ria-writes-stuff

[ria-writes-stuff]

Cruel Summer Whump Day 22

@cruelsummerwhump

Cruel Summer - Whump Event - Chapter 23 - Ria_Writes_Stuff - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Prompt: "He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain"

How I interpreted it: very literal to the prompt, Ranboo wanting comfort, Teagon wanting to hurt him

TWs: referenced child abuse, intimate whump, sadism, dehumanisation, suffocation, crushing, mentioned: drugging; beating; spanking (non-sexual) and stress positions

Words: 702

In Teagon's defense, he didn't always set out with the intention to hurt Ranboo.

Sometimes, he'd genuinely forget that the boy was far more fragile than, for instance, Tommy, that he couldn't withstand the same sort of rough affection that Teagon had with his actual children. He didn't usually apologise for unintentional pain, though - it wouldn't do for his pet to start thinking he was hard done by or anything. Ranboo only received verbal apologies on rare occasions, most of Teagon's behaviour being made up for with gentler affection and treats.

Accidental pain was rare, however, and Teagon would grin and openly admit that he enjoyed hurting Ranboo. There was something so intoxicating in watching his precious bunny try and hold back tears and whimpers, face going red and body shaking with the force of his silence. Pushing and pushing until he hit his limit and shattered, breaking down into helpless sobs as he writhed away from the pain.

Teagon enjoyed rigging his games - the usual rules were either no tears or no noise, and while on the surface, seemed to rely just on Ranboo's self control, it really wasn't fair when you were playing against an opponent with unlimited time and resources, and who was actively interested in making you lose.

Punishments for losing could be anything from a good old fashioned spanking, how naughty children had been treated for centuries, to something a little meaner, such as a stress position or a light whipping. Sometimes, though, when he didn't really feel like moving to enact proper punishment, he'd just use whatever was at hand.

Such as this moment in time.

Ranboo had come to him first, had snuggled up adorably to his side while Teagon was watching TV. His bunny was so sentimental, always begging for attention and affection, always so needy. The unspoken rule (Teagon loved unspoken rules, it made everyone else's job so much harder) was that Ranboo would sit first on the floor, where he belonged, and then whoever he was sat with would decide whether he was allowed up on the sofa.

Teagon was in a good mood, and so had tugged his bunny almost immediately up onto his lap, Ranboo melting the second that fingers started to trail through his hair.

The game started only when Teagon shifted positions, the afternoon sun making him drowsy. He'd stretched out fully across the sofa, encouraging Ranboo to lay down too, the seat wide enough for even his bulk to lay comfortably. He'd even been kind enough to leave the TV on, switched to some movie he vaguely recognised, so Ranboo wouldn't be bored if he wasn't ready to nap! It was only fair that he got to entertain himself until he drifted off too, however, and it was entirely Ranboo's fault that he'd lost the game so soon, squeaking only minutes after Teagon had started to put pressure onto his ribcage.

By this point, Teagon was half-asleep already, barely awake enough to hear that Ranboo had lost at all, and had no desire to stand up and think of something to punish him with.

So he did the next best thing, grabbing Ranboo and rolling in one smooth motion, tucking the boy neatly under him, so that Ranboo's head was tucked into the side of his neck, and the rest of him was utterly crushed.

Teagon could feel the panic, immediate and sharp, lungs fluttering and chest heaving as Ranboo tried desperately to take a full breath which would never come. It wouldn't kill him, if anything, Teagon's power would alert him if the boy was truly suffocating, but it would be highly uncomfortable until he decided to move.

Once he was settled, and Ranboo had stopped wriggling, Teagon was asleep within minutes.

(By the time he woke up, a few hours later, in the early evening, Ranboo had passed out entirely, face pale, eyes crusted with tears, and lungs struggling valiantly in his unconscious state. Shut down to conserve oxygen, Teagon assumed, fondly running his finger down the boy's cheek. He'd carry him to bed in a moment, drug him up and let him sleep the rest of the night. Teagon wasn't a monster, after all.)

[ria-writes-stuff]

TWENTY SI–– 83K????????

AND YOU WANNA DO ANOTHER EVENT??

lend me your strength, writer man /j

- 🌧

HELL YEAH BUDDY!!!

I actually have the highest word count in the entire event, which is fucking brilliant actually

Hold my hand, my little spook, let’s go into the flower fields of motivation together

[ria-writes-stuff]

Six of my uh- twenty six aufest fics ended up being emduo!

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called “emerald duo” 😳 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

Me: yeah whatever. I don’t feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude I swear 6 of my 7 aufest fics are about emerald duo

My buddy @coffeesgrandsarcasm pacing: they've known each other for centuries and yet theyre still absolute shit at communication

[ria-writes-stuff]

Curious because I've seen this (image below) used in very many different ways

[ria-writes-stuff]

EEEEEEEEEEEE CHAT LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

Hymn I’m currently in the process of selling my soul to you, you’re absolutely incredible, I’m in awe as ever

happy birthday, @ria-writes-stuff. long live the antimonarch

[ria-writes-stuff]

Cruel Summer Whump: Day 20

@cruelsummerwhump

Cruel Summer - Whump Event - Chapter 21 - Ria_Writes_Stuff - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Prompt: "Tell me that you're still mine"

How I interpreted it: manipulating someone to come back to you after you've hurt them

TWs: violence, beating, alcohol

Words: 590

Ranboo looked terrified.

Cowering away behind his hands, curled into the tightest corner of the room, shaking like a leaf. Hiding from Teagon.

He'd lost his temper again. Not with Ranboo, for once - it had been a bad day in general, full of blundering idiots, expensive mistakes and no time to waste on taking a break and calming down. He'd gotten home, pissed as fuck with everything, gone to find something to drink, and been halfway to the couch with an open beer when he'd collided headfirst with a small figure, knocking Ranboo to the floor and sending the alcohol spilling across the carpet.

It was no big deal, technically - he'd been the one looking at his phone instead of watching where he was going, the cleaners would get the stain out of the carpet, and they had a dozen beers in the fridge.

Most days, he'd clip Ranboo around the head and send him to fetch another drink, and forget about the incident until Phil came in squawking about his nice, cream carpet being ruined again.

Today, he'd had just about enough, and had laid into the kid until he was screaming, blind rage behind his eyes as he hit, and hit, and hit, until he was feeling moderately better and Ranboo had gone limp. He'd flung the kid against a wall, let him shuffle into the corner to cry and stain the carpet red, and had stalked off to go get his drink.

Kris hadn't looked particularly pleased when he passed her in the kitchen, clearly knowing that this hadn't been a punishment, this had been a punching bag, and had told him in no uncertain terms that if Ranboo wasn't fixed and happy again within the next hour, he'd be the one on the ground. Apparently Tommy had been wanting to show him a film all week, and would be devastated if his friend was too upset to join.

Which meant Teagon had to go apologise.

Teagon hated apologising.

Ranboo peeked out through his hands like a startled deer, shaking harder as Teagon approached again, and he sighed heavily.

"I'm not going to hurt you, bunny." he rumbled lowly, crouching down a couple of meters away, "I'm- I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have done that."

Ranboo startled in surprise, hands dropping a little with the shock, but he didn't uncurl from the corner, or lose the fear.

"Cmere, I'll fix you up, and then we can cuddle for a bit. We can put on one of your stupid Disney movies if you want."

He'd apologised, and now it was time for what he did best - bribery and manipulation.

Usually, Ranboo would crawl right back into his arms right about now, and Teagon would pat himself on the back, but it seemed that today, that would not work.

"You- you were mad." Ranboo whispered in a cracked voice, raspy from where Teagon had presumably bruised his throat, "I didn't- I didn't mean to bump into you, I'm sorry-"

"I know you're sorry, baby, I forgive you."

Hook, line.

"Do you promise?"

"Cross my heart. I'll get you some ice cream for your throat too."

And sinker.

Ranboo shuffled cautiously across the carpet, squeaking when Teagon leaned forward to grab him bodily. He was tense for a moment, presumably waiting for Teagon to snap again, before he finally relaxed, sniffling quietly.

"There we go bunny." he murmured, picking Ranboo up in a bridal carry, "You're my good boy, aren't you?"

Ranboo nodded, head pressed against his chest. "Yours."

"Mine."

[ria-writes-stuff]

Cruel Summer Whump: Day 19

@cruelsummerwhump

Cruel Summer - Whump Event - Chapter 20 - Ria_Writes_Stuff - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Prompt: "Check the pulse and come back swearing it't the same after three months in the grave, and then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame, and you held my lifeless frame"

How I interpreted it: killing someone you love

TWs: death/murder, strangulation

Words: 404

Teagon hadn't meant to kill him.

He swore that he hadn't, swore that he'd just been angry, blinded with rage, swore that he hadn't realised Ranboo's heart had stopped beating until he was lying limp in his arms, hand-print shaped bruises blooming beautifully on his throat.

He was so peaceful in death. There was nothing on his face to show his last, terrified moments, aside from the blood-shot whites of his eyes, nothing to indicate he was anything but asleep.

He'd been gone for so long.

Two and a half years. Two and a half years of searching, of calling in favors, of chasing ghosts. Of automatically leaning a hand down to brush through soft curls, only to collide with nothing but empty air. Of seeing pretty trinkets and little gifts, and having his first thought be "Ranboo would like that".

Two and a half years of anger, of pacing hallways and shooting down unfortunate employees. Punching walls and snarling at every report that turned up nothing.

Ranboo was just… gone. Disappeared. Like a ghost.

He couldn't- he couldn't quite remember how they'd found him. It slipped his mind, memories twisting confusingly when he tried to tug at them. But they had, they'd gotten him back, and then his bunny had been in his arms after so long, just as small and fragile as Teagon remembered.

Ranboo hadn't spoken, just trembled and clung tightly to Teagon's neck, burying his face in his shirt.

He hadn't fought when Teagon's hands had stopped caressing his back, rubbing slow circles as he whispered how much he'd missed him, hadn't tried to escape the strangling hands that promised that Ranboo would never leave him again.

He'd just meant to teach him a lesson… he'd just wanted Ranboo to hurt as much as he'd hurt.

And then he wasn't moving at all, lifeless in Teagon's arms, the faintest smile on his face. Freedom, after all this time. Permanent freedom.

Freedom from-

Teagon jolted awake on his own accord, dead silent as ever, but a few shameful tears sliding out. He'd long since perfected waking up from nightmares without disturbing his partners, and rolled carefully off the sheets, padding to the bathroom. He avoided eye contact with the mirror while he splashed a handful of water across his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he needed to start on sleeping pills. These fucking dreams were driving him insane.

[ria-writes-stuff]

Cruel Summer Whump: Day 18

@cruelsummerwhump

Cruel Summer - Whump Event - Chapter 19 - Ria_Writes_Stuff - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Prompt: "My spine split from carrying us up the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill"

How I interpreted it: being sick after exposure to the wet and cold

TWs: sickness, fever, implied peer pressure, being left alone while sick

Words: 262

Ranboo felt awful.

Curled up shuddering in his bed, coughs wracking his frame, throat too swollen to swallow, and a fever raging through his system, dripping sweat onto the sheets even while he froze to death.

It wasn't Tommy's fault, really, that he'd fallen into the lake. Ranboo had been the one to actually step onto it, the frozen water holding his weight. Tommy had slid after him, cackling with joy as he spun, taunting and teasing Ranboo for being too scared to go any further. He couldn't have known that the spot Ranboo was stepping on was weaker than his bit - Tommy's ice had been solid, there hadn't been malicious intent when the ground beneath Ranboo had given way and plunged him into icy waters.

He'd caught himself on the way down, stuck out his arms in a blind panic, nothing on his mind but not going under. Tommy had approached carefully, wiggling flat on his belly, and together, they'd pulled him up and out, sliding back to shore.

Ranboo had been shuddering before they'd reached the house, the bitter wind biting deep into his bones, and within the hour, wrapped in piles of towels and blankets, it was clear that he was sick.

Teagon had fussed over him last night, dosing him up on meds, tucking him in carefully and ensuring he was comfortable, but he'd been left alone this morning. Too weak to get out of bed, too sick to even reach for his phone, he shuddered in silent misery and prayed that sleep would take him again soon.

[ria-writes-stuff]

whumpee who doesn't need to be chained up in a basement. whumpee who's hidden in plain sight. whumpee who hides their own bruises and smiles when strangers ask them how they're doing.

[ria-writes-stuff]

idk how to word this properly but wrt the fanfic thing you reblogged earlier. Why do fanfic writers have such different expectations than any other content hosting platform?

Like lets take youtube as a point of comparison, Engagement like comments and likes largely exists to boost the works place in algorithm, thats why youtubers put in calls to action and other engament bait. Few with decent reach even read the comments and the audience shouldnt try to develop any weird parasocial relationship with the youtuber. Fanfic authors ask for likes (kudos, because the websites gotta use nonstandard language for some reason) and comments despite them not having any impact on an algorithm, and seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author based on tumblr posts like that one.

Why the radical difference in behaviour away from the norm? And honestly with all the (usually) metaphorical blood spilled online about parasociality why are authors really surprised that the audience tries to keep their distance as is best practice with any other content producer?

okay I am going to answer this as kindly and as calmly as I can and try to assume that you are asking this in good faith. because my friend, the fact that you feel the need to ask is, to me, The Problem.

[this is, for the record, in response to this post]

fanfiction writers are not *posting content.* (I also have reservations about engaging with the term "content producer" or "content creator" but let's put that aside for now, I'll circle back to it.) you say "they seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author" as though it is strange, off-putting, and incomprehensible to you, when in fact that is the point of writing fanfiction. it is a way of participating in fandom. it is a way of building community and exchanging ideas and becoming closer with people.

if authors wanted to solely ~generate content~ that would get them attention (?? to what end, the dynamic you have described seems to equate algorithmic supremacy as winning for winning's sake, as though all anyone wants to do is BUILD an audience without ENGAGING with them, which I cannot fathom but let's pretend for a moment that is, in fact, true) then like. if that were the case why on earth would they choose a medium in which they categorically cannot succeed and profit, because it isn't their IP?

you are equating two things that are not at all the same thing. to the degree that parasocial relationships are to be avoided, and "that person is not trying to be your friend they are trying to entertain you, please respect their boundaries" is a real dynamic -- which it is!! -- like. you have to understand that the reason that is true for the people of whom it is true is because it is their JOB. they are storytellers by profession, and they are either through direct payment, or sponsorship, or advertising, or through some other means, profiting off of your attention. i don't say this to be dismissive, many wonderful artists and actors and comedians and any number of a thousand things that i enjoy very much go this route but they do so as a *career choice.* and so when you violate the public/private boundary with them, you are presuming to know a Person rather than their Worksona. the people who work at Dropout or who stream their actual play tabletop games or who broadcast on TikTok or YouTube are inviting me to feel like i know them to the degree to which that helps them succeed in their medium and at their craft, but there MUST be a mutual understanding that that's a feeling, not a fact.

however.

a fanfiction writer is not an influencer, not a professional, and is not looking to garner "success." there is no share of audience we are trying to gain for gain's sake, because we are not competition with one another, because there is nothing to win other than the pleasure of each other's company. we are doing this for no other reason than the love of the game; because we have things we want desperately to say about these worlds, these characters, these dynamics, and because we *want more than anything to know we are not alone in our thoughts and feelings.* fanfiction is a bid for interaction, engagement, attention, and consideration. it is not meant to be consumed and then moved on from because we are NOT paid for our work, nor do we want to be. the reward we seek is "attention," but attention as in CONVERSATION, not attention as in clicks. we are not IN this for profit, or for number-go-up. there is no such thing: legally there cannot be. we are in this because we want to be seen and known.

like. please understand. i am now married to someone i met because of mutual comments on fanfiction. our close friend and roommate, with whom i have cohabitated for over a decade now, is someone I met because of mutual comments on fanfiction and livejournal posts. that is my household. beyond my household, the vast majority of my closest personal friends are people with whom I built relationships in this way.

you ask why fanfiction writers want THIS and not "the norm," but the idea of everything being built to cater to an algorithm to continue to build clout, as though the only method of reaching people is Distant Overlord Creator and Passive Receptive Audience being "the norm" is EXTREMELY NEW. this is not how it has always been!! please think of the writers of zines in a pre-internet fandom, using paper and glue and xerox to try and meet like-minded people in a world that was designed for you to only ever meet people in person, by happenstance, in your own hometown. imagine the writers of the early internet, building webrings from scratch to CREATE a community to find each other, despite distance. imagine livejournal groups, forums, and -- yes, indeed, of course -- comment threads IN STORIES -- as places where people go to *converse.* in the past, we had an entire Type Of Guy that everyone knew about, the BNF ("Big Name Fan") whose existence had to be described via meme because it was SO DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM. treating fellow fans like celebrities or people too cool for the regular kids to know was an OUTLIER, and one commonly understood to lead to toxicity.

in the past, I have likened writing fanfiction to echolocation. i am not screaming because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, though i can and do find my voice beautiful. i am screaming so that the vibrations can bounce back to me and show me the world. the purpose is in the feedback. otherwise it is just noise.

does this make any sense? can you see, when i describe it that way, why an ask like yours makes me feel despair, because it makes us all sound so horribly separate from one another?

perhaps I will try another metaphor:

a professional chef who runs a restaurant will not have her feelings hurt if you never fight your way into the kitchen to personally tell her how much you enjoyed the meal. that would, indeed, violate a boundary. professional kitchens are a place of work, and you have already showed her you enjoyed the meal by paying for it, or by perhaps spreading your enjoyment by word of mouth to your friends so they, too, can have good meals. you show your appreciation by continuing to come back. if a bunch of people sitting around randomly happen to have a conversation about how much they love the food, it wouldn't hurt that chef's feelings to not be included in the conversation. however: EVEN IN THIS INSTANCE, it is ADVISABLE AND APPROPRIATE to leave a good review! you might post about how much you like this restaurant on Yelp, and it would probably make the chef feel great to see those positive comments. but the chef doesn't NEED them, because the chef is, again, *also being paid to cook.* that's why she started the restaurant, to be paid to cook!

i am not being paid to cook.

i am at home in my own kitchen, making things for a community potluck where i hope everyone will bring something we can all enjoy together. some people at the potluck are better bakers, some better cooks; some can't cook at all but are great at logistics and make sure there's enough napkins for everyone; some people come just to enjoy the food, because that's what the party is for. and if I, as this enthusiast chef who made something from my heart for this reason alone, learned after the fact that a bunch of people got together in the parking lot to rave about my dish but no one of them had ever bothered to tell me while I sat alone at my table all night, occasionally seeing people come by to pick up a plate but never saying anything to me -- of course that would bother me, because I am not otherwise profiting off the labor I put in. this is not a bid to be paid, because if someone WERE to say "hey, great cake!! here's five bucks for a slice" i would say no, friend, that is not the point and give them the money back. i'm not trying to Get Mine. I am in it to see the look on your face. I'm in it so you can tell me what about it moved you, so that I can say back what moved me to make it in the first place. so we can TALK about it.

because what happened in the first place is this: one time I had a cake whose sweetness, richness, flavor, intensity, and composition moved me so much that I *taught myself to bake.* so I could see how much vanilla and sugar was too much, so I could learn how to make things rise instead of fall flat, so I could even better appreciate the original cake by seeing for myself the effort and talent and inspiration that goes into making one even half as good.

learning to do so is a satisfying accomplishment in and of itself, yes.

but I also did it because at the end of the day we should EAT the cake. and it's a lonely thing, to eat alone when a meal was always designed and intended to be shared.

so, to answer your last question: i'm not surprised, i'm just sad. because somehow two things that were never meant to be seen as the same have been labeled "content," and thus identical. and it diminishes both the things that ARE intended to be paid for AND the things that are not, because it removes any sense of intimacy or meaning from the work.

i hope you know i'm not mad at you for asking. but i'm frustrated we've come to live in a world where the question needs to be asked, because the answers are no longer intuitively obvious because we're so siloed.

[ria-writes-stuff]

*loud chewing noises*

[ria-writes-stuff]

I just had the best encounter with a child at Kmart. I was in the aisle shopping, and this girl and her dad come around the corner. The girl sees me and excitedly exclaims “There’s a human here!!” to which the father replied “Yes, there’s humans everywhere.”

[ria-writes-stuff]

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

[ria-writes-stuff]

Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

[ria-writes-stuff]

Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

[ria-writes-stuff]

Cruel Summer Whump: Day 14

@cruelsummerwhump

Cruel Summer - Whump Event - Chapter 15 - Ria_Writes_Stuff - Minecraft (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Prompt: "Well, he was running after us, I was screaming 'go, go, go"

How I interpreted it: being chased

TWs: violence, being chased, death

Words: 536

This was a nightmare. This was a genuine, real life, nightmare, the sort where no matter how fast you ran, you were always slower than the monsters, and you couldn't quite think clearly enough to come up with any sort of plan better than 'fucking run'.

They hadn't been supposed to come out this far on patrol - they were meant to stay in the Upper, he, Leah, Fred and Purpled, out on what was supposed to be a casual walk-around. It reassured the public, these daylight patrols, that the Heroes were doing everything they could to keep the populace safe, that they could be trusted. Blatant propaganda, but if it was a choice between protesting against a corrupt system by himself and getting some actual freedom, Tubbo was slightly ashamed to say he'd pick freedom every time.

He was bummed that Ranboo couldn't come out with them, since he still needed a registered Hero to patrol with, but he still had three of his friends by his side, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and cackling like lunatics.

It had been Leah's idea to head over to the Lower - they had free reign over the rooftops down there, more interesting architecture to leap between, and they might actually get to stop a crime in action! Maybe even a Villain or two!

And then Gore had shown up.

Gore.

Fucking. Gore.

Of all the Villains to encounter in the wild, they had met Gore!

And now they were scattered, running as fast as they could back to the river, to cross the bridge back to the Upper City. Gore hadn't been alone, a handful of Syndicate Villains on his six, two for each HIT, and now Tubbo was running for quite literally his life. They weren't equipped to fight the Syndicate alone yet - they weren't even supposed to engage with minor Villains without a proper Hero present, the most they did was report activity and stop casual petty criminals until the police could show up.

Tubbo had been incredibly relieved that Gore had not gone after him, and then had been struck with immense guilt about the fact that he was happy that one of his friends was being chased down by one of the most notorious Villains alive.

He risked a look behind him- only to find one of the Villains right behind him, cackling like a madman. Tubbo shrieked, a high pitched noise that sent birds flapping up from nearby rooftops, and doubled his pace, getting some distance between them.

Even once he got onto the bridge, and the Villains tailed off at the sight of border control, not wanting a full scale battle today, he didn't stop running until he reached the Hero Tower, flying in through the rooftop entrance and screaming for Puffy, or the Warden, or his Dad, or someone-

He wasn't the first one back - Purpled had slipped away easier than him, and Fred diverted through Las Nevadas to shake them off his tail. They were just waiting for Leah, now, spilling the entire story to a stony-faced Warden, talking over each other in their panic.

Leah didn't make it back until the following evening.

Or rather… what was left of her.

sorry drista... you got horrible murdered and partially eaten by a cannibal

[ria-writes-stuff]

I really love his hair color!