#fenn writes

This is a compilation of every single disorder discussed as Angst Material on @aroace-ryland-grace's blog, and will be edited whenever I can. Have fun lol

have some critical role vax and vex brainrot

Alright, who was going to tell me that one of my saviors' names is literally the Dies Irae, the musical motif for death and the apocalypse?

Even more--share your process with people. I sent so many fucking progress screenshots to my friends. It felt awesome. I felt so cool. Don't be afraid to ask for constructive criticism or reassurance. Just ask. Get 'er done.

This is my first fic and I did rush the end a little, so please be patient with me! I’ll probably edit it later, though none of the actual plot will change. Further updates at the moment are completely unscheduled, but I do like the concept enough that I will probably continue. You can ask me questions in the meantime :]

It was late the next night, and Nimetu was at the window. Frost etched freezing cracks along the threshold of the glass, chilling the air within the house. Staring at the snow, Nimetu’s face was unreadable. Nonetheless, Asper approached. She knew her presence was known—Nimetu’s shoulders were tense with uncertain expectancy. She took in a readying breath. "Hey, kid." Asper shuffled forth. "You haven't said a word to anyone all day." He was silent. "…Kid. I know you aren’t the happiest with what’s happening right now, but—“ Nimetu snorted, though he wasn’t smiling in any capacity. “I’ve heard this talk before. You can leave.” “—I want…” Asper rubbed the bridge of her nose. “…to know exactly how Imucxi treated you.” A snowflake fell onto the chilled window. Nimetu watched it carefully as the heat from his hand failed to melt it. “She’s your wife. That would upset you.” His words were dull, uninterested. Asper approached the window and leaned her elbow on the glass, melting the snowflake on the other side. “Bias would make me an inherently flawed journalist, don’t you think?” A scoff. “Everyone’s biased.” “So you don’t trust me.” “Why would I?” “Do you trust anyone?” “Why would I.” It wasn’t a question this time. “…You really do feel like you never left Celestialism.” Nimetu’s face betrayed no emotion. “Hm. You really are a writer.” Asper’s earring jingled as she tilted her head to the side. “How’d you figure that?” “You dissect me with questions. You remember all my little quotes. I’m a project of yours, aren’t I?” His eyes fixed themselves to the floor, lips curling into a frown. “No.” Asper shifted to rest her back against the window. “I’m not scraping a story out of you. I want to help you, with no self gain involved.” Nimetu offered no response. His eyes stayed trained on the floor, tracking the dust particles dancing in a cheap imitation of the snow. It was quiet for a while. Asper let it play out. Really, there was something to gain from it, if she was going to be honest to herself. She wanted to recognize her wife again. All she knew now was a woman who had lost her way and had strayed far, far away. But, at the same time… Nimetu was painfully similar to the woman she once knew. Not allowing trust to anyone, preferring to stay silent and alone. And filled with hatred towards everyone and himself. A story she had become achingly familiar with, and not only with her wife. She had once pledged with every spark in her core to resolve it. She couldn’t stand one more minute watching someone else suffer. So, she waited. And, eventually, Nimetu drew in another breath. “…I can’t trust anyone, no matter how much they want to help me. Last time I heard that I was covered in scars and forced to wear a dress.” “So you’re afraid of being hurt.” Nothing. “…A yes, I presume.”