. I’m so fatigued, and downright sluggish from the new contents of my stomach. My breathing is labored and short. I’m simply out of breath. 

I waddle out of my dining room. My heavy steps are slow, I can’t manage anything fast. I feel dazed, so encumbered, so overladen with delicious food. My belly doesn’t jiggle as much in this state. It’s so solidly filled. 

I stop to inspect the damage I’ve dealt in the bathroom mirror. My shirt is draped over my torso like a tent now. 4Xs don’t fit like they used to. I slide it off. My belly is taunt up top. My stretch marks more pronounced. Soft, squishy flab hangs off of me and sags low. My deep overhang shocks me as usual when I turn to the side. I am so wide, and even wider like this. I scoop my prize up in my arms, lifting it. This pushes out another burp. It’s a relief taking the pressure off my back for a moment, achey from lugging this enormous thing around all the time. 

Thoughts dance through my mind as I hold up my bloated stomach. 

Why do I do this? I eat so much food constantly. Entire evenings, hours on end devoted to consuming it all and digesting it and cradling this fat, overfed gut. 

I drop my heavy belly on the counter. A loud, meaty plop echoes off the walls. It has been sagging slightly into the sink. I use both hands to manhandle my squishy, overstuffed pride. Pure ecstasy. My bellybutton gaped more fully open. My thick, blubbery side rolls squished against the edge of the sink. My gut has become a solid, fleshy sack of pleasure. A bulging, globular trophy of unrestrained gluttony and hedonist overindulgence. It’s simply covered in decadent fat. My whole body is overladen with lard. 

Why? Because my belly always gets what it wants. It’s pampered. Spoiled. It needs to be filled until it no longer can be. I must oblige. I have no choice. It is a command. I must obey. 

Why? Because it feels so fucking good. 

This is why.

[whumping-in-the-dark]

"Say it. Say it or I'm shutting the door and it won't open again until you're dead out there."

[nkhrdstyvskrrtskrrt]

📎 YOSANO AKIKO ANALYSIS

UNDERSTANDING & ANALYZING BUNGOU STRAY DOGS YOSANO THROUGH THE LENSES OF THE REAL YOSANO AKIKO'S LIFE

WC. 4,000

DISCLAIMER: I am no historian or literary expert I am just obsessed and mentally unwell, if u cannot tell, teehee <333 If this will ignite any hate or hostility (not this post’s intention), please set your sights elsewhere and just scroll. I made this because I love her character and BSD in general to a bone-shattering degree. I hope you have as much fun as I did while researching and writing this, enjoy!! (also English is not my first language forgive me for any grammatical errors ty)

There might be a part two for this, but for now, this is all my tiny brain could offer >:))

IMPORTANT NOTE: There will be a lot of omitted, summarized information that has been subjectively extracted or abridged. This is not a complete, rich historical account but research done to make connections and parallels to better understand and theorize about BSD Yosano’s character. I did not finish reading the entire biography, which is why this is only the first section of a bigger whole.

However, if you desire to dig deeper about her in an unabridged manner please kindly refer to the source I will list below. One last thing, please don’t hesitate to add your own thoughts, I am encouraging you to do so, I will appreciate it so much actually!

My primary source;; Janine Beichman - Embracing the Firebird_ Yosano Akiko and the Birth of the Female Voice in Modern Japanese Poetry-University of Hawaii Press (2002). [pdf can be downloaded for free @/libgen]

Allow me to initiate this observation with a passage directly extracted from her biography (the one named above): 

“Yosano’s father Òtori Sòshichi (1847–1903), was the second-generation owner of the Surugaya, a well-known confectioner that specialized in yòkan (sweet bean paste) and sweet dumplings.”

With this passage in mind, I’d like to remind you of this scene in the manga that hinted at BSD Yosano’s circumstances and background prior to being selected as Mori’s assistant at the fortress. In this panel, she mentioned that she was tending to a candy store before getting drafted. 

Now, drawing from the passage we read regarding the real Yosano Akiko and applying this to BSD Yosano—it’s not far-fetched to assume that the candy shop she was tending to was run and owned by her family. Normally, we could say that familial separation, especially at such an early stage of childhood would be quite hard on the child. However, if we consider the following facts from the real Yosano Akiko’s childhood and parallel it to BSD Yosano again, we could conclude that the separation wasn’t as difficult nor emotional for her when Mori selected her, because she was called in this book an ‘infant exile.’

Starting from the very birth of the real Yosano, her father was severely appalled by her because she was a girl. Moreover, he deserted their home for a week without even looking at his daughter’s face. Her mother became distressed because of the week-long absence of her father, (fainted, even) and couldn’t breastfeed her properly, resulting in the infant Yosano being sent to a maternal aunt accompanied by a wet nurse.

Two years later, due to convenience rather than the will to come back, Yosano returned to her familial house because her aunt had a new baby of her own to look after and raise. Though at this time, a new baby was born, too, at the Otoris. And this baby grew up to be the brother to whom the adult Yosano dedicated her poem ‘Thou Shalt Not Die.’ 

Since the arrival of this baby boy, Yosano’s existence has become easier to tolerate—see this actual snapshot from the passage I am referencing:

‘ while at the Òtori home a baby boy had finally arrived, making it easier to tolerate the unwelcome girl.’

As if to rub in the author’s title for the real Yosano Akiko (infant exile) even their servants and relatives had a distaste for her and her personality, viewing her as the ‘difficult’ child in the family. Here’s another direct quote from the biography book:

‘The relatives chimed in disapprovingly: “‘The younger brother is better behaved; his older sister is a little much.’ From the apprentices to the little uncle on my mother’s side all predicted better things for my younger brother than for me. Having to listen to all that didn’t feel very good.” Even the servants rubbed it in.’

Additionally, Yosano Akiko herself wrote that she never knew the warmth of a mother or father’s lap and that her parents had an inherent antipathy towards her that was not inflicted on her siblings. She wrote, that other women are troubled concerning their in-laws, and how to operate as human beings alongside them but this same worry is her very reality in her own family’s household—blood and flesh—she served her parents as if they were her in-laws and endured hardships by their hand and in their name. Here’s a snippet from the biography:

‘“Other women become brides and struggle to manage a household, but for me it was the reverse: from the time I was a young girl I served my parents as if they were my in-laws, and endured emotional and physical hardships.”’

Another possible factor that enriched an equal sentiment of apathy within Yosano was despite the extremely young age of three she was coerced into attending school—which, as made clear in the biography, was something she disliked. What gave her parents this idea? Well, her father was quite the ardent enthusiast of the science of producing superior human beings. With this belief in mind, it’s no surprise that when he mistook the large forehead of the young Yosano as a sign of intelligence, he sent her to study immediately. 

But Yosano was too young, too passionate, and excited still to engage in play with other children, to have fun with her friends because she was hardly above infancy, only three years old. Despite the awareness of the adults around her that she’s not of school age yet, she was shamed for her disagreement—as said to her by one of her maids: “See what a good girl Miss Takenaka is. Aren’t you ashamed of skipping school?” 

Are you seeing a parallel? BSD Yosano, although just 11 years old, was chosen by Mori to be the core of his immortal regiment plan, because similar to the real Yosano’s situation somebody (her father) saw something urgent and, perhaps special or advantageous in her which is why she was pushed into studying—in BSD Yosano’s case Mori saw this potential within her and incorporated her into his plans, and drafted her from what seems to be her family’s candy shop.

One thing I’d like to emphasize again is that in this drafting of BSD Yosano, the fact that she agreed or at the very least went along with Mori even if it meant being separated from her family, is because she (if we parallel it once again to the poet Yosano) was never really seen as important or someone capable in her family, they did not have faith in what she can do or her future, they did not have confidence in her character. Regarding this sentiment here are two excerpts from the biography: 

‘The restrictions themselves (which were not uncommon then, at least in Sakai) did not hurt as much as the misjudgment of her character and what she might do were she free: “It goes without saying that in a house with many employees, and particularly in a morally lax city like Sakai, a daughter had to be strictly supervised. But there was no need to go that far with a woman who took as many pains to protect herself as I did. I thought the lack of understanding of my feelings that my parents’ attitude showed was outrageous and when alone I often wept over it.”’

And: 

‘Like her parents, the teacher hurt her pride by assuming that she was less intellectually and morally advanced than she actually was, but politeness kept her from objecting. 

And as stated by the creature in Frankenstein (see how I always find a way to mention it haha): “And tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?” 

Why should she nurture deep affection for her family—relatives and servants too, even her teacher—when they will not reciprocate even a pittance of the same love and care? Or even respect. Take a look at this paragraph from the document:

‘But the results of this parental coldness were not entirely negative. Just as 

ignorance of her ancestry liberated Akiko from the weight of family tradition, 

so multiple caretakers and the lack of parental affection weakened her sense of 

filial obligation. 

‘What gave her the strength to defy her family’s expectations 

and flee to Tokyo in her early twenties? Surely, the intensity of her love for 

Yosano Tekkan and her own literary ambition were most important; but would 

a more cherished daughter have been able to make the break so decisively? The 

seeds of the later revolt were planted in the infant exile.’

For this very reason, I conclude that if anything, being drafted by Mori was, in the 11-year-old Yosano’s eyes, an opportunity to prove her competence and worth and realize her goal—saving people’s lives (although in this, she has been failed). As a matter of fact there is a compelling possibility that this conviction to save lives was another element of the real Yosano’s personality and beliefs. It has been written in the biography that Yosano Akiko’s father was a fan of stories of heroism, stories that involved the act of protecting and saving, and what makes this relevant is that he also loved sharing these stories with his children.

From a young age, her mind was fed with these noble stories, and children are impressionable. That said, the young Yosano Akiko inherently possessed a special empathy and protectiveness over life, in support of this let us read through another snippet from a passage;

‘One summer when Akiko was around eight she was sitting up there in the evening cool with her siblings and some cousins, when one of the older children remarked, “A night when the moon and the stars are close means fire.” When the others had left, Akiko gazed up at the vastness of the sky. Feeling sorry for the children in any house that might burn and worried that the fire might reach her own house, “I tried to think of some way to increase the distance between the little star and the moon.”’

As additional support, kindly read this excerpt as well:

‘In the morning, Akiko’s parents returned from her sister’s house. As their own manager politely expressed his relief that the Takemura home was unharmed, Akiko thought sadly to herself, “I wouldn’t mind having the Take-muras’ storehouse burn down if only the Gusei girl had not turned into a charred corpse.”’

And the last addition to further highlight this:

‘So much in this story of the great Sakai fire is typical of Akiko’s view of the society in which she grew up. She shows us all the negatives of the situation: People turned out in force either because they wanted to keep the fire from spreading to their own houses or because they enjoyed a good disaster as long as it was someone else’s. Even her own family thought it natural to rejoice that their daughter’s storehouse had been spared rather than grieve for the dead Gusei girl.’

The young poet Yosano Akiko, even compared to the adults in her environment bore within her a deeper reverence for life, the actions of the adults and their selfish concerns did not amuse her, she thought very negatively of them. The grief and pity she felt for the single casualty, the girl, meant that the loss of life be it a loss of what people consider an insignificant person, mattered to her. For her, every death is worth grieving. And should never be a source of entertainment or material for gossip (the villagers made festivals and dances inspired by the incident). Taking all this into account, it’s not much of a shock that BSD Yosano was so driven to save lives, why it mattered to her so strongly, why, she was also so severely devastated about what her ability has been used for. 

A brief interlude before further digging into the real poet’s early history, I’d like to draw more emphasis on the previous points made—specifically how she’d rather have the storehouse burn (despite having a mother who’s from a lineage of merchants, and Yosano running the candy shop business as well) if it meant seeing a girl she didn’t know too deeply, live—leaping to the future, the poet’s adulthood, for a moment, to affirm further BSD Yosano’s principles regarding the preciousness of life above all else.

In her most, as called in one article, ‘inflammatory’ poem which is ‘Thou Shalt Not Die’ I want us to focus on this particular line in the poem:

For you, what does it matter if Port Arthur Fortress falls or not?

The poet Yosano Akiko was so adamant in stopping her brother, Port Arthur be damned, because it was common knowledge at that time, false or not, that serving the military was volunteering for your own death—there were rumors of the Japanese soldiers being sent to suicide missions—and for what cause, even? Well, that’s not the right question to ask, let’s correct it to what 11-year-old BSD Yosano expressed in her refusal against Mori’s command to continue healing: Should any cause matter over human life? 

Remember, she disagreed when he (Tachihara’s brother) told her that her ability could change the world. She hoped only to save those she could reach. She was aware, of her limits, of the consequences, and that she could not and should not aim for such causes.

Alright, now that we can clearly see how the real Yosano Akiko’s qualities reflect onto BSD Yosano. Back to the early past.

As young as eight, Yosano Akiko tended and shouldered a huge portion of their business’s management, because, as said in the biography her mother was “sickly” while her father was “irresponsible” so she felt that she had to shoulder their responsibilities, here’s a direct quote: ‘ So Akiko felt that she “absolutely had to” stay home and help her parents, managing both the store and the household.’

But because of this, she earned a position of authority in the household, (additionally, by the age of eighteen, she has salvaged the losses from her father’s stock investments.) analogous to—as she stated herself—how a servant acting on behalf of the master can carve out his or her own sphere of autonomy. 

Our Yosano, if we again, try to see her in the real author’s light, must have been reminded of the corner she was driven into in her younger years. Reminded, of how the adults around her could so easily burden her with duties disproportionate to her age and how powerless she was after all amidst all of it.

This time though, she had hope; hope that she could start anew and could finally leave behind a life riddled with mistrust, and belittling, that she could choose for herself what she would labor for and dedicate her efforts to.

That—in the absence of her hometown and the people she grew with, the absence too, of admiration and belonging would change. 

For a brief moment, it did. 

The soldiers adored her, praised her as an angel, and treated her as someone capable—one made her good coffee, drew her a portrait, and Tachihara’s brother even created a present for her with his ability. She was needed not as some fallback for responsibilities nobody wanted. She was necessary, in a way she approved of. She was not a better-than-nothing exile anymore.

Furthermore, quiet acceptance didn't shackle her speech and response to the adults surrounding her in the fortress. The author, Yosano Akiko during her time running the business, often had to put on a polite face and way of speaking to the customers and called out herself when she seemed childish; moreover, she had to endure the incredulity of the prominent figures in her life, and deal with its damages internally. Take this excerpt, for example:

‘Like her parents, the teacher hurt her pride by assuming that she was less intellectually and morally advanced than she actually was, but politeness kept her from objecting. Among her friends, Akiko could be open about her ambition and her pride, but with adults, she apparently felt she had to choose between a pained silence and outward disrespect, and the latter was impossible for her.’

Meanwhile, in the fortress, she could allow herself to be less restrictive with how she interacts with them. 

Even with Mori, her superior, she let go of the hesitation to speak her mind. It’s no surprise then, that by the end of it, her spirit was broken.

This opportunity for change—to make a change, meant the entire world to her. At last, she was able to help in the way that matters to her and appeals to her heart, she did not choose to be there because there were no other options. She was there for a purpose she believed in. Her service was met with gratitude, they accepted her presence, not simply tolerated it.

Until things went south. 

And it did in ways that reignited the severity of an existing fear within our Yosano. How, and why is this the case? 

The poet, until about fifteen years old, nurtured within her as she wrote, an ‘irrational anxiety about death,’ which ‘shaped her inner life.’ As if to fuel her unease, rumors circulated in Sakai (her hometown) about a certain family’s daughter who died bathed in blood after suffering for three days straight. This rumor made the young Yosano Akiko weep, imagining such a kind of suffering. And with these thoughts haunting her, she came up with a specific way in which she would accept death:

‘“If I am to die, let it be at night, so no one will see. I don’t want my suffering exposed to the light of day. I want to breathe my last alone at night in a dark room, letting death’s cruel hands claim me with lips firmly sealed, not a hair of my 

head out of place.”’

She even contemplated suicide, since it is the only way for her to die on her own terms.

Oftentimes, though, she’d take what she could to stay distracted from her mortality, which is mostly done by reading:

‘So here, in addition to the intellectual curiosity, the pleasure, and the inner

rebellion that motivated Akiko’s early reading, is another motive: escape from 

anxiety about her own mortality.’

She attempted to pacify her thoughts and emotions about death, through religion. However, despite her consideration, she ended up rejecting it. From the age of three or four, she hated the scent of incense being burned, going as far as to rush past the many temples that burned them. She disliked, too, sitting beside her parents with her hands clasped in prayer. Affirming and elaborating more on this, allow me to show you this passage:

‘The Buddhist teachings and legends they told her seemed no more than “fairytales for grownups” that could be of  no help to her in “preparing for death.”

Once she “asked if Gautama Buddha had really existed and, if so, what country he had been a citizen of ” and was told that she “would receive divine retribution” for her impertinence.

Every month her mother and her friends heard a lecture by a priest, but as soon as 

the lecture was over, the priest would join them in “ordinary gossip, speaking ill of people behind their backs.”

Akiko “realized that these believers were not even one-tenth as serious as I was about... life and death and that even after twenty or thirty years of visiting temples and praying they were still not saved.” If they had no hope, she reasoned, how much less had she. And so she 

concluded that it was “useless” for her “to expect to be helped by Jòdo Shin-

shû.”’

What did encapture her, and attract her (as said in the biography) then?

Alongside the stories of heroic virgins in Japanese myths, she too was moved by Sokkyò Shijin which was the Japanese translation of The Improviser, translated by—guess who? Ougai Mori. Yes, him. Now I want you to witness this excerpt from the biography:

‘“I envied the pure, noble life of virgin empresses like the goddess Amaterasu. The imperial virgins of Ise and Kamo also filled me with longing. When I look back now on how I felt then, I think that, while squarely facing reality, I flew off and thought of my future in beautiful, idealistic terms, and wanted to stay a pure, undefiled virgin, like an angel, all my life.”’

Considering the new information, we can once again connect it to our Yosano and conclude that BSD Yosano also shared the poet’s fear of death and mortality. Besides her disconnect with her family, she wanted to prevent others from experiencing the fear of dying in a gruesome and undignified manner, which is why she allowed herself to be drafted for war. If you’ll allow me to speculate further, I’d say dying for her (at least she believed) should be a choice, or at the very least should be aligned with the personal preferences and ideals of the person dying—and this principle of hers, augmented the horror she has felt and has bestowed upon the soldiers because what exactly did the weaponizing of her ability bereave the soldiers of, exactly? The control they have over their own death. 

She wanted to save them from death, and she did. Until they didn't want to—until, she didn't want to, anymore. But she, a child, never stood a chance against what she was actually there for. She was there as a tool to convey a new age of weaponry which were abilities.

The scene with Kaji must have allowed these memories to resurface, he called the train bombing incident an experiment, and in a sense she too was an experiment—like the soldiers, she was there to further the idea and be the evidence that abilities were the weapons of the future that will completely change the battlefield, without any guarantee that she or the soldiers would achieve success, or leave intact.

And they didn’t—not them, not her.

For now, this is all I have for our Yosano.

Or is it? Before we end this I’d like to speculate even more about the significance of Mori as a figure in our Yosano’s life—the poet was moved, her heart attached to the real Mori’s use of language in his translation, in how he wrote the nun—perhaps, BSD Yosano put an equal amount of trust and faith in Mori, his intentions, his treatment of her. Given the real Yosano’s experiences and applying the same to our Yosano, she has every reason to be distrustful and skeptical of suddenly being drafted out of all the older, more experienced people by another adult. So there must be something about BSD Mori’s language, too, that persuaded her and moved her the same way the real Yosano was affected by it. For the first time she believed—relied on him, despite experiencing so many disheartening memories dealt to her by older figures in her life.

Okay, I’m serious now, this is the end. I hope you enjoyed and most of all I hope you appreciate her more as a character, that would be the greatest achievement this post could make.

my main is @ice-devourer jic u wanna talk more abt this, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING OMG!

[chronalshifts]

fandom: Arcane (2021)

relationships: Jayce/Viktor

tags: Sickfic, set in S1 between Act 1 and Act 2, in which I take wild liberties with Jayce's family dynamic, Meeting the Parents, Fluff, Humor, Awkward Questions, Pre-Relationship

________________________________________________________

What he saw when he emerged into the kitchen, still groggy, his blanket cape trailing behind him, was worse than anything Jayce could have imagined.

Sitting at his kitchen table, sharing a pot of tea with his mother, was Viktor. The man looked thoroughly at home there, his posture relaxed, smiling at Jayce’s mother as she chattered away. There was something on the table between them. Jayce squinted, then as his mother turned a page, confusion curdled into horror in his gut.

The photo album.

Or: Two months into his partnership with the most brilliant man Jayce has ever met, he's hit with a terrible bout of man flu.

Viktor attempts to help by bringing Jayce some work notes to keep him occupied. He manages to make everything far, far worse.

_______________________________________________________

needed a good healthy dose of fluff to get me through these trying times, so i wrote some early-relationship act 1 jayvik, in which jayce's mother absolutely thinks they're dating, viktor thinks it's hilarious, and jayce just wants to get some goddamn sleep. enjoy! <3

[thatphantomtroupelady]

How good (some of) the troupe members would be at giving you the silent treatment? (Part 1)

You're dead if Machi, of all people starts giving you the silent treatment. What did you even do?? This'd be her last resort for when she's seriously pissed off, since she actually prefers to talk things out. And she'd be scarily good at this, completely shutting herself off from you. If you nag at her, it'd only get worse.

During this time, she would talk normally with all the other troupe members, but you could still see a hint of annoyance in her voice throughout. The best way would be to give her some space first and then, when the time is right, sit down together to talk it out.

Phinks believes himself to be the king of giving others silent treatment but he's actually awful at it. Still, he tries to stick through with his plan (despite his many slipups).

If you're feeling particularly mischievous, you could even play around and see how many times you can trick him into talking to you. Although if you cross the line, he'd actually get very upset so don't push it too far.

The best way to stop this would be to just go up to him and sincerely apologize. You'd have to completely swallow your pride too, since he'd be going on and on about how right he was all along in a sarcastic-ish tone.

But it's actually his way to 'downplay' the situation in his mind, so if anything you should be grateful he won't be taking that incident seriously anymore. If you'd start arguing back at him then, it'd just get a lot worse. If he's in the wrong though, he'd come running with an apology with you soon enough.

Chrollo would be very very good at it at first. Even if you'd live in the same house, he'd make it so that you'd never be able to even just see him walking by. He'd be extremely petty but also if you could ever catch a glimpse of him, you'd see that he's actually very upset. He'd spend all day burying himself in books, not even bothering to read them as he'd just keep overthinking about the situation.

Eventually, you'd find him on the dining table, nursing a cup of coffee in hand, looking exhausted. He'd look up at you and just sigh. If you'd ignore him then, he'd be absolutely heartbroken because it'd be his way of inviting you to have a civil conversation. He might even leave the next day, which would only make things worse.

The best way would be, as with machi, talk. You'd prepare a whole script for what you'd want to say and he'd simply pause and listen. Then, he'd start softly talking and invite you to sit down. Turns out he made a cup of coffee for you too, just the way you like it (or some other beverage if you don't like coffee). If you're able to sort everything out, he'd go super affectionate mode because he'd actually be touch-starved/lonely all those days. You could watch a movie/cook together or go intimate if your relationship is like that.

[ternaryflower53]

For the ask game 🖊️ Lyn/Veil

(ask meme here)

🖊️ write a drabble for you

“Trust me, he’s not worth it.”

Lyn looks over to see who’s sat down next to her—a darkeyed woman a couple years older than her, wearing a long white coat that she’s surprised isn’t stained from the dingy bar seats. “Hmm?”

“Kaladin.” The woman nods to Lyn’s commanding officer, who’s sitting in one of the booths at the back of the bar, laughing at something Teft is saying. He looks better than he usually does, not as weighed down. “He’s not interested. Figured I’d tell you instead of letting you find out the hard way.

Lyn sighs. “Right. Figures.”

[meeenaaakshiiii]

How far would you go chasing the sun??

Until the ocean kiss my feet and asks me to relax while singing to me the melody of crashing waves.

[jesterjamz]

[showersofstardust]

I'm thankful for my husband, and how he loves and supports all of me - the best parts, the fragile parts, and the not-so-pretty parts.

I'm thankful for my dad, who continues to grow and find new ways to show love to me. For being a person who always chooses growth and love over the pain, and shows up even when it's painful. He's one of the bravest people I know.

I'm thankful for a friend who is always there when I need her most. Who loves me for who I've been, who I am, and who I'm becoming. She always celebrates my victories with me, without hesitation. We laugh, we cry, and we celebrate together. And that's all I could ask for.

I'm thankful for my entire in-law family. They've taught me what "normal" is, what love is, and how to show up for others while being who you are too. They make love and family look easy, and I'm starting to believe them that it is.

I'm thankful to be me. To have opportunity, to have my health, to have experienced so much, and to be here on earth. Life is not good or bad...it is life. And I'm thankful for the life I'm building so far.

[omokers]

Chapter two of Cathexis is up!

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

Self Centered

Make her self obsessed. Buy her a new mirror, a new camera, a new light. Make her look at herself more. She needs to be self absorbed. She’s perfect. You made her this way. You love how she is. Make her believe it, too.

Get her more makeup, more piercings, more tattoos, more nails, more clothes, more hair, more fat, more implants, more of her.

Get her whatever she wants to look prettier for you.

Get her more. Make her more.

Grow her.

Use her together. Watch her together. Her body is for your pleasure together. Just review her constantly. Look at her constantly. Show her how much you love it.

Bend the world around her. Make the world revolve around her. Put her at the center. Let her take her time. Let her set the pace. Let her be whatever she wants. Let her take hours.

Why don’t we just spend a few hours looking at you while I tell you how much I love how you look? Let me review your body with you and tell just how much I love it all.

Let’s do this every night? It’s like a game. You stand in front of the mirror. I stand behind you. I inspect each and every part of you. I tell you what I like about them. I love them all. You love them all. We love them all. You can be our event this evening.

I’ll lift, and pull, and tug, and squeeze, and slap, and bite, and kiss, and mark all these parts I love. Everything that makes you you. Your body.

Let’s put your pictures up. Let’s put you on the tv. Let’s get you painted and drawn and sculpted. I need it to be clear. You’re art. You’re my muse.

You’re mine.

[whumping-in-the-dark]

Caretaker pretending to hate whumpee so that whumper wouldn't leverage whumpee against against them-

Cue clueless whumpee feeling betrayed by caretaker's harsh words :(

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

🫡