#no traits anchoring me in my past

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Write a Character

For creative writing to have as deep an impact as possible, you need to give the reader strong characters they can relate to on a personal level.

By borrowing from tried-and-true character archetypes and giving them your personal spin, you can create heroes, villains, and sidekicks that will affect your readers as if they were real people they knew.

Come up with a backstory

Crafting a backstory can help you flesh out an interesting character profile.

“When I’m dealing with characters,” says legal thriller author David Baldacci, “and I’m trying to explain somebody's situation and motivations, you have to look into their past, because [the] past always drives motivations.”

Ask what experiences your character had in elementary school or high school that shaped who they are today. Your character’s backstory can greatly inform your plot.

Develop a character arc

A character must evolve throughout a story.

“The character has to change,” insists crime fiction writer Walter Mosley. “The character doesn’t have to become better. The character doesn’t have to become good. It could be the opposite. He could start good and become bad. He could start off hopeful and end up a pessimist. But he has to be impacted by this world that we’re reading about.”

Plan out your storyline based on your character's goals and how achieving or not achieving them will change them as people. This sort of template can help anchor your narrative.

Do research

If you plan to set your story in a specific locale or period, do enough research to make your characters seem true to life and believable.

“What does it mean, for instance, in the Tudor era to be a male person?” asks Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale. “What does it mean to be a female person? What do those things mean when they’re at different social levels?”

Empathize with your characters

No matter what the type of character you’re developing, try to find some reason you and your reader can relate to their internal conflict.

“You’re living with these people every single day for months at a time—in some cases, years at a time,” says acclaimed children’s author Judy Blume. “You had better feel for them. So, for me, yes, I have great empathy for them.”

When people can empathize with characters, they’re more likely to find them compelling.

Experiment with different approaches

If you usually write characters from a particular point of view (or POV), change things up to challenge yourself.

“Write about someone entirely through the eyes of their friends and family,” suggests journalist Malcolm Gladwell. “So do a profile of someone where you deliberately never talk to the person that you’re profiling.”

There are plenty of ways to craft compelling character descriptions—free yourself up to try new alternatives.

Give your characters flaws

To craft believable characters, you need to give them flaws.

“One, it makes the characters human, just by default, because everybody recognizes that we all have flaws and mistakes,” David says. “But two, it gives you plot elements and plot opportunities because somebody makes a mistake. Why? Because they’re flawed.”

Learn from real people

Pay attention to real people’s mannerisms, personality traits, body language, and physical appearances.

Do research, and be respectful, when you want to write characters with backgrounds that you are not familiar with. Become familiar with different people's cultures, sexual orientations etc.

Talking to people about their experiences will help form your character’s personality.

Let your characters surprise you

Character development can proceed down a host of different avenues.

“Spend a lot of time with your characters and getting to know them,” Judy suggests. “And the way that you get to know them can be different from the way I get to know them. But my way is: They don’t come alive until I write about them, until I put them down on paper.”

As you write, your character’s motivation or perspective might change from what you originally planned.

Play characters off each other

Ask yourself how a secondary character’s personality might thwart the main character’s motivation.

“One of the best ways, as I said, to develop a character is to put that character in relationship to another person,” Walter says. “So as they talk, as they fight, as they work together, we find out more about who they are and what they are.”

The character’s close friends, adversaries, and acquaintances might all have different effects on their behavior.

Take an organic approach

Over the course of the story, be ready for your characters to surprise you as much as the people you know in real life might, too.

Your characters may take on a life of their own.

Avoid static characters by letting yours have their own lives and personalities. Let their stories take you where they lead.

Writing Notes & References

[musamora]

𝖎'𝖒𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 「𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲 𝔡𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔦」 ༉‧₊˚

from anonymous ⇢ can I request a fanfic Nikolai or Dazai nsfw? maybe it could be a new coworker that he’s interested it or something, honestly I’m fine with anything but i just an idea!

content. f!reader. not-safe for work, alcohol, bathroom sex, bruises, choking, clubbing, creampie, fingering, hickeys, implied/referenced fleshlights, jealousy, misogyny, perverted dazai, pet names (baby, dearest, good girl), possessiveness, protectiveness, praise kink, semi-public sex. not proofread. 4.2k+ words.

author's note. i cannot believe how long this request took for me to complete. it is the first in a series of requests that i've received in the past two months that i'm finally getting to, but it's here! and this is weirdly my first full BSD smut fic, so sit back and enjoy the ride ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. it started as a night at the club and then became something much, much better.

After multiple bouts of terrible run-ins with the press, Fukuzawa had made the executive decision to hire a media liaison as an intermediary for their discussions with the news. And she was, at least in Dazai's eyes, the perfect little thing. He almost fell over when she strode through the door—well, he actually did. He had dropped to his knees and begged her to kill him, grasping onto her delicate hands for the first time, only for the sweet woman to dismiss his proposal with a wave of her fingers and a concerned contort of her lips.

And God, she was perfect.

She walked around the office with such charismatic confidence, one that rivaled his own, always clad in a fashionable pair of dress pants that shaped her ass just right and flared at the bottom to compliment her legs. Her blouse was even better, with puffed sleeves that bounced at every step and a collarline that exposed just the right amount of cleavage. It was the perverted mummy's dream.

However, he liked their new liaison for many other reasons��he wasn't that shallow. (Name) She was so easy to talk to and kind to her co-workers, even with a sassy flare rivaling Doctor Yosano's. And even though she didn't have an ability, she held herself up with wit and intelligence alone—he couldn't help but admit that the smirk that curled onto her very kissable-looking lips whenever she outsmarted someone made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

His personal favorite habit of hers had become the one that centered entirely around him—obviously. (Name) always made it a habit to check in on him, especially once she realized his suicide quips weren't just a ploy to get closer to women. It had started with a weary checkup and an occasional smile but blossomed into a friendship laced with jokes and playful banter.

She was such a charmer.

It had been quite a busy day for the agency—though it typically was—involved in another city-wide event that had placed every citizen on their toes. So, to his dismay, he was forced to admire her from afar, watching her hold off intrusive media outlets with a grace and dignity that she solely wielded. Though he couldn't help but notice her rapidly dwindling patience—it was apparent. The scrunch of her nose as she listened to the misogynistic rambles of news anchors or the overly-sweetened tune of her smile as she confronted a demeaning photographer—all little traits he had fallen for.

He knew the next person who even looked at her funny would face the wrath of a she-demon.

And he couldn't wait to watch.

"How's our charming Ms. (Name) doing on a fine evening such as this, hm?" he mused as he rolled towards her desk, spinning circles as he sat backward in the chair. A softened smile, starkly contrasting her prior annoyance, appeared on her face, shoulders slumping as she relaxed into her chair.

"I'm doing fine, Mr. Dazai," she mocked, hands settled near her hips. "But if I have to talk to another snobby reporter, I may commit a murder."

She leaned towards his chair, dramatically batting her eyes. "You'd bail me out, wouldn't you?"

He smirked—this back-and-forth banter had become more and more common between them, much to his delight. He swooned with a coo, draping his arm across his forehead. "I would, dearest—if only I had the money for such a thing!"

"I barely have enough for canned crab..." he trailed off with a frown, a sudden reminder popping into his head. "How would you feel about an evening on the town."

She raised a brow. "Hmm, what are you suggesting?"

"I'd forgotten about these tickets." He reached into his back pocket and then into his other back pocket—then another and another. "I received them as a favor a couple months ago. They're entry tickets to a fancy club up in the north sector."

She peered over his shoulder with pursed lips once he pulled two crumpled tickets out of his vest pocket, eyes widening once he unfolded them. "The Royal Crown? Dazai, these are so expensive!" She snatched them from his hands, holding them up with scrutinizing eyes to the light. "Are you sure they're real?"

He pouted. "Of course I am! Can you really doubt a handsome face such as mine?"

She struck him with her pointed, unimpressed expression. He fell as if he'd been shot, crying out to the ceiling, temporarily drawing the attention of their co-workers, only for them to look away. Same routine. "Oh, Ms. (Name)! You wound me!"

She huffed, unable to restrain her laughter, returning the tickets to him with a slap to his chest. "Uh-huh. I'm so sorry."

Her coy, playful grin softened with a sigh, her beaming smile stirring Dazai's stomach. "But I'd love to go with you—if they're real. And if they're real." She stood from her chair, patting his shoulder as she passed by. "You can pick me up at 8."

And she walked off, clocking out of her shift with an almost unnoticeable pep in her step—unnoticeable to everyone that wasn't Dazai. He sighed, leaning against the seat of his chair with a lopsided grin.

She was so cute.

She spent the next few hours inside her apartment dolling herself up, swaying and humming to the tune of the local radio station as she slipped on one of her favorite dresses, drawing a dark shade of lipstick on with a pop of her lips. A knock rang out just as she slipped her heels on, gathering her purse as she made her way to the door.

"Coming!" she called from down the hall, only to pause mid-step.

The knocking hadn't come from the door. It came from the balcony.

She crept towards the balcony, ducking behind some of her furniture as she tried to spot some kind of burglar or serial killer, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was just her balcony, sitting aglow in the warm setting sun. She stepped out, taking in the breathtaking sight of the cityscape as she relaxed, relieved to find that she hadn't been stuck in a horror scenario—

"Graaah!"

"Oh fuck!"

She smacked the obscured figure with her purse, knocking whoever it was to the ground. It groaned in pain, and that familiar voice struck a chord with her, making her look closer at the figure as grumbles tumbled from its mouth.

"Bellaaaaa. How rude," Dazai whined, rubbing his forehead.

She clutched her hand to her chest, calming her racing heart as she panted. "Don't do that!" Her lips twisted into a snarl, glaring daggers into the wounded man. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"I was just making sure you could defend yourself," he claimed, although she could spot the lie through the amused glint in his eyes. "You never know what could happen to a poor, unprepared damsel."

"I am not a damsel, Dazai," she deadpaned, bending down beside him. "Let me see your face."

Her hands cupped his face, ignoring or missing the blush surfacing on his cheeks as he stared at her wide-eyed. Gentle fingers brushed the wound's edges, wincing with a tense sigh as she examined the damage. "Yikes. That's gonna leave a bruise."

Damn, she didn't realize the force she had behind her hit. Good to know.

She grabbed him by the hand, taking him inside and into her bathroom, kicking a stool out from behind her toilet with her foot. He looked at her dumbly, watching as she tapped it with her heel. "Have a seat."

He plopped down, looking almost monstrous with his lanky legs bunched awkwardly against the floor of the pintsized room. With bated breath, he watched as (Name) shuffled through her cabinets, having to stretch on her toes and allowing him to admire her in full view. She was wearing a velvety little cocktail dress that cupped her curves and cinched in all the right places—was it getting hot in here? He couldn't help the way his mind wandered, wondering what would happen if he just stood up, grabbing her by the hips and just—

"And there we go." She thumbed a plaster onto his forehead with rhythmic circles, brushing her lips against the material's edge before she placed the medical kit back. He froze at the feeling of her lips, fingers hovering over the spot she kissed—they were so soft—staring at her as she obliviously continued to hum to the radio. But then she stiffened as if snapped out of a trance, turning towards him with a blank expression, though the panic in her eyes was palpable.

"Don't say a word."

He grinned softly, leaning against his palm.

"Wouldn't dream of it, dear."

It was a bar unlike any (Name) had ever seen. The outside sparkled in the peeks of moonlight that escaped through alleyways, contrasting the warmth of browned brick encompassing the walls. It glimmered the further they walked in, arm-in-arm, as excitement bounced between them. Goosebumps crawled up her arm as thumps of pop music chimed out from the entryway, the buzz of anticipation running through her veins.

The main room was bustling with people, chatting between sips of bubbling champagnes and smooth whiskies. A ginormous bar was the centerpiece, lined with aged-metal chairs lit with LED lights. Warm backlights illuminated a collection of rums, bourbons, whiskeys, and wines she had never seen before, making her mouth dry. One of the bartenders, clad in an all-black suit, poured another patron a sweet drink, vicariously feeling the antsiness of alcohol settling into her system.

"Can't believe you're looking at him like that and not me," Dazai whispered into her ear, tickling her skin.

She hid her flustered expression with a jab to his side—Dazai did look quite handsome now that she had a better look at him. He was decked out in a black suit jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a dark red vest and white dress shirt underneath, topped off with a tie. Her favorite part had to be his hair, which was pined to the side, allowing her to see how his rich, chocolate-brown eyes bloomed in the heated light.

Part of her was tempted to run a hand through the soft, bouncy waves. Maybe if she just—

"Something on your mind, dear?" he asked, his voice low as they settled into seats at the bar.

She perked from her daydreams, shaking her head. "Nope. Just thinking about what to drink."

He huffed, amused with a cocked brow. "Are you sure about—"

"What can I get you two tonight?" a bartender asked promptly, and (Name) couldn't help but internally thank him for his impeccable timing.

"I'll have a French 65."

Dazai hummed at her choice, though he already figured she would pick something along those lines, eyes scanning the bottles of alcohol for a second. "And I'll have a Negroni."

The bartender whipped up their drinks with a flick of his wrist, and she couldn't be but stare at the burbling liquid as it poured out of the strainer and into a tall glass, sliding with a clink in front of her. She lifted the glass to her lips, savoring the hints of citrus within layers of bourbon and champagne.

The bar continued to become more crowded, not surprising due to its popularity among tourists and affluent residents of the city. She couldn't help how she stiffened as they touched shoulder-to-shoulder, packed in by the crowd; her heart thumped inside her chest—she couldn't tell whether it was due to the adrenaline of the alcohol or the proximity of their bodies.

"—and then he smacked me! Can you believe it? Me!" Dazai raved, an alcohol-induced flush on his cheeks.

She merely giggled, pushing his shoulder with her free hand. "Poor Kunikida. That man has to deal with your—"

"Hey, sweetheart."

Another person slid up in the seat beside her, replacing the sweet but drunk woman who had previously sat there. She stared at him, a man with greasy blonde hair and eyebags that rivaled a raccoon, with bewilderment. The exhaustion of the day had settled deep within her bones, her sass dulled by the alcohol and blanketing warmth of the bar atmosphere.

"Can I help you?" she asked, raising a brow. Dazai stiffened behind her, his muscles growing tense as he stared at the man with equal scrutiny.

The man grinned. "I was just wonderin' what a pretty lady like you is doin' here all by your lonesome."

"I'm not—"

To her utter annoyance, he cut her off again and placed a sweaty hand on her arm. "How 'bout you come back to my place, eh?" She winced as the smell of beer hit her nose, trying to scoot away. "And I'll treat ya' to some dinner."

A bandaged hand settled against her back. "I'm afraid she's with me."

The stranger merely laughed at Dazai, and even (Name) couldn't help noticing how fingers twitched around her waist. "Come on, man. You wouldn't mind sharing, would ya'?" Those sweaty hands caressed her arm, and she couldn't help feeling relief when she realized that she had long sleeves. However, she grimaced at his disgusting insinuation. "A pretty thing like her deserves to be—"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

Arms snatched her by the waist, settling her onto Dazai's lap. She could not stop trembling in his arms, eyes wide as his chest met her back—wholly encased in him. Though, she couldn't say she minded too much.

"She's mine." Warm breath bristled against the exposed flesh of her neck, a trill of anticipation traveling up her spine as a hint of arousal shot between her legs. "And someone as short as yourself should probably focus on homework rather than picking up women."

The drunken man shuddered as he felt the stern glare of the former Demon Prodigy, who was eyeing him like a hawk. This was far from the humor Dazai held in his previous conversation, eyes reflecting a past he had tried to leave behind long ago. Cold and irate, like the biting sting of a gun pressed against the temple. The man sputtered his apologies underneath whimpered breath, scrambling to leave his seat as he pushed between weary bystanders.

She watched the stranger leave with a stern stare, slumping against Dazai with a huff of relief. "Heh. Thanks, Dazai." Her eyes tilted down to look at the head propped on her shoulder, only to see burning brown eyes staring at her, his expression unreadable. Analyzing. Sweat gathered on her temple, straightening up as her fight-or-flight response screamed at her, his arms tightening around her waist to trap her against him.

"Dazai?"

He interwove his fingers with hers, pulling her off the bar seat as he led her towards the back of the club. They rushed past varieties of people as the bass of music shook their feet, some chatting while others practically fucked with their clothes on. The smell of alcohol grew stronger as they reached a strange hallway, the former mafia executive pushing her into a single-stall restroom before locking the door behind them.

"D-Dazai—what's going—mmf-!"

He sealed his lips across hers, devouring her whimpers with desperate kisses as he pressed her body against the door. She trembled in his hold, wrapping her arms around his neck as his tongue slid across her bottom lip. It was electrifying, the bubbling sensation of an intoxicating haze slipping between them.

"You're so pretty like this, ya' know?" He trailed kisses across her jawline. "So sexy. And that dress—it was made for you, baby."

Her laughter was almost hysterical, drawing him in with a pull of his tie. "Then I must say that you look quite handsome in that suit of yours, Osamu."

He forced himself to restrain a groan, muffling it into her neck. "I love it when you call me that." His hand drifted to the back of her throat, trailing kisses along the searing skin as her moans mixed with laughter to create an invigorating concoction. "And those sweet little giggles of yours—God, you've got the voice of an angel."

He drew her in with a squeeze to her throat, teasing the skin at the junction of her neck between his teeth. "I've gotta hear more."

Each kiss was calculated, ensuring that her body felt inflamed. She flinched every time Dazai's lips met her now-aching skin, stroking her fingers through his hair, eliciting a low groan from him as she tugged at the soft curls that blanketed his neck.

Her hands fiddled with the edges of his suit jacket, shimmying it down his shoulders and flinging it onto the floor. She wanted him badly—she didn't know if it was the alcohol acting as liquid courage, but as his hands drifted across her breasts, she found that she didn't care.

His lips met hers again, meticulously working her dress up and bunching it around her hips. He pried her legs apart with his hand, settling his knee between them and pressing up. For months, he had thought about the noises she'd make when he touched her like this. But it was better than he had imagined. She practically melted in his mouth, moving her hips in small circles as more noises were withdrawn from her lips.

His hands met her hips again, gently, before squeezing them with a bruise-inducing grip. "Stay still." She froze, unable to hide the thousands of impure thoughts that bounced around her head in reaction to his voice's simple, low rasp. His fingers slipped under the band of her panties, pooling arousal on his fingers as he drew diligent strokes around her sensitive bud, enthralled in the orchestra of pleasure that begged to be brought forth from her lips.

"You're soaked, baby."

"D-Dazai." She bristled, breath hitching as he pried her wet pussy apart. He looked absolutely entranced by the amount of arousal that gathered on his fingers, dipping one inside and then another, watching with predatory eyes as her thighs began to tremble.

His fingers were much longer than hers, hitting spots she could only dream of reaching on her own. "Mmm. You like that, baby?" She cried out as he stretched them out, brushing against her sweet spot. "You like the idea of being full, don't ya'?"

She could merely nod as she threw her head back, being forced still by the hand on her hip.

He littered openmouthed kisses across her jaw, running his tongue across her skin to taste her as he thrust his fingers inside her pussy at an aggravating pace. "You need to be full, right? You want my cock. You want me to fill you up."

"Please, 'Samu—" She batted at his spine, heaving as she pleaded. "Fuck me."

Any of his remaining resolve crumbled in a matter of seconds, sliding his fingers out from between her legs as she whined. Instead, he placed them inside his mouth, opened barely enough to let her see how his tongue wrapped around his fingers, consuming her liquid arousal with a pleased hum.

"How could I refuse when you asked me so nicely?"

He hoisted her by her hips, hands propped against her ass as she was pinned to him, her sensitive, soaked pussy brushing against his strained erection that sat painfully inside his pants. With a flick of his wrists, he pulled her panties off and sat her bare ass down on the frigid marble surface of the counter, spreading her legs with a firm tug as he soaked in how her arousal pooled onto the surface below.

His fingers went to pull at the zipper of his pants, tantalizingly slow. "Look at me." Her eyes shot up to his face, a darkened look in his eye at the way she immediately obeyed his command. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

He leaned forward, the warm scent of gin brushing against her face as he cupped her face, almost drawing her attention from the feeling of his cock resting against her folds. "You're my good girl, right?"

She nodded, staring at him despite the temptations to glance downwards. He only continued to rub his cock against her, with enough irritating pressure to make her want to wrap her legs around his hips but not enough to make her mind go blank. Her brows furrowed, a pleading pout evident in the beginnings of her lips.

He only grinned.

"Come on, baby. I need'ta hear you say it."

Her mind was hazy, too fogged to connect her abstract thoughts through the heat. Words tumbled out of her mouth faster than she could process them. "Please, Dazai—I need you. Please, please—I'll be good, please—" She let out a yelp as he slapped her thighs, hands working to relieve the sensitive skin as he moved his cock away.

"You're almost there, sweet girl," he cooed, condescension as heavy as the liquor in his breath. "You know what to say. Come on."

Her muscles screamed at her as she did everything in her power to remain upright, wanting to give into the fantasy of crumpling over and letting him pound into her while she lay limp. Not yet. She always knew that he would be the type to tease, to make a woman work a bit for what they wanted. She just didn't realize how infuriating it would be—not that she had the will to complain.

She just wanted to be full.

"Please, 'Samu. I'll be good—I'll be your good girl, I promise." Her rambling ceased with a shudder as he slid his cock inside her, immediately trying to buck her hips forward to take more. He only smiled at her impatience, filling her to the brim as her pussy quivered around his cock.

"That's right." He kissed the seared skin near her collarbone. "You're mine."

She couldn't control herself as he began to pump in and out of her, salacious cries of his name pouring into the open air with just the music of the club outside to deafen the sounds of their pornographic escapade. Her nails caught onto the fabric of his shirt, scratching at any sliver of unbandaged skin to create crescent scars.

He groaned at the perfect fit, eyes rolled back at the sheer bliss of it all. She was so much better than the stupid fleshlight he had been using almost every night, too pent up from the sight of her at work every day. This was so much better.

He finally had the real deal, and he wasn't gonna let her go.

"That bastard thought he could put his hands on you." His voice had darkened, becoming guttural as his grip on her hips tightened. "He probably thought he'd be the one doing this to you. Taking you back to his dinky little apartment and prying you apart." And a part of her wanted him to leave a bruise, a reminder that this wasn't some lustful wet dream.

He chuckled, holding onto her like an anchor as he found his rhythm. "But I'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

His hand wrapped around her throat, strained moans escaping from her kiss-bruised lips as he squeezed down. "To touch you like this." He pinned her down, flattening her to the counter with each thrust, relishing in the way she clenched down on him the deeper he went. "To fuck you like this."

"F-Fuck-'Samu–" she whined, her stomach twisting in knots from the pressure of his cock, growing even wetter from the edge of a snarl in his voice.

He chuckled, his other hand crawling up her chest, pressing against her breast to feel her heave. Her back arched up to his touch despite how the grip on her throat grew tighter, making her feel lightheaded. "You like that, don't you? Like being mine?" The way she tightened around him was the only answer he needed, mindless babbles escaping her mouth. He released her throat with one last little squeeze, smearing her remaining lipstick across her cheek with his thumb. "Good. You'll have to get used to that, baby."

She grabbed onto his shoulder, bringing him into another searing kiss as her impending release approached, her arousal already creating a puddle as it dripped off the counter and onto the floor. He rasped against her lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth to devour more.

"Scream for me, baby."

Her vision went white as she let out a loud, debauched moan of his name, rocking her hips to his ceaseless thrusts as she chased through her release. He jerked at the feeling of her pussy fluttering around him, pumping into her as he groaned into her mouth, spit trailing from his lips as he panted, bracing himself against the counter.

"Fuck."

If he had to pick his favorite sight of the night, it would be this very moment. Here she was in front of him, his beautiful co-worker, dress disheveled and makeup smudged by her tears as she creamed on his cock. God, he could feel himself getting hard again already, watching carnivorously as her legs trembled, eyes closing in exhaustion. His hands traced through her sweat-slicked baby hairs, thumbing her dress down as best he could while he leaned into her. Part of him would've been okay with falling asleep right here, basking in the afterglow.

But the music outside served as a reminder.

He glanced up from his place, nuzzling her neck, mischief already drawn in his eyes.

"We're not done, love. We're heading back to my place."

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani @sillyspookycat

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[halimamis]

How do you write characters consistent with each chapter and how do you make dialogue for each one?

Your question: "how to write characters with a consistent personality in each chapter. I run into a problem where I change my character’s personality a lot when writing each chapter to fit the situation and it ends up making them look like a different character entirely. I want to know how I can keep it like that while showing improvement in their character development. For example, the main character of a story I'm doing is scared of facing himself and his mistakes in the past which leads to self deprecating himself. The problem is that now ever time I write a new chapter, the self deprecation gets worse and loses meaning and he acts so differently."

Sorry it took me a while to answer. I had to think about a helpful reply and organize my thoughts. I get that you're going through the classic "my character feels like five different people in a trench coat" problem. Been there. But here's the thing, writing consistent characters is like parenting. You want them to grow up, but not turn into complete strangers every time they face a new situation. Fixing this problem is easy but it needs practice tho. The tips I can give you to overcome that are simply 7 but you have to actually put the effort and try to change your style in order to get better.

1. Know Your Character Like You Stalked Them on Social Media

Write down the core traits of your character. Not just “scared of facing himself.” Get specific.

• How does he react when someone compliments him? (Cringes? Shrugs it off? Makes a joke?)

• What’s his default way of coping? (Angry cleaning? Self-deprecating humor? Avoidance through snacks?)

2. Anchor the Self-Deprecation

The problem isn’t that your character is self-deprecating; it’s that you’ve probably cranked the volume to 11 from what you told me and now it’s just noise. Self-deprecation works best in layers, like an onion.

• Early chapters: He uses it as a shield. Maybe he makes a sarcastic comment to avoid an awkward truth.

• Midway: It starts slipping—he self-deprecates, but it stings a little more because he's aware of how deep he’s drowning.

• Later: The self-deprecation shifts—maybe it’s tinged with acceptance or even humor. He’s owning it, not drowning in it.

3. Test his Personality in Different Settings

In my opinion, your character should feel like the same person whether they’re fighting a dragon or deciding what to order at Starbucks. The stakes are for sure different, but his core reactions will stay the same no matter what. So I advice you try oracticing writing different scenarios that may not be in the book just to get to know him better.

• Example: If your character is awkward and self-loathing, he’ll probably stammer and overthink his Starbucks order. In a fight, he might hesitate and second-guess himself.

Same guy, different vibe.

4. Growth is important too

When you want to show character growth, don’t just tell he’s changing. Show it in contrast. Yk, just like the show don't tell thing

• Early chapters: He flinches at confrontation, hides behind jokes, or spirals into self-hate.

• Later chapters: He still flinches, but now he pushes through. He makes a joke but adds, “Yeah, I know it’s bad. I’m working on it.”

5. Focus on Dialogue

Your character’s dialogue is like their fingerprint. If you nailed it early, use it as a touchstone. Does he always deflect with humor? Does he avoid big words because he doesn’t want to sound smart?

6. Write the ‘What Would They Do?’ test

Whenever you get stuck, ask yourself:

• How would my character respond if someone spilled coffee on them?

• What would they say to their crush?

• How would they handle being stuck in an elevator with their ex?

These mini scenarios force you to think about how your character’s core personality shines through. Same thing like testing his personality in different settings but that one doesn't need many writing practice.

7. Ask for Feedback (But Not from Your Mom)

Share your chapters with someone who knows your character as well as you do. Like a friend maybe. If they say, “Why is he acting like a whole new person in Chapter 7?” then you’ve got a red flag to fix.

[satureja13]

When the Boys just were about to finish their Yoga/Meditation/Tantra practise, Leander and Wesley arrived. That wasn't planned. The Boys were supposed to spend the day alone ö.ö Vlad sighed. Leander, his arch enemy... And Wesley, his first love...

Leander: "Hey Boys. Vlad. Ms Coombes asked Wes to prepare her next Defense against the Dark Arts lesson. So I thought I'd accompany him and hold my History of Magic lesson today. Meet me on the top floor after you showered." And even though Ji Ho knows how much Vlad despises Leander (and to a certain degree Wesley too), he can't help his feelings taking the downward path - again - into the blurry, red-hazed realm of jealousy, distrust and anger. And their Bond is still utterly quiet. Giving him no sense of Vlad's love for him - nor the slightest bit of reassurance. Over the last two years the Bond was Ji Ho's anchor. Whenever he felt unsure and helpless, the Bond was there, wrapping him in the utter security that Vlad will always love him. No matter what. Which carried him through all the hardships. And now he fears that this love was just a trick from the Council. Initiated by a Siren's Spell of his own grandfather... And all these overwhelming feelings he dug out only intesify these fears.

The History of Magic Classroom. Decorated with paintings and photographies of the members of the Resistance. One might think that History of Magic is a quite boring subject. But it wasn't. There's so much to learn and the Boys barely ever got any insights about how the Resistance was founded and by whom.

After a brief overview, Leander talked about the most famous accomplishments by other members of the Resistance. And the most devastating failures. Then he gave the Boys their homework. Each creature is different. Each has their own, very unique, abilities and traits. And each has their weak spots. There is no established method to succeed. So Leander asks them to collect their own abilities and weak spots - and the ones of their opponents. And after that - work out strategies. And lots of plan B's...

Meanwhile Ji Ho is in his own personal hell. Why do Leander and Vlad look at each other like this? Has something changed between them? He knows it is crucial to listen and pay attention and to do everything in his powers to find a way to detect and destroy that spell, but he just can't. He's fighting for every breath he takes and every beat of his heart right now. As if none of the things his body usually does on his own stopped working and he had to manage them all manually.

Jack doesn't do any better. The heat has its firm grip on him. But it's not his feelings. It's his body he can't control. His heart is racing, he can barely breathe, his intestines are intertwining... He tries to act as normal as possible to not upset Sai and Ji Ho any further. Only his good mate Kiyoshi seems to know what's going on with him and watches him worriedly.

After classes, they went down to the yard again. Vlad, Leander and Wesley are putting their heads together and talk quietly. And Ji Ho is watching them. What does that mean? Ji Ho is raging. First Jack is stirring Vlad up with his Omega pheromones and now Vlad is voluntarily hanging out with his exes! Is it possible they were finally able to cut the Bond? Because Ji Ho is a danger for Vlad?

Ji Ho ran away - crying. Adriano: "Oh no!" Kumo: "What are we supposed to do?" Little Goat: "I hope he isn't about to do something silly!"

Leander: "Don't worry. It will all be well in the end. We are going to take good care of you." Oh no! I've heard this before...

Jeb and Kiyoshi are in their own world. Jeb's talk with Sai lies ahead. And poor Jeb is losing it. Kiyoshi tries to reassure him. But of what help can he be after messing it all up with Jack and his relationship...

And the party goes on.

Skully dug out a matching song and sings along:

'I was dreaming of the past And my heart was beating fast I began to lose control I began to lose control

I was feeling insecure You might not love me anymore I was shivering inside I was shivering inside

I was trying to catch your eyes Thought that you was trying to hide I was swallowing my pain I was swallowing my pain'

Jealous Guy - John Lennon or, another great version by Roxy Music

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[satirates]

Rise of the TMNT fans, I need your advice. I'm a huge TMNT fan from the early 2000. I've watched and loved every single movies, shows and comics in the franchise (yeah, even the strange one like the 90s TV show and the Bay movies. I just really love the turtle bros)

The only one I haven't watched in its entirety so far is ROTTMNT. I started watching it when it came out in 2018 and I thought it was so good! It is different from other iteration, as expected with every new TMNT shows. This is what I love with this franchise, and Rise follow up right in its predecessor's path. But three things kept me from going past the first 10 episodes:

1. This show is overwhelmingly fast to me. The brothers are trowing jokes and quips so fast and it never really stopped to breath for 10 seconds. The lack of clear storyline didn't help this feeling, since it didn't give me an anchor to focus on while the other stuff is being thrown on screen as fast as Sonic throw himself at a chilly dog. 2. I know it's more of a ''me problem'', but Leo is SO different, it's literally difficult for me to think of him as the same characters as his other iterations. I love when the writers change things with the turtle's personality since it keeps the franchise fresh, but it was never to THIS extend. Watching rottmnt felt like entering a room where everything has been shifted a little bit to the left, as expected, and then you realize that someone has replaced the couch by a huge ping sofa. I'm still not sure how to deal with the pink sofa. I've never had one before. Also the sofa has the same voice and personality as Dewey from my favourite 2010s show, which is probably 50% of the reasons why it's hard for me to love him now that I think of it.

3. Terrible interactions with people in the fandom that were quite mean (I've felt Now, here's my question to rottmnt fans: should I give this show another go? Will it get less overwhelming and more focused with time? Will Leo grow into the character he's supposed to be, while keeping the traits that make this version of him so unique? Is the fandom welcoming, or treat me like garbage because I like, praise and critique most of TMNT medias, including some that are really different from Rise?

I really want to like this show. I don't want it to be the only one I don't like. Maybe I need to watch it in French so I don't get thrown off by Ben Schwartz too much

[soulgame]

kaiba brother headcanon birth story

For me, my personal headcanon weaves an intricate tapestry inspired by real-life events. In the 1980s Japan, a shadowy world existed, where wealthy older men pursued the hidden legacies of their outside marriage sons, intent on bringing them into their lives—officially and publicly. This notion echoes in Mokuba's words when he remarked that Noah resembled Seto, a truth anchored in a tumultuous past. Seto's mother, during her first year in college, found herself in the spotlight at an opulent garden party, captivating attendees with her exquisite performance of a classic piano piece. Her beauty and talent sparked the attention of many men, but none so sinister as Gozoburo, an older and unsettling figure. From that moment on, her life spiraled into a nightmare; she became the target of relentless harassment, her once-bright future dimmed by Gozoburo's obsession. In desperation, she withdrew from accepting piano requests, even as her financial situation grew increasingly dire. Hope flickered one fateful day when she received an enticing job offer from a wealthy family. They claimed to seek a special piano and Japanese teacher for their autistic child, who had been enamored by her performance at his birthday the previous year. The opportunity promised to whisk her away to France, igniting dreams of newfound freedom. Yet, beneath that allure lay deceit; the very driver sent to escort her to their Tokyo home led her instead to Gozoburo's clutches. Stripped of her college life, her mental health frayed as she endured along with being pregnent a bleak existence with a man Gozoburo had arranged to be her husband on paper—a transient watcher of her life. ​Fueled by ambition and a sense of twisted fortune, Gozoburo had already set his sights on adopting Seto, envisioning the boy as a redemption of sorts after the near-miraculous birth of his deceased son, Noah , a child whose very existence was tinged with the near-miraculous essence of human fate

​It is clear that Gozoburo harbored resentment towards Seto, manifesting in cruelty and unrelenting hardship, a reaction to the shadows of his own failure and the rejection he faced from Seto’s mother.​ Seto's cold, aggressive nature and intense obsession with acclaim could well be inherited traits—an unsettling blend of Gozoburo’s ruthless essence flowing through his veins and the mark left by a once-kind, naive victim of circumstance. Both Seto and Mokuba will eventually discover that they are half-brothers, bound together by a lineage that intertwines the threads of privilege and suffering, resilience and vulnerability.

[crimson-mage-02]

Thoughts on Kingdom of the Planet of The Apes!

It's been a while since I posted something on Tumblr. So here it is! I am so stoked to watch the new film! Which is coming soon in 2 months. Cannot wait.

First impressions, I love Noa so much. He is going to be a true and caring leader in the making. As far as we know he's going to have an coming of age ceremony, earning his place in the Eagle Clan. Which I love! I am also so curious to see where his journey may lead to. Which made me be so curious about his origins. I had theories that he might have come from another ape clan before joining the Eagle Clan. Hence why he doesn't know much about his past. I was also thinking and believing that Proximus Caesar knew that Noa was a direct descendant of Caesar. So maybe, Noa's old family protected him from the other bad apes and that was the reason why the Eagle Clan was distant from other apes.

Maybe that was the reason why the Elders didn't tell Noa everything until his coming-of-age ceremony with his friends. He started to doubt his existence. His place in the clan and in the world. Seems like a journey to the past. Heh get it, lol. Okay moving on.

Let's talk about Mae. At first glance, I thought she is going to be the character that stands out the most as she is a mysterious human who is smarter than most as Raka mentioned in the trailer.

I love how she's there to help Noa but also have an agenda of her own. There's not much known about Mae but im truly curious to see where her character lead to. I'm also so excited to see the friendship between Noa and Mae.

As it was shown in the trailer, Noa was seen shy and cautious around Mae. It was seen when he handed the blue shirt to keep her warm. And throughout the rest of the trailer, it looked like they have a created a way to trust each other by saving each other. As it was discussed in discord with @bookishdaze.

As their relationship with each other, I can't wait to see how it expands and develops through the trilogy. Noa and Mae are each others anchors and are the future of apes and humans co-existing.

I also got this ridiculous thought about Noa's 'birthmark', seems like he is depicted as the sun.

Well, it means it symbolizes his firmness, strength and power. Those traits alone depict Noa strongly. That's who he is. Though he might grow into a mighty leader to the apes by the end of the movie.

As for the moon, well, represents calmness, beauty, and nurturing. Those traits qualifies to Mae. Despite her being mute, she's still a woman with a mission and she's not going to stop at nothing. She also cares about others around her, especially Noa. Their relationship is one the most important key moments for the film.

Both balance out so well yet so distant. That might show Mae and Noa's relationship well in the beginning of the film, maybe.

That's my thoughts on the film and on Noa and Mae. Not saying I ship them or not. I just find their friendship really wholesome! 🙈🙈 I just can't wait to watch the film when it comes out.

[msnihilist]

ahh pleaseee share that essay about bevin and gwevin with us 🥲we won't be bored we love those kind of things we would love to read it !

This is mostly just going to be me vomiting up various thoughts, but here we go.

Ben and Gwen, I think, represent Kevin's past and future, respectively. Through UAF, Ben is consistently the one who calls Kevin out on his bullshit — most notably in "In Charm's Way," when Ben and Kevin talk on the beach at the end of the episode...

KEVIN: Where's Gwen?

BEN: Went home. You hurt her pretty bad.

KEVIN: I hurt her? I'm the one who looks like this, and she hasn't done a thing about it.

BEN: You are a giant, rock-faced jerk!

KEVIN: Yeah, whatever.

BEN: Not "whatever." She's spending every spare moment going through every magic book she can find to try and help you. She's been doing it since the accident.

KEVIN: She... She never told me.

BEN: Should she have had to?

...and again when (past) Ben snaps at Ultimate Kevin in "The Forge of Creation."

ULTIMATE KEVIN: I deserve that power. I'm the one who gets turned into a monster. I'm the one nobody ever trusts or cares about!

GWEN: That's not true!

ULTIMATE KEVIN: Face it, Gwen... Whatever I look like, I'm a freak!

YOUNG BEN: You're a jerk. You've always been a jerk. People try to be nice to you, but you can't ever see it. You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

Ben is consistently the only character to hold Kevin accountable like this. (Granted, Kevin doesn't have a wide circle of friends, but still.) Gwen and Kevin don't fight much (when they do, Gwen usually leaves the situation), and she tends to be the softer voice, encouraging Kevin and reassuring him. ("You know I don't care what you look like," etc.)

Ben has been calling Kevin out since they were kids, since the day that they met — quickly clocking Kevin as a bad person and saying as much. He continues to do this through the OG, like in "Grudge Match."

MUTATED KEVIN: It's payback time, for turning me into a freak!

BEN (as Diamondhead): You were always a freak, Kevin. It's just now the ugly's also on the outside.

And, later...

MUTATED KEVIN: This is all your fault!

BEN: How can this be my fault?

MUTATED KEVIN: I don't know... It just is!

In this episode, Kevin blames Ben for them getting stuck in the ship. He blames Ben for his mutation. He attacks Ben for going against him even though Ben literally saved both of their lives not a minute before.

Kevin isn't in his right mind, sure, but he continues to display this trait in UAF: refusing to accept accountability.

Nothing is ever his fault — it's always someone else's. Kevin is emotionally immature and he struggles with self-hatred. He lashes out and blames others because if he didn't, he would have to look inside of himself and recognize that maybe something is wrong with him.

And that's a hard thing to do. It's hard for most adults, let alone a child who's struggling with powers he doesn't understand — powers that alter his mental state.

If Kevin is a boat being tossed around in a wild ocean, then Ben is like an anchor. He forces Kevin to look inward and to reflect on his behavior.

... Which is where Gwen comes in.

(Admittedly, I have less to analyze here, since Gwen and Kevin are rather straightforward, comparatively.)

Without Ben around, Gwen and Kevin's relationship would not work. Gwen is reactionary. She was as a child, and she still is as a teenager. Her first instinct when she and Kevin argue isn't to problem-solve, it's to get defensive. Their relationship wouldn't go anywhere with both of their attitudes like that.

Ben gets Gwen away to destress and take her mind off of Kevin. Ben is honest with Kevin in a way that Gwen can't (or won't) be.

He's not a third wheel. He's their counterweight. Their balance.

What does this have to do with past/future?

Well, Kevin spells it out in "Perplexahedron."

KEVIN: I like the Kevin that Gwen sees when she looks at me. And I like that you gave me another chance, even after I messed up all those other ones. I guess I'm saying I owe you guys for changing my life.

He refers to "the Kevin that Gwen sees" — someone he could be. And he thanks Ben for giving him another chance, referencing his past mistakes.

Ben helps Kevin look back and learn from his mistakes. Gwen gives Kevin something to look forward to, and a goal to strive towards.

Gwen and Kevin wouldn't work without Ben, but Ben and Kevin would be shaky without Gwen, too. Gwen is motivation. She's an incentive. She's the light at the end of the tunnel.

Without her, I think Kevin would have a hard time knowing what, exactly, he's trying to work towards. He would have a harder time opening up to Ben.

Ben is the medicine, and Gwen is the spoonful of sugar.

Kevin needs both of them to be the person he's always wanted to be. And they need him, too.

After all, 'Ben and Gwen' by themselves don't look nearly as cool <3

[gothdaddyissues]

In The 20s

Prologue available on Ao3

or under the cut (~2000 words)

Thanks to @ramblingoak for the help and encouragement with this one!

SUMMARY: It's the mid-1920's and Prohibition is in full swing. The Emeritus family are the city's biggest gang headed by the aging godfather Papa Nihil. With a successful bootlegging business and a popular speakeasy known as The Church, Nihil's sons Primo, Secondo, and Terzo fight to maintain their spot at the top of the crime ladder. A rival gang has plans to put the old man out of business for good.

RATING: Mature for violence and language

TAGS: Copia, Terzo, Secondo, OC characters, violence, blood, swearing, illegal activities, Google Translate Italiano

⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧

Copia took one last, long drag of his cigarette, the orange tip burning bright in the darkness. He savored the heat in his lungs before exhaling and flicking the butt into the river. It hit the water with a brief sizzle and disappeared into the murky waves below.

The sun would rise soon; the longer they stood here, the greater their chances of being seen. This was the worst part: the waiting. The uncertainty. Would their delivery arrive? Were they being watched? Would today be the day the police stopped them? It hadn’t happened yet, but there was always the chance. He wasn’t too worried - he knew they could handle any scenario. They were flexible. They had backup plans for their backup plans. That’s why they were kings in this town. But any fuck up meant they’d have to answer to Papa Nihil, and he’d rather spend the night in jail than deal with the miserable old bastard.

It was silent on the dock, the only sounds were the water lapping against the shore and the ‘tip-tap-tip-tap’ of Terzo’s shoes as he paced back and forth. Secondo lit another cigarette and sighed. Copia twirled his cane through his fingers in boredom. Their henchmen - their Ghouls - kept back next to the vehicles, Tommy guns at the ready. 

“They’re late,” Terzo grumbled. 

“They’ll be here,” Secondo replied calmly, “Just relax.”

“Are you sure? They’ve never been late before.” Terzo’s patience was wearing thin. He was the most anxious and hot-headed of the three Emeritus brothers, traits that were less than ideal as the heir apparent to his father’s empire. 

“Give them until first light,” Copia suggested. “We’ll be too exposed if we stay past then.”

“Says the guy in the conspicuous white suit,” Terzo scoffed.

Copia rolled his eyes. “And who’s fault is that? You’re the one that dragged me right off stage the second the show ended and didn’t even give me a chance to change.”

“Shut up,” Secondo said, “Both of you.” He put his hand up to his ear. “Listen. They’re coming.”

The faint sound of a boat motor was drifting across the water, slowly getting louder as it steered closer. The engine misfired, chugging and struggling under the weight of its load. A light bobbed along the surface - a flashlight signaling morse code: short-long-long-short, long-short-long, long-long-short. PKG. Their cargo was arriving.

Secondo took out his pocket lamp and signaled back: long-short-long-short, short-short-long. CU. Message received. He laid the torch on the dock as an impromptu guidelight to help the boat across the choppy river water to the meeting spot.

The first rays of morning light we just breaking over the horizon when the tiny fishing boat finally arrived at the dock. One of the two men tossed the tie rope to Secondo so he could anchor them down.

“Sorry about the wait gents,” the other man said, “I think we overloaded ‘er and it slowed us down.”

“Worry not, my friends,” Terzo assured them, a stark contrast to his earlier annoyance. “As long as you’ve got the goods, everything’s peachy.” He motioned behind him for the Ghouls to come forward and help unload.

“We sure do!” the man said. With a crowbar in his hand, he began prying the lids of the wooden crates to show proof of their contents. “Three cases of the finest Canadian Club whisky, as requested. Two cases of English gin, and…” He saved the best for last. “A full case of French Champagne. I should have more of that in a week or two.”

Terzo beamed with delight. “Champagne! At last! I will take as much of it as you can get. You have outdone yourselves this time. Molto apprezzato!” He turned to Copia and held up two fingers. “Fetch the men their payment, won’t you? I think they deserve a little bonus.”

The boatmen lifted the crates up to the Ghouls waiting on the dock, who then carried each one to the truck parked nearby, while Copia went to the car and returned with two plain cloth bags filled with cash. Terzo took one bag and tossed it to the captain of the boat.

“Your fee, as agreed,” he said. “And…” He tossed the second bag to him as well. “Buy yourself a bigger boat. You’ve earned it.”

The man opened the bags and looked at the racks of bills within, stunned. “Jeepers! Thank you… thank you, sir!”

Terzo nonchalantly waved his hand, “Non è niente,” he smiled, “There’s more where that came from if you keep up the good work.”

“You got it, boss!”

The boat was quickly unloaded and Secondo unhooked the rope from its anchor post. “Now get gone, fellas. The sun’s coming up.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” the man said as he started up the little boat’s motor, “See you next week.” He puttered away from the shoreline to start his journey back across the river to Canada.

With delivery complete and the truck loaded with bootleg liquor, Secondo told the Ghouls to head out. “Get this back to the Church. Quick, si?” The Ghoul in the driver’s seat nodded and the rest piled in for the ride.

Terzo watched the truck pull away, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he turned to his companions. “Champagne, Copia! I can’t wait! I’m going to treat Evie to a bottle when we get back.” He sighed, blissful at the thought. “A good haul tonight. Papa will be happy.” 

“Yes,” Copia said sarcastically, “So happy that you’re drinking his product and fucking his girl.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, eh?” 

“The two of you will be in a world of hurt if he ever finds out,” Copia warned. 

Terzo clapped Copia on the shoulder good-naturedly. “You worry too much, compagno. I have that senile old fart wrapped around my little finger. I can do no wrong. I’m his Golden Boy, his Chosen One…”

“You are a stronzo,” Secondo sneered, “C’mon, we need to get out of here. Andiamo.”

“Don’t be jealous, fratello,” Terzo laughed as the three men moved to make their way back to the car parked at the end of the dock. But they stopped in their tracks.

There, in front of their car, was a young police officer - very young - standing alone, his arm outstretched with a gun in his trembling hand. “S… St-st-stop, in the.. name of the law,” he stuttered.

All three men reached inside their coats, hands on the guns they wore concealed beneath.

“STOP!” the officer yelled. “I mean it!”

Terzo slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket and raised both of his hands in the air above him. “Oh no, fratellos! He means it! We’d best give ourselves up,” he mocked, before dissolving into laughter.

“Put the gun down, child,” Secondo said sternly, “You’re shaking like a leaf - you shoot that thing and you’ll hurt yourself more than you’d hurt one of us.”

“You’re just a fledgling, aren’t you? Lost here all by yourself,” Terzo observed, composing himself. He could see the sweat trickling down the young man’s forehead, his chest heaving with panting breath. “Do you even know who we are?”

“You’re… you’re the Emeritus Brothers,” the officer said, swallowing hard, “And I’m arresting you for illegal… um… importation! The illegal importation of alcohol.”

Terzo looked around him. “I don’t see any alcohol here. Do you?” he asked.

“I saw you bring it in on a boat and load it onto a truck.”

“What truck? There’s no truck here. You have no proof of anything. And no fellow officers with you to back you up. I’m afraid there’s not much you can do, pollo.” Terzo was just taunting him now. He slowly approached the officer, unafraid. “I’ll tell you what,” Terzo began softly, “You put your gun down, get back in your car, and drive away from this place. You never saw a thing, right? Here,” Terzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a $50 bill, which he tucked between the buttons of the officer’s coat, “Something for your trouble, yes? Go on… Take it.”

“I suggest you do what he says, boy,” Copia warned. “Leave while you can.”

The young man was shaking violently, almost sobbing. “You are in… violation of… of… The Volstead Act, and I’m… I’m…”

Secondo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fuck this,” he muttered. He stomped forward and grabbed the officer’s gun hand, his gloved palm covering it completely. In one swift move, Secondo swept in behind him, bringing his other arm around the young man’s neck in a chokehold. The man gasped and whined as he was forced out onto the dock, closer and closer to the water, his toes dangling over the edge of the wooden boards. The only thing keeping him from falling in face first was Secondo’s grip.

“I told you, kid,” Copia said sadly, “Look what happens when you try to be a hero.”

Secondo took the man’s hand, the one holding the gun, and brought the barrel up against the man’s temple. “How did you find this place, huh? This is private property. Emphasis on private.”

“I… I was just driving by…” the officer wheezed, “And I saw…”

“Bullshit!” Secondo tightened his grip on the gun, placing his finger on the trigger. “You don’t just stumble on this place. Who told you? Who sent you?”

The young man squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. He shook his head but did not speak.

“Come on, bambino,” Terzo snarled, “Speak up!”

No response.

“How old are you, boy?” Secondo asked.

“Twen… Twenty-two,” the officer choked out.

“You’re just a baby, so much life ahead of you. Is this really how you want to go out? Hmmm? Protecting someone who sent you straight into the lion’s den?”

The officer would not relent. “It’s my duty… my duty to serve and protect. I’m arresting you…”

The two brothers exchanged looks. Terzo nodded tersely and stepped back. Copia knew what was coming - he felt pity for the young man, but there was nothing he could do now. 

“Sorry about your luck, boy,” Secondo said, cold as ice. He pulled the trigger and the sound of the gunshot rang out in the crisp morning air. 

Terzo stepped forward and pulled the bloody $50 bill out of the officer’s coat before Secondo let go of the lifeless body, sending it into the river with a sploosh. He tossed the gun in after it. The three men stood in the pale light, watching as the body sank toward the bottom in a perverse show of respect for the fallen.

“So,” Terzo said, handing a black handkerchief to his brother, “We’re either being spied on, or we have a rat. No way was he just passing by.”

Secondo wiped at the blood splattered across his face, nodding. “Either way, our whole operation is in jeopardy now.” 

“Imperator’s gang?” Copia assumed.

“Has to be,” Terzo agreed. He looked out over the water at the sunrise, his rage simmering. “Papa does not hear about this until we figure out our next move, si? Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Copia and Terzo began to head back to their waiting vehicle, but Secondo did not move. He stood silently on the dock for a few moments, his eyes closed. He reached up to the band of his hat and pulled out a folded piece of paper he kept there, a small lined sheet that had been torn out of a notebook. He produced a pencil from his inner coat pocket and added another tally mark to the dozens that were already there. One for each life he had taken in service of his father. He counted up the new total, even though he already knew the number. He always knew the number.

Secondo re-folded the paper and placed it back in his hat band as he walked to join the others. He gave Copia the once over as he passed him: “Looks like you’ve got a bit of a mess on you,” he pointed out.

Copia looked down and saw flecks of blood spattered over the front of his white suit jacket. “Ah, shit,” he swore.

Terzo chucked and handed the blood-stained $50 bill to Copia: “This should cover your cleaning bill, Piano Man.” 

[beevean]

(1/2)yo, uh, hi. i've never actually interacted with you before but i think you have pretty cool sonic takes in general and are a cool individual in general. i wanted to say smth about an ask response you made a bit back about how sonic's game foils are stoic and serious while his western media foils are loudmouthed braggarts and like. jet the hawk exists. the babylon rogues are an in-universe parody of team sonic where jet is a braggart jackass, wave is snooty and prideful, and storm is stupid.

(2/2) just because a character intended as a foil to another, takes an unsavory trait of them and exaggerates it, doesn't mean they're always an accurate reflection of who they're foiling is. batman has joker and riddler as foils, completely different characters taking certain aspects of batman and shifting them to contrast him. chaos sonic takes sonic's taunts and verbal jabs and turns into a parody of what sonic is, and that's kind of like, his point. he's not sonic he's how the C.C view sonic

Lmao! My bad, I did forget about Jet 😂 the way you described them is precisely why I don't like the Babylon Rogues - sick designs and cute interactions with each other, but I don't like them as foils to the main trio.

Even then, Jet is one of many characters that work as foils to Sonic: he's his cockiness turned up to eleven, he's Sonic if he cared about winning more than anything else. But then you have Knuckles, who is the mountain to Sonic's wind: brash, aggressive, anchored to a place. Then you have Shadow: artificial, shackled to his past until his own game, introverted, cordial but aloof, more ruthless. Then you have Blaze, the fire to Sonic's wind: also introverted, straight up refusing to open up to others, burdened by responsibilities. And Metal, who is in short Sonic's power in Eggman's hands, completely chained to him.

I see more variety to explore Sonic's characters and give him different rivalries, and he has different relationships with all of these characters, from being genuine friends to being friendly rivals. On the other hand, Scourge and Surge are more or less the same archetype of "obnoxious edgy violent braggart" - Surge has a fairly interesting Shadow-esque backstory, but so far the story hasn't taken advantage of it, putting more focus on how "cool" she supposedly is (can't speak about Scourge in detail because I refuse to read Archie lol). And Chaos Sonic, well...

First of all, the problem with characters who are meant to be annoying is that they still are annoying lol. So uhhh good job I suppose? But I don't know how much I can praise you for getting on my nerves lol.

Second, Sonic here keeps making the same joke - "oh wow am I this annoying? stop talking!". He's the one who puts the focus on Chaos Sonic's singular trait: being unable to shut up. And, well... kind of? This Sonic is way more energetic and childish than Game Sonic. The joke falls flat for me because Chaos Sonic is not that exaggerated, he's just meaner.

Funnily enough, one can also see Surge and Kit as incarnations of how Starline saw Sonic and Tails: the former as a stupid (according to her) arrogant braggart, and the latter as a mindless sycopant. Get it, because he was all about being meta, blah blah blah sonic cycle :P in that case, I can accuse the writing at attempting to seem deeper than it actually was. Ah, don't let me start on the absolute mess that are S&K and how they came to be...

Anyway. The root of the problem is that generally speaking Western Sonic, from SatAM to Prime, has differed from game Sonic in having his cockiness amped up for cool points. That's his appeal here. Now, don't get me wrong, Sonic is cool in general, but he's more... effortlessly cool, I say. He's natural in his coolness, he doesn't try, he just is. That trait of his got flanderized in the '90s because of cultural differences, and writers nowadays are still playing under this misconception, from Flynn who writes a supremely arrogant Sonic (not even talking about his preaching attempts, even small things like basking in the praise of the crowd, or using his fame status to intimidate a waiter in Archie), to Prime Sonic being pitched as having to learn not to take his friends for granted, implying that he was too egotistical to care before.

And I see this reflected in the kind of rivals they create for Western media, which can be boiled down as "Sonic but meaner and all taunts, with zero redeeming qualities".

But hey, this is my opinion. Thank you for your nice words ^^

[wttcsms]

23! 👀

23. fics you wanted to write but didn't

"every dead end street led you straight to me" is a pro!oikawa x olympic silver medalist figure skater!reader; both are dealing with serious, career-ending injuries and have the same physical therapist. they get off on the wrong foot, and their personalities constantly clash, and they think they're so Different from each other, but they're honestly very serious people. i think oikawa needs someone who is just as goal-oriented as him to anchor him to reality because it's one thing for him to self destruct in an attempt to achieve his goals, but it's another thing entirely when it's someone he cares about doing the same toxic shit, so you two are "begrudgingly" looking out for each other. it would also be a character study on oikawa's relationship w volleyball; when the sport has taken up so much of his life, has practically become his life's purpose, who does he become when he can no longer do it? when it's no longer his defining trait anymore?? so, it's fun being given a chance to explore oikawa's character more while also giving him a chance at romance with someone who might be even more batshit than him.

"brace for impact" self destructive rich girl going through it x akaashi. this has been permanently stuck at 7k words for the past two years LOL, but i love the concept and reread the draft all the time. it needs some tweaking but none of my followers seem interested so it's always been on the back burner.

"to the victor belong the spoils" which was the naoya fic i discussed a while back + will contain elements from the ORIGINAL naoya concept i had on bleedinqhearts LMAO. it's definitely dark, so shifting from my daylight fic (and other projects) to this will definitely be interesting. i can't wait for him to be animated though, so that might motivate me to at least finish up the outline

[funshined]

My fictivity was the base of my existence that was steadily built on as I individuated and found myself. With me being our new host, I've had a lot of time to figure myself out outside the context of my source. I still can't deny the influence my source has over my life, even as I feel less dependency on it day by day.

I've had almost a month's worth of fronting experience since splitting. My source is now less of an anchor keeping me grounded and more of a shadow across my life. It sounds kinda ominous when I put it like that, but I think I've experienced equal parts of the good and bad of what that's like.

I figured out pretty early on that I wanted to question myself, to be introspective about what I was going through and why. Specifically what I was remembering about my past life.

I wanted to consider my exomemories and what it meant for me currently. And on a deeper level, what our mind saw in me and things like my death to give me such vivid memories of it. Personally, our body's life and trauma can usually be compared one to one with our past lives and exotrauma.

We remember experiencing X because our body experienced Y. Or, we formed so-and-so because of what we lacked when we needed it most. I think our mind fills in what it thinks is necessary or needed in its own strange and roundabout way sometimes, and usually that's via fictives. Sometimes very source-divergent fictives who are only similar to their source in name and appearance alone.

Fiction has always been the framework that our mind worked with when it came to forming members. Whether it be “brainmade” members introjecting traits of fictional characters that we found admirable at the time, or simply us introjecting the characters themselves.

Maybe it doesn't make so much sense laid out like that, but I've just been considering what being fictional really means to me / us in the wake of me questioning things like being fictionkin. And of course just the general experience of being fictional in a world that I'm not so familiar with.

In a personal entry I jokingly mentioned that for every part of myself that I lack or can improve on, my brain decides to fill it in with fiction. Whether this means with fictivity or fictionkinity. The more I think about it, the less I consider it a joke and more of a truth to ourselves and our functioning.

[mithrilhearts]

Just another little update about me (and some about writing yay!) but after two weeks of being sick as a dog, I went to the doctor, got diagnosed, proper meds, and then ended up in the ER some hours later - this was last night/this morning. Sounds fun, right?

That being said, I am so happy to have made some great writing progress at the beginning of the month before my health took a really shitty turn.

I've finished my next chapter for "Where The Shadows Lie", which I am hoping to release next week! It's a big one (lots of words).

Never had the sitting room been so crowded than when the vampire brood of Thorin Oakenshield had first arrived. Gathered together was each individual that had called this bed and breakfast home for the past few months, and of course, the head of the household. Not a word to be spoken after a letter had been read aloud, and every facial expression seemed to hold one trait in common. Concern.

I've edited a good handful of pieces this past week. Mostly event things, but I will have a lot to post before the end of the year.

I am planning for 2024 - what fics I will focus on, start, and end! It is going to be a good year.

Even more outlines are getting fleshed out.

Hopefully I can start feeling alive and well again in a few days, and really hit the ground running again for writing. I feel like I've done so good this month, and taking a little step back from updating has given me a chance to breathe some.

As always, thanks everyone for the asks, tags, dms, and I apologize for not getting to them. On top of my self-made-task to relax away from social media, being sick has just anchored me away from everything.

I'm going to tackle a few of my latest mentions, because why not!

@wanderingjedihistorian @fishing4stars and @cilil all tagged me in a "share the last line you wrote" style game. So here we are! Without context, but for a fic that will be revealed in December!

"I pulled the pain from his mind, and sometimes that pain takes something else with it when stripped." [Gandalf]

[fromxgrace]

candle 👺

@divinelght👂

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character. ⟶still accepting!

'She's my twin.' Ever since before they left the womb, Daemon and Aurora have been built-in companions. Though, one inner thought deals with just that—their parents. The firm belief held by his sibling, that their long-lost parents might still be alive stirs so many feelings of anger within him. He can't fathom holding onto such hope, knowing that they had abandoned them to rot in the forest. The years and years of her anticipation makes him resent her optimism. 'Why does she persist in bowing before gods who turn a blind eye to our struggles?'

The cleric's faith in Lathander aggravates him in ways he struggles to articulate. The god, a large part of their upbringing, is something he has grown to be indifferent about. Always questioning the ways of any of the Gods, he does not understand how she puts so much trust into something everyday. He sees it as a waste. He feels that her prayers and pleas to the Morning Lord could be put use toward something useful.

'These white flowers smell like her.' The scent of incense and gardenias will forever remind him of her, which often helps when he feels the darkness seeping into his soul. Despite their ups and their downs, his twin's positive traits—compassion, warmth, and optimism—remain constants that anchor him, even when he tries to push them away every chance he gets. And he will never admit it willingly. 'On such a numbingly quiet night like this, I wish Aurora was here to play something.'

Daemon is all too aware of his sister's more gullible and self-sacrificing tendencies, yet, he somehow respects her belief in redemption, friendship, and destiny. Her hobbies, like painting and playing the lyre are some of his favorites aspects he's protective of, and has always looked to for comfort on the hardest of days.

'I can't stand her boyfriend.'

The relationship between Aurora and Astarion adds a whole other layer to his thoughts. While his protective instincts might make him wary of anyone getting close to his sister, he observes their connection with a cautious acceptance. He knows his sister well enough to know that her determination is strong. Astarion's presence brings constant tension between the three because the fallen aasimar is convinced he will leave her just as their parents had once he's free.

'I know she can feel me slipping away.'

Aurora remains a guiding light, a piece of his past and present that he can't fully escape, no matter how much the darkness threatens to consume him. She may very well be the only light that can save him. Despite it all, Daemon will always be fiercely protective of his twin, even if he struggles to understand her choices.

[rotisseries]

the next cut is . after hours of walking. "these tunnels go on forever and we've been down here for hours." <- theo. "no real news from the  last time you said it 20 minutes ago." "i wasnt doubting thr plan 20 minutes ago." "if you're so concerned just go. i mean no ones forcing you to stay here." "yeah and leave you and our 'army' in charge of my survival? dont think so." "whatever it takes just to save your own ass, and just nobody elses." which is objectively not true. saved liam. saved scott. "im Here arent i? .. maybe i wanna be in the pack." he sounds so hopeful and . well. after he says that mason slows down and theo doesnt realize at first and looks back at him bc he walked past and mason js like "yeah Right. you-you expect me to believe that? " and hes breathinf HARD. he feels strongly about this "a pack js about trust.  i mean the first thing youd do is figure out a way to kill all of us. and and it doesnt matter who forgets. i wont." his hand is shaking on his bat in anger and fear and also because his leg got shot and its killing him and mason says "i saw scotts mom. i saw what you did. and as much as im terrified of whats down here, i am way more terrified of turning my back on you." excuse me while i wipe a tear. theo looks so hurt when he says that and his hands start shaking and he hadn't really shown any physical signs of fear until then. and then he shifts and tackles mason to the ground and its NOT what you think. HE WAS SCARED BC THE ANUK ITE WAS NEAR AND HE KNEW IT. HE SENSED IT. AS SOON AS HE TACKLED MASON , AARON SHOWED UP BESIDE THEM AND SWUNG A PIPE OR SUM WHERE MASONS FACE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. he probably noticed his fear along with masons because of what he was saying and how hard he was shaking and sweating and . his voice cracking and . yeah. say what u want about theo but never say he's not perceptive. idk why i said that thats like one of the first things u learn ab the guy. core character trait. 

i need to talk about mason saying "and and it doesnt matter who forgets. i wont." because i know hes talking about liam. mason knows theo and liam are close now. in a way. liam is his best friend he knows why he was okay with mason leaving and being alone with theo. yeah sure he can handle himself but he knows liam sees theo's different now. masons not saying hes not. hes saying he's not going to let it go. that its something he cant erase no matter who he gets to trust him. BECAUSE HE KNOWS LIAM IS STARTING TO TRUST HIM AGAIN. (MAYBE EVEN REALIZES THAT THEO IS IS LIAMS ANCHOR) AND THIS IS WHY MASON HAVING THIS DEEP ROOTED FEAR AND HATRED FOR THEO IS SO BAD. theo knows thats his best friend!!!!!!!!! that no matter how theo acts now for years and years no matter how much he helps and sticks by liam, mason will never approve. because its him!!!!! and that fucking sucks. the CLOSEST PERSON TO LIAM besides scott!!!! literally like your boyfriends best friend telling you you'll never be good enough for them. that you will never be good. basically what happened. i can get worse tho. just a little bit.

shovel talk!!