I want to say thank you right off the bat to the people who reached out (either through DM or comments on my post) about my TDK stories - it's been genuinely lovely to hear from you. 💖
After literal years of writer's block, I'm happy to say I'm writing again! I thought I'd mention it here, just in case there's interest in keeping up with my writing even if it's for a different fandom now.
I’m currently writing a modern Jujutsu Kaisen AU with Japanese folklore, Gothic horror, and dark romance themes/vibes. It doesn't require in-depth canon knowledge at all - you might miss some references, but that's it. I’ll be posting about it (writing notes, moodboards, excerpts, etc.) on my side blog, Night_After_Rain, here.
If you like:
Silent Hill f
Dark gods and folklore gone wrong
Appetite as desire
Slow burn power imbalance
Then you might like what I'm working on!
My fic is here, for the curious and interested:
AO3: Cleave (4/20~ chapters posted, ongoing)
Below the cut is my fic summary, a moodboard, and excerpt from chapter 3, if you want to check that out instead.
Otherwise — hello and thank you again. I've missed doing this. 💖
Summary: Amaya Kitagawa learns too late that one should never make a promise to a god.
Edit for image credits, top to left and right (links go to twitter, fyi): @a2BBy8EHgh1, @acyantree, could not find og link, but this is the artist signature line:
It’s dusk. The sky’s clear and endless. Distant cicadas hum in the summer heat. Amaya is lying down in a familiar clearing, tall green grass dancing above her head. The earth is cool and damp under her fingers, the sun’s warmth slowly fading as it sinks towards the horizon. Cedar, fresh-cut and close, light in her lungs. Water rushes over river rocks, babbling as it follows the winding slope down the hillside. Dragonfly wings hum, unhurried. She closes her eyes.
This is what Amaya hopes death will feel like—stillness without tomorrow, where the hollow in her chest is calm water instead of ache. When having a body no longer matters.
Amaya enjoys the stillness until there’s a shift—an increase in pressure, like the air itself is now leaning towards her. The cicadas sound further away, the river’s flow more muted and dull. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end.
She sits up. At first, she’s alone in the clearing, close to the riverbank. A cluster of boulders rests on the other side of the river, separating the clearing from the dense forest and surrounded by red spider lilies she doesn’t remember. Upstream lies her hometown, the rooftops of the local shokudo restaurant and convenience store barely visible. Five minutes from here is her family’s house. This is a place she knows well; her favourite spot to hide and imagine a different world, a different life.
She blinks and is no longer alone. A man is across the narrow river, sitting cross-legged on the largest boulder. His head is propped up on a closed fist, posture leisurely. He’s staring downstream, watching the water flow with a bored expression. His white kimono is bright even under the setting sun, his hair matching the warm pink of dusk. Amaya rubs her eyes, but his shape remains faintly undefined in the way the halo of a lit paper lantern softens and blurs its edges. She can’t make out his features clearly.
“Oh, um—hello. I don’t think we’ve met before,” Amaya says before she can stop herself.
He regards Amaya slowly, eyes appraising but his expression otherwise unchanged. The air changes when their eyes meet, dense and settling over Amaya’s shoulders like hands resting there, waiting.
“If you like,” he says after a pause.
Amaya is surprised at the sound of his voice, the low timbre of it, its odd resonating quality. She isn’t sure what to make of him, or why her vision hasn’t fully cleared. She feels a pull, something that keeps dragging her eyes back to him when she tries to look away.
He looks traditional to Amaya, at first—kimono, geometric-patterned obi, water-like fabric—but his clothes don’t seem to match. The sleeves are long and loose, trousers a strange pairing with the kimono—not hakama like she’s ever seen it—and his black scarf doesn’t belong, either, too modern for the rest.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Amaya finds herself smiling at him. She’s never had someone to enjoy the clearing with before. An odd feeling builds in her chest, almost like a child eager at the prospect of making their first friend. “It’s my favourite place. The water’s just too deep and cold to play in, and the crayfish are all downstream, so no one likes coming this way. This time of year is the best, too.”
The man’s features become more distinct. She doesn’t think she’s seen anyone like him before.
I wonder if he’s new here? Pretty old-fashioned with that kimono, even for the countryside.
“So,” he speaks slowly, eyes narrowing, “you can see me.”
The man’s expression finally changes from boredom to something close to interest.
“Unexpected.”
“Of course, I can,” she laughs. “I don’t think I know you, do I?” She tries asking again, her smile encouraging.
“That’s unlikely.”
He offers nothing else. Amaya sits up straighter, ignoring how the pressure intensifies as his attention focuses on her, how it makes his outline sharper. She can make out more details now—faint shadows along his jaw and cheeks like a tiger’s stripes, the deep red irises of his eyes burning with a cold heat.
There’s something about him Amaya has trouble naming. The sensation of the hair standing on the back of her neck hasn’t gone away. She feels compelled to look at him, can’t shake the instinct she’s felt echoes of this pressure somewhere else.
“I’m Amaya Kitagawa. What’s your name?”
The man pauses again for a long moment.
“Tell me, Amaya—“ her name hits like a splash of cold water to her face, and he smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes, “—do you always accept strange things that appear in front of you?”
He drops his arm down to fully rest on top of his thigh. He’s still slouched, at ease as his smile widens, the sharp canines just visible.
Amaya falters for a moment. The casual familiarity of using her first name, the insertion of something that pushes against the boundary of reality—it forms a crack at the back of her head. She rubs the base of her skull, worried it might break.
“I’m not…sure what you mean?”
“You can see me clearly,” he says. “That usually doesn’t happen.”
The boundary cracks a little more. It hurts.
“This is just a dream.” Her laugh is forced this time, some unseen hold constricting around her ribs.
Wait, is this a dream? It has to be, right?
Unease builds within her as the pressure bears down. Her eyes grow heavy.
The ambient sounds surge back all at once as the man watches her, gaze and smile unwavering. Amaya can barely hear him when he says, “We’ll see.”
I’m not sure if anyone who knew me or was familiar with my work will ever read this, but I feel like I owe an update, and an apology, after completely disappearing three years ago. Maybe there’s no one who cares, and that’s fine and understandable, but I hope this reaches some of the people who were worried about me.
In 2018, I started the Watching the World Burn series for The Dark Knight fandom as LadyoftheSea, later expanding to the Going a Little Mad and Opscuritas series. In 2022, I deleted my work from fanfiction.net, orphaned my works on AO3, and deleted my AO3 and tumblr accounts. I did this without telling any of the many friends I had made or my readers, something I deeply regret.
When I started writing fanfic in 2018, it very quickly became a wellspring of joy for me, as well as my primary coping mechanism. I was fortunate to have found a great audience and amazing friends. They provided me with a great deal of support and love, and for that I am very thankful.
Those who knew me may remember my being very open about my long struggles with mental illness, depression and PTSD especially. As much as I loved the TDK community, my readers, and my friends, I eventually reached a place where I was not myself and not safe. I felt disconnected from my family, friends, and community. I couldn’t find it in me to write, and I felt like such a massive disappointment. I’d convinced myself that it would be better if I disappeared completely. I did not fully think about what impact that would have on the people who talked to me almost every day, who worried and cared about me. I did not do right by any of you, and I’m so sorry for that, too.
I am glad to say that I’m better and stable, that I finally know what it’s like to be in recovery for longer than a few months at a time. I’m finally doing okay. It was brutal getting here, but I wish I had done more to make it happen sooner.
I recently read through comments that were left on my stories on AO3, and they are what motivated me to put something out there for folks to find. It was touching but sad how many people wished I had continued writing or wanted to know if I was alright, and I’m sorry that I let all of you down. I don’t have it in me to finish my old stories anymore, but I’m glad they still exist on AO3, even if my “name” is no longer associated with them.
You might see me posting similar content here that I used to was active on tumblr, but if any of my old readers do find this post, I’m happy to answer messages or asks about what I had intended to do with my stories. That is, unfortunately, all the closure I can offer.
I’m not sure how to end this post—but, thank you to the people who worried about me, who read my work and felt it resonate with them. As much as I regret my attempt to scrub my presence from the internet, going back and reading old comments has done a lot to encourage me to write again, even if I never return to the TDK fandom.
I know apologies don’t mean a lot on the internet and three years is a long time to have said nothing, but I truly am sorry. I hope my old fandom friends and readers are well and thriving, and I think of you all often—both with gratitude and regret.
