#I wanted them to go from the canon-shittiness to 'those steel blue eyes let you know where home is'

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Stumbled upon an old post about what awful lines were said about Bucky in TFATWS and holy fuck it is horrific.

"Your overextented life"

"Before you were his pet psychopat"

"Big cyborg brain of yours"

"They cleared the bionic staring machine and he killed almost everybody he's met".

Don't get me started on removing Bucky's arm without his consent. You DON'T take away someone's limb, especially not as a punishment for "bad behavior."

And people honestly wonder why some of us had issues with how Bucky was treated in that show. I remember people accusing us of not liking Bucky's story because "we don't want trauma survivors to find happiness and healing". Like I'm sorry but just because he's smiling at the end of the show doesn't mean his arc was written well. As a trauma survivor myself I don't have high expectations when it comes to Hollywood but Bucky's recovery arc (if you can even call it that) has been among the worst depictions of trauma and healing from it I've seen in recent years.

(I'd appreciate a link to that post so I can reblog it please, Anon! I was wondering the other day how many horrible lines there would be, if you put them all together. 😬 Yikes.)

.

*warning: this is gunna be salty af cuz I've been binge-watching House and have his acerbic voice in my head.

You're right not to call it a recovery arc, Anon. Bucky has never had a recovery arc, because that requires acknowledging he has something to recover from.

TPTB refuse to, because they want to paint Bucky as generic Crossbones dudebro villain, who needs to 'do better' after being a mind-controlled slave, and deserves to be verbally and physically abused.

As demonstrated by supposedly 'good' character X treating him like crap (ha! so hilarious! boys will be boys!) and/or not standing up for him when other character Y treats him like crap in front of them. (And yes I have to include Steve in this writing, too.)

Bucky in TFATWS is spoken of literally as Secretary Ross talked about Bruce et al in CACW. Comparing them to weapons. Things... not people. Just how a villain would talk about human beings. (And even badly-written!Steve was appalled by that, remember?) No alarm bells ringing in the TFATWS writer's room, tho? Hmm. Guess they were too lazy to watch the movies.

Although Disney skipped the actual arc towards happiness, to relegate SebStan to cheaper cut scenes, Bucky did have happiness and healing in the movies (thanks to Ryan Coogler, not the Russos. Thanks Ryan.)

But TFATWS had to shit on that, via the VA's Second-Worst Counselor. They wanted to take credit for what Coogler did -- by limp-dickedly retreading the exact same story beats (too lazy to come up with something original? too dumb? too reluctant to include Bucky in the first place?) Only with a different set of black people swapped in to replace T'Challa, Shuri, and the village people kids (because they're interchangeable? or because only black Westerners count, now? Ah but I'm forgetting that Arabic guy who came up to- uhh- thank the American Air Force? 😬 Genuinely jaw dropping. Gotta love those good clean Iron Man values.)

"I remember people accusing us of not liking Bucky's story because "we don't want trauma survivors to find happiness and healing."

I can't stand people who hijack that kind of therapy-speak to bullshit that that's why they like something.

IMO the truth is that fans don't want to admit that the writing sucks, that the writing of Sam has been sucking since CACW, because they like Sam and see TFATWS as his show -- when, jesus, is it really tho? Just because his name's on it?

Zemo and Walker got more attention and arc than Sam. Even Izaiah got the better speech. Steve got to demolish an American alphabet agency, what did Sam get to do in his show? Introduce the Flagsmashers when Sam is reluctant to dress in the flag, and he doesn't even get to lead them He gets stuck protecting the status quo?

That's the danger of 'media consumption' with Disney these days. Woke-washing.

It's... kind of like how fast fashion chains will greenwash their products, to pass off plastic fabric as organic material.

People who think of themselves as X-leaning, (or want to be seen as X), also want to believe they would recognise Y-leaning portrayals... but they lack critical thinking skills when it comes to media analysis.

So corps like Disney know they don't actually have to be left-leaning in their portrayals, because they can pass off any right-wing thing as a genuine progressive doodad just by cloaking it in the correct language or aesthetics.

(Hey, right wing writers! Want to make a dehumanizing ableist gag? Make a black woman do it! Ever wish sexual assault in the office could be shrugged at again? Make a white woman do it! (Make sure she's Upper Class and English, too!) Want to to make sure your protags can't be read as queer? Want to get away with basic locker-room homophobia without being nagged about it? Just play on the nostalgia of interracial 'buddy cop' movies, and - as usual - make a black guy do it! Want to portray the USAF as an heroic force in the Middle East? Make an Arab say thanks to a black American Airman! Wokewashing -- it covers all ills!)

Time was, Disney would only do this with their villains -- and you do get a hint of that Classic Disney long-coated predatory gay villain with Zemo.

Only now, instead of getting away with it because of widespread homophobia, Disney and fans can get away with it by accusing anyone who criticises of it being a homophobe.

But they're still writing the creepy gay scene-stealing villains. 🤔

Same with a shitty victim-blaming portrayal of a therapeutic 'arc'. The people who don't give a shit about that won't criticise it, and those that do- well, they must just hate trauma victims IRL, uwu. 😥

Insidious, isn't it?

Disney may be virulently allergic to giving SebStan anything significant to do these days, for fear of getting more gay cooties on Captain Comphet, or distracting from Captain Coloniser: Creator's Pet... but you cannot deny even those idiots M&M wrote a better arc for Steve and Bucky than the idiots that had a whole show arc to accomplish that for Sam and Bucky.

(Seriously, how do you fuck up in six attempts a thing you've already seen someone else manage in two? Oh- wait. Right. They haven't seen them manage it in two. They didn't watch the movies. 🤦‍♀️)

As far as friendship goes, I would have preferred Sam and Bucky ended as mutually-respectful frenemies (or even - imagine! both apologising for things they've actually voluntarily done to each other!)

Rather than just slapping some schmaltz onto a turd at the last second and calling it a rose. As you said: one instance of Mackie & Stan breaking character to smile at the end of a lazy montage does not equal a written arc. Let alone a well written one.

[flowerflamestars]

i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

Fanfic Ask Meme: A: How did you come up with the title of It's the Perfect Story? J: Write or describe an alternative ending to It's the Perfect Story. P: Are you an 'architect' or a 'gardener'? X: A character you enjoy making suffer. Y: A character you want to protect.

A: How did you come up with the title of It’s the Perfect Story?

i wanna preface this answer with: i always like my titles to be symbolic. as much as i can. main titles of stories are a must. chapter titles not so much, but if inspiration strikes me, i’m there.

so i did the same for this story. another important note is that this was a rewrite. and the final important note is that i knew that luke was going to die in this rewrite (i.e., i knew that i wasn’t going to change too much of canon, i wanted the main storyline of the pjo series to pan out as it had in the books)

from there, i believe at the time i was thinking about this rewrite/beginning this rewrite, i was listening to dr. horrible. it’s a short musical (the full title is dr. horrible’s sing-along blog) and it has a song called “so they say.” in it is the line: “it’s the perfect story, so they say.” (emphasis mine)

you really gotta go listen to full song to get the depth of my reasoning, but the reason i chose that particular line in that particular song is because of the fact that this song is so upbeat and there are parts that are really funny. but if you listen to the lyrics it’s really, super cynical and actually quite sad (especially within the whole context of the musical–seriously it’s like an hr, go listen to it).

also i’m a hoe for irony (see also: the second to last chapter, the chapter in which luke dies, that i named “that famous happy end” from the song so close)

long story long, i like to take a phrase from something (a song, a quote, etc.) if it like really fits with the story/chapter, but the something that i took it from also provides context and gives a deeper meaning to the story/chapter. irony isn’t a must, but if it happens to fit and is ironic, i’m down 110%

the rest is under a cut bc it’s get hella long

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to It’s the Perfect Story.

um so…idk if this like actually counts as an alt. ending (this question is worded so ambiguously what)

update: this question was actually quite hard to answer. i had an idea but i didn’t want to go with that. and so i’ve been sifting through ideas all day. so here’s smth i finally felt i liked/could stick with

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Luke held Tori in his arms, squeezing her shoulder tighter than necessary, but Tori didn’t even notice. Not with the gaping hole in her chest from Luke’s sword, weilded by that dracaena, Kelli.

They were still in the suit from last night, after she’d just woken up from having been stabbed by her own sword, by none other than Kelli.

Tori was really starting to hate Kelli.

Luke’s beautiful blue eyes were filled with unshed tears. Tori could feel him trembling as he held her.

“I’m sorry,” Luke managed, squeezing her tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Tori managed. Her vision was already blurring, fading in and out. Luke’s voice sounded far away. Luke opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off, “Promise me something,” she whispered, reaching a shaking had up to caress his cheek.

Luke closed his eyes, his tears finally falling. Tori gently stroked her thumb under his eye as they opened again.

“Anything,” Luke whispered, sinking even closer to the floor. He’d been on his knees before, but now he was sitting with his legs underneath him.

“Don’t…” Tori took a hollow breath. “Don’t follow me.”

Luke shifted, cradling Tori. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he replied, a smile pulling at his lips as more tears filled his eyes. “Off of a cliff. To the ends of the earth.”

Tori smiled, too. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Castellan.”

“Tori–”

“You can make this right,” she interrupted again, her smile dropping. “Please, make it right again, Luke.”

“Tori, please…” Tears were freely streaming from his eyes now.

“I’ll find my way back to you,” she said with such ferocity, it startled Luke. Then she started shifting, as if trying to sit up. Her hand moved from caressing his face to gripping the front of his shirt. Luke helped her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I promise.”

Her hand went slick and Luke felt her let out one last, small breath. He gripped her to him, silent sobs wracking his body. The only thoughts echoing through his mind: I’m sorry.

When Luke finally managed to get a handle on his grief, he stood, Tori still in his arms, and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes were closed, skin ashen. He took her hand into his. It was still warm.

“Luke–” Kelli tried, but Luke looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes as sharp and cold as ice.

“Let me have my grief,” he snarled. “You owe me that much.”

Kelli didn’t look happy about it, and the bear brothers shifted, looking oddly uncomfortable. Luke turned back to look at Tori.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, thoughts racing through his mind the whole time. Of what he should do, what he could do to keep his promise to Tori. He hated that she knew him so well. He would’ve taken his sword and run himself through the moment Tori had taken her last breath, but her words had sunken into his mind and taken root.

“We should go now,” Kelli said, in a harder voice. Luke didn’t turn to look at her this time, only stared at Tori’s peaceful face. Her hand had turned stone-cold.

Make it right.

Luke almost turned to tell Kelli, “No.” and face the consequences. Or maybe start negotiations he could do that.

But then a thought struck him like lightening.

He’d never been proud to be a son of Hermes. It wasn’t just that his father was a shitty at being a father, it was also that anyone unclaimed was crammed in the Hermes cabin. Anyone in there was miserable, Hermes kid or not.

The first that usually came to most people’s minds when thinking about Hermes was that he was a messenger of the gods, sometimes god of thieves, which was dangerous.

Hermes, god of thieves–cunning, silver-tongued, highly intelligent.

Whether he liked it or not, Luke was his father’s son.

And he would use those skills his father had granted him to keep Tori’s promise: he would use his cunning, his silver-tongue, and his intelligence to gain Kronos’s trust. And just when Kronos thought he’d have it all, rip it away from him, like he’d done to Luke.

Only for her. Only for Tori.

“Luke.” Kelli said with force to catch his attention. Luke raised his head, steeling his resolve. “Having second thoughts?”

Luke gritted his teeth for a moment before unclenching his jaw and turning, letting go of Tori’s hand.

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

so uh, apparently i can’t let them be happy. moral of the story. sorry fam, the powers that be have spoken. i am unable to come up with like an actual happy ending for them haha that’s not entirely true, i have smth planned for them that you could call happy, all things considered

i’m not sure it’s exactly what the question is asking, but it does end differently??? luke ends up playing double-agent, working for Kronos, but feeding chb information. this is a great au, like fuck, i’m saving this for later

extra: i almost had luke jump heroically in front of tori and take the sword for her, and die. and then she would become the double-agent if only bc, uh, burial at sea? fuck yeah. and with tori’s impeccable aim, she’d land that flaming arrow right on target. luke? not so much. but then i was like…nah, luke’s heritage makes more sense.

bonus: i’d been tossing the idea of tori taking the curse of achilles and being kronos’ vessel for the longest time for itps before i finally decided on smth else

P: Are you an ‘architect’ or a ‘gardener’?

i’m, what we in the professional business call, a landscaper.

in all seriousness though, for all my stories i’m both. i’ll have certain plot points (big or small) planned out–they need, must be in the story, no exceptions. then i need to get from point a to point b, and the path isn’t always straight/linear. it’s in those moments that i’m really more of a gardener, where i let the characters tell me where to go.

sometimes i’ll spend fucking weeks imagining every single detail in 1080p high-def imax surround sound for a certain scene and/or plot point so when i sit down i’m like

but when i’m on the path between point a and point b, where i may have some vague sense of where i’m going/how to get to point b (or sometimes no sense at all) i’m more like

(this is most often a weird hybrid where i’ll have an idea, but i won’t have a clear vision, and so i’ll sit down and write it and let the characters and the context of the scene take me where it will. the moments when i don’t have any idea of where i’m going are very rare)

but for the past few months *cough*since i’ve started grad school*cough* it’s been more like

when will my muse return from war

(to be fair to myself, i hit serious writer’s block. i’m having trouble coming up with ideas to move the story forward in the direction that i’d like it to go.)

bonus: the whole, “tori became the very thing she was trying to save luke from” was totally a “gardener” moment. didn’t plan it, was just writing and my brain was like wait a minute–perfect

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

i’m so much better at writing ocs than i am actual characters, just bc i’m so nervous abt mischaracterizing them. whoo boy, can ppl get so mean abt mischaracterization.

and look i understand, but getting all up in ppl’s business is rude and really uncalled for. what happened to being civil? guess ppl don’t know her.

anyway, i mean honestly apollo from the pjo series??? like yeah i write tori in some pretty harrowing situations…heh, but it’s really more so i can explore her character and keep the reader interested, as well as seeing my reader’s reactions (those are the best)

but anyway, whenever she interacts with apollo i always enjoy having her get underneath his skin (he’s very fun to write from an outsider’s perspective and when annoyed)

wait until she meets him as a mortal. he may look sixteen, but he’s like 4 centuries old so you bet your ass tori is gonna tear him to shreds

Y: A character you want to protect.

dude

bruh

this is jumping way far away from pjo-verse, but uh any female character in ffxv deserved better fam like

ya’ll can fucking fight me on this

okay, but also, like actually protect: adrien agreste (my sweet sunshine child) from his manipulative, abusive father (fuck you gabriel, go burn in hell), and promoto argentum (my other sweet sunshine boy) from life’s hardships in general bc he deserves all the good things

♪ ♫“The use of words expressing something other than their literal intention.”♪ ♫