#uhh prose

[ash-and-starlight]

thank you @mafaldinablabla for the tag!! the game is to share 9 of my favourite books from the last 12 months, or 9 books on my tbr list for this year.

Here is what i’m looking forward to read this year! (my hunt for beautiful covers never ends. in this house books Shall be judged by their cover)

tagging uhh @erisenyo, @chitsangenthusiast, @ranilla-bean, @poikilotherm, @kyoshialone and whoever else wants to do it u.u

[stvmpedes]

Leaving the ship is a blur.

In one minute he has half-pulled on his jacket. In the next, bullets whizz past his head as he dives behind a stray piece of metal. He tries to focus his gaze, but it blurs and doubles the harder he tries. The pain searing through his body is agonizing, worse than the countless times he’s been shot. Worse than Nai’s blades plunging into his back. Worse than falling from the heavens and through the atmosphere. 

He can see the plant even from here. She’s hooked up to a rudimentary system of cables, all of which are powering the makeshift settlement that a roving gang had settled into. The fluorescent lights burn too bright, undoubtedly as a result of the rapidly reddening, steadily flailing plant they’re connected to. He can see the petals beginning to open – knows he only has seconds before he’s too late. 

He twists around the metal barricade, popping two shots in rapid succession. The awning covering the hovel the bulk of the bandits have settled into falls onto them, trapping them. It’s the perfect opportunity, Vash reasons. He sprints toward the plant. 

The second his fingers touch the glass, the agony blooms to an entirely new level. For a brief second, he’s on the opposite side of the glass, staring at himself with desperation. The feminine yet alien features contort with pain, but she’s still distinctly alive. Even now, he can hear the voice on the other side, garbled though the words and feelings are. 

Suffering and Fear and Pain and Suffering and Fear and Pain and

The impact of a bullet severs the connection. It buries itself deep within Vash’s thigh, avoiding precious arteries but severing nerves in what should have been a cadence of supreme torment. Compared to the screaming pain dancing through every other fiber of his being, though, he feels nothing. 

Nevertheless, his leg decides it no longer wants to work with him. He falls into the sand, inhaling it and sputtering as a result. He digs his fingers in, clawing his way forward until he can both shield himself with the capsule and plant his hand on the glass surface. 

He lifts himself upward, breathing out. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll be okay.”

But there are no words in response – only the sound of countless bulbs shattering in one instant as they’re overwhelmed by the sheer output of energy. The pain cripples him, sending him tumbling into the dirt once more. 

He forces his eyes open. 

Only a hollowed out husk remains. Her dead gaze is fixed upon the sky, mouth pulled taut somewhere between a scream or perhaps a prayer. As if to ask: Why. 

As he curls into the dirt and begins to retch into it, he can’t help but wonder the same. 

[b-a-pigeon]

Hierarchy of the Unseen draft is finally done!! 😭

[amphibifish]

sometimes u go into something thinking "huh this is cool and fun" and then weeks later ur suddenly hit with a urge to Know Everything

[naivety]

trying to write fake exerpts from jughead's world famous novel and having a normal one

[astarriscus]

i miss writing i better fix this blog soon fr

[entropy-mephit]

I know I'm useless,

And that's just fine.

I'll never be of any use,

Because I'm not a tool.

There was no purpose to my make.

No destiny waiting.

Just a person.

Mundane.

No material value,

Nothing to be traded for.

And there is worth to simply being.

No need to be useful in order to be human.

[fawnbaits]

in my final moments, my mind will bring me brief comfort. chemicals will combine themselves to provide hallucinations that my childhood friend never moved away, but is next to me at a sleepover in 2012, the TV still radiating a pale blue glow, we’re going to church with her parents in the morning. beads clinking in my braids, i still smell the dewy grass of a saturday dawn. sounds of my heart flatlining shrink into the chirps of my favorite toy, flashing waves of familiar colors. gluey hands & worryless dreams fade into my dying being, crying and calling for my mother.

we die as the children we were born as, ever-returning to an endless womb.

[kin-n-n]

There's a knife in her hand. A bit dirty, scratches are etched into the steel, the handle held losely in her hands. There’s blood smeared across the black plastic, though none on the blade, which confuses her for a second.

Then she remembers her blood-soaked hands.

A small tremor goes through her body as she starts through the hallway. It's cold. The temperature as well as the lighting. Cool hues of emergency exit signs are the only light source illuminating the concrete walls and cellar doors as she passes them one by one.

The moment she opens the door leading to the stairway, a wave of heat and bright light buffet her and she has to squint her eyes close. A glimpse of the stairs leading up to the opened entrance door is all she can catch.

[faksyan]

Well, I didn't think my first post was going to be about writing, but what is this website for if not for the very specific rants on the topic you're passionate about, am I right.

So, today learned the term purple prose and I thought the way people view it is interesting. Basically, it's the overly ornate writing that might make the text difficult to read/understand, taking away from the actual narrative. And yeah, this can definitely happen, sure. But when I searched for examples, most of them seemed fine. I didn't struggle to understand them at all, just some fun information and metaphors. Long, yes, taking away from the narrative? Not really, I don't think? And English is not even my first language, so seems kiiinda like a skill issue to me tbh. Not in a mean way, but it really didn't feel that bad.

(Now that I think of it, the reason I have a soft spot for long elaborate sentences might be exactly the difference between my first language and English, a lot of our literature is very much like that. It's not everyone's cup of tea, yes, but it doesn't make it inherently bad.)

It's like the whole "avoid using adverbs" thing, which I've seen being used as an advice plenty of times for some reason (though, again, in English-speaking spaces, so perhaps it's a culture thing?). And um. Why would I. Do you use adverbs in regular speech much, some unusual ones? And you say using them in writing is also somehow bad? If the word exists, it was intended that someone would use it. Some outlive their meaning, but why purposefully avoid them? Like, yeah, the definition of purple prose says that it refers only to writing that doesn’t contribute meaningfully to the piece, but the way I see it, if the author thought the thing was worth mentioning and didn't cut it out afterwards, then it is, period. Maybe it's convoluted, maybe it's confusing, but it's the way they (maybe, not always, of course) wanted it to be. Fucking love going nuts with details, because this literally is how I view the world irl. Hard on the eyes? Well it's hard on my brain too bucko, and you're stuck with me now. If I notice all these things then so do you.

The moral of the story is that you should do whatever makes you happy, regardless of how people perceive it, I guess. You know classic literature? These guys did whatever the hell they wanted and it turned out great. Everyone's different, someone's going to like it, someone won't. But at least this way if no one likes it, you still do. Same goes for anything creative, really. People like to make up too many rules about what you can and can't do while the whole point is to just express yourself, however you see fit. It's art, if it's not harming anyone, go nuts.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Neil,

I hope your writer strike is going to be successful and I am sorry you have to strike at all but I’m rooting for you and everyone else involved! That said, I have a question, or rather, I seek your advice. I am, more or less, studying English, and this apparently requires classes on pronunciation, which means, in my case, that I have to speak as perfectly posh RP English as I can manage. Most students and at least some tutors are against this since, as we’ve also been told, only like 3% of anglophones speak RP and having to learn specifically that as The Correct English seems uhh not ideal, but alas we do not get a choice (unless we want to do General American instead which I personally would be very bad at). All this to say – part of our final oral exam in this class consists of reading out a short narrative prose text (300-400 words) of our choosing, ideally with direct speech in it. I have already made up my mind to read something of your writing, because I find the flow and melody of it very pleasant to read out loud. However, as a tiny act of protest that’s available to me, I’d like to read something that can be considered at least a little bit, well. disturbing? fucked up? “what the hell are you reading there?”-like? so my professors will have to judge my pronunciation of Fucked Up Stuff if they have to judge it at all. Is there any text/passage of your writing you might like to recommend for this purpose?

(Ideally something I have personally available, probably, unfortunately... so, Good Omens, American Gods, Anansi Boys, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, The Graveyard Book, Coraline, Stardust, Neverwhere, Smoke & Mirrors, or Fragile Things. Or Sandman, but that probably won’t count for “prose with direct speech”.)

If you have nothing to recommend or no opinion, thank you very much anyway, just for reading this ask and for making your amazing writing publicly available for us to read! Have a wonderful [insert time of day here]!

Ash

The Bilquis scene at the end of Chapter 1 of American Gods?

"Tastings" or part of "Snow, Glass, Apples" in Fragile Things? Or part of "Foreign Parts" in Smoke and Mirrors?

"Other People" or "Feeders and Eaters" from Fragile Things?

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: An introduction to you, Y/N L/N, the unwanted daughter of a serving maid and a daimyo.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: erm…hey guys…this one’s for the three otoya stans out there 🤞🏻 listen i don’t even like him that much (prefer his bff tbh) but for some reason i can’t stop thinking about him and i had this idea for a fic that just wouldn’t let me go so uhh here we are!! but this is one i really don’t know how i feel about so lmk if you liked it/think i should continue

On the day you were born, a star died. It was like a great gash in the sky, supposedly, a bloody smear of fire against the blue of the afternoon, which flickered to the rise and fall of your wails and only vanished once you had been taken to your mother’s breast. The story was told to you so often that you could picture it as vividly as if you had been there, though of course your recall of the event was non-existent. But your half-brother, who had barely been more than a child at your birth, took a particular pleasure in reminding you that you were the star-killer, the ill-portended bastard who was a curse on his family.

He was relentless like a hornet, that half-brother of yours. A better man would’ve ignored you completely, would’ve taken satisfaction in his own supremacy and left you, who were no threat to his position nor his ego, alone. Yet it remained that it was your half-brother’s favorite pastime to follow you around and whisper things in your ears, striking you swiftly if you dared to respond.

“You’re a monster,” he’d murmur when he wanted to amuse himself. “Little witch-thing. You were just a babe when you murdered your surrogate…I wonder, is it truly the same blood which runs in both our veins? No, I am sure that you are just a demon who has taken the place of my sweet half-sister. Did you kill her, too? May she rest in peace. Greedy child. Devil child. A star and a woman and a little girl — how many more until you are satisfied?”

Though you had learnt long ago the value of your silence, there were still occasions when you would tell him no, that it was not the case. It was a meaningless form of retribution. He knew the truth, knew it as well as you did or maybe better, but he did not care. It was a little play of yours, this argument and its various other forms, and if you were to deviate from your script, you’d be met with the consequences of displeasing your audience of one.

“You killed her,” he would say, your cheek stinging where he had slapped it, his pale irises gleaming at the tremble of your lower lip, which even after so many years you could not quell completely. “You killed them both, didn’t you? Apologize for it. Repent for the sin.”

The relationship between you and your half-brother was of little consequence to your father. If he hurt you or if he loved you — what did it matter to the man whose adoption of you was so reluctantly done as to be all but forced? Your half-brother was the one who shared his name, who was his perfect heir, who had twin moons for eyes and was born at the stroke of midnight. You were the one who had killed a star and a surrogate alike, whose name was common and plain, as was fitting for the daughter of a dead serving girl. Certainly, the sacrifice was easy to make, and likely it was not even a sacrifice in the first place. The closest he ever got to reprimanding your half-brother was letting out a heavy sigh when he walked past your frozen form, reminding him that ought to keep better company.

You could not say the same about yourself. You lived in the Hiiragi manor only on account of your father’s charity, and so you were expected to conduct yourself in a manner that invited the highest praise — though you never received this praise, naturally. If you were behaving in an exemplary way, then you were only doing as you ought to, and anything lesser was met with cold correction.

According to your father, you were an embarrassment, but one he had to display as if he were proud. He was a daimyo, the lord of your province, and so he was meant to be the perfect example of an honorable man. Nobody batted an eye when he lay with his own servants — it was typical, anyways, especially since his own wife had died in the service of his first and only son — but when the stomach of the maid who swept the kitchens began to swell, the whispers abounded. What would happen to the child, who was undoubtedly of the Hiiragi line? Would he acknowledge her, or would he throw her to her death in the streets?

Well, it would’ve been worse if he cast her away, so reluctantly, your father watched over your mother, caring for her until you were born. That day, he snatched you away, your lips still wet from milk, your thin hair plastered to your tiny brow, and he handed you to the waiting surrogate. After that, he had your mother killed, taken to the back and burnt alive when she was too weak to fight back.

It was easy for him to disguise the murder by claiming that she, too, had faced the same fate as his beloved wife. Hiiragi blood claws at the womb. Though of course you were no Hiiragi — you were Y/N L/N, undeserving of a nobler address — it was true that, despite your circumstances, you were still half a lady, a daimyo’s daughter as much as you were a maid’s. So your father blamed her death on you, and only a select few knew the truth, all of whom shared blood and two of whom shared a name.

Though it was impossible for him to remember it, your half-brother would describe the gray of the smoke to you, the way your mother’s ashes had swirled into the air and her screams had faded into the crackling of embers. Only when your eyes welled with tears would he snicker and leave you to your own devices, ruffling your hair fraternally, though the gesture was anything but.

“What cause do you have to cry?” he’d call out over his shoulder. “You hardly knew the woman. At least her death at Father’s hand was quick; were she left to you, she would’ve suffered for longer and longer. It was a mercy, though I am sure you know not what that word means.”

Once you had grown older, you began to understand, in pieces and then all in a rush, what purpose you served for your father, why he had kept you at his side so many years after propriety demanded. Your father, who had never had any other children bar your half-brother…if he wanted to secure an alliance with one or another of the neighboring daimyos, who were ever clamoring for more territory, more land, more wealth, more more more, what was the best option? It was you.

Mere days after you turned of age, the men began to arrive at the Hiiragi manor. These conversations were like dancing with snakes for your father and half-brother, each word a baring of their fangs, each sly remark a biting challenge, each exchanged glance a seeping of their poison. You were relegated to pouring tea and keeping your gaze lowered, a showpiece more than a participant.

The more foolish of the supplicants, in their earnest desires to appease the serpent-kin Hiiragis, would seek to compliment you, claiming that no more beautiful woman existed in all the world, insisting to your father that, were they given your hand and thus the support of the Hiiragis, they would build a palace grand enough to contain even one such as yourself.

This was when your half-brother would make himself known, his expression coy and playful, his voice a smooth hiss as he reminded the suitor that you were a bastard. The daughter of a maid, he’d say with a laugh, the sound jarring and devoid of mirth. You find her so lovely? You must not have very high standards, then.

Their faces would go white, and the corners of your father’s lips would twitch as he commanded them to leave at once. The Hiiragi would not ally themselves with those who had such lofty but baseless aspirations, not when they themselves had their own goals which they pursued so staunchly — only an equal or greater would receive the honor of their support, of their only daughter, who was barely classified as such but nevertheless had attained at least that much in her lifetime.

“There’s a suitor coming to see you,” your half-brother said, the painted screen door pushed aside, his arms crossed as he peered into your room. “Hey. Shitty Y/N. Get dressed; Father seems to think this one might have some merit to him.”

“Might you send a maid to assist me?” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat when he raised his eyebrows. “Reiji, you must realize that it is difficult for me to ready myself to that extent.”

Reiji’s lip curled as he regarded you, but finally, to your relief, he nodded at you. “Very well, though only because this meeting is of import and it would not do for you to have a shoddy appearance.“

“Thank you,” you said, pressing your forehead to the floor until you heard the whoosh of the door as it slid shut. Curling your fists, you pushed yourself up until you were kneeling in front of your dressing table, staring into the mirror and wincing when you noticed that there were dark hollows under your eyes.

“Miss L/N,” a soft voice called from the other side of the screen. “Shall I enter?”

“You may,” you said. You recognized her gentle intonations; she was, after all, the only maid in the manor who treated you as if you were a true-born Hiiragi and not some other, accursed thing.

The door opened once again, but she stood alone, her tiny figure such a contrast to Reiji’s boasting frame. Her bright hair was tied back, her eyelids lowering in disappointment when she glanced at you.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you must endeavor to sleep earlier,” she said, crouching behind you, her clever fingers beginning to weave through your hair. “Are those terrors plaguing you anew?”

“Is it so obvious?” you said.

“Rather, it is that I know you so well,” she said. “So, that is the reason?”

“It is,” you said, pursing your lips. “But that is enough questioning on the matter, Anri. I should not like to speak of it.”

“Perhaps it would be helpful if you did,” she suggested. “Do you not agree? Recounting them could ward them away.”

“It has never worked in the past, so why should it work now? I think that you are disguising your curiosity as concern,” you said.

“I—I—I would do no such thing! Miss L/N, how could you even suggest it?” she sputtered.

“It was only a jest,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Anyways, I suppose that this terror is of a different nature, so it may yet vanish if I speak it aloud.”

For as long as you could remember, you had had fitful episodes, lasting a week but never longer, in which you dreamt of terrible things that haunted you even in your waking hours. None of these visions ever had much coherence, but there was a sense of doom interspersed throughout, a personal doom, as if they held a sort of significance to you that you were too naive to understand.

“This time, there was a man,” you said. “I saw him vividly, though I cannot recall him any longer.”

“A man!” Anri said.

“Yes, and I believe a comely one, to answer what I know you will not speak aloud. His face has been lost to me, but I was frightened of him, or perhaps for him,” you said. “It is the first time I have watched someone other than my mother die in the fire. He embraced her as it happened, but despite their familiarity, I am certain it was not my father.”

Every single nightmare ended in the same way: a woman’s immolation, flames licking up her dress and lashing against her face, which resembled yours so greatly that you knew she could be no one else but your mother. Her expression was stony and set, though her eyes danced with a wild sort of panic as she burned, her jaw twitching from the efforts of silencing the screams that Reiji had claimed he had heard.

This was the first time that she had not been alone, her taut muscles releasing as the man appeared. Though your mother’s face never left your mind — you could not escape it when a facsimile stared back at you whenever you gazed at your reflection — the man was out of your grasp, a slippery sort of person who you wanted very badly to remember but simply could not.

He had had his back to you, facing your mother at her end, and then he had gathered her in his arms, clutching her tightly and allowing the fire to take them both. And though tears had dripped from her eyes, though she had shivered from the pain of their shared death, you had noticed that for the first time, your mother had seemed happy, as if her impending doom meant nothing in face of what you got the sense was a long-anticipated reunion.

“Did your mother have another lover?” Anri said.

“How should I know?” you said, harsher than you had intended. Anri flinched from surprise, and you frowned. “I apologize.”

“No, the error is mine, Miss L/N,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven. You were merely expressing your interest in the subject, and I had the gall to snap at you for it. To tell you the truth, he did hold her in the way a lover might, but I have never heard much if anything about my mother’s past, so that does nothing to solve the mystery of his identity. Anyways, if ever he did exist, he’s likely long dead, so it does not warrant further investigation,” you said.

“Of course not,” she said, pressing a cake of powder against your face, blowing the excess away. “Do you think that this discussion has assuaged you?”

“That’s a question I can only answer after tonight, you know,” you said.

“Oh, I have spoken hastily,” she said. “Forgive me.”

“You needn’t apologize,” you said. “I am not Reiji nor my father. It isn’t possible for you to wrong me. For if you could, then I would not be Y/N L/N but Y/N Hiiragi, and as I am not, you ought to worry less.”

“You are still Lord Hiiragi’s daughter, and as such, I will give you the respect that that position demands,” she said.

“Am I?” you said. “What if I am that man’s daughter?”

“Were there even a hint of uncertainty as to your parentage, I do not doubt that Lord Hiiragi would’ve long ago sent you away,” Anri said. “Without question, you are his. A name cannot change that.”

“It is a reminder better given to my half-brother,” you said. “Reiji believes me to be a devil, one of the star-killing variety.”

“Well, that half-brother of yours—” Anri began before silencing herself. “Regardless. Not even the Shogun himself could take your inheritance from you.”

“Thank you, Anri,” you said, recognizing that she had put herself into danger just for the sake of your reassurance. It wasn’t fair of you to demand, so you mustered a grin in the hope that she did not continue to worry. “Am I ready, then? Reiji said that Father believes this suitor to be a genuine prospect, so I do not wish to tarry.”

“You are as lovely as ever,” she said. “The hollyhock of the Hiiragi.”

You could not see that supposed beauty, not in yourself, but if Anri said it, then it was definitely there. Clasping your hands, you nodded at her, your face warm at the comparison to your family’s flower.

“Thank you,” you said. “You may go fetch Reiji now. I am sure that he wishes to escort me, as is proper.”

“I will return at once,” she said.

You inhaled and exhaled, counting the seconds in between to calm your nerves. Your father had never once spoken favorably of a candidate for your hand until now — did that mean this was it, then? Had he finally found the family that he wished to align himself with? Which would it be, and would their son be cruel? You did not mind running the household, but if your husband were unkind or overly interested in your affairs, then you were unsure of whether you could handle it. And children, what of children? Would you be expected to have many? Would it be a demon which you carried, a star-killer like yourself or a Hiiragi which clawed at your womb as it left? All of these things and more you considered, the endless loop playing as you waited for Reiji and Anri to return.

“You look acceptable, sister,” Reiji said, his charade well-perfected at this point. If your marriage was meant to unite two clans, then you could not be referred to with the usual indignity. Of course, you could not be a Hiiragi, but you had to be considered the sister of one, or else your father’s efforts would be for naught, and given the instability of the country at the moment, that would be a fatal mistake.

“Thank you, Reiji — brother,” you said, correcting yourself when you stumbled over his name and he shot you a dark glare. The iciness of his eyes, which might’ve entranced anyone else, seemed sinister and dull to you, and you did everything you could to ensure that they were not settled upon you for too long.

Your father sat across from a boy with dark, wavy hair, who turned to look at you when you entered. He had wide eyes that were the burnished color of a gourd, and his face was appealingly structured, his shoulders broad and a sword strapped at his waist. When he noticed that it was only you and Reiji, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Mister Reiji Hiiragi,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has spoken highly of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir…?” Reiji said.

“Kenyu Yukimiya,” the boy said. On closer inspection, he was nearing the cusp of manhood; several years your elder and likely even wiser than Reiji, he was hardly a boy at all anymore. “My father is daimyo of the neighboring province, and I am his heir. Am I to assume that that woman is your sister?”

“Y/N L/N,” Reiji said, maneuvering you in front of him so that your charms could be on display for Yukimiya. “Greet him, sister.”

“Welcome, Mister Yukimiya. It is an honor. Would you like some tea?” you said.

“I should not say no, I think,” he said. “In the face of such generous hospitality, who could refuse?”

As was traditional, all three of them quieted, contemplating and meditating on their woven mats as you prepared the tea, pressing your whisk against the powdered leaves and boiling the water. It was a soothing ritual, the billowing steam clearing your head of the migraine which threatened to build behind your temples, the easy motions of the preparation allowing your hands to work mindlessly and simply at the task.

After the tea was prepared, you bowed before Yukimiya. He raised his cup for you, and you filled it carefully, ensuring that you did not spill even a drop. Holding the pot steady until the liquid reached the rim, you bowed again and then repeated the actions for your father, after which came your half-brother. Then, you stowed the pot and the tea-making materials away; it would be improper if you, as the official host of this meeting despite contributing almost nothing to it, partook as well.

“That was elegantly done,” Yukimiya said as you returned to your place at Reiji’s side. “I’m impressed. For only being half-highborn, you have taken to the customs quite well, Miss L/N.”

He said it bluntly. Half-highborn. This was, after all, a person who did not have to fear your father’s rage, not when his own family was of a comparable status. The Hiiragis could not raise a hand against him, not if they wished to avoid a war with the Yukimiyas, and as that would be costly, your father could not respond to an insult even when it was so plainly given.

“She is a quick learner,” your father said, and instead of offense, there was interest twinkling in his mien. Yukimiya took a sip from his cup, mulling over the taste and your father’s response alike.

“Might I inquire why she has the name L/N, and not Hiiragi? If she is your daughter, then surely the latter is her birthright,” he said.

“She is a bastard,” your father said. “You know that already.”

“I was aware,” Yukimiya affirmed.

“Her mother died upon her birth; my daughter chose to take her name instead, as a way to keep her memory alive,” your father said.

“I see,” Yukimiya said. Whether or not he saw through the obvious lie was irrelevant; your father had given him a weapon with which he could defend himself to those who might question his future wife’s parentage, should he choose to take you. That was all that he needed. “She must be of a more sensitive temperament.”

“As a lady, it’s to be expected,” your father said genially.

“I confess I grew up without a sister, so I am not used to the inclinations of young women,” Yukimiya said. “I shall take you at your word, Lord Hiiragi.”

“I thank you for your trust,” your father said. He might’ve seemed indifferent, but in truth there was a great joy to the heaviness of his forehead and the set of his cheeks, which only you and Reiji could detect.

“If you are not opposed to me asking for your trust in return, and if the lady agrees to it, then I would like it if she might show me around your gardens,” Yukimiya said. “It’d allay any misgivings of mine if I could speak to her in private before I make a decision one way or another.”

“Neither my daughter nor I would deny such a gently given request, especially not coming from a guest,” your father said. “Y/N, please see Mister Yukimiya to the gardens at once.”

“Yes, Father. Please follow me, sir,” you said, standing and bowing at Yukimiya once more. He stood as well, walking purposefully after you. He was careful to pace his longer strides with yours, so that you were not gasping and racing to keep up with him, as you often were with Reiji. The casual tact warmed you to him, and as the two of you entered the gardens, you took a moment to sneak a glance at him.

“Your innocence is fascinating,” Yukimiya said when he caught you peering at him. “At first, I was convinced that it was an act you put on in front of your father, but it seems to be genuine.”

You cringed. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no disrespect by it.”

“It’s really interesting,” he said. “Do you think I mean to hurt you?”

“If you did, I could not stop you,” you said. “Our families are not on the best of terms, are they?”

“Who told you that?” he said in alarm.

“It is commonly known that the daimyos do not get along,” you said. “Why should your father and mine be any different?”

“The relationship is awkward, but it is not as bad as it could be, or as some are,” Yukimiya said, relaxing. “Were it any worse, I’d be a fool to come here alone in the pursuit of a mere girl.”

“A mere girl?” you said. “But is the alliance not what you are truly after? If so, then it would have been in pursuit of that which you rode, not of me, and so it would’ve been far less foolish and more pacifistic in nature.”

“True,” he admitted freely. “You are only an additional benefit, but one I am not opposed to. I would have accepted your father’s proposal regardless, but I must confess I am pleased to find you so agreeable.”

He meant to win you over with his kindness, as surely as he had won over your father with his stoic maturity. Reiji had instructed you in these things, told you to be wary of men who treated you well, but you could not help the fluttering in your stomach at the unprecedented tenderness Yukimiya was showing you.

“I find you agreeable as well,” you said. He let out a laugh, full-bodied and musical, suiting him exactly.

“Take me to your favorite place in these gardens. You must wander them often, yes?” he said.

“When I am given the opportunity,” you said, leading him down the path, past a copse of camphor trees and towards a low wall where hollyhocks burst from the ground, profusely flowering in shades of red and pink. They were towering, some arching above even Yukimiya, and a few bees darted around their blooms, paying you both no mind as you admired their work.

You preferred this location above all others, for the curve of the route and the height of the hollyhocks meant that you could, for a moment or two, be hidden away from Reiji and the rest of the Hiiragi household.

“And which flower do you find the loveliest?” Yukimiya said. You cocked your head before pointing at one so pale it was almost white, its petals reaching towards the sun and a butterfly resting at its center. Abruptly, Yukimiya drew his sword, and before you could cry out from shock, he brought it down on the stem of the blossom. The butterfly fluttered away, and the flower fell into his waiting palm, which he then extended to you.

“For you,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, though your heart was still pounding from how quickly it had all been done. He tucked the flower behind your ear and stroked your cheek.

“We should return before your father grows worried about how long we are taking,” he said.

“Father wouldn’t worry,” you said, with only a tinge of rebelliousness.

“Oh?” Yukimiya said. “Is that so?”

“Er, I mean, well, it’s only that I’m in good company, and he is likely delighted by our camaraderie, so, ah…” you stammered when you realized how dangerous that simple misinterpretation could be. Thankfully, he only smiled at you.

“Of course, but fathers get protective over their daughters, and I would not like to fall from his favor when that very favor is so important to our success,” he said.

“It is sound reasoning,” you said. “Let us be off at once.”

You were dismissed to your chambers as the terms of the marriage were set, and this time Reiji did not come with you, so you allowed yourself to feel giddy. How you had been so frightened! If only you had known that Yukimiya would turn out in the way that he had, you would not have feared so greatly.

Anri came to help you undress that evening, and though she did not inquire, you knew she could tell from your uncharacteristic jumpiness that you were thrilled at the course of events. Being wedded to Yukimiya was not only a livable fate, it was one you could genuinely look forward to — if you were his wife, then you’d command a far greater respect than you ever had in the Hiiragi manor. You would no longer be the bastard-born Y/N L/N; instead, you’d be the next Lady Yukimiya, whose ancestry did not matter nearly as much as her progeny did.

As you settled down on your mat to sleep, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders and facing the window so your face could be bathed in the light of the moon, you hoped that you’d have a peaceful night. Whether your conversation with Anri or your joy at the engagement with Yukimiya…one or another of these things, you prayed, would have been enough to chase off your nightmares until the next week of fits came about.

To your eternal gratitude, it was a dreamless sleep you fell into, and indeed when you awoke to darkness, you could not discern what had caused you to stir. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, your duvet falling in a puddle around your lap, you yawned, contemplating the notion of going to fetch a glass of water before attempting to return to your earlier state.

Before you could make up your mind either way, you became horrifyingly aware of a firm presence against your back. An arm wrapped around the side of your face, a gloved hand covering your mouth and a kunai pressing against the skin of your neck, angled so that it could pierce your throat if you moved even a centimeter. You did not even scream for fear of its wicked tip, and your breath came in harsh, short pants, the taste of linen washing over your tongue as you shuddered in the deadly embrace.

“Shh,” your invisible assailant murmured. “I’m good at this. It’ll be quick, young Hiiragi. You won’t even know it happened.”

Young Hiiragi. Not once in your life had you ever been called that, and before you could stop yourself, you were shaking your head, pulling back from the kunai, though he did not let you get very far.

“Plead all you want,” he said. “Go on, then. It’s late, so no one else will hear us. I don’t mind if you want to try; maybe if you offer to pay me more than my current employer, I’ll consider sparing you. Don’t think about calling for help, though. I’ll kill you before you can make a sound.”

He parted his fingers, though he still held you in place, staring ahead at the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, it wasn’t, you just had to go along with it and then you’d actually wake up and things would be fine.

“I’m not a Hiiragi,” you said. “I’m Y/N L/N. The bastard — the bastard girl. What good comes of you killing me? No one will care.”

He stiffened, you felt it against your body, though he tried to disguise it the moment that it happened. His voice was low and cold when he spoke next, as if you were the one who had wronged him and not the other way around.

“You’re the fucking girl,” he said. “That incompetent piece of shit. He told me he knew exactly which room the Hiiragi heir slept in before sending me, and you’re telling me he got it wrong?”

“Who?” you ventured to say. “Who wants to kill Reiji — my half-brother?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he said, and then the hand holding the kunai was balling into a fist and knocking against the top of your head lightly, almost teasingly. “Maybe if you think about it hard enough, though, you’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t — I don’t — are you going to kill me?”

You wished that in these last moments, you could’ve kept some kind of composure, could’ve held your head high the way your mother had, but you were nowhere near as strong as the woman in your dreams. You were a bumbling mess, tripping over your words, clinging desperately to a life you had never cared for in the first place.

“What to do, indeed?” he mused. “If I kill you, it’ll be ten times as difficult for me to come back to this place, but then again, you know of a plot against your half-brother, so how can I let you live? It’ll be a real weight on my conscience.”

“What conscience?” you said. “If you are a murderer-for-hire, then how can you claim to have anything resembling that?”

“I prefer being called a ninja, though as you please, lady,” he said. “By the way, this is generally when you would beg for me to spare you.”

“Will it matter? Will the course of your deliberations change if I beg?” you said.

“Give me something,” he said. “Something that makes letting you live worth it.”

“I have nothing of the sort. Only my own life, and even that is not so precious. I want to live, I cannot deny it; I want to live more than anything. It is a miserable life, yet it is mine, and I cannot bear to let go of it quite yet, so if begging is enough, then I shall fall to my knees gladly, but that is all I have to offer,” you said.

“Hm,” he said.

“They won’t believe me,” you tried. “Even if I tell them. Everyone knows I’ve been having nightmares this week. This is just another one of those terrors, isn’t it? If you think Reiji or my father would take me seriously in the best of days, then I’d call you delusional, but at a time when I am prisoner to my own visions, they are more likely to seek counsel from a quail.”

“How sorry,” he said. “To think that they would ignore their own daughter’s warnings. It’s only that kind of clan that could be killed by its own neighbors.”

“Yukimiya,” you breathed, the realization like a bucket of ice water over your head. This earned you an amused exhale.

“Smart girl,” he said.

“They sent you? But what about—”

“An excuse,” he said, before you could complete the inquiry. “For the son to come to the manor and grow familiar with its layout, so that he could direct me to Reiji Hiiragi’s quarters. It was a plan not without risk, but in this world, isn’t that the only way to succeed? Ah, I really should get rid of you now. I cannot believe that incompetent dimwit has put me in this kind of situation. I hate killing women.”

The kunai was back at your throat, this time the breadth of it resting against your pulse. You swallowed.

“Then don’t kill me,” you said. “Hurt me or take me hostage, but let me live.”

“A hostage?” he said. “Hostages are generally people who are wanted, Miss L/N. Taking you as one would bring me far more trouble than anything.”

“I don’t want to die,” you said. “What do you want from me? You said if I could give you something that makes letting me live worth it, you’d spare me.”

“There’s nothing,” he said. “That doesn’t exist. I was being cruel to you, lady, for no other reason than my personal entertainment. It’s like how a child might pry off the wings of a butterfly, causing it to suffer just because they can.”

“I won’t betray you,” you said. “Please, sir, I won’t. I really won’t.”

“Sir? I’ll admit I’ve never been called that before,” he said. “Would your opinion of me be lower if I said that I liked it? On second thoughts, don’t answer that. It’ll only hurt my feelings.”

“Have you no empathy?” you said. “You are joking around as if my life is not in your hands.”

“Empathy? For you and your kind, I feel none,” he said. “Hiiragi or not, you have spent your entire life in a walled off manor. We are so different as to be entirely separate species. Asking me to feel empathy for you is akin to asking me to move the sun a degree to the right. I cannot do it, I am not capable, and furthermore I think of you as grossly ignorant just for making the request.”

“Please,” you said, long ago having run out of anything else to say. He scoffed.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve wasted enough time here.”

“I’ll take you to my half-brother!” you said, the delicate flesh of your neck smarting from the shallow cut he had torn into it. “Reiji’s quarters. I will show you where they are.”

“You would trade his life for your own?” he said, pulling his kunai back, voice lilting with interest.

“Yes,” you said. He was silent for so long that, were it not for the crush of his chest against your spine, you would’ve thought he had vanished. Then, suddenly, he chuckled.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said. “Here I was, thinking you’d be the self-sacrificing type.”

“Kill him if you must,” you said. “But release me.”

Live. Live. Live. It was an imperative in your mind — you had to live. You could not die yet. You could not die here. If that meant latching onto your half-brother and draining him of his own existence, then you would do just that. If it meant you could survive, then you’d do it again and again, as many times as you had to.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You did so promptly, and your obedience was met with a condescending pat on the head. “Do not open them again until dawn. I shall let you live on the assumption that you are true to your word — but mind you, I will come to collect. Not today, but someday, I will kill Reiji Hiiragi, and you will be the one who gives me leave to do it.”

[thunderandsage]

my comprehensive star trek fic recs

(starting note: a lot of the following works contain heavy and/or uncomfortable themes, which is my preference when reading fanfiction, so just be aware of that. a lot of them are also, uh, rated E, so yea. i have no excuse for that one.)

(contains: mostly AOS with smatterings of SNW, DS9 and TOS)

EPICS/LONGER WORKS:

Don't Stop Believing by kianspo (Spirk AOS, rated E, finished at 205,901 words, a Spock-character-study slash novel-length-epic, features Spock/Pike heavily near the beginning, explores the loss and pain after y'know losing your mother and your planet, slow-burn Spirk but GOD the slow-burn is so good, not a straightforward story as characters are capable of both advancing and regressing but this complexity makes the story more delicious, includes homoerotic piano duets)

You Don’t Have To (Say Yes) by luminousbeings (Spirk AOS, rated M, finished at 192,321 words, HEED THE WARNINGS, starts out as “let’s make Tarsus IV even worse” but evolves into love letter for friendship and chosen family, characters so good you want to start chewing on the metaphorical pages, Kirk as bright-sunshine-character-with-the-horrors-in-his-past who’s messed up but god he’s trying, passages in this fic permanently rewired my brain)

War Games by seperis (Spirk AOS, rated E, finished at 108,882 words, necessary to read You’ll Get There In The End first, very sharp and cohesive prose and plot, the romance here is pretty unconventional and “unromantic” almost but it honestly works really well, uhh main warning is that this deals with politics analogous with real-world loss of rights so it’s uncomfortably relatable but if you’re fine with that it’s a really interesting read, intrigue and action, sorta-telepath!Kirk and good Vulcan OCs)

K’diwa: A Steamy Novel of Interspecies Romance, by Jim Kirk by branwyn (Spirk AOS, rated technically E but it’s more M i feel, finished at 103,984 words, accidental romance writer Jim Kirk, Kirk-was-adopted-by-Vulcans, Academy Era, far on the feel-good and indulgent side of fic if you’re into that)

The Door by Pouxin (Spirk AOS, rated E, finished at 77,118 words, per the description "and alternative STID thing" with one of the most distinctive and sweet/sharp love stories, smut does feature very heavily but so does literature and messy emotions, contains my favorite version of THAT scene from STID, makes you want to annotate passages and look for parallels like in fucking english lit class again)

For the Gladness of You by kariye (Spirk AOS, rated E, finished at 51,055 words, non-linear narrative, Spock and Kirk both have Issues(tm), definitely a thornier read where problems don’t have clear solutions and people are messy and don’t always make good decisions, more cynical but still so good)

EPISODIC/SMALLER STORIES:

The 1,000 Hour Sleep by spqr (Spirk SNW, rated M, finished at 27,227 words, basically Jim is a secret agent for Starfleet who's treated as expendable by Command but still gets adopted by the SNW crew, good balance of action/angst and romance/pining)

This Trailer Park Is a Shithole But Goddammit, It’s Home by waketosleep (Spirk AOS, rated M, finished at 23,446 words, trailer park AU, Jim Kirk’s dubious adventures in growing weed and trying to avoid the law, the crackiest adaptation of st2009 you’ll ever read)

Something Smart to Do by kianspo (Spirk AOS, rated M, finished at 21,322 words, how many times will Spock and Kirk get fake-married for missions before they admit they’re in love? the answer is too damn much)

How to Inefficiently Acquire a Human Male in 98.6 Earth Days by noodleinabarrel (Spirk AOS, rated T, finished at 30,391 words, Academy Era, Spock tries to ward off Jim's attempts at friendship but receives advice that does... not do that, romcom vibes, meddling Gaila)

Big Me (But It’s You I Fell Into) by waketosleep (Spirk AOS, rated M, finished at 38,728 words, i am entirely indifferent towards golf but this fic still slaps, feat. an oblivious jim, a low-stress but still very fun read)

knives in the water by green_postit (McKirk AOS, rated E, finished at 18,618 words, dark, mafia au, smut and violence, featuring McCoy’s sexual frustration and steadily eroding moral compass)

FEMSLASH:

encrusted gem-stuff / / of the mist by leohtttbriar (T'pura SNW, rated T, finished at 41,862 words, pon farr but it’s lesbians, beautiful psychedelic and almost surreal writing style that i want to inject into my bloodstream)

Unspoken by ThereBeWhalesHere (T’pura AOS, rated M, finished at 29,201 words, lovely AOS Uhura depiction with lots of linguistics and character depth, the path to true love is convoluted and thorny but they get there, eventually)

i cannot paint / what then i was by leohtttbriar (Kiradax DS9, rated T, finished at 15,462 words, brief Jadzia/Lenara Kahn, read if you like greek classics references, bi disaster Jadzia and gorgeous lesbian pining)

let them vie with each other by leohtttbriar (Jadzia Dax/Nyota Uhura DS9 & SNW/TOS, rated T with non-explicit sex scenes, finished at 6,215 words, a rarepair that sank its teeth into my neck, a gorgeous story that is very sci fi not just bc of the fandom but in its storytelling, beautiful science and linguistics asides, incredibly beautiful prose)

A Hermeneutics of Ass-Fucking by Alsike (Christine Chapel/T’pring SNW, rated M, finished at 5,954 words, an enjoyable cocktail of Vulcan intellectualism, crack and lesbian horniness, introduced me to Maggie Nelson’s works, also an update as this has sequels, the main being: Erotic Vulcan Love Poetry, Like a Sea Turtle to their Beach and Federation Day Festivities in Wabanaki Territory (Formerly known as Quebec), all of which are excellent)

Matchmaker of Mars by Edonohana (T’pura TOS, rated T, finished at 2,749 words, T’Pring and Uhura as 1930s scifi writers with a grudge against Campbell)

“BITE-SIZED”:

there's no such thing as a bad idea by bloodyhalefire (Spock & Bones AOS, rated T, finished at 5,114 words, giving "teenage girls talk about their crushes at a sleepover" except it's two emotionally constipated middle-ish-aged men who are drunk)

And Then I Let It Go by kianspo (Spirk AOS, rated E, finished at 10,632 words, post-Beyond getting together including fake identities and agricultural work)

Any Way You Want It by kianspo (Spirk AOS, rated T, finished at 12,031 words, Spock gets offered a promotion and Jim wants to be supportive, misunderstanding ensue, slightly cracky)

Watershed Moments by battybatzgirl (Kirk & Mcoy AOS, rated N/A, finished at 9,455 words, based on that Parks and Rec episode with snake juice but it’s Chekov’s tribble juice here, everyone’s super wasted here and it’s glorious, crack)

Big Damn Heroes by waldorph (Chekov/Sulu AOS, rated E, finished at 6,821 words, Chekov character study in a "live fast, die young" type of Starfleet life, honestly just read anything by waldorph ever, swashbuckling vibes)

what is love? (no really) by serenfire (Aromantic Spirk AOS, finished at 7,534 words, read if you like disaster!Kirk and/or have a grudge against Valentine's Day, cracky)

Hallmark Moment (Here in the Morning Remix) by unveiled (Joanna McCoy AOS, rated G, finished at 3,312 words, bittersweet character study, read if you want to feel a little sad and contemplative)

the five-year mission by screamlet (Kirk & McCoy AOS, rated M, finished at 11,106 words, dark post-STID that sees what with Starfleet's militarization and colonialist undertones... y'know that's not far from the mirrorverse...)

A Monument to All Your Sins by sinestrated (Spirk AOS, rated T, finished at 9,629 words, post-STID where Kirk is ordered to retake the Kobayashi Maru, soft established relationships and musings about the nature of sacrifice/duty)

UNFINISHED:

K’oh-nar by AlexPrime (Spirk TOS, rated T, updating at 320,000 words currently, PLEASE heed the "mental breakdown" tag as it centers around severe psychically-inflicted trauma, featuring Spock’s TOS canonical self-loathing, it’s tagged hurt/comfort but the plot’s still on the “hurt,”read if you want to be stabbed by a hundred knives)

Unbody Me and Take Me Home by Gltertearz (Spirk AOS, rated N/A, updating at 27,416 words but updating, domestic fluff but there's a ghost, slowburn for both the romance and the horror)

Pinched Nerve by RookSacrifice (Spirk SNW, rated E, updating regularly at 14,776 words currently, due to varying reasons both Spock and Jim enter a corporate matchmaking program, hilarity ensues, prose is very sharp and enjoyable)

[head-empty-just-ace]

This pinned post is under construction~

Introduction//Navigation

I've been using tumblr for a while. So, I can't really say that I'm new here but I haven't been really interacting much. However, I do wanna make friends here. Here are a few things about me:

Feel free to call me Cy. I'm genderfluid so I'm pretty okay with any pronouns (if you use them alternatively, i like you already).

This profile is going to be a range of dumping my thoughts on various topics from serious to unserious, Portgas D. Ace, headcanons, scenarios, and whatever else I'll think of.

If you like books, anime, and crochet— wanna be friends? I'll give you a cookie🍪

I wanna make this account a safe place for people. However, if you are homophobic, racist, misogynistic, or are the likes of that— go away. This is not a safe place for you.

Uhh...links? i guess?

Cy Writes!

A compilation of my poem, proses, and etc. I have a small trauma of losing a lot of my work. So, if I post them— I'll be able to have more access to them and even let other people enjoy them.

The content will be random. From a range of themes in poetry to my thoughts on a certain topic to just me being a bit weird lol. I'll have content warnings for everyone to be safe to go through them.

Masterlist

Just a compilation of my hcs, fics, and scenarios for various characters of One Piece (might get around to JJK, Genshin Impact, and WuWa in the near future). There's a legend that notes if it's for fem!readers, masc!readers, or gn!readers. Same for fluff, angst, suggestive content, and smut.

I'm open to criticism and requests! Be constructive with the criticism. I know I'm not perfect, and I have a lot of areas that need improving. So, I'd love to you your thoughts about it. On the requests part, just send me one and I will try to work on it. Might take me a while tho (sorry)...

If I notice or spot a minor interacting with MDNI posts— I will block you.

Anyways, here's my dog. Hope she makes you smile!

[ot3]

Book recommendations (that are not ORV, I've already been converted on that front).

check out the flower that bloomed nowhere on royal road if you get the chance. sound of the summer

uhh i really like the locked tomb series, i really enjoyed reading the baru cormorant series recently, the john dies at the end series has long been one of my favorites but i'll be the first to admit they're a little messy and definitely and acquired taste. the gone away world by nick harkaway is a fun and strange one. i read filth by irvine welsh not that long ago and that prose went hard as hell but it was a Rough read. i've been trying to read more books lately because i feel like i just haven't done huge amounts of that since i was in high school... area woman keeps reading manga instead because shes addicted to images

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

LOVING the game so far <33 demo is so fun. what's been some of your inspiration for DYVJ???

Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Inspirations... they're varied. I'm kind of a weird writer; often if I get excited by a game/movie/etc. I start thinking about writing in the same genre, but it's not necessarily a direct inspiration.

A long-running supervillain-based TTRPG I played with friends is probably the first inspiration. It was in my buddy's invented setting and although DYVJ doesn't key off that setting directly, it is the origin of Mal, who was my second PC and just generally A Disaster.

Worm got me more invested in the grittier side of superpowered settings. DYVJ has some parallels in worldbuilding but I consider it a different type of story and while I definitely wasn't trying to emulate anything from Parahumans directly, I can't ignore that Surpass was originally an OC for a fanfic!

Uhh this one is more out there and maybe even a little pretentious, but I've always just been generally inspired by Terry Pratchett. I don't write in a Discworld-esque style by any means, but reflecting on my personal style, I think my lean towards a sarcastic and somewhat quippy narrator owes a lot to Discworld's prose.

Finally, I am just generally inspired a lot by the Choice of Games/Hosted Games catalogue (plus WIPs! I should read more of them!). Reading always gets my energy up. I got a lot of mileage and ahem, juice out of reading the CDLC series and Night Road. Fallen Hero, also; I'd say FH is probably my biggest inspiration for specifically reactivity and having stats tracked under the hood. (oh but also, there's a small scene in Royal Affairs where a character can comment on how serious you are, and this felt great and made it click to me how gratifying players find it when the narrative recognises choices: that's done a lot to influence my approach to reactivity).

Bonus: I guess DYVJ is technically also 'inspired' by my previous attempt at writing in its setting, which went pretty okay but I lost momentum and flunked out. Mal was in that story too!

P.S. the weird thing about the DYVJ preview is that the protagonist was an ultra-paranoid telepath with a grudge against the government. Her name? Sideshow.

I hadn't played Fallen Hero at the time of writing.