#I usually try not to answer hate

[normal-person-i-promise]

slurred teases and sweet kisses

arataka reigen/female reader

tw for drinking, bars, intoxication

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

★ ★ ★

...Should he invite you? You're just his employee after all, and the both of you would be alone in the bar...

Arataka glances at you for a moment, looking up from the newspaper he was reading at his desk. He's not actually reading it, of course — he can barely concentrate on breathing when you're in the room with him. You're just so... Distracting, he can't help it.

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the motion of your hand as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, the way your eyes would flit between him and the window — Arataka could watch you for hours and not grow bored.

If Arataka invites you to just... Go to that bar he used to be a usual at, then the two of you would be alone. Like a date, which it— it isn't, of course— that would be crazy! There's no way you'd want to date Arataka, of all people, it just doesn't make sense for you to like him!

You think of him as an employer, a friend, maybe a close one, but just that! Nothing more, nothing less!

Arataka exhales sharply through his nose, flipping the page to look like he's reading the paper. He can feel the grain of the grey newspaper between his fingertips as he rubs his finger absentmindedly on the edge, pick up that faint scent of printed paper in the air.

You risk a glance at him, and your eyes shimmer with the evening sun's light as you study his features: his disinterested gaze, his relaxed posture, his incurious expression. He's... Mesmering to look at in this state, this boredom, especially since he's so expressive usually.

He also looks rather attractive, but that doesn't really matter.

You can see him stiffen, trying to ignore how hot he feels with your eyes roaming all over his body, but... Not that he doesn't enjoy it, of course — Arataka adores when you study him, just like how he studies you. You've noticed a lot of things about him by now; the way he'd adjust his grip on the newspaper, the way his eyes skim over the text, the way he leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed; bored.

You quickly avert your gaze, and Arataka feels a pang of sadness at the loss of your attention.

You, yourself, are not doing much. You're just... Sitting quietly at the little couch in the corner of the room, waiting patiently for the customers to come in. You're staring out the window, watching as the pedestrians on the streets walk along back to their homes or to the restaurants and bars, watching the way the trees sway in the light breeze, some of their vibrant green leaves falling off the sharp brown branches.

It's your job, after all — the job Arataka is paying you for — to be whatever customer service is needed when he's too busy exorcising the client's spirits or helping talk through their worries.

You take a slow, deep breath, inhaling that familiar scent of salt and incense, of sweat and cologne.

Arataka doesn't need you, not really. He just wants an excuse to see your face day after day after day, hear your darling little voice call his name when you need help.

He likes it most during that little frame of time when Mob has left to go back home, but you're still in the office — alone — with him, simply coexisting in eachother's presence. This is the time that he'd talk to you, joke with you, spend time with you — but just because he enjoys talking to you for every second of the day you're with him doesn't mean that he isn't content in settling into a comfortable silence with you. He likes... Coexisting with you, whether you're on your phone or looking out the window, whether he's reading the newspaper or watching the little TV in the corner of the room.

It's... Nice, in a way, to have someone care about you just as much as you care about him.

"The sky's pretty nice, isn't it?" You say to Arataka, tapping on the glass with your finger and bringing his attention to it.

It is rather pretty; golds and oranges are strewn across the sky like an artist's first experimental brush strokes on their canvas, the colours shifting with every minute that passes as the sun goes lower and lower on the horizon. The clouds are rimmed gold — a delicate, thin outline to show its form, shimmering and soft as the light bounces off it.

It's not sunset yet, no, but — oh, how that golden light spills into the room, how it makes Arataka's eyes sparkle—

"Yeah, it is pretty."

His words are simple, but it's evident that he's fighting himself to keep his tone disinterested. He doesn't want to show interest in you: he'd look like a fool. He doesn't want to look like a fool in front of the girl he likes.

You clear your throat (you always do that when you need to distract yourself from your thoughts, Arataka's noted), and you settle back in your seat. He grins, an opportunity to tease you coming to his mind, the words already beginning to brew.

"You what looks nicer, though?" He asks, his tone playful as he looks you up and down, feeling pleasant shivers run down your spine. It feels so... Good, to be the object of his attention, to be the subject of his praise.

"What?" You ask, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair. You're grinning pridefully, knowing that he'll most definitely say you're prettier.

Arataka's thin smile widens noticeably, his eyes narrowing in delight.

"Me, of course."

You roll your eyes, though it's clear you mean nothing malicious by it. "Oh, please, Arataka," you say, your tone teasing, "you're full of yourself. You're a lot uglier than the sky."

A lie. To set off any suspicions that you like him.

He just grins wider, settling into his seat like a proud king.

Even though it's nothing more than light, playful banter, every second Arataka spends with you feels like a moment in heaven — your voice the angel's songs, your hair their shining halos. You never refuse any of his silly little jokes, always laugh at those half-wit puns he makes, and it... It sends waves of butterflies to his stomach, knowing that you enjoy being around him, knowing that you like being his friend.

And vice versa — every second you spend with Arataka is such fun, such enjoyment, that you lose track of time and go back home hours later than intended. He's just so... Fun to talk to, what with his witty replies and clever jokes, his carefully placed puns and playfully sharp remarks. He's such a joker, always able to make you laugh, and he likes it. He likes hearing your laugh. He likes it a lot.

The newspaper crinkles loudly as Arataka folds it, placing it on the desk. Struggling to keep his expression neutral and his voice level, he asks you a simple question.

"Wanna go out for drinks later?" Grinning, now, "I'll pay."

Please say yes. Please, please say yes.

You hum in thought as if you don't know your answer already. Your voice is light; playful, and Arataka can hear the grin plastered on your face when you reply.

"I don't know... I don't drink."

You don't, that bit is true: you've tried, and failed, to enjoy alcohol and intoxication. It's just so... Sour, and overwhelming, and it feels so horrible the next day.

Arataka lets out an exasperated groan, but the both of you know it's fake.

"Come on— please?"

He leans on the desk, his whole upper body resting on the wood, trying to get as close to you as he can to you without getting up. His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he smiles wide, trying as hard as he can to convince you, knowing you can't say no to that god forsaken smile. "Pretty please? It's my birthday!"

He's almost pleading as he tilts his head innocently, his cheeks resting comfortably in his hands, his elbows planted on the desk. "You don't wanna upset the birthday boy, do you?"

You sigh, though you aren't annoyed. You can't say no, the both of you know that — especially since it's his birthday. And, unbeknownst to you, it's the first birthday Arataka will be spending with a friend in a long, long time. He's ecstatic, Especially since it's you.

Even if it's just one friend, and even if that friend is a girl he really likes is his employee, it's still counted, right?

You... Are a friend, right?

Because the way your pretty little lips would curl into a grin whenever you'd tease him, the way your words would cause him to erupt into fits of laughter, the way you always enjoyed the little games of banter the two of you often shared certainly made it seem so.

You roll your eyes at his display.

"Fine, fine, okay. I'll go celebrate your birthday with you or whatever."

Arataka has to hide his excitement, struggling to keep himself from smiling ear to ear, struggling to ignore how his heart flutters, struggling to ignore that familiar feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

He always feels this way when he's with you though, so he's gotten pretty good at ignoring it.

"When do you say we should go?"

Arataka tilts his head more heavily to the side as he asks you that question, his eyes roaming around the room as he thinks. You watch as he shifts in his chair, trying in vain to get comfortable in the god awful position he's sitting in.

His grin widens. "Now?"

Flitting your eyes to the clock and reading the time quickly, you answer him, your voice level; though there's a slight undertone — barely even there — of a playful, almost accusational chide. You're just buying time to annoy him, giving him pointless excuses.

"It's still ten minutes to closing."

Arataka sighs in dramatised exasperation, putting such an emphasis on the rolling of his eyes that it makes you scoff in playful annoyance. It makes his heart flutter, knowing that you're entertained by him. God, how he loves that voice of yours... How he loves you...

Spinning his hand so fast that it's a blur, he stops abruptly, pointing to himself as he grins proudly. "I'm the boss, here. I can close this place any time I want."

He gets his elbows off the desk, kicking his feet onto the wood as you hum in response to his words. Nodding as you speak, you agree with him. "Good point, good point."

Arataka and you clean up the office a little, sweeping the corners here and dusting the chair over there. The two of you are in a comfortable silence, content enough with the fact that you're in each other's presence.

As you clean, Arataka can't help but notice — he always notices — all those little things you do: the way you place one foot in front of the other to the beat of the song stuck in your head; the way you hum softly to yourself, quiet enough to think he can't hear; the way your eyes would catch glimpses of his every so often.

More often than not, he'd get lost in all your little habits. It's just... The minor ways you'd entertain yourself as you clean, the manner in which you would tuck your hair behind your ear, the way you'd roll your sleeves up before doing anything, is so... Cute, you're so cute...

It's not long before the place is as good as new, and Arataka is switching the lights off and taking the keys to the door.

"After you, m'lady," he says in an unnecessarily posh voice, bowing slightly as he opens the door for you. You nod, thanking him as you step out, bathed the hot summer night air — it's humid, the air thick with moisture as you breathe in the scent of moist pavement and soaked leaves from the rain that had happened a few hours earlier.

The more you walk, the more you can hear the bustling of the shopkeepers in their kitchens and behind their counters, pick up the buzz of the neon signs just beginning to flicker on, listen to the indistinct chatter of the night life starting to settle into the bars and night clubs. Though it's faint, it's most definitely there, and it's getting louder and louder with each minute that passes.

The walk to the bar isn't quiet; it's never quiet when the two of you walk together. The air is always filled with friendly conversation, laughter and giggles peppered in here and there, occasional glimpses at his soft, pink lips...

Arataka is taking in every little thing about you, from the way your smile would form to the tapping of your shoes on the pavement. You're... Perfect, you.

He tries his best to match your pace, making sure that his footfalls are in tandem with yours, making sure that you both are walking as one.

If someone was looking on at the two of you, they'd think you were a couple.

A few minutes later, Arataka is pushing open the door of the Happy Trails bar, gesturing for you to enter. The floor is sticky, the air thick with the sharp smell of alcohol and sweaty office workers. The lights are dim; warm, inviting, as you take a seat after Arataka pulls one out for you.

"So what'll you have?" He asks, flashing you the most charming grin he can muster. He settles into his seat, getting more comfortable: unbuttoning his suit jacket, loosening that pink tie on his neck, undoing the top buttons of his immaculate white dress shirt. God, he's so hot—

It's hard to keep from staring, but you manage.

You shrug. "Just soda."

Arataka nods, not questioning it as he calls the bartender over and ordering for both you and him: an iced cola for you, and a lemon sour — extra sour — for him. He always orders that, and, based on the few times you've gone out drinking with him, you don't think he drinks anything else.

He settles into his seat, and you struggle to get your voice to pierce through the indistinct conversations of the other patrons.

"So, Arataka," you nearly shout, your tone playful, "how do you feel now that you're 28?"

He hums in thought, bringing a fist to his chin as he thinks about his answer.

He shrugs.

"So-so, but—" he pauses for dramatic effect, the shadow of a grin ghosting on his lips —"I'm feeling a whole lot better since you're here to help me into my old age."

You laugh slightly at his little joke. Arataka's dopey little grin widens with pride, having made you giggle yet again.

Your drinks arrive a little after this, and you can't help but notice the bartender giving you an accusational side eye as he slides the both of you your glasses, seeming to doubt the fact that you and Arataka aren't dating.

"Oh, come now, Arataka—" his heart flutters at the sound of your voice saying his name —"you're not that old." Your grin widens, your tone teasing. "You look a lot older, though."

He lets out an offended half laugh, shoving your shoulder playfully in mock offence. "How mean!" He cries, trying in vain to make his voice sound offended.

It's quiet as you sip your cola slowly, and you're not blind to the way Arataka's eyes follow your tongue as it darts out to get whatever droplets of your drink missed your mouth.

...God, how he wants to taste that sharp, teasing mouth of yours, feel every crevice and crease of your lips as they press into his... How he wants to run his hands through your soft hair as he combs it out of the way of your perfect face, how he wants whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep in his arms...

"You should... Really watch that tongue of yours," he warns playfully, his words beginning to slur, fighting to ignore his thoughts. He's barely even had a sip of his drink, and he already looks like he's about to pass out.

He wags a wobbly finger in your face like a mother reprimanding her child. "I might get tired of you and fire you."

You roll your eyes, scoffing.

"Oh, Arataka," you tease, leaning in close — close enough to smell the scent of his expensive cologne, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, close enough to feel just how hot he is. He grits his teeth, struggling not to close the distance between the two of you as you speak lowly, quietly: for his ears only.

"We both know you like me too much."

And he— he blushes, oh, and he pushes you away with the tip of his unsteady finger to your forehead. You swallow the slight hurt you feel as Arataka replies, his response clumsy as always — more so now that he's drunk. "And we... Both know you like me too much to let yourself... Get fired."

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

And though the motion is wobbly, unbalanced, now it's his turn to lean in close. He almost falls on you.

His grin is wide, and though it's lopsided from the alcohol, it still manages to be annoyingly smug, and... Wonderfully endearing, too, like he's trying to make you happy regardless of how his vision blurs and his head pounds. "I'm... Doing you a favour for not... Firing you, you know."

You scoff mockingly at his words, drinking your soda as you grin. "Please, Arataka"— another rush of butterflies to his stomach —"I know I'm far too important to you to just... Get rid of."

You're grinning smugly now, leaning in closer to his face. Your noses are almost touching, and you can almost taste his lips now — the sweetness of alcohol mixing with the sharp mint of his mouthwash, his saliva thick as Arataka swallows. You're not blind to how his unfocused eyes fall down to your mouth for a moment, licking his lips like he's looking at a freshly cooked meal, ready for devouring.

"Ah, but you need to... To remember," he says, leaning away from you, gripping the table in tight hands to stop himself from falling off his barstool. He squints as he talks, trying hard to form the words. "I could totally just do it right now. Nothing's... Stopping me."

You sigh, smiling, rolling your eyes but staying quiet.

Arataka downs the remainder of his drink in one swift gulp, slamming the cup down onto the wooden bar table with a loud thud.

He doesn't order another one, thankfully, because at the rate he's getting drunk, he's bound to pass out or vomit anytime soon. His cheeks are an almost bright red, his eyes half-lidded and glossed over, unfocused as he stares at you; when he breathes, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Hey, Arataka."

You sip your soda, licking the glass a little to see how he reacts get the drops that missed your mouth. Arataka watches your tongue, almost hungrily so, his gaze unblinking and his breathing shallow.

You want to try and get as many secrets as you can get out of a drunk Arataka, just to have something to either a) tease him about, or b) blackmail him with.

"What do you think about me?" You ask, grinning.

Arataka shifts in his seat, thinking hard about his answer, and doing it for a suspiciously long time. A plan to avoid your question brews, half-finished in his mind.

He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning in with a shaky, unsteady motion, before abruptly jerking away and pressing his hands to his mouth as if he's trying to prevent himself from vomiting. As he hunches over on himself, your face immediately shifts to one of concern, your brows furrowing and your grin disappearing.

"...Arataka? You okay...?" You ask gently, rubbing his back. You've seen him vomit aggressively after taking so much as a sip of alcohol, and you're definitely preparing to wipe bile from the corners of his mouth.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of glass and the chatter of overlapping conversation.

"I... Eugh." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing as he feels his head pound — and that plan, that drunk one that sober Arataka would definitely not approve of, starts forming more clearly in his mind.

You grow more worried the more you watch, his movements shaky, his words all blending together. He thinks he's doing a pretty good job at looking like he's going to vomit — and since you're acting so worried about him, then he'd wager that his plan is working.

"Arataka, are you okay?" You ask again, your voice firmer, though still retaining that soft, quiet worry. You rub what you hope are soothing circles on his back, and you can see him visibly relax, letting out a long sigh.

"'M fine," he mumbles, swatting your hand away, his eyes struggling to open.

It's working, it's working! Keep going, Arataka!

Just as you're about to speak again, Arataka opens his mouth, faking a retch, and you panic. He falls — definitely not accidentally — straight into your lap, and it takes a moment to register that no vomit has come from his mouth before you hit him playfully on his forehead. His heart skips a beat when you don't push him off, merely just hitting him.

"Ow!" He exclaims, his grin crooked as he struggles to fake a grimace of pain, rubbing the spot you hit him.

"Even when you're drunk, you still manage to annoy me," you grumble, though the amused smile on your face gives away what you're feeling.

You ruffle his hair a little, tangling your fingers in between the delicate golden strands — and he lets out a sigh at your touch, closing his eyes in contentment. Your heart beats faster as you look at him: his flushed cheeks and content, closed eyes, his relaxed body resting in your lap — god, you have to fight yourself not to plant a kiss on his low, pointed nose.

Arataka pries open his eyes when you stop combing through his hair with your fingers.

"What... Can I say," he says slowly, looking at you with a gaze that can only be described as one of a lover's: sweet, tender, and affectionate. "I love... Seeing your smile."

Your heart flutters.

The two of you stay in this position for a while, a position a lot like a couples'. Neither of you complain — if anything, the both of you enjoy it — and it's not long before Arataka's eyes slowly shut, his breathing slowing as he starts to fall asleep in your lap.

You feel butterflies in your stomach when you gaze upon his calm expression: his eyes closed firmly shut, his kissable lips curved in a slight smile, his face relaxed.

The bar is almost empty now, save for three or four people having a conversation at one of the tables in the corner. You can pick up their mumbling: they're talking about the two of you, how Arataka didn't vomit yet, how he used to be a usual at this bar, how he never brought any girls with him until today, and what a surprise that he managed to pull such a pretty one.

"Happy birthday, Arataka," you say — and, smiling, you push those golden bangs out of the way with a hand and plant a firm, chaste kiss on his forehead. It's a kiss you've wanted to give him for a long time, but also one you're forced to keep short, just in case you're overstepping boundaries.

Arataka's eyes snap open and widen considerably, his face flushing even more than you thought was possible. He's speechless for a moment as he brings a shaky hand up to feel where your lips touched him, his heart beating a million times a minute, his breathing quick and shallow.

He just... Stares at you, starry eyed, for a minute, his mouth slightly agape.

He snaps back to reality.

"Again," he says impatiently, his tone demanding as he brings his hand down to rest, clasped with the other, in his lap. "As... The birthday boy, this is... Is my birthday gift from you. Kiss... Me, again."

You smile, letting out a slight chuckle at his slurred demand.

"You're sure you won't regret it tomorrow...?" You ask slowly, playfully, as you rake your fingers through his soft, blonde hair. You know he most definitely will.

Arataka shakes his head vigorously in your lap, though stops immediately when he starts to feel his head pound, wincing.

You just watch him for a moment, combing gentle fingers through his hair, smiling in amusement at his impatience. He whines when you don't do what he asked for yet, just staring at him, and he repeats his demand.

"Kiss me. Right... Here," he mumbles, tapping a shaky finger to his forehead.

You oblige, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin, pushing his bangs aside. He sighs, closing his eyes. And when you pull away, "Again," he says almost immediately.

You happily oblige, kissing him there once more.

He stops for a moment, breathing shakily, before getting up from your lap abruptly and wrapping his arms around you tightly. In the process of doing this, his unsteady movements cause the both of you to fall onto the bar stools beside you, so that Arataka is lying down comfortably on top of you; your noses almost touching, your lips just inches away from each other. He's so... Drunk, and so, so cute...

The bartender gives you a stern look, and you flash him an apologetic smile.

Arataka's eyes, half-lidded, fall down to your mouth, and he brings an unsteady hand to cradle your chin as he runs a shaky thumb over your bottom lip.

"...Can I...?" Arataka asks in a low, mumbly slur, his eyes unblinking as he stares at your lips.

You heart races as you nod, and it's barely a moment before he's pressing his lips tightly to yours, shifting and moving them until they're slotted comfortably against each other. His eyes flutter shut as he gets comfortable lying on top of you, getting more accustomed to the soft cloth of your clothes as he runs a hand down your side, getting more used to the soft strands of your hair that he's been itching to run his fingers through.

Arataka tastes... Sour, mostly from the drink he had a few moments ago. There's the faint, sharp tang of the alcohol, too; a sweet, distinct flavour, a rich undertone to the myriad of tastes you manage to sample as his lips shift against yours.

His lips are cracked, chapped, and dry, but you couldn't care less as he tangles a hand in your hair, the other holding your head in place as he tilts his own head to press his lips even more into yours. He grunts, seemingly not satisfied, and pushes his lips onto yours until the kiss is almost bruising.

Your face is flushed when you break the kiss. Though it's short, sweet, and chaste, it's clear that Arataka wants more. You both do.

Just as he's leaning in to kiss you again, the bartender taps your shoulder, glaring at you sharply and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. You blurt out a mumbled apology, scrambling to get up, Arataka nearly falling. As promised, he slips the bartender about one and a half times more money than owed.

You both wordlessly exit the bar, and as you walk, Arataka stumbles behind you. He's unsteady; his path is a winding zigzag in comparison to yours, struggling to keep to a straight line and nearly falling onto the road multiple times — and as a way to counter this, you wrap your arm securely around his waist. Arataka responds by leaning his weight onto you, and you both continue on without much issue or argument.

It's much later in the night now; the cars on the road are whizzing past the two of you, the shops all closed with their shutters pulled down over the windows.

The air is heavy with humidity, and you can feel Arataka's sweat from where he presses himself against you. Arataka himself smells of that familiar sharp, sour smell of sweat; the faint scent of salt; and that sweet, sweet cologne he wears. The fabric of the suit is soft as you grip him tightly, every step he takes making him sway more and more until it's clear he's going to either vomit or pass out.

A few moments later, he calls your name in a mumbly, shaky voice, before hurriedly pushing you off him as he staggers to the drain. Before you know what's going on, you're at his side as he vomits a sickly green bile.

You pat his back reassuringly, now only registering that he's vomiting.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Arataka grins at you, though his eyes are struggling to open and his smile is lopsided.

"We're staying... At your house, right?" He mumbles, though he stumbles slightly, and alarm flashes across his face as he swings his hands about to get balanced before he manages to stand straight again. He widens the skewed grin in his face, trying his absolute best to look charming, and failing. It's still adorable, though.

You snicker, nodding in response.

"Let's go, Arataka."

You slide your arm around his waist, and he leans nearly all his bodyweight on you as the two of you walk to your flat.

The walk is quiet as Arataka struggles not to vomit again, barely being able to stay awake to avoid falling unconscious in your arms — it would be a shame if you held him tenderly and he wasn't there to experience it. Nobody's on the streets, so it's just the two of you, save for a car that comes every so often.

The only sound you can hear is the steady tap, tap, tapping of your shoes on the pavement, followed by the much more unsteady beat of Arataka's shiny black dress shoes as he walks beside you.

Neither of you say anything when you walk, neither of you speak when you unlock your front door, neither of you argue when you lead him to your bedroom.

You set him down on the bed slowly, slipping off his grey coat and undoing his necktie. The whole time you're doing this, Arataka's just... Watching you. His eyes, fixed on you, are glassed over, unfocused — but full of so, so much love.

He doesn't say a word as he gets comfortable in your bed, and when he holds you in his arms, falling asleep, it's silent.

★ ★ ★

thanks for reading!!

second chapter !!

[ribbononline]

I for one would love to see the hardenshipping sketches!! Anything you draw of them is so good <3

hksdhf thank you! Ill use it as an excuse to share my unmarketable fankids ((locked to niche au only cus my actual normal universe versions of them r not ready to handle kids. ever)) The first batch here is. A little old. But theyre also the only colored stuff I have for them so ah well they can get tacked on

archie n th kids r all wolves. Maxie is Along For The Ride

[dreadfuldevotee]

okay so I've gotta say I just finished iwtv and like it's really refreshing to find someone who's willing to talk about armand (and, by extension loumand) in an interesting way. Because I quite liked them in S2 so imagine my surprise when I go online and all I see is people acting like armand personally kidnapped claudia and also was mind controlling louis 24/7 (tiktok is horrible with that) when that's just the most boring and frankly nonsensical reading of the material ever. (I think it's silly in general to constantly compare loumand and loustat on the basis of who's worse because. come on.)

However, it got me thinking about how some of that might be the show's own fault? Sure, a big amount of the people not willing to engage are loustat shippers who can't comprehend one person loving multiple people, but I've seen that many people revert back to calling armand this big bad who would have let louis die as if it recontextualizes the WHOLE relationship when imo... it doesn't? Like I feel like I'm going insane bc the show presented it as this huge twist and I didn't quite get on with it? (I'm conflicted on the loustat reunion too but whatever). I feel that there's a disconnect there of what was established the whole season and what was said in the finale. And people are just running with it.

Man idek if what I'm saying makes sense but I wanted to hear your takes on it bc I quite enjoy them and value your input!

No, I totally get what you're saying! I think the details of the loumand breakup collapse on itself upon prodding a bit. I can understand why they wouldn't want them to split the way they do in the book (years of travelling together, finally ending up in New Orleans- Armand setting Louis up to meet Lestat who is wallowing, jumping at sirens 'n just generally sad and pathetic; and being fed up that Louis is seemingly unmoved to any real emotion after the encounter. Them exchanging some harsh observations about each other and then Armand walking off into the night) I think the season ending is more interested in serving the direction they're (presumably) heading for Louis, and wrapping up his life story.

I've been thinking of it to myself as a "Straw that broke the camel's back" kind of break. It's the resurfacing of all the myriad of ways Armand fucked up and fucked Louis over- Oh, and by the way not only did he have a more active role in the play than you originally thought, it never even crossed his mind once to lift a finger to save you. Though, even this falters a bit under remember that Armand breaks Louis out his crypt. People smarter than me have put their finger on exactly why it stumbles on the landing, I'm sure.

What makes it work enough for me is that Louis doesn't go back to Lestat. Yes, they see each other and hug tearfully but Louis does not walk out of Dubai with the intent to ask Lestat to take him back. No, he goes home. He ruminates in the sound of the driver's accent and immediately steps out in a saint's hat. The fact that he finds his way to Lestat is a turn of fate and even then its not really a reunion of lovers but of parents, as the only two people who will mourn Claudia. I say this all the time, but I think knowing that IWTV as a contained story is about grieving a child is the puzzle piece I think a lot of people miss. Before its about Lestat and messy romances and aliens, the whole story sprouts from this moment of deep grief. So I love that Louis has this moment of personal introspection and allows himself to feel his own grief and share it with Lestat but also make a promise to try living for himself and still goes back to the penthouse alone.

I think my continued feelings are a little contingent on how the show plays it going forward. The way I see it, if we start taking score for whos worse, Armand or Lestat- They are tied for gold. Lestat is still complicit in the trial, as is Armand ofc, but neither of them wrote it or schemed it, or genuinely personally desired to kill Louis/Claudia/Madeleine. If the show decides it wants to act like Armand is irredeemable in Louis eyes I will be....less than happy, to say the least. But if the show is as interested in engaging with all the character and all their complexities I think it could all come together quite nicely by the end.

[arttsuka]

I need you to stick with me here but Jedtavius as Patroclus and Achilles

Sorry I’ve been reading The Song of Achilles and it’s getting to me

Oh... so who's who? In my drawing Achilles is Octavius and Patroclus is Jedediah

I basically redrew that one statue (I know it's not both of them but I liked the pose ok? Forgive me). Also I took my chance to draw Jed's funny underpants to lighten up the mood a bit.

Sorry if this doesn't meet your vision :(

That was a weird amalgamation of 2 different photos in an attempt to fix the original (I literally cropped it, fixed some mistakes digitally and then took another picture of a blank paper to use as background. The things I do as a traditional artist). Here's the picture before I fixed the mistakes .

Usually I am more careful and don't make that many mistakes. But also, I work on bigger drawings like this for at least a week, so yeah...

I wanted to draw the iconic red figure pottery art of them but I felt like that would take me way too long :/

[delucadarlingwriting]

Vampire Divorce Court - Striking Matches Burns Fingers

Man, writing has been a hell of a task lately. This has been marinating in my docs for a while, because I like having two parts done before posting one, but...Yeah, I'm doing it now. I've got the next one done, though it needs a bit of work. I'm still figuring out the outline for part 10. Part of me feels like I need to go back and replay the games a bit, just so I'm not constantly second guessing if I've written them OOC or what.

Anyway! I did have fun with this part. Mason and Barbie barking at one another while getting absolutely zero communication done is very fun for me. Plus, I love Kira.

Summary: Mason really wishes he could backpedal on the whole Barbie-coming-to-help thing.

First | Previous | Part 8 | Next

Word Count: 3,610

***

Book 1, Haley’s Bakery, early morning

There’s not much good about this mission, but Mason can at least appreciate that Barbie seems to want to be away from him as much as he wants to be away from her. She’d been gone when he came down for his break from babysitting the detective just a few hours after snapping at one another. He couldn’t catch her scent at all either, so she must’ve left right after he’d gone inside. No telling where she went or what she was doing, only that Adam had determined someone needs to keep an eye on her. Mason’s glad the commanding agent chose to tackle that project himself.

He’s doubly glad that Farah had elected to leave the subject well alone as they wandered the quiet town. That didn’t stop her from chattering about anything and everything else, but Mason’s more than used to tuning other people out. That is, until she suddenly says, “Adam’s texted.”

“What about?” Mason grunts. He’d just dug out his carton of smokes, but finding only a quarter left inside, he shoves it back into his pocket. The sky is just starting to turn pink, the quiet buzz of life starting to grow around them. If he’s going to make it through the day, he’ll need to ration them out.

“We’re going to meet up with him, and then we’re going to go meet up with Nat, Kira and…Well, you know.” Farah eyes him, but he doesn’t give her anything to read off. Other than annoyance, but that’s practically nothing. “Think you can manage it?”

“Shut up,” he snaps. Farah snorts and shrugs.

“Alright. Come on, he said he’d meet us near that park in the bougie part of town.” She flounces off, her enthusiasm to meet up with Adam grating against his dread for meeting up with everyone else.

Adam is waiting for them when they arrive, and after greeting Farah, he looks to Mason. At Mason. Like he’s making sure there are no cracks. Mason just takes it until Adam leads the way to wherever they’re going. He hadn’t been listening when Adam told them.

While he’d denied needing anyone to arrange shifts so he doesn’t have to be around Barbie, Mason is starting to regret that now. It’s done though, so he just has to suck it up until it’s done and she leaves. Adam falls back as they approach the bakery, and Mason nearly does too when he spots the back of Barbie’s head through the huge windows.

Farah looks up at him when his next step is off cadence, but he pretends not to notice and keeps going. It’s not as if talking about it will help anything, no matter what she and Nat think. He pushes through the door, Adam catching it as Farah slips through, following the both of them in.

There’s only one enormous table in the place, but luckily no other customers. Nat’s on one side, facing the door, while Kira and Barbie are hip to hip on the other side. A fact that has Adam growling quietly. Admittedly, Mason has his own hesitations at the sight. No vampire that’s as hungry as Barbie has to be should be anywhere near humans. Let alone the human they’re supposed to be protecting.

Mason heads straight for the chair at Nat’s side, throwing himself down on it, while Farah takes the one next to him. Adam doesn’t bother, standing tall with his arms crossed right behind Barbie’s chair. She doesn’t look at him though, nor does she look at Mason. She continues the conversation as if she hasn’t even noticed either of them at all. Fine by him.

The rest of them talk, but Mason isn’t paying attention to what they’re saying. He’s doing his best to tune everything out. It’s damn near impossible though. Ever since she arrived in this town, Mason swears he can feel her, despite the ways in which she’s changed.

She smells different now. Indescribably so, considering he can still recognize her scent as being distinctly Barbie. Her heartbeat is quiet and sluggish, enough to be alarming for a human, but it may as well be a drum beating against the inside of his head. Loud enough that he barely notices the baker woman coming up behind them all.

“Anything I can get you?” she asks, terribly cheerful as she wipes her sugar dusted hands against her apron. Mason turns to glare, but pauses first to look her up and down. Her heart beats fast, faster still when she meets Mason’s eye.

“We’re fine,” Barbie says, her voice slicing through the moment. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses when Mason looks over, like she managed to surprise herself with the vitriol in her voice. “I mean…We—We’re—”

Nat jumps in to fix the situation. She turns to the baker and smiles. “We don’t need a thing, but thank you.”

The baker looks confused, stuck between offense at Barbie’s response and flustered at Nat’s. She settles on an awkward smile, a nod, and beats a hasty retreat for the kitchen.

“Wow,” Farah says with a snicker. “I see how you managed to charm Mason’s pants off.”

“That’s hardly a difficult task,” Barbie mutters, staring down as she folds and unfolds a paper napkin on the table in front of her. Mason leans forward against the table, but he’s cut off from responding by Nat.

“Kira had a question,” Nat says, gripping the conversation in an iron fist before it can go down the drain any further.

The detective, cradling a mug of something dark and bitter in her hands, hesitates for a moment as if forgetting the question herself after that whole exchange.

“Um. Yeah. I guess I was just wondering about…” She looks over toward the counter, but Mason can already hear the baker starting up an industrial mixer in the back. None of this will be overheard. Kira pulls her long, strawberry blond braid over her shoulder, twirling it around a finger as she talks. “The thralls that attacked us. You said they’re people, right? Humans?”

Nat nods. “Residents of Wayhaven, in fact.”

Kira’s face scrunches up unhappily. “But no one’s been reported missing.”

“They wouldn’t be,” Mason says. “He can’t control them without being at full strength.”

“At night,” Barbie elaborates before Kira can ask. “Otherwise they’re just themselves. Normal humans, living their lives.”

“And they don’t know what he’s done to them?” Kira asks.

“Not a clue,” Farah replies. She shifts, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“Well, I want to check on them,” Kira says, jaw set.

“We are already keeping an eye on them,” Adam says, his tone saying without words that that should be the end of the conversation. Kira dismisses this idea and continues.

“It’s my job to keep them safe,” she says, turning to look up at him. “I know I haven’t done a stellar job so far, but that doesn’t mean I can just shrug off my duties and give up.”

“I’ll go with you,” Barbie says, gently laying a hand on Kira’s. Every other vampire stiffens at the gesture. “I’d like to get an idea of the sort of people Murphy has been targeting, and if there may be a connection to be found there. Where he found them may be an indicator of the locations he’s been working around.”

Kira beams, way too grateful for what’s being offered. Adam’s eyes shift behind his sunglasses, looking quickly between them as he realizes he’s rapidly losing control of the situation.

“Mason,” he says sharply. Mason’s shoulders drop.

“Seriously?” he asks. Adam stares at him.

“It’s fine,” Kira says, giving Mason a concerned look that he curls a lip at. She shakes her head at him. “Barbie will be with me, I don’t need another babysitter.”

“Yeah, Babs being with you is like, the whole problem,” Farah says. Barbie flinches, looking away as if she hasn’t heard when Kira gives her a questioning look.

Unsure of what possesses him to do so, Mason interferes. “Yeah, you need a real babysitter. So one of us.” He gestures as briefly as he can manage to the rest of Unit Bravo.

At his side, Farah starts peering at him closely, and he can practically feel how she’s trying to pry at him. So he throws an elbow into her side, making her squawk indignantly.

“I’m not a field agent,” Barbie adds on across the table, eager to pounce on the opportunity Mason’s given her. “I wouldn’t be of much help in a dangerous situation.”

Surprised, Kira says, “Really? But you’re also a…”

Looking nauseated, Barbie holds a hand up and shakes her head. “I’ve never been good at physical activities, and that’s as true now as it ever was.”

“All but one, at least,” Mason says. That earns him a swift side kick to the ankle from Nat, along with a stern glare. He growls at her for it, but doesn’t retaliate. No need to start breaking shit and get yelled at for that too.

Kira’s hiding her distaste with a very quick swig from her mug, while Barbie goes a pale pink, her sluggish heartbeat picking up its pace for a moment. He doesn’t think about why she doesn’t blush as deeply as she used to.

“As much as I’m certain Kira and everyone else here appreciates your insight, shall we keep things professional?” Barbie grits out. Mason just grins toothily, enjoying how it makes her let out a frustrated sound and push back from the table. Kira scrambles to follow her lead, pausing only to dust the crumbs from her skirt.

As Mason is hauling himself up, he hears keys jangle in Barbie’s hand. The idea of being stuck in a car with her and the detective makes him want to scratch all his skin off. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Naturally,” Barbie says breezily as she walks past, as if he was being presumptuous by suggesting there was any other option.

Why does he even fucking bother?

***

Book 1, Near the outskirts of Wayhaven, Mid-morning

They show up when he's on his second cigarette. Kira wrinkles her nose as soon as she’s close enough to catch the smell.

“Put that out,” Barbie demands, frowning at him.

“You're one to talk,” Mason says, taking a long, deliberate drag.

“I refrain from doing it around anyone it can damage,” she replies, jerking her chin toward the detective. He cannot summon enough of a fuck to give, considering he’s not exactly huffing in her face. Barbie flinches, the way she does every time he meets her eye, but she doesn’t back down.

Mason sighs and stubs the cigarette against the bottom of his boot before flicking it into the bushes. Kira watches it sail through the air, glares at him, and then stomps off to go fetch it. Barbie crosses her arms and arches a drawn on eyebrow at him.

“Are we here to watch thralls or skip around the woods?” Mason snaps. From behind a bush, Kira pops her head around with a chastising expression.

“We could be watching them already if I didn't have to chase down your litter.” At Mason’s impatient groan, she adds, “This is protected land!”

“That must be part of why this place is so lovely,” Barbie says, as if she has ever gone hiking or appreciated nature in her life. Mason leans back against a tree, doing his best to ignore the way the bark digs into his skin.

“Oh, Wayhaven’s the best!” Kira exclaims, again unseen as she hunts. Eventually she emerges, cigarette butt in hand. Barbie holds her hand out toward her, a cotton, embroidered handkerchief laid over top of it. Kira delicately places the cigarette there, and Barbie folds it up before slipping it all into her pocket.

“Can we go now?” Mason huffs. Barbie flutters a hand at him.

“Well go on, you’re the one who knows where to go,” she urges.

He remembers a time where he liked her decisiveness, the way she didn’t hold back on telling him exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. Now though, it rankles. He’s tired of every goddamn thing being on Barbie’s terms.

The women exchange glances, and Barbie says, “Well?”

Fuming, Mason swings around and stomps onward. It’s not a real path, but by this point he knows the path of least resistance through the uneven earth and brush. He pushes a branch sticking out in front of him out of the way, letting it go once he’s past it. It swings back, and there are dual yelps of surprise behind him, followed by a sharp, “Mason!”

He smiles to himself and hastens his pace, if only to hear Barbie grumbling as she tries to keep up while wearing heels and a tight dress. The detective isn’t nearly as thrown off, which he almost finds respectable.

Eventually they come to the spot Mason’s used on and off for the past week to keep an eye on the thralls here. Not all of them live in this area, but two are neighbors. Probably targeted for the ease of it all. He crouches down, settling in for a long, boring watch when Kira emerges with Barbie stumbling along behind her.

“Have you spotted them already?” Kira asks. Mason nods and gestures to houses below.

“The ones there, with the red brick,” he says. “The other two are on opposite ends of town, but these ones are easy to watch.”

The detective comes close, smelling distinctly of fragranced soap. It makes his nose itch and his eyes water, but he does his best to ignore it. Eventually, after watching squint for several seconds, he realizes she can’t see the thralls moving around in their houses through the windows.

“They’re in there,” he says. He can’t hear anything at this distance, not over the wind in the leaves.

“What are they doing?” Kira asks. This though, she aims at Barbie.

“I can’t see either,” Barbie replies.

“But you’re…” Kira trails off, then gives a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I know you said you’re different.”

Understatement of the fucking year, there. Mason doesn’t say it out loud, but Barbie glares at him anyway like she already knows that’s what he’s thinking. He doesn’t like that she still knows him well enough for that, while he feels like he hardly knows her at all anymore.

Before the quiet can settle in, Kira asks, “Is that why you wear glasses?”

Barbie laughs, the noise like a punch to the gut. “Oh God, no. These are fake, just plain glass in frames. They actually make it harder to see sometimes.”

“Oh,” Kira says. It’s clear she has a thousand questions, while Barbie seems to regret saying as much as she did.

“You know, I’ve never actually seen a thrall before, so this expedition is quite exciting,” Barbie says quickly. While it doesn’t wipe away the curiosity in the detective’s eye, she follows Barbie’s lead anyway.

“Never?” Kira asks. Barbie shakes her head.

“No. Not even in all the time I worked with Unit Bravo.”

“So you worked with them before?” Kira asks. Barbie looks at Mason again, but he isn’t offering any easy answers this time. So she sighs and nods.

“Yes, I work with a variety of teams who need my help, but I used to work most closely with Unit Bravo before I was transferred,” she says.

That makes Mason snort. “Really? You’re calling it a transfer?”

“Do you really want to get into this right here, right now?” Barbie snaps, her gaze cutting over to Kira and back again. Having her stand over him, looking down her nose with every hair in place makes Mason itch all over. He stands, just to put himself on equal footing with her.

“I don’t give a fuck if the detective hears about it, and you’re the one who brought it up in front of her,” Mason says. Barbie rolls her eyes and it makes Mason’s head start spinning.

“Perhaps I don’t feel the need to air out my dirty laundry. Though Lord knows you probably have!” Barbie shouts. Mason steps closer, nearly bouncing Kira out of the way.

“Guys, easy,” she says as she scrambles to her feet, but neither vampire is really hearing her.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mason demands. Barbie meets his eye fully.

“You have no shame and no decorum,” she says. He blinks.

“Is that news to you?” he asks.

“Don’t speak to me so flippantly,” Barbie says. Mason snorts.

“You think I’m flippant? What about you?”

“What about me?” Barbie crosses her arms.

“At least I actually give a damn about the people I’m supposed to care about,” Mason says. “You can’t handle your goddamn vanity being wounded to the point of running to another fucking continent to hide away.”

Barbie moves then, arm coming up before freezing somewhere just above her hip. She closes her eyes, breathing deep as she pinches her nose with the hand she was certainly about to slap him with. Mason almost wishes she’d tried, even if he’s not sure exactly what he’d do about it.

“Mason, if you think the only problem I have with being a vampire is looking like this,” she says, as if she’s some sort of horrible, mangled thing, “then divorcing you really was the best thing I could’ve done.”

Before Mason can even begin to come up with something to say to that, Kira shoves her way between them.

“Okay, come on. Enough. You’re just finding things to argue about.” She looks between them, keenly taking in all this new information, while also wanting to stop either of them from continuing. Which is just as well, as Mason’s throat has gone so dry he doubts he could say much anyway.

To hell with this, Adam can come babysit if he really wants someone to watch the detective.

Of course, before he can even will himself to move, Barbie steps away first.

“I doubt I can glean much just from observing them as they are now,” she says, fussing with the buttons on her coat. “I’d be better off completing the files the Agency wants on them, which I can do with my laptop and a printer.”

“I have a printer at my apartment,” Kira says after a moment. “You can use that one.”

“Wonderful,” Barbie says flatly. She’s gone the next moment, stumbling back through the trees.

Mason curls and uncurls his fingers, itching to run after her and…

And what? What the fuck does he even want with her anymore? He thought nothing. It should be nothing.

Everything is too bright, too cold, and too damn much. He turns away to settle back on his haunches, ostensibly to observe the thralls, but if he's being truly honest with himself he isn't absorbing a damned thing. The detective settles in beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“That was…a lot,” Kira says haltingly. Mason snorts.

“That’s nothing.” One of the last conversations they had before she ran off, he and Barbie had screamed so loud at one another that Elidor had had to use his magic to separate them. At least Barbie wasn’t cursing his name down for the next century.

“Still, arguing with someone you used to be with can’t be fun.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “You’re a real genius, huh?”

“I guess she hasn’t always been a vampire?” Kira asks. Mason ignores her, but that doesn’t stop the detective from continuing. “I’d ask her, but she seems to get upset when she has to talk about being one. That plus some of what you guys just said…”

“No, she was turned,” Mason says, suddenly too fucking tired to tell Kira to mind her business. Answering her questions will, with any luck, get her to shut up faster.

“Did you know each other as humans?”

“No. I was a vampire, she was human when we met.” Mason stands again, stomping his feet to try and get some feeling back into them. Bloody fucking cold. It’s always worse this close to the ocean.

“But she turned before you two broke up,” Kira says. It’s not a question, so Mason doesn’t answer. Besides, he doesn’t really want to even think about Barbie turning, let alone talk about it. If he had his way, she’d be just as human now as she was then. Nearing the end of her life, sure, but not miserable in her existence either. It’s what he’d been preparing himself to deal with ever since they decided to give being a couple a try.

“What does any of this have to do with the thralls?” Mason snaps. Kira shrugs. Just when he thinks that’s the end of that, she piped up again.

“How do you turn people into thralls?”

Mason scoffs. “I don’t. I can’t. Only natural vampires can. And no, I’m not explaining anything else about that.”

To his surprise, the detective’s response to his acerbic words is to laugh. She rests her chin on her knees.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I don’t mind sitting in silence.”

Relief floods him, as that’s all he’s really wanted the whole time. Even if the silence isn’t really silence, between the wind, the birds, and the squirrels darting around barking at one another, it’s better. He can think more clearly. Even the sound of Kira’s breathing isn’t so bothersome.

As time stretches on, he finds the presence of Kira in general isn’t as bothersome as it once was. He might even enjoy it a bit.

Next

[shanklin]

Speaking of which

Soos and Stan roadtrip when?

Ah

ha ha ha ha

I wrote 2,3k words it went well.

Then I trapped Stan.

Then Stan almost killed a possum [no relation]

Now he's still trapped.

And so am I, because I might need to rewrite parts of the first part and get into darker topics than i intended and and and

It's too hot outside

[chewyhanniebug]

DId the people complaining about Jungji in Bangkok not listen to the final part of the video where they said that everybody else just chilled in their rooms that night? I know some people feel entitled to all parts of an idol's life but they're also allowed to have downtime with no camera in their face??

i'm gonna guess nope. or they just don't care and feel entitled to more like you said. i think doing almost daily content again has been a mistake considering the current xstate climate too but that's a whole other thing in itself i'll dive into in the tags. apologies in advance for it being A Lot

[agardenofbasil]

Chapter 20 of Longing for the Shore is probably going to make some of you really mad at me, but that is a risk I am willing to take.

[hermitcraftx]

just got a dm abt one of my posts and y'all please don't try and show the hermits (or any minecraft youtuber or content creator for that matter) my posts, i'm uncomfortable with it and don't want any of my posts shown to a cc. if they stumble upon it naturally that's unfortunate but i can live with it since i do maintag a lot (something i REALLY need to stop doing tbh i already know i need to make a tagging system just for my blog that wont clog results) but going out of ur way to show a cc is entirely different and something i am not comfortable with.

no hate to the person at all but even if i wasn't a little silly and weird with it sometimes i wouldn't be comfortable with it, i want my blog to be a purely fandom only space with none of the creators involved <3 please respect this

[simplydnp]

I’ve never had boba before, is it good?

anon i need to tell you that i thought this said 'ive never had boobs before, is it good?'

re: boba, i've never had it either! stereotypical white person response, for sure, but i also don't like tea in general so there's that too. i've heard good things--milk tea is supposedly very good! but i can't speak on personal experience. i do think i'd be like phil in that i would not enjoy the surprise factor of the tapioca balls.

[the-casbah-way]

What’s your opinion on the English

[not-poignant]

Hello! I read some of your reposts about importance of comments and that any can be usefull to self evaluation as author. My question - is it weird and uncomfortable if people bring too many personal problems commenting your fics? Like, do you distant yourself out from comments that bring a lot of person's drama, does it feel uplifting in the end, if comment is a lot about reader's not so happy history? Can you still feel joy from that kind of comment?Thanks for unswer if you do.Have a nice day!

Hi anon,

So, this is kind of complex. I would say the vast majority of people don't overshare at all, and when they are sharing from their lives, it's in a way that makes complete sense and is very 'contained.' I can tell they're not expecting emotional labour from me, and that they're sharing because they found a point of resonance between themselves, the story, the situation, or the character/s, or a combination of all of the above.

And like, that's a part of why I write, y'know? I want to strike up that sense of resonance in folks who relate to these characters, so when people share that it has resonated, that's like... purposeful and meaningful to me. I feel like I've made a connection. I also sometimes feel sorrowful - like when someone explains they relate to Efnisien because of abuse they've also experienced, or when someone explains that they relate to a character's chronic illness because of their own.

But I can also generally tell through tone and language that the commenter doesn't expect labour from me, they're speaking their pain into the world in a way that's like 'this is me, and here's this character, and we both share this thing in common.' In a perfect world, none of us would know what this kind of pain is like. In this world, a lot of us do, and we get to feel less alone when we read stories where we feel seen.

And that is, by and large, the general experience when readers share something personal that they resonated with in a comment.

That being said, I do also maintain very strong boundaries with people's personal matters, because I'm not someone who's 'healed and above all my own issues who is sharing what I've learned to people still going through it' I am someone who is still going through it. And often folks have no idea what kind of day I'm having or how I'm feeling when they comment, and so... on the very very rare occasion I do get a comment that feels like it's pushing for some kind of emotional labour that's beyond what I can give... I will not give that labour. I will acknowledge their comment, thank them for reading, and not...give energy I don't have to spare.

And like, honestly, 99 times out of 100, everyone is very respectful of that and even caring towards it.

I can probably count on like two hands, in ten years, the commenters who I felt had become very self-focused or what I felt was over-sharing in comments in a way that sort of...was no longer about me or the story, where they just treated the comment section as a diary instead. In those cases I tend to leave very brief acknowledgements, as a kind of 'I see this, I know this is painful, but this is not my lane, and I don't want this to be my lane.' But a more compassionate version of that.

If anything, the most personal stories, anon, come to me in Asks that are sent via Tumblr, off anonymous, so I can reply privately. These folks are usually very...aware that I might not be in the space to hear them, and are frankly the most 'if you don't have time or energy to reply please don't pressure yourself', so I feel no burden or obligation and that usually makes it easier to reply in my own time.

The ones that come to me via anon, I only reply to selectively, and that depends on a few factors. Some things are extremely personal and frankly I'm not comfortable replying because even if I did it would be to say 'I think a professional needs to handle this.' I've also - very rarely - had a few people do things that were not cool, to manipulate me into caretaking them, usually because they want the comfort feeling that one of my characters creates, and then from there thinks 'Pia made that character so they can give that to me instead.' This doesn't happen often, but it's very distinct when it does.

But that's rare! Super rare!

It might be that others read the comments of folks in fics and think 'I would never share those kinds of details about my life like that' and that's fine for them - but some folks do need to share, and want to feel seen because they felt seen during the fic, and I have no problems with that in general.

I have learned so so much about the human condition, about the fact that things that I thought literally no one would relate to are things that actually a lot of people relate to, etc. through the grace and vulnerability of the folks who comment on my fics with personal anecdotes or even just 'I've been through something like this, and I thought you showed it well / it's a painful thing to go through.'

I know a lot of authors wouldn't have much patience with that maybe? I don't know. I'm literally writing trauma recovery, mental illness and chronic illness, queerness and neurodivergence, and people going through tough times. I don't think an author ends up writing that stuff if they're generally not looking to make a connection with fellow folks who have also gone through some tough times! And even if I can't be those people's support systems, I think all of us having these ephemeral moments of effectively saying: 'Same bro' through the comments, is pretty powerful, and magical, actually.

Caveat: If a person brings personal problems into my fics with the expectation that I will then fix them, that's something I don't really do and don't enter into. That's where my boundaries are firm. Sometimes I won't even acknowledge those kinds of situations at all. If a person reads something for free and then seeks to obligate a complete stranger into being their support or therapist, there's a much bigger issue going on there that isn't my business, and I generally will maintain significant distance in those situations.

TL;DR - I don't think I'd write these stories if I didn't want to make connections with folks who have also gone through some hard times. The vast majority of people who bring up personal stuff aren't necessarily bringing me 'joy' - but I don't just look for joy in the comments, anon, I also look for connection, resonance, moments of feeling less alone, and sometimes that's not easy, but it's still very special. As for the very rare occasions where someone wants me to personally hold their hand, I step back, because a) that's not my job, and b) I don't think folks realise sometimes just how much proverbial hand-holding I need as well lol - I might sound like I have my shit together, but I do not.

[into-the-milgramverse]

Do you ever think about how Amane's warnings were either seen as threats (by Mahiru and audience) or as just test of patience (by Shidou)? Do you ever think about how Amane likely was just trying to protect the ones she cares about? Do you think she didn't actually want to kill Shidou, but felt like she had to to save Mahiru? Do you think that's why she's mad at us for not stopping him?

First MV, shows her helping a (cartoon) cat, getting punished, then promising to be good. Gets voted guilty and punished, giving a message that practicing medicine is bad and deserves punishment.

Second MV, shows what the punishment was and that the cartoon cat was real cat.

Do you think after that first vote result, she started to think of Milgram as the same as her mom? That Milgram has the same rules against medicine? That if Shidou continues to practice it, Milgram will punish both him and kill Mahiru?

Do you think Amane killed Shidou immediately after knowing that he was voted Innocent? Do you think she felt like that was a huge risk and that she'd get punished again, this time for ending a life too early before it was supposed to, but that she thought it was worth it to protect Mahiru from same fate that the cat she took care of faced? Or do you think she waited until she was voted Innocent as well, to get confirmation that it's acceptable to punish someone for breaking the rules? Do you think even then it felt like a risk given how close she was to being voted Guilty again? Do you think she's currently scared of what we'll do now?

Do you think she regrets the decision? Do you think she too blames herself now for Mahiru's death, along with millions of voices that blame her for it?

[balkanlila]

he tried to talk to me 3 times today and i acted like he wasn't there each time. i am the worst person you know confirmed 💖

[famewolf]

im punching and punching and punching my anxiety today

[ghastbutlikegay]

dudes ive hit a point with The Horrors:tm: where im unable to convince myself that any of my friends actually like me