#also hi everyone!! i've been working on drafts here and there....just not enough energy to post them :'DDD

[ofgentleresolve]

surprisingly, for all the elaborate dishes ray can ( and did ) make for work, when cooking for himself, ray?? actually prefers simpler dishes, but also dishes that be made in one pan/pot. but that’s mostly because one pan/pot dishes usually require less dishes/utensils to wash at the end of the day aka he’s tired, he wants to use as little effort as possible when he’s home.

[kujoestars]

The Mechanism of Kafka's Transformation and How It Affects Him

(Crossposting my analysis/theory from Reddit. Also, warning: this post contains both anime and manga spoilers so beware if you are anime-only)

So, something that drove me nuts about the manga's version of the X-ray scene was the fact that there was literally no difference from a normal human chest x-ray. The anime THANK GOODNESS fixed that:

We finally know exactly how Kafka's core looks while he's in human form. It appears to be primarily occupying where the chambers would be with a good amount of myocardium (the heart muscles) suspending it while also continuing to function as a heart.

Notably for me, there's actually a translucent hemicircle up top there where it's supposed to connect to the aorta. In fact, you can see the core is translucent on its left (our right) side while more opaque to its right (our left).

Let me highlight it for reference I hope y'all appreciate the fact I had to do it with a mouse on MSPaint because Reddit won't save images to drafts and I can't drop images from tablet like on desktop:

It appears that Kafka's heart was fully converted and the tissue there is just a facsimile since it appears to be forming a pouch for the core to nestle in.

The anime's expansion of the scene the Mysterious Larva/Young Yoju fused with Kafka ended up perfectly tying in to this. Something I noticed was that Kafka was not actually transforming for most of it. Initially he was clutching at his throat where it entered:

Then just before the transformation started (when his eyes started glowing), he was clawing desperately at his chest:

For reference to anyone who's never studied anatomy, the mid-esophagus is actually resting against the heart, which is why the best form of imaging for the heart is a transesophageal echocardiogram (i.e. stick an ultrasound down the esophagus), which works like in this diagram:

In other words, the Larva's target was his heart and it was burrowing into it from that point. Which is consistent with where Kafka was clawing at in the shot I posted before and why after the change completed, his hand was resting just above that area:

Basically, the theory I have been saving specifically for after this episode is: Everything about Kafka's body is tied to the core.

Yes, that was obvious since we saw him regenerate his entire body from just the core, but what I'm saying here is that that the heart was the only thing the Larva was trying to fuse with. The rest of the body followed instantaneously once the heart became a core. Kaiju cores appear to be storing a lot of energy, so it would fit in with why even the initial change could happen so rapidly. It was a large burst of energy that had Kafka's cells all convert and restructure, and we even see steam coming both off and out of him here in the anime.

All future changes seem to be purely a matter of him controlling every cell in his body like individual muscles or even like how cuttlefish and octopi are able to change their appearance in an instant from muscle contractions and chromatophores.

In other words, the evidence has stacked to full OVERKILL that Kafka is truly a kaiju that can shapeshift into a human rather than the reverse like he and everyone else prefers to think.

Which leads me to my big pet theory right now: the reason Kafka is losing his ability to revert to human form is because he's becoming malnourished. I won't stack the image evidence since I've already done enough and the focus is on the core and Kafka's real biological nature now (I'll save that for a future post, lol), but it only stands to reason that if Kafka is physiologically a kaiju regardless of form, that means he has the metabolic needs of a kaiju.

He was only fine before because he had a lot of extra body fat as reserves and didn't use his kaiju form much. But after entering the Defense Force, he's been in multiple situations where he had to push himself while transformed and consume much more energy. If you pay attention to his body type, you'll notice he's been having quite a bit of weight loss.

Sure, he's been training a lot too and eating better, but following the fight with Isao, he's becoming abnormally thin. Maybe not enough for people to immediately think he needs a sandwich, but as of the latest chapters, I've noticed he's actually pretty lanky now even in kaiju form when previously Kaiju No. 8 was built like a bear.

You could argue it's just art evolution EXCEPT literally no one else had such a drastic change in body type or AT ALL. I'm pretty convinced this is an intentional transition from Matsumoto.

Whatever Kafka is eating as a human, it's not enough to sustain him long term and so his body is going into power save mode. And since his default is kaiju (why else would he constantly slip up his first few months if it wasn't actually his default form?), his body is losing its ability to shapeshift because it doesn't have the energy to. Malnourishment tends to manifest in a similarly piecemeal fashion irl, so I'm not surprised its first sign is just one spot on his hand.

Such a deceptively simple reason for the kaijufication is precisely why I'm very certain that is the cause. Kafka has a lot of issues with loving and taking care of himself. And this series is all about subverting tropes in favor of common sense. It's not some "inner demon" trying to take over (the Larva actually only did that once because Kafka was both in danger and refusing to fight back what it perceived as another daikaiju); Kafka just isn't taking care of himself as usual!

And there you have it, folks. Finally, a clear breakdown of what exactly the Larva did, how the transformations work, and why the kaijufication may not be as scary as everyone thinks. Or rather....not in the way they think. Someone please feed that kaiju properly!

[mancalledvenus]

you think i'm pretty?

nishinoya yuu x reader

summary: you and nishinoya are paired together for a class assignment that leads to you asking him for volleyball tips and him asking for your number ^_<

word count: 1.4k

a/n: not proofread and written at 1am so sorry if it's a tough read lmfao i'm trying to clean out my drafts. thank you for reading !

the school day had dragged on for longer than usual. you sighed as you slumped into your seat for the last class of the day: psychology. the course was probably designed specifically to drain your energy and spoil your mood. that’s what it felt like at least.

your teacher droned on about his weekend for a full ten minutes before announcing to the class he'd be pairing you randomly with one of your peers for the next presentation.

you felt your body start to fill with dread. internally praying you didn't get stuck with someone lazy that made you do all the heavy lifting. you listened carefully for your name as the teacher called them out.

"y/n l/n, you'll be working with nishinoya yuu." he gestured to the boy in the back of the class with his head down on the desk that was clearly not paying attention.

"great." you thought to yourself as you shuffled through the room to the back.

his head snapped up as he heard footsteps coming his way, but relaxed a bit when he realized you weren't the teacher. he sat up fully and leaned back in his chair, giving you a clear view of his face. as you examined his features and sat down in front of him it registered in your head that this was the same boy that played the libero position on your school's volleyball team.

reluctantly you decided to ask him about it. being in volleyball yourself you'd always been curious about his skill and took it as an opportunity.

"are.. are you on the boy's volleyball team?"

his eyes widened and he smiled as he answered your question, "yeah are you a fan?"

you scoffed a little and shook your head, "not exactly, but i've seen you play. i'm the libero for the girls team."

nishinoya had finally seemed to shake off his forced laid-back persona and was noticeably more energetic than before. a side of him that you'd recognized from when you peaked into the boy's gym on more than one occasion while they practiced. even though you told everyone you were there to pick up tips from more 'skilled' players, deep down a part of you kept returning to see the cute boy in the #4 jersey.

"that's awesome! i always see you in here and our chemistry class. had no idea you were into volleyball."

you shrugged and glanced down, "i dunno, i'm kinda new to the team still. i'm not that confident in my skills yet."

nishinoya frowned at your tone and shook his head, "it takes a lot of courage to just step on the court and play. if you're gonna be a good libero you have to make sure you're dependable. you can't be reliable if you're second guessing yourself like that!"

you nodded to yourself silently before looking back up at him. the look on his face was enough to encourage you in of itself. the reassurance from this, well stranger basically, gave you a great feeling of relief and you were starting to feel less burdened with worry.

"that's definitely something to consider," you sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, "still our team is kindaaa... underdeveloped? we're not bad, it's just like we're still figuring everything out, y'know?"

"ohh, yeah i get that." he nodded.

"i wish we had someone with more experience so they could guide me a little or something."

nishinoya nearly jumped out of his seat to lean closer to your face. "i could totally help you!" the volume of his voice caused the pair sitting near you to glare at you both a little irritated, but you didn't notice and neither did he. "i'm so down to help you out- especially if it'll benefit the team too! you guys gotta rep us at the girl's tournaments.. i didn't catch your name also, i'm so sorry."

"it's y/n," you laughed at his enthusiasm. "i wouldn't wanna burden you too much, but that sounds like a lot of fun."

"please, i'd be lucky to get to play with someone as pretty as you. i'm getting sick of my teammate's faces honestly."

you laughed again and bit the inside of your cheek trying to withhold an uncontrollable smile.

"you think i'm pretty?"

nishinoya's face turned red. he had a habit of running his mouth without thinking and even though he'd flirted with girls relentlessly before, something about you made him extremely flustered. maybe it was the way you'd been staring into his eyes? the way you’d been listening to him so attentively as he was talking?

god you’d barley said a few sentences to him and you were already making him sweat. how come he hadn’t noticed how close you were until a few seconds ago? was he really that zoned out talking about volleyball?

"i.. uhm, i mean.." he tensed up with his arms glued to his sides, "you can't really blame me for saying it, you're gorgeous.."

"wow he's forward." you thought quietly, still processing what he'd said. there was nothing but silence from the two of you and all you could focus on was how your heart clenched every time his eyes connected with your's.

unable to talk without stuttering all you could offer him in that moment was a flustered smile which he returned with a quiet laugh. gaining more coincidence he finally broke the silence, "y/n?"

just as you were about to recover from his previous remark, him saying your name was enough to completely knock you back off your feet.

"..yeah?"

"would you let me take you out sometime?"

"FUUCKKK HE'S SO CUTE." you raved internally. you got swept up in your thoughts again before panic started to settle in at the realization that you needed to actually reply to him.

blushing and astonished at his sudden bold behavior, what was intended to be words came out as a collection of incoherent mumbles, "you- wha.. you? you and me? imeanthatwouldn't- i.. serious.. really?"

"i'll take that as a maybe," he chuckled and grabbed his pen from off his notebook, "if that's too much of a commitment could i at least get your number?"

the stupid shit-eating grin on his face gave the impression he knew exactly what your next actions would be; and he did. you reached across the desk for the pen he held out to you and shyly smiled to yourself as you began to write your number on the back of his other hand he had stretched out to you as well. you gripped it softly and etched the numbers on his skin.

the minute you finished writing he pulled his hand to his face swiftly. his eyes practically twinkling in excitement as he admired your penmanship.

his eagerness as he whipped his phone out of his pocket and began copying the numbers made you giggle, "why didn't you just hand me your phone in the first place, silly?"

"honestlyy," he began and you rolled your eyes realizing he was about to say something annoyingly charming and dumb, "i really only wanted you to hold my hand.. at the end of the day i am a simple man." the threw his hands up as he explained himself.

"you're so stupid." you held his pen in your teeth to chew on the cap. "i'm keeping your pen for that."

"i'll give you every pen i can find if that's all it costs."

you blushed a bright shade of pink and pushed his head down so he's looking downward at the desk, "n-nishinoya. we haven't started the assignment." you brushed his comment off and tried desperately to get him to pay attention to the papers sprawled across his desk.

the remainder of the class was him flirting with you and you trying not to completely lose your shit while also trying to get your work done (you guys didn't even finish reading the instructions).

______________________________________________________________

after school during the boy's practice.

"TANAKA. I DID IT I GOT HER NUMBER!!" noya nearly ran over hinata and yamaguchi running to find his friend.

tanaka's eyes followed the sound of the familiar voice to find noya rushing through the door, "Huh, who's? ..Y/N'S?"

"YEAH!! i played it sooo cool too. i pretended to not know her name and everything! seriously, every time she looked at me i almost died. her smile bro- her smile is sooo pretty-"

"prettier than mine?" tanaka smiled and folded his arms while listening to his rambling.

"don't interrupt me!" noya huffed before continuing, "she plays volleyball! did you know? god i got her number!"

"it was about time my man!" the two shook hands as their giddy shouts echoed throughout the gym.

almost immediately they were shushed by ukai for being too loud then scolded again by daichi then laughed at by yamaguchi and tsukishima, but in that moment nothing anyone could say to him would put a dent in nishinoya's mood.

______________________________________________________________

the end !

[aishangotome]

Main Story Chapter 16-07: Before the Storm (暴雨來臨前) | Light  and Night 光與夜之戀

Chapter 16-05

♡———♡

I quickly got in touch with the fabric supplier. Mr. Shao told me that the factory was mass-producing filament lyocell and could provide it all to us at the same price.

After confirming the fabric via video, I immediately went to the purchasing department and remotely signed the contract with him.

However, strangely, the purchasing department asked me to keep this matter confidential and to announce to the public that the fabric was out of stock and production was suspended.

It's probably because they're afraid the fabric will be snatched up again. I didn't pay much attention to it.

-

As I walked back to the office, I mentally calculated the arrangements for the next five days. Although the time was tighter, my steps were lighter than ever before.

Pushing open the office door, I was startled. Manman, Mao Ge, Jiang Lai, who had returned from a business trip, and even Hao Shuai were all sitting at their workstations.

You: Why are you all here? Didn't I tell you to go home and rest?

I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was my own illusion.

Mao Ge: Well, the water heater in my house broke, so I came to the company to take a shower. Now I'm full of energy and ready to work.

You: ?

Li Manman: I left my earring at the company and came back to get it. But since I'm here, I might as well do some work.

Mao Ge: What do you mean, "since I'm here"? Who would believe that?

Li Manman: As long as she believes it, it's fine. Keep your voice down.

Hao Shuai: I'm not like them. I just happened to be passing by after working out. Handsome guys never make excuses.

Hao Shuai pointed to his bulging gym bag and suddenly noticed Mao Ge blinking frantically at him. However, he couldn't understand at all, so he had to ask Manman for help, constantly asking "What does that mean?"

Mao Ge and Manman both put their hands on their foreheads at the same time, with an expression of "I don't know him."

Hao Shuai: You guys didn't come back on purpose, did you?! And you didn't even bring me!

Li Manman: Forget it, forget it, I'll confess. It was Mao Ge's idea for everyone to come back to work and share some of your pressure.

Li Manman: Who told you not to say anything? You're truly Director Qi's student, with the exact same temper.

Mao Ge: We had no choice but to secretly report to the director.

Although I had already understood from their clumsy acting that they had come back to help me, when I heard it, my heart still felt a pang of bitterness. I wanted to say something but felt that nothing was enough.

"No friends in the workplace" is an old saying. So I'm so lucky to have met them.

You: Thank you, everyone.

Mao Ge: You want to dismiss us with just a thank you? We want a big meal.

You: My treat today.

After that day, time still flew by like a rocket, but the principle of "things will turn around when they reach their worst" seemed to have come true for me. The work in this stage progressed exceptionally smoothly.

I don't know if it's because the fabrics were finally complete or because I finally regained my confidence. I think it's probably both.

-

On the weekend, I took advantage of the rare free time to go to the flagship store to prepare for the new product launch.

Based on this theme, I re-planned the store layout, from the main color to the floor stickers, and worked until the afternoon to finally complete it.

Saleswoman: Um, what should we call you? Director?

You: I'm not the director. I'm the manager of Pristine. You can call me Y/N.

The girl's mouth opened wide, and she quickly extended her hand, excitedly shaking mine several times, introducing herself as Xiaoyu.

Xiaoyu: You're so amazing. So young to become a manager. I want to be like you too.

Xiaoyu: The new products this time are all super beautiful. I also like design. I've even drawn design drafts. Can you help me take a look?

You: Of course.

Store Manager: The food is here, the food is here. We've been busy until now. I'm so sorry to have the Pristine manager eat boxed lunches with us.

You: It's my job. Thank you for treating me to a meal.

Opening the lunch box lid, I saw Xiaoyu picking out all the stir-fried lamb with scallions and putting it into a paper cup.

You: You don't eat this dish?

Xiaoyu: This? I'm preparing it for a little beggar.

You: A little beggar?

Xiaoyu: Yes, he's still a child. He's been appearing here these past few days. I guess he sleeps under the bridge over there at night.

Xiaoyu: You don't know how kind that child is, a bit silly too.

Xiaoyu: I've seen him several times feeding the big black dog next door, even though he's so thin himself.

Store Manager: Isn't it because the child is good-looking that you noticed him?

Xiaoyu: Who doesn't like good-looking people? If he were born into a rich family, he could debut and act in movies.

You: Is he that good-looking?

Xiaoyu: He's super good-looking. I'll take you to see him.

My curiosity was completely piqued by Xiaoyu.

-

He was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, with messy hair and a white T-shirt stained with grayish-white dirt at the hem. It was unclear whether it was wall dust or dried cement, but it looked like it hadn't been changed in days.

He squatted on the ground, his head lowered, looking at something unknown. From afar, his entire being blended into the dirty wall.

Xiaoyu: When he raises his face, you'll definitely be amazed.

As if hearing our words, the boy quickly raised his head, his gaze sweeping over us. His messy bangs couldn't hide those turquoise eyes.

You: …… Osborn?!

His face was filled with vigilance and fierceness, but it couldn't conceal another kind of natural innocence.

No, he should be the other half of Osborn's soul.

Looking at him, the chaotic scene from that day rushed into my mind.

I woke up in an unfamiliar room, forced to make a life-or-death choice between two Osborn's. When I rushed to the explosion site, I didn't see either of them....

Although Osborn later sent me a text message to say he was safe, no matter how I asked, he always remained silent about the situation of that other half of his soul. I didn't expect to encounter him here.

Should I tell Osborn? No, no, if they fight again, it might be even more intense than last time. I planned to pretend I didn't see anything and turn to leave, but there had always been some questions in my heart that I couldn't let go of.

Can souls really exist apart from the body? Why did he do that that day? And is it really okay for him to appear on the street like this?

While I was hesitating, the boy had already recognized me and was clearly startled.

He stood up, his expression becoming a bit complicated. I couldn't describe it, but I could be sure he didn't have any hostility towards me because his eyes no longer had the madness of that day, but were instead calm.

The kind soul... shouldn't do anything to me, right? I remember he was quite friendly at the convenience store.

I let Xiaoyu go back first and gestured for him to follow me with my eyes, intending to ask about things Osborn wouldn't tell me.

-

I was thinking about how to start the conversation along the way, and before I knew it, I had walked a long distance.

Looking back, the boy had already stopped, his eyes fixed on me, vigilant like a small animal in the jungle that had smelled gunpowder.

I didn't think much of it and only felt that it was inconvenient to talk from afar, so I walked towards him. To my surprise, he immediately took several steps back, his face filled with wariness and warning.

Come on, you were the one who kidnapped me last time. If anyone should be wary, it should be me, right?

I was a little confused, but also afraid of angering him, so I stopped where I was.

You: Is this okay?

The boy hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Then there was a minute of silence. I hadn't figured out how to ask yet, so I just kept looking at him until he frowned uncomfortably and his eyes darted away.

You: Um, do you remember me?

Boy: No.

You: ???

But he clearly remembered me just now, so why is he denying it now!

You: I just have some things to ask you.

Boy: If you just have something to ask me, why did you walk so far?

It took me a while to react.

So he thought I had ulterior motives and deliberately walked such a long distance to lure him to a deserted place? Do I look like a bad person?

And isn't he the kind part of the soul? Why was his first reaction to think the worst of people? He wasn't like this at the convenience store.

You: Since you think I have other intentions, why did you come with me?

You: You could have left halfway. Or do you also have other intentions towards me?

I took a big step closer and looked up at him, actually just wanting him to taste the feeling of being misunderstood. To my surprise, a clear panic flashed across the boy's face. He immediately turned his head, his bangs covering most of his expression.

Boy: I don't!

His tone was serious as if he was taking an oath, afraid I would convict him, but his ears turned bright red.

I was stunned for a moment and then burst out laughing. I never expected that fifteen-year-old Osborn would be so easily teased. But at the same time, I was relieved. It seemed he had just misunderstood me.

You: I know you don't. I was just kidding.

The boy was a little annoyed and looked at me sullenly until I stopped smiling.

Boy: What do you want to ask?

You: It's nothing major, just a few questions. What exactly--

However, the words reached my lips, and I suddenly lost my direction. Should I ask him why he's on the street? He wouldn't go to Osborn's house, would he?

Should I ask him why he doesn't return to Osborn's body? It's obvious there's a huge conflict between them. Or should I ask how Osborn was doing after the explosion that day?

Boy: You want to ask about that person, right?

You: Uh....

Boy: Then you should go find him. Why are you looking for me?

The boy showed a "I knew it" expression, and his face immediately turned cold. He dropped this sentence and turned to leave.

You: Why are you suddenly angry? Wait a minute--

However, he didn't turn back and walked away quickly, no less fast than the current Osborn. I chased after him, panting. As I stopped to catch my breath, the boy in front had already walked a long distance.

His back looked particularly thin, his entire being almost squeezed into a trembling flag by the oncoming wind, but his back was still straight.

The heavy, setting sun smoothly slid over his shoulders, leaving a fuzzy edge.

I suddenly felt a little dazed. In that dreamlike late night, Osborn also pulled me forward like this.

He held his head high, his back straight, looking so carefree. No one knew how much weight he was carrying that he shouldn't have to bear.

The boy in front, who never let down his guard, must have also experienced the violence and humiliation of Yuda Academy, the abandonment, and the moment of having his self-esteem crushed. And he seemed to be even more deeply trapped in the pain of the past than Osborn.

My heart suddenly felt a little sour. Seeing that he was about to disappear from my sight, I couldn't help but call out to him loudly.

You: Osborn!

I don't know if it was an illusion, but the boy seemed to pause for a moment before continuing forward. But this time he slowed down a lot, and I finally caught up to him.

You: You run too fast.

To prevent him from turning and leaving again, I immediately grabbed the corner of his clothes. The boy's body stiffened, and then he grabbed the hem and pulled it back forcefully.

I saw a pair of arms covered in veins and light pink scars.

He was too thin, although maybe it wasn't right to describe a soul that way, but the T-shirt hung loosely on him. Suddenly, I remembered Xiaoyu's words - he didn't have enough to eat himself, yet he fed the puppy.

Noticing my gaze, the boy immediately retracted his arms behind his back and tensed his face, but his expression was a little hurt.

Boy: What do you want?

You: I... I actually just wanted to ask if you're hungry.

Youth: No.

He spat out the two words expressionlessly, but his stomach growled the next second.

You: But I'm starving.

You: Let's go, I'll treat you to a meal.

-

It wasn't dinner time yet, and I figured he wouldn't like crowded places either, so I found a noodle shop on the street. There were only a few people in the shop, and it was clean and tidy.

You: What do you want to eat?

The cashier auntie looked at him warmly, but the boy seemed unused to such a scene and stood far away.

Boy: Anything is fine.

You: Then I'll have two bowls of mutton noodles. Can one of them have more meat?

Cashier Auntie: Yes, yes, that's 70 yuan in total.

After taking the receipt, we sat down facing each other, and there was another long silence.

I looked around and eventually my eyes fell back on him. I noticed a few red marks on the bridge of his nose, like scratches that hadn't scabbed over yet.

They must have been covered by his hair earlier, so I didn't notice.

I took out a band-aid from my bag and handed it to him. But before I could speak, he swatted my hand away.

Boy: What are you doing?

He seemed to subconsciously think of me as someone with bad intentions again.

You: You have a wound here. Here's a band-aid.

I pointed to my nose and then put the band-aid on the table, pushing it towards him.

The boy looked at the table and realized his reaction had been excessive. He opened his mouth and whispered an apology.

You: It's okay.

I shook my head.

After all, he's the kind part of the soul. No matter how much he puts up his defenses, he doesn't have much malice at heart.

If I invited him to dinner because of a sudden pang of heartache, then now, looking at fifteen-year-old Osborn sitting in front of me, a strange feeling slowly rose in my heart.

I used to feel guilty and regretful for breaking the promise all those years ago, countless times wondering if our lives would have been different if I had gone to the appointment.

Maybe it would be completely different from now, or maybe fate is too stubborn and nothing would change. But at least I would always remember him, and when he was abandoned or betrayed, I would stand by his side.

And now, as if time had heard my wish, it rewound back to many years ago.

I quietly looked at the boy in front of me. He was different from the Osborn in my memory. The boy who helped me melt the window with fire had now become agitated, more silent, and resistant to anyone's approach.

I don't know what happened in these three years, and I don't know if he still remembers that day. I really want to ask him.

Boy: Why do you keep looking at me?

You: You're good-looking.

The words came out of my mouth without thinking, and the boy's face turned red again. Fifteen or sixteen-year-old Osborn, it turns out, was so easily embarrassed.

I was about to ask him about what happened back then, but before I could speak, a boy suddenly rushed to our table and pinched his nose with both hands.

Child: Mom, it must be the smell from this person. He looks so dirty.

After saying that, he stuck his tongue out at us and ran away.

I was stunned for a moment. Did he say the boy smelled? But why couldn't I smell anything?

I sniffed hard, but I could only smell food and cooking fumes.

The noodle shop was quiet for a moment, and then whispers started, with the few gazes all turning towards us.

The boy's face suddenly turned pale. I thought he would stand up and scold the child, do what I imagined Osborn would do, but he didn't.

He remained silent, his head lowered. His eyes were completely hidden by his hair, and I could only see his tightly pursed lips, his lower lip bitten white.

Even though the anger surging around him was about to explode, he was still enduring it.

I looked at the instigator. The child saw me looking and arrogantly pinched his nose, even making a face.

What an ill-mannered child.

☾ Night: Angrily retort

☼ Light: Come to his defense

☼ [Light Choice: Come to his defense]

I stood up and quickly walked to the window, opening all of them.

You: This is a noodle shop. It's normal to have cooking fumes. Opening the windows for ventilation will do.

The breeze brought in the rich scent of camphor trees from the street, dispersing the accumulated smell in the noodle shop.

☼

☾ [Night Choice: Angrily retort]

I stood up abruptly and walked quickly to the window, opening all the windows.

You: This is a noodle restaurant, it's normal to have oily smoke, just open the window for ventilation.

You: I didn't smell anything. Child, you can still smell it from so far away, your nose is really unusual.

After finishing speaking, I took out a bottle of perfume from my bag, walked up to the boy and sprayed it a few times in the air around him.

You: Child, does it still smell like this?

The boy immediately covered his nose and stared at me.

The boy seemed unconvinced and wanted to say something, but his mother sternly scolded him.

Child: Mom, look at her--

Before the boy could finish his sentence, the middle-aged woman across from him closed her laptop, scolded him, and gave me an apologetic smile.

☾

Child's mom: I'm sorry, I didn't discipline my child well. I apologize.

The farce ended just like that.

I returned to my seat with satisfaction, but then I realized that I had stood up without asking him and had taken it upon myself to lecture the child. Would he feel offended?

Although we've only met three times, my intuition tells me he wouldn't be grateful for this.

I sat down nervously and, as expected, saw an unhappy face.

But contrary to my expectations, he wasn't angry. Instead, he was looking up at me with a confused expression, like a wronged child. The words "Why did you do that?" were clearly visible in his eyes.

It seemed like no one had ever believed in him or stood up for him.

My heart ached, and I couldn't help but reach out to touch his head, but he quickly dodged and returned to his impatient demeanor.

Boy: I didn't ask you to do that.

But even though he said that, his tone softened.

You: I hate rude kids myself. It has nothing to do with you.

Boy: Don't do that again in the future.

You: Why?

Boy: This time you were just lucky that the person you encountered didn't bother with you.

Boy: People who stand up for righteousness never end well.

Boy: Not only will others blame you, but when something happens to you, no one will stand up for you.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, not smiling, his expression full of sarcasm.

I suddenly shivered, remembering what Osborn told me about why he was sent to Yuda Academy.

He was never understood and was labeled as hopeless. In such a situation, people either "admit their mistakes" or "have no choice but to become bad." There's no other way.

Osborn chose to "become bad" and abandoned him (the kind boy). And he, having nothing left, had no choice but to "admit his mistakes."

He learned to grit his teeth and endure, but he couldn't harden his heart or become indifferent to everything. After seeing too much filth, he finally understood that justice and tolerance couldn't solve any problems.

So that's why he changed from a purely kind soul to what he is now. I couldn't describe the feeling in my heart, only that it was a pity, such a pity.

You: If someone really gives me trouble, I'll ask you for help, okay?

Boy: Okay.

He actually answered readily.

Boy: I don't have money to repay you. But I can solve the trouble.

You: Money?

The waiter happened to bring the noodles at this moment, and the boy's face was hidden behind the rising steam, his expression obscured.

Boy: The money for the noodles.

You: I was the one who invited you to eat. You don't have to pay me back.

Boy: I don't take things from others for no reason.

Boy: So think about what you need me to do. As long as it's within my ability, I can do it.

The boy didn't pick up his chopsticks. His hands rested neatly on his lap, waiting for my answer. It seemed like he wouldn't eat if I didn't agree.

This person is even more stubborn than I thought.

You: Okay. Then what can you do?

Boy: For example, if someone bullies you, I can teach them a lesson.

You: No, no, no, it's not that serious.

You: Can it not be an action? How about you answer three questions for me.

This seemed to be beyond his principles. The boy furrowed his brows and thought for a while before nodding.

You: If it's difficult for you, I won't ask.

Boy: I didn't say it was difficult. Ask away.

You: First question, aren't you a soul? How can I see you?

You: And how come you look fifteen or sixteen? Is it because you left your body at that age?

Boy: I am a soul, but I have the blood of a god, so I can manifest a physical form.

You: The blood of a god?!

Boy: Yes, and the appearance of the physical form can be changed at will.

In addition to being surprised, I also sorted out some clues. No wonder I saw him looking exactly like Osborn before, but now he has the appearance of a teenager.

As for the blood of a god... Osborn never mentioned it to me, and I only heard the legend of gods from Sariel not long ago. I couldn't believe that there were actually "gods" in the world.

But the recent events made me feel a sense of helplessness that I had to believe.

You: You said you have the blood of a god, so are you very powerful? Besides changing your appearance, do you have any other abilities?

Boy: Is this the second question?

I thought about it and felt it was a bit of a waste, so I decided not to ask.

You: Second question, why did you do that last time? Making me choose between Osborn and those five people.

You: Actually, you didn't want me to make a choice, right? You didn't want to hurt those five people, did you?

Boy: How did you know?

You: Hmm... intuition, I guess.

Or maybe it's trust. Because he's half of Osborn's soul, I believe he wouldn't do anything to hurt innocent people. The boy looked at me, his expression seeming a little moved.

Boy: I just wanted to die with him. That way I could atone for those five people.

Boy: They died because of us. There's no other way but to give our lives back to them.

I clearly saw two flames burning calmly in his eyes.

So that's why he was so persistent and crazy.

It wasn't to take revenge on his other self. He just wanted to atone for his sins, even if it meant sacrificing his life and the freedom he had finally regained.

A pang of sorrow welled up in my chest for no reason, and I once again remembered Osborn's words from that day. He told me not to choose him, that saving those five people was helping him fulfill his wish.

I never understood why he didn't resist at all. With his power, he shouldn't have been controlled, so I always thought the so-called wish was to redeem himself.

But at this moment, I suddenly thought that maybe at that time, Osborn understood the boy's intention. After so many years, he had forgiven himself, but the fifteen-year-old him was still stuck in the past.

He wanted to save not the present himself, but the helpless Osborn who was abandoned back then.

Boy: You have one more question left.

I came back to my senses and saw the boy's frank eyes.

You: Third question--

I had already decided to ask him what he did to Osborn that day. However, looking at him, I suddenly couldn't ask.

All the questions essentially had nothing to do with him. I was just concerned about Osborn.

Boy: Ask away. It doesn't matter if it's related to him.

The more he said that, the more he looked at me with those frank eyes, the more I couldn't ask.

You: You--how have you been spending your time lately?

I ultimately couldn't bear the condemnation of my conscience.

The boy was a little stunned, not expecting my third question to be about himself.

Boy: I have a place to go.

You: Is it the bridge we saw earlier?

Boy: No.

You: Then where is it?

He looked at me, and I knew his guard was up again, so I raised my hand and swore.

You: I won't tell anyone.

Boy: A warehouse I used to go to often when I was little.

Could it be the place where we first met?!

You: The warehouse on Mingzhou Road?!

The boy suddenly looked up.

Boy: How do you know? Did that person tell you something?!

This was the first time I heard him speak so loudly, attracting the attention of several people around us.

You: No.

Boy: That's right, he wouldn't remember these things.

You: He remembers. I remember too.

You: Because the person locked in the warehouse that year was me.

Boy: Impossible.

He interrupted me flatly. I guessed he wouldn't believe me.

You: I was in fifth grade at the time. I had a conflict with a classmate and took a random bus alone, ending up in a place I didn't know.

You: There was a big warehouse there, surrounded by weeds. I walked in, and not long after, I heard fighting outside.

You: Those people said, "Just throw him here, it doesn't matter if he dies." It was something like that, and then I saw a boy.

You: It was the middle of winter, and he was wearing short sleeves, his arm bleeding. I was so scared that I hid and didn't make a sound.

As I gave more and more detailed details, his expression started to change.

You: Later, I saw him lying on the ground, his face pale. I thought he was dying, so I went over and gave him a handkerchief.

You: He was always cool, even as a kid. He didn't want my handkerchief and said he wouldn't die.

You: I couldn't bear to watch, so I used the handkerchief to bandage his wound. He even scared me, saying there would be big wolf dogs coming.

You: We talked a lot that day. He said he was a monster. He didn't know that my classmates also called me a monster at that time.

You: We were both different from the so-called normal people in this world.

You: It was getting darker and darker, and I was anxious to go home, but the warehouse was locked. In the end, he melted the glass with fire.

You: After we got out, he called out to me and asked me--

Boy: Will you come back again?

The boy said almost immediately, his eyes brighter than ever before.

You: I said yes. But I didn't go back.

You: I'm sorry.

He shook his head vigorously, almost at the same time as my "I'm sorry," and then looked at me silently for a while, lowering his eyes and briefly smiling.

It was the first time I had seen him smile.

I found that whenever he smiled, the impatient, cool demeanor would disappear from his face, and he would become a fifteen-year-old boy again.

You: Why didn't you ask me why I didn't go back?

Boy: Do you want me to ask you that?

You: Otherwise? Don't you want to know why?

Boy: I do.

The boy nodded firmly, then shook his head again, and spoke seriously.

Boy: But it doesn't matter.

You: Huh?

Boy: And, it's good that you didn't go back.

You: Why?

Boy: I fought there later. If you were there, it would be dangerous.

I was caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes and lowered my head, realizing my heart was beating a little fast.

Boy: Did I say something wrong?

You: No... The noodles are getting cold, let's eat.

Perhaps because we were more familiar with each other, he no longer followed the three-question rule. He would answer any question I asked seriously.

I learned that he hadn't seen Osborn since that day, and that he had been running errands for others to earn money, sleeping in the warehouse at night and staying under the bridge during the day.

He seemed to have taken on a lot of work, as phone calls kept coming in for him while we were eating.

I tentatively asked him if these things were legal. He looked away and didn't answer.

Thinking of the crazy him from that day, I felt a vague unease.

I wanted to tell him not to do those things, that in the end, he would only hurt himself. But I had no right to say so. To him, I was just a stranger he had met once.

-

As we were leaving the noodle shop, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the troublemaking child.

The owner apologized for the incident and gave us two coupons, which I handed to him. But he didn't take them. Instead, he asked the owner for the two receipts from our order.

He carefully folded them and put them in his pocket, along with the band-aid, with a cherished gesture.

Clink-- As he withdrew his hand, he accidentally knocked something out, which rolled to my feet. Looking down, I saw a small, square, gray object with dark red stains on it.

However, before I could see it clearly, he quickly picked it up and put it back in his pocket, looking a little nervous.

I didn't ask further, as it was his secret after all.

But I couldn't ignore the large dried stains on his clothes and pockets, and once again felt sympathy.

You: Wait for me.

I ran back to the shop and picked out some clothes and pants according to his size, then quickly returned, afraid he would disappear again if I wasn't careful.

You: These are for you.

Boy: I don't have money to give you.

He repeated the same sentence, stubbornly refusing to accept them, but this time the regret on his face was clear.

You: Then you owe me. You don't need to write an IOU. If I need you to do something, I'll come to the bridge to find you.

While he was stunned, I stuffed the paper bag into his arms and took his phone to enter my number.

It was a flip phone model from more than ten years ago, probably only able to send text messages and make calls now. The blue screen flickered unsteadily, and the case was dirty. I don't know where he got it from.

You: I won't break my promise this time.

The boy stared at me in a daze for a long time before nodding heavily.

I said goodbye to him at the intersection, but just as I crossed the crosswalk, I suddenly heard someone calling me from behind.

I turned around, and the green light turned on, trucks rumbling past us, drowning out all the surrounding sounds.

This green light was exceptionally long. After what seemed like forever, all the vehicles had passed, and the boy's face appeared before me.

You: Is there anything else?

Boy: These are too expensive.

Boy: So I'll protect you instead.

You: ....What?

I was momentarily stunned. The streetlights lit up one by one, and the boy's expression was exceptionally serious.

Boy: I don't have anything else to offer, only this.

Boy: But I'm not weaker than that person at all. What he can do, I can do too.

Boy: Actually, that day was my-- forget it.

Boy: Stay away from him.

After saying that, before I could react, he hurriedly ran away.

What does he mean by staying away from him? Is he referring to Osborn? What was "that day"? I wanted to grab the corner of his clothes and ask again, but my hand grasped at empty air.

You: Hey, can you please not do those dangerous things?

I shouted loudly at his back, but this time he didn't stop and disappeared into the rolling crowd in the distance.

-

In a place people could no longer see, the boy stopped and gasped for air.

The warm wind blew his hair, revealing a pair of dull eyes. He raised his hand, but before his fingers touched the bridge of his nose, the red marks disappeared.

His palms were sweaty from the prolonged tension. He wiped them hard on his clothes, took out his phone, and unlocked the screen. There was only one contact in his address book.

He had only wanted to use her to get his body back.

He stared at the only name for a long time, until the phone started to vibrate.

It was the construction site man who had paid for the hemp rope and begged him to kill his boss a while ago. Hadn't they already settled their debts? The boy frowned.

Construction Site Man: Young man, didn't you say last time that someone who looked a lot like you was looking for you?

Construction Site Man: I just saw them, a group of them, on Heng'an Street.

That was where he had just eaten! The boy clenched his fists.

Boy: I got it.

His tone was vicious, the impulse made him want to rush over and take back the body that was supposed to be his. However, he did not forget the humiliation last time.

Boy: There is a noodle shop on Heng'an Street, go find a child for me and bring him here.

He was about to turn around when he suddenly remembered something, took out the gray human bone from his pocket, sneered, and threw it into the trash can on the side of the road.

Lowering his face, his bangs covered his eyes again, he hugged the paper bag in his arms and ran in the opposite direction.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 16-09

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

Tagged by @thalion71 thank you!

most hits: Dear Ecthelion (letters are hard to write in your head), with 336! I don't check my stats very often so that's crazy to me. It's probably because it's the only one I have written for LotR, not just the Silmarilion lol. It was my second? I think? Work I posted to be longer than 2000 words. I wrote it for SecretlyThranduil for TSS21 and I'm still pretty proud of it and how it got me thinking about Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Erestor. I didn't actually get the chance to use most of the headcanons I came up with...

most kudos: Also Dear Ecthelion lol, for the suspected same reason as above. Behind it is I will go as seems good to me which is the start to an "Aredhel becomes a ghost and casually haunts Gondolin" AU that I have written very little about but continuously gives me brainworms. I am very very proud of the style of this one, I wrote it for Tolkien Gen Week 21 and it has haunted (ha) me ever since.

most comments: Remember, All, Listen, All, easily. Written for TRSB last year, my only (completed) multi-chap, and the 2nd longest. Far and away the fic I am proudest of. Perfectly suited to my interests, just enough of a challenge to test me, self-indulgent worldbuilding details, some light conlanging, and absolutely GORGEOUS prompt art by catadromously. Sticking exclusively to Dior's perspective of his fairy-tale parents was really fun and I think gave a pretty unique flavor, and I've been so, so, so gratified with all the positive feedback saying that they could feel and believe the relationships. If you only read/kudos/comment on one of these, this is the one I recommend.

most bookmarks: Calómë (dusk-light), a prompt fill for jaz-the-bard. Writing this was like polishing away a stone to reveal the heart of how I want to characterize Maeglin. Still working on how/if this fits into my personal Arda, and I know the Gondolin OT3 isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I did a lot in here that I'm very happy with, and it took me so long to work out a variation on both Lomion and Maeglin that I was pleased with, didn't have Implications, was gender neutral, and also translated easily and cleanly into both Sindarin and Quenya, so I'm definitely keeping Calómë.

most words: The Goddess and the Weaver, beating out Remember, All by a cool 600. Ironically, this is my other (unfinished) multi-chap. Two-shot? The second half is quietly languishing in my drafts but it is Not forgotten, and will be written if nothing else than for the sake of 3 (three) scenes that I have in extreme clarity in my head. I have So many Miriel thoughts about her and her relationships to life and Vairë and Finwë and Indis and her son... There is a Story behind this fic, which I don't have the space for here but is detailed in the author's note at the beginning, but even though it has fought me every step of the way I am content to let it rest now as is for a while before battling again. Also I did some funky formatting for Vairë's speech and pronouns which was a lot of work but very very cool imo.

least words: This is a Forest, at 547. I usually post short one-shots because I know that I can get them done even when I have almost no inspiration or energy, but this is short even for me. Written for a class as fanfic with the serial numbers filed off and posted in its natural habitat, this is purely self indulgent Doriath As Fey Eldritch Horror Entity With Beren Dealing purple prose. Is it my best technical work? No, but I had so much fun with it, and I think I got across the vibes I wanted to. Also Quick shout outs to the least word runner-ups: A Cruel Forest (630) which is the same Doriath As Entity premise but with a completely different style and Elured and Elurin as Eldritch Maiarin Entities Twisted, and the prince is dead (661) in which Fingon has an existential crisis about his name and the kingship after his father rides out to face Morgoth. Both also written for Gen Week 21. I had so much time that year.

Tagging: @yellow-faerie @tilions @jaz-the-bard @amethysttribble @starspray @swanmaids @arofili if y'all feel like it! Any other writers who see this and want to self-promo, count this as me tagging you to show off your stuff.

[prettyxvenom99]

Venom's 2023 Project Schedule

Hi everyone! Here's my plan for all fiction writing projects until the end of the year. As you can see, I am now putting as much (if more) effort into my original stories and trying to submit those original stories for publication. Why, you might ask? Does that mean I've lost interest in fan fiction?

No, that's not quite it. I actually first turned to original stories because I found I could improve my writing more quickly then. I can show my original stories to my professional writer friends, and they've been helping me improve by leaps and bounds. And then, of course, I actually earn money from selling those stories for publication -- something I really can't afford to say no to. (I've earned like $400 with just two published stories so far, not even 7,000 words in total.)

So yeah, that's why I'm focusing more on original stories these days. But still, ultimately, I want to get better because I want to finish the entire To You, 2,000 Feet Above, which is now the only fan fiction I'm actively working on. One of my original stories actually is a tie-in to the original world I'm building for 2000F. That project is marked here with the codename LHB, and it's the original project that I'll be concentrating most of my time and energy into for the rest of the year. I'll only return to 2000F once I have a full draft for LHB, mostly because that's when I'll also know I have enough worldbuilding done to start writing for 2000F again. (The world I'm building for LHB is the world I'm building for my version of the Underground in 2000F.)

Besides this project and 2000F, I also still have some original stories I'm not quite done yet, i.e., still in revision stage (Mother's Voice) or trying to sell it (Sonata). They'll stick with me throughout the year until I sell them. And then I'll also be in several writing competitions throughout, but most intensely this month -- April and the beginning of May have like 4 writing comps I'm in. 💀

I'll be updating this list periodically with progress updates and such.

[iacon-stargazer]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE: MUN & MUSE

fill out & repost ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multimuses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: stolen from @oneshallfall like.... months ago. im a slow gremlin hjksd. it's been in my drafts and i finally decided to finish the last few sections while working on clearing them out

tagging: steal it

MY MUSE IS.   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless

is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO.

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  Well.../ NO / IDK. (i know optimus is but i don’t really... know about orion? i have seen a handful of fanartists who turn him into a very sexualized moe baby but i’m not sure about the fandom at large)

is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

are they underrated?  YES / NO. (lmao there’s like no fan content with him unless it’s with megatronus) 

were they relevant to the main story?  YES / NO.

were they relevant to the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO. (not yet.... lol)

how’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL.

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?

This... this is a trick question in this goddamn mess of a continuity. That said, I try my absolute best to make my portrayal coherent with the TFP show... even if said show contradicts itself at times. I take inspiration from the earlier parts (the thirteen primes section) of the Covenant of Primus for his origin backstory, but ignore the rest of the Covenant since it makes absolutely no sense with his characterization in... literally anything else. I’ve peeked at Exodus and it utterly sucks, but I’ve picked up bits and pieces of concepts that originated there just from spending time in the fandom. Aside from that... I spend a ton of time thinking about how to weave everything together in a way that both makes sense and makes for a character development arc.

SELL YOUR MUSE! (aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.)

Orion is genuinely kind, thoughtful, and introspective, very loving of the world around him.

He’s also a more complex character than is initially obvious - despite mostly being good sweet pure baby nerd he’s still flawed, with many of those flaws being his strengths put into the wrong situation. His strong morals can lead to dogmatism, and he’s only slightly less likely to deliver lectures than Optimus. His determination to be kind and help everyone can come off as unintentionally patronizing at times; he has a very “well-intentioned semi-privileged middle class” perspective that he’s not always self-aware of. However, he’s also willing to look at himself critically and learn/adapt. 

Essentially, he has many of the same traits as Optimus... just more or less apparent and/or developed. He's less confident than he eventually becomes through his future experience with leadership, wanting to change the world for the better but sometimes struggling to ground his plans in reality—something that continues to apply, but with reduced intensity and frequency over time. Idealistic cinnamon roll will eventually develop some realism, though never really quite enough. His selflessness remains a strength for now, but we know that eventually it will dip into martyristic tendencies.

NOW THE OPPOSITE! (list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?)

He could be potentially ‘boring’ in some senses. he’s the polite, considerate ‘next door’ type, who has for most of his life has just lived as a very average middle caste nobody. He’s more laid-back than he eventually becomes as optimus, but where others might get into trouble and shenanigans he’s most likely to just express concern. And since I try to keep him at least mostly ic, even with non-serious posts, this can derail ‘fun’ stuff and I fear dissuade some interaction.

While I try my best to give him realistic flaws that work with his character, he could still be seen as a little too good. very kind, understanding, forgiving, patient, considerate... almost endlessly so. A lot of my “he’s so good and pure” interpretation comes from using his having been the thirteenth prime as backstory, where he was pretty much the epitome of that, but some might not like the “he was a literal deity in a past life” idea for its “super special chosen one protagonist” elements.

His responsiveness to his environment can also be a downside. He’s not the type to start things; he just reacts and responds, standing his ground and finding himself when things get crazy around him. without megatronus, he may have eventually attempted political campaigning, but it wouldn’t have gotten very far. He needs to have more intense characters or events around him for major plots to really go places. Without those nothing would ever happen besides slice of life fluff, because he’s content with that kind of life.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?  

Honestly I just wanted to write op/ratch fhsjkdjsdh. But I also wanted to be able to interact with a variety of muses and so I chose Orion over Optimus because he’s not so emotionally closed off, which I figured would give more flexibility beyond the handful of characters op would reasonably have close personal and/or plot-important relationships with. Also, I can relate to him on a thought-process level which lets me get into his head easily, which additionally made him an appealing choice for my first real rp muse.

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING?  

I just love him so much, especially with the layers of his character I've built up around him. I don't always have inspiration to write or rp, but I think about him a lot. When I do find motivation to write, it's generally out of wanting to continue to work on developing him and just having a chance to express his characterization.

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO.

do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO.

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO.  (i should do it more...)

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO.

are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO. (at least most days fhsdhfskj)

are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO. (it waxes and wanes. I know I'm a good writer but I could still be better...)

are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO.

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?

I’ll be honest; I’ve never gotten criticism. I haven’t been here very long in comparison to some and I’ve never been that popular, so I figure I’m pretty easy to just ignore. I guess how I would feel about it would depend on what it was and how it was delivered, though I like to think I would be reasonable regardless

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?  

yes? yes absolutely?

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?  

I would be curious to hear their reasoning, but I think enough about how everything fits together that chances are I would agree to disagree

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?

Depends on if their disagreement makes sense. Maybe I’ll give back my own reasoning for why I characterize the way I do. Maybe I’ll just agree to disagree, if their view is just totally different from mine. If they have valid points I’ll probably overthink it and spiral into self doubt. In all cases I’ll spill my thoughts to friends on discord.

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?

......Orion in general or? ... fhsjkdhf...... Well if it was mine specifically that might hurt lol. But at the same time.... I doubt i’d agree with their takes either so... fair enough.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?  

Sure. I’m good at grammar so if something glaring is there it’s probably a typo I missed and I’ll be grateful for the chance to edit it out before more people see it lol

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?  

Yeah. I’m pretty quiet most of the time because I just don’t have energy to talk to a lot of people, and I never want to get caught in drama. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do in a situation like that. I tend to avoid conflict, I’m quick to apologize, and polite with anyone I don’t know very well.

[sibilantly]

hi, sib. i just read your fic persistence, and it was so beautifully done that i wanted to drop you a note. your writing has seriously been such an influence on mine, but lately i've been having so much trouble because of my ocd. now i can't read anything without nitpicking the grammar, much less write. it's been this way for months now and i feel like i'm losing my mind. all i ever wanted was to write something good but... well, at least i still get to read something by you. i shall be content.

I’m sorry for the delay in replying, anon. Your message was so thoughtful, but also struck this… almost painfully bittersweet, personal note with me, and I had to take a couple days to reflect.

I’m so happy you enjoyed Persistence - it was a lil 500 word labour of love, but it’s somewhat different from my usual body of work, and I was a bit nervous putting it out there. So I’m delighted you enjoyed it. And it’s quite flattering to hear I’m an influence on your writing, since I feel I’m still learning the craft of writing, in many, many ways. Thank you!

Now, as for the latter half of your message…

Oh, anon.

Nonny non anon, I feel you. I’ve been… well, perhaps not right in your shoes, as I have never had OCD. But I’ve been in the same vicinity, most definitely.

Up until half a year ago, or thereabouts, my writing process was: write out a few paragraphs (if that - sometimes it was barely a paragraph) and then rework them. I would rework them over and over and over, until I felt they were just right. Only then did I feel I could move on. I felt like I was laying the foundations for a house, you know? If I didn’t get the first things laid down just right, then everything that came after would be on shaky ground, might even come tumbling down.

Thing is, writing is more like sculpting. You dig up some clay (your discovery draft or your outline, whatever), you mould it (your first draft), and then you carve and add little bits, over and over (editing. and more editing. and more. fucking editing >.>)

Anyway.

Eventually, I started slowing down, and the threshold of what I could stand before I needed to edit got smaller. It became ‘write a few lines. stop. edit those lines over and over’. And then it became ‘write one line. stop. edit that line over and over’. Rinse, repeat.

It got to the point where I stopped writing completely, for almost half a year, because everything I wrote down was so far from what I envisioned in my head, it was crushing. I had the exact same despairing thought you did: ‘All I want is to write something good’. And if I didn’t write it down, if I kept it in my head, it was good. It was perfect, in fact. Surely that was better (I thought to myself).

I feel you, I feel you, I do.

I wish there was some magic bullet that I could use to erase all those thoughts from you, to divide writing from editing in your mind, because they’re two very different processes. I would… well, I would use it on myself first, because I am human and selfish, but then I would turn it on you, and everyone else who is plagued by this period ;)

But the horrid thing (which I was very, very displeased to realise), is that if you want to write, the only thing you can do in this period is just… push… through it.

D:

It’s the worst fucking epiphany ever. If I got that in a fortune cookie, I’d be fucking pissed. But it’s seriously all there is.

There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to write, if you ultimately decide it’s not for you.

BUT.

If you do want to write, or if there comes a time when you’re not content with reading, and… y'know, you’re willing to indulge me, random fanfic lady on the internet, I want you to do this:

Pick up the pen (or put your fingers to the keyboard, but if you can, I recommend pen because you can’t backspace pen and paper) and eke out some words every day.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. It might just be a sentence.

Whiskyrunner, who we all generally acknowledge to be amazeballs, went through a period where her goal was 10 words a day because she knew she could achieve that.

That’s important. Pick a word count that you know you can achieve, not one you have to push yourself to achieve, because if you fail, you will self-flagellate. Trust me, I have been there. I hated every son of a bitch who recommended ‘write every day’, because for every day I failed to write a page, I’d hate myself a little more, and the joy I found in writing would shrink. (And they’d always recommend a page, or pages, and I’d be like, ‘What, motherfucker? There are some days when I can’t summon up the energy to get out of bed, and you want me to write a page? Pages?’ There should be some script that edits ‘write every day’ to ‘write an amount that’s achievable for you every day, even if it’s one sentence’, I think.)

Write until you hit your word goal or until you’re satisfied, whichever you have the mental energy and fortitude for that day. If there’s a day where you do the latter, don’t fall into the trap of thinking you have to match that the next day. Don’t move the goal posts. Your goal is still (X) words. Everything beyond that is like the stretch goal on a Kickstarter. Nice, but not the main aim.

Next (and this is the hard part - or, at least, it was for me: do nothing.

Don’t tweak them. Don’t delete them. Don’t touch them.

The second you hit your goal, close the doc, close your notebook - whatever you write in. You did it, you achieved the goal, which is ‘(X) number of words’.

Do whatever you need to do to remind yourself of that.

Your goal is not '100 (or 50 or 25 or 10) good words a day’. Your goal is words.

Just words.

To paraphrase Bane: now is not the time for qualitative judgement, only quantitative. Right now, you’re at the 'digging up the clay’ stage of the writing process. You’re just trying to get enough clay to sculpt into some lumpy-looking motherfucker which you will eventually carve down into your nice sculpture.

(Don’t think about the sculpture right now. Think about (X) number of words, and digging up clay.)

There was a point where I did all sorts of objectively bizarre things to remind myself of this, and to outfox my anxiety-ridden brain and its need to edit, including, but not limited to:

- writing on a fresh page each day, even if it meant 90% of the preceding page was still blank

- opening new docs each day to write my daily goal (which I would then have to piece together later, haha)

- using that program - ilys? - that only lets you see the last letter of what you typed

- muttering to myself ‘the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. only the number of words matters. only the number.’

If you’re anything like me (and, hey, I felt your message on a deep level, so I think we’re at least a little alike), you will hate every word you write with this process. You will hate this process, period. You will want to go back and retool the words because holy fuck, what if someone, somehow, gets access to your notes and sees this mess you just eked out? What if you die, and all that’s left to show of yourself as a writer is this half-written piece of shit?

(Okay, maybe that last fear is just me.)

Still. This is normal.

But how you feel about your writing immediately after writing it is not an objective, accurate measure of how good it is. You’ll be tired, you’ll be stressed, you’ll be comparing it to the image you have in your head and thinking about how far apart they are and despairing.

Stop there.

Close the doc (or the notepad, or the notebook, or turn over the post-it note (I did that at one stage, too - writing on post-it notes, haha)). You did it, you wrote the words. You dug up some clay. No one will see them but you, and whoever you choose to show them to. You can edit them later. You can make them better, or throw out whole paragraphs or whole pages if you need to. But later. Only after you finish the draft, however many new pages or new docs (or post-it notes) it takes.

Try to be kind to yourself. It’s so damn hard, I know it is, but try to remind yourself that what you wrote for the day does not define you as a writer. Even the finished, edited work does not define you. It just shows what you were capable of writing in that moment, on that day, at that point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will work for you. But there is something to be said for habit, for retraining one’s brain (to a certain extent). If you do want to try writing again, and you try this, anon, know that I’ll be proud of you, and I’ll salute you for the very act of trying.

Much love,

Sib

(P.S.: Here, I recovered a partial copy of the very first draft I wrote of Persistence. I don’t know where the rest is (on paper, probably), but hopefully it’s enough for you to see the difference between draft and finished work, and to… idk, have a good chuckle, maybe, but hopefully feel reassured, too ;). We all write shitty first drafts. They’re the clay that you mould into something better.)

They’re two levels down, in a sunny, light-filled build meant to evoke the mark’s childhood home and favourite holiday spot, when the windows and the door and the fucking walls blow in, and a SWAT team swarms in like a tide of gun-toting ants.

(DUST, STUFF FLYING EVERYWHERE. YELLING. CHUNK OF PLASTER GOES FLYING TOWARDS EAMES.)

Eames ducks, which means the chunk of plaster misses him, but, unfortunately, takes out Cixin, their extractor, with a wet crunch. They’ll have to work on Cixin’s spatial awareness later, Eames thinks.

The SWAT team levels their guns at the remainder of Eames’ team. Even a few years ago, Eames might’ve considered running. Now, he just raises his hands, gets down on the ground when ordered to.

Everyone else runs.

There’s sporadic gunfire, the sound of running footsteps, truncated screams and cut off swearing as Eames’ team is violently kicked out, one by one.

Eames stays where he is until silence reigns.

(FOOTSTEPS, A GUN MUZZLE AGAINST EAMES’ BACK, BUT NO SHOT COMES.)

Eames peeks upward, just in time to see the leader of the SWAT team yanks his mask off, revealing Arthur’s exasperated, sweaty face.

“I can’t believe you’re working today, of all days,” Arthur says. “I should probably shoot you just for that.”

“But you won’t.” Eames rolls over onto his back, smiles his most charming smile as he gets to his feet. “And you have to admit it’s somewhat fitting, me working today.”

Arthur smiles fondly, diluting the exasperation. “Maybe.” He looks Eames up and down. “You look good.”

“You’re lying, but thank you,” Eames says. He nods at Arthur’s outfit. “That looks good on you.”

Arthur is inspecting his outfit. “You know, this wouldn’t be a bad disguise, if you were working on an opposing team. Make the other team think you’re the mark’s militarisation–”

“Stop right there.”

“What?” Arthur says. “Worried you’ll be tempted away from the side of the angels?”

“Worried I’ll be tempted away from my regular paycheck, anyway,” Eames says, sniffing.

Arthur chuckles, then nods upward. “Are they going to give you the kick soon?”

“Not just yet. They’re probably debating whether or not I’ve gotten to the safe or not.”

“You need to get on top of that,” Arthur says. “You can’t have your team hesitating over what to do next on live jobs.”