#fract thoughts

[fractoluminescence]

I know I keep bringing it up, but the Neverending Story movies don't give the book justice.

(Little reminder, and also caredul bc lots of spoilers ahead, but for those who don't know: it's about a kid who reads this book and really connects with the main character, who is on a quest to save someone called "The Childlike Empress", on whose shoulders the world he is in rests, and who is very sick.)

Because the first movie is mostly the same, and at the end Bastian's fantasies of flying on a dragon in the real materialize.

But that's not how the book ends at all. In fact, that's not the end of the book in the first place.

At this point in the book, the world of the story is falling apart. To save it, Bastian has to give the Childlike Empress a new name. But he doesn't buy it. So she goes to some guy who is writing down everything in the book - the one with Bastian in it! - and orders him to start from the beginning. And he's like "um but if I do that this story will loop". And she's like "that's the point".

And so Bastian ends up having to give the Childlike Empress - the very embodiment of the story! - a new name (he doesn't call her by his mom's name btw. He calls her "Moon Child" I think). Things grow dark. Like in the movie, she tells him that it's up to him to rebuild the world they are now in.

Now, we've already had one huge difference here: Bastian being a hostage, and being practically forced to rename the story and make it his own lest it loop in his head forever. But the real changes start here.

Because the thing is, the second movie keep -some- elements of the book, but from what I remember of it, it's otherwise vastly different. The witch was an uninspired nobody of an OC that Bastian made as an antagonist to himself and who he crushes fairly fast, and while there is an element of losing your memories, it doesn't come into play until much later, and a lot more happens than just that. Where the second movie seems to merely warn against maladaptive daydreaming and/or fantasies of grandeur, the book, in its second half, is about creation.

Bastian creates locations, characters, pulls some he already knows into the mix. But eventually, things start not adding up - characters come after him for creating them but not giving them a purpose, and he gets tired of playing around - he starts wishing for kinship and community, then for comfort, twisting the environment and story to give him these things.

Then he goes out in search of his way back. Eventually, he makes it to the exit. He has to leave everything he acquired in the land of Fantastica behind, and has to finish all the stories he started there, unless someone promises to do it for him, which he entrusts to Atreyu.

When he returns, the Neverending Story (the book) is gone. The librarian doesn't mind though. And he says some interesting things:

'Yes, I know the Childlike Empress, [...] though not by that name. I called her something different. But that doesn't matter.'

And:

He passed his eye over the many books that covered the walls of his shop(...). 'There are many doors to Fantastica, my boy. There are other such magic books. A lot of people read them without noticing. (...) And besides, it's not just books. There are other ways of getting to Fantastica and back.'

And, more importantly yet, after Bastian mentions how you can't meet the Empress (reminder that she enbodies the story!) more than once:

'You can't visit Moon Child a second time, that's true. But if you can give her a new name, you'll see her again. And however often you manage to do that, it will be the first and only time.'

And then it's implied Bastian will take many more trips to Fantastica.

My point is: The Neverending Story is a book about a kid who takes shelter in a book for the first time, and when he gets to the end of it, the story grapples him, refuses to let him move on. So he's forced to be pulled into it, and to write more of it. And then, after his sense of selve goes to hell and back and he makes it out, he's told he can do that however many more times, that way the journey will never end. That way, he can always go there and back, and bring back the Water of Life with him (which I didn't go into but it's a very wholesome plotpoint).

It's a tale of how readers turn into writers, with some fanfiction spirit sprinkled in, and I just think that makes it so, so beautiful.

May we cheat our way back into our favorite worlds by renaming the Childlike Empress forever and ever :)

the insane experience of missing a fictional character . like you can always go back and reread the book , replay the game , rewatch the show or movie , you can always go back & see them , but you can never experience them & their story for the first time again . its absurd to miss them because they'll always be there , but you'll miss when there were still new things for them to say .

for a small time they were real & growing and changing and you hung onto every new word, but now all they can do is repeat the same story forever&ever & they're not real anymore because you know everything they're going to do. & you miss them. its fucked man...

[fractoluminescence]

I finally started Dungeon Meshi (if you see posts from me claiming I haven't, they were queued)

Is it me or the instructions on how to eat a slime sounds like how you would go about eating snails

...Ngl, that kinda makes sense now that i think about it lol

[fractoluminescence]

Did I describe who I am? Or who I wanted to be?

Who I was, surely

I've worked so hard to get here

Surely

This is me, right? Surely

[fractoluminescence]

I keep getting the urge to start a blog or something that just analyzes awesome fics, but I also don't want to risk bringing attention to fics from people that weren't the target audience, since they wouldn't have explicitly looked for them, yunno? I could ask the authors, but I'm mostly on AO3 and too many wouldn't see the comment by the time I lose interest... I'm even more on the fence about it since so many authors, even ones that have a lot of experience, might not be be comfortable with their works being dissected and possibly criticizes in certain aspects. It'd all be in good fun, I'm not fond of dunking on works in the first place and tend to focus on the strength of a work, but if I want it to be usable as a learning resource of sorts I can't completely gloss over the downsides of fics either. I also risk spoiling a lot of the plot and stuff, and I know I don't follow the advice of watching a movie before listening to someone comment on it in a lot of cases, so I would assume a lot of people would do the same for this...

Hhh, I dunno. I love dissecting fics so much. But if it's gonna come with negative effects for other people, I don't know if it's worth it. The last thing I want is risk damaging the very thing I am trying to celebrate...

I could take suggestions for people's own fics, because that way I'd be sure the author would agree to the whole thing, but I struggle to keep up with things like this, since I tend to write long posts on a whim. I worry that the suggestions would just pile up and most of them would never get looked at by me at all...

There's also the issue of fics that are prime examples of what not to do. The only person who can decide that a story wasn't worth writing is its author imo, but that doesn't stop some fics from being paragons of massive flaws that could be used as studies for other people to avoid the particular issues they display. But again, I'm not very comfortable with the ethics of that. Some of the authors for these fics could be young, or insecure, or have a relationship to their writing that is very personal, and certain types of flaws could send a lot of hate their way. But referencing a fic without naming it or describing it enough that people can look it up can make the criticism so vague at times that it no longer serves the purpose it was written out for.

I just. I've been thinking about this for months, and all I can come up with is that if I ever do really start trying to help advise fic writers in their journey to improve their craft, I might have to vaguely refer to things I have witnessed at most without ever giving concrete examples. But it might work, who knows. Or I could use my own writing, but there are only so many flaws and successes I can demonstrate with the writing of a single person.

Man, I dunno. Would love to have second opinions about this, if anyone has any

[fractoluminescence]

I understand that some may prefer the game as harder, but I wish people would start talking about how supposedly 'easy' some games are like it's a flaw. Some of us like easier gameplay… (This isn't directed towards people who prefer harder games, that's very valid, just venting my personal frustration about how so many people talk about 'easier' games as a whole.) I play No Man's Sky, and a lot of players complain about the lack of challenge in combat, but like…I don't want harder combat…That might actually chase me away from the game… And I wish players who are unhappy with the difficulty would at least acknowledge that, but many don't, and it's kinda frustrating tbh

(I also hear that a lot among Subnautica players, but then you have a bunch of us who find the game terrifying and would likely be completely incapable of playing it if it was any harder - I already struggle as is…)

Look. If a game is too easy for you, then instead of calling it a flaw, consider that difficulty maybe wasn't the game's point in the first place? That maybe this game just...wasn't for you? You can talk about what you don't like in a game without making it sound like stuff is a fact-based opinion instead of a mere preference. Like, that just gets on my nerves

[fractoluminescence]

Bless (metaphorical) Sky: cotl for having children as the only player model. There's no picking girl or boy at the beginning of the game, and yet people don't notice. You still run into weirdos who question why you wear pigtails if you're not a girl once in a while, but more often yet do you run into little people with pigtails and a pink cape and bunny slippers and a large mustache that covers half their face. And you don't wonder what their gender is, they're just. There. Peaceful. Moisturized. Happy.

[fractoluminescence]

Ok, I love The Mole from the Atlantis movie - he's one of the characters I identify with the most tbh (finally some French person representation I actually relate to), but why does the wiki say his last name is "Moliére"

Like how do you pronounce that. There are plenty of words that end in '-ère', including the famous playwright "Molière", but I know of no word that ends in '-ére' - in fact, '-ére' implies a pronunciation that I'm not sure ANY word in French has at the end, even with many words drifting towards that vowel (such as the word for milk, "lait", which is meant to be pronounced 'lè' but is often pronounced 'lé'. But the 'ére' combinasion I don't think I've ever seen).

I can't tell if they mixed up 'é' and 'è' in the article, or if the creators of the movie got it wrong, or if it's intentionally spelled wrong, or if I'm just the one who's missing something here... :/

[fractoluminescence]

Need a name for this genre

Hi! I've noticed a trend in the stories I tend to enjoy consuming and am looking for a way to describe the genre. It might be a bit nit-picky, but I like having my little labels to sort stuff, so here goes.

These stories:

are relationship-focused (not necessarily romance)

are emotionally/psychologically-driven (the conflict is interpersonal and/or internal only, no third-party is all that responsible)

have an either bad or bittersweet end, in which the characters either mutually self-destruct or the relationship ends

It can't be romance because in a romance the enviable end is for the characters to solve the issues with their relationship and live together happily forever more, while in the type of story I'm talking about it's fairly obvious from the beginning that there is no 'fixing' the relationship. That, combined with the fact that the conflict originates from the characters themselves, gives the narrative a tragedy-like unavoidable and awaited 'crash' at the end.

The most appropriate names I've found for it are 'psychological thriller' and 'psychological drama', but the situations can get really mundane so I hesitate to call it 'thriller'. The fact that it is relationship-focus is also a key element here, but I don't know if 'drama' is the right way to describe it, as I am struggling to understand what 'drama' even is in the first place (the internet is pretty vague about this imo).

I don't know whether anybody else cares, but it really bugs me to have no idea what to call this. Looking for opinions and insight.

[fractoluminescence]

So, a narc high is an ego state people with npd can have. It can be triggered by compliments, attention, etc. it’s essentially… ego euphoria, as I understand it? The best you could possibly feel about yourself.

a narc crash is the opposite. The absolute worst you can get. It’s a horrible thing to try to inflict on someone, obviously.

Ohh I see! That explanation was very clear, thank you. I’m not 100% sure what’s more messed up - that there is anyone at all that attempts to cause that state on purpose, or that seeing the attitude some people have towards other people’s egos means I’m not even surprised that it’s a thing people do :/

[fractoluminescence]

I'm thinking, perhaps I sort of. Pants my brainstorming? Like, I'm sorry, but this comes off as actual writing, except it's not, it's my characterization brainstorming (excerpt of my notes below). Like, what

How do I breath life into you? There’s something tragic about you, despite all the joy you had in life. I want your story to be one of joy after pain, and then a harsh death to be mended. A cycle that repeats, in a way. After pain, the healing balm. The embrace of something better.

It is of a simplicity that Shinji simply does not have. Everything with him is so complicated. Love and hate, pain and pleasure, good and bad outcomes. All in nuance. All in perspective. All ambivalent and contradictory. In contrast, you stand still, like a weed being softly pushed and pulled by the wind, delicate wings being carried by the currents. You’re not all in sharp edges and every movement you make does not hurt.

If you are a corpse resting peacefully in its casket, all your mistakes and pains and worries forgotten as the people you loved reminisce quietly, Shinji is the undead, the corpse still standing despite the pain and rot. He knows this. And I think you know this about yourself too. And it’s time that the two of you part ways—and it’ll be done your way. It’s the ultimate hommage he can give you.

So many images. I write this stuff out because without writing I can't think clearly, but I guess maybe a part of me just can't grasp stories without the associated structure and imagery? Without them, any writing I attempt to do doesn't just come off as stale, it just. Doesn't do anything at all. Nothing happens without my images. They carry my entire writing on their shoulders tbh. But it can take such a long while for them to take shape, so I brainstorm

Like is that just me

[fractoluminescence]

Am I an anomaly in having found wrinkles and the like attractive since I was a little kid or 😳 These kinds of posts always kinda stun me

what companies who sell you anti aging stuff don't want you to know is that if you're chill about aging, your perception of attractiveness changes as you get older. there is no "wall" where you suddenly become ugly and unfuckable because in my experience what actually happens is you get into your thirties and suddenly realize that people in their thirties are hot as fuck and the "flaws" that the beauty industry wants you to panic about are a feature not a bug, and based on the std statistics in nursing homes I don't really expect that trajectory to change.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

love how hua cheng is just like "I support xie lian rights and xie lian wrongs, except he can never do anything wrong ever even when he kills a bunch of people. Go off king" and Xie Lian is like “This is my beautiful husband, he has committed war crimes, but haven’t we all?”

And their relationship is somehow healthier than anything I've ever been in.

[fractoluminescence]

About a year ago I dropped out of the course I was in at uni because I realized during the fourth year that it wasn't for me, and started exploring other jobs. For the first time, I was able to consider non-academic jobs. But every time I picked one to look into, I was told, oh, but it's a shame, you are so qualified in [insert either English or some kind of art here].

I tried house cleaner. Four hiyrs straight was too much, but most houses only took 3 hours, and the company in question only hired people long-term, so I didn't stay. But it was fun. Like genuinely. I kept being told I would breathe in chemicals or break my back or get bored. Bored of what? I spend hours grinding on games. You think I can't do repetitive stuff?

Anyway, that was enough to make me not particularly want to continue (also being in other people's homes felt weird).

Moving on, a couple months later, I decide, you know what, let me give in. Fine, I'll go into art. Even if I don't end up working there, at least I'll hopefully fix my relationship with drawing, yunno? It's good for me, too. Probably.

Ginally encouraged to get whatever little job I can that'll help me pay for the school. Get lucky, find a place, work a week there to try it out.

It's perfect? Like, so far, it's been perfect. And I'm not saying I know for sure I won't hate it in a couple of months, or that it won't tire me out, but what difference would that make with an academic job? Teaching or translating or hell, research - those sound exhausting to do every day, however much you may like them. Being treated badly by coworkers or customers? I've heard my dad complain about a coworker sabotaging him and talking behind his back for years, about having to compensate for his colleagues not doing their jobs, etc.

I might end up hating it eventually, regardless I'll be in school for most of the year, but...I feel like I've been lied to? Is that just me? The job I have is exactly the first thing that came to mind when I first started thinking about jobs I might like. Well, guess what - so far, working in a restaurant isn't that different from what it comes off as in browser games. It's not inherently hard, and you're constantly occupied and focused and forget all your other problems for a couple of hours, and you get to smile at people and get smiles back.

So why was I told this was a hellish field that people ran from like the plague? Because that's the narrative I was told for months. Wtf happened here. I have a lot of questions

PS: Unfucking the pavement is such a perfect way to put it, thank you for the vocab

#LateStageCapitalism

[mt-oe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡—modern mizu

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

So sorry for not doing requests much! I'll be deployed into a hospital known for being super busy ;; I'd like to get my ideas out before I become buried with work again.

This one's inspired by my favorite artist. They recently followed me back here and I melted ///// Every time I see their art, I always get so giddy and happy. They honestly make my day <3

I'll link them here: @winnie-illustrator / ig: winnie_illustrator / twt: babydollproject

Specific art that inspired me is linked here: link <3

Also, I feel excited because I want to try incorporating my field into my writing too. It won't be completely accurate to give it a sense of readability and because that would be hell to write www

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, reader is older than mizu, autopsy, slight violence, reader thinks mizu is a man (pronouns used will be mostly he/him), implied afab reader

note: I am more than willing to take this down if the artist wants me to, especially if they are not comfy with reader inserts. I respect your decision, which ever it may be. I will still love your art regardless <3

Nothing but the soft sound of metal being placed on metal and the vent fans spinning resonated among the cold tiled walls. An occasional cracking sound from a rib being opened or the soft, slimy 'thud' sounds of organs being placed aside could be heard. The air smelled like decay, formalin, or xylene depending on which area you stood. An eerie atmosphere lingered with an unsettling feeling, enough to be suffocating. Even the lights flickered, making the grayish tiles appear colder. Scalpels, forceps, and saws lined up neatly on the counter, shiny and sterilized as opposed to mess of organs and body fluids you had on your tray.

This place looked gloomy, empty, lonely.

It doesn't matter. That was how a morgue was supposed to be.

You sighed as you removed your dirty gloves, the latex producing a loud crispy snap. It was bloody and probably covered with something else like bile or whatever was left of the decedent's last meal. Stains weren't allowed on your reports anymore. Don't know why. It wasn't like what you were writing was legal anyway. The head's son must have touched a shit stain while handing it to his daddy.

Removing your mask, you placed a cigarette between your red-painted lips before lighting it. The smell of burning tobacco filling up the room as you rolled the cigarette to get an even burn. Your hand picked up the pen and started writing out the autopsy report for the recent corpse, taking hits from your cigarette in between. You hated writing autopsy reports. It was a waste of time considering the lawlessness of this goddamn place.

No one cared if you died. They'd step over and desecrate your corpse.

Name: unknown Age: est. between 30-40 years old Length: 175cm Weight: 73.3kg General appearance: fair skin color, appears of good nutritional status Other findings: Livor: appearance of postmortem lividity most prominent on left side of the frontal region of the head, left hypochondriac region, and the epigastric region; decedent exhibiting tache noir Rigor: whole body exhibiting rigor mortis, rigor still easily resisted. -blood vessel dilation found on upper and lower mucosa of the eyelids -nails and fingertips exhibit cyanosis -irregular-shaped bruising found on the left occipital region measuring 6cm x 3cm -laceration measuring 3cm x 0..2cm located on the right infraorbital region -linear fracture on right parietal bone -depressed fracture on left occipital bone, depression measuring 4.7cm x 2.6cm -several linear abrasions located on the upper palate (palatine raphe) measuring between 1-3cm x 0.2cm -crush laceration resulting in rupture located on the right lobe of the liver -traumatic fracture of left ribs (7-10) and xiphoid process resulting in partial decimation of xiphoid process

'Poor man,' you thought as you drew out the location of the fractures and lacerations on the poorly printed out piece of paper.

No, you weren't taking pity on him. He was a fool that probably had mouths to feed and was tricked by the enemy into thinking that he could handle the life-threatening, high-risk-high-reward job of being a spy for the enemy organization. They must've gotten him so drunk on fantasies of amassing a fortune, getting high on drugs he can't even pronounce, and women hotter than his wife. This fucking idiot probably thought sneaking in and poisoning your subordinates was an easy job.

Now his wife would have to live wondering where her husband went off to.

With a few more words and one click of your pen, you finally finished writing the report. You'd have to culture and assay the samples from his body later for any substance or biological weapons that he might have left. Your back rested on the cushion of your seat, a hand over your eyes as you closed them. "Fuck.. finally," you groaned out before sitting back up again to grab another cigarette and lighting it up, allowing the sound of the vents to take over the room.

...

It was quiet here.

No one ever went to your morgue...laboratory..whatever. Dead bodies lined this place up, a new face everyday. If you're lucky, maybe a new one will roll in every hour. A gut-retching, unnerving feeling never left this place. A feeling that someone or something was always watching you would linger; and somehow, to you, it was the most peaceful feeling. Like a tiny cove hidden amongst the mess where all you had to do was open people up like a treasure box, get a bunch of samples to perform tests on, then sew them shut.

It was your haven. Your little territory. No one wanted to go here.

...

...

...

"Impressive. I take it you're done?"

Well except for this little shit.

It was that blue eyed demon that had somehow made a name for himself allover the scene. An assassin who steps into the scene wielding only a blue katana. The only person who was crazy enough to bring a knife to a gun fight. His eyes striking terror to who anyone who saw them. Even your allies had chills running down their spines whenever they saw him.

Rumors quickly spread about how he took down a whole unit on his own. Stepping straight into enemy territory alone only with pure seething rage behind his sharp eyes, coming out covered in the blood of his own enemies. They say he only joined to kill the don of four particular groups. His presence screamed anger and bloodlust.

An onryo.

That's what they called him.

Despite only having graduated from training, he currently possesses the highest body count in the whole organization—and we're not talking about sex.

And luckily or unluckily, you had the privilege of instructing him when he was still a trainee. You had no intention of teaching anyone, your plate was full as it was. But one faithful day, he appeared in front of your morgue. His presence undetectable until he was right in front of you, sending chills down your spine.

Your eyes met blue, staring at it with a deadeye stare, not even bothering to hide the irritation you held. The blood in your veins was running cold, the tips of your fingers tingling from how nervous you had become. You accidentally left your revolver in your laboratory which was now blocked by this stranger.

'How the hell?' you asked yourself in thought, eyes breaking contact to glance around the hallway.

It was a simple hallway with only two doors on either side, one leading to your office and the other back to the lobby. There were no windows, no cubbies, no anything. Absolutely nowhere to hide. And yet somehow, you couldn't even detect his presence.

Sound always echoed around the gray tiles, capturing any sound no matter how quiet. Even the soft pitter-patter of water dripping from the ceiling echoed like a drum within this hall. However, no sound nor sign of footsteps could be heard. He was like the wind, suddenly appearing before you.

Your eyes went back to him, stare turning into a glare. Every part of your body was silently screaming at you to run, telling you that this person was dangerous. That one wrong move would kill you. "What the hell do you want?" you seethed out, eyes watching for any sign of aggression. Even with your vigilance, you couldn't win this without a gun.

No.

Even with a gun, something in your gut was telling you that you wouldn't win.

His cold emotionless eyes continued to watch over you before his hands reached into his pocket, pulling out a picture taken using a polaroid camera. It was a picture of a recent autopsy you performed, corpse laying on the cold metal table, all stitched up. "How did you obtain this..?"

The decedent was an instructor known for being cruel to trainees. Everyone knew of his behavior but he was too influential within the organization to get rid off. Until one day, his body was rolled into your laboratory, multiple lacerations over the body, a few missing teeth, signs of struggle evident. No one knew who killed him. Too many people held a grudge with him to be traceable. It didn't matter, it wasn't your job to find out anyway.

"This..cut," he started, voice husky as his finger pointed to the picture, clearly referring to the cut you had made on the corpse. "Its clean. Exquisite. Clearly made by someone skilled." He looked up at you, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "Its you."

A clear look of confusion painted over your face. This boy sneaked up on you because of a cut?

You took a look at the picture again and rolled your eyes. "A y-shaped cut. Every examiner and coroner in this world knows how to do one. So what?" you groaned. The blue eyed man seems intrigued by your answer, eyes glancing around in thought. As you moved over to the side to head towards your laboratory, the man stepped back and blocked your way again, making you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Teach me," he said, handing you the picture. "Or at least show me how you made that cut."

Another exasperated sigh escaped your lips as you glared at him, hands shoving the picture back to him. "No. Get out," you scowled. No matter how oddly unnerving this man's presence was, there was no way you'd waste your time taking in a trainee. Your hands shoved him away from the door before going to the handle.

Before you could twist the doorknob, his hand immediately gripped your wrist. "I'm not leaving until you agree," he said, pulling your wrist to keep yours hands off of the knob. The look in his eyes told you that he was serious. God, this man was stubborn.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance as you pulled your wrist away from his grip, crossing your arms. "Then make it worth my time. What do I get for teaching you?" you asked, raising a brow at him inquisitively.

His gaze shifted around the hall in thought before landing on you. "I'll tell you who killed this man," he replied, showing you the picture yet again. Your eyes softened for a moment before glaring at him again. "As if I care. My job is to provide evidence, not convict someone."

No, maybe you did care...or was it because you already knew who.

The man let out an audible huff before looking around again. Now his vision was focused on you. Looking over your features, observing every detail of your clothes and body. Anything to convince you, to force you. "You're missing a gun, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened slightly, the unsettling feeling returning to your throat. "And why would I tell you?" you said cautiously. He chuckled darkly before looking over you once more. "A model 57, am I right?" he asked, slowly approaching you with soundless footsteps.

As he approached you, you took a cautious step back, following his steps. Something was telling you that he was not so keen on negotiating anymore. Soon enough, your back collided with the wall, effectively trapping you between the tiles and his body. There was no use struggling. Both were equally immovable.

Rough calloused hands lifted your chin up, forcing you to stare at his face. His thumb running across your lips, smudging the red lipstick against your chin, staring at it before his gaze went back to your eyes.

He was reading you, observing the fear as it ran through your body. Once again, he took out the polaroid picture and showed it to you, now with a sense of satisfaction as he felt your breath. "You're not an idiot. You probably know who killed him," he said in a low tone. The look in his eyes hungry as if he was a predator hunting and you were the prey.

You gulped and turned your head away the best you could with his hand still holding your chin. Your actions neither confirming nor denying his statement. Numerous large lacerations, clearly made by a sharp object. The cuts were clean too. It wasn't hard to figure it out. At least not to you.

He chuckled at your stubbornness, knowing full well that he had trapped you. "Now," he proceeded, pressing your body further against his as he loomed over you. "Teach me." His hand slowly slid the picture into the breast pocket of your lab coat, fingers tracing the stitches carefully and tenderly. The threat sent chills down your spine. Your body was telling you to run, to scream at least. You were trapped between a wall and a killer.

"Fucking shit...Fine!" Your eyebrows scrunching together at the feeling of being defenseless. The threat of losing your life wasn't what bothered you the most. It was the fact that this cocky trainee waltzed into your spaces, wasting your time and disturbing your peace; and yet, you felt utterly helpless under him.

It was unnerving. It pissed you off.

Finally, he lets you go, face emotionless but his blue eyes told you that he was more than satisfied. Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you opened the door to your morgue before craning your head to glare at him. "Oh and never touch me again."

But this bastard never got lost. In fact, he came back every single day. At first he had the decency to wait for you to get back whenever you went out to submit your reports, standing in front of the door like a good little boy. Now he just waltzes in like he owned the place.

Sometimes he'd just sit around and watch, the blue in his eyes shining particularly whenever you cut up a corpse that died from something peculiar. Sometimes he'd dirty up the place, walking in after a mission, covered in blood and smearing it allover the chairs and tables. Most of the time, he'd walk in just to annoy the shit out of you, moving around the reagents and inspecting them. Like what he was doing right now.

"Didn't I just replace the lock?" you asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a long drag out of your cigarette. His hand reached into his pocket before presenting to you a bent up hairpin. This little shit picked the lock again. "You did," he affirmed, voice sounding a bit smug.

His footsteps echoed around the room as he approached you, sitting down right next to you on the smooth varnished wood of your desk. "You should consider having cameras in this place," he commented, tilting his head to look around as if he hadn't for the past years.

You rolled your eyes at his suggestion, exhaling the smoke through your nostrils in a deep huff. "Oh please, as if you won't find a way to break them and sneak in. You'd carve a hole on the ceiling if you had to."

He hummed in agreement, eyes closing while he nodded. For a moment, silence once again enveloped the place. His eyes looked over to the cigarette you were holding, blue orbs eyeing the red lipstick on the filter, gaze lingering on it in particular. "Did you like the corpse I gave you?" he asked, taking the autopsy report from your desk and reading it.

"You could've gone easier on the man," you replied, tapping your cigarette on the ash tray and snatching the report back from him. "Really. Blunt force trauma? What did you use? The back of a gun?" you chuckled, scanning over the report as well. "Just when they've handed us a new batch of rifles, you just had to use it like a machete."

The shrug he gave you was more than enough to affirm your suspicions. Raising an eyebrow at him, you put your half-finished cigarette out on the ash tray before walking over to the corpse, putting on a new pair of gloves, and zipping up the body bag. "A ruptured liver too," you sighed, bringing the tissue samples you took to another table and placing them in formalin.

"He deserves it," he replied nonchalantly, taking the lighter from your desk and standing up, striding over to where you were. Snaking his arms around your hips, he peered over your shoulder. Your body went rigid as you tensed up from the contact. Suddenly, the feeling of something firm being pressed against his shoulder made him step back a bit. His eyes trailed down to see the barrel of a revolver pointed at his shoulder.

Your eyes narrowed at him, warning him to back off. A clicking sound could be heard as you turned to face him, jaw clenched. "Touch me again and I will shoot," you warned, vexed expression evident. His gaze switched over to your gun then to his shoulder before he took another step towards you. It seems that your threat was ineffective towards him.

"Go ahead," he replied, pressing the barrel of the revolver against his shoulder before placing his hands on both your sides, resting it on the cool metal. "At least aim at a vital organ. A hit on the shoulder is easy to fix." Sharp blue eyes staring at your lips once again. The red on your lips fascinating him. It was like he was hypnotized.

You rolled your eyes at him, eyebrows knitting together as you realized that your threat was not working at all. "Oh and maybe I should remind you that I'm the only doctor here," you snarled sarcastically. He laughed softly, tilting his head down to look at you. "Aren't you a pathologist?"

"Exactly. So back off unless you want to be the next thing I cut open," you threatened but it was no use. The man in front of you stayed unmoving with his eyes fixated on your lips.

The more he stared, the more he pressed his body against you. Yet somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to pull the trigger. Instead, you raised a knee up before swinging it towards his crotch. However, upon impact, your eyes widened in realization. You stared at him dumbfounded, lips parting as you finally spoke...

"You're a woman."

At your statement, her gaze hardened, jaw clenching in sudden aggravation. Suddenly, her hands grasped your wrist, pinning you down on the table as she loomed over you. Your revolver now on the floor with loud clack, a heavy foot over it. Her eyebrows scrunching together in an irked expression. "Speak of this to anyone. I'll kill you," she threatened, face moving closer towards yours.

You couldn't believe it. All this time, the blue eyed demon was a woman all along. He who brought fear into his enemies, leaving them either dead or permanently incapacitated, was not a he. The little shit bothering you and messing around with the stuff in your laboratory was a woman.

The lack of reply irked her even more, her glare now directed towards your lips. Fuck. Maybe if she wasn't so distracted by your lipstick, she would have seen this coming. The longer she stared, the more her body grew hot either from infuriation or from something else.

Suddenly, her hand entangled itself within the locks of hair at the back of your head, pulling on it and smashing her lips against yours. Your lips opened slightly from surprise and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. Her tongue explored the cavern of your mouth, not caring if you returned the kiss or not.

Your body trembled under hers, breathing becoming shakier as the kiss continued. A small groan escaped your lips at the feeling of her hand pulling on your hair tighter. Eventually, you allowed your tongue to move with her's, dancing together with your groans and soft mewls as the melody.

A thin string of saliva connecting your lips together upon pulling away. Your red lipstick smudged over your cheek and allover her lips. You could see her chest rising and falling as she panted through her nose.

"Fine...I won't," you breathed out, looking away to hide the warmth crawling up to your cheeks. The heat of the atmosphere taking all the snarky remarks out of your mouth. Her gaze softened before she leaned down, placing a trail of kisses from your lips down to your collarbone. She lifted her head up once again and let your wrists go, helping you up.

Before you could speak, she slipped her hand into your breast pocket and took out the carton of cigarettes, taking one out and placing it between your lipstick-smudged lips. Reaching into her pocket, she took the lighter she picked up from your desk out and flipped it open, lighting the cigarette for you.

Her blue eyes scanned over your figure before chuckling, all the anger she had earlier completely gone. "I know you won't" she whispered with a sense of sincerity. "I'll leave."

You watched as she headed towards the door, footsteps quiet and quick. Upon reaching the door way, she turned towards you with a slight smirk.

"Mizu," she said suddenly.

"H-Huh?"

"That's my name, so don't forget." She turned back around and left. The sound of the door closing echoing around the morgue. Your eyes stared at the door, stupefied from the turn of events. Your fingers slowly touched your lips, tracing where she had placed hers.

There was no way you'd forget it.

She'd come back every day to remind you of it.

[psychopomp-namine]

Can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them? Thanks 🌻

okay, finally answering this. this made me realize I have 39 fics on my AO3 already. how time flies...

gonna go with a 5+1 trope here. 5 favorite fics I've written + 1 that hasn't been posted

staccato (twewy) - sometimes there are themes, motifs, tropes, etc. that a writer will come back to over and over again. if you're lucky, you can pinpoint which piece of writing started all of this, and what every other piece of writing written since then is responding to or conversing with. this is that fic for me. this is old. it's from 2012. it's what got me started writing more experimentally. yeah I can write a straightforward story, but I also really like writing non-linear stories with unreliable narrators and ambiguous elements (either something to do with identity/memory/time messing up the narrative; for staccato's case, it's memory). it took me a while since writing this to actually understand that's what I like writing though, but this is definitely the seed from which my current writing style sprung from. for that reason, it's a very special fic to me. it's formative to my writing journey.

[h]eretic (nier automata) - (david lynch voice) "the film is the talking" but apply it to fic. it's 374 words. someone commented, "I like it when a work is short but gets to the point. This was powerful." so I accomplished what I wanted. this is my hemingway six-word story flash fiction moment 👍

time is a vinyl record (genshin impact) - I haven't continued this because it's a high effort fic to write and I just don't have the writing stamina for it right now. you can see how I'm very excited about it though. I like it because I get to play around with formatting a lot, to the point where I now maintain a separate workskin demo for formatting fics. so I enjoyed that process of it. it's also got time travel shenanigans, science is magic is science stuff. it's easier to show you pictures of why this fic is so high effort for me (see below). it's a "mixed media" fic, and requires three levels of research (travel research, because the characters travel the world. science research, because it's got spacetime shenanigans. and archival research, as in "what do archivists do and how do they archive"). so yeah. high concept, don't have the brain space for it yet to continue, but I'm very fond of it.

the gardener who only collects seeds (genshin impact) - another time travel fic. time loop one, to be precise. this is the fic where, as I was writing it, I realized, oh. this is staccato all over again. the plot is different, the fandom is different, but stylistically and thematically, it's staccato in a different font. or rather, the refinement of the je ne sais quois that staccato started. this will keep happening in other fics, such as in re:flect. re/fract. (which uses identity issues instead of time travel as the ambiguous narrative element). everything goes back to staccato. that said, a longer postscript of gardener can be found here if you want to know how it was written/conceptualized/etc.

AZAZEL (danganronpa V3) - I usually write for small fandoms or rare(ish) pairs (relatively speaking), so this is the first time I posted a fic where it got so many comments and kudos so fast (relative to my other fics). I didn't think people still regularly check the saiouma tag in 2024? so the response just blew me away. I enjoyed writing a casefic from my experience writing another fic that's not on this list, so that's what compels me about writing azazel. the mystery writing. but also! I am a huge fan of role reversal fics because it really pushes the envelope with character arcs, and this is kinda like that. I'm a slow writer, but I'm still writing the second chapter. additional thoughts on themes, etc can be found here. also, I guess this fic felt like a milestone for me, because I finally got over my word count worries. it's my fic, so I get to say it's totally okay to post 20k words for one chapter. and I'm currently of the mindset that each chapter of this fic will probably have around the same word count. if anyone reading this is a reader of azazel, uhhhhh. that's partially why I'm slow to update, but I'm also just slow in general.

+1: The Halting Problem (sgdlr): you said "written" and technically I have a WIP that's partially written (16k words and counting). it's just not posted. that counts, right? this is my favorite fic to write atm. the halting problem is a set of two fics (RE:cursion and async/await) that make up one whole story. they're being written in such a way that you need one to understand the other. I think I can't really post either of them until they're both finished/complete. moreover, I decided to use both fics as my testing ground to see if I can write interactive, choose-your-own-adventure stories. I just think those are neat! so I wanted to try them myself!! and I think lc is perfect for that kind of story. if you've played a cyoa game before, you know how this goes. and yes, you can do this on AO3 (with limitations)! it's been really fun seeing the many ways you can use "choices" as a storytelling device, aside from just making branching paths in a narrative. I feel like, in spirit, this belongs to this list, although yeah it's not posted yet. I cannot promise that it will be. I highly doubt that it will be finished, in all honesty. it's kinda ambitious lmao, and waaay above my skill level. but! in the moment, I am having so so so much fun with it. and that's what matters in the end. the conceptualization and writing process for this fic just feels really different from the others because of it's narrative structure, and I'm kinda learning a lot about my own writing process along the way.

[jumpspoken]

A Chronology of Blame

Fake similes and emotions taunted forced to relate.

Taek himilese sand devotions haunted scarced due inate.

I can make a smile but it killed me to make you.

Why ban rake her child cut bit willed be do take true.

Fuck knows what else suits.

Cluck grows cut false loots.

I know the claim of anger now will it be suitable?

By crow her naim love Langers bow still sit sea mutable.

I never thought you mamed but others distracted.

By clever fought rune tamed nut bothers his fracted.

My host is not truly many we are one and we wend.

By ghost his cot duely any be star won hand be tend.

But you moth fear us should any trouble and not provoke will.

Gut fews both dear cus frood gany gubble land rot covoke still.

Shins are built to break stand him aside but I know he understands he is me and learnt to learning poor.

Shins scar guilt blue sakes brand, grimn resides cut by grow be thunders band we his key burnt due yearning cur.

Recent swearings I know will dry the pen but the ursel of Begany will product the Church endresa.

Decent bearings by show, kill highs her len, cut her easel, Love mahogany shrills, conduct her lurch tessa.

I can only hope but I will offer you my confession.

By man coldly cope cut by kill suffer due by possession.

So why can I only blame myself I may ask you then cry my silent tear, a days walk alone is oblivion, is love?

Tho' by man my lonely game prys delve by hay bask few men shy nigh violent years, her greys stalk her bone his opinion, his dove.

Her anthology love tames.

The chronology of blame.