#Sorry for those who want something a bit more concise but..

[undercityrezident]

My Reflections on Octopath Traveler 2: Part 1

(This reflection has been split into four parts because of Tumblr's image limit per post. Please find Part 2 here, Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.)

Before I begin, I should outline my bias for this game. It’s no exaggeration to say that I might have a sense of inflated gratitude for Octopath Traveler 2. When I was forced to deal with a difficult situation throughout the month of March, I had little in the way to entertain me. One avenue to help retain my sanity was my Nintendo Switch, though I'd already played through most of the games I own for that console.

But that’s when I turned my attention to a game I’d gotten as a gift a couple of Christmases ago, a game that I’d been sleeping on for far too long: Octopath Traveler 2. After inserting that cartridge into my Switch and booting up the game, it quickly became the main reason I wasn’t going stir-crazy.

I’ve played the first Octopath Traveler, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even with some of the flaws I noted on my playthrough, so I knew that I was likely in for something good unless Square Enix royally botched it. However, an RPG of this sort is a time investment, making it daunting to approach when you have so much else going on, hence why it took me so long to finally sit down with this sequel. Now, with abundant time on my hands, there was no better moment to finally dive in.

And boy, was it a deep plunge, and a refreshing one at that.

So here it is, now that I’m back on here with a continuing obsession with the game that single-handedly helped me for those three weeks and is continuing to drive me into obsession in the aftermath: my reflection on Octopath Traveler 2, for all its goods and ills.

And believe me, the goods outweigh the ills heavily.

Before you read on, while this reflection is about a game that came out over two years ago, those who still want to go into it as blissfully blind as I did, please take note that there will be complete spoilers for the game below the cut.

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The Boosting and Breaking of Iconic Battles

One of the biggest appeals and strongest points of the original Octopath Traveler, in my opinion, was its battle system, and it’s no surprise that it returned with more than a few tweaks and additions. At its core, the battle gameplay is largely the same as before, but its complexity has been notched up, buffing the break and boost system by adding a new latent power meter that fills up under various conditions throughout the battle.

If you thought you could pull off some insane combinations in the original game, wait until you tie in the various characters’ latent powers when they pop off. I’ve managed to snag some victories from the jaws of defeat in some truly insane ways. And while I’ve heard it’s quite easy to optimize your party to completely obliterate some bosses far too fast to enjoy them, I wasn’t that kind of player—both for being not quite that smart and also for being the kind of player who doesn’t min/max by instinct unless there’s absolutely nothing else to do.

The result of my playstyle was the chance to see some truly fun and creative boss battles, which remain one of the highlights of this game as it was in the first. Another step up the game took in this sense was how the game played with mechanics and the dynamism of its battles to drive up the stakes. Some bosses shrouded the turn order from you, temporarily pushed certain party members out of the fight, outright turned party members against you, stacked debuffs throughout the fight to add a sense of timing and urgency, and even nullified once-reliable abilities. As the best example I can think of, I can rightly say that the final boss was ten times more intense than it would’ve been for the fact that you couldn’t revive your allies except when the boss was broken, making every decision feel tense and risky.

Of course, these challenges were offset by how you could strategize to make sure you had varying degrees of party synergy. The sub-job system returned, and with many classes revamped with returning abilities and new ones to complement their associated characters’ unique personalities compared to the travelers in the first game, combinations and ideas to combat even the toughest of challenges in the game were abundant. Also returning is the fun idea of giving alternate outfits to each traveler’s sprite in battle when they take said sub-job. Just take one look at any character you give the hunter sub-job and tell me they don’t at least look marginally cuter with animal ears.

While we don’t see the return of the same secret jobs from the first game, we get new ones that have some interesting dynamics of their own. They’re typically acquired towards the very end of the game, so you might not get as much time to mess around with them as the others, but they do open up some very intriguing potential as the challenge mounts toward the game’s climax. The exception to this is the inventor class, which is available from very early on, but the resources to unlock its abilities are typically found slowly throughout the game. Still, the inventor allowed for some flexibility early on, making some growing pains a little easier at lower levels.

And Osvald looks good in a steampunk top hat with goggles, let me tell you.

Overall, the battle system was already built on a very sturdy foundation, and the developers managed to make this game’s system—and the battles by extension—better as well.

Plus, I will not forget the absolutely intense excitement of fighting the final boss with ALL. EIGHT. TRAVELERS. AT. ONCE. What a rush! What a thrilling climax, getting to pilot the whole team, even if it was done on a pseudo-switching system. That, in itself, added another layer of strategy I had to consider on top of the already staunch difficulty of the final boss.

Even the small additions made the battles feel that much richer, like the travelers adding flavour to encounters by complimenting one another on their accomplishments in breaking an opponent or expressing concern for a fallen character. The travelers even had special lines when summoning particular characters to the fight or when fully boosting against their story bosses.

Few things in the game hit me as hard as when Osvald fully boosted himself during his Chapter 4 boss fight and cried out, “Forgive me, Rita!” or when Throné was letting out growls of pure anger when fighting Claude. I had no idea how much more these little touches would endear me to these characters, make battles feel that much more gratifying when breaking an opponent, or how much more tension I’d feel when the characters would voice their dismay on seeing someone gravely wounded.

Of course, the tension in battle would be nothing without our implacable foes, and once again, the artwork details for bosses drive home both the nostalgia for such design styles and choices from the games of yore. It also greatly serves the purpose of highlighting the threat, characteristics or, in some cases, downright depravity of some of the villains you face in this game, especially when paired with their voice acting. These battles are nothing without stakes and motivation to fight these opponents, and the artwork and interspersed dialogue in the battles help to amp up the drama of it and make it feel just as personal for you as it is for the travelers.

Of course, I can’t say the battle system was absolutely perfect. There were a few flaws here and there that frustrated me, even if only momentarily. Some spells or abilities were lacking a measure of description that crippled me in crucial moments because I had either misunderstood them or their level of non-specificity led to poorly informed decisions.

One such example that comes to mind is Alephan’s Wisdom, which works for numerous abilities between different party members, but it’s hardly possible to tell which except by experimentation. In the clutches of an intense battle, experimentation of that ilk is ill-advised, but there were times I had to gamble on it in a dire moment. When that gamble failed to pay off, it felt rather depressing. The idea that I might have to look it up to know exactly which spells it could enhance was a grating prospect.

As well, there were instances in certain boss battles, whether by simple bad luck or some flawed design, where a boss would empower themselves to unleash a devastating move at the end of a turn, only to immediately go first the next round and unleash said horrid ability to cripple my party, giving me absolutely no hope to prevent it by breaking their defences. While I can see horrific probability being the main culprit for this, I would hope that the game’s programming would allow for some intelligence in determining whether the boss should be allowed to pull off such a power-up move when it knows that they get the next move the round after.

I found this happened more than a few times throughout the game, and while I could say that I might have just that much bad luck, I want to think it happened often enough that I feel there should’ve just been a touch more thought put into developing countermeasures against this sort of occurrence.

That said, I can’t say that these small and infrequent complaints overshadow the otherwise stellar and well-thought-out battle gameplay that permeated the game overall. Even small things, like the ability to fast-forward battles to help with the little grinding that I needed to do, made big differences in my appreciation for the game's battles. The battle system did not need to change too drastically from the first game to maintain its appeal, but I saw how many aspects were tightened up to make it even better than before.

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Taking Path Actions to Improve Gameplay and Design

The battle system wasn’t the only thing that saw additions in the sequel.

The Introduction of a day/night system added extra depth by making the world feel a bit more lived in. NPCs would change location and dialogue depending on the time of day. Some puzzles and side quests can only be completed at one time or another. A scant few can only be completed by switching between the times of day to accomplish separate tasks pursuing the same goal.

This core mechanic of switching between day and night also complements one of the game’s overall narrative themes, driving the point the game makes all the more deeply by integrating it into gameplay. This, to me, is a hallmark of great game design, as many video games tend to ignore such integration in favour of relying on the player’s ability to suspend their disbelief or rely on the disparity between gameplay and storytelling that’s sometimes come to be expected with video games (less so lately with improvements in technology, though it’s still a prevailing trend). While there are a few exceptions to this exceptional design philosophy throughout the game, Octopath Traveler 2 does its best to keep to it, and playing the game feels all the more satisfying and cohesive as a result of this attention to detail and care.

The time-of-day system also deepens the characters’ mechanics, as each character now has two path actions: one for day and one for night. The day actions correspond to those you know for each job in the first game, but their night path actions not only add variety and flexibility in how you tackle challenges in the overworld but also deepen the characterization of the travelers. Osvald, a scholar and ex-prisoner, mugs people at night for their items, demonstrating his straightforward nature and his willingness to do what he must to proceed on his quest for revenge. Ochette gains followers by literally sharing meals to make friends with them. As above with merging gameplay with story, merging characterization with gameplay is a fantastic demonstration of excellent game design and attention to detail.

Path actions also play a pivotal role in the game. While, for most of it, they are simply a means to acquire items, information, and additional boons in battle, there are a few moments here and there where they help facilitate plot progression. At times, it does feel like a bit of a slowdown in the storytelling to try and make the game feel more interactive. These can feel like awkward sticking points, especially as dialogue scenes and gameplay are segregated by fade-to-black-fade-in transitions. But there are some crucial moments where these path-action plot moments feel notably impactful.

Nowhere is this more evident than in a few of the ending sequences of the game, where a path action is used in a crucial moment to either incredibly comedic or emotional effect. These specific moments will be touched on in my story reflections later, but the fact that attempts were made, sometimes quite successfully, to incorporate these gameplay elements into the storytelling is very much appreciated. It helps make me, the player, feel involved in the story, which should be a primary goal for an interactive medium like a video game.

On the note of storytelling, side stories return as well, and while many are of similar stock to the first game in terms of depth and quality, there are a few exceptions that expand the scope of storytelling potential. Some great examples are the trials series in Timberain, the Stage Actors quest in Tropu’hopu whose result depends on who completes it, the Washed-Up Letter alluding to a character in Osvald’s chapter 1, the Mysterious Box leading to a haunted house, and many of the “next chapter” quests which wrap up and add further some NPC characters’ stories.

These things are not the only quality features the game retains from its predecessor. The art style the game evokes remains as charming as ever, with lovingly rendered environments and contrasting spritework for the characters. The sprites seem quite a bit livelier as well, with more detail and animations being added to give them a sort of vibrancy that helps add character and works in tandem with the voice work to provide an engaging story while maintaining the goal of paying homage to older RPGs. Agnea’s story benefits especially from these more vibrant and active sprites, as many of her cutscenes depend on these small but still communicative displays.

I also want to give a note of appreciation for the various pieces of artwork in the game. Each character gets a pair of portraits that, more often than not, highlight the characters’ path actions by day or night. They further help draw out the travelers’ unique characterizations, once again tying portrayal to gameplay.

I should also mention that, once again following in the footsteps of its predecessor, Octopath Traveler 2’s character designs are top-notch, communicating well the themes, motivations, and feelings of the characters they portray. Even better are the characters’ story-ending artwork, each evoking some aspect of the character or their story lovingly.

However, one point that sticks out to me as something that may not have been as well integrated into the game but added as a sort of bonus feature for “cool factor” was the fact that you could get your own sailing vessel in the game. Don’t get me wrong, as someone who absolutely loves all themes nautical, I was thrilled when I first discovered I could purchase and pilot a sailing ship on the seas between Solistia’s two continents.

The idea of discovering islands and treasures I otherwise wouldn’t have had access to was exciting at first. However, I found I quickly exhausted all these discoveries rather quickly, and the act of sailing around quickly grew dull. It was nice to note that I could, if I wanted, cross between the continents at will without having to pay for ferries anymore, but that was something I could already do once I’d already paid the fare at least once to each anchorage and unlocked fast-travel locations.

I feel like more could’ve been done with the sailing segment of this game, but it felt somewhat tacked on, largely acting as a money gate for characters to access late-game areas to complete their stories. If there had been something more added, like more story elements at sea—a ship-to-ship pursuit ending in a ship battle to confront a villain would been amazing—or… the ability to visit Orsterra (however limited that would have to be for the development time/resources for the game), I would’ve much more greatly appreciated the ability to sail around.

Another irking issue for me was something carried over from the first game: the fact that you must keep your starting character in the party. I never really understood this decision in the original game or this one, and I speculate that it has something to do with the idea of picking your protagonist and only being able to part with them once you’ve settled their story.

Even as much as I found myself captivated by my starting character’s (Throné’s) story, I feel all these characters’ stories are important, especially to them. Each character is a protagonist in their own right, whether their stories are more relevant to the overarching plot or have greater stakes or not. For these reasons, I don’t understand why I’m forced to have a character locked into my party, relegating me to having them levelled way higher than the others while I try to level the rest evenly so I don’t feel shortchanged for their combat abilities when I bring them to their respective story chapters.

Still, even in the wake of these flaws, it's clear that the developers put a lot of effort into not only maintaining the quality gameplay established in the first Octopath Traveler but also working to eclipse it in the sequel as well. From start to finish, the overworld gameplay was well-thought-out and executed, sparing no detail to ensure that every hour of this game was memorable. And I have to say, in the two weeks I spent playing, I can remember quite a few emotional moments due to this game’s artistic and design polish.

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Travelling Eight Ways Through Stories to Bring the World to Life

Worldbuilding and General Ideas

Before I dive into each of the individual characters’ stories, I should note that the world of Solistia itself is, to me, a fascinating setting. I’m not a connoisseur of RPGs of this sort, so I might be able to write this off to how few I’ve played, but I have to say that a world that’s on the cusp of an industrial revolution, with the advent of the steam engine being one of the main plot points, is a novel idea to me.

Where medieval-fantasy and steampunk RPGs seem dime-a-dozen, one where the advent of such technology is an active influence in the game, paralleling human history, is something I found quite refreshing. Even better, it helped to reinforce many of the themes common to multiple characters’ storylines. The concepts of class disparity and the influence technology could have on those levels of social and cultural strata, for good or ill, is a theme and idea that resonates strongly, even today—especially today. Accenting these themes in a fantastical world also containing magic, monsters, and gods makes for something not only poignant but entertaining in equal measure.

The contrast between the old world and the new, the wealthy and the poor, and the powerful and the downtrodden, are all themes that tie together this game’s world and its central characters. In twain, concepts that bridge these ideas and people, whether it be technology, culture, faith, or emotion, all make their marks on this game and its myriad tales.

The game’s setting is every bit a character as its eight travelers, and their stories would be all the lesser if such an intriguing and deep world weren’t built around them. You need only complete some side stories or use the inquire action to see the depth written into this game and its people. I spent well over a hundred hours playing this game, and I’m sure I still don’t have a full grasp on everything this game contains with its living, breathing complexity in all its denizens. But I’ve managed to peer pretty closely at it through those hundred hours, and I am thoroughly impressed.

If you want a comedic example, go to Clockbank and inquire through its citizenry. You’ll marvel at the sheer ridiculousness of the thieves’ guild mind games being played by a startlingly large section of its population. For a more serious one, inquire to the citizens of Roque Island and see how they’re all treated as numbers on a spreadsheet by their employer.

Beyond the world, there are also efforts made to enhance the story past the simple act of writing. Compared to the first game, this game features TONS more voice acting. While the prequel had voice acting in specific scenes, just about every line spoken in a character’s main story (barring chatting with random NPCs irrelevant to the plot) has voice acting. This was clearly a massive effort, and I must say I appreciate it. I think it does these stories a great service to have the writing fully expressed in this way, making so many more moments so much more impactful.

My only complaint regarding this is that the travel banters, returning from the previous game, aren’t voice-acted. Wonderful as they are (having grown in how they portray facets of the characters, connections between the travelers, and their reactions to ongoing events), it’s an oddity to see dialogue for these characters not voiced in contrast to how everything else is. I hope future games in this series see the travel banter voice acted in the same way we saw it done in their main stories. I can only imagine how much fun it would be to hear them bouncing off each other in ways similar to how they did in their crossed paths (which I will certainly be discussing later).

However, I do very much appreciate that all the character-chapter-based travel banters, even the ones you missed for not having the right party members together at the right time, are viewable after the fact. I loved being able to look back and see what each character thought about various events or their fellow travelers without fear of having to replay the game (or search for it online).

And finally, before turning to the individual stories, I wanted to praise the decision to let each traveler undertake their own Chapter 1 themselves (besides whatever NPCs they might have with them for plot reasons). While it was cool to go around helping each traveler conquer their first boss in the first game, I felt that it better served to build characterization, introduce supporting characters, and keep the focus on each traveler if they each got to conquer their first chapters by themselves before interacting with the party.

With that all said, I finally get to dig into the main reason I’ve wanted to write this reflection in the first place: the travelers’ stories. I wanted to do this in the proper “O-C-T-O-P-A-T-H” character order, but I feel it would be more natural for me to write about them in the order I encountered them.

Throné

I began my long journey with Throné. I’ve read that many people started with her because they anticipated the return of the purple “lockpick” chests from the first game, but I had completely forgotten about those. It’s been a long while since I played this game’s prequel, so it hadn’t even occurred to me. I picked her because a) I’m always here for a complex femme fatale character, and b) I’m always here for a dark, tragic story, and her introductory blurb assured me of that.

I had almost picked Osvald for his own intense tale of revenge, but I opted to choose Throné because I suspected that I’d have to keep my starting character in the party much as the first game did, which I was correct about, and I wanted to have something other than a scholar this time, as I had picked Cyrus in my first game (I generally have a predisposition towards intelligent, caster type characters and classes/jobs and wanted to try to play against that for variety this time around).

So it was that I began with Throné, and perhaps there’s a bias due to her being my starter character, but hers was perhaps the strongest Chapter 1 I’d seen among all of them. While you could easily draw parallels to Therion’s story in the first game, with both characters being bound by something—the bangle versus the collar—the approach taken here is intensely different.

Where Therion had to deal with the existence of his ex-partner and all the troubles that come with that, Throné is actively trying to escape her association with the Blacksnakes, and the setup that comes with that in Chapter 1, both in terms of narrative and the actual setup by Mother and Father, hit hard. Being forced to kill Pirro in a death match arranged in the shadiest of circumstances is both tragic and intense. The way events set up Throné’s quest for freedom and the main antagonists of her story in Mother and Father is expertly executed.

This chapter firmly established Throné as a strong, driven character for me, pushed along a gripping story by an undercurrent of dark tones that lean on the foibles of parentage, imposed or otherwise. I was drawn further in by the portrayal of Mother as an incredibly vile villain, irredeemable in all the best ways that make it satisfying for us to take her down in her path’s Chapter 3. The small but poignant parallel in having Mira witness it, given the revelation of Mother having killed Throné’s true mother, only drove a dagger deeper into my captivated heart as I watched that story branch conclude.

Father, on the other hand, is a more complicated matter, and his route contrasts Mother’s route fantastically. While there is no doubt that Father is not a good person, there is that seed of what kind of good—or at least, slightly better—person he might’ve had the potential to be if things hadn’t turned so sour for him. The loss of Marietta and his true child to Throné’s true father utterly broke him, if his tale is to be believed at least—and the doubt invoked by potentially unreliable narration does make the story more interesting to consider. The ensuing battle with Father, having trained Throné to finally end his miserable existence, however tragic and utterly twisted it is, was thoroughly emotional.

In the end, it was evident that, in his own intensely perverse and morally bankrupt way, Father did try to be a good parent to Throné, even threatening to kill Mother should she kill Throné. We can probably all agree everything Father did fucked up Throné to such a degree that she’ll probably never recover fully from the trauma of the life she lived, but it still felt somewhat touching to see Throné give Father some semblance of peace at the end when she called him Dad.

I think the part that messed me up the most in the wake of it all was how the dagger you looted from him was named after Marietta. Sadly, though, I found its impact somewhat blunted by how I quickly found a weapon that I thought was better and equipped it to Throné not long after. I never sold Marietta, though.

With those chapters closed and with the revelation that Father and Mother’s keys could not unlock Throné’s collar, and thus her freedom, her Chapter 4 brought us back to New Delsta, and I’m always a fan of bookending stories like this.

However, this chapter is where I felt Throné’s story faltered in an otherwise excellent tale. Had this part of the story been foreshadowed or hinted at better, this might’ve been, without a doubt, my favourite story among all the travelers’. We had a singular hint of the upcoming twist, one that came so early on in Mother’s Chapter 2 route that was so vague that there was no way I could start putting anything together before this chapter. Only Father’s final speeches indicated anything about Throné’s true father, and even that didn’t give much detail of the man nor his staggering crimes and depraved conduct.

Yes, Claude, Throné’s true father, is an absolute monster and one of the most, if not the vilest, villains in the series. Hell, he probably holds a top-ten position amongst my mental pantheon of reprehensible villains (at least by metrics of their misdeeds). He is found in a truly haunted place. Nothing is said of Lostseed or why it is the way it is—at least none that I found beyond the speculation that it was this kingdom spoken vaguely in fables that various characters in Throné’s story recite. This unsolved mystery might be such by design, as some mysteries might have a better impact if left unsolved. However, I cannot give the same benefit of the doubt with the approach the developers took with introducing Claude.

Claude, apparently the literal progenitor of all the Blacksnakes—all in an attempt to sire an offspring to kill him—accomplished his deeds through the most vile ways, both in the acts of creating and sullying the ensuing lives of his children. Yet, these deeds, or any clear hint of them, are absent from the rest of Throné’s story. This resulted in a twist that completely blindsided me, and as someone who believes that sudden, unprovoked twists like this are cheap writing barely worthy of the name “writing,” I found this to be… underwhelming, at least narratively.

Don’t get me wrong, I was very motivated to see Throné’s story through for her freedom and to end Claude, but I found the sudden reveal intensely lazy. The one child we saw in Oresrush looking like Pirro was never brought up again, nor were there any other examples of anyone with similar features. If there had been more hints that many of the Blacksnakes had uncannily similar features, this would’ve been a great approach as well. The guardsman at the Garden and the keeper of the trolley at Lostseed are an example of this, but it comes far too late in the story.

In my opinion, Mira would’ve been a great way to exposit this. I wonder how Throné would react looking at a girl who shares some of Throné’s features she has in common with Claude, especially in the wake of killing Mother against Mira’s wishes. The idea of sharing the same nuances in their expressions of fear, despair, or rage in that moment could’ve hit quite hard, I feel.

Still, even with that major complaint, I can’t say I’m totally dissatisfied with the ending to Throné’s story. It’s bittersweet and completely on theme with the rest of her story. She wants to be free. She wants to live a life away from the stench of blood. But she had to shed yet more blood to do it. To free herself from all these mockeries of parental figures.

I’m sad that we didn’t get to see Throné resolve her feud with Mira directly, only getting to see it happen in a “next chapter” side story that did not explicitly involve our thief, and I do wonder about what Throné did with that baby Claude was holding through the whole battle. These are plot holes I wish had gotten their proper dues, along with a proper buildup to Claude. As well, I wish the idea of Claude being a potential vessel for Vide was something that also extended to Throné, further complicating her role in the final chapter of the game.

But I cannot complain about the masterful use of and conclusion to the themes of her story. The final battle is intense from a narrative perspective, with Claude bringing up images, the ghosts of her past, to fight her: Pirro, Mother, Father, Marietta, and even Throné herself. And then it all ends, at last, with us, the player, getting to use Throné’s path action to let us take the key from Claude as he perishes. Our final act to ensure Throné’s freedom.

And, at long last, Throné is free, even if it came at a high price. She might not know what comes next for her, but the idea she gets to choose is a bright spot in the otherwise dark sky that’s hung heavy over her life. No collar to threaten her. No parents to cage her. She is her own woman, and she earned her freedom, even if it stinks of blood.

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Osvald

I read The Count of Monte Cristo when I was fairly young, and I think it’s caused me to have an affinity for revenge stories, especially ones that make you question the whole venture along the way. It might be one of the reasons I liked both this story and Primrose’s from this game’s predecessor. And, thinking of Primrose as Osvald’s story began, I wondered if his story was going to be a retread of Primrose’s.

Thankfully, though there were certain parallels to the beginnings of each these two revenge stories, I found they diverged fairly quickly, and each protagonist handled their quest differently, putting to ease most concerns I had about any overlap between the two.

If there was a character I could relate to the most among all of the travelers, I feel like Osvald would be among the top picks… or at least he would’ve been a decade ago. While he certainly has powerful emotions driving him in his story, the man is nothing if not analytical and logical in his pursuits. Similarly, I felt there was a time when I looked at everything through the same lens, having closed myself off to emotions as a defence mechanism. I spoke little and hardly confided in anyone else.

I can’t say that we’re completely alike though, since while my time of suppressed emotion and overreliance on logic might’ve been a defense mechanism, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t for him, but rather a central aspect of his personality and characterization. Regardless, this did make me connect with him in some respects, and it makes me wonder how my game experience would’ve changed if I started with this scholar as I had with Cyrus in the last game.

Regardless, his traits made him a fascinating character to me, and one whose story I greatly looked forward to consuming piece by piece as we travelled across Solistia. I was a bit confused about why his escape from the prison constituted two chapters, especially when the second seemed so much shorter than the first and could’ve easily been part of the first since they shared the same setting. But in truth, it made little difference besides the brief pause between them.

Pushing forward into the story, we quickly learn that Harvey is a completely unforgivable villain undeserving of mercy or sympathy, much like Claude. Comparatively, though, I like him as a villain better than Claude because he maintains an intense presence through most of Osvald’s story. Better yet, we get a much better idea of what motivates him. His inferiority complex turned megalomania was unravelled to the audience in a great way, peaking with his final encounter in Chapter 5.

He is, admittedly, something of a very hammy villain, with his Chapter 4 appearance and the final confrontation devolving into supervillainy that even some Batman villains might raise an eyebrow at. And, after reading some other fandom commentary, I did see how the final battle resembled an anime power-beam conflict. Even so, in the moment, I thought it was an intensely engrossing and fun fight, and I thoroughly enjoyed the climax of their story.

I appreciate the progression the story took, from breaking out of prison, to returning to Conning Creek (the scene of the crime), to Montwise in pursuit of Harvey directly, and finally to where Harvey was performing his final ritual in the tomb of D’arqest. It was well-paced and hit all the right notes along the way. I also appreciate the presence of Lady Clarissa in Chapter 3, as Osvald desperately needed someone trying to talk him out of revenge, or else the narrative would seem a bit one-track.

Thankfully, we hit the twist in Chapter 4, and the plot went from a fairly “by-the-notes” revenge story into something more special, if tragic. The absolute dread and horror I felt when it was revealed that Rita had not died that day and had been used to fuel the Grieving Golem was heartbreaking. I mentioned earlier in this reflection that Osvald’s shouting “Forgive me, Rita!” was one of the emotional highlights in any battle in the game, and I think I might be underselling that. Let me put this into perspective.

A giant golem is dripping putrescent purple ichor in front of you. You and your companions are heaving, all on their last legs, and it’s Osvald’s turn to act. You have moments before it destroys your group. As the player, you hear the music swelling, a wave of violin notes rising and falling… rising and falling… as the percussion beats in the background. Osvald steps forward, and you have your latent power ready, Alephan’s Wisdom buffed, and enough BP for a full charge. The music builds to its peak, and he shouts his plea for forgiveness to his wife as he fully boosts. It’s a mercy. It’s an end to whatever suffering Rita might still be enduring. An end to something that besmirches her memory.

Then he casts his spell, and the beast that was brought into being on the wings of his wife’s lifeblood finally falls to a heap, hopefully freeing Rita as well.

You finally exhale in relief, only to have your momentarily clear mind be reclaimed by the sadness of what you’ve just done. What Osvald just had to do.

And then Elena enters the scene, alive and well, but with her mind altered to recognize not Osvald as her father, but Harvey, the man who destroyed her real father’s life and used her mother for a glorified experiment.

I know I couldn’t have truly understood what Osvald was feeling in that moment, not being a parent, but damn if my heart went out to him. It’s a scene that will stand out as one of the most memorable of the game for me for how heartwrenching it was.

But in the wake of that, the change that came was just as important: the realization that Osvald had something to live for, to fight for, other than revenge.

That was when this became a great story for me and when I was truly invested enough in seeing Osvald to Harvey’s demise. Further revelations in the final chapter would further damn Harvey as being even more dramatically disgusting a monster than we’d seen him as in Osvald’s story alone. But none of that mattered in the moment, because it felt so damn good to see Osvald protect his precious daughter and divine the secret of the seventh source.

It was made all the better when said discovery led to a new move appearing in Osvald’s list of spells in the ensuing battle. This was the first of a few instances when learning a move during or before a boss encounter courtesy of the plot made me absolutely giddy. Again, another brilliant way to tie storytelling to game mechanics.

To this day, I’m not clear if both Harvey and Osvald discovered different variants of the seventh source, or if Harvey simply mistook the shadow as the source itself while Osvald had been the only one to discover the true article. And while it might’ve been a bit cliché to see that the power of love, the urge to protect his child, was the catalyst or the key to Osvald unlocking it, in the emotional thick of the drama, it didn’t matter to me. It felt right. It felt appropriate. It felt perfect for Osvald’s development: a man, analytical and seemingly devoid of all emotion save for rage, finding purpose and though a gentler—though no less passionate—emotion to fill the void that Harvey had left him with from the beginning those five years ago.

I won’t lie, I am not sure if this is my absolute favourite story of the eight, as other contenders hit equally strong highs or maintained consistency of quality throughout theirs. But of this I am sure: Osvald’s story is of top quality, both in this game and among the medium in general, and I will likely refer back to it if I should write a revenge story of my own someday, much in the same way as I’ll likely refer back to the Count of Monte Cristo as well.

---

Part 2 Continues here...

Part 3 here. Part 4 here.

[prince-jjae]

Dark Water.

pairing; cecaelia!beomgyu × merman!reader

genre; horror/thriller (??? I think??? theres a lot of tension.) Suggestive, no explicit smut. Hint of fluff.

warnings; lots of tension, implied/referenced sexual content, light petting, this is basically 90% foreplay and tension, mentions of cannibalism, blood and injury, reader gets attacked yk the vibes, character death (but not main!!!), older gyu/younger reader vibes, merman/kingdom au.

synopsis; The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble circles, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop off point. ― The Pearl of the Sea, you were called. A pretty little prince, beloved by all within the city. You followed the rules. Plans had been made for your whole life, all you had to do was stick to it.

Beomgyu was never part of those plans.

wc; 10,847 (oof... longest fic to date.)

jjaes comments; *slaps roof of fic* this bad boy can fit so much unnecessary lore in it. sorry theres no smut in this one. I want to eventually circle back and turn this into a full blown chaptered fic. in the words of serene, kills myself.

[m.list] [event m.list]

The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble rings, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop-off point. 

The drop-off point which was, funnily enough, immediately before you. You lounged on a soft bed of seagrass, your short platinum hair floating along to the whims of the warm current around you. You were decently tucked away from view, having found a small alcove just off the main seagrass plains. You leaned back on your elbows, pearlescent tail absently flicking ahead of you being the only thing that could give away your position. The long, gossamer-like fins tapered into pretty, elegant points. Delicate. That was a good way to describe you. Though, you supposed your given title was a bit more apt than you'd like to admit.

The Pearl of the Sea, you were called. A pretty little prince, beloved by all within the city’s gleaming mother-of-pearl walls. You were a treasure among treasures, the only son of the Iron King sat upon the gleaming throne of the sea. Your father had a commanding presence, far more than your own, but you didn't seem to mind that. No, a pretty little thing like yourself was occupied with little else than keeping your head down and getting your work done perfectly. You held perfect grades, you were the shining smile present at every charity event, a giver to the people who fawned over you. That favour seemed to compound when you remained oblivious to it, a humble, delicate thing. 

Who was currently breaking one of the most serious rules you had ever been given. It wasn’t even your idea, something had called you here. Perhaps not vocally, but there was a siren song around this forbidden area. How could something so beautiful be so condemned? So after a particularly stressful day of studying and volunteer work, you finally gave in to the sweet temptation. 

The sight wasn't as captivating as you expected it to be. Sure, the overlook to the deeper waters, far more dangerous than the shallows you've spent your life in, were fascinating. You witnessed aquatic life, both plant and animal, in a way you had never taken the time to do before. Just observing, watching the way natural life unfolds when it is too far from your fathers influence to be contained. 

Though, after the sun's rays began to turn the surrounding water to honey hues, you had begun to grow bored with just observing. Part of you longed to know what it felt like, even for a moment, to be away. To be your own thing, your own merman, free from your peoples watchful eye, from your father’s. 

Oh, gods. What would he think if he knew you were here, now? He would surely be angry, surely would demand an answer that you didn’t have. Why did you come out here, anyway? You weren’t entirely sure yourself. You glanced up to the water's surface, the sunset refracting through the gentle waves and bathing you in the gentle warmth of the last light of day. Your eyes slid shut for a moment, basking in the peace. You had to savour moments like these, stolen seconds that you kept close to your heart when the stress of your structured life got too rough to handle. 

With a sigh, a pretty trail of bubbles spilling past your lips, you pushed off of the seagrass, the blades tickling your fingers as they dug into the silt below for leverage. 

You left a gentle cloud of disturbed sand in your wake as you made to leave, casting one longing glance over your shoulder to the group of young flounders playing beyond the drop-off point. You’ll have to return soon, if not to be sure they remained unharmed. That was a noble enough cause for return, right? Something your father would be slightly more hesitant to deny you if you brought it up as defence, surely. 

Content with the newfound addition to your schedule, a strong flick of your tail helped carry you closer and closer to home. 

–

The scroll room was a quiet place, compared to the hustle and bustle of the city just outside its walls. Shelves upon shelves, chests on chests were overflowing with information ripe for the picking, and you were a near permanent fixture here. Small and eager, tucked between shelving units as you delved into another scroll. This was a more recent historical account, it seemed, from the first years after your birth. You could hardly be expected to remember much from that time, your memories being mostly of your mother and the gentle tingle of your favourite shell toy.

You had no idea those years were so.. Dangerous. 

Your brow creased as you read further on, eager for the context behind the title, The Banishment of the Dark Cecaelia. 

Cecaelia? That rang a bell. Octopus mermaids, you recalled. Fearsome chimera not too unlike your own people in appearance, but worlds apart in behaviour. You recall bedtime stories about the drop-off point, lessons hidden in rhyme of the dangers that awaited those who ventured too far into the deep water. But what dangers were you warned of? You struggled to remember. 

The cecaeliae were once a proud people, fearsome in both behaviour and sheer number. They populated every inch of our kingdom, they ran shops, held office not unlike the rest of us do. But there was always something different, something darker in nature about these chimera, that we civilized mermaids simply could not abide by.

The issues came to a head during the Great Famine. Food was scarce, resources were far scarcer. Mermen, women and children alike were floundering in hunger, and the kingdom fell into despair. Our great King was working tirelessly, attempting to solve our issue. Our top scientists blamed the issue upon overpopulation and the rising water temperatures, both of which we could do little about.

But the Dark Cecaelia had a plan. He held high office, the King's right hand in both peace and wartime, and he claimed to have devised a solution to our problem. Something he claimed would reduce our numbers in a controlled way, and would solve our hunger problems simultaneously. 

Your eyes widened upon the sight of the next word. 

Cannibalism. 

No, that couldn’t be. Sure, mermen were omnivorous, capable of eating a wide variety of foods, but.. turning to cannibalism seemed too barbaric. Too uncivilized. Apparently, this Dark Cecaelia held no such opinions. Now that you think about it, were cecaeliae omnivorous like other chimeras? Octopi were carnivores… So did that imply that cecaeliae followed by the same rules? You shuddered at the thought of sharp teeth and venom.

He sought an audience with the King, and brought before him a properly devised plan. Down to the smallest detail, the way they would select the expendable and feast on their flesh, using cecaelia venom to minimize the agony of the selected. “Humane” methods, he claimed. The court was horrified at the extent to which this plan had been drawn to. In a fit of righteous rage, the King demanded how the Dark Cecaelia could have drawn up this horrific solution on such short notice, to which he shrugged, claiming it was the most logical and obvious solution to our societies' issues.  

The senate convened, terrified that if they denied the Dark Cecaelia his plan, that it would come to fruition in the form of a coup. The decision to banish all Cecaelia from the kingdom was immediate and unanimous. The Dark Cecaelia himself was brought before his kin and his hair was cut in a ceremonial message of disgrace before he, too, was banished to the deep water beyond the drop-off point for the rest of time. 

You snapped the scroll shut with shaking hands, eyes wild with fear. The drop-off point. The place you were lounging by with ease, the tips of your fin teasing over the edge of the cliff… The thought made you sick to your stomach. You could have been seen by your father, sure, but the thought of being seen by the Dark Cecaelia himself brought shivers down your delicate spine. How could you have relaxed there so flippantly, ignorant of the dangers lurking just below you, just out of sight? You could never return. That much, you were sure of.

–

“Did you hear?” 

“...Another sighting…”

You sighed loudly, bubbles tickling your cheek as they dissipated around you. News traveled fast, it seemed. There were more rumors now than ever before, though you paid no mind to it, preferring to stay in the comfort of your study material. 

“I heard the tentacles were blacker than any squid ink…”

“I heard they are as big as your forearm..! How terrifying…”

You’ve been reading the same line over and over for the past 5 minutes, the words failing to leave any lasting impression on your brain. It had been well over a full moon-cycle since you found yourself at the drop-off point, and apparently there had shortly thereafter been a poor merman who supposedly saw tentacles retreating into the inky blackness of the deep water. You had heard all the salacious (hyperbolic, too, no doubt) details, causing you to heave a bubbled sigh and continue with your work. You had more important things to do than to entertain such stories. You still feared the Dark Cecaelia, that much was true, but you began to grow apprehensive of the public’s view of him. They spoke of him as a legend, as a fable, treating him like he was merely a story instead of a recent blight within the kingdom. It had been 19 years since his removal from society, why were your people so confident about his absence to speak of him so freely? 

“Oh! And I heard–” 

You snapped your scroll shut, hands pressing palm-down onto the driftwood table before you. Your eyebrows pinched together in frustration, eyes squeezed shut to drown out the passerby’s comments. 

“I heard he’s hot. Devastatingly so.” 

Oh? That gave you pause. This was the first time you had heard someone speak of the Dark Cecaelia in such a manner. Was that… thirst you detected in that woman's tone? How peculiar. 

You shook the thoughts from your head. No, that was a most improper train of thought. You needed to focus, and this scroll room seemed to have no peace left to give you. With a delicate huff, you gathered your things and fled the room.

–

It seemed nowhere was safe from the mumbles about the Dark Cecaelia. The whole city– the whole Kingdom, it seemed– had heard of the recent supposed sighting. The comments within the city walls ranged from abject horror to… other topics. You don’t think you could stomach hearing another theory about what those tentacles could do. 

You had fled the Kingdom’s walls with no destination in mind. You only knew you needed to get out of there, to finally find some peace to continue your studies. If you were going to rule one day, you had to be perfect– there was simply no room for error. 

Though, perhaps you spoke too soon. You, in your panicked fleeing, had managed to get lost. Horrifically so. You were still in the shallows, it seemed, but night was approaching fast and you had no idea which direction home was in. Your heartbeat quickened to a dangerous pattering, fast and dangerous like the sound of a storm cloud emptying over the sea. Your head spun. How were you going to get home?

You pressed your shaking hands into fists, attempting to use the pressure to ground yourself. It seemed to work… Perhaps your studies about keeping your head under pressure like your father was paying off. You had half a mind to thank your tutor when you got home. When, yes. Not if. You’d make sure of it. What was it your father said to do when you got lost as a guppy? Breathe. Take stock of your surroundings.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the fading light of day still reaching beyond your closed eyelids. You sucked in a cool lungful of saltwater, letting the feeling wash over you before you opened your eyes slowly. 

Adjusting to the light, you slowly began focusing on the open shallows around you. The seagrass was sparse here, but you dont think youve ever seen such a large grouping of coral before in your life. There was all matter of aquatic life surrounding the reef, anemones and small schools of fish swimming about, playing together. The sight reminded you of the flounders at the drop-off point. You wondered if they were still safe, still playing just beyond your reach. 

Your eyes turned to the sections of kelp, swaying in the sea current and stretching up to the water’s surface. The current was moving west, you noted. Might be helpful to remember should you choose to follow it to see where it leads. Hopefully home.

When you glanced up to the water's surface, you could just barely make out the beginnings of stars in the dark expanse above it. What was it the scrolled called it? The sky? That sounded about right. A place where water floated in light groupings called “clouds” and sprayed their weight back into the sea where it belonged. You felt quite like the water in those clouds now, actually, far from where you belonged. That was when you heard it. 

You could almost convince yourself that it was a trick of the ears, but the deep gurgling behind you made the repetitive motion of your tail still. Something was behind you, something big. You didn’t want to turn around. Here you were, all alone, so far from home that you didn’t even know where you were, but–

The gurgling changed. It sounded repetitive, mirthful. A laugh? So it wasn’t a something but rather a someone. You weren't sure which was worse, really. A rogue sea creature or a sentient being. But the area around you appeared barren save for the small sealife. Who would even live out here? Who could?

“Little one.”

You bristled at the tone. The voice was deep. It rolled over you like too-warm water, thick and heady. You didn’t dare turn towards it.

“Lost?” 

The words seemed stunted, like they were coming from lips that were unsure of their form. This stranger couldn’t have been from the kingdom. Or, if they were– your brain supplied– they hadn’t been there in a very long time. 

“No,” Was your eloquent reply. You were hoping you sounded sure of yourself, like a future king. Like your father. The words fell flat, shaky and hesitant, betraying your nerves. The gurgling laughter began again with gusto.

“No? You seem lost. Frightened?” The voice sounded amused, like an angler toying with its food. The comparison made you uneasy. You were top of the food-chain, here. You should act like it.

With your shoulders squared, face set in a carefully blank expression, you finally turned.

Only to be met with nothing. Were you imagining the voice? Were you hallucinating? You had to be. You turned around, looking left and right–

Oh. To your right, just far enough away that it wasn't noticeable at first glance, was the drop-off point. The jagged cliff edge was unmistakable now that you saw it. Your shoulders did not lose any tension upon the new knowledge, though you were glad to be in a familiar place. Home wasn’t that far away.

But then the situation clicked in your head. The unfamiliar cadence of a voice unused to speaking in the common tongue, the location, the laughter.

“Are you the Dark Cecaelia?” You were unable to stop the words from tumbling from your lips in a rush of bubbles. You had half a mind to slap your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from endangering yourself further. What were you doing?

The laughter came again, deep, guttural, twisted. You swallowed thickly, flicking your tail to back away slightly. You couldn't see over the edge, you were too far away. But even that distance seemed too little. Too close.

“You could say that.” Fuck. Right. Of course. Who else were you expecting it to be? Perhaps you were hoping for it to be a younger merman, playing pranks on passerbys. How unfortunately wrong you were.

“You were here before,” The voice continued, unperturbed by your fearful silence. You felt your blood run cold, like polar water had been dunked over your unsuspecting head.

“..You saw me.” It shouldn’t be surprising. Of course he saw you. Why wouldn’t he? If this is where he was banished to, why wouldn’t he see you lounging prettily at his doorstep? The idea that this faceless evil had been watching you from afar, while you sat unsuspecting, made you suddenly want to cry. 

“I saw you.” The cecaelia confirmed. He sounded much too amused for your taste, causing your brows to crease in frustration, lips drawing into a pretty pout.

“Why can’t I see you?” The unknown was too scary. It left your imagination to run wild, piecing together all the little rumors you tried to ignore upon first listen. They all came to you now. Ink-black, large tentacles, sharp teeth, venom, deep voice. You couldn't even begin to picture his face, what the rest of him looked like. Perhaps knowing, having concrete evidence of his appearance would vanquish the worst of your fear. You were skilled enough in combat, could probably flee with relative ease should this turn sour, but something was rooting you to the spot. Something deeper than fear, something stronger. 

Curiosity. The need for knowledge, the desire to know everything. It held you fast in your spot, unable to hide behind anything. You were in the open, with nowhere to run but away, as fast as your fins could take you. 

“Why do you want to?” That was a fair question. Why did you ask that of him? Why couldn’t you keep your curiosity to yourself? Why couldn’t you be stronger, fearless– …Like your father. Why couldn’t you be like him? What would he do now? You paused for a moment, considering your options. Running like a coward was lower on your list than ever, unwilling to experience the shame of such an act, lest your father find out. That only left confidence, something that was failing you presently. You cleared your throat, hoping it would find you now.

“Because it is impolite to not look one in the eyes when speaking. We are speaking, no? Why do you hide?” Fuck. Now you’ve done it. Directly confronting the Dark Cecaelia himself, taunting him to reveal himself when he was already being kind enough to spare you the terror of beholding him. Why did you want that confidence, again? It seeped from your body like blood from a wound. Could he smell blood? …Could he smell fear?

“Politeness is useless out here.” His voice still held the air of amusement you detected previously. That was good. You hadn’t made him angry just yet. However, his reply only brought about more questions. If the customs of your home were null and void out here, just beyond the kingdom’s reach, what did matter? How should you conduct yourself? You were used to rules, your whole life was planned before you. How should one behave in a vacuum of that security, without that safety net to fall back on? Your confusion must have been clear as day upon your face.

“Power is what matters. Survival. Base instincts.” He sounded closer, yet you still couldn't see him. He must be lingering somewhere nearby, taunting you. You felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity burning your scales like scalding seawater from a thermal vent. Where was he?

“Power, of which you have none.” His words cut you deep, a painful laceration to remind you of your place, here. You had nothing. You were at his mercy, and apparently he thought it imperative to remind you of it, to let the knowledge of your own helplessness seep into your body like venom.

“Power? I–” You hesitated. He was right, you were essentially powerless. This was, in fact, his home, his domain. You were the stranger here. Even more worrisome was the fact that while you were skilled in combat, you had never fought a cecaelia. All of those extra, powerful limbs.. Realistically, what could you do in the face of that? He was entirely correct. That gurgling laughter bubbled up again. It didn’t matter what direction you turned in, it felt like he was surrounding you. He was close, and it was making your heart race to know that you wouldn’t even see him coming should he attack.

“Name.” It wasn’t a request. He did warn you, you supposed. There were no formalities out here. No societal niceties where there was no society to begin with. Your hands trembled at your side as you clenched them into fists. Somehow, you could feel his gaze dip to watch the movement. 

The second your name fell from your lips, you could sense a shift. Something darker, much more dangerous swirled in the water around you. You had the gnawing feeling that you had just made a critical error. The laughter reached a fever pitch, near hysterical in its glee. 

“The King’s son.”

You nodded in affirmation, the movement jerky and hesitant. Your tail twitched with the desire to flee, but the weight of that gaze kept you pinned. 

“Come to the cliff edge.” Another command. From his reaction to your name, you knew better than to try anything. He seemed on edge, now. Like a predator rearing back slowly, preparing to strike. You’ve never felt more like prey in your life, shivers licking up and down your spine and making your tail tremble as a result. That same shaking tail that carried you closer to what you could only assume was an attack. 

But no attack came. You peered over the edge slowly, big eyes wide so as to not miss a single movement in the water below. What your gaze caught on, however, was that same school of flounders you had seen before. They were playing again, tumbling around each other happily. Your eyes caught on something else floating around them, something you slowly began to recognise as fish food. You had a shell-full of it at home to feed your own pets–

Pets. 

These flounders were pets. His pets.

“You like them. You watched them play.” He was definitely watching you the entire time you were here last. But if he was right there watching you, why…?

“Why didn’t you come out last time?” You had to know. None of it made sense. Why wasn’t he attacking? Why did he not attack last time, either? Why was he so content to just sit and watch?

“Pretty,” was his simple reply. As if it was obvious, as if you were stupid for not figuring it out. Pretty..? Sure, you were familiar with the term, were used to it being used to refer to you. But like this? From his mouth, the word coated in that thick accent– it felt different. 

It felt good.

“That doesn’t–” You stumbled over your words, pink heat kissing the apples of your cheeks. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you come out?” You felt a bit like a child right now. Petulant. Demanding. You normally never acted like this, like a whiny brat seeking attention, but the very idea that he was right here and chose to stay hidden and watch just rubbed you the wrong way. He should face you. He should watch you where you could s–

Oh. That’s a new thought. You wanted him to watch you, you didn’t want him to stop. What’s worse is you seemed to want to watch him watch you. Gods, what was happening to you? 

“I do not owe you an answer, little one. Do you need to be reminded again?” Heat continued to flush your cheeks, spreading down your chest and up to the tips of your ears. You burned with embarrassment, yet you still had half a mind to smack your tail against the silt out of childish frustration. Tears pricked your eyes, becoming one with the water around you.

“But, I–”

“But nothing. If there is something you want, you must say it with confidence. Anything less will get you killed out here.” He didn’t sound angry. On the contrary, he almost sounded amused, as if he was gently scolding a confused guppy. The feeling made your stomach turn in a way you were unfamiliar with. “The others are not nearly as kind as I am.”

Others. You had entirely forgotten that there was a whole group of cecaeliae out here, waiting to exact their revenge on the child of the King directly responsible for their exile. But that begs the question…

“Why are you so kind? The scrolls paint you as a heartless monster…” You trailed off, belatedly realising what you had just admitted. You had actively sought out information on him, you just admitted to wanting to know more. That knowledge was dangerous. 

“Why am I not what the scrolls say I am?” He finished for you, no doubt watching you closely when you nodded in affirmation. He paused for a moment, the contemplative silence stretching between the two of you. You ached to see him, to see what he looked like when he was so deep in thought, mulling over his next words with careful consideration. “Why are you not like your father?” 

Answering a question with another question? Classic deflection. The bratty guppy within you reared its ugly head again, this time you did not act quickly enough to tamp down the urge to show your frustration. An irritated groan spilled from you before you could stop it.

“Reveal yourself! I grow tired of this. Let me see you.” You whined, high and needy. You couldn’t control it. Everything this cecaelia said and did pulled these impulses up to the surface, coaxing your worst behaviours out of you with ease. He seemed to have greater control of you than you expected. 

“Hm.” He said nothing more. Silence stretched once again, but there was no contemplation, only stillness. As the seconds swam leisurely by, your anxiety only grew. How badly you wished to eat your words, to fix it, to hide those bitter impulses and bury them where they belonged. 

A hint of movement. Your eyes snapped to it immediately, catching the barest wisp of something in the depths. A tentacle, large and terrifying, slipped just out of view. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

There was another. Then another. You watched them as they squirmed and shifted in the dark water below the cliff, eyes following their lengths to where you hoped he would be. Up, up, up, your eyes followed until–

Eyes. Sharp, piercing, beautiful. Pretty lips and sharp teeth below a sculpted nose, stretched into a carnal grin.

“Thank you, pearl.” Oh, watching his mouth form the words, watching them fall from his lips like a bubble fountain. Gods, all the rumors were right, yet simultaneously did not do him justice. He was stunning, captivating in every possible way. He was so beautiful it was disarming, enough to distract you from just how sharp those teeth really were. No, you were too focused on the pink tongue that darted out to slide along their jagged points. 

Thank you..? Fuck. You said that out loud? You hadn’t been keeping track of yourself since you locked eyes with the Dark Cecaelia. You were much too entranced.

By the time you snapped out of it, you were far away from the cliff edge. You turned around in a flash of panic. How had you moved so far without feeling it? You had to squint your eyes to see the drop-off point, now. You–

Warm. Something warm and big was wrapping around your waist, circling around you entirely and holding you firmly. You looked down at it, stupefied. You should be scared. You should be fighting. You should do something– 

But why would you? It would be futile to fight, and instead of following your mind, you allowed yourself to fall into instinct. You went lax in the grip, allowing the cecaelia to turn you around to face him again. 

Hazy eyes met sharp ones, and you felt thoroughly scrutinized under his gaze. Like a flayed fish before him, stripped bare and vulnerable. You shuddered at the thought. Why? You had no idea. All sensible thought flew out of your mind the second you laid eyes on him. It was much easier to surrender to the feeling rather than fight it. 

He seemed to see something he liked within you, because he drew back with a cocky smirk stretching his lips. Your eyes followed the movement, enraptured. You took him in fully, seeing every detail up close. Shaggy hair fell around his shoulders, looking as if it were shorn by the dullest of blades. His skin was soft, almost begging you to touch. You wanted to touch, so you reached–

A tentacle grabbed you by the wrist, steadfast and secure. You tugged against it experimentally, once again going limp once you were sure the hold wouldn’t budge. By the time your eyes lazily made their way back up to meet his own, his face was much closer again.

“What spell is this..?” You croaked, voice thick and heavy. You couldn’t even begin to explain why you were so affected, only that you were. 

“You are lucky that I was the one who found you.” He easily ignored your question, and you watched in open fascination as his eyebrows creased in worry. You yearned to touch again, to smooth it out for him. Where were these urges coming from?

“Lucky..?” You echoed, cocking your head to the side. Something flashed in his eyes at the movement, and you swore you could feel the tentacle around your waist grip you just a little tighter. You squirmed. “Do that again.” You felt breathless, sounded breathless. You needed to feel that again. You needed to understand that feeling. Before you could clarify any further, a bell sounded in the distance.

A Bell. The belltower from home, signalling the turn of another hour. Home, where your father was no doubt waiting for you to return from the studies you abandoned. If the Dark Cecaelia noticed the way your entire body tensed at the sound and subsequent realisation, he didn’t mention it aloud. Instead, he just watched. His eyes trailed over every inch of your body as it remained stiff as coral under his touch. 

“Home…” You whispered. Your eyes were glazed over, clearly lost in a terrifying spiral of thoughts about what your father would do to you if he ever found out about this, about where you were, about who you were with– Shit. You had to get out of here, you had to–

“Easy, pretty. Easy.” A hand gripped your chin gently, much more gently than you could have ever expected, and guided you to look into his eyes. Gods those eyes, you could get lost in them forever, fall and fall and fall and never escape their depths. Your body immediately relaxed upon the eye contact, turning as soft as kelp in his hold.

“That’s it, pearl…” He soothed, voice deep and smooth, easing over your every worry like a healing salve. What were you so worried about, again…?

“You're going to go home in a moment, pearl– no, do not look at me with such fearful eyes. You will go home, but you will return to me. I expect you here by the second low-tide cycle every day, am I understood?” It was the most you had ever heard him speak in one go, and you were helpless to do anything but nod along. You’d agree to anything he said, it was far too great a temptation to give your assent when you were being held so firmly and spoken to so gently. He clicked his tongue behind razor-sharp teeth. He followed the sound with another command, “Words.”

“Yes…” You trailed, unsure of how long your voice would remain available to you. It felt like everything about you was fading in the face of such comfortable power. He cocked an eyebrow, expectant. You didn’t even have to think before the correct sentence bubbled past your lips, ticking both of your faces upon their exit from your pretty lips. 

“Yes, sir.”

–

“Where the hell were you? Do you have any idea how many guards I had scouring the Kingdom for you? Have you any clue the uproar your little vanishing stunt is going to cause?” Your father boomed, his voice slicing through the usually peaceful water within the pristine walls of the throne room. You kneeled before him, an acceptable distance away, head bowed in humility. Your hands were clenched together in fists in your lap, and you willed yourself to remain as perfectly poised as you had spent your whole life training to be.

“Father–”

“Save it. I do not wish to hear whatever feeble excuse you have to offer. My opinion remains the same. I have been far too gentle with you, allowing you to study in spaces of your choosing and on your own time. No more. You will adhere to a stricter schedule, and you are not permitted to leave your chambers until I deem you fit enough to be seen by the public once again.” Your father pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and the hot shame of humiliation seeped into your bones slowly. What were you supposed to do? You could never raise a word against your father. While your subjects regarded you highly, they had no idea the power imbalance that occurred behind closed doors. They had no idea the treatment you truly faced within these gleaming walls, which, to you, seemed more akin to a prison. 

A gilded cage. 

“You will disappoint me no longer. You will become King someday, and I will be damned if I let childish rebellion be the end of our powerful kingdom. Leave me.” Your father waved his wrist, not even sparing you a glance. You sucked in a slow gulp of seawater, trying to steady your shaking limbs as you pushed yourself up from your place on the floor. You were used to this, but the humiliation never ceased. No matter how much you disliked your father, part of you continued to yearn for his approval, to be told you were enough, that you did well, that you were loved. But you knew your place. You may be related by blood, but the weight of the crown overshadowed any allegiance. 

So you accepted your fate with your head bowed, and made your way silently to your chambers under the watchful eye of a guard you had never bothered getting to know the name of.

–

Once the doors had been closed and locked behind you with a resounding finality, you allowed yourself to sink pathetically onto your bed. The soft sponge gave way under you, cradling your body as you tried to burrow deeper into its comfort. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to hide from it all. 

You groaned. It was fruitless, of course. Running was never an option for you. You had a kingdom to take over one day, to rule over your subjects with an iron fist like your father and his father before him. Was that really you, though? The Pearl of the Sea, ruling like your father, the Iron King? It was unlikely. You knew you weren’t cut out for the same method of ruling, but he refused to hear it. What he wanted, he got, and that included you. You’d become whatever he wanted you to be, and you had no choice over the matter. When you lifted your head, your gaze caught on the closed shutters of your windows. 

If you were trapped here, you might as well be productive, right? Perhaps even enjoy the view? With limbs that felt like the lead on a fishing line, you eased yourself up and swam closer to your windows. You eased the shutters open, watching the waves far above you dance and refract the light of the sun above. You remember from your studies and first-hand sightings that creatures lived up there, whole civilizations thrived above water. Though part of that couldn’t quite make sense in your brain, especially when you were younger. How could one swim above water? How could one breathe? You knew better, by now, but it still seemed funny to you. You rested your head upon your hand, leaning against the windowsill as you continued observing and contemplating the world around you. Far off to the east, you could barely make out the looming shadow of the mainland, the grey rocks forming the cliffside were unmistakable. You remember seeing creatures with long appendages instead of tails, even recently hearing a group of merpeople set upon bullying a poor humanoid while you sunbathed on a nearby rock. You wouldn’t call them friends, not really. Friends aren’t as cruel or power-hungry as those merpeople were. You considered their behaviour to be much more in line with sirens than mermaids. In that case, the bullying wouldn't have surprised you. Sirens were tricky, fickle creatures. A darker variety of chimera like the cecaeliae.

Upon the thought of him, your eyes darted immediately to where the drop-off point was. You could just barely see the grass plains that lay before it. Sometimes, when the water currents were at ease and the water pollution was low, you could clearly see the outcrops of shale and volcanic rock that made up the drop-off point. To your knowledge, the area itself was set on the edge of a vast crater, deep and dangerous. No civilized merman would venture down there, not voluntarily. You had to be truly cruel to survive in such an environment, where most places within the crater not even the light dares to touch. 

Anything less will get you killed out here…

You shuddered at the memory of deep-voiced warnings, of warmth and the security and strength that came with being held fast and still by something bigger than yourself. The second low-tide cycle was usually around the few hours surrounding midnight, when the sky and sea were as dark as void. You were trapped up here, unable to leave the rooms that comprised your chambers. How were you supposed to honour your promise? Leaving the Dark Cecaelia waiting was simply not an option. You were not stupid enough to make an enemy of him.

This left you in quite the dilemma. You were at a crossroads, knowing either way could spell your ruin. Just what chances were you willing to take?

You shifted your gaze to the kingdom below you– or, more accurately, the ground far below your window. The sun would be setting soon, and with it, the tides would change. You sent one glance behind you to the doors, which remained untouched as they were when you first were locked inside. Your father had never loved you. No amount of following his commands would change that. But his enemy..? 

You would need to wait for the cover of night to find out.

– 

The eerie quiet of the seagrass plains were unsettling to say the least. You shifted the bag on your shoulder, your minimal items clinking together quietly. It was a good thing you had the foresight to wrap them in cloth first before absconding out your open window. Of course, you stuffed pillows under your sheets to make it appear you were there should someone open your door to check on you, but it was merely a precaution. You knew no one would. 

You didn’t have much, just a few essentials. Your pouch was filled with seashells, emergency rations and a few select weapons. You came out of your room with a goal in mind, and you were going to see to it that it was accomplished. 

Everything looked different under the glaring lack of illumination breaking through the waves overhead. The churning of them made you uneasy. There must be a storm kicking up. You frowned, finding it harder to swim toward your destination when the currents picked up more and more, the further you swam along. Your arm came up to shield your eyes from the silt that mixed in with the more aggressive currents, trying and failing to aid your view of the area surrounding you. Just a bit further, you could almost see the cliffs edge–

Warm. Something warm and big slithered around your waist, and you immediately wanted to relax into the touch but… Something about it. Something about the weight of it, the warmth, the feeling–

Wrong. It was all wrong. Immediately you began to thrash, to shake off the hold on your waist, but it was already too late. You were being dragged, harshly, through the churning water. You tried opening your eyes, willing to brave the onslaught of sand in order to free yourself, but you stopped short. Ink. You were surrounded by ink. You couldn't see out, and the chilling realisation settled in your body that it also meant no one could see you. Even if you managed to cry out for help loudly enough to catch someone's attention, cecaelia ink alone would dissuade them from coming to your aid. You were on your own, here. 

Suckers pulled at your skin, leaving angry red blooms across your soft skin, and it fucking burned. Gone were the sure, strong touches you were yearning for, all was replaced by the way this cecaelia seemed to want to rip you to shreds. 

“Evil thing,” The voice mocked you, unfamiliar and scary. “You will pay for your fathers crimes with your blood.” You couldn’t afford to be rendered still by fear, you had to move. You swung your arm out, reaching blindly for the bag you were carrying. If you could reach your weapons, if you could reach anything, you could better your chances of survival. You felt the brush of the familiar material against your fingertips, and you slammed your hand down on it, hoping it would give you enough leverage to grip the knife inside without leaving yourself too open to attack–

Crunch. 

White-hot pain seared up your arm. A scream bubbled from your lips, unbidden and guttural in its anguish. You didn’t need to see the damage to know that your forearm was broken. Quite badly, if the feeling was anything to go by. You had bigger issues to worry about. Snickers seeped into the inked water around you, amused by your pained cries. The grip on your waist loosened just enough for you to seize your chance. Swallowing the bile rising in your throat due to the pain, you reached again with purpose. Your fingers found purchase around the cold hilt of your knife. You were infinitely glad that the damaged arm was not your dominant one as you fixed your grip on your weapon. What was it your instructor always said?

Find an opening, strike.

You needed that opening. An opening you did not currently have, not with the way this cecaelia was ripping at your waist and tail. Sharp teeth and nails found your skin, tugging with the intent to tear you apart. It was working, clearly. The tangy smell of your blood mixing in with the disgusting smell of ink in the water. You were surely going to attract other predators if you didnt get out of here fast– assuming you lived long enough to do so.

Luckily, the bloodied wounds marring your skin proved to be just the opening you needed. The substance made the cecaelia’s grip slip off of your torso, leaving him unsteady and open for attack. Your previous combat practices rung in your ears. 

Strike.

You swung your good arm, striking the cecaelia and burying the knife deep into the side of his ribs. Clearly not anticipating the return of violence, he fell back just enough that his tentacles released you. You stood your own ground, now, falling into a much more familiar fighting stance. Your body was weary, coated in blood and your arm hurt, but the adrenaline settled into something worse than instinct. You were a predator, after all. 

Act like it.

You didn’t give the cecaelia time to recuperate. You took your opening and lashed with furious precision, a sick satisfaction blooming in you as you watched his blood seep into the water and mix with his own ink every time you drove the knife into him. Tentacles tried to grasp at you, but a harsh slash of your knife through the gummy flesh of the appendage, severing it from its host, took care of that problem. You couldn’t hear his screaming anymore, couldn’t hear him pleading for you to let him go.

Your previous fears about attracting predators in the nearby water were all but forgotten. You were the one with the scent of blood in your nose, and you wanted more. 

Slash, slash, slash– 

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t even know if he was still trying to attack you anymore, but you didn’t take the chance to find out. You just kept stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing–

“Little one.”

You whirled around, a crazed look in your eyes. You must have been quite the sight to behold; blood seeping from your wounds and into the water in delicate whisps, arm broken and turned in a way that looked wrong, bloodied knife clutched in a white-knuckled grip that you immediately raised upon instinct. 

“...How long were you floating there?” Your tone was flat, not truly asking a question. It was a demand– like your father would make. The Dark Cecaelia made no move to reply, instead studying your body as if taking inventory of your injuries. The action only stirred up the dark depths of your fury.

“I said…” You approached, chest heaving with the effort it took to keep yourself upright and battle-ready, “How long have you been fucking floating there!?” You were nearly on top of him now, face to face with the cecaelia you came here for, the one you just risked your life to meet at his behest. Your mind flew to wild places, accusatory voices in your head spewing volatile words towards him, ones that you were powerless in your current state to stop. 

“Where the fuck were you!?” You seethed, fist clenching around the hilt of the knife harder, preparing for a strike you had no control over. You were mad with rage, head clouded with bloodlust and self-preservation. Anyone around you was a threat, especially someone who sat there and watched you get attacked and did nothing. Watching. Was that all he ever did? It seemed that way, now. All he had ever done with you was observe, and it never failed to make your skin crawl. The weight of his gaze was too much, too overwhelming, too disarming. Go for the eyes–

A sting erupted in your wrist, forcing you to drop the knife. You were unable to do much else than watch it slowly sink to the sea floor. Your breathing remained uneven, body poised to strike even without the weapon in your hands. You raised the only good one left– Or, you tried to. It didn't move. You strained harder, staring down at the unresponsive limb. You grew frustrated, a growl rumbling in your chest at the mark on your wrist. At first glance, it might seem like a remnant of your earlier fight for your life, but you knew it was much too small to have come from one of your attacker's suckers. No, this was smaller, pointed, like a pinprick.

“Did you just sting me…? What fucking right do you have to do that–” 

“Little one.” He sounded insistent, now, imploring. The tone immediately doused the fire within you like a cool rain, snuffing out the embers of your rage with gentleness. You swallowed, jaw snapping shut.

“You did well. You defended yourself. You took a life in exchange for your own.” He paused, weighing the words in his mouth until he seemed to find the ones he was searching for. His eyes trailed from you to the heap of cecaelia meat behind you. To call it a body would be too kind. He met your eyes again, the moment stretching between you uncomfortably. You didn’t dare speak. He stung you already. It wouldn’t take much else to snuff your life out entirely right now. 

“You are not like your father.” He spoke with finality, like he was unsure of the truth of the statement before, like you had just proved him wrong. Perhaps you had. Perhaps he saw you differently, now. The thought should make you preen, but it only served to make you glower, anger slowly simmering back to life. 

Your arms dangled uselessly at your sides, one from your injury and the other due to his potent venom, but you ached with the need to attack. You were still too high-strung, too deep in your panic for survival. Without your arms, you felt far too vulnerable. You bared your teeth, nose scrunching when he made to approach you further. You snapped at his hand when it approached your face. Too fast, your mind panicked. Threat.

But the touch was soft. Reverent, gentle in a way that sent your fight-or-flight ridden brain into a tailspin. Just as you began to ease into the touch, his grip turned colder, tightening around your chin to force you to look at him. Your eyes snapped open. When had you closed them?

“Not at me. Never at me. If you are to learn to hold your ground properly against a cecaelia and escape unscathed, you will never bare your guppy teeth at me. Am I understood?” His tone was icy, commanding in a way that sunk into your skin like oil. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest still, yet his presence seemed to help even out your breathing anyway. You nodded shakily. His grip softened again, gathering your shaking form up and cradling you close in his arms.

“Close your eyes.” You didn’t really need the instruction, eyes closed as soon as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. You barely knew this creature, but the grip he held you in felt suddenly like safety, a welcome respite for your battered and stressed body. You felt water rush around you, the movement reminding you that you were being taken elsewhere with neither your knowledge nor permission, but you ignored it in favour of nosing against the column on his throat to seek out more of his body heat. 

A chuckle bubbling from his chest should have made you nervous, perhaps even shy, but you were too overwhelmed to react accordingly, to behave as proper as you should be. Customs were left at the Kingdoms gate as far as you were concerned. In his arms, traveling who knows where with this cecaelia… No longer were you a prince, and he your kingdom’s mortal enemy. Instead, you were just you, and he was just… God, you didn’t even know his name. 

“Your name..” You prompted, voice sluggish with exhaustion as it settled deep in your bones, “You never told me.” 

The laughter you had grown familiar with now rang out again, like what you had said was truly amusing. You lifted your head from its comfortable resting place with great effort, and he outright cooed at your bewildered expression. You pouted.

“You know mine, can I not know yours? It’s much too formal to call you by the title my father gave you. It feels insulting…” You confessed, eyebrows pulling together in a furrow. His thumb rubbed gentle patterns into your still-numb arm. 

“Once we are home, I will tell you,” He soothed, like he was speaking to a fussy infant. The implication of his tone made your ears warm. Home? He must have seen your expression at the word, and your subsequent confusion over it, but he made no move to clarify. As far as he was concerned, it seemed his home was now yours. Maybe that was enough for now, your thoughts grew too muddled to properly sort them, so you succumbed to the urge to return to the safety of his neck.

–

When you finally blinked your eyes open, you found yourself in a cave of some sort. The first thing you noticed was that the walls were smoothed out purposefully, little shelves carved into them to hold little bottles of glowing fluids and other interesting trinkets. Magic, your brain sluggishly supplied, cecaeliae can wield magic. 

The second thing you noticed was that you couldn't move. It wasn’t a frightening realisation, somehow your body knew before you looked down at yourself that you were still safe in the Dark Cecaelia’s hold. You took stock of yourself, your body felt… much better. Gone was the bone peeking through your non-dominant arm, it was just as it was before the attack, blemishless and supple skin returned to its former glory. You marveled at it for a second longer before your gaze trailed to the mass of tentacles wrapping around every part of your body. You followed them up, eyes lazily trailing up to meet the eyes of the Dark Cecaelia himself, who was already watching you with an unreadable look in his eyes. In the back of your mind, you registered that he was still rubbing soothingly over your no-longer-numb arm. 

“Beomgyu,” He spoke, voice deep and thick and settling over you as beautifully as his tentacles did. You blanked for a second, blinking at him with sleep still clinging to your lashes. What?

“Beomgyu?” You repeated, head lolling to rest against his shoulder. You were now eye level with his jaw, which you sleepily trailed your finger along the line of, feeling the stubble. It helped remind you that this was real, that he was here and holding you so safely. He smiled.

“My name.” He stated it simply, the hint of a shrug jostling your head ever-so-slightly. You frowned at the movement, which he somehow must have picked up on because he laughed. You wiggled in his grip in retaliation, testing how much you could move and– 

Oh. That felt nice. You felt his grip tighten on you when you struggled, though he knew your struggle was only for show and testing limits. The added pressure made your stomach flip in a way you were beginning to become familiar with. It only ever happened with him. With Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu.” You echoed it again, feeling the weight of it on your tongue, wrapping your lips around the vowels. You liked the way it felt to do so, to say his name and hear him hum in response. You didn’t have the brain power quite yet to notice that you sounded a little too breathless, a little too whiny.

“What is it, pretty?” He prompted, though you could tell by the way he spoke that he wasn’t quite looking for an answer. Your hand was splayed against his chest, and now that you noticed it, you simply couldn’t look away. Your fingers twitched against his skin, nails just barely biting into the flesh. He hummed again, the sound deep and stirring something within you again. 

“Do it again,” you breathed, echoing a request you remember uttering a day prior. Was it only a day ago that you felt this inexplicable pull, a dangerous desire for more? It was hard to wrap your mind around. Surely you were under some sort of spell, but by this point you didn’t care. You needed more. Needed more of Beomgyu.

He tilted his head, as if confused for a moment before realization dawned on him. Ah, yes, he remembered the last time you begged for him so sweetly like that, with not a clue in the world what you were truly asking for. It was adorable, truly. His grip tightened around you once again, pressing against your body from torso to tail. You choked on a gasp.

“Little one.” You couldn’t bring yourself to reply, head too fuzzy from the affect his actions had on you. All you could manage was a distant-sounding hum, and little else. He seemed pleased with that, if the rumble in his chest was anything to go by. You wiggled in his grip again, needy. Needy for what, you didn't quite know. 

“Little one,” He tried again. You hummed again, a bit faster this time. Why wasn't he doing it again? What was taking so long? “Do you even know what you want, right now?”

You shook your head. No, you didn’t. But you didn’t really care to, as long as he continued. 

The tentacles removed themselves from your body, and you keened high in your throat, indignant at being denied. Warm hands shifted your weight, making you sit up. You slowly met his eyes, and the intensity in them froze you in your place. His gaze trailed down, and the image of him staring at something near your lap, slack-jawed and wanting left you feeling like a red-hot iron. Hot, searing the water around you to a boiling point. You squirmed under the weight of it, and found yourself slowly following his gaze. What your eyes finally landed made you freeze.

A slit. Something you knew was there, realistically. You knew biology, of course, but the normally closed opening was open and dripping something thick. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You were aroused this whole time? God, if that's what it felt like, you no longer judged those who spent their lives seeking this pleasure. You found yourself gnawing at your lower lip upon the realisation. You hesitantly looked back up at him, hands moving to cover yourself. 

“I– I’m sorry if I made you uncom–” He cut you off, snatching your wrists and pulling them away from your lap. 

“Do not hide yourself from me. Tell me what it is that you want.” His words left no room for debate. They never did. He took command over you like it was as easy as breathing, and with how frequently he did so, it might as well be. You swallowed, trying to combat the lump settling in your throat. You let your hands settle by your side obediently. You wracked your brain, trying to figure out how to answer him. What did you want? Everything, you knew. You wanted everything from him. You wanted to leave your fathers image behind. You wanted to be held again. You wanted to be wrapped up in his tentacles again, unable to escape. You wanted to learn to fight back. You wanted to make Beomgyu proud.

A cheshire grin spread on Beomgyu’s face. Shit. You said that aloud, didnt you? You seemed to do that around him without intending to. His power over you was truly astounding.

“Flattery, my pearl, will get you everywhere you wish to be.” The smile remained, unwavering. It seemed to grow sharper, predatory, and it sent heat licking at the base of your spine. 

“You want to make me proud, want to learn to fight like a real cecaelia? Your father always was hesitant to follow my suggestions, brilliant as they were... But it seems I’ve gained something far greater after my exile.” He trailed a finger along your arm, watching in thinly-veiled amusement as gooseflesh erupted in the wake of his touch. He followed an invisible line, tracing up your shoulder, collarbone, neck, jaw. At last, he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes locked hungrily on your lips. 

“I gained you.”

The words stole the breath from your lips. He.. thought you alone were worth all the torment he went through at the hands of your father? You struggled to wrap your mind around it. Surely this was all just sweet words designed to ensnare, to trap you, keep you pliant against his every whim. If it was, it was working. You were doomed.

“You gained me,” You echoed, unable to look away. He had bewitched you, mind, body and soul, and you were powerless to say no. It was useless to deny it, to pretend he did not possess you wholly. “I am yours.”

A groan tumbled from his mouth, and he leaned forward just a fraction more. You could feel the warm water of his breath rushing over your face, and you suddenly ached for him to be closer, yet his grip held you right where he wanted you. Just a breath away. 

“You have no idea what you do to me.” He whispered it like a secret, like reverent devotion meant only for you to hear. Your heart swooped dangerously in your chest at the words, squirming slightly. You needed to be closer, needed to feel how true his words were. You needed him to prove it.

“So show me.” Your words were simple, perhaps too simple. You couldn’t stop them if you tried, far too breathless and high-strung to deny the desire any further. You were tired of the tension, of the gaze on you from afar. You needed him up close, needed him to do more than just watch. You needed him to touch.

And touch, he did.

He surged forward with no warning, pressing his lips to yours in a searing, claiming kiss. You immediately yielded to it, allowing him to take what he needed, and give you everything. You thrilled at the contact, the way his lips pressed to yours before he grew too greedy for anything remotely chaste. Sharp teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, creating tiny cuts that made you hiss into the contact, yet you didn’t dare pull away. You couldn’t now, even if you tried. He held you fast against him, a crushing grip against your arms to keep you in place. His tongue traced along the duller edges of your teeth, pressed over the roof of your mouth, tangled with your own tongue, and you were helpless. You wined, high and desperate in your throat. You had never even been kissed before, much less did you imagine your first kiss would be such an intense claiming. You reveled in it, the electric feeling dancing through your body and settling hot and heavy at the base of your stomach. That thick liquid continued to make a mess of your lap, and you outright sobbed when a finger trailed gingerly over the edges, spreading the fluid. 

You felt positively dizzy, pliant and vulnerable to his every whim.

“Beomgyu…” You cried against his lips, though you weren’t exactly sure what you were calling for. You needed less, you needed more, you needed everything. He was somehow able to understand you, smiling against you before finally pulling away. You rocked forward, attempting to chase him. He laughed.

“My pearl,” He replied in kind, delicately cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He had that soft, awed look on his face again that made you feel wholly wanted, wholly desired. You sighed against his palm, leaning into it to press a kiss to the skin closest to your lips. “If you do this, you can never go back. You know this, right?”

Never going back. To the castle, you assumed. The idea of never returning to your father should scare you, but it didn't. You were safe out here, tucked up close to Beomgyu, far from your father’s influence. His power stopped at the drop-off point, the same place where Beomgyu’s began. You would be safe as long as you had him to keep you that way, and there was no doubt he would teach you what he knew, turn you into a fearsome fighting machine. Someone he would be proud to show off to the others. You preened at the idea, nodding your head vigorously.

“I never needed him. I only need you.”

–

If someone had told you just weeks ago that you'd be the lover of the Dark Cecaelia, that you had given up your crown for dark water and uncertainty, you would have laughed them out of the room. There was no way you wouldn’t follow in your fathers footsteps, becoming just like him atop the throne. There was no way you'd give up your whole life for this stranger, for this danger made so obvious by the texts you grew up reading. But Beomgyu was nothing like the scrolls, and you were nothing like your father.

You were happy, and perhaps that was all you ever needed. 

[copper-16]

Chapter 8 has been posted - but before everyone goes to read, a little bit of an announcement on my end:

This is going to be my last longer Mapi/Ingrid story, and probably the end of me being super active/posting on ao3 and tumblr. I might write the occasional story here and there, but writing is not bringing me the same joy it once was and I want to dedicate my time to other things. I’ll still be around reading on ao3 and somewhat on Tumblr, but I just won’t be posting a whole ton on either. I’ve been so incredibly lucky to get to know all of you guys on here, and to receive so much love for my work. It means the absolute world to me - and thank you all so much for welcoming me into this little community so wonderfully! I hope the stories I wrote were able to bring just a little bit of happiness when you guys needed it (even if I constantly left everyone on cliffhangers - I truly am sorry about that).

The rest of this is long, and you don't have to read it if you don't want to, you can just go ahead to the story now if you would like. I'm not known for my ability to keep concise, that is for certain. If brevity is the soul of wit - perhaps we know why my stories aren't very funny!

I’ve especially enjoyed joining tumblr and really finding a little community here. Getting to interact with so many people, both those who read my works and those who don’t, has been such a joy for me. I love getting to hear when people like the things I've written, even if it touches them in a small way. I love getting to interact with so many brilliant minds and am forever in awe of how much amazing talent there is in this little corner of the internet! I've made some incredible friends from getting to be on here, and it makes me so happy to have a little community of people I love. Thank you guys for letting me have space here even if I don’t write reader works or know how this app works most of the time.

I started writing seriously in September 2022 and I can't tell you how much joy it has brought me in the last two years. As someone who doesn't enjoy the college degree they are currently getting, this was such a fun creative outlet for me. It was so cool to have this blank canvas to work with, to weave things together, especially as I began to write longer stories. Writing was a place to destress for me and interact with other people who loved football as I was coming to love it. Every single kudos, comment, and bookmark meant so much to me. Even when it was something silly like someone dubbing the 'Copper Monologue,' it made me feel so seen. Someone cared enough to read enough of my works to pick out the fact that I do that? Absolutely mind blowing to me. It's crazy to hear that people cared about the silly little stories I wrote. When someone told me that I was one of the things to help inspire them to write their own stuff - I think I properly sobbed. It meant more to me than anything has in this entire world, and it still does! Writing has helped me to process, it's helped me to grow, it's helped me learn to identify my emotions and struggles and think through my own thought processes. I hope that maybe for someone out there, it could help them do that as well. It's a little strange for me not to want to do that anymore. Writing this last story solidified to me that for the most part it was time to be done, and HDITA was more of a goodbye than anything else. But even with that, it feels strange not to be thinking of my next idea, thinking of how I am going to create characters and relationships and plot lines.

I think for me right now, I'm just excited to be myself. Maybe this vessel of writing was what I needed to get myself through the last two years. I wrote la princesa when I was at my absolute worst in life, and as I've grown and matured as a person, I like to think that my writing has. I no longer find myself in a place where it fills a huge void in my own life that I once needed.

I've grown a lot as a writer these few years (those who read my earlier works will understand), and I'm excited to one day come back to it, maybe in a different sphere. I love the idea now of writing a real book. It always terrified me before - I didn't know where I would start or if I would be horrible at it. But you all have given me the confidence that maybe at least one person would like it, and maybe that's enough of a reason to try. So thank you all for holding my hand and encouraging me. I hope that if nothing else, everyone remembers that a little bit of kindness on here or ao3 or anywhere on the internet costs nothing, and yet can go a long way.

It did for me.

But enough of my sappy rambling, please enjoy this last chapter of mine. I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought me when I was writing it. Love you all so so much!

Chapter 8 of How Do I Trust Again?

[hiddensanctuarywrites]

Lawrence Oleander’s MBTI

After thinking long and hard about this wonderfully complicated man, I've come to the conclusion that Lawrence is an ISFJ.

Here's how I believe his personality fits within an ISFJ function stack and an attempt at expanding on his character, based on what I know about ISFJs.

Introverted Sensing:

- His Many bad past experiences with trying to get close to people made him incredibly guarded and distrusting of people's willingness to stay around him. He's been hurt too much and uses his experiences to predict the future. Those predictions are almost always bad.

- Can be a bit narrow-minded and has trouble empathizing with things he doesn't understand.

- He hates the unfamiliar; it freaks him out. He thrives under consistency and structure and when things are clear and concise. People usually aren't, and that makes him anxious.

- Has a hard time with big changes and needs time to mentally prepare for them.

- Wants to feel in control of the people he cares about and in control in general.

- When he's in the right headspace, he's very good at stalking and picking up details that other people might not notice as easily.

Extraverted Feeling:

- He hides himself away out of consideration of others, not just for his own safety.

- He hates any reminders that he's not normal. People being concerned about his behavior make him feel extremely on edge. 

- Despite his desire to get away from everyone, he still periodically feels sympathy and empathy towards others.

- A small part of the reason he learns the things he does is, on the off chance that he finds someone who will stay, he'll be useful to them.

- He likes caring for things and feeling responsible for them.

- Is loyal to whoever stays by his side, especially if they manage to go through the grueling task of proving they're doing it willingly. Will go out of his way to take care of them and make sure they're “kept safe.”

- He doesn't realize it, but he desperately wants to feel wanted, needed, and appreciated. Will start to despise you if you continuously take whatever kindness he gives you for granted.

- Does not like being focused on for long. Even with someone he likes, it can easily be too much.

- Focuses so much on other people and their actions but represses and ignores his own emotions to the point that he's not even sure how he feels or what he actually wants a lot of the time.

- Needs time, patience, and lack of judgment from someone in order to feel comfortable opening up about any of his feelings.

- Spent so much time alone bottling up his negative feelings that he'll end up snapping at the drop of a hat. He doesn't have any healthy coping mechanisms, so he has a Lot of unprocessed baggage.

Introverted Thinking:

- Likes to plan things out in advance and tries to mentally prepare for whatever else could happen in the process.

- Even if his place is messy, there's still a structure to it. He doesn't care about the spills and smells wafting about, but his bottles of things are all labeled and organized in a way only he understands. 

- He soaks up information that he in particular finds useful or interesting.

- Deeply fascinated by how things work and how things are connected. Definitely takes that fascination too far sometimes.

- Cares more about the function and purpose of things over any kind of aesthetic.

Extraverted Intuition:

- He occasionally opens himself up to new viewpoints. He has to feel safe and stable to do this.

- Tends to overthink about all the possible ways something can go wrong.

Note: I'm sorry, but I will likely only be doing this for Lawrence! I'm currently working on writing a LawrencexReader fanfic and won't have the time or mental capacity to make an in-depth analysis of any other characters. 

[soleilceirinen]

The Portrait | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Thomas Shelby is your History professor at the university. One day he wants to meet you at his office and it scares you a bit. Definitely, you are not expecting to see what's waiting for you there. Modern AU.

Warnings: nothing.

A/N: this is short and maybe makes no sense but I just wanted to write something after not writing anything in months. Also, it's inspired by a real teacher I had, who kept a huge self portrait in his university office. It was horrible and funny at the same time.

Sorry for the English, it isn't my first language. There are probably a lot of mistakes but I don't feel like proofreading it more. Thanks for reading it!

Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

In the three years that you had been studying at the university, you had never been in professor Shelby’s office. Not even once. But there were rumours, each of them crazier than the next one. They said that one of the walls was covered by a bookshelf which actually was a secret door to access professor Solomon’s office, who some people believed were his secret lover. But that was nothing compared to other things you had heard, such as not going alone to his office if you were a young woman, just in case. 

Of course, you didn’t believe any of this. Unfortunately, you had learned the hard way that sometimes people were mean and they would talk shit about others just out of jealousy, or self discontent. Some people had very sad and empty lifes. 

It didn’t make sense to you because Thomas Shelby never messed with anyone. The man taught his classes and left, unlike other teachers who tried really hard to be friends with their students, he knew where to set the limits. He was serious and a good professor, one of the best you had ever had. 

His lectures were focused on the first half of 20th Century History. Sometimes, Thomas would talk about World War I in a way that made you feel like he had been there, as if he were telling you all his memories. 

-

On Monday you got an email from him. Your heart skipped a beat, he wanted to meet you at his office. The message was brief and concise, it just said that he wanted to talk to you, along with the appointment’s date. Now you were a nervous wreck. What did he want to talk about with you? You couldn’t know, maybe your last essay was so horrible that he wanted to say it to your face and see your reaction.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to push away all those thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal and you were creating a mountain out of a grain of sand. Besides, it made no sense to dwell on the suffering if you didn’t even know the reason why he wanted to meet.

-

It had been five minutes since you arrived at Mr. Shelby’s office. The only problem was that you couldn’t find the strength to knock on the closed door. You just wanted to put off the moment as long as possible.

"You can do it. Tommy doesn't bite, you know?"

The sudden presence of someone behind you made you turn around in surprise. You thought you were alone in the empty hallway but clearly you were wrong because Mr. Solomons was standing next to you, seemingly amused. After all, his office was the one next to Thomas's. 

He was your professor too, although his lectures didn’t captivate you as much as those of Mr. Shelby. It wasn’t because they weren’t interesting, he specialised on Jewish History and cultural heritage, but the way he rambled was certainly disconcerting. Some days after leaving his class you weren’t even able to determine what he had been talking about since  he liked to spill ideas that in theory had some kind of connection with each other.

“I know, thanks for the encouragement,” you replied quietly. He placed one of his large hands on your shoulder and gave you a friendly squeeze before walking past you, as he headed towards his own office. 

-

Mr. Shelby's deep voice invited you in from the other side of the door. You entered slowly, fixing your gaze on the floor. He waited, sitting on the other side of the desk as he watched you with interest. 

“How are you, Y/N?”

The answer died in your throat the moment you gathered enough courage to look up in order to meet his blue eyes. Mr. Shelby stared at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised. You covered your mouth with your hand, the last thing you wanted to do now was bursting into laughter but you couldn’t take your eyes away from the painting.

Right behind him, almost covering the whole surfice of the wall, hung a huge portrait. It wasn’t a photograph, it looked like an oil painting on canvas. In it appeared Mr. Shelby, who was wearing the kind of clothes that men would probably wear back in the 1920’s, standing next to a majestic white horse. Slowly, your eyes moved from the painting to the man in front of you. 

Who in his right mind has a painting like that in their university office? It was the tackiest thing you had seen in a long time. Definitely, not what you were expecting to find there. 

“Y/N?”

Mr. Shelby's soft voice brought you back to reality. To the here and now. "Yes, good. And you?"

"Not bad. You'll wonder why I summoned you today," he said, as he rummaged through the piles of papers and books that littered his desk. You made a small noise of confirmation, so he continued speaking. "I really liked your last essay about the role of women in society during World War I. Have you ever been to France?"

You tilted your head to the side, for a moment nothing made sense. What did one thing have to do with the other? You kept looking at the portrait, as if the answer was painted somewhere there. "France?" 

At your bewildered face, Mr. Shelby laughed softly. It sounded as if he were letting out a gust of air. His eyes shined gently, he seemed to be in a good mood. “Yes, the country. The university’s History department has been offered a student exchange with a French university. It’s only a week but in five days you can do many things. I was talking to Mr. Solomons and we agreed that you are one of our most promising students, it might be interesting for you to go.”

"Really? I don't know what to say..." you mumbled, your cheeks turning red and warm. You wanted to cry, or laugh, or both. "I've never been to France, I don't even speak French."

Mr. Shelby found what he was looking for. He placed a form in front of you and pointed his finger at it. "Think about it. If you decide to go, fill this out and bring it to me in a couple of days. It's a great opportunity," he added.

Nodding, you took the form and put it carefully between your notes so it wouldn’t get all wrinkled. “Thank you so much for considering me,” you finally said, truly grateful. 

You looked one last time at the painted version of Thomas. His cold eyes returned an icy stare from above, with an almost cruel expression. He seemed so distant, like someone who no longer has anything to lose. It made you wonder, in the first place, the history behind the painting. Did he commission it? Why? Anyway, he could have hung it at his house, not there. 

Before stepping out of the office, you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. What you weren’t expecting was Thomas returning the smile back at you, but he did and for a brief moment, his face lit up. That face couldn’t be further away from the hard features of his painted version. 

As you walked down the hallway you shook your head. So many nerves for nothing. It also infuriated you a little bit to think about all the shit people said about him behind his back, all rumours, since nobody ever mentioned the painting. 

However, you had something clear. Despite the bad reputation that preceded him, you kind of liked Thomas Shelby. He had the most incredible pair of blue eyes and the worst taste when it came to decoration, but nobody is perfect.

[zuppizup]

Get to Know Fanfic Authors

Thanks for the tag @blutopaz15 ! Sorry I’m late!!!!

1. How many works on AO3?

75

2. Total AO3 word count?

1,092,105 😅

3. Top 5 fics by kudos:

I was hit multiple times by the kudos bot, so I don't really "count" my kudos. My top 5 by hits/bookmarks are:

Purgatory

And they were Zoom-mates...

Zoom-mates... After Hours

A Dark Alternative

Rumour has it...

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently The Dragon Prince, coz I tend to hyper focus on one fandom at a time.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do! I might be late, but I always aim to respond to comments.

6. Fic with the angsty ending?

Probably Last Stand. Though perhaps, depending on your perspective, Borrowed Time and The Longest Night might be angstier.

Or I guess the alternative endings to Husk. There's a reason they're the alternative endings. So mean. 😔

7. Fic with the happiest ending?

Considering everything they went through and how long it took them to get there, Purgatory, in my opinion.

8. Do you get hate?

Not directly to me, but the Twitter antis go off about my fics on occasion. Which is so strange, considering they could easily block and mute my stuff so they don't have to see it. 😉

9. Do you write smut?

I've been known to, on occasion. 😏

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not really. I write a lot of AUs, but not really direct crossovers.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Ever had a fic translated?

I believe there's a bunch of my stuff in Russian somewhere. 😆

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not directly, but I do have a bunch of enablers, which is sorta the same thing imo

14. All time favorite ship?

Rayllum ☺️

15. WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Probably Little Moments. Season 5 made it very AU, and then I got distracted by post-Season 5 fics.

I will finish Zoom-mates!

16. Writing strengths?

Hmm, I enjoy my plots (coz otherwise I wouldn’t write them, I guess!) 😅 They're often silly, but I have fun with them. I like setting things up with hints and breadcrumbs and then dropping a twist or whatever. It’s always really gratifying to me when people start putting the pieces together and then I get an “I KNEW it” comment when the twist happens or what have you. That is the most fun.

17. Writing weaknesses?

My inability to reign those plots in. I really, really want to write more novella length fics so I can explore more ideas, but invariably, things get longer and longer and longer... Writing concisely is a skill I do not possess.

I am also actively working on conveying emotion better and it’s interesting rereading some of my older stuff and then comparing it to now.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

I don't really have any. I haven't encountered it enough to form an opinion.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ever? Hmm, maybe Buffy or X Files or something? Back when fics were scattered all across the interwebs.

20. Favorite Fic you’ve ever written?

Husk. Always Husk. Definitely not my best fic, I've grown a lot as a writer since I wrote that fic, but it's still really special to me.

Tagging whoever wants to play! This has gone around our little corner of fandom a bit, so I can’t remember who’s done it and who hasn’t.

[round-hatches-are-terrifying]

so I started writing down my thoughts/reactions to isat as I’m playing it and I just thought: why not dump them here! they are in order, and way too many of them are questions I don’t actually want the answer to because I don’t want spoilers. please don’t spoil anything for me

anyways, for reference: I am on act 2, somewhere on the third floor of the house, and on my seventh loop. so everything here will be from when I started the game up until now. so. yeah! here you go (fair warning there’s a Lot and I don’t seem to have a single concise bone in my body):

so… isa loves siffrin? Is it the normal anxiety of telling someone you love them that’s keeping him from confessing or is there more to it?

is loop the chaos god? related to the chaos god? is the chaos god even real? regardless, what is loop’s deal? did they seriously just make up a name and pronouns on the spot? why do they like siffrin so much?? I mean don’t get me wrong I love their character but ???

it’s a bit odd that you don’t get any details about siffrin’s past, other than travelling with isa/maribelle/odile/bonnie is the happiest they’ve been and the constant reaction of “vanguard is so weird.” also siffrin quite obviously has no clue what he is doing with his life when he gets past king. so. ???

siffrin is scared of people touching them? why is he so confused by this fairly simple detail about himself? did something happen as far as why he doesn’t remember his own past??

okay the soundtrack so far (at least to me) feels almost entirely sad/weirdly nostalgic (is it supposed to be nostalgic because siffrin can’t remember shit about themselves? or is it just me? also this is gonna be a sad character moment later isn’t it) or foreboding (except like, the themes for dormont and snack time. but that’s different. those are separate and happy), and then there’s loop’s theme. like I’m sorry but what is their deal?? I want to know so bad! and I want to loop back to talk to them but I don’t want to have to repeat all three floors of the house in order to get all the healing items and souvenirs and I’d rather not have too many loops unless I really need to…that seems like it’d be bad… gvshdhchcjhv PAIN AND INDECISION

…why are the dialogue options for isa and the others at the start disappearing? please let me hear about isa’s clothing designer dreams again so siffrin can safely bring it up later!! :(

why does loop have so much power. what kind of being are they. like, king is supposed to be the only one who has mastered time magic but does loop also? have control for some reason? why and how is loop able to follow along with siffrin the entire time and talk to the player (who I’m assuming is supposed to be a separate entity from siffrin)? why does loop seem to be able to read some of siffrins thoughts? also why’d they know he’s allergic to pineapple?????

and who put siffrin the the time loop? what was with the siffrin swallowing light thing that I’ve halfway forgotten about in the prologue? is that important?

did loop put siffrin in the time loop?? did they do it and are they helping him because they know siffrins the only hope for taking down king or something for some reason? is loop related to king somehow???

does siffrins forgetfulness/lack of memory of who they were before have something to do with how the one country is forgotten? are they similar? also the reason they gave why they don’t like croissants was totally a lie, right?

so. random chance can change between loops. fine. but why are the walls weird. I wouldn’t have even found that if I didn’t bother to check the wall. this is insanely suspicious to me

is it just me or do the main cast all seem so… emotionally fragile? it’s like they’re always treading on water (okay I know that’s not the expression but I forgot what actually is. whatever. you know what I mean) around each other. surely that’s not a healthy relationship? mira seems to get very very anxious very very easily over small things, everyone seems so afraid of upsetting siffrin, bonnie gets upset if they get the feeling they aren’t competent enough. idk maybe I’m looking too much into it, after all they are under a lot of stress. it just seems a bit odd and uncomfortable at times

kinda related to the last point: why does siffrin never consider telling his friends about the time loop? I mean, it probably wouldn’t do much good anyway, but they could’ve tried it out at least once, especially with the ability to loop back if it ended up being a big mistake. and loop even suggested it! i mean I know siffrin doesn’t seem to like them very much right now and I don’t know how trustworthy they are but as far as I can tell they haven’t ever outright lied

…okay i think that’s more than enough for now

[eraserspiral]

Writer Interview Game

thank you for the tag @slothquisitor <3

When did you start writing?

deeply!pretentious!, but I can't remember not writing.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

absolutely. in terms of fic, I enjoy dark and twisted just as much as conventionally 'good' and happy. but I can't really see myself writing the latter.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I admire writers who distill language to its bare elements. there's something very beautiful about the concise expression of raw, violent emotion. less is more, etc.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I write on my laptop, sometimes in my study (with a keyboard and a screen and a desk and proper chair) and sometimes on the sofa (with a cat). depends on how cooperative chronic pain is that day.

& noise-cancelling headphones, usually with something like:

ambient skyrim noise

a quiet monastery

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

go for a walk. do the laundry. anything that a) physically and mentally removes you from your writing space and b) allows your mind to wander.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

vampires, always.

but also family, home, identity - the absence of those.

I am jessica's complete lack of surprise.

What is your reason for writing?

I've written a lot over the past decade or so, but post-PhD burnout/depression hit hard; I thought I had no words left.

but it turns out there are bees in my brain that need to get out. even if that is just to the bottomless pit/wip folder on my laptop.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

variations on the theme of: "I see what you're trying to do here".

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

fallible but mildly competent.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

voluntarily say something nice about myself? in this economy?

How do you feel about your own writing?

it's all a work in progress.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

a mixture, in the sense that I aim to create structured narratives that are coherent to the reader—why are we here, where are we going—but in terms of content, it's purely for my sick enjoyment. sorry.

I've completely lost track of who's already done this, so apologies for any repeats. no pressure tags for: @wetcatspellcaster @kittenintheden @gilded-glitter @lobstermatriarch

[agreeewrites]

BROTHER that Harry fic was so incredible, "if you ever asked me to stay—” “I would never ask you to stay. That's why i asked to go with you.” "I would never ask you to go" had me hooked on them, i love how that simple dialogue establishes how much they care about one another, but also how they know each other inside out - neither had to tell the other what they wanted for them to know what had been previously left unsaid.

And i LOOVED the reluctance and guilt plaguing both of them but the way their need for each other just completely overpowered it, Harry just apologising over and over really did something to me that i don't even have the words to describe. I loved how afterwards the reader flat out TOLD him that it was worth it, i'm a big believer in the idea that never doing something with someone will always hurt more than having good memories but more pain when they're gone and i loved seeing that sort of mentality reflected in your writing of this one - the fear of losing each other but the promise to choose to live at the end was such a beautiful way to close it out too <33

-🪙

DUDE YESSS I'm so glad you picked up on that. In fanfic it can be so hard to express the required depth of feeling in a concise way, and I love that you were able to pick up on it through those bits of dialogue!!

This whole fic is really centered around that theme: is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? And I wanted to capture the moment they surpassed that hurdle.

I think the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor was a real turning point for them (similar to what the graveyard did in GoF), and where it started to feel real. Like not only was Wizard Society in danger, but themselves as individuals were in very real danger.

Hermione could have so easily been killed in that moment, and I think that would have truly shaken Harry knowing he had someone he cared about the way Ron cared about Hermione. Seeing Ron suffer while Hermione struggled was probably eye-opening, because if Hermione had died, Ron never would have gotten to tell her how he felt. And thus, giving Harry that final push to take the plunge.

And I think reader affirming him for taking that risk was really important, too. Because she's putting herself in direct danger by affiliating with him in that way (or any way, really), and needed to be 100% on board for Harry to feel comfortable asking that of her.

All of the "i'm sorry" during sex felt like a little bit of a gamble. I think some people would see it as a turn off, but I think it really shows the depth of Harry's inner turmoil and how much he truly cares about reader. (it's also v hot to have a man completely lose control of himself because he wants you so badly)

It's important to remember that he didn't sign up for this (the war), he was forced into it, and so the people who love him are forced into it as well. There's a lot of guilt and shame that comes with that, as well as profound anger, and that's what makes DH Harry so fascinating (and fun) to write and read about.

OKAAAYYY RAMBLE OVER

ily and I'm so glad this fic resonated with you!

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

i wanna know how you wrote kiss it away honey, because i read it twice and there's something in the writing that fucks with my brain so bad, i don't really know how to explain it but it confuses the hell out of me and it's just so good

oooo i LOVE this question!! tysm for asking and i'm sorry this took me a while to answer

i'm so so sooo glad people really like this fic bc its so special to me! i feel like i really hit the jackpot when i wrote i really am so so proud of it!

i'm not quite sure if this is an answer but here have my ramble <3

to a certain degree its supposed to be a take on a general x reader fic, where the reader is worried or going through something and the character just does everything right and fixes everytging. so i guess, reader really is a self insert for me because when i first thought of this fic i was having an awful time and just wanted to cry in this guys arms. but somehow that got demented into the monster it is now!

it really is just one of those fics that gets better with on the second read, if i do say so myself. when i do put the part 2 out, i think re reading this will i think give u a lot of 'oh shit' moments (again, if i do say so myself)

the writing style is so fun to do. actions/emotions are written in very concise, short sentences. theres a lot of repetition for impact ofcourse we love her. both sort of add to the vagueness and ambiguity of it all that messes with your brain.

theres this juxtaposition of their more mundane and domestic moments as well as the very fucked things happening behind the scenes yk like murder and what is practically gaslighting your partner and yourself. Fun!

i feel like the way steve is written in this fic is so interesting. his devotion towards the reader is unparalled and unending. when @procrastinationprincesses was reading this fic for the first time, she mentioned how crazy it is that steve is dating what is practically his god, because the reader created him. and i think about that a lot lol

this is a bit embarassing to admit but around the time i was writing it, i was hyperfixating on a lot of the five nights at freddy's lore lmaoo like i was watching video essays that were multiple hours long so, many of the sentiments seeped from it. one particular one is one of the characters promises one dying character that he wil 'put him back together' which paralells 'he's the only one who could ever fix you' in the fic if that makes sense?

another thing that affected the tone of this fic was the fact that i always had to listen to mitski's "my love mine all mine" everytime i sat down to write. and i still have to do that when i try to get into the mood for part 2. the fic isnt necessarily based on it but the vibes are very much there

another thing i might have subconsciously taken from def was wandavision. i think that is self explanatory in of itself.

one of my fave lines i've ever written def has to be "silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed in with your heartbeat" :( bc thats crazy i ate that i fear

[peninkwrites]

Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil. Ch 6 of ?

Tommy explains to his loved ones what's changed with mixed success. Ranboo gives Tubbo a piece of his soul.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 5

Ch 7

~

It takes Tubbo ages to realize Tommy doesn’t speak anymore.  When he and Tommy talk, he’s always looking at Tommy’s hands.  He doesn’t realize it until there comes a time, a conversation, where Tubbo trusts Tommy’s face more than his hands.

“So, you heard it, didn’t you?” Tubbo stares down at the tape recorder he has yet to return to Ranboo.  He sees Tommy nod out of the corner of his eye.  “And, what did you think?  Should I… he called Ranboo a traitor.  Is that what this is?  And… how?”  Tubbo looks over at Tommy, at his best friend’s face, and sees him grimace, hesitating.

Tommy starts signing, and Tubbo looks down at his words, but then he glances back to Tommy’s face.  Tommy is signing.  He isn’t talking.

“You… you can just sign now?  I’d have thought you’d have to keep talking too for it to make sense to you.  Is it hard?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy’s face falls, his hands do too.  Tubbo tries to ask more concisely.  “Being quiet?  Come on, that must suck for you.  Even if you’re just talking to me, you can talk, you know.  I’m actually getting a bit better at lip reading!”  Tubbo stares at Tommy’s face for the first time in a while, waiting for something, but it’s not what he expects.  Tommy somehow looks ashamed.

“Tommy, what?” Tubbo laughs, anxiety building.  “Is that… is that bad?  What is it?”

Tommy stares down at his own hands, and Tubbo thinks he sees his lip tremble, before he’s distracted by Tommy’s signs.  They are slow and shaky, as if he regrets creating them at all.

“I don’t talk anymore.”

“What?” Tubbo feels like he must have misunderstood something.  “What d’you mean?  Like, you’re sick?”

Tommy shakes his head.  “I can’t.”

“I don’t get it.  Did you lose your voice or something?”

He shakes his head.

“Can you… can you explain more, bossman?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy signs, hands shaky, almost strangled, signs rigid and white knuckled, as if Tommy buries grief.

“You’re kind of freaking me out now,” Tubbo doesn’t look at Tommy’s hands for his signs, he looks at his face.  His chest feels very tight.  “You… you physically can’t talk?”

Tommy hesitates, as if unsure, before shaking his head.

Tommy wavers, before signing, “not allowed.”

Tubbo pauses, trying to piece together whatever dreadful puzzle Tommy is revealing to him.  “Not allowed… not allowed to talk?  By who, Tommy?”

“D. R. E. A. M.”

“Dream?  He’s not–” Tubbo laughs, sharp and panicked.  “He’s not here, bossman.  And why– y-you never cared what he thought before, I don’t– I don’t understand, Tommy, I…” Tubbo knows he’s missing something, something very important.

Tommy hadn’t explained.  He hadn’t signed nor uttered those words, you don’t know what he did to me in exile, because he hadn’t had the vocabulary for it.  He still doesn’t have the words, so Tommy signs again, the one word he does know which rings true.

“Hurts.”

“It… it hurts?” Tubbo says softly.  “To… to talk?”

Tommy shakes his head.  “He hurts me,” Tommy signs.  “Far away.  Alone.  He hurts me.”  Tommy seems to remember something, signing quickly, “finish.”

Right.  They had been able to resume their sign language lessons.  Indicating past tense, he signed finish at the start or end of it.  Maybe Tubbo is meant to take some comfort in that.  He hurt me, past tense.  He doesn’t.

“I am… I am so sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy shakes his head.  “Not you.”

“Except it was–” Tubbo is startled by Tommy’s hand covering his mouth.  He shuts it quickly, deigning he does not want to taste Tommy’s sweaty, grubby hand.

Tommy lets go, if only to sign again, more forcefully now.  “Not you.”

Tubbo feels a lump form in his throat and nods.  “A-And are you– Are you okay?  Like, I guess everything considered…”

Tommy doesn’t sign at first, his hands are raised in front of him, but he doesn’t move.  Tubbo buries the urge to interrupt and ask more of him.  Tommy seems to debate for a long time, hands starting to move, before curling into a fist, until finally he signs something.

“I don’t talk the same here.  Now.”

Tubbo tries to process this.  “Um, I’d expect not, huh?  If you’re… if you’re not talking.”

Tommy shakes his head and tries again.  “I don’t think the same.  Or talk the same.  My words are different.  Maybe from signing.  Maybe something not that.  I don’t understand the same way.  What I say or think.”  Tommy hesitates.  “He took it away from me.  In more than one way.”

“What?”

Tommy frowns, fumbling for the right words.  “My…” He grabs his own throat, before remembering the specifics and trying again, brushing two fingers up his throat a couple of times.  “My voice.”

“Oh.”  Tubbo doesn’t know if he should ask what comes next to his mind, but it’s hard to resist.  “What did… what happened?  What did he–” Tubbo knows there’s a tremor in his voice, he feels it.  He clears his throat.  “What happened?”

Tommy doesn’t look at him, merely at his own hands, wrung together, fingers fidgeting restlessly.  He shakes his head.

“Okay.  That’s… that’s fine, bossman.  You don’t have to tell me.”

Tommy smiles, crooked and forced, and makes a messy heart with his hands.  Tubbo laughs.  “Love you too, man.”  He thinks Tommy laughs too, but that looks wrong too.  Tommy’s shoulders raise and he smiles and it’s almost like a laugh, but not his laugh.  Tubbo doesn’t know if it’s anything audible at all.  He’ll never hear Tommy’s wheezing cackle again, but he’d have liked to know it still existed.

~

Ranboo is so scared it makes him dizzy.  After doomsday, he’s discovered that he can still manage to read.  The blindness has begun to swell from his peripheral and up toward his central vision like a rising tide, but if he focuses on the upper half of his vision, he can make out words.  Just barely, though.  Sometimes, when the light gets too bright, or if he stands up too quickly, his vision goes white.  Every time, every shadow or the occasional black dots that have been creeping up without rhyme or reason, he freezes.  He is stuck, paralyzed in the terror of the thought, what if this is it?  What if this is the end?

And every time, his vision returns.  Limited, but still there.  He went to visit Phil and Technoblade once, maybe thinking of setting up a home there, but he quickly finds that the white snow makes it impossible for him to see, especially when he gets away from the tree cover to the open fields where Techno has made his cabin.  It was kind of them to offer, but he cannot bear to live there.

He doesn’t know where he should live.  He avoids the crater.  He doesn’t trust himself to recognize the end, to realize where the rocks turn to slippery gravel that might send him over the edge.  He sees the grid, though.  It had been invisible to him that night, but in the day, when it’s overcast, or the sun has begun to set, never too bright, Ranboo sees it.  It hangs like a dark omen in the sky.

Ranboo ends up staying in Eret’s castle for the time being.  They had offered it as sanctuary to anyone displaced by doomsday, and Ranboo had, albeit reluctantly, accepted.  Not out of dislike of Eret, but rather, he didn’t want to intrude in some way.  He would have preferred isolation, but considering his current state, that doesn’t feel like an option anymore.

Tubbo had returned his recorder to him.

“I haven’t listened to it, obviously,” Tubbo had said carefully.  “Whatever’s in there is yours, Bossman.  So, here.”

Ranboo hadn’t known how to thank him, nor how to deal with the guilt in his chest.

Ranboo also develops a sense of urgency for recording their memory book.  It begins to intrude on other aspects of his life, until when Tubbo asks to hang out, he agrees only if Tubbo is okay waiting around while he finishes a few more pages.  Tubbo agrees.  After this he’ll be done with his first book, it had been a tiny thing, a copy of a book already destroyed, leaving only one more; the most current one before he started recording things.  It’s not much now, but he knows it’s important.  It’s the beginning of what, underneath an obsidian sky pierced by tnt, once felt like the end.  He doesn’t want to lose it, and with how painfully slow he must go to read a single page, he’s afraid that he will.  Ranboo feels a sting at the corners of his eyes as his head aches from his attempts to focus on something he can barely see.

He cannot cry now.  Not over something so small.  It feels akin to suicide at this point, to throwing away his sight and one more part of himself.  “W-What if I don’t make it in time?” Ranboo chokes out.  “What happens when I– When I can’t read anymore?  I can’t.  I c-can’t lose any more of my memories, I’ve already lost–” Ranboo is startled to look up and see Tubbo staring back at him, concern barely visible to Ranboo in his furrowed brow.  The glasses don’t do enough, but they help in that what vision he still has is less blurred.  Ranboo had assumed––or rather hoped––Tubbo wouldn’t be able to understand him, maybe wouldn’t notice him talking at all, but Tubbo has gotten better at lip reading than he lets on.

“It’ll be alright, Bossman.  I know you’re scared as shit, not that I blame you,” Tubbo places his hand over Ranboo’s, and Ranboo almost feels like Tubbo’s touch burns as much as the tears, in a different way, though.  Very different.

Tubbo wavers, mouth opened to speak, before closing again as some internal debate wages.  Ranboo doesn’t know where he gets the courage, but he takes Tubbo’s hand, holding onto it maybe a bit too tight, but Tubbo doesn’t pull away.

“If you’ll let me,” Tubbo begins slowly and carefully.  “I will read it aloud and record it. I will do my best not to… to think about it, it’s your private life, I’ll just read. My volume control isn’t what it used to be and honestly I’ve always been shit at reading, but I’ll do my best, yeah?”

Ranboo nods, a little shakily, but there is a new weight of relief pressing down on his shoulders as he is given permission to pass along half of his soul to someone else.  It aches.  But Ranboo trusts him, to be deemed a traitor or not.

~

“Hi, Tommy!  What’re you up to?” Ghostbur asks brightly, following his little brother down the prime path.

Tommy looks over at him, tired.  He signs, despite knowing it’s useless, “I’m repairing this,” he points to the prime path.

Ghostbur stares at Tommy’s face, vacant and uncomprehending, that same empty smile etched across gray cheeks.  “Tommy?  What’re you up to?”

Tommy repeats the same signs, more forcefully, holding his hands up in Ghostbur’s face like that will make a difference when he knows it won’t.  This has happened three or four times now.

Ghostbur laughs.  “Tubbo isn’t here, silly.  Why are you signing?  I don’t really know sign language, you know.”

“You could learn,” Tommy signs, jabbing and sharp, pressing his finger against Ghostbur’s chest, against the cold, oddly silky material of his sweater when he signs you.

“Is this… is this a game?  Like charades!” Ghostbur claps.  “Am I supposed to guess?”

Tommy flicks him off.

“Oh, are you telling me to fuck off?” Ghostbur gasps, as if offended, still smiling like a fucking idiot.  “That’s not very nice, Tommy.  Come on, just talk to me!”

Tommy scowls.  He’s so fucking sick of doing this, but he doesn’t see how else he’ll get the ghost to leave him alone.  He jabs against the buttons of his comm vindictively.  He hates messaging Ghostbur.  It’s unnerving to write messages to the player name of a dead man.

You whisper to WilburSoot: I cant talk anymore ghostbur

Ghostbur stares in mild-mannered puzzlement at his comm.  “Tommy… Tommy why are you messaging me?  I’m right here!” He giggles.

Tommy quickly spams the message a dozen times, waiting for it to get through the ghost’s thick, dead skull.

<WilburSoot> why can’t you talk, Tommy?

Tommy winces, irritated by the ghost airing his predicament to the whole server.  This happened the first time he explained too.

You whisper to WilburSoot: you dont need to type messages I can hear you

“Oh!  Well, why are you messaging me, then?” Ghostbur asks.

Tommy huffs softly, going back up to the previous message again.

You whisper to WilburSoot: I cant talk anymore ghostbur

“Oh!” Something seems to click.  Not enough.  “That’s funny, Tommy.  Did you lose your voice?  Too much shouting, perhaps?” He says teasingly.

Tommy doesn’t laugh.  He returns his focus to the prime path, ripping up rotted boards with a vengeance.

“I could get you some tea, Tommy!  Tea with honey?  That’ll get you talking in no time!” Ghostbur drifts off to do just that.  Tommy doesn’t bother messaging him to explain why that won’t help.  That went better than some of the other times, but he doubts it will last.  The ghost has already forgotten twice.

The second time had been the worst.  Tommy never should have been honest with him, he’d just gotten so frustrated with talking––rather, typing around it.  The stupid ghost just refused to understand that he couldn’t talk, not that he was choosing not to, so Tommy, perhaps even hoping to hurt him, had told him the truth.

You whisper to WilburSoot: I cant talk anymore because of Dream

“What’s that supposed to mean?  Are you…” Ghostbur had hushed to a whisper.  “Are you playing the quiet game with him?  You’re not very good at that game, Tommy.”

You whisper to WilburSoot: no Im not aloud becaus he beat the shit out of me and did bad things n hurt me so i stoppped talkign forever

Ghostbur had stared at the message with that same blank smile, so vacant Tommy wondered if the stupid ghost had forgotten how to read.  Tommy noticed blue beginning to appear in his hand.  Right.  It starts out transparent, then it sucks the sad out of you.  Not that that means he’ll remember it.  Ghostbur had eventually looked up, a tremor in his voice, smile still there but almost pained.  “Here, Tommy.  Have some blue.  That’ll– That’ll make it better, and then you can talk… you can talk again!”  Ghostbur had pressed the dye into his hands with more urgency than Tommy had thought possible for a dead thing.  “It’ll– It’ll stop the hurting, see?” Ghostbur said in that poor attempt at a whisper, like that would somehow make it true, hollow, milky eyes looking at him in earnest.

Tommy had hollowly accepted it, and Ghostbur had stared at him as the blue darkened from cobalt to navy in his hand, the dye staining his fingertips.  Ghostbur just kept staring, and Tommy squirmed as he realized the stupid ghost was waiting for him to talk.  Tommy hadn’t, and the ghost had gotten distracted, and then he’d forgotten, until it had happened again, and Tommy decided to let him believe he could make tea and fix it.

~

Ranboo is there while Tubbo reads aloud his memory book, and he almost wishes he wasn’t.  It’s a strange sort of pain, to hear the parts of himself he no longer keeps within him voiced by someone else, but Tubbo had said he wanted Ranboo to be there in case he got something wrong.  It is a foreign, precious intimacy, and not something Tubbo takes lightly.  He never hesitates except when the letters blur together and he has to restart a sentence, but he does his best to never think on the words themselves, he never questions Ranboo’s thoughts, and he promises to do his best to forget, but that doesn’t change the fact that Tubbo has read the pieces of Ranboo’s heart that he’s managed to keep ahold of.

Ranboo is grateful for when he started recording, and he’s ashamed of that relief as well.  His second memory “book”, titled DO NOT PLAY, was briefly in Tubbo’s possession, and contains his worst confessions, however ashamed he is to admit it.  Although, the very first page of DO NOT READ does contain an awful, important list.

Alligences

 - Tommy is fine, he helped me

 - Philza also helped me so i let him escape with techno as a returned favor

 - Tubbo is the only one who really trusts me, which I hope continues

- Techno is alright. He is a friend of them so he is a friend of me

Ranboo had already recorded that page by the time it got to Tubbo.  And Tubbo never looks back, he never looks at a page other than the ones Ranboo directs him to.  Not to say these are painless.  Ranboo had read the first eight pages aloud before he got unsteady, so Tubbo reads:

“Ghostbur seems nice

Still dont know where tommy is

I keep getting shot”

“Talked with tommy today.

He is not doing well.

I need to figure out how to make him well again”

And Ranboo feels guilt cut into their chest like a knife.

He reads:

“Tubbo and dream are speaking!

I hope that it is going well for tubbo”

And Ranboo feels embarrassed, ashamed by his naivete.

Tubbo reads:

“Ghostbur is nice 

techno is interesting but in an okay way

Tommy says that he never wants me to show my face around there ever again but do it anyway because he is your friend

Technos house is located in the certain snow biome to the left of the village as you approach it :)”

And Ranboo reaches out, putting a hand over the page to stop him, before flipping to the back to scribble a note asking if they can stop for now.  Tubbo does as he said he would, and he makes no judgements on Ranboo for what he wrote.  Ranboo can’t help but wonder if he realizes that last line was written before the butcher army, if he realizes that Ranboo had withheld information.  If he does, Ranboo cannot understand how he doesn’t care.

Instead, something far stranger occurs.  Tubbo is quiet for a time, Ranboo putting away both the book and the recorder, and then he takes Ranboo by surprise.

“I know I said… I said I’d ignore it, I would try to forget, so I’m sorry if this breaks that rule, but… thank you.”

“What?” Ranboo exhales softly, going to his paper to write it, but Tubbo understands what he’s asking.

“You…” Tubbo sounds choked up.  He stops to clear his throat.  “You tried to look after him.”  He doesn’t sound any steadier.

Ranboo fumbles for the page, writing messily.

I didn’t.  Maybe I tried at the very start but I didn’t try hard and I didn’t look after him.  Not really.

Tubbo frowns at the page, murmuring to read it aloud under his breath.  “But you did, Ranboo.”

Ranboo starts to shake his head, to point to the page, but Tubbo takes his hand before he can.

“More than me,” Tubbo says softly.  “You did more than me.”

Ranboo goes to write, to disagree in some way, but the words won’t come to him, not through a quill.  He doesn’t know if he could say any reassurance either.  So he puts it away, and he lets Tubbo hold his hand.

[ancientcity]

i loved reading your rpf data! it's an interesting topic for sure and i myself have neutral-complicated feelings towards it, mostly because i both struggle to understand the reasoning behind shipping rpf and what actually defines rpf.

i think the only time i have ever shipped rpf was with H20Vanoss and DreamNotFound but it was still in a like. "au" way where i knew the two of their real life relationships were none of my business and it didnt matter to me what their relationships actually were. like every fic i read of "rpf" was still not the real person to me. it was still just a character, even if it was based on the real person and set in a "real life" setting.

is that how most people view rpf? i feel like, to me, every fictional writing turns any "real person" in "real person fiction" automatically into a character (because it's fiction and not nonfiction).

but at the same time, i dont understand shipping the real actual people outside of a fanfic setting. like genuinely shipping real people with real human faces and real lives. is it like how people ship celebrities or their friends? i dont do either of that, partially because, again, none of my business, but also i feel like the fact that i'm aroace completely blinds me to understanding the appeal

Thank you for reading it! There's definitely things I could've expanded on, but I honestly just wanted to get it out there.

Regarding the question of "the definition of RPF", some people responded something like "fan content about the real people", without the nuance of some other answers, like "fiction about the real people", where they'd expand upon what "fiction" means to them. (note: these are approximations of the responses)

One response caught my eye while I was scrolling through the spreadsheet again:

A fanwork that is made about real people, drawing on knowledge audiences have of those real life people.

I think this is very concise, to the point, and encapsulates most of the answers people wrote. If I were to use this as an example for another survey, the only thing I'd change would be that we... don't really know these people, so how can we make fanwork about real people? I might write something like this instead:

A fanwork that's inspired by the "personas" of real people, drawing on knowledge audiences have of their lives.

(I do genuinely love the original, it just wouldn't quite work in context of defining the concept for another survey! I wanted to add a little bit of other responses to it, especially those who mention "personas". If anyone has any notes on this definition, please do share)

But to answer your question of "is that how most people view rpf?":

Just eyeballing it, no more graphs right now (it's a lot of data to sort through), most people who are neutral or positive towards rpf tend to think this way, yes. However, those who dislike it tend to think it's not that, and is about the real people.

And to answer your question of "is it like how people ship celebrities or their friends?":

I'd say yes, but there's a big difference between shipping celebrities and shipping your friends. Celebrities are most likely not going to see what you've made. Your friends are more likely to! CCs exist in between celebrities and friends, as a "yeah that twitch streamer I'm able to chat with" or "Mumbo replied to one of my comments!" or even "Cherrifire liked my post!". They're generally more connected with their community in a way that big celebrities aren't? (I could be wrong, I hadn't ventured too far into celebrity rpf for the essay)

Sorry for rambling so much! I really appreciated the thought you put into this ask, and I wanted to return it :)

[ask-tfpratchet]

One more thing

Okay, I’m so sorry for the long asks. I’m annoying, I know, but I just think you’re really interesting! You know so much cool stuff that I wanna know :D

Okay, now…I thought I’d help ya out. You keep getting asked about a lotta stuff that you’d have no way of knowing. To pay you back for explaining all this cool stuff, I’ll help you out a little.

Please preemptively forgive my garbage explanations: I am drastically oversimplifying because this is a very complex facet of humanity and human identity, on which I am nowhere near an expert.

Humans can fall in love. I’d assume your species can as well, considering just how Primus-damned similar our psychologies are. So I really hope you know what that turn of phrase means.

To put it bluntly, you and Optimus are best friends. Like, best friends. Like ‘I-would-claw-my-own-Spark-out-and-berserker-rampage-against-a-whole-group-of-enemies-because-they-looked-at-you-funny’ best friends. Okay, that last one is a bit of an exaggeration, but whatever.

People are asking if you want a more intimate, personal connection with him. If you were human, this would likely include physical components (which, if you really want to, you can look up, but I’d highly recommend against it; there’s a lot of shit that I’m sure you don’t wanna see). I’m not sure what dating/courting/marriage rituals are like for your species, but that’s what they’re talking about.

‘Gay’ is a male who is attracted to males, ‘queer’ is a general term under which ‘gay’ falls, ‘LGBT+’ and any variations are general terms under which ‘gay’ falls, etc.

Basically, people are asking if you are in love with Optimus. ‘Having a crush on’ is simply another (and somewhat euphemistic) way of saying ‘being in love with’.

I’m not saying I agree with their assessment of ‘yes’ (it’s something only you can answer anyway, but my hypothesis is ‘no’), I’m just tryna be helpful. I’m so sorry.

Now for the actual question! Damn, I need to just shut up…

I am aware people have asked, but please allow me to reiterate: do you know what the tsundere trope in anime is? Because you share key features. I would recommend looking it up, but please be aware: the typical tsundere character is romantically tsundere, which is to say they act tsundere towards their romantic interest. You are platonically and familially tsundere, which is to say you act tsundere towards those you love as friends and family.

Okay, I’ll leave you alone now. Again, I’m so sorry to take up your time. Please take care of yourself!

No I do not know what tsundere or anime is and no I am not looking it up. Me and Optimus are just old friends! You humans try to romanticize everything, Primus…

Again, I must insist that you keep your asks and explanations short. Though I appreciate your explanations. They do help. Just rest assured that you can ask as many things as you want and I will answer when I am able. Just keep them short so I may read them and answer in an orderly fashion.

Also, don’t apologize so much. Wanting to help others is nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t have to be sorry. Feel free to ask any more questions. Just know I will not be able to answer too many at a time so keep them concise and short.

[privateanxieties]

Hello!

I'm not sure if you know, but some of your posts don't load at all. Like, I remember reading them earlier, but they are unavailable now. Is it just my browser or have you deleted them? I really wanted to reread 😔

Hi!

I was going to make an official post about it soon, but I'm going to seize the opportunity now to let those interested know that I have decided to make most of my writing on tumblr private.

I already announced that I won't be posting any new fics on tumblr a while ago, restricting them to AO3 only, but this is a new phase in my thought process and I will address it separately.

Given all the fuss with regard to AI scraping lately, as well as the general disappointment associated with logging on every day and seeing a million likes in my notifications, but hardly ever any reblogs or comments, I've decided that keeping my writing available is not something I'm comfortable with anymore.

Without going into too much detail before I make an official pinned post explaining this, I will say that this decision isn't simply a whim of mine, or an impulse I will reverse in a week. I've given it quite some thought since the beginning of the year, and I've reached the conclusion that fandom, as it exists right now (and how it treats creators inside the space) is not a good place to be. It certainly isn't a very rewarding space to exist inside of anymore. Creating, and specifically for me, writing, takes a long time. It takes effort: hours upon hours of doubt and edits and planning and dedication that all end up pretty much devoured silently by lots and lots of internet users who then simply scroll on by.

I am grateful to whose who didn't. I'm really happy that I've received the responses I have over the past year or so of posting my writing on here, and I don't consider them insignificant. On the contrary - they've always brightened my day.

But times are clearly changing now, and there is a dissolution of an unspoken social contract between fans in online spaces. I'm not a content-creation machine, and for the writing that I put so much effort into to be consumed without pause or acknowledgement makes me just a little bit too sad to let it stay up online.

I won't even go into the idea of someone taking my writing and, without my consent, feeding it into any sort of AI tool. The outcome itself doesn't matter. I don't care if it's possible or not for AI in its current state to comprehensively regurgitate an imitation of someone's creative style. It's about the audacity of either an internet user or a large company using AI to screw over people pouring their hearts into their fan works.

I'll stop here, and in the coming days I'll put together a more concise, polished version of this explanation and post it.

I'm sorry that you wanted to read the fics again. Some are still available on AO3, archive locked. You'll be able to access them if you have an account over there, but not all of them are available.

[bulgariansumo]

Back at it again, editing Episode 1 of Galactiquest. Version 3.0 patch notes:

-Removed all unnecessary epithets (Hopefully. I found one instance of brunet that I thought I deleted the last time around)

-Toned down the amount of exclamation points

-I think I slightly pared down a scene in Chapter 4? But I added a new one over it, so that probably cancels out

-Gave other characters a little more dialogue, especially Leon

-Changed descriptions around to be more concise, less repetitive, and less verbose (For these being Leon's chapters, I got weirdly fancy with some of the prose)

-New scene 1: In Chapter 1, a girl talks to Leon while he's waiting in the spaceport, eventually leading to him realizing he's late. This finally gave me a chance to explain why the Interstellar Forces is called that and set up that it is struggling somewhat. I think this also the first time I've gotten to mention that the IF was banned from having weapons.

-New scene 2: In Chapter 4, Jun questions why the IF would let such an inexperienced group go to Neptune (in nicer wording, but still). It sets the tone for the trip in a way that was lacking before.

As much as it stung to realize those chapters were a little rougher than I thought, I'm glad I did this. It's not a complete overhaul, but it brought the quality a little closer to my current stuff. I'm grateful some people were still able enjoy them despite rough edges.

In the times that I've asked for feedback, a few people mentioned Chapters 3 and 4 being a bit of a slog. I... did not trim them down as much as I intended. Every time I tried, it went something like this:

Hopefully, adding that section to Chapter 4 will help it feel a little more worthwhile. That being said, if I'm compelled to edit again, I know there's a few scenes in Chapter 4 that probably should go.

For people who want to see the new scenes without reading the whole episode again, I'll post them down below. If you do want to read the full thing, here's a link.

---

New Scene 1 [Bon Voyage, Celestion-5] Ch 1. Boarding for Takeoff

A monitor nearby played an informational video about Earth’s one and only moon colony: Lunaria, the city of his dreams. Though so far away, he felt like it lay within his grasp for the first time. What choice did he have but to be captivated by it?

“Are you heading to your first deployment?” The girl a few seats over might as well have appeared from thin air.

“Hm? How’d you know?” He shook his head out of a daze. Only now did he realize his mouth had been hanging open for who knew how long.

“You seemed pretty enthralled by that video for a star ranger.”

“Oh yeah. Some nights, I spent so long looking at the dome through my telescope, I’d dream about it.” He sighed. “Even now, I can almost breathe that artificial air.”

“I’ve heard it’s cool. My aunt’s paying my way. I bet you’re glad you don’t have to pay those ticket prices either, huh?” She had a pretty laugh.

“Gosh, I thought I’d have to spend my life savings just for a visit. Thank goodness for the IF.”

“You know,” she tilted her head, “I’ve always wondered, why’s it called the Interstellar Forces when we haven’t gone past Mars yet?”

“We’re supposed to dream big now and grow into it later. It worked for me, so…!” he ended with a shrug. “And who knows,” he knew, “we might be going past Mars soon.”

“That’s cute. Sorry about the budget cuts, though. No more weapons, I get, but you guys don’t even have your own ships anymore? They’re just deploying you with us civilians?”

“My ship’s kind of a special case.” Out of curiosity he decided to check his phone. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to che–”

His eyes widened in horror at what time it displayed. It was 25 minutes past when he should have boarded.

“Is something wrong?” asked the girl.

“Sorry, I gotta go.” He gathered his bags and hurried over to the receptionist. “Excuse me. This is the boarding area for the Celestion ships, right?” Maybe everyone else was just late. “I was supposed to be boarding a ship 25 minutes ago.”

“Oh, no sir. Are you with the Interstellar Forces? All military spacecraft are located on the opposite end.” The receptionist motioned directly behind him.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” He shook the receptionist’s hand vigorously. “Seriously, my career is in your hands. And yours too,” he sped past the girl, “have a nice trip, bye!”

New Scene 2 [Bon Voyage, Celestion-5] Ch 4. Tour's End

“Quick question.” The oddly familiar one smoothed dark, wavy bangs out of her face… or his face? Leon couldn’t tell at this angle. The androgynous voice didn’t help. “The Celestion crews were chosen by chance, yeah?”

“There’s a coupla exceptions as you’re no doubt aware,” Emil winked, “not to mention the captains, but yeah, most of us are random picks.”

“Right, cool. So, like, not to harsh the vibes, but I noticed that none of us except you and the captain are ranked higher than rangers.”

“I almost ascended to corporal~” Allen spoke up.

“I know, Rox.” The familiar one addressed Emil again. “I dunno, I kinda assumed we’d get stationed on each ship based on our experience and ability level.”

That did surprise Leon when he first heard about the opportunity. Described by his old warrant officer as ‘remarkably average in all abilities,’ he never dreamed he’d be offered the chance to go to Neptune. No one from his base deployed to space in years. He hadn’t even earned the star on his uniform yet. No way would he let such good luck pass him by.

“Huh,” Emil pinched one of his curls, “that does make sense.”

A click from the ceiling brought with it Captain Galhardo’s voice. “Randomized crews are a key element of the Celestion Project. Though each captain, including myself, went through a series of tests to ensure our capability.”

“Well, there you have it. Besides, as long as my brother’s piloting, we’ll make it back a-ok. Nothin’ to worry about.” In only a few strides, Emil made his way to the cooking area. “Over here we have a microwave, an oven, dishes, other kitchen-y stuff–Oooh, guys, I gotta show you something!”

He stuck his arm over the stove, to the confusion of Leon and most of the others, and to their horror, turned it on.

[thekenikarirpblog]

Things You May Want to Know

[hi, hi, hi! I've never run an RP blog before but I'd say it's about time Kenikari got one, and luckily, I have experience writing for some of these guys!]

[as you may have already noticed I talk in square brackets, that's my way of saying it's the blog runner speaking! simple n concise you get what I'm saying. as for the characters red is for Detah, blue is for Uzomi, {fancy brackets} is for Lare, and purple is for Murasaki- I'm only good at writing for these four so, yeah, sorry not sorry Alex enjoyers]

[sideblog, sideblog, sideblog, and I'm not perfect at those so please forgive me if I accidentally reblog something here that isn't Kenikari. on my other sideblogs I've accidentally reblogged stuff completely off theme but managed to roll with it cause, gimmick blog for shits n giggles. I'm taking this one a bit more seriously I suppose, so please excuse my mistakes if and when they happen]

Just Some Rules

No NSFW! and I get that's rich coming from me, if you can even figure out who I am, but I'm holding strong on this rule

No gore! yeah, yeah, killing game, I get it, but until later let's keep the gore on the sidelines

I can't write Alex, so I won't do Alex

What the Hell is Kenikari?

[Kenikari is this kickass game my good mutual made, you can check out the stats on the @thekenikaridevblog. If you just, stumbled across this by chance then I'd highly recommend giving it a play when you have the time!]