#or my lack of foresight in the past or something

[strohller27]

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[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

the general of the luofu has a habit you've picked up on. a habit in which when he finds himself in a place of predicament, he will gracefully place his hands atop each other at the small of his back. that is why you also decided to develop a similar habit of standing just slightly behind him.

never when you had first relocated from a separate xianzhou alliance ship to the luofu's exalting sanctum did you imagine you'd be standing within the seat of divine foresight on a near regular basis. of course, the notion was not unheard of since it is the office of general jing yuan, but then again you hadn't expected yourself to eventually be working so close to him either.

working nearly in step with jing yuan was not in your relocation papers. when you first arrived and he was always on your heels, it nearly made you lose your cool more than you'd care to admit. the way he would just smile your lack of alone time off irked you further. you figured he was just doing it because he could, because no one would demand the general to knock it off aside from the master diviner and- more often than not- her nags were brushed aside unless absolutely dire.

but with that same, insufferable smile and persistence of his, jing yuan did what he did best and used it to his advantage until you were absolutely smitten with him, and he knew it.

you had attempted moving your work to central starskiff haven where all the hustle and bustle of the main hub for all things imaginable could take your mind off the dozing general, but it was a useless feat.

the bond between general jing yuan and yourself was something precious yet unnamed. it was seen and noticed, but you both refused to adapt to the way of labels- another thing jing yuan had a habit of. superstition about labels and them ruining everything he holds dear to him was a belief he had yet to be proven wrong.

the labeling and eventual tragic fall out of the high cloud quintet was more than enough proof for him. he would not risk you slipping away from him if he were to try and repeat the mistake. jing yuan was more thankful than you could ever imagine when you told him you understood.

"labeling a relationship with you, general, would surely bring unwanted gossip."

a rather poor excuse to try and ease his mind, since you both would float around each other's orbit, but it still worked nonetheless. thus, the nameless, labelless, and unspoken relationship that everyone aboard the Luofu knew about grew.

"he's like a weed," you had told fu xuan when she was once again pleading with you to try and convince him to do his job behind his desk and not run around avoiding it. once successfully coerced, fu xuan admitted she had no idea how you could withstand his stubbornness. "he's persistent and tough to get rid of. i just kind of let him be after getting too tired of trying to fix my garden."

jing yuan was easily within earshot of the jab, whether you meant to hurt his ego or not, you did bruise it. how could you not when you were calling him a weed just 20 feet away from the very desk he was confined to?

time can be both noticed and unnoticed by long-life species. on one hand, the passing of time seems so endless it just flits by seamlessly. 100, 200 years are nothing short of youth to them. until you reach the gate of older age where you then worry about when the mara will eventually strike.

jing yuan did not speak much of his past to you, and you never found a reason to harp and pry on it. you knew more than enough from texts and scrolls recorded in the halls you were fortunate enough to work in; no need to reopen old wounds he is too stubborn to admit still bleed.

the general who cares for the luofu cannot decide if he fears being stricken with mara himself and slowly losing his sense of identity to the point he cannot recognize you, or you being marked as an enemy for him to strike down because the mara struck you first more. should the former ever come to pass, he has faith that what needs to be done will be and you will stay safe with yanqing.

now, as you stand in the seat of divine foresight with the newly arrived trailblazers from the express also occupying the office with jing yuan, you notice his hands neatly folded behind him.

a slight advantage to the many layers of clothes he puts himself through dressing every day is that his two-tailed half-cape that rested on his shoulders and flowed down to his hips can offer some peripheral coverage.

like clockwork, when you noticed his hands placed in the small of his back, you took half a step closer to his diagonal and placed the pads of your fingers in the middle of his open palm. his fists would never fully curl behind his back, left open and lazily sitting on top of each other.

jing yuan's shoulders would drop just a fraction- hardly noticeable to anyone even if they were looking directly at him- every time you did so. the tips of your fingers were warm, a reminder of the present and also a teether to not let his mind wander too far.

he could feel the callouses on them, the rough skin so accustomed to battle ingrained into the skin of your hands and it brought him such comfort. his eyes gently shut and a smile lifts his lips, not one to mask behind, but one brought about naturally.

and just like always, when he felt your fingertips push lightly into his palm, his hand opened further, fingers pulling apart before he was curling them into yours.

yes, the general of the luofu has a habit you've picked up on. but he has also picked up a new habit of waiting for you to hold his hand when they're behind his back.

[treasureyourfire]

~ Your Fairytale Adventure Begins ~ ~ Choose Your Path ~

1 2 3 Reminder: * Trigger warning: All three readings have heaviness in them... 💔❤️‍🩹 I send everyone the supporting energies and wish all the best to reach a happy ending at the end of their struggles. * These are not gender-specific readings, in the stories I'll use They/Them pronouns. * These are collective readings for entertaintment. * I am not a professional reader and readings that I do are a part of my learning process. * The tarot can provide guidance, but you manage your own life according to your free will. Feel free to keep what resonates, and let go of what doesn't.~ * (English is not my mother language, sorry for the mistakes.)

* How is their life like a fairytale: Four of Cups, Knight of Swords, (the lowest card in the deck: Ace of Swords) * What magical qualities do they possess that can help them on their journey: Three of Wands * What obstacles do they need to overcome to achieve they fairytale ending: Reversed Sun, Reversed Chariot, Reversed Nine of Wands * What steps can they take to manifest their happily ever after: Tower, King of Cups

Over the mountain, over the valley, there once lived a human sitting in the shade of a tree. This human silently reflected on and taking stock of their life of that time. They were not satisfied. Disappointment and a sense of lack gnawed at them, and although they longed for something to fill this void, so that they could feel safe in their heart, they no longer believed in the opportunities offered to them with good intentions, promising improvement and happiness. Or maybe, even though they were offered in vain, they didn't see them behind the misty veil of their sorrow.

During their contemplation, suddenly, like some heavenly spark, an enlightening thought lit up in their mind. They were struck by an inspiration that spurred them to immediate action. They made their decision quickly. They decided to hit the road, arming themself for the struggles ahead. They was ready to change their destiny. Determined, unwavering, fearless, they galloped forward on the back of their fast horse, keeping their eyes fixed on their goal.

It was the beginning of a new chapter. Their enthusiasm and conscientious attitude helped them reach this milestone in their life. They planned their journey with foresight and awareness, preparing for possible obstacles. They looked to the future confidently. Full of hope, they embarked on this journey with commitment. The distance called them. They longed for a better world and were open to new experiences. They wanted to develop and grow, so that they could safely stand on their own feet and be a support for others besides themself. They had the opportunity to find companions who in return support them, inspire them, and can be of mutual help to each other during their journeys. The child in their heart searched the source of happiness, but in order to find it, they had to face several obstacles. Temporary setbacks dampened their enthusiasm. Willingly or unwillingly, perhaps they attracted the attention of others too much. Curious looks followed their actions;

"Can they rise to the task they have undertaken?" "Will they be able to do it?" Will they succeed or fail?” "Will their Sun ever shine?"

There were times when their momentum broke. They had to think about the direction to go next. They needed to take responsibility for themself and take back control. Perhaps, in the past, they were guided by noble intentions, but perhaps they did not follow the path their soul desired. They had to be honest with themself. They had to listen to their own inner voice, what they really wanted. They had to find their guiding star, which would bring them light in the darkness, and follow it with determination.

But what made it difficult for them was that they were forced to defend themself while searching for the star, and it was difficult for them to let go of this defensive state. It was like everyone was an enemy. They got into a situation where they thought about giving up because of the overburden. Up until now, they had barricaded themself from real or perceived danger for their own protection, but the constant readiness and persistent struggle to protect what they had gained had exhausted them. It was time for them to rest and gather their strength before committing to the next step. Maybe now it is necessary to accept help, accept the support of others, perhaps consider and change their standpoint.

Finally, the time for change was come.

They need to realise what is still present in their life that no longer serves their good. A drastic transformation must take place, all external obstacles or internal barriers must come down. It is necessary to break with habits or beliefs that hold back and limit their development and the achievement of their desired goals, so that they can create a truer, more authentic life for themself, in which their emotions can be fulfilled. The world has shaken around them, but they can use this dramatic change to their advantage. After the destruction, they may be given the opportunity to lay new foundations. A serious, difficult path may lie ahead, but after dealing with the old order and way of thinking, liberation and a fresh start can come, they can create their own kingdom, and achieve the emotional balance and stability that they wanted from the beginning of their journey. For a fresh start and a happy ending, they will need their diplomatic skills, their empathy, their devoted, service-minded character. If they follow their true path, in the future they will be able to maturely and wisely navigate in the deep, rich world of their emotions and become the warm-hearted leader of their empire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* How is their life like a fairytale: Hierophant, Ten of Swords * What magical qualities do they possess that can help them on their journey: Seven of Cups * What obstacles do they need to overcome to achieve they fairytale ending: Wheel of Fortune, The Moon, Page of Swords, Nine of Swords * What steps can they take to manifest their happily ever after: Three of Wands, Reversed Two of Pentacles

Once upon a time, there once lived a human who once felt like a respected member of a community. They respected its traditions, values ​​and system. They felt safe, they had unconditional trust in those who surrounded them. They believed that this trust, this devotion was mutual between them and the group. In this unity, they felt that they had found something important, not only in the outside world, but also in themself.

But their world, in which they believed unshakably until then, suddenly completely collapsed around them. Life or perhaps their trusted companions betrayed them cruelly, inflicting deep wounds on them that forced them to the ground. They couldn't even move because of the pain. Disappointment, failure, despair consumed all their strength. They saw their situation futureless and hopeless. They needed rest, they needed to gather strength. They had to recover and then try to stand up again so that a new dawn could come in their life. They survived the disaster, but one of the most difficult stages of recovery must have been accepting this severe defeat in order to move on with their life... Rethinking they principles, they had to become open to this life-changing mutuation, adapt to their new situation and its challenges. They had to seize the new opportunities and use this change to their advantage in order to grow and develop.

During the journey ahead of them, their developed sense of reality will be great help for them. They have a very good sense that when they come to a crossroads, they make the right decision for their situation. They will need this talent when the wheel of their destiny leads them to the realm of the Moon, where everything is uncertain in the semidarkness, where terrifying creatures try to distract them from their path. They were destined for more than what they had so far, but in order for this significant change to occur, they had to be patient and open to the unknown.

In this unknown, there would be the chance to face their greatest fears, when they had to listen to their intuitions, their own inner guidance, and would also need an objective examination of their situation in order to overcome them and move persistently forward. They cannot allow themself to be deceived and diverted by the illusion conjured up around them, be it a frightening nightmare or a seductive vision that encourages them to chase unreal dreams.

With their truth-seeking sword, they must cut through the fog of visions and nightmares in order to clearly see who they are, where they are and where they are really going. Their struggle can take a toll on them. It can be a stressful time for them, with anxiety and sleepless nights. In exchange for their freedom, they may have to break the silence, make their voice heard, it is even worth asking for help from someone who has solid knowledge to navigate this swampy realm, who will help them clear their mind of toxic thoughts and set them on a path to find their way out of the oppressive darkness to the land of Peace and Understanding.

They were on the verge of a major breakthrough and transformation. The final decision awaited them. Whether they embark on this difficult journey alone or with support, it is crucial to thoroughly prepare for it, for the difficulties that may arise, and consciously plan their every step in advance, building a strategy. It is important to commit to their goal, but above all to themself.

In addition to preparation, it is also important to strive for balance and take care of both their physical, emotional and mental needs. Success will require juggling with different responsibilities and priorities, but remembering to rest and relax when they need it can prevent them from burning out and sapping their energy.

Although the idyllic, happy picture of the future may still seem distant to them, if they make the decision to go for it and persistently move ahead, the desired harmony and happiness can return to their life again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* How is their life like a fairytale: Ace of Pentacles, Six of Wands, King of Swords, Nine of Pentacles * What magical qualities do they possess that can help them on their journey: Queen of Swords, Eight of Wands * What obstacles do they need to overcome to achieve they fairytale ending: Five of Cups, Five of Swords * What steps can they take to manifest their happily ever after: Nine of Swords

Far far away, there once lived a pointful, sharp-witted human, who was given the opportunity to create a more fruitful and richer life for themself in the earthly world. This offer was a new beginning to build a durable, secure foundation for their future. They lived up to the invitation, entered the race bravely, and finally won. They proudly accepted their prize and took their rightful place in the empire. They became an intelligent, trustworthy leader who treated their companions fairly and addressed them with honest, clear words. They paid attention to always staying on the ground of reality, consciously handling and creating with their intellectual abilities. Their work has paid off. They created the abundance for themself what they could finally enjoy. They were independent and self-confident.

Their high-flying thoughts, ideas and clairvoyance were always helpful and they used them to advantage in difficult situations. They were understanding with others and helped those who needed advice. In return for their honesty and straightness, they expected the same from their companions. They did not lack fighting spirit, they resolutely defended what was important to them, carried out what they had planned, and stuck to their ideas.

But there are events in life when, unfortunately, no matter how much we want to, we cannot win. Such a painful shock or serious injustice or humiliation befell this person. They felt like they had failed. In the end they secluded to rest after the hard fight, to mourn the loss.

However, when we close ourselves off like this, we don't always see the good in our lives, we don't believe that our fate can change for the better, we can sink into the role of victim. We are filled with sadness and hopelessness. We can get stuck in the belief and emotional world that we are "losers", so we have a hard time realizing that we are still capable of joy and success. Once if they process and are able to let go of what happened, they will get back on their feet to leave behind the heavy grayness and start again towards a happier future.

The beginning of a big change came in their life. In this harrowing period, it is crucial to nourish their body as well as their soul and mental health and take the right quantity and quality of rest. For this, they may have to seek outside help to overcome the obstacles that their own mind has set up.

In addition to rest, engaging in activities that relieve their inner anxiety can help to them to find their way out of the oppressive darkness. It can be any creative, self-expressive activity, where they can put their thoughts into shape, express their feelings, or a form of exercise that suits them and relieves the accumulated inner tension. The goal is recovery and healing, rebuilding the shaken self-confidence.

Walking in nature, gardening, anything that brings peace to their soul can help. It may also happen that they allow a new science into their life, which arouses their interest and brings the zest for life again back to them.

If they learn to move on and let go, if they take care of themself, if they allow their imagination to soar again, if they rekindle the warrior fire in their soul, they can begin to heal and find their way back to the path of happiness.

[genericpuff]

I feel mean criticizing an author's old work that they've deliberately buried, but sheesh the dialogue in Rachel's old stuff is really stilted. As awkward as LO's writing is, it honestly does show some improvement, so like...good for Rachel I guess?

I mean, it hasn't really improved though? Normally no, I wouldn't criticize someone's older work because by the virtue of something being old, it will naturally be improved upon and shouldn't be judged against what's created in the present (trust me, as someone with work from 10 years ago that hasn't aged well, I get it LOL).

But what's in the present... has all the same issues. I think it's easy to convince ourselves LO's writing is "better" because it relies on Greek myth to piece itself together, but when you aren't filling in the blanks for her based on assumptions made from the source material (which you shouldn't have to do) her writing in LO still doesn't have much to offer. Like, can we really call this an improvement?

If anything the writing in LO got even worse over time because it started to feel like ChatGPT was writing the dialogue and the narrative was crumbling under the weight of Rachel's lack of foresight / planning ahead.

I mean, just to get my point across, let me ask you one simple question: What is the actual theme of LO? What is the conclusion it comes to by its end to contribute to that theme?

This isn't me trying to minimize whatever improvements she may have made between the past and present, I just don't see those improvements, and there's a lot more to suggest that she was a lot more prolific 20 years ago as an artist than she is today. All of that stuff about Persephone / herself being a "workaholic" is based on stuff she went through 20 years ago that she doesn't even put on display now because it's all buried in deactivated Tumblrs and LiveJournals. But that's besides the point.

I think at best the "improvement" simply boils down to "at least she finished this one". But that's not necessarily a good thing because it's clear LO went on longer than it ever should have and that the only reason she even made it this far was because she was bound to a contract through WT. I guarantee you if it weren't for the success that WT's gave her through constantly advertising LO everywhere (and the fact that LO fit a very specific niche that was popular at the time) she would have ended LO ages ago, because just about every series she's done up until this point have been passing fancies that she's bounced between while still retaining a lot of the same tropes and crutches she always has.

LO is about a naive valley girl with mommy issues who goes to school to better herself. This is also the plot of The Doctor Foxglove Show. And while comics like Castle Castle, Woman King, and The Maiden don't involve school settings, they do still center around "girlboss" characters who hate their parents. LO isn't really an "improvement" among these tropes, just another rehashing that's hidden way better because 1.) she put it behind the veil of Greek myth and 2.) she's done everything in her power to hide the fact that she's been writing about the same pink-haired girls with mommy issues and trauma from evil men "except for that one guy who's perfect in every way" for 20+ years now.

And that issue of stilted dialogue goes way beyond even the comics. Read transcripts of her interviews or the Q&A from the end of the series that she did in her Discord and you'll see she has a really hard time finishing the thought she started on. I'm sure a lot of this can be chalked up to her ADHD / dyslexia, which is totally valid, but it just goes to show she hasn't done any work to actually improve her work in spite of her hindrances. She doesn't know how to separate Internet trolls from valid criticism and she seems to absorb any and all criticism as "proof" that she's better than everyone else, actually, and it's not her fault that other people are stupid and don't get her "vision". And I'm not pulling this assertion out of thin air, she's displayed this exact behavior before both within the LO fandom as well as her pre-existing fandoms around her other series.

Like, I can totally get the sentiment that "hate mail is a sign of success" and turning a negative into a positive, but there's a difference between deflecting hate mail from trolls and deflecting genuine criticism that's meant to identify your weaknesses and help you grow. That's what makes it all the more telling that she's built an audience around protecting and enabling her weaknesses rather than celebrating her strengths and empowering her to do better. She can't fall back on Webtoons as the only excuse for why the writing in LO is bad, her writing has always been like this and I feel like that's half the reason she's trying to hide it.

[vanishingcherry]

Hi, could you please write a lando Norris fic with angst prompt 1 thank you 🥰

LOVE, OR LACK THEREOF

pairings: lando norris x reader

warnings: break up, implied drinking, kinda asshole lando at first

authors note: thanks for requesting! prompt 1 is "do you even love me anymore?" side note, it is so hard to find a gif of lando in which hes not smiling. also im so sorry for the ending i have no idea how to end angst

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

The two of you had fallen in love surprisingly fast, but the process of falling out was slow and torturous. Fate was cruel, adamant on hurting you.

Instead of late night talks, the two of you would sleep facing the wall, neither wanting to risk seeing the other. Cute dinner dates turned into eating leftovers in different rooms, not wanting to risk a conversation. Small gifts and bouquets were to be seen no more, the house growing more dreary by the day.

You weren't sure if it was worth it anymore. You loved Lando, too much if you were being honest. But at this point, you weren't sure if he loved you back.

You noticed it at the beginning of the end. The way he always had an excuse. Whether it was streaming on twitch or calls with Zak, he never did anything with you anymore.

And you had tried, my god had you tried.

You had done everything. You had meticulously planned dates and activities based on his schedule, shifting around your own. You had been understanding, comforting, whenever he claimed he was too tired to go out to eat. You figured it was just for a while, that the stress had gotten to him and everything would be okay soon. But nothing changed, and 3 months later you found yourself in the exact same position.

Honestly? You were tired. Tired of your relationship, tired of Lando, and tired of putting effort into something he clearly didn't care about. You would give him one last chance, one last time to show he loves you.

That day, you wait for him in the living room. He had gone out with a few friends and it was well past 11pm, the time he had promised he would return.

Hearing the click of the lock, you mute the movie, watching the door open to reveal a tipsy Lando. His eyebrows furrow together at the sight of you on the couch.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" he asks, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"I wanted to talk to you, remember?"

"Can't we just talk tomorrow, I'm tired" he responds, before turning towards the staircase.

You knew you had to speak now, his understanding of tomorrow would never come. You look down at your hands, almost whispering the next words in fear of what his answer would be.

"Do you even love me anymore?"

"What?" He turns around immediately, looking at you.

"You heard me."

"Of course I love you, why are you even asking me that?"

"You've said it 2 times in the last week."

"What?" he scoffed. "You're counting now?"

"What else do you want me to do, Lando? We've spent maybe 1 day together in the last month. You're always making excuses and leaving and- I don't even know. What am I supposed to think?" You stand up, your voice increasing in amplitude as you grow more and more frustrated.

"I don't know Y/N, maybe trust the fact that I love you!"

"How!? You haven't given me a reason to in months." Letting out a sigh, you shake your head. "Nevermind, I don't know what I was expecting by doing all this." You get up and head to your bedroom, speeding up when you hear Lando trailing behind you. You had prepared a small bag with enough clothes for a week, should the conversation not go well.

Thankful for your foresight, you turn around and see Lando standing in the doorway, interested in finishing a conversation for the first time in ages.

"Why do you have a bag packed?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving."

It was ironic how quickly his face changed. His hard expression turned soft at the realisation of what you meant, the anger in his eyes was no more, instead it flashed with fear and sadness.

"Done... with what?" he whispered. The tables had turned, now it was him who was afraid of your answer. He waited for your answer, mouth slightly parted, taking small breaths, fearful of what would happen when you broke the tense silence.

"You. Us." Your voice was cold as steel, wanting to leave the house as soon as possible. Leave him as soon as possible. You could feel the emotions building up inside of you, threatening to burst out, but you hold on, not wanting to cry in front of him.

You try walking past him, but his hand grabs your own, pulling you into his arms. He was now stood directly in front of you, still blocking the doorway.

"Darling I- I get that you're mad but we don't have to break up." His voice is hesitant, not wanting to accidentally say something to upset you further. "

"We do, Lando."

"No no no. We can- I can fix this, darling. How about we spend time together this week? Yeah? I'll clear everything, it'll be just the two of us, all week." His mind was scrambling, going through every possible action, trying to think of ways to make you stay. "Please, my love. I love you, I promise, so much. I'll say it a million times a day, forever."

You sigh, eyes filling up with water as you try to hold back the tears. He didn't deserve to see you cry, see how much he had hurt you. "Lando, I would've given anything for that a few days ago, hell even a few hours ago. But you didn't care until it was too late, and that's not my fault." You don't look at his face, knowing that his expression would break you. Instead you look past him at the door, shrugging off his hands and walking away.

"Wait! I- I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry and I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I love you. I'll do anything, my love. Anything. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

You stop, but don't turn around, knowing that Lando was standing right behind you. "I don't want anything from you anymore, not when I know all I'll get is disappointment."

You leave, heading to your car. Lando stands still, staring at the door, watching, praying that you would come back. That he hadn't messed up to that point. That it was all just a nightmare.

[erathene]

Instinct (Part 1)

Summary: Elrond is restless, and cannot shake the unease that plagues his mind. Suddenly, his gift of foresight shows him a vision of his adopted son Estel in trouble. It will take all of his fatherly instincts to patiently wait for news of Estel's wellbeing, having sent Elladan and Elrohir straight into the face of danger.

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: Elrond & Estel, Elrond & Elladan and Elrohir.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, symptoms of a panic attack are mentioned but it is not specifically named as such. Plenty of canon-typical violence, including graphic descriptions of blood & injury.

AO3 Link: Instinct

Author's note: This was an unfinished fic I've had in my WIPs for a while and I've been desperately wanting to do something with it, but I was struggling to decide which direction to take it in. I then saw @elrondweek was happening with the prompts "Family and Love", and I decided that with a little bit of re-working and a few new paragraphs, this fic would be perfect for the prompt. There will be a part 2 in due course! Enjoy 😘

......................

Elrond Peredhel stood at the balcony of his study, surveying the landscape below. From this height, his perfect eyesight could see the entire sanctuary of Imladris, of which he was its lord. Gentle silver moonlight fell upon the cascading waterfalls, and the subtle scent of night-blooming flowers drifted from the luscious gardens. The elf lord could also hear the distant sounds of his kin gathered in the Hall of Fire, their voices blending with beautiful melodies against the backdrop of the murmuring River Bruinen. Peace reigned over the last homely house east of the sea, just as it had for the past millennia.

However, Elrond did not feel at peace this night.

The elf lord's eyes scanned the valley, his brows almost knitted together as he searched both the physical world and his subconscious for the source of the unease which tugged at his thoughts. Something was wrong, that much he knew. The feeling of foreboding was completely at odds with his surroundings; it made him grip the carved wooden balustrade of the balcony so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and his heart thundered in his chest as he strained his ears for any sounds that were misplaced.

Elrond sighed softly, letting go of the balcony railing and turning back into his study. The unease was gnawing at him, and it seemed to grow deeper the more he sought its origin. He usually found solace within the walls of this room; the shelves were adorned with his collections of ancient tomes and scrolls, and plush furnishings made the room feel cosy and comfortable. Yet the lack of tranquillity the room offered him tonight was disturbing.

He paused for a moment in front of a painted portrait of his family, commissioned several centuries ago. The smiling faces of his children stared back at him; his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, tall and broad-shouldered, accomplished warriors in their own rights, as well as his daughter Arwen, seated before her father and brothers with beauty more exquisite than any precious gem. Elrond extended a hand and touched the edges of the framed portrait. He remembered the exact moment the painting had been revealed, how overjoyed he was to see all of his children together. Yet a small part of his heart had shattered when he was reminded at who was missing from the illustration; the light and love of his life, Celebrían.

Elrond sighed again. He did not wish to dwell on the feelings that arose when contemplating Celebrían's choice to sail west. He did not wish to be reminded of how he had utterly failed to protect his wife, or of his inability to provide the respite her soul had so desperately needed. Seeing her ship depart had almost torn his heart in two, yet he knew it was for the best. He had to let her go. The knowledge that her love for him would endure any test of time held his resolve to support his children, and the irrefutable truth that one day they would be reunited in Valinor gave him the strength to endure.

Resigning to the fact that his mind would not be stilled here, Elrond opted to leave his study in pursuit of some calming herbal tea from the kitchens. The door to the study softly closed behind him. As he rounded the top of the staircase to descend to the living quarters, his mind fell upon the other person also missing from the portrait; his human son, Estel. The young man whom he had adopted into his home as an infant was not here, having left Imladris just over a week ago to rejoin his comrades in the north. It had been delightful having him back, even if only for a short period of downtime. Elrond deeply understood that since becoming chieftain of the Dúnedain rangers, leisure time had become difficult to come by for Estel, and his forthcoming destiny to become a king amongst men would mean that his ability to do as he pleased would diminish even further than it already had. Elrond exhaled as his hand lightly touched the oak banister. It couldn't be helped. Estel was an heir, and this was his fate.

He had better make his herbal tea extra strong if he was going to have any chance of alleviating his uneasiness.

Elrond's supple leather boots lightly padded the stairs as he descended. It was here, still six feet from the bottom, that he was suddenly and violently overcome by a vision of foresight.

He found himself in the heart of a once-thriving village, now engulfed in chaos. The night air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning buildings slowly spreading through the settlement. Every street was now a battleground; clashes of steel and anguished screams of those fighting for their lives.

Aragorn was in the heart of the chaos. His sword glinted repeatedly in the light of the fires as he swung, parried, dodged and kicked orc after orc. Black blood coated his tunic and ranger's travelling cloak, the liquid catching the moonlight as his chest rose and fell with the exertion of battle. The waves of beasts seemed unending, for as soon as he cut one down, another would take its place.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Nearby, several villagers were equally engaged with the foul beasts. They were putting up a brave fight, but their only means of defending themselves were farming scythes and pitchforks. Aragorn saw to his horror that the group were quickly becoming overwhelmed. He launched a war cry, decapitating the nearest orc and slashing his way towards the group without hesitation.

Before he could get to the group, however, movement from above caught the ranger's attention. A handful of orcs had scaled one of the unburnt buildings, and they were holding bows. "Archers!" Aragorn blared over the ruckus to the group of locals. "Take cover! Now!" The orcs began to nock, draw and release. A wave of tipped projectiles raced in their direction. Several hit their mark, embedding into the flesh of those who had heard Aragorn's warning too late. One arrow found the stomach of the villager closest to ranger, sending him to the ground. Aragorn's first instinct was to race over to help the fallen man, but before he could act, an arrow pierced his own shoulder.

The ranger staggered, pain threatening to overwhelm him. Yet he resolved to continue to fight; there were innocents in this village who needed his protection. He glanced down at the protruding fletching and ripped it from his flesh before he could overthink what it would do to his senses. He let out a roar of pain. The arrowhead had buried itself deep near his collarbone, and blood began to pour from the open wound. He idly wondered how best to pack the wound and stem his bleeding in the midst of this battle.

Distracted, he failed to notice a particularly large orc barrelling towards him. The monster collided with the man, sending his form crashing to earth and his sword flying. Aragorn's ribs screamed under the weight of the filthy orc, and panic started to rise as the creature's hands wrapped themselves around his neck. Darkness began to form at the edges of his vision as he struggled to reach for his weapon…

Elrond's reality came flooding back to him then, and far too late he realised he was pitching forwards, the staircase he had been gracefully traversing now rushing up to meet him. He landed hard, the edges of the wooden plinths colliding with his side. He lost all control as he rolled down the remaining steps, tangled in his own flowing robes and the normally elegant braids askew in his hair. Finally, he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, his entire form shaking from shock and fear.

Two of the household staff heard the commotion and rushed forwards to their lord's aid. Elrond gripped the forearm of the elleth who was nearest to him, his voice weak and breathless over the sporadic shudders that coursed his body.

"Find Elladan and Elrohir. Find my sons."

[esshetic]

Leo Season: Its In Your Mind

Leo Season and Leo New Moon.

There is nobody who enjoys their season like the Leo in your life, and I always enjoy celebrating Leo's birthday with them. I don’t enjoy my birthday, so it always feels like a burden to celebrate, but the way Leo takes pride in their season makes me feel super happy and warm.

This is LEO; it is the sun that basks down on you, makes your skin bronze, makes your eyes glisten, and just makes you look your best.

The Leo New Moon takes place on the 4th of August, while race riots have broken out in the UK, with the ‘Far Right’ enacting violence on anyone that is not ‘white’ in England. My biggest fear as someone who came to the UK as a 1-year-old and has lived my life with the feeling of unwantedness, hostility, and belonging nowhere, so this is highlighting all my fears about myself and illegitimacy in the UK.

The hostility, shame, and subsequent bending over backward to appease, helplessness, and simmering anger and volatility of what I may do if I have to be faced with racist abuse through this time.

Something inevitable that was simmering under the surface needed to erupt, Uranus square maybe, perhaps the full moon in Aquarius on the 19th of August, Aquarius being the sign of social groups and movement, this purging was needed to highlight ills in society that now have to be addressed, things coming back to community control and influence. Something to explore and develop towards the building up to this full Moon.

Leo wants us to feel loved and seen and valued no matter what.

How does Leo make you feel? Where is Leo shining in your chart this season, and what are the themes for you?

Leo - it is about you, a glow-up, but you are always shining, so it's more to know that you are doing amazing; all you have to do is be yourself.

Virgo - it's about your money, if you want that pay rise, you will need to believe that you deserve it.

Libra - it's about the space you occupy in the world and your head, do you live full-time in your head?

Scorpio - Leo fills you with a simmering rage at how easily they bask in the light and lack humility the way you think everyone needs to. Not everyone is so controlling with their emotions!

Sagittarius - Leo makes you feel seen in your own joy and makes you feel alive to be yourself.

Capricorn - Leo shines down on the seeds that you planted and provides nutrients to see them grow; it gives you foresight and vision.

Aquarius - Leo creates division between your heart and mind, your heart is normally carefully hidden while your head leads, it makes you forget that for a second and lead with your heart.

Pisces - Leo makes you feel motherly and protective of the innocence and light you see in others; you want to shield it from the harsh world.

Aries - Leo makes you reminisce on the past, childhood, reminding you to actually feel, you are not a robot.

Taurus - Leo is reminding you to have fun, invite more fun into your life, why so serious all the time?

Gemini - Leo invites you to big up yourself and the work you have done, your creativity is inspiring.

Cancer - Leo is asking you to slow down and savor the moment, take it moment by moment, the silence between the noise.

[whalesforhands]

singe the tales ii (jjk fantasy au)

adventuring is never what it seemed to be, not when your companions are the loopy sort.

warnings: light gore, injuries, blood, depression and stress, geto-centric but i swear it has a purpose as to why i chose him here

previous masterlist next

“Mr. Gojo, please don’t eat everything so quickly…” Your quiet voice is riddled with panic at you pat at the man’s back from your position next to him, his frame bent over to stuff his face with the berry tarts you had baked earlier that day for dessert. Upon his face were a pair of black-tinted glasses, his eyes peeking over them with stuffed cheeks, a red flush upon his face as watched you.

“I can’t help it—!” He stops to use his thumb to push a stray crumb onto his lips, his tongue peeking out to net in the remainders of your baking. “They’re so good!”

(Anything made by you is good, honestly.)

Sitting at one of the wooden tables with the rest of them, the guild hall empty save for Sylrel lighting the candles nearby. On the table sat dinner, mashed potatoes, grilled corn, mushroom stew with a helping of bread. In the corner sat a plate of your homemade berry tarts, which you hadn’t expected to steal the show this evening.

“I think you heard wrong, Satoru. She’s telling you stop being a damned glutton.” Shoko is utterly unimpressed as she shields her own tarts away just as the white-haired sorcerer reaches for her plate. “You already had 5!” She swipes her own plate up, turning her back to the man as she munches on them.

His attention is then turned towards you, all puppy-like in their glittering blue, a pout to match with his distress of not having more.

It’s unfortunate that you don’t have any more.

“Uhm—“ By the gods, whichever deity crafted that sugar-sweet face of his was going to be the death of you. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gojo… I didn’t bake extras.”

The almost whimper like sound he lets out makes your heart squeeze. “I apologise. I’ll put in the order for more ingredients next time…” Your hands are shaking with disappointment under your long sleeves, upset with your own lack of foresight. You didn’t expect them to love the treats you made with leftover stock of ingredients so good. Didn’t expect them to give them even the light of day compared to Sylrel’s cooking.

You feel your hand being tugged out and onto a warm palm as fingers playfully open and close around it.

“Stop calling me that!” He now sounds more upset than earlier, pout growing bigger as he interlinked his own fingers with yours, letting you feel how his rougher hand felt against your softer ones. “I don’t like being called that by you…”

The gears in your brain start turning, but don’t exactly click. Oh. He must be upset you’re still talking as if you were on the job despite it being long past your working hours. (Just like how Shoko was upset. Though, she was chattering away with you whilst you were still working…)

“I see. I will take note of this… Satoru.” He brightens up immediately. You seem to be right.

“Then I wish to be referred to by my first name as well.”

Ah, ah, ah. Geto Suguru’s first mistake was reminding the Gojo Satoru of his presence.

“Say, Suguru.” Fingers excitedly thrum against the wooden tabletop. “Ya got tarts leftover, right?”

“Don’t even think about it, you spoiled brat.”

“I killed the most gnolls!”

“Oh, yea? You didn’t count the ones in the cave, then.”

“Pfft, no way you got more kills than me! I blasted them all to oblivion!”

“Whilst almost killing us. Your spells don’t even go off properly half the time. Can you even call yourself a sorcerer?”

There’s a clattering of the wooden stool to the ground as the insulted sorcerer took a stand. “You trying to say something, Suguru?”

“No, but are you? Satoru.” Darkening auras and heightened tensions, the bated breaths as the atmosphere grew colder, more threatening as the heights of the pressure was just teetering on its climax.

“I’m not a part of this.” Her hands are going up to cup the ears hidden behind her hair as she scoots off her own seat, swiftly subtracting herself from the commotion so as to not be caught in the crossfire before hiding behind you.

Your throat clears as you let out a cough, the glowing shine of your hands a threat to both the gentlemen before you. “Please refrain from violence within the guild hall.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

——

Tales are meant to be told, to be sung about by bards even in the distant future, to be revered and remembered by many even when one’s soul has long departed from the mortal realm.

You should know this best, seeing how many young, hopeful, bright-eyed adventurers tumble into your humble guild hall, their footsteps upon the creaky wooden floorboards before excitedly slapping the flyer from the board onto your desk as you begin to recite its details, putting emphasis on the dangers and the cautions they must take as they wave you off with brighter grins and shining confidence, assuring you that they would be fine.

Only for them to never return ever again.

You hate it. Hate losing those mere children to this cruel world as you shakily hang up the quest once more a few weeks later, upon this dreadful board that seemed to be growing and growing with endless requests. Is there… Really no hope for this guild that Sylrel has tried so hard to keep afloat after all…?

That’s when they came. Tumbling into the guild hall as the white-haired sorcerer pulled at darker member’s long hair, his arm tight around the black-haired man’s neck as he squeezed, before there was retaliation, a kick to his shins that landed them both on the ground and rolling about on the carpeted wooden flooring of your workplace. There was blood, there were bruises, a few cracks but eventually you were the one to pull them apart, trapping them in shields as the brown-haired maiden waved and greeted you with unusual ease despite the situation.

Those three. As disagreeable and weird of a trio that they are, they have never failed to return to you. Sometimes scathed minimally when Shoko has run out of magic for the day, armor never failing to be reduced to practically nothing, but determination and excitement aglow even if they don’t complete fully complete a quest.

Adventurers with pure, unrelenting potential and drive. True survivalists that are ready to take on any challenge. In your eyes, they were nothing short of heroes.

But even they can’t save everyone.

Now, as you laid upon a bedroll, body unable to move, but sensation slowly willing you to crack open your eyes. Your skin no longer felt singed with burns and charred flesh, your legs no longer crushed, gored through with wooden beams, bones no longer pulverized into broken fractures.

Shoko was truly the finest of healers. How did you even know who were your saviors? Why, the scent of bergamot and nicotine was always an unusual combination.

You can’t eat, is what you realize. Not even a spoonful of the extremely watered down, minuscule specks of rice they had tried to feed you, vomit and acidic bile rising from your throat with every scoop that was attempted to feed your lifeless form laying upon the makeshift bed within their camp.

You’re more focused on the hurt, now that it’s all gone. Gone, destroyed. Yet your lowly self can do nothing but lay here as this wretched body of yours refuses to get up.

Everything was taken from you. Everything. Your home, your life, your family—

Sylrel.

Screams and echoes and crashes and shrieking and crying and pure chaos. You didn’t expect it, hadn’t even thought something of this caliber would happen. A sudden raid upon the lowly guild hall, fire, smoke, ash— The falling wooden beams, the cries for mercy by the young adventurers that tried to defend themselves—

You want to hurl.

Your protection magic wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough. Even when you focused so hard on saving everyone around, that you forgot about yourself.

The shattering of your shield around the cowering boy as the monstrous ogre decimated through, the poor victim reduced to nothing but a corpse as he was swiped up, his head separating from his body in a wet choke as your eyes started watering at the scene.

You didn’t have time to grieve. To wallow in your uselessness before the ceiling came crashing down, burnt rubble and charred wooden beams falling onto your fragile body, the crushing weight pushing on your lungs as you let out a scream, wood splints digging into the flesh of your crushed body and ripped dress. Your hands barely peeled out, swear that you could feel blood spewing out from every orifice.

Your head felt heavy, your eyesight growing bleary as a wood continued to burn and sear itself onto your skin, the smell of burnt flesh and meat and ash beginning to stink as you grow disgusted.

It’s too late for you. But— Sylrel— Where was she?!

“Sy—!” The smoke is choking your lungs as the last of your dying voice is used to call out to your blonde maternal figure. Your eyesight is growing bleary, your head growing blank. You’re dying. Perhaps it’s for the best, that you die here, where you were raised, where you served, where you failed.

There’s silence, before a wooden beam is lifted off of you to reveal your utterly broken state, there’s a revelation of how a sharp edge has stabbed through your middle, your stomach bleeding into the fabric of your uniform, your form impaled, broken, out of spells and absolutely ruined.

Sylrel has spotted you, alongside the horde of ogres right behind her. No. No! Sylrel!

You try to speak, to warn her but you can’t. You’re hanging onto life by a thread as it was. Why are you still trying…?

But strangely, she wasn’t attacked. The sight of her pained face and her gritted teeth, the shimmer of her tear streaked cheeks against the burning embers as her dress flittered about, the surrounding screams dying to nothing as you watched her mouth her final words to you.

“I’m sorry…!”

It was the last words you heard from your dear Sylrel before you heard a pained scream, the tearing of fabric, the crunch of bone and the stomping of feet before it all faded to black as the wooden beam was thrown back atop of you.

It makes you sweat, makes you worry, makes you cry, the fear, the anxiety and anxious hopelessness. You can’t hold it together.

You’re up. Your eyes snapping open as you feel alive, moving. Your limbs alike the anchors of ships as you struggle against your own body.

No. No. No! The guild, the people— The ogres, that army that stormed your precious home…!

Your legs are jelly, barely able to pick yourself off as you start to crawl to the entrance, hopeless anxiety and body fueled by pure adrenaline pushing you to move on, your trembling feet finally finding balance as you rip back the curtains, the cold night air and darkness of your surroundings disregarded, much like the stones and pebbles digging into your bare feet as you clumsily ran, only one thing mattered in your head now.

You don’t care about the sharp rocks stinging your bare feet. Don’t care about the unforgiving cold of the night air as it burns your exposed cheeks, don’t care about the shivers, the thin clothing that you adorned. Nothing else matters right now.

The guild. Sylrel— Survivors— Anything. You were holding onto this worthless hope that something could possibly still be there, that you could still protect what meant the most to you. That there was a chance to redeem your failure.

You catch glimpses, glances of your surroundings. Oak trees, tents, a put out fire… A campsite. This forest, that river… You know this place. You can’t be far off from the guild.

A signpost, a road. That’s all you need to find to make your way back.

You barely made it out the camp before you were intercepted, a breeze that was never there, a shiver that crawls your spine. That’s when you see it. Glowing red eyes that hissed from within the darkness, a snake, a creature. It’s body is large, shiny scales reflecting the moonlight as it slithers far too close, far too near. Revealing itself to your terrified eyes.

A Titanoboa. How? How?! You studied your surrounding areas for years…! There’s no way such creatures were within this biome!

Were you wrong all along? Have you studied for nothing? Was all you ever amounted to… Nothing? No. Focus. This isn’t the time for that. Magic— Why can’t you use it?!

Its very presence paralyzes you in fear, your breaths quickening with that resounding heart rate of yours, your own body freezing in place, hands barely sparking with the spells you were so used to casting, betraying your mind as it slithered its tail around you, legs immediately going limp as it coils around your body, acting as binds to hold you in place as you hear the low hisses. It has an oddly… Gentle touch. Unlike a wild beast seeking its next meal. Something is off.

Do your instincts… Simply not work like they used to?

“You shouldn’t be out here.” You recognise that voice. Suguru. He appears from within the shadows of the trees, hair down and weary eyes that seemed to be full of unadulterated concern. This beast must belong to him.

“Bring her towards me. Gently.” The serpent relents, uncoiling and gently plopping your form into the hold of its master as it lets out a low hiss, dismissing itself in a shroud of smoke.

“That— Thank you. I’m in a rush now, I’ll be ba—“ You shouldn’t be thanking him for staking his own summons against you, yet your frazzled mind can’t seem to comprehend anything as you push against the cage that was his sturdy arms.

…? His silence does little to appease the growing nausea in your stomach.

“Sug-Suguru— I-I need to go. Let go of me…!”

He remains silent. No. No. Nononononononono—

“No!” You’re surprised at the strength you still possess. “Let me go! I have to— I have to get back!” You’re panicked, absolutely terrified, kicking, punching, flailing against the grip of his arms around you as you try to get away.

“Suguru, please!” You’re starting to cry, to sob as you struggle against him. “I have to go back! Sylrel— She—!”

“(name).” His voice is kept soft, gently cutting you off as an even gentler hand tilts your cheek to face him, eye to eye with swirling, worried purple. “Please listen to me.”

No, you don’t want to listen. Don’t want to hear him say those words you had been begging, pleading to not have uttered to you. This isn’t real. This is a dream, right? A sick, twisted dream.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

“There was—“ He sucks in a breath as he watches the tears streak down your cold cheeks, thumb tenderly wiping at a droplet from your face as you started to cry even harder. “Nothing left when we found you.”

I’m sorry there was nothing I could do.

“You—“ You hands grip onto the bundled fabric of his clothes. “You don’t understand!” You’re hyperventilating, sweaty and dizzy. “It was the only thing I had! It was the—!” Only thing you lived for. The only thing your life ever revolved around. You never wanted for more, never settled for less. That was you. Your life and everything it had achieved, crumbled into ash and dust.

Was there any meaning of you being alive then? Your tears slowly build up, drips and drops of them soaking into his shirt as you simply broke down. It’s over.

“It was the only thing I ever knew…” It was all you were good for. Your home, your comfort, you. It is— was the very essence of your being.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can say, all he can offer you.

previous masterlist next

Notes:

*Titanoboa. Not apart of any fandom, and was very much real in the human world. An extinct species of snake that existed back in the dinosaur ages that will grow up to 40 feet long, or 12 metres for my readers who don’t follow the American metric system.

*Guild hall. Should have explained this sooner, but here we are. The place where adventurers, new and veteran alike congregate to accept quests from the public. Quest forms are filled in by the requesting villager, a reward is optional, but very much welcome by adventurers and proves to increase the chances of your problems being solved quicker. These quests are then looked through by receptionists, and subsequently hung up on a giant board for all to see that it is made available for taking. (Based off the system from Goblin Slayer)

*Ogre. Large, hulking giants. About 10 feet tall (3 metres) and around 300 kg, (660 lbs). Easily angered and easily one of the stupidest creatures who are able to speak and understand the human tongue. Quick to destroy, quick to hunger for flesh of any sorts, and are typically in hordes due to their natures of overwhelming enemies with sheer number. Not known to operate under commands of another species. (Paraphrased from Baldur’s Gate 3/Dungeons and Dragons.)

nvy’s aftertalk:

my back hurt after writing this

sorry this chapter is so boring witb no romance i’m doing my best to advance the plot :(

[swallowerofdharma]

my recent rereading of saezuru and your recent ask about Nanahara’s relationship with Y kind of coincided as the scene in chapter 4 where Y kicks on kicking Nanahara still gets my intention. More specifically how aggressive he becomes as Nanahara turns his attention to D dressed as a cop? Can’t tell how amplified / what is amplifying his actions and why in that scene where is particularly violent.

If you contrast it with one of the previous scene with Y and D, of the same chapter, Y appears to release his frustration (?), quite aggressively but, on the chair instead and twice.

Oh I agree that at the beginning of the manga Yashiro is very often frustrated or tense and he has various valid reasons for it. I’ll start with this particular scene you mentioned, when he takes his anger out on Nanahara, but I think that in this case he is so aggressive because he had explicitly ordered Nana not to retaliate or provoke further anyone at the Matsubara. Remember that in chapter three Hirata took Yashiro there to attend a function? Yashiro has known how Hirata feels about him for a long time and he was already suspicious about it. They basically mostly avoid each other so why Hirata suddenly showed up and why go to the Matsubara? Hirata knew about Yashiro’s past with Ryuuzaki and others there so it was correct to assume that it was a provocation or a set up. We know now what Hirata had planned and Ryuuzaki’s role, and at the time Yashiro is already suspicious and always cautious. I think there are multiple reasons why he has relationships so close with detectives that can pass information to him in advance. On one side, he can give the higher ups suggestions and be seen as useful, on the other side he can know in advance about problems he might get involved in so he can prepare more carefully. In chapter three Nanahara overheard the conversation and the taunting between Ryuuzaki and Yashiro and later in the car offered to teach the Matsubara a lesson, falling right into Hirata’s plan of using the tension between Yashiro’s and Ryuuzaki’s groups as a set up. But Yashiro never wants to escalate anything to defend himself in these situations, because he knows how, no matter how much money he brings to the group, people are going to look down on him and hate him simply for who he is. The situation has always been very tense for him and he needs to look out for himself and for his subordinates too. So in chapter three, after they leave from the Matsubara, Yashiro told Nanahara explicitly to leave things be, to not retaliate. And instead Nanahara has a confrontation not much later, so I think that in this case Yashiro’s frustration is more directed towards Nanahara’s inability to see the whole picture, his lack of foresight and the potential consequences of small conflicts becoming something more. So when Nanahara doesn’t recognize Doumeki dressed up as a police officer, Yashiro is even more irritated by his shortsightedness.

As a gay man in the yakuza, Yashiro needs to be hyper-vigilant, I think this is what Misumi failed to see. But at the beginning of the manga, Yashiro is also grieving over Kageyama once again, he gets drunk in chapter one, he lowers his defenses and focus, he takes Doumeki in while knowing he is weaker with him around. All these things contribute in making him tense. As for the beginning of chapter four, when he kicks the chair, there is a lot going on there in my opinion and I agree with what @nanayashi-agenda said about it in this post. I think this point would need another separate analysis at some point, but I have to ask permission to @itwearsadress to use the notes they kindly shared with me regarding Yashiro and Doumeki’s little role play and the language they used. Because I think this ties into Yashiro’s past and the general attitudes towards rape, in the law and in society, even if only lightly and subtly touched upon, but this is so very unique to see in a bl manga. This is the chapter that convinced me to look into Saezuru with more attention.

In conclusion, there isn’t only one reason why Yashiro gets angry or nervous, but several emotional threads and events that converge around him to shatter an already precarious situation. And Nanahara isn’t completely innocent here, although nothing he did was malicious. As for why Yashiro kicks Nanahara directly, but kicks only the chair and not Doumeki, it is because Yashiro trusts Nanahara at this point more than Doumeki, he tested him repeatedly and knows that Nanahara wouldn’t react or direct his strength against Yashiro even in self defense. While with Doumeki, he still doesn’t know the limits and certainly isn’t comfortable enough, and what’s more Doumeki is unaware of why what he said upset Yashiro and wasn’t trying to hurt him intentionally and wasn’t disobeying. So the chair took the hit. And in recent chapters, Yashiro kicks Doumeki when he sees the tattoo, and Doumeki’s answer is to kiss him because for a moment Yashiro is too upset to even be cautious or distant and cold.

[nixliz]

an introspective of the stagnation of creepypasta from the perspective of a creepypasta author since 2014

for the past couple of years due to the resurgence of creepypastas amongst a very young demographic, the meaning of 'creepypasta' has gotten so watered down it's effectively lost all meaning.

i've been writing creepypasta since 2014, using the genre as a cheesy way to become a better writer. all of my stories from back then are garbage, of course - what matters to me is the fact that i made them and improved as an artist in the process. if not for creepypastas, i wouldn't be nowhere near a good a writer as i am nowadays, and i honestly owe alot of it to how blunt the creepypasta fanbase was at the time. if a story sucked, you'd hear about it - while this was definitely not done in good faith, a side effect of this meant you ended up picking up on overdone cliches, bad writing and bad characterization just by reading these stories you're constantly told are "bad". by reading them with the foresight of KNOWING they aren't good, there's alot of information you can gleam. you pick up on parts of the story you can recognize as bad, and leave having a better knowledge of what Not to do when writing a story.

of course nowadays the creepypasta community's effectively died off and been replaced by children who care more about powerscaling their edgy sonic ocs than actually writing anything.

it'd be easy for me to just say that the creation and resurgence of sonic.exe is precisely what killed creepypasta as a whole, and in a sense it's not wrong, but i personally believe the thing that killed the genre is less about the story everyone idolizes and more about the culture that the story's appeal ended up cultivating.

sonic.exe fans have always existed. even back in 2014, there were tons of kids obsessed with it. i feel like that initial surge of popularity, while frustrating to many due to the poor quality of the original story, the community was ultimately harmless. they were just socially awkward kids being awkward and making their own stories. the part that i find admirable about the exe community back then is the key word, "Stories". if a kid back in the day liked sonic.exe, they'd download gamemaker and make their own game, or they'd go to the creepypasta/SOG wiki and write their own story. were they any good? more often than not, no. but the effort that went into creating media just out of an appreciation for a dumb story you liked is nothing short of admirable. of course there were stinkers - one of the first ever fan stories was a complete, beat-for-beat ripoff of a sonic creepypasta that came BEFORE exe, but regardless, there was alot of genuine effort behind these fanworks. for lack of better word, there was alot of soul - something the current community lacks.

sonic.exe recently got its second wind (in the form of an fnf mod of all things lol) and now everyone and their grandma knows about it. however, my hatred of the current community stems from something i never see brought up. if someone's bitching about sonic.exe it's only ever about the things you can actually hold people accountable for, like the massively rampant amount of abusers/pdfiles lurking around every corner (and yes, this is extremely prevalent in the community and needs to be addressed) but my problem lies in the lack of sincerety every recent piece of fanwork has. people nowadays don't care about making a story - and this is a problem that seems to infect a LOT of horror media, especially indie games - they care more about making a recognizable mascot.

look at any sonic.exe derivitive made after 2022 (most use the term horrorbrew, i don't know why they don't just use the term creepypasta or exe because there's nothing exactly making them stand out). nine times out of 10, you're not going to find any sort of game, or story, or any official media they're actually attached to. more often than not, they're just a *mascot* for a nonexistent story. that's where my problem lies - there's no more passion in writing creepypastas anymore. the part that people only seem to care about anymore is the recognizable mascot, the 'face' of a creepypasta, so they trim everything that isn't the mascot away, and i feel like doing this completely defeats the purpose of making creepypasta. if you don't believe me, every single creepypasta that people still talk about are ones that have a recognizable 'mascot' - squidward's suicide, suicidemouse, sonic.exe, i hate you, godzilla nes - while ones that don't have an overarcing antagonist or image (noend house, SAR woods) are basically forgotten. people don't care about the stories anymore, they only care about the antagonist. they see the scary, bloody-eyed sonic in the thumbnail of the story and think "i can do that". and when you see one of these nu-exe's actually try and make a story to pair with its mascot, it's either really contrived and tries to take itself way too seriously (needlemouse) or extremely derivitive of other media (sonic limited edition). this has also led to my least favorite trend of the nu creepypasta community, the trend of 'retaking' old pastas and cramming as many analog horror/exe tropes as possible into them. vibingleaf's content is the biggest offender - all he does is take old stories, slap a vhs filter on them, and (in the case of stories without an overarcing villain like the grieving) add some completely unfitting villain character who serves only to give the remake a marketable 'face' for the thumbnail. and people act like his remakes are the DEFINITIVE WAY TO ENJOY THESE STORIES! THEY AREN'T! STOP SAYING THEY'RE OBJECTIVELY BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL! in the case of these inoffensive creepypastas, there's probably nothing more disrespectful than trying to 'one up' the original story! you're just putting another indie artist down so you can soak up all the attention like a douchebag! make and enjoy remakes because YOU want to make them - don't make them just to drag your fellow artists through the mud, damnit!

of course as much of a grouch i am about the state of creepypasta today, there's stuff i've seen that falls into this sort of creepypasta umbrella that i'm actually quite a fan of, even if they commit some of the things i hate to see. my favorite example would be that fake spongebob broadcast interruption (i have no idea if this is the original video because it's gone through retake hell but https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0DMBZmuf1Y ). it commits alot of the things i don't like in modern creepypastas - it has a scary spongebob in it that seems to only exist to give the story a mascot and i feel like having the interrupted footage be stereotypically 'scary' doesn't fit the whole 'mentally ill nickelodeon employee tampering with footage' vibe the ending gives off but, in my humble opinion, it stands on its own as an interesting little story and there's alot i enjoy about it despite its faults. i like it because someone had an IDEA - and while that idea may have been derivitive of other lost media stories, it stands on its own and is enjoyable. more creators need to strive to make content like this. care more about making an interesting STORY, not an interesting CHARACTER. someone from the exe community, if given the same prompt, would've instead just drew a scary spongebob, named him some shit like "The Poriferan" and had someone else make an fnf mod about it - this guy went through the effort of fleshing their prompt out, and i have nothing but respect for them for doing so.

rant over. creepypasta means alot to me as a person and i owe the community alot for indirectly teaching me how to write and how (not) to create horror content, so it genuinely hurts seeing how badly the community has fallen.

[hypergamiss]

Any advice for how to deal with people being entitled to know your business? I'm often accused of being guarded and standoffish when really I'm just setting up boundaries. For example, I've been working towards an advanced degree for 3 years now. I have a well thought out, elaborate plan to achieve my goals. This is my business but people still get upset when they look at my life and say "you're not doing anything with your life". To them it looks like I just go to work and travel.

I say that I'm working towards something. But this never shuts them up. Then the questions "Well what is it?! What are you doing?! Do you have a plan?! Have you applied to school yet?! Have you thought about this, this, this and this?!!" They always word the questions like I'm incompetent and lack foresight. I always feel cornered when this happens, like my agency has been taken away. I usually just end up explaining my long, drawn out plan to them and I feel ran over afterwards. I've had people literally get mad and lash out when I keep details to myself. "What's with the attitude? I'm just asking a question, you don't need to give me an attitude." So it's easier to just give in.

"This is my business but people still get upset when they look at my life and say "you're not doing anything with your life". To them it looks like I just go to work and travel."

Why not just let them be upset? 70% of people who knew me in the past still think I'm broke and not doing anything with my life and I just go along with it. Let them create their own thoughts and ideas and tell them that they're absolutely right. At the end of the day what they think about you just isn't your business.

"I say that I'm working towards something. But this never shuts them up."

Unless they are someone important that you might need to use in the future, it's totally unnecessary to let them know anything at all.

"They always word the questions like I'm incompetent and lack foresight. I always feel cornered when this happens, like my agency has been taken away."

Because it is taken away. Corner them instead, let them know you're living on autopilot with no current ambitions. Like I said if they are no one important to you WHO CARES???

"So it's easier to just give in."

It's actually much much easier to let them think what they want... don't let yourself feel pressured and cave in. You can literally make up any lie and say that your focused on becoming a yoga teacher or something.... anythingggggg.

[wallspikes]

Chapter 4

almost as the clock strikes 12 here is chapter FOUR. one whole year later. sorry. i cant expect myself to meet deadlines i make for myself. i think its like 3.5k words o7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Gio, no doubt sitting in the ruins of a sand dune beyond the lengths of repair, and more than likely covered in a plethora of various bug bites, felt that he was building more bridges than he had burned in the past day. The little man hadn’t run for cover the minute he’d sat down to make himself comfortable, though they still looked ready to jump away at the first sign of danger. Gio guessed he could count that as a success.

The time on his phone was a little after twelve-thirty— Gio finished off the last of the granola bar and tucked the wrapper into his pocket. He peered down at the stranger, who warily glanced up at him. The expression on their face was uncertain, their eyebrows upturned in worried arches, their cheeks a blotchy red; Gio remembered they were crying while he tried to free them from the net. He suddenly felt bad for making them stand there. “You can leave if you want,” he offered, “I’m not trying to keep you here. B-But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate this, of course!” 

“I didn’t know if you were real or not, coming out here,” he started, scratching the back of his neck. “My sister saw the bite you gave me and told me it looked like some animal, and I was sorta starting to believe her..?” Gio shrugged the feeling of doubt away and grinned, “So, thanks for talking to me— or, uh, standing with me. It's nice to not feel crazy.”

The little man shifted in their spot, awkwardly kicking sand to cover their feet only to shake it off again. Despite the dismissal, they still stood rooted to their spot, with no intention of leaving, it seemed. They moved to hold the peanut beneath an arm and instead focused on the sticky knots that matted their beard from the honey of the granola bar.

Gio watched them tug at their beard, wincing each time their neck jerked from a particularly stubborn clump until the secondhand pain became too much to bear. “Here,” he offered, leaning over to pull a water bottle from his backpack, “Have some water. It might help get the honey out before you rip off your beard.”

The stranger's hand pulled from their beard, their grooming interrupted as Gio reached for his backpack. They clutched the peanut with white knuckles and curled their toes in the sand, charged to bolt if Gio decided to make any more sudden movements. Gio offered a placating hand, his water bottle gripped in the other fist. “Sorry—!” He mumbled, embarrassed at his lack of foresight, “I'll move slower, promise.”

Gio could feel the little man's eyes intently on him as he carefully poured a capful of water, as though every little move he made was under the most intense scrutiny. He placed it a few steps away from his calf and quickly withdrew his hands, waiting for the stranger to make their decision. They considered the offering, then turned to the nearby underbrush; Gio could watch the wheels turn in their head as they weighed the benefits of freshwater against the safety of the bramble. Mindlessly, a hand reached up to fiddle with their beard, but recoiled at the feeling of matted knots. They turned to the capful of water again with a hesitant expression.

”You don't need to worry,“ Gio assured them, “It's just water. It’s a little warm. But I promise it’s clean, I’ve been drinking it all day. Uh, unless you're worried about germs, or something— I can't promise you it's that clean.“

The stranger stared up at him for a few moments, that same worried expression still on their face, and Gio waited with bated breath. He could feel the little man searching for a lie in his expression, and Gio hoped he wasn't falsely showing one. He offered a smile, friendly and hopeful as he tried to hide his nervousness. Thankfully, though, the stranger's scrutiny didn't last much longer— they seemed to come to the conclusion that they could tolerate his presence for a little longer if it benefited them, whatever Gio's motives were.

Gio watched curiously as the little man pulled the cap of water further from his calf and started to drink, cupping handfuls of water to their mouth with rapid fervor; they must've been thirstier than they let on. Once their beard was thoroughly soaked, they worked on tugging out the knots again, this time with ease. Gio grinned, satisfied that the man appeared a little better, but he still wished he could get a closer look at them.

His little guest still entertained themself with the cap of water, dipping their face in the pool, their peanut temporarily discarded at their side. Gio waited until their face was submerged to begin to move, slowly crossing his legs until he could lean his elbows into the sand and stare down at the man as if studying a particularly interesting insect.

When they lifted their head and wiped the water from their eyes, the stranger caught sight of Gio looming over them and leapt away, the capful of water spilling in their haste. They stood, charged to run. Gio watched their every little movement with quiet fascination. He absorbed every detail— from the messy stitches in their clothes to the pinkish sunburn that colored their skin. Their expression was tight with worry and their hair bristled on end as Gio’s eyes passed closely over them. Out from the sides of their thick, full hair stuck two large, round ears that twitched at every little sound. Gio exhaled — still awed by the existence of the little man — and accidentally rustled the hair of the stranger. “Sorry,” he leaned back, suddenly beginning to worry all this studying might kill them, “You’re just really cool.”

There was no response. Gio watched the man’s puffed-up fur gradually start to settle. They patted down any patches that persisted in a bristle. Gio sat back on his heels, reached to check for the time, and felt the weight of his eyelids double the second the number ticked on screen. 

Gio yawned, exhaustion beginning to catch up with him as the night continued in its standing lull. He turned his head up to the sky, past the tall bushes and the bamboo to stare at the stars, and sighed. “I should probably go home.” More of a statement than a suggestion, he reached behind himself for his backpack. “Are you headed home soon?”

The redhead straightened up a bit at being addressed, and responded with a quick nod. They took a few steps towards the bushes. 

“Cool.” Gio craned his neck over the bushes, then through their lower brambles. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for — a small, dollhouse-like structure beneath the leaves, or a glimmer of light? — but he saw nothing. He tugged on his backpack. “Do you want me to walk you back?” He tried.

They looked uncomfortable with the suggestion, slightly curling in on themself while they bared a set of awkwardly grimacing yellowing teeth. They shook their head for good measure, though Gio had already gotten the message. Disappointed, he nodded. “Well, what if we meet up again sometime?” Gio held out hope for another shot.

No harsh reaction immediately followed the inquiry, which Gio took for a good sign, though the long pauses of blank stares were equally just as unnerving. He held his breath while he waited for an answer, watching the little man thoughtfully square their jaw as their eyes quickly snapped to meet his, like they were searching for the source of an ulterior motive there. For some reason, Gio felt himself getting nervous — was he hiding something? He didn’t think so. Regardless, he did his best not to show it. 

When the little man found nothing in his eyes, they subtly let their jaw relax and rumbled an exhausted growl of relief. Their expression betrayed the sound, their brow still pulled tightly to their nose, upturned with worry — Gio had half a mind to ask if they always looked like that, though he was beginning to become more unsure if the question would be answered with a ‘no.’ But, even so, as they hesitantly shrugged — a response that could realistically be a polite decline, had the little man meant it that way — Gio was ecstatic. “That’s great!” He exclaimed, the nervousness that had seized him just moments before making way for a giddy feeling of enthusiasm. “What’s best for you? Should I come here, or do you want to start coming to me…?”

Shellshocked, but too reserved to correct Gio if their intention had been to deny, they slowly pointed at him. The man seemed fairly settled in his decision, though Gio was still a bit unsure of the agreement. “You want to come to me?” The little man nodded. “Okay, yeah! That works fine.”

He knelt on the boardwalk and leaned over the lip until he spotted the little red-headed man slightly tucked away into the foliage. “I live on Atlantic, if that means anything,” he grinned, pointing through the trees and bushes, “It’s two walks over, just skip the first one; the gray house is mine. It has our name on it— well, it says ‘Clark,’ which is my last name. I’m there pretty often, if you need anything. Or if you just want to say hi.”

The little man glanced in the direction he was pointing, as if to politely consider the offer before giving their answer — then nodded. Gio, hovering upside down over the edge of the boardwalk, gave an excited thumbs up, “Great! My family’s fine, so if you see them, don’t get too concerned. But, uh, I’ll try to find time out there at night for myself, so you can talk to just me, if you want.”

The man didn’t respond this time, their expression only tightening a bit — an expression Gio couldn’t quite get the read on that he would have liked. He left the conversation at that. “I hope you… feel better. Sorry, again, about everything.” A pause. “Yeah,” he added, “I’ll see you later… Have a good night, man.”

Gio stood, dusted off his knees and knocked the sand from his shoes, gave the tattered net a grim once-over, and had half a mind to break the thing over his knee — but, ultimately, decided against it after remembering the last time he was whacked from the recoil of a fishing pole. 

As he walked home, suddenly more aware of each footfall with the knowledge of the man who lived beneath the boardwalk, Gio let his mind wander to his family — how would they react to seeing a man a fraction of their size? Living, breathing, thinking? Would they take it well?

Should he even tell them…?

Gio let the thought ruminate. There was no guarantee they’d even see the little guy if he never told them about them. If the stranger showed up at their doorstep looking for a conversation, Gio was certain they’d hide from unknown family members, whether they knew about them or not — though, they’d probably appreciate it if his family wasn’t chasing after them, like he had. Gio shrugged to himself. He wouldn’t tell his family, to save everyone the hassle.

Plus, he wasn’t sure he had taken the news so well himself.

Sure, stumbling across the little guy in the gully left him fascinated and even more curious by the bizarre discovery, but he thought back to the feeling of the man in his palm… they couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces — not even a pound — and when they stood before him for their mimed conversation, Gio couldn’t help but notice how pale and thin their body was. 

Gio slowed his pace as he thought. Was the stranger hungry? Sick? He wished they had taken more food, if that was the case. He could spare it easily— though, with the way the little guy struggled to carry their cargo after the hopefully- generous-enough offering, the issue seemed not to come in the offering, but in receiving. There was no way they could have comfortably brought more food home. Maybe he could bring some more interesting things next time he planned to look for the stranger again. Or, he could wrap a few provisions in some napkins and leave them on the little man’s doorstep, once he knew where it was. He just hoped the man was eating comfortably.

The idea that they might not be bothered him. He’d never seen a person like that before, but the fact that there was one meant that there had to be more — were they all so thin? Hanging so closely to the threat of starvation that their skin paled and pulled tight to the bone? He hoped not. He hoped his little stranger was just an outlier. 

Gio realized, as he found himself a few paces from his doorstep, that he hadn’t been watching his feet while he was lost in thought about the nutrition of the little man. In a heart-wrenching panic, he glanced back at the boardwalk, dreading to find any unfortunate soul who’d wandered into his path, but thankfully found nothing in the dim reflection of moonlight off the wooden slats. He sighed, and resigned himself to his screen-paneled front door — where he made sure not to let it slam behind him, or let the hinges squeak too loudly.

As his phone’s clock turned past one-thirty in the morning, he turned its flashlight to the floor, kicked off his sneakers, and softly found his way up the stairs, around the bend of the hallway and—

“Hey.”

Gio jumped, nearly dropping his phone, but catching it before it could make a parent-waking clatter. Shining his flashlight down the hallway, Nicolette poked her head from her open bedroom door. “Nico!” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at her through the darkness, “What?! Why are you even awake?!”

“It’s not that late. Plus, I heard you sneak out at eleven-thirty and wanted to know where you headed off to without inviting me.” Nicolette leaned against her doorway, “Were you hanging out with Monty again?”

Gio shrugged — it seemed as good a coverup as any, “Yeah. They wanted to sit over by the bay.”

“Why’d you have a net?”

Gio’s flashlight slightly faltered. He could feel this conversation twist itself into an interrogation as the moments passed and the questions became more detailed. It was rare that a Clark sibling conversation could last more than a few minutes without turning into some kind of debate, and it seemed Gio couldn’t save this one’s meager life. “How did you know I had a net?”

Nicolette gestured into her room with a shrug of her shoulders, “You’re not the only one with a window.”

He grit his teeth, “We were catching crabs.”

“What’re you?” Nicolette scoffed, “Seven?”

Gio turned back down the hallway to his own bedroom door and slid his bag inside before he whispered again, his voice exasperated, “Whatever! If you wanna keep talking, come over here. We’re gonna wake up mom and dad.”

His sister huffed, but pushed herself off her doorway nonetheless. She made herself comfortable on the foot of her brother’s bed and leaned her back against the neighboring wall as Gio closed the door behind them — making sure to give the hallway a quick, cursory glance, just in case.

Gio flicked on a lamp and shook some of the long-clinging sand from the legs of his pants — Nicolette fixed him with a studious gaze. He paused. “What?”

She narrowed her eyes, “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on with me,” Gio lied.

Nicolette ignored him. She pointed to the band-aid on his hand, “First, you come home with your hand mauled. Then, you wander off at night with a net, and won’t tell me where you went. What are you really trying to catch?”

“I told you already,” Gio shrugged, turning to rummage through his dresser for a set of pajamas, “it was a fly. And I was catching crabs with Monty.”

“Yeah, you know that’s not true,” Nicolette called his bluff, a triumphant smirk in her voice, “Plus, I can see your face getting red from here.”

She was right. Gio could feel his face getting warm, too. That always happened when he lied or started to get nervous. Usually, he’d find the chance to hide the pinkness of his cheeks before it got too obvious — his most common solution was to run away — but with his sister sitting so firmly on his only hope for safe haven, he’d have to resign himself to embarrassment. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “That’s not true.”

Nicolette perked up. “Okay… then tell me what is!”

Gio crossed his arms. He loved his sister, but he wasn’t going to let her strongarm him into giving up all his secrets so easily this time. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her. “Well, y’know, maybe I don’t want to tell you,” he echoed his own thoughts, “Why do you always need to know everything?”

She thunked her head against the wall, “It can’t be that serious.”

He shrugged, doing his best to keep his cheeks from turning red. He was lying in every way — not only verbally, to his sister, but to himself. It was that serious. “I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Ugh! Gio!” she exclaimed, her voice still a whisper, “Just tell me!”

He wanted to tell her badly. Gio took a deep breath, and he held it for a moment, trying to keep himself from spilling the entire story of the stranger right then and there — but, as he opened his mouth to exhale, the dam broke. “It’s a… little man?!” Gio could have shouted with all the pent-up bewilderment of the nights before, if not for his parents’ room just a few doors down, “Like, really little. I saw them and they bit me and then I just couldn’t… stop thinking about it! I think they live under the boardwalk.”

The room was silent. Nicolette fixed him with an incredulous stare, her eyes tinged with a softness of worry after her brother’s seemingly nonsensical story. “A little man…?”

He was pathetic. His decision to not to tell his family had been compromised at the slightest bit of pressure from his sister. But, there was no going back now. “A little man.” He implored. 

“Okay…” she started slowly, then cocked her head, “You're sure you’re not sick?”

Gio wiped a hand down his face with a tired groan as his cheeks turned even redder for a different, embarrassed reason. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and strictly pointed at the door, “Get out so I can go to sleep. If you want to actually listen, find me in the morning.”

Nicolette rolled onto her feet, resigning to let whatever tall-tale Gio was telling settle for the night. “Fine, fine.” She shrugged and pulled the door open, stepping into the hallway — but not without turning in a sharp about-face to leave her brother with a final threat, “Expect to hear from me tomorrow.”

He closed the door behind her, an unamused expression atop his still-rosy cheeks. With the quiet click of the door handle closing, he flopped heavily onto his mattress. For a moment, he stared blankly at the ceiling, an image of the little man forming in his memory to play back the motions of the night. He wanted to laugh. Sharing a granola bar with a stranger past midnight is a novelty story to begin with, but for that stranger to be a fraction of Gio’s own height was taking the story to an even further, funnier degree. 

He could feel his smile crack. It was funny. Gio quietly laughed to himself as he changed into his pajamas and began his nightly routine — silently down the hall, so as to not alert his parents, or possibly his sister again, who uncharacteristically kept her door open a crack as if to listen for any suspicious, brotherly noises. He thought of the little man in their home, wherever that may be, following a routine just the same as Gio’s as they prepared for bed. He hoped they enjoyed the peanut. And he hoped the chunk of granola bar would hold them over for a while, since it looked like a Thanksgiving turkey in their arms. 

He kicked up his bedsheets and slid beneath them, finally placing his glasses on the bedside table for the night with an exhausted sigh. Tomorrow, he’d have to find time in the night when he could convince his family to give him some space as he sat on the deck.

That was, if the little stranger even came to visit.

[ipsen]

EtoKen Mini-Fic

inspired by @tatatatatara's tags. been sitting on this one for a LONG time LOL Root A-esque narrative. Some time during the timeskip after the 11th ward raid.

"Sneaking into Tatara's room now, are we?" Eto giggled.

Kaneki would have flinched had he not heard her flitting down the hall seconds before. He held up his excuse in his hand— Sen Takatsuki's The Black Goat's Egg— as a meager defense for his trespass.

"It's still wrapped," he half-explained.

It reminded him of more innocent days, when he was ignorant to the whims of the world and all the things distorting it. The fact that he was drawn to it because of that was an unfortunate affliction, one that he had to squash.

"So it is." She leaned on the doorway, arms crossed. "You know Takatsuki, then?"

He pursed his lips, hesitating for a second. "I'm familiar."

He gave away some, but not all. A bond with a fellow executive, especially one who knew more than she let on, was vital, but he had to keep his distance lest he lose focus. Still, as long as they weren’t trying to kill each other, it couldn’t hurt to indulge so long as he kept himself in check.

"Oho..." Eto stepped into the room, browsing the rest of Tatara's stack. "There aren't a lot of readers here in Aogiri, you know."

"So I noticed." Ayato didn't care. Naki was curious, but lacked the vocabulary. "Seeing something like Takatsuki was... surprising, was all."

“He has a strange fixation with her, for whatever reason,” Eto said, fingers brushing against the book spines. “Yet he can barely read kanji.”

Kaneki hummed. “He's from China, right?”

“Yep. He claims kanji gives him a headache.” She took one from the middle, letting the ones above it topple onto the table. “Oh, I was looking for this!”

He raised a brow. “Hakushuu?”

“You know him! But of course you do.” She held up the cover to show him. “This is actually my copy, did you know that? Turns out Tatara’s a bit of a thief too!” She cackled.

Upon closer inspection, he saw the black of ink staining the edges of the pages, much like all of the books in his satchel that she, apparently similar to Tatara, had stolen. “You like to annotate your books?”

“It enhances a reread.” She stowed it away into her cloak. “You prefer scribbling them in a notebook.”

“To preserve the original experience,” he explained. “And if someone else wants to read it, there won’t be spoilers.”

“Such foresight.”

Kaneki got the feeling Eto was mocking him. Or maybe she was complimenting his consideration. Either way, he didn't like it; he'd had enough of being toyed with to last a lifetime.

And yet... something stirred within him. Something like... relief. Yes, relief was the word. Relief that, at the very least, someone might actually be able to keep up with him. Relief that, inside this beast's belly, there was a fire to warm himself by before he journeyed to its heart.

However, there was still a beast to slay. Weeds to uproot. And it was his responsibility, as the one who knew, to be the one to dirty his hands with blood and dirt. He couldn't always waste his time whiling away the hours at the fire-- no matter how much he wanted to.

He made to leave, but before he got to the hall, he felt something get pushed into his hands. When he looked at what it was, it was Eto's ink-stained book of Hakushuu poetry.

"Tell me your thoughts when you have the time," she said, expression a mystery behind her bandages. "A reread always offers a new perspective."

Kaneki thought out all sorts of responses, many of them outright rejections, but ultimately settled for, "Maybe."

"Hmph. Half-ass," was all she said before trotting past him and leaving, unusually quiet.

Not only that, but the room was colder than when he entered.

[clicheantagonist]

15 Lines Of Dialog

Thankies @aceghosts and @adelaidedrubman the tag! 😘

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well! (Y'all know I can't do that.)

Some of my favorite Alex lines:

“Is that why you hate him? ‘Cause he cockblocked you?” - Alex @ Wesker, joking about Chris in Little Tyrants

“What’s your name? Who’s your daddy? Is he rich like me?” - Alex playfully serenading Jake (yeah, Wesker's son Jake, that one) in AU: Something About Infinite Cycles (unposted as of right now) Yes, she knows.

“Listen. One does not say ‘no’ to getting to do a Scarface in the coke. When was I gonna have that opportunity again?” - Alex telling Kit about a very damning photo of herself Wesker keeps on his desk in their untitled fic (The Unholy Throuple Universe)

“Boy went to law school and still isn’t smarter than my drop-out, yee-haw ass." - Alex talking to herself (judging John's lack of foresight) during the Reaping in Drown Me And Call It A Baptism.

“Um…this is…exactly what it looks like.” - Alex's response to Wesker catching her sparking up a joint after-hours. In a Holiday companion oneshot to Little Tyrants that explains their first hook up (during the S.T.A.R.S. days) and the circumstances surrounding it.

“I’ve been making and breaking monsters for twenty years – what makes you so special?” - Alex being a [playful, I promise] smartass in response to a comment Butcher makes about being a monster, in my still Untitled The Boys AU (I'm having so much fun there. I get the hype. It's awesome.) “Aw, c’mon! Something got loose after they got my ass?!” - Hearing Wesker tearing through bodies at a black site she's been caught and detained in. I posted this as a WiP here.

“I’ll kill him. I better not ever find out if he sticks his dick in that bitch.” - speaking (bitching) to Alex Wesker about Excella's proximity to Albert in a scene from Little Tyrants.

“If – allegedly - I’m willing to eat my own, imagine what I could do to you?” - a joke/threat regarding her nickname, in response to being questioned by Feds (derogatory) about her presence in Russia during the Caucasus outbreak of 2003 (Resident Evil: The Umbrella Chronicles) in Little Tyrants.

“Ya think it was God’s grace that kept you fuckin do-gooders alive all these years? It was me. I spared you. D’you know how many opportunities I had to bring your heads home as trophies? You show some fuckin respect.” - In her Rick Sanchez era when she snaps during the events of RE5 in Little Tyrants, properly encountering Chris and Marshall again after betraying the cause. Wesker is very proud in this moment.

“I need to know I have a place. That I won’t be another dying star. Like Excella. Marcus. Sergei. Birkin. All the others that worked with you who thought they were too big to fall.” - trying to express her fears regarding Wesker's obsession with his New World Order (RE5) + past history with partners - she's not so much worried for the world, she's worried about them. (Priorities, girl.) I love this line because it's such a good example of how she doesn't shy away from dangerous topics; and she's willing to name his previous partners to impress upon him she knows she has good reason to worry. From Little Tyrants.

“Couldn’t trust you with no dirt. Retrieving your virus gave me leverage, and that made me more comfortable." - During her affair with Neil Fisher (Resident Evil Revelations 2); she's telling him very directly who she is and how she operates in explaining why she gave him a chance. I posted this as a scrapped WiP here

“I had to level the playing field. I’m a sore loser.” - to Butcher, regarding a life-altering decision she makes in near total secret. He asks why, and this is how she says: "cause my ego can't take anyone, even a Supe, kicking my ass and getting away with it." They really do mirror each other in ways I hadn't realized till just now. I swear I'll post some of this when I figure out where it's going/how long I expect to be invested. From the as of now Untitled The Boys AU

'Oh, I'm doin' a big stupid. The Lord God himself could come down and be like 'No, bitch' and I'd pretend I didn't hear him.' - Alex's inner monolog the night she and John start hooking up in Drown Me And Call It A Baptism. I didn't give her inner voice enough recognition here, but I should of. I love her running inner commentary.

Tagging, If y'all wanna (ignore me if you have): @socially-awkward-skeleton @josephslittledeputy @shallow-gravy @carlosoliveiraa @i-am-the-balancing-point and whoever else may want to.

[genericpuff]

PERSEPHONE YOUR FACE-

I had to fix this. IDK who's doing it but someone on the LO team keeps drawing Persephone like a goldfish and it's driving me nuts lmao Besides the weird jawline, obscured face, and pouty lips, this kind of pose basically demands the eyes to be closed. There's a reason you don't draw people kissing (or close to kissing) with their eyes open - unless they're being taken by surprise or something - because it often just ends up looking creepy/off. Exactly like it does here.

This is also one of those panels that is very obviously drawn by two different artists. Hades and Persephone aren't anywhere close to being stylized the same. IDK why they do this, but typically when working on a team, you should be allocating specific roles to specific artists. I've managed my own webcomic teams in the past, and typically I'd be the one handling my roughs, lineat, and final rendering, while I'd have another artist looking after flats, another doing backgrounds, and someone else doing things like typography and copy editing to check for typos.

Rachel's team, on the other hand, just seems to handle it panel by panel, with different people picking up different parts of each panel which results in these weird compositions where characters look like they've been copy-pasted into the scene together. Honestly, I can't say it would surprise me if the suspicions that Rachel draws and writes the comic one panel at a time are true (which they most likely with the quality of the panels and lack of foresight in the writing and the razor slim buffer Rachel is working with) but it still makes the comic such a mess to look at all the same.

So I did my best to fix it.

Working with the composition provided was pretty difficult, I actually ended up having to go back in for a second pass because my first attempt wasn't all that great. It's just not a great composition all around but I didn't want to redraw it completely because it would defeat the point of doing these panel edits in the first place lol

[dragongutsixofficial]

Never in my life will I understand why all cinema adaptations from The Mysterious Island stray so much from the book, to the point that they are two radically different stories.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely LOVE the prospect of a remote treasure island inhabited by strange, eerie creatures- heck, even dinosaurs ! These stories are always a blast. Who knew what nature was hiding from humankind all along ? And how powerless are we against it? How fast can it erase us, along with the island, out of existence ?

But.. The Mysterious Island was never about what nature can do. It has always been about humanity, its good and its bad.

It has always been about a group of people finding themselves stranded on an island they know nothing about, with a teenager and a dog to take care of, and coming together to decide that they're gonna make something out of it. That they're not just gonna survive, they're gonna have a good life.

It has always been about them learning to love their new home and making it their own, it has always been about finding love and appreciation when you could let despair overcome you because humans keep hoping.

It has always been about what the love of a found family can do, against all odds.

It has always been about reaching out your hand to one another, and accepting them as your own even though you have no reason to. About how humankind is inherently good and enclined to help someone who is alone and struggling, and making them part of a community no matter what their past is.

It has always been about hubris.

It has always been about us seeing too big.

It has always been about us exploiting nature until it can't take it anymore. Until it isn't nature anymore.

It has always been about our spectacular lack of foresight.

It has always been about always striving to have more and better things, no matter how that might impact us in the future.

It has always been about the lack of responsibility humans feel towards the natural order of things, to the point that it can disappear overnight.

It has always been about beginning again, together, and honoring the memory of what we've lost.

It has always been about one of the most iconic polycules i've ever seen, their adopted son, their dog and their monkey.

It has always been about nitroglycerin.

A lot of nitroglycerin.

It has always been about Jules Verne needing to change the dates of Twenty thousand leagues under the sea just so his messy chronology could even attempt to start making sense.

It has always been about each new page being even more batshit crazy than the last.

It has always been about being a beautiful mess.

And it needn't be Jurassic Parc to be awesome.