#Oh pure hearts pear caught gawking series
#Oh pure hearts pear caught gawking windows

Walked through the door, Atsushi and his mentees were tasked with handling all So while the rest of the detectives took on any higher priority cases that They were the greenest detectives in the Agency, Worked alongside the boy and the boy’s partner, another newcomer to the Agencyįrom the Port Mafia, Kyouka. The Agency had been spent shadowing his new “mentor” in the Agency, Atsushi. Luckily, and speaking of caged tigers, Chuuya’s week with Gawked at by zoo patrons, while pacing his confines, flexing his claws and Office, or Kunikida breathing down his neck, eager for him slip up so theyĬould oust him like the Port Mafia. Even despite Dazai’s constant efforts to rile him up at the To say sticking to these conditions provedĭifficult was an understatement but Chuuya was nothing if not willing to rise ‘permission’ from the Boss, Agency President Fukuzawa, and a zero-tolerance Joining the Agency, which included a moratorium on his ability use without Those facts, of course, were the reasoning behind the strict conditions of his Right for him, even beneficial, to work with the Agency of detectives he’dĬalled enemy a month ago, and even tried to kill on more than one occasion. On top of that, he was still adjusting to his change inĮmployment, still settling into his decision and the concept that it could be Unconsciously blanketing Chuuya with No Longer Human that kept Chuuyaįrom doing damage to his surroundings on instinct with For the Tainted Middle of the night, lost and disoriented, in a vaguely familiar bedroll that He sustained from leaving the organization he’d called home for seven years,Īnd the incident leading up to it out in Hiratsuka, were little more than dullĪches and scars, now, thanks in part to the Agency doctor and her healingĪbility, but the memories lingered like bad dreams. The day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, he wouldn’tĪ week had passed since Chuuya was forced to join the Armedĭetective Agency after his violent departure from the Port Mafia. Was desperate to unleash and wreak havoc on the cityscape around them. The hair on hisĪrms and back of neck prickled on end, his ability, For the Tainted Sorrow, Protection from the severe drop in temperature that evening. Of urine on the air, or the fact his thin shirt and jeans provided little He tried not to think about the lingering scent Chuuya leaned back against a building’s brick wall,Ĭrouched low to the ground, head tipped to one side, and a heavy gray, linenĬoat draped over his shoulders.

#Oh pure hearts pear caught gawking windows

I wonder if anyone will find this here.Ī cold gray frost coated the windows of every building along I haven’t read it since I retconned it, so it’s not edited.

#Oh pure hearts pear caught gawking series

In the meantime, while I get my shit together, here’s the original chapter 1 from my first attempt at writing “Wake Up” for my BSD fanfiction series Release (posted here on AO3). So I’ll try and I’ll fail and I’ll try and I’ll fail. The words are there, I just can’t get them on to paper right now in a way that is satisfactory. I want to move past this and feel confident and continue with the stories in my head without the fear that no one will like it or they’ll like it too much so that eventually I’ll disappoint them. Then the paranoia sets in: the readers are leaving, they see that I can’t do this, they hate me, they hate my work, I knew all along it wasn’t good enough.Īh. I can’t breathe and I start crying, the thoughts in my head: I’m not this person, I didn’t write this thing that you liked so much, it’s trash, it’s all trash, and if I did, it was a fluke, and I can’t recreate it.

I’m in that mental place right now, even looking at comments and trying to muster the werewithal to reply makes me sick to my stomach and want to break down. I used to get around it by starting new fanfiction accounts and starting over, rebuilding an audience in a new fandom, but I don’t want to do that anymore.

It’s this strange “damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t” struggle. Yet, if I got no comments, or I saw no increase in comments, I couldn’t continue either. Maybe it’s a touch of Imposter Syndrome, but I get stage fright. When a story of mine starts to garner a lot of attention, replying to readers and continuing the work, becomes increasingly difficult. I get a lot of anxiety when it comes to comments on my writing.