#One book IS not big enough to cover that many characters and how they feel about everything tho without getting bloated

[oposssumsaucee]

Listen All Systems Red is so so funny from Gurathins perspective imagine you grew up with Space Socialism and was hired to go help some pal with science but you weren't allowed to go unless you rented AmaTeslas Torment Nexus Alexa Dot and then when you get there you find out a whole continent of people got annihilated by their Tourment Nexus rentals so you take a moment to check yours quickly and find out it already had disengaged its Don't Kill People box, the only thing you've ever been told prevented them from mass homiciding their clients, something that LITERALLY just happened to people you knew a day ago, and when you say to your fellow socialist doctors HEY I think our Tourment Nexus is fucked up and it's files said it killed dozens of people barely a year ago and we should probably get the hell away from it the same doctors are like look at what you're saying. You're hurting the Tourment Nexus' feelings. The Tourment Nexus is just a little construct who likes Netflix Gurathin stop antagonizing it on the plane ride.

[excusetowrite]

Let Him In

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Summary: A young actress finds herself thrust into an unexpected and uncomfortable reality when she lands a role in a mysterious film alongside her teenage celebrity crush. As she navigates the complexities of her character and her own emotions, the lines between fiction and reality blur when Jack O'Connell, now also a grown man steps into her life covered in blood—and into her trailer. Their first encounter sparks an electric mix of nervousness, desire, and overwhelming attraction, setting the stage for a dangerous game of obsession and unspoken promises.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this chapter is not but future ones will be nsfw. This chapter includes a slow build into emotional obsession, brief blood imagery (nothing graphic), inappropriate levels of attraction to a coworker, parasocial tension turned real, embarrassing fanfiction flashbacks, and one very charming british man showing up at your door in the dark. No actual spice yet, but we’re laying the groundwork for feral things to come. Also: mild age gap (about ten years), and this is a fictional story about a real person—don’t read if that’s not your thing! This chapters hopefully just the start of a good, sexy story. Hot men and vampires make me feel inspired, what can I say? (Note to anyone reading for a second time: I changed our characters name to Maggie on account of I’m a dumbass and didn’t know his irl girlfriend’s name I SWEAR that was an accident.)

Dripping Red and Smiling

I’ll never forget the dread that filled my chest when, after weeks of a grueling audition process, my phone finally rang. I wasn’t sure what the project actually was, and neither was my agent. They were looking for an Irish-American woman in her mid-twenties who could sing and dance. My agent pushed me to send in a tape of me singing with both an Irish and a Southern accent. I figured that would be the end of it. The movie was top secret, but to my surprise, a week later, they sent me two scenes to read, and that’s when I started to understand the gravity of my role.

One scene was romantic, almost, with just a hint of tension. It was easy enough to perform for the camera with my agent off to the side. The other scene was—well, eerie. No lines really, just a test to see how I looked if I was in a trance. Then, the next week, they sent me to try on some costumes. Still no script. Still no decision. Just some photos of me in the period style. My contact that day let me in on the fact that the director had a serious vision, and that was the reason for all the secrecy. That’s when I realized this could be big—really big. And that’s when I got nervous.

But then the phone rang. I booked it, and almost immediately, I was flying south to start filming for the next three months. I’d booked jobs before—some film, some theatre, some online, but nothing of this magnitude. I don’t even want to describe my reaction when I walked onto set and saw Michael B. Jordan for the first time. Swooning is an understatement. However, I’m a professional. I’m capable of keeping it cool and acting just as nonchalant as all the other professionals around me. Or so I thought.

I was fifteen when I watched Skins for the first time. All my friends were watching it like some sort of teenage rite of passage, and that’s when I was first introduced to him. Cook was cute—cute enough to be my screensaver and to write and read fanfiction about in my free time. But he was nearly ten years older than me, and overseas. No matter how many times I fantasized about it, I couldn’t imagine any real scenario where my celebrity crush and I ended up together. I forgot about him almost as quickly as I obsessed over him, moved on to being obsessed with some Marvel character probably. Teenage girls, ya know?

The first time I saw him, I had just been given the official copy of my script. I was walking to my trailer and beginning to finger through the thick binder, haphazardly with it in one hand and a coffee in the other. That’s when the door to the makeup trailer opened, and he stepped out—face and neck covered in blood. I stumbled, dropping my binder but managing to save the coffee. He smiled at me as he walked down the steps, scooped up the binder before I could collect myself, and gently handed it back. I’d once written fanfiction about the man standing in front of me now, his blood-streaked costume a far cry from the charming English teen of my daydreams. It was surreal, even disorienting, to be on this side of the screen, and I was shocked. It took me just a millisecond too long to respond for it not to be awkward, but I still managed a grateful smile as I took the binder from his outstretched hand.

“Sorry, I’m still learning my way around a set this big, and my head was in the clouds when I tripped,” I tried to explain. His smile grew as he looked down at me, the blood down his chest a stark contrast to the kindness on his face.

“It’s easy to get turned around, where you headed? I’ll walk you there on my way to set,” he said, his smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

I blinked at the unexpected kindness before opening to the first page of the binder and the map they had tucked in the front. “Uh, trailer six,” I responded.

It was Jack’s turn to look a little surprised, though his surprise was more humorous where mine was embarrassment. “You’re my Maggie. Nice to finally meet you. I can’t wait to work together.” Maggie was my character's name—a daughter of Irish immigrants who was struggling to settle down in places where she was neither a person of color nor white. That was about as far as I’d gotten with my parts of the script other than the scene where- oh god. He put his hand to his chest to introduce himself, “Remmick, at your service. But you can call me Jack. I’ve been excited to meet you, how far have you gotten?” he asked as he motioned to my script, and we began to walk, him leading the way.

"Uh, not too far yet, just got it handed to me about twenty minutes ago actually." My heart thundered in my chest as my mind raced—Remmick. Remmick. Most of my scenes are with him. The scene I read for was a romance scene with Remmick.

When I was fifteen, I had no idea that the boy I’d once dreamed about would be standing in front of me, covered in blood, and asking about my script. My schoolgirl fantasy felt like a lifetime ago, a harmless fantasy I used to entertain in the corners of my mind. Now, I was about to work with him, in a way that was far too real. I should have been focusing on the script, right? But instead, my mind kept wandering back to the fact that I was walking next to him. My teenage daydream, here, with his blood-stained shirt and charming smile. I had to remind myself—this was my job, not a fanfiction come to life. But my heart didn’t seem to care about that. I have to finish reading this script. Jack walked me all the way to my trailer and had the decency to open the door for me. I was lucky to keep my cool as I walked up the steps and looked down at him to say thank you.

“Not a problem at all,” he said with kind eyes. “And my trailer’s right next door. We can run lines together as soon as you're caught up,” he motioned to the binder. “I know they got you here kinda late, so just let me know if you need anything.” I smiled and nodded my head as he gave a slight bow, signaling his departure and turning to walk to where I only assumed he was about to be filming for the day. I am absolutely not qualified to handle this.

---

The trailer was comfortable, way nicer than what I was used to when working on a project. But I didn’t have time to enjoy my new niceties, not when I was trying to consume the script at record speed. It took most of the afternoon and well into the evening to finish reading, and god, the story was moving. A beautiful horror story, layered within our history, that challenges not only religion but the things we were raised not to question. The diversity of casting is a breath of fresh air, and with that being said, the diverse character plots also point out the fact that the cost of survival isn’t always unity. Reading it again and again, it became clear I hadn’t just booked a horror movie, but a movie about survival, about assimilation or freedom.

Maggie’s role in all of this? To me, there are four romantic foils at play here. Smoke and Annie represent true love, trust, and freedom at the cost of everything. Stack and Mary are the forbidden lovers who search for freedom and family at the cost of those very principles. Sammy and Pearline are lust, a short-lived love that we never get to see blossom and that haunts Sammy for the rest of his life. Maggie and Remmick? They represent obsession masked as love. She’s a link to the place he misses the most, and she’s desperate for fulfillment from a man. Where the other three relationships love truly, Remmick and Maggie’s love is only masquerade, just as his offer to the patrons of the Juke is just a masquerade.

I had been moved to tears a few times this evening, and I couldn’t wait to pick Ryan’s brain while filming. But I was tired now, and I needed to shower and sleep. Still, tickling the back of my mind were anxious thoughts about the scenes I was going to have to film with my teenage crush. As I showered, I recalled all the forced proximity romances I’d consumed through the years. I also recalled the lewd stuff I had written a mere ten years ago about the man I would now be forced to interact with. A nightmare, or a dream come true? I had just pulled on my nightgown when there was a knock at my trailer door. A knock I was not prepared for.

Towel still in my hands, I swung the door open expecting a PA—not him. The air seemed to thicken as I swung open the door, and the heat of the Louisiana night seemed to press in on me. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him—tall, dark, and impossibly close. His smirk, playful yet knowing, sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. This wasn’t the boyish crush from my youth. This was... something else. Standing there, grown, no blood, nothing to remind me of the immature character I dreamed of just a few years ago. But the funny thing about life is it rarely gives you the ‘dream’ version you expect—it gives you this. Reality. With a side of nerves and a dash of inappropriate excitement. I hadn’t been in any sort of frame of mind to notice earlier, but he was clean-shaven for this role, his hair a longer dark ruffle already sticking to his forehead from the Louisiana heat. The sight of him at the bottom of my steps in the dark, with only the lamp from our trailers illuminating him, almost startled me—almost. But there he was, my teenage wet dream, smirking up at me.

“Sorry to bother you so late, I just finished for the day and wanted to check in and see how you’re settlin' in and doin' with the script?” he asked, and Jesus Christ, his accent pulled my mind to a place it absolutely shouldn’t go.

Sheepishly, I dropped the towel from my hair and held it in front of me, a sort of modesty blanket to cover my nightgown. Not that my nightgown was outrageously inappropriate, it was an action more out of self-consciousness than anything.

“That’s very kind of you,” I smiled. “I’m settling in well. I’ve finished the script and begun preparing for my first scene.”

“Aye, our first scene?” he interjected, matter-of-factly.

My smile turned sheepish. “Yes, our first scene.” I only had one scene that wasn’t with him before he turns me, and we aren’t filming that for weeks. That’s kinda Maggie’s whole thing—always right there, always in his reach. The thought of all the scene cues I read where he’s possessively holding some part of me made my cheeks heat. The thought of the scenes where he would be holding me, marking me, doing more with me, made my stomach flip, not just because they were more than intimate, but because I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that would be Maggie and how much would be me.

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to let me in to go over it a few times together?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.

My sheepish smile turned into a smirk. “The irony, you standing at my door in the dark asking to be let in?”

At that, he let out a genuine chuckle. “It is, isn’t it?” God, was he charming.

I pushed the door open wider and motioned for him to come up the steps. “Yes, of course, I would love to run lines with you. Come on in.” The look that flashed across his face was not all that different from how I imagined Remmick would have looked, and just like Maggie, I had just let him in.

[artbyblastweave]

Here's one change made by Watchmen (2009) that's basically a microcosm of everything I dislike about the film. After the reveal that Comedian was Laurie's father, Manhattan espouses the idea that in spite of his search for thermodynamic miracles in contexts devoid of life, his detachment from humanity blinded him to the chain of remarkable circumstances necessary for Laurie to exist; he returns to save earth because Earth produced Laurie, specifically, his ex-girlfriend and superheroine extraordinare.

In the comic, Laurie points out that the unlikelyhood of her own specificity isn't actually less unlikely than the circumstances by which billions of other people came to exist- and that, exactly, is Manhattan's point. He expressly extrapolates this logic to the rest of humanity- Earth is a miracle factory by virtue of being the one place that can support humans, all of whom have the exact same kind of contradictory history and interiority as Laurie, all of which he was paradoxically blinded to due to his power-induced self-absorption.

This, in turn, ties into one of the biggest ideas that the comic has regarding the superhero genre, which is that it's necessarily myopic, because it's very difficult to tell a superhero story that doesn't on some level implicitly buy into the idea that the superhero specifically is uniquely worthy of attention- the world contorts itself around the person who's name is on the cover. Structurally, non-superhero characters in superhero stories find themselves in an orbit; supporting cast members, love interests kept in the dark, civilians to be saved. Cape stories that deliberately defy this dynamic exist- Watchmen itself is one of them!- but are visibly positioning themselves opposite the standard assumptions of the genre by doing so. Many of the other characters embody this myopia. Rorschach's whole opening spiel is about how intellectually and morally elevated he is over the teeming masses, and his mask killer theory is fundamentally motivated by an ego-flattering desire for the neutered institution of costumed heroism to be relevant enough to sit at the center of a widespread conspiracy. Comedian's gleeful amorality is a means of justifying his horrible actions as the work of a man who's fundamentally above and smarter than every convention and concern of the little people. Dan is the most "normal" and in ways the most cynical about the change-making potential of heroism, but when he finds out about Hollis's murder it takes less than a second for him to start throwing his weight around and threatening Comedian-tier atrocities against the entire neighborhood- because Hollis was one of the characters who mattered. And, of course, Ozymandias, who positions himself as above the sophomoric dynamics of traditional superheroism, is nonetheless still pursuing a plan by which he, the Big Man Of History, unilaterally sacrifices countless nameless NPCS in order to trick the rest of the unthinking hordes into behaving themselves, eschewing anything remotely involving collective action. Almost everything untoward that happens in the book can be directly tied to a failure to internalize what Manhattan did- that other people are important. That everyone who gets blown up at the end of issue 11 could have been the subject of a whole comic book themselves.

But in the movie- which, for space, axed most of the supporting cast even in the ultimate cut- Jon's epiphany stops and starts with Laurie. She's not a microcosm of the miraculous phenomena of humanity at large, no, she specifically- a badass superheroine played by a Hollywood starlet- is just so very special and worth saving the planet over. The scene is adapted almost word for word, right up until the part about "you and everyone else." I guess you can infer that bit, given that from there Manhattan is still out to preserve human life in general, but nonetheless the scene now feels like it's reinforcing the exact logic that it was supposed to be arguing against- that only superheroes matter, and that only the interiority of superheroes can move the needle.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

Okay relating to a recent post, cleaning up Logan after a fight/mission? Maybe you have a kit ready to go when you hear him return, put his favorite pjs on a fluff cycle so they're nice and warm for him. You clean off any blood (maybe a few remaining wounds if it was BAD bad), and wipe down his claws. Maybe shower together, letting you run your fingers through his shampooed hair before getting cozy for the night

I just wanna take care of him

you! you get it!!

comfort

summary: you take care of logan after he comes home from a mission.

cw (treating this like ao3 tags): blood, wound tending, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, not proofread at all, english isn't my first language so beware, reader has hair, i'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but i'm a girl so i may have accidentally added something gendered without realising idk. this is very soft! you can say this is out of character for logan but i believe he's actually a big softie and just wants love!

word count: 1619

logan comes home to you sitting on the couch reading a book. or, well, you’re trying to read, but it’s hard to focus on anything when logan’s out on a mission. you know he can’t die, his regenerative healing factor pretty much guarantees that, and yet there’s still an irrational spark of fear that lives in you, lighting a fire in your heart every time he gets called away by the x-men.

every minute that passes is a dagger, every new star that appears in the sky a reminder of how long he’s been gone. missions for the x-men can be mere hours or last for days, you remind yourself, and time has nothing to do with how dangerous it is.

though logan typically only gets chosen to go on the dangerous missions. he’s not the one they ask to convince new, young mutants to go to the school. he’s too harsh, too jaded.

you immediately drop the book when you hear the sound of the door lightly creaking open. you’re on your feet in an instant, there to catch logan when he falls into your arms, sweaty and bloody and tired - not as much physically, he has insane stamina, but mentally.

“missed you,” he mumbles into your hair, tucking your head under his chin.

“missed you more,” you reply.

you stay like that for a few minutes. you both need the comfort. early on in your relationship, logan would refuse this type of comfort after a mission, claimed he didn’t need it, he’s fought and killed his entire life and never had a sweet thing like you to take care of him when he got back. but you did, you needed to know he was there, with you, a physical presence, proof that nothing terrible had happened to him.

secretly, he revelled in those moments. now, he trusts you enough for those feelings to be spoken out loud, whispered reverently between “i love you”s, declarations of affection and faith. you’re the only one who’s ever been able to get him to open up this way, to verbalise his feelings instead of swallowing them down.

“you’re covered in blood,” you comment, running a hand down his chest.

he shivers, “most of it’s not mine. but they got a few shots in.”

you hum, pulling back to take a better look at him. his shirt is torn in a few places, and in the middle of his chest are multiple neat, round holes in the fabric, small marks showing where bullets pierced his skin. the wound itself has healed, but the blood remains, a visual reminder of the pain your boyfriend was feeling not so long ago.

he may heal quickly, but he still feels pain, feels agony, and your heart shatters at the way others seem to forget that, so quick to put him in the line of fire. he’ll be fine, they say, and while that may be true physically, there’s only so many times a man can play human shield before he breaks.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, the next part of your routine for when he returns from missions. 

it’s a dance you’ve almost perfected, the way he wraps his arms around your waist and you have to walk to the bathroom with him clinging to you. 

he sits down on the closed toilet seat, closing his eyes and letting you do all the work. his claws come out next, stained with the blood of those he harmed and killed, yet you trace them softly all the same. they protect you - he protects you, really, and so you’ll always be grateful for them, even when logan considers them a curse, a stain upon his existence, turning a man into a monster.

you grab a washcloth and dampen it, wiping meticulously at each sharp blade, from his knuckle to the pointed tip of the adamantium. soon, the washcloth is stained a dirty red, almost brown in its appearance, and the metal gleams brightly under the bathroom lights.

there’s an ease to his posture when he retracts his claws, so slight a difference that no one else would have noticed. he told you once that he can feel the blood remaining on his claws when they pull back into his skin, that it’s an uncomfortable reminder that he’s hurt people, that he’s a killer.

he doesn’t clean them himself, says the reminder is necessary. you disagree, and so you took to wiping them down yourself every time he came home after any sort of fight.  

there’s a small spot of blood between each of his knuckles where the claws pierce his skin, the tiniest bit of red that welled up before the cuts could heal themselves and you wipe that away too. then you lean down to press soft kisses to his hands, the part of himself that logan hates most.

he sighs, a shaky exhale leaving him at the sight of you lowering onto your knees to worship him, to prove your adoration.

any other time that would be enough to turn the mood of the evening into something much different, but he isn’t willing to give this up quite yet, this soft intimacy that’s always felt so foreign to him, a type of love he’d convinced himself he would never get to experience.

“i’m gonna go throw our pajamas and a few blankets into the dryer. you can get the shower going in the meantime, ‘kay?” he agrees easily, of course, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and soft.

pulling away is almost physically painful but you manage. you find the fluffy hello kitty pajama pants you originally bought for logan as a joke as well as the matching set you bought yourself and grab the blanket that sits at the foot of your bed, throwing them into the dryer to warm them up.

he sleeps naked most days, a blessing for you, but on his more difficult days he likes to cuddle up to soft, plush fabrics. besides, you like to think that the silly pajama pants bring him comfort, a reminder of your love for him, that you’re thinking about him even at the most inopportune of times.

he’s in the shower when he returns, the water tinged pink as it slides down the hard, muscled planes of his body. you’re quick to undress and join him, stepping under the hot water, feeling it soak into your hair and skin.

“you’re gorgeous,” logan says, grabbing onto your waist with his large hands to pull you to his chest. he brushes your wet hair out of your face. “can’t believe how lucky i am to have you. what did i ever do to deserve you, sweetheart?”

“you don’t have to do anything to deserve me, logan,” you say, “just being you is enough. and really, you do so much for me. every day.”

“loving you is the best thing i ever did,” he admits, “i’m gonna continue to do whatever i need to keep you. wanna be with you until i die.”

you’ve had conversations like these before, usually always in moments of vulnerability, often coming after devastation and horror. he doesn’t say these types of things in the light of day, but he doesn’t take them back later either. they just stay, floating in the air between you.

one day, you think, you’ll be able to have a real conversation about the future with him. it’s a goal to look towards, but he’s not quite there yet, and you’re okay with that. you’re content with what he does tell you, praise that he marks into every inch of your body.

you use your body wash to clean him, knowing he’ll smell faintly of you afterwards, and the possessive part of you is pleased. your hands tangle in his hair, scrubbing the shampoo into his scalp. his head is tilted down so you can have better access. 

it gets harder to finish cleaning him as his body leans into yours, two magnets always seeking each other. 

you exit the shower before him, allowing him a few more seconds under the water pressure to pull the last remnants of tension from his form. you pat yourself dry and then hurriedly grab the garments you’ve thrown into the dryer, stepping back into the humid bathroom as logan turns off the water.

the adrenaline has made way for bone-deep exhaustion, and so you help logan dry off.

it’s peaceful, quiet, as the two of you finish your nighttime routines. he brushes his teeth and watches you do your skincare routine, unwilling to go into your bedroom if you’re not by his side.

he falls asleep before you, for once. typically, he struggles to fall asleep, worried about the nightmares that plague his slumber and the possibility of harming you while unconscious. it’s nice to see him sleeping peacefully, the stern lines of his face flattening into a soft tranquillity that only you get to see.

you can feel your eyelids growing heavy but you need to watch him just a little longer. so you fight the darkness that wants to pull you under, focusing on the hand you have placed on logan’s chest, the way you can feel the steady rising and falling of his breathing, the way his warm skin feels against the palm of your hand. 

“i’ll always come back to you,” he’d told you once when you had expressed the worry that seizes hold of you whenever he’s away for long.

you’re smiling when you fall asleep, those words replaying in your mind. he’s home, with you, and as long as he comes home to you everything will be okay.

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do hashira with an extremely tall s/o, who is additionally mean & scary looking but literally the sweetest person ever. No rush(if you do it) Thankyouu! ^^

(Hello hello Anon! I hope you are doing well and that you enjoy this. This is mainly like how you met/how the Hashira first impression of you so I hope that’s okay. Have a great day/night!)

Unexpected Softy

(Characters Included- All the Hashira)

(Warning: GN! Reader, fluff, and some swearing)

🦋Shinobu Kocho🦋

- She first met you in her infirmary, you were injured in a fight fairly badly so you were in a vulnerable position. Due to the condition you were in she had to keep a very close eye on you, to ensure your safety. She saw it all by now in the Demon Slayer Corps after all, so your intimating looks didn’t faze her.

- She does find it adorable that you look all tough on the outside but is actually a big softy. She teases you about it all the time, she just can’t help herself.

🐍Iguro Obanai🐍

- Was shocked at first about how sweet you were compared to your appearance. He thinks it’s a nice contrast though, it’s one of the things he likes about you the most.

- He ended up growing fond of you very quickly. It was a strange feeling for him at first, considering kindness in his world is hard to come by. Even so, you continued to be so nice and eventually he got used to the new feeling.

🍡Mitsuri Kanroji🍡

- Was lowkey a tiny bit scared of you at first but still thought that you looked cool. She wanted to get to know you but didn’t know how exactly to approach you. So one day when she was having a snack, she saw you and offered you some. Once she realizes how nice you are, that fear completely dissipates in an instant.

- One of the many things she loves about you is that you’re taller than her, more of you to hug (koala style or one of those bone-crushing hugs)

🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥

- Not afraid of you at all, in fact he approaches you first. You two got along really well, especially with both of your kind spirits. Even some of the people who were terrified of you saw you two being so friendly and got over their fears.

- If he sees other slayers nearby visibly shaking in their boots because of you, he’ll kindly introduce them to you and tell them that there’s nothing to be afraid of. He will also say how kind you are and to never judge a book by its cover.

🔊Tengen Uzui🔊

- He’s another one who talks to you first. He likes your vibe. He definitely helps boost your confidence, the compliments he gives you and how he hypes you up is enough to make your confidence skyrocket.

- When you meet his wives, they get comfortable with you fast due to your kind nature. Even though Suma is a bit afraid of you, she enjoys your company and eventually warms up to you.

☁️Muichiro Tokito☁️

- Didn’t think much about you at first. I mean demons look scarier than you, some of them at least. Then fast forward to when you two started dating, he began to notice how others looked/acted towards you. He questioned it to himself but didn’t say anything as long as no one messed with you.

- Your kindness rubs off on him a bit the more you two hang out together. The other Hashira even notices the change.

🌪️Sanemi Shinazugawa🌪️

- At first he mistook your tough demeanor as you thinking that you’re better than everyone and that made him angry. He didn’t say anything though, but that was until one day you accidentally bumped into him. He got pissed thinking that you did it on purpose and started yelling at you, accusing you of thinking that you’re superior to everyone.

- Once he was finished ranting, you cleared things up telling him that none of that was true. Fast forward months later when you started dating, that first confrontation became a inside joke between you two (he kinda feels bad about it, he makes it up to you tho)

🌊Giyuu Tomioka🌊

- He can relate to you, after all, being a Hashira he also knows what it feels like to have people be afraid of you. When you first spoke to him, he was pleasantly surprised by your kindness. It makes a small smile appear on his normally blank face.

- Does make a mental note to compliment your appearance and tough exterior often when you’re dating. Just in case your brain decides to mess with you one day and tries to make another insecurity.

🪨Gyomei Himejima🪨

- Doesn’t notice your “scary” looks because, well, he’s blind. Though he does however notice the way people act around you and the tension that arises in the air whenever you come along. He doesn’t understand at first until he asks the frightened people what’s wrong.

- Of course the terrified slayers just said it was nothing and scurried off. He was even more confused. Until you came up to him and explained that they were most likely scared of you. You said it like it was nothing because you were used to it by now. Gyomei nodded in understanding, he knows how you feel and offers some words of encouragement.

Masterlist

[mischiefmaker615]

Like You Mean It (Loki Love Story) Ch.1

Summary: You accidently teleport into a book- not knowing it's smut and come face to face with Loki who is very much convinced on keeping you from returning home

Rated: R *dark warning*(DARK ELEMENTS!)

Theme Song/Inspiration: "Like You Mean It" by Steven Rodriguez

Your eyes fluttered open, still feeling a bit dizzy but it was normal when you first phase in. It took a moment to realize why it was still dark before finding there were covers over your head. Strange.. you’ve never really woken up in a bed before, it’s usually more normal settings like in a garden or on a couch.. as far as most Loki stories go that you chose from... You supposed that’s what you got for deciding to pick a story at RANDOM this time- since this one got chosen from the internet.

You had discovered this power one day at random- wishing you could just.. disappear and escape from the hell you called home life. Ironically, you had been holding a book at that same time and within a blink of an eye- teleported in it!

It was scary at first, and many panic attacks had followed accordingly before you figured out quietly how it all worked. You replaced the main character- you could do whatever you wanted, and despite following the storyline or not, all you had to do was concentrate and wish to be home again.

No place like home bullshit.

Bravery consumed you and dared going through practically your whole bedroom library. You’ve been on so many adventures and was wise to still with ‘safe’ books. There was no way in Hel you’d choose your horror genre. It wasn’t to long after, that you discovered that by holding your phone- as if it were a book, you could even phase onto online literature!

Fan fiction there you went! And what better books to enter, than fluff galore with your character dream man god Loki!

You inhaled deeply, your body having been relaxed in.. probably the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been on and that covers held that perfect weight where you felt safe, warm and cozy. What met your senses though was the familiarity of pine and musk, masculinity making itself know before you took in the whole picture-

You were naked.

Your body sat up quickly with a start, hands flying to keep the sheets around your chest while light flooded your sight, making you blink to clear your vision. Looking around, you found to be in some sort of large royal bedroom. Kind of a Victorian style but more hints of Greek, there was gold everywhere and most of the fabric held a dark forest green to it- drapes, carpet and the very blanket that weighed your body down. There was a fire started in the corner, a tray on the small table with a cover over it and a few books scattered about on the couch nearby.

Slowly crawling out of bed, you moved cautiously as if you were prey- hiding from whatever predator was following you. This must be a fluff book.. yeah- perhaps a time skip happened.. Though you’ve never found yourself nude before, in any Fluff book so far. You clutched the bedsheet tightly around yourself and looked around, eyes widening more and more when realization consumed you to realize you knew nothing of this plot still. That in itself made you move faster over to the large wardrobe to take care of your first concern.

The heavy wood creaked, having to make a small effort to pull it open fully before you were presented by an assortment of clothes, all sporting a bit of green, gold and black.. all for men. They were too big where you’d be swimming in it just as much as you already were with the bed sheet. It was clear you were in Loki’s room, his scent having been the first hint, then the colors and it was obvious now that you must be in the palace of Asgard.

Relatively in each story you’ve been in, Asgard works and looks the same way. So.. there had to be some maids scurrying about the halls, right? If you two.. did have sex (before this time skip you kept convincing yourself of).. you’d think he’d be a gentleman enough to leave you some clothes before he had left you here.. whenever he went.

The very thought made you blush even more- the fact that you had been naked.. but not really, but when you see him it’s as if he did see you? Shit.. this is what made phasing through stories confusing.. where you did things but not really did things but people acted like you did things.. so the fact that Loki is around here, having seen you naked.. what were you to expect if he returned? You never had time skipped before.. would it be like a blink before you’d wake in the next scene? Or.. was this actually a… no no no- There’s no way in Hel this could have been one of those.. smut fics you had heard about.. being naked was just one huge.. coincidence..

That little voice in your head came back, often telling you that you were playing with fire every time you phased into a book.. but you couldn’t help yourself! Reading was your life anyway, it just so happened that this whole power thing happened by accident.. much like other people’s addictions out there- you just wished there had been an instruction manual years ago. So first things first- get dressed.

There would have to be a maid around here somewhere..

Moving towards the door, your feet sunk into the soft carpet with every step while the heat of the fire created goosebumps along your skin. Royals really did live in luxury, and you found yourself spoiled half the time whenever you returned to your regular old life.  Clutching the sheet tighter to yourself, you drew in a breath and reached for the knob.

The door was locked.

Raising a brow, you tried again, even pulling on the handle just to double check you weren’t as weak as you thought you were. Still locked, your heart began to race as you slowly backed away from the door and your eyes moved faster around the room again. No clothes.. what if Loki entered? This was his damn room after all.. shitshitshit-

You quickly ran to the bathroom, jumping a little at how cold the marble met your feet before you shut the door behind you and leaned your back against it. Of course, this door didn’t have a lock. There was no way you’d be able to hold it closed when everyone in this entire realm basically had the strength of the gods. Asgardians..

Your eyes rose and took in the huge bathroom. The large stone bathtub illuminated with the sunlight coming from the window beside it and could hold at least six people easily. The sink was built for two- a his and hers style. Towels fluffy and shampoos radiating their fragrances without even being opened yet. Out of all that, you opted to grab the hairbrush- it’s handle gold and hard enough to.. maybe hurt- just encase..

Fluff not smut.. fluff not smut.. fluff not smut…

What were you doing.. assuming the storyline was going to put you in danger? If anything, you might be compromising your entire self by threatening whoever you saw first and now your in a bigger mess by possibly insulting a royal. You ran your fingers through your loose hair, a nervous habit you adopted when your skin began to feel tingly with stressed.

“good morning darling-‘’

That voice.. that familiar voice came out in almost a sing song-ish, happy tone where it seemed to give you hope that perhaps you weren’t in danger. Loki’s voice.. the soft and silky tone you loved in.. who knows how many stories you’ve been in. Luckily by its muffles, you could tell he was in the bathroom and not in the large bathroom you’d probably have to explore to make sure a person wasn’t actually in here. Regardless, you leaned forward to check around to make sure he really wasn’t in here before the jingle of the handle beside you confirmed his whereabouts.

You were still naked.

‘’darling? are you in the bathroom?”

Fuck.

AHHH first chapter is out! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE BEING TAGGED. Been planning this one for awhile (other books/one shots will continue to be made/updated). More Related "Book Mention" Content~

"You're So Dark" "Literature Lurking" "Gif Skit" "The Selection"

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @izka8520 @trash-panda-kitty @alylanaeblack @amfilth @the-fandoms-onceler

[judasprieist]

hey there, i was wondering if you would be interested in a scott barringer x selective mute!reader where she kind of only tends to speak rarely and mostly to scott alone ? i was just thinking it could be cute, i loved your scott one where they made bracelets it was so cute and he still felt in character 💚

a/n: aaahhh i'm so happy to hear you liked it, anon! 💗 to be honest, i haven't watched higher ground yet, so i'm not very familiar with what's in character for scott and what isn't, but i'm glad i managed! i hope you like this one as well :) i tried my best for you.

୨୧ scott barringer x selective mute!reader

contains: fluff, scott is a persistent cutie

Mount Horizon was your worst fears coming true. It was everything you so desperately wished to avoid — kids your age, social interaction with kids your age, being perceived by kids your age.

No matter what, you couldn't seem to fit in. Not that you tried, of course, your brain turning off each time someone tried to talk to you. It made you feel like an idiot, but it felt something so deeply out of your control. Truly irretrievable. A lost cause you were, according to everyone.

And when you thought it couldn't get worse, Scott Barringer found you.

The first time he tried talking to you was during a group project that was forced upon all of you. It was like talking to a wall. You did your part quietly, all while avoiding eye contact with everyone. You thought it would be enough to keep him at arm's length. After all, most people deemed you rude and unapproachable after their first try at conversating with you.

To your utmost horror, Scott Barringer was unlike anyone you'd ever met before. He seemed completely fine with only having you as a pair of ears to talk off. He would join you during lunch, find you whenever he got into an apartment with someone. Somehow, he kept going until you found yourself expecting his company at every corner.

The first time he actually heard you speak had him doing cartwheels in his head. It wasn't much, but it was a start and it made him feel so many things he couldn't even name.

You were sitting under the welcoming shades of the old oak tree that you'd grown quite attached to, a book in your hand. You were almost fully emerged in the story, until you heard the sound of an unmistakable voice.

"Hey, Bambi." Scott greeted you, taking a seat across from you without any questions. You lowered the book into your lap, raising an eyebrow at him. He gave you a warm smile as your eyes met his.

"What are you reading?" He asked, trying to sneak a glance at the cover of the book. You raised it, allowing him to read the title. "I've never read that before." He replied, and you couldn't help but let out a quiet scoff. "'Course you haven't." You mumbled, so quiet he almost missed it.

Once your words registered, his eyes widened slightly. He could feel his heart beating a little faster, out of pure excitement. He was almost convinced you were completely mute, but look at that. His grin stretched further across his face. "Was that a sentence I just heard coming out of your mouth?" He teased, and you regretted opening your mouth at all.

It took you another week to say anything at all to him. He didn't seem to care too much. Scott was over the moon over the fact that you even spoke at all, and he understood it must've been a big step for you, to talk to someone relatively new.

Slowly, you found yourself feeling more and more comfortable talking to him. You were quiet, most of your answers consisted of one or two words, but Scott was all ears, hanging onto every word, no matter how few they were. He was proud of you either way.

[danikamariewrites]

Romance Books

Eris x reader

A/n: another installation of corruption kink Eris x reader but this one is really sweet

Warnings: suggestive and fluff

One of the many Mating gifts Eris has given you so far is a library. A room had been cleared out and built to be your dream library. Big windows, a reading book, and cozy furniture sat among the empty stacks. The cases waiting to be filled by you and Eris.

On your most recent date with Eris he took you into the city to buy you books. “I want you to start filling our library, my heart,” he said as he held your hands outside the bookstore. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet. Anxious to buy out the whole store for your new collection. Your books from home have been moved in already, as well as a few of Eris’s favorites from his own room.

Eris had encouraged you to buy whatever you wanted. You decided to grab a multitude of each genre. Especially romance novels. You thought learning about different aspects of relationships from different angles would be useful. Besides, you didn’t want all the romance of this mating to rest on Eris’s shoulders.

This afternoon, you once again found yourself reading one of your new smutty books in your usual spot. You had picked one of the more mild Sellyn Drake novels. Lots of kissing was in this one.

As the chapter goes on, the male character makes his way down the female's body. Kissing every part of her. Your cheeks heat and you squeeze your thighs together at the rush of arousal between your legs. Clearing your throat you shift your position. You curl up into a ball, pressing yourself against the back cushions and holding the book up to cover your crimson cheeks.

Eris watched as you repositioned yourself to be covered. He could smell your arousal from across the room. Smirking, your mate silently stood, quickly making his way over to you.

Eris plops himself down on the couch hard enough to make you bounce. The scream you let out distracted you from him plucking the steamy romance from your unusually tight grip. “Eris!” You gasp out. “Good gods! Don’t scare me like that,” a giggle escapes your lips as you swat at his chest.

“What’s got you so edge, little fox?” He hums, amber eyes skimming the page you left off on. His wicked smirk slowly spreads on his lips. “My, my little fox. I didn’t know you were reading these kinds of romance novels.” You bury your reddening face in your hands as Eris keeps reading.

“I didn’t want you to be the only romantic one.” Eris let out a breathy laugh, marking your spot and setting your book down to pull you into his arms. “Little fox, what are you talking about? You do romantic things for me everyday.” He kisses you on the head, adjusting you on his lap.

“Really?” You pull your hands from your face, resting them on his strong chest. Letting out a sigh Eris kisses your nose, “Of course. You spend time with me every day, all those little kisses you give me when you pass my desk, even putting my favorite candies on top of my papers is romantic.”

You give your sweet mate a big smile. “I love you, Eris.” Eris stops breathing for a moment. Soft, bright flames dance in his amber eyes. That’s the first time you’d ever said that to him. Eris’s smile widened, “I love you more, little fox.”

Taking the lead you closed the space between you two, slipping a hand into his fiery locks and tugging a little. You felt the bond sing as your lips moved against his. Eris pulled away sooner than you liked. He gently held your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Now,” he whispered against your lips, “how would you like to explore what you’ve been reading about?” You felt your cheeks flush again as you nod slowly. Eris smirks and begins to kiss down your jaw to your neck. Cauldron, how did this feel even better than your lips?

Eris moved lower and lower until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you, holding your hips. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” His voice was deeper and smoother than you’d ever heard. The seductive tone sent a shiver down your spine rendering you speechless. Another nod was all you could muster. “Just relax, little fox. I got you.” Eris winked before slowly pushing your dress up your legs.

[runawrites-blog]

Deadpool Being A Girl Dad Would Include 🌸

-Wade Wilson is the biggest Girl Dad™️ and anyone who disagrees can fight me on it

-Of course, he would have been happy about a boy just as much as a girl but when you came back from a doctor’s appointment to tell him he’d have a daughter he was overjoyed

-When you ask him if he’s crying and tell him how sweet he’s being he just tells you to fuck off and you just hug him tightly

-He buys his daughter so many stuffed toys, going through the whole animal kingdom, then buying unicorns and dinosaurs, too

-He loves painting your daughter's nails and he lets her paint his nails, proudly walking around with his colourful nails and showing off how he matches with his baby girl

-speaking of matching, he will wear clothes that match the ones your daughter is wearing and it won’t matter what colour or motives they have because he’ll gladly wear matching Hello Kitty sweaters just as much as he’ll wear a matching dinosaur shirt

-You have to lecture him on safe sleeping and not letting his daughter sleep in a bed full of stuffed animals

-From the day that he found out he'd have a daughter he was going over names every day, looking them up online, asking his friends about their opinions and overall being very imaginative

-Some of the names were better than others but eventually, you two came to a compromise

(-I personally headcanon his daughter's name to be Bea after Bea Arthur from Golden Girls because in the first Deadpool, he wears a shirt with her face on it, I just needed to share this)

-He adores dressing his daughter in cute outfits, not necessarily in the sense of dressing her in puffy dresses or clothes covered in bows, but in clothes with cute prints

-Wade gets that a baby needs comfortable clothes but that doesn’t mean they can’t have cute kittens on them or be brightly coloured or covered in a glittery print

-He would also totally let his daughter choose what she wants to wear, letting her pick the wildest mix-matched outfits ever

-When his daughter gets old enough to actually understand what books you two are reading to her, he goes out of his way to look for ones with positive female role models

-He buys books where the girl saves the day, where the female characters are strong and independent, where they have agency and big dreams because he wants his daughter to know that she can be anything she wants to be and that she can do that on her own

-That doesn’t mean he isn’t protective because if any bad guys catch wind of the fact that he has a daughter and threatens her, he’ll go ballistic on them

-Spends hours watching Barbie movies with your daughter and then dances around the flat singing along to the songs with her while she pretends to be a princess or fairy

-Wade tries to learn how to do your daughter’s hair and spends countless hours on the internet, looking up tutorials on how to do elaborate hairstyles

-He is always distraught when he can’t get it right and you have to come in and help him

-Totally has tea parties with his daughter and her stuffed animals

-He’ll also be super interested in her hobbies, be it football or ballet, baseball or horseback riding, he will let her talk his ear off about it

-Speaking of ears, when his daughter wants to get her ears pierced he goes with her and lets her sit in his lap so she won’t be afraid but it’s actually him who ends up flinching more than her when he sees her little face scrunch up in pain

-Then he’ll buy her twenty new pairs of earrings while you go on telling him that the piercing needs to heal first and she won’t be able to wear them for another month or so anyway

-Wade is the Dad his daughter's friends feel safe around, and they ask for help if anyone makes them feel uncomfortable or unsafe

-loves watching stereotypical girl shows with her, like My Little Pony or Winx Club

-listens to boybands with her

-has pyjama parties with her where they paint each others' nails, watch romcoms, eat popcorn and do face masks

-Wade is the Dad who loudly cheers his kid on during school functions, big games, dance recitals, you name it and he never misses one of these events

-If he has to show up in full Deadpool gear so he will make it on time then he will

-When his daughter gets older and gets her first period, he panics a little but when you sit down to talk to her about it he is there to reassure her, too

-never embarrassed to buy pads or tampons for his daughter and brings home her favourite sweets to make her feel better

-imagine him standing at the cash register in full Deadpool getup buying menstrual products and chocolate for her

-he is also very good at getting blood out of clothes, so that comes in handy, too

-he will teach her self-defence, showing her all the ways she can protect herself, verbally and physically

-insanely proud when she managed to take him down and slam him onto the floor

-isn't the biggest fan of going shopping but will do the stereotypical dad thing where he sits down and lets his daughter put on a full fashion show to show off her new clothes

-he knows what it's like to feel insecure about your looks so if his daughter ever feels insecure or not pretty enough he will actually sit down to have a serious talk with her and tell her how beautiful he thinks she is

-has the sweetest nicknames for her, from regular ones like "Honey" to things like "Light of my Life" or "My Little Princess"

[hlficlibrary]

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

🎒 so let's cross the lines we lost by @thecoloursneverfade {E, 165k}

Louis lives a not so quiet life on a not so quiet street. Starting university was supposed to be easy, that is, until he realises his new neighbour is Harry Styles, and they kind of hate each other, so falling for him is definitely out of the question.

(or: Harry and Louis have a complicated past, Niall throws too many parties, Zayn is definitely not pining, and Liam just wants everyone to get along)

🎒 i want you so much (but i hate your guts) by becauselarry / @obviouslybecauselarry {M, 83k}

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

🎒 And I'll judge the cover by the book by harrystylesandstuff {M, 73k}

At twenty years old Harry has his life figured out. He’ll graduate from the private University of Buckingham and move to Oxford to study journalism. He’ll meet someone who shares his values and accepts who he is, and apply everything his successful parents have taught him.

At twenty-two years old Louis has no clue what he wants in life. He’s not sure he’ll pass the year and doesn’t know where he’ll go after that. He spends his time smoking away his doubts about himself with his friends and all he cares about is making sure his family doesn’t fall apart.

They don’t belong together.

Or a Private University AU where Harry is a queer posh prince, Louis is a closeted troublemaker, and neither expect to understand each other the way they will.

🎒 always you (i should have known) by 28goldensfics / @28goldens {T, 60k}

“Oi, now we’re talking. Came running to ol’ Tomlinson for help, gotta say Harold,” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Harry watched as his eyes looked him over. “It's very out of character for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special, you're my last choice,” Harry subconsciously crossed his arms as well, giving Louis his own look over.

“Oh, that's a lot of power, I’m your last resort!” He wagged his finger at him, letting out a cackle. “Alright, hit me with it.”

Harry’s lips pursed as he slowly started to regret the words about to spill out of his mouth, “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

🎒 Love's On The Line, Is That Your Final Answer? by PearlyDewdrops {E, 53k}

Harry can’t believe it when Louis, the boy he’s always had a tempestuous rivalry with, asks him to be his boyfriend. Well, pose as his boyfriend, that is—for a new television game show in which young couples are quizzed on how well they know each other for a jackpot of thirty grand.

Reluctantly, Harry agrees—because he's got student loans to pay off, hasn't he? What's the harm? And he can totally deal with keeping his secret thing for Louis under wraps too. This is all just to win some money. It's fine. No big deal. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything. Obviously.

🎒 catch me if i fall by @shimmeringevil {E, 47k}

“You– how do you–” Louis stammers before attempting to compose himself, fighting off the tidal wave of fear that threatens to wash him away in its wake. “No. You don’t. You don’t know.”

Every protest falling from his lips is in vain, because despite what he keeps telling himself, Harry knows.

Harry's widening smirk is answer enough as he steps forward slowly, walking up until he’s right in Louis’ space.

“You look like you need some time to process things,” he whispers with false-earnestness. Sliding a hand under Louis’ chin, Harry tilts his head so Louis is forced to look up at him. “Why don’t we take a little break and start up again later, so you can mull things over?”

OR - Lovers when on the stage but bitter rivals as soon as they step off, Harry and Louis have butted heads from the moment they first met. Locked in a stalemate that they hope to ride out until graduation, things take a turn when Harry learns that Louis is hiding a secret.

🎒 Through a Mirror Dimly by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {M, 38k}

Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.

Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.

They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate.

🎒 an ocean in my veins (you'll be diving in) by me_her_themoon / @dreamersdivin-headfirst {E, 31k}

But, since Niall is so talkative to literally anyone with a working mouth, it means that when Louis Tomlinson started to take a shine to him, Harry started to hate him.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just Harry and Niall, and whoever else wanted to join their antics. It was Harry and Niall and Louis.

Did Harry mention that Louis is a stupid fucking prick? He wants to make sure that’s clear.

[or, harry and louis hate each other and niall just wants everyone to get along]

🎒 don't make this easy (i want you to mean it) by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze {E, 24k}

“Harry’s a player. All he does is chat everyone up. And guys like him are just--so ugh. He’s got that arrogant, self-assured smirk plastered to his face all the time. Always smug and stupid, like he could get anyone he lays his eyes on. All he does is make me mad and laugh all the time like he knows something that I don’t. That is so annoying.”

“But that’s just Harry,” Niall shrugged at Louis. “He doesn’t even try to flirt or anything. He’s just naturally charming, but that doesn’t mean he’s a player nor that he’s trying to get into everyone's pants. He’s just friendly. And he likes you. He doesn’t usually fall for people, but he fell for you.”

“Oh, should I feel special then?” Louis asked, snorting and rolling his eyes.

or Harry’s a frat boy who is head over heels for Louis and Louis wants nothing to do with him.

🎒 it's not a walk in the park to love each other by maroonmoonlouis (E, 24k}

“Um, where is your stuff? Have you even packed?” Harry tries not to sound irritated. Louis looks up to level him with an unimpressed glare.

“If you had bothered to pay attention to the news, you would know that I’m pretty sure I can’t leave this apartment.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry demands, hoping his panic doesn’t show. If Louis missed his flight, Harry will personally pay out of pocket for a new one. He is that desperate for his alone time.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are roommates forced to quarantine together, but they hate each other very much a lot.

🎒 Love Me Please by @angelichl {E, 23k}

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They're soulmates.

🎒 I Didn't Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) by @allwaswell16 {E, 20k}

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

🎒 Spinning Out Waiting for You by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose {M, 18k}

Harry Styles is a year and a half away from graduating with a masters in potions and he has one huge milestone to reach in his academy career: the Matching Ceremony.

From Halloween night until graduation, matched witches and familiars will have to create a talisman to be a physical representation of their bond. One for the witch and one for the familiar. Most pairings last an entire lifetime.

If only it were that simple.

🎒 if it looks like, feels like, tastes like love... by tempolarriefics / @tempolarriefix {T, 16k}

Niall has an easygoing smile on his face, bright and unbothered, as if he isn’t facilitating a lunch between Harry and the one person he might truly hate. “Niall. Louis,” Harry greets them both, somewhat strained. Louis doesn’t even look up at him. Harry sighs, taking a seat next to Niall and grabbing for the sandwich on the table. “Hear me out,” Niall says, cutting right to the chase. “Family housing.”

Or, the one where harry and louis hate each other but pretend to date to be able to live in university 'family housing', zayn and liam are their nosy next door neighbors, and niall is the friend who made it all happen.

🎒 oh so familiar by @insightfulinsomniac {E, 13k}

When Harry transferred to the University of Mestonwood, he hoped that he'd finally fit in. As a witch, he's much less likely to feel isolated on an entirely supernatural campus, right?

Wrong. Thanks to the cold-shoulder efforts of Louis Tomlinson, president of the vampire Coven, Harry still feels the sting of rejection from the most gorgeous boy on campus. It's doubly frustrating that everyone else, even Harry's only close friend, Niall, seems to think Louis is a great guy.

Harry vows to actively ignore Louis in return, but his plans are foiled when his familiar, Oli, starts turning off their telepathic connection during Harry's classes. It doesn't take long for Harry to find out where Oli is disappearing to - or, rather, who he is disappearing to.

A story of misguided enemies to lovers brought together by a stubborn orange tabby.

🎒 Do You Like My Sweater? by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou {E, 13k}

“Look, for a Sadie Hawkins dance the omegas are supposed to invite the alphas instead of the other way around.”

Niall and Liam shared a look. “That… sounds like the sort of thing you would usually be all over, Lou,” Liam said, face pinched in confusion. Niall nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, if omegas were hosting it,” Louis replied sourly. “It’s one thing if we decide that we’re going to ask the alphas for a change. It’s insulting that they think we need their permission.”

When Harry's alpha fraternity decides to host a Sadie Hawkins dance, outspoken omega Louis has a thing or two to say about it.

🎒 Where Do We Go Now by @jaerie {E, 10k}

Louis goes off to college ready to start a fresh life away from the oppressive alphas of his pack. The odds aren't in his favour when his new dorm mate turns out to be an alpha. Louis hates alphas.

🎒 Can't Buy My Love, Can Buy Me Dinner by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 {G, 9k}

Is it ethical to accept a dinner date for the free food? And will you hate me when I go anyway?

Fact 1: Louis hates Harry Styles. Fact 2: Louis is temporarily living off toast and spaghetti hoops. Fact 3: ...Louis may be semi-accidentally dating his worst enemy.

🎒 Cut me up, kiss me harder by @lunarheslwt (M, 9k}

“Y’know, you push and push and you’re mouthy and defiant, but it’s all an act isn’t it,” Harry pressed tauntingly. He was helpless to not tilt Louis’ face back up to him by placing a hand under his chin. Louis’ eyes fluttered in response. “You just want to be roughed up a little,” he continued, voice dropping. Louis swallowed harshly, keening. “You just want to be made to take it.” “God, shut UP!!” Louis hissed, fisting roughly at his shirt. “You don’t want that either,” Harry mumbled. “Are you like this with every other omega you fuck too? How does anyone,” Louis seethed, crowding into his space further, “beg you to fuck them when you’re so full of it?” “Who said they do?” Harry asked. “Unless,” he began, voice devious, “You’re speaking for yourself. Is that it? Are you gonna beg for my knot, then? Hmm?” “Shut the fuck up,” Louis bit out. Harry had no time to think before Louis crashed his lips onto his again.

Or, a group of friends, a slightly drunk alternate version of spin the bottle, and the universe having a wicked sense of humour may just be enough to bring one bratty omega and a tired-of-said-omega’s-bullshit alpha closer than they’ve ever been. In more ways than one.

🎒 Lock On by thinlines / @thinlinez {E, 8k}

“Sure you don’t wanna do this? It’s fifty pounds a throw, my man.” The alpha winked as Louis froze before turning slowly back to face him. The twinkle in Liam’s eyes meant that he knew Louis had taken the bait. “Fifty pounds?” Louis exhaled as Liam nodded, holding the water balloon further out. The smaller alpha swallowed thickly. “Why didn’t you say so?”

In which a missed water balloon throw might have led Alpha Louis to the world's most difficult omega

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 2

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

The one person who turned your school life into a nightmare will take over your father's business.

You never had any interest in following in your father's footsteps. Tom had told you from the beginning that you weren't fit for this work. And you hated the business; you wanted to burn it to the ground.

Even though you had never come home for several years, you kept sending your father monthly money. That money was enough for him to move and buy a new house in a big city. Last Christmas, you called your father and told him to sell the house, but he said nothing.

Something never changed: your father would put work before his own happiness.

Now you know why he didn’t want to sell the house. Because he had found someone to continue the business. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky is the popular kid from the wealthiest family in town. Everywhere he went, people followed him. His entourage echoed his every move.

When Bucky said something about you, his followers echoed his sentiments. If Bucky said A, his entourage would cover B to Z, and he never stopped them.

You once thought that he looked down on you because he was rich. But after moving to the city with Ransom and meeting many influential and wealthy people in the business world, you realize that Barnes' fortune was nothing compared to the 0.1%.

Now, you see him as just a regular person.

You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "This is a big mistake. I shouldn't have come back here." You walked past them, not even glancing in Bucky's direction, and headed upstairs to grab your things.

Tom followed after you. “Y/N, please, we can talk about this. I didn’t know how to tell you.” He knew he had been an absent father. After you left for college, your relationship worsened.

You only called him on holiday, and he was afraid to call you first. He didn't know how to start the conversation when he had the chance to talk.

You stayed silent, slinging your bag over your shoulder and holding your laptop.

“Where are you going to stay?” Tom asked, desperation in his voice. “From what you told me, you don’t have much cash.”

He was right. Your bank account was blocked. But you still had some cash and your Rolex, which you could pawn. You glanced at your watch as you headed down the stairs.

Distracted, you missed the last step and started to fall. “Ahh!”

You braced for the impact, but instead, you hit something solid.

“Did you hurt your foot?” Bucky asked, holding you steady. His voice was worried. He had been about to leave, not wanting to cause more conflict between you and your father.

You looked at his face, searching for the smug expression he always wore when he tormented you with his “silly pranks.”

Quickly, you pulled away from his grasp. You didn’t want to be near or share the same air with him.

You walked past him, treating him like he didn’t exist. Before opening the door, you grabbed an umbrella—a habit of always being prepared.

As you opened the door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes, turned around, and saw Bucky stopping you.

“Please, listen to your father first,” Bucky said softly, sounding anxious. Your father stood at the top of the stairs, speechless.

At this moment, you felt like an outsider. They seemed more like father and son than you and Tom ever had.

You pushed Bucky's hand off your shoulder. "Keep your hands off of me!" Your voice was filled with years of pent-up anger and pain, each word like a knife stabbing into Bucky.

You slammed the door and stormed off, your heart pounding with a mix of rage and betrayal.

Back at the house, Bucky and Tom stood staring at the closed door.

Tom sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Give her a moment. She's been through a lot."

Bucky, still shaken, asked softly, "What happened to her?"

⌚

At the pawn shop, you tapped your fingers anxiously on the glass counter, awaiting Mr. Rogers' appraisal of your Rolex watch. His gaze met yours, and he inquired, "Do you know how much it's worth?"

You nodded, a sense of unease creeping over you. "I bought it three years ago for around $25,000. With the current market price, and since I didn’t bring the box and certificate, the price will be lower. I would say it’s around $8,000."

Mr. Rogers's eyes widened in surprise at your precise evaluation. Clearing his throat, he mumbled, "Ahem, you're right. And because you’re Tom’s daughter, I will give you that price."

You quietly sighed. You had just arrived at one shop, and he already knew you. But what could you do? This was the only pawn shop open this morning.

"Wait a second, I'll grab the money for you," Mr. Rogers announced before disappearing into the back room.

Taking a seat, you fidgeted with your phone, searching for the nearest hotel or motel.

Just as you began to scroll, your phone rang. It was Maya, your lawyer. You had chosen to work with her because she was your assistant's friend. Money was tight, so you couldn't afford a well-known lawyer.

“Hello?” you answered the call.

“Hi, are you alright? You have arrived in your hometown?” Maya asked.

“Yes, I have. By the way, is there any progress?” you inquired.

“Yes. They already looked through it. I guess you could hear good news in 3 days,” Maya replied.

You sighed in relief. “I’m glad. Thank you.”

After a brief conversation with Maya, you ended the call. Then you heard someone clear their throat.

“Ahem.”

You glanced up to see that the person behind the counter was no longer Mr. Rogers but his son, Steve Rogers, who was also Bucky’s friend.

Back then, Steve didn’t say anything when you were made fun of. But he didn’t do anything to stop the silly pranks either. So his name was also written in your black book.

But now you weren’t the same person anymore. You were a 'female Midas'. You were supposed to be confident. Steve used to look at you as if you were invisible. Now you should do the same.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him. There was a stack of cash, probably $9,000, in front of you. Mr. Rogers was quite a generous man.

You picked up the money and stuffed it into your bag. It was enough to live here for 3 days before you went back to the city.

Steve noticed that you didn’t even look at him. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a while. Are you staying?”

You continued to ignore him. As you exited the door, you clapped your hands, making Steve jump. Then you muttered, “Oh, it’s just a fly,” as you walked away.

🏨

You left the pawn shop and glanced back at your phone to find a cheap hotel or motel nearby. As you walked, sweat poured down your back, making you feel uncomfortably sticky. It was the most strenuous workout you had in a while, just trying to find a place to rest.

Eventually, you stumbled upon an interesting hotel on the booking app. The hotel was located inside a big building that sold outdoor equipment. It was cheap and conveniently close to your location.

Sweat dripping down your forehead, you kept walking until you finally reached the building. You were impressed by the natural surroundings, with shops surrounded by nature. The building was named Bronze Adventure Gear.

Upon entering, you were greeted by an employee.

“Welcome to Bronze Adventure Gear. How can we help you?” they asked.

You were taken aback by their energy; it was still 10 a.m., and they were already bustling with customers.

“I’m here for the hotel,” you replied. “I know it’s early, but I just need a place to rest.”

“No worries. It’s off-season, and there are many empty rooms. We’ll guide you to the receptionist,” they said, leading you further into the building.

Grateful for the hospitality, you thanked them as they left you at the receptionist.

The hotel was called Bronze Lodge.

“We’ll leave you to our friend,” the employee said before departing.

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you tapped the reception table and waited.

“Welcome to the Bronze Lodge. How can I help you?” a friendly female voice greeted you. However, to your ears, it sounded like venom. It was Natasha Romanoff, the popular girl in town.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a sensation far different from when you had encountered Bucky and Steve again.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Natasha's voice cut through the air.

You tried to compose yourself. “Yup.”

“Goodness. It’s been a long time. And you're so beautiful. Ah, where are my manners? Are you staying at this hotel?” Natasha wore her trademark smile—the same one you hated seeing back in school, where her girl gang would always talk behind your back.

"You know what-?" You were about to say, but then second thoughts about leaving crossed your mind.

That's when you heard the most enormous thunderclap of your life.

“Are you surprised? The weather is quite unpredictable,” Natasha remarked casually.

She glanced at your belongings. “Oh, and you brought your yellow umbrella. Such a nostalgic touch. You never changed,” she continued, her words like needles pricking at your skin.

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling up inside you.

“You’re lucky. There’s a room ready for you. Here’s the key. I hope you enjoy staying with us,” Natasha said, offering you the card key with a sweet smile.

You snatched the key from her hand. “I’ll try.”

Turning on your heel, you made your way to the elevator. As you left, Natasha's smile faltered, and she quickly grabbed her phone to make a call. “You won’t believe who checked into the hotel today,” she said eagerly.

*********

The moment you entered the hotel room, you threw yourself onto the bed, exhausted. You turned around and stared at the ceiling.

The rain and thunder outside seemed oblivious to your desire for peace. You starting to regret coming back here.

Closing your eyes, you tried to ease your racing mind. But four hours later, what was meant to be a short nap turned into a longer one.

'Knock. Knock.'

You were jolted awake by the sound of someone knocking at your door. Lazily, you left the bed and peered through the peephole, wondering who it could be since you hadn't requested anything.

You gasped when you saw Bucky standing outside. What on earth did he want? Wasn't it enough that you had already encountered him and his friends earlier today?

Taking a deep breath, you hesitated before opening the door.

When you did, you remained silent, not wanting to converse with him.

Bucky said, "Tom is looking for you."

"I see. Thanks for the info," you replied, moving to close the door, but he stopped it.

"What do you want?" you sighed in frustration.

"You have to talk to him," Bucky insisted.

Closing your eyes, you responded icily, "I'll talk to him when I'm ready. But I don't need you hovering around. I certainly don't want to see your face."

His expression seemed to reflect grief when you said that, though you dismissed it as your own emotions. Why would he feel guilty towards you?

"And how did you manage to find me?" you asked.

"It’s easy," Bucky replied nonchalantly, "since my family owns this business. I can access anything I want, including information about guests staying here."

There it was, the smug face finally making its appearance, accompanied by that cocky explanation.

You gritted your teeth. Somehow, the idea of being in prison didn't seem so bad anymore.

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[justafewberries]

I'm obsessed with your philosophical analysis! Can you do Plutarch? I knew he wrote Parallel Lives before SOTR, but now that we're seeing all the parallels on full display I want to know more!

Yes! Hi! There’s so much here. This took me forever, so stick with me. I made it as concise as I could, but Plutarch spent his life writing.

This post won’t be a deep dive into the character Plutarch Heavensbee, as I feel he embodies so many different schools of philosophy. I can’t possibly fit it all in one answer, so this will be more of a comparison between Plutarch (Historical figure) and Plutarch Heavensbee (book character, from now on referred to as “Heavensbee” for clarity). I’ll cover Parallel Lives then Moralia. It’s bound to be a long post.

In order to understand Plutarch, you must dive into his philosophy. While I won’t include extensive detailing into his ideas on the soul and rationality, I did comb through most of his works to find values that I think align with how Heavensbee acts. I’ll start with a brief synopsis of Parallel Lives, and then I'll talk about his much lesser known philosophical works. 

Keep reading for my essay on Plutarch and Plutarch Heavensbee

Parallel Lives

Plutarch’s most famous work is indeed Parallel Lives, commonly known in short form as just Lives. In this collection of 48 works, he juxtaposes biographies of two comparable figures, one of whom is Roman and the other Greek. He compares the lives of prominent figures both in times during the decline of their nations, Greece having already fallen and Rome in the contemporary process of decline.

The most notable aspect of Lives is how the juxtaposition presents the impact of choices. In the comparison of Coriolanus and Alchabedies, both men are extremely successful generals, but both were, in a sense, exiled due to their choice to commit immoral actions. In the comparison of Theseus and Romulus, both men are very powerful socially and successful in battle, but they let their compulsion rule.

Every person in the history of the world must at some point in their lives make a choice. In the case of Lives, Plutarch emphasizes how choices in conduct lead to different outcomes. 

To give you important context, Plutarch was a big fan of Plato. In his argument on the soul, he even alludes to Plato’s allegory of the chariot. He values virtue in a similar way to Plato and Aristotle. In very brief terms, Plutarch believes virtue is found between two extremes. It’s a middle ground between reason and emotion. 

I can’t cover all recovered twenty-two pairs and four individual biographies in this post. If you want to read all of them, there are wonderful, accessible transcriptions here. Keep in mind there are different translations and transcriptions, this is just a source where most of the biographies are accessible.

Please also note that Parallel Lives is more so a historical work than a structured philosophical essay. Plutarch himself is not considered fully credible by many historians. He would notably embellish his works, and at some points, likely make things up. He’s often the only source we have for some events, so his works have become crucial to the histories of Rome and Greece. Still, be conscious that a lot of the information he provides is disputed. Funnily enough, in this way, he’s similar to Heavensbee. 

In this section, I’ll examine a few pairings: 

Coriolanus and Alchabedies 

Theseus and Romulus

Lycurgus and Numa

Coriolanus and Alchabedies 

Just like President Snow, Coriolanus lost his father at a young age. He was known to abstain from pleasures of life and dedicated himself to his studies, and the Romans had “admiration upon his insensibility to pleasures, toils, and mercenary gains, to which they gave the names of self-control, fortitude, and justice; but in their intercourse with him as a fellow-citizen they were offended by it as ungracious, burdensome, and arrogant." 

After receiving notoriety for his valor in battle, he became a consul to the senate as a general. Marcius (the name Coriolanus preferred, thus I will henceforth refer to him) did not want the senate to listen to the mob of people who claimed the rich were withholding grain from the poor. He thought that conceding to the demands of the mob would show weakness of the senate, and he was beloved by the rich senators for this sentiment.

During his rise, Rome was experiencing a grain shortage. When it began to purchase grain, the commoners, or plebeians, began to demand a fair price, as the rich were withholding it. During a heated meeting in the senate, Marcius “rose in his place and vehemently attacked those who favoured the multitude, calling them demagogues and betrayers of the aristocracy, and declaring that they were nourishing, to their own harm, the evil seeds of boldness and insolence which had been sown among the rabble; these they should have choked when they first sprang up, and not have strengthened the people by such a power­ful magistracy as the tribunate.” He advocated for getting rid of the tribunate, as it empowers the commoners. This proclamation turned many statesmen against him, but gained the approval from the rich.

Skipping forward, he was eventually tried under multiple charges and sentenced to banishment. He fled to Volsci where he became a general. He laid siege to neighboring cities, and upon camping outside of Rome, his mother, Volumina (like Dr. Gaul) talked him out of his intended siege and he called off his troops peacefully. He valued no one more than his mother.

Upon returning to Volsci, he was assassinated in a plot by his friend Tullus, who resented him.

On the other side, Alcibiades indulged in vices. He was said to be beautiful and had many lovers. Alcibiades was a great orator, but, like how Marcius hated plebeians, he was corrupted by his hatred for Nicias. Nicias was a general that was credited for obtaining peace and freeing some men. Alcibiades believed it was his doing that freed the men, not Nicias, and thus conspired with the enemy to have them invade, all to make Nicias look bad. It worked, and after a rousing speech, Alcibiades was appointed general. 

He had a long and very successful career in war, but he wasn't loyal. He fell to his vices, often living lavishly, partaking in excessive drinking and partying, and he was easily corruptible. He would switch sides to whichever offered him protection, valor, or more wealth, often to take refuge from those he had wronged. He'd return to previous allies in a cyclical manner, going anywhere that would take him. According to Plutarch, his death came when Lysander, a spartan general, sent soldiers to surround his residence. They set it on fire, and when Alcibiades fled, they shot him down with arrows.

Both of these men made choices out of spite and resentment. Their choices were often self-serving. As Plutarch summarizes the morality of the parallels, he writes: “Neither course, then, is to be approved; although the man who seeks to win the people by his favours is less blameworthy than those who heap insults on the multitude, in order to avoid the appearance of trying to win them. For it is a disgrace to flatter the people for the sake of power; but to get power by acts of terror, violence, and oppression, is not only a disgrace, it is also an injustice.” 

Theseus and Romulus 

Plutarch summarizes these biographies best: “Both Theseus and Romulus were by nature meant for governors; yet neither lived up to the true character of a king, but fell off, and ran, the one into popularity, the other into tyranny, falling both into the same fault out of different passions. For a ruler's first aim is to maintain his office, which is done no less by avoiding what is unfit than by observing what is suitable. Whoever is either too remiss or too strict is no more a king or a governor, but either a demagogue or a despot, and so becomes either odious or contemptible to his subjects. Though certainly the one seems to be the fault of easiness and good-nature, the other of pride and severity.” 

Lycurgus vs. Numa 

Lycurgus, a Spartan King, banned money, trades, and craft to shift the focus of the population to training for war. In Plutarch's words: "allowing the true citizens no implements but the spear and shield, the trade of war only, and the service of Mars, and no other knowledge or study, but that of obedience to their commanding officers, and victory over their enemies."

Whereas Numa, second king of Rome, sought to make his territory more peaceful. He did not outright ban the military, but he began to encourage the arts and trades of his people. According to Plutarch, it lead to great and unrestricted hoarding of wealth: "allowing free scope to every other means of obtaining wealth; nor did he endeavour to do away with inequality in this respect, but permitted riches to be amassed to any extent, and paid no attention to the gradual and continual augmentation and influx of poverty".

To interject, this parallel set reminds me most of Peeta and Gale. Neither king had a great outcome. In the end, Sparta fell, just as Rome does. It lacked the virtuous middle ground. 

Upon their deaths, the enforcement of their legacies differed greatly. Lycurgus's legacy continued for hundreds of years/ Interestingly, Plutarch cites indoctrination via education: "The obligation of oaths to preserve them would have availed but little, if he had not, by discipline and education, infused them into the children's characters, and imbued their whole early life with a love of his government." 

Numa's lasting effect was short-lived. His ideas about peace crumpled upon his death. Plutarch specifically cites the fact he lacked the enforcement of education, thus dooming his attempted culture to fail: "and thus that best and justest fabric of things was of no long continuance, because it wanted that cement which should have kept all together, education."

Plutarch poses an important question which I believe lends itself well to Heavensbee: "What, then, some may say, has not Rome been advanced and bettered by her wars? A question that will need a long answer, if it is to be one to satisfy men who take the better to consist in riches, luxury, and dominion, rather than in security, gentleness, and that independence which is accompanied by justice." He follows it later with: "[Numa] by mere force of wisdom and justice, established union and harmony amongst all."

Moralia

Moralia is a collection of Plutarch’s essays. The best source I found to read them is the Perseus Digital Library. I’ve taken screenshots of different passages I think encompass the conduct of Heavensbee. I apologize for the difference in the screenshot sizes, as some essays are best found from other sources. 

On Moral Virtue:

In De virtute morali, Plutarch argues the value of emotion in making virtuous decisions. He argues exactly what Heavensbee argues in SOTR: people use reason after their emotion. 

He goes further to compare reason’s desired effect on emotion being like a gardener pruning a plant. Heavensbee, although he doesn’t necessarily do this in the intrinsic sense, most definitely uses emotion to grow the rebellion through propos.

He also claims that passion can rally, which is Heavensbee’s ideas behind the propos in the first place:

How a Man May Become Aware of His Progress in Virtue:

In Quomodo quis suos in virtute sentiat profectus, Plutarch argues emotion and “manner of diction” that allows people to become “intimately connected with the character” encourages people to be more receptive to higher order thinking.

In this same essay, he argues it is most virtuous to act, not just speak.

Plutarch was a firm believer that philosophers should get involved in politics.

Whether Vice Is Sufficient To Cause Unhappiness:

In An Vitiositas Ad Felicitatem Sufficiat, Plutarch argues vice is stronger than a tyrant. You can endure the hardships of tyranny and oppression, but you cannot control your vices, which Plutarch sees as negative.

On The Fortune Or Virtue Of Alexander:

In De Alexandri magni fortuna aut virtute, Plutarch admires the unionization of cultures under Alexander the Great. Just like Heavensbee, he subscribes to the idea “we should consider all men to be of one community and one polity and that we should have a common life”.

Plutarch also believes that fortune does not outweigh virtue. He writes man should seek to be virtuous. While in this case he likely means fortune as in luck, I think it applies well to the actual wealth of the Heavensbees. 

He also writes about how virtue is what made Alexander great outside of his luck. His self-control and avoidance of pleasures is what kept him so great.

On Stoic Self-Contradiction:

While De Stoicorum repugnantiis is more so a response to popular stoic writers, there is an interesting argument about God that lends itself well to how Heavensbee and Panem are supposed to see Snow. 

Plutarch argues how God gets a pass for evil and bad things happening when a king in his position would not. He continues to chip away at the stoic’s argument by saying if there’s a necessity for evil and bad things, then God does not have power over them, and is therefore not omnipotent. 

Seeder makes this same argument in Catching Fire when in her interview, she mentions how the people of district 11 consider snow to be all powerful. If it’s true, he should be able to stop the games.

Interestingly, Plutarch has formidable thoughts about free will. He sees the importance of free will on the morality of man. While there may be other factors that affect us, we can control our reactions, interpretations, or way of coping. In his argument again against the Stoics (he had beef genuinely), he says:

Fate is deficient if we have free will. However, if free will is indeed all encompassing, we cannot be held responsible for our actions. Nothing is our fault, only fate’s.

In summary

Plutarch believed education and upbringing (such as seen in Lives) can lead to being a more virtuous person, which is something we see in Heavensbee’s extensive library. He argued fortune is “petty” without virtue, which is similar to how, despite the luck of being rich and capitol, Heavensbee’s desire to free the districts lends itself to his developed virtue. He also believed in emotion being a genuine asset to reason, to the point where one without the other is less valuable than having them together, such as his quote in SOTR. He wrote about harnessing emotion, making changes based on your beliefs, and that we have the ability to use our free will to make choices-- no matter if you’re under Snow’s thumb or not.

[aritsukemo]

My Late Husband Is Seriously Haunting Me

Venti x GN Reader ( Modern AU )

Summary: After days of being haunted by who you're sure is your late ex-husband, Venti, you seek help like any sensible person in this kind of situation would.

Warnings: Alright.. *cracks knuckles* Firstly, major character death ahead ( Venti is dead throughout the entirety of this fic ). Gore/Body Gore is a big theme throughout this and major injury is stated and implied ( Reader is missing like three-fifths of their right hand ). Reader is not okay, mentally or physically and mental issues are implied but never outright stated. Abuse is vaguely implied at some point when I very briefly bring up Reader's past. Reader needs a lot more help than they let on. The heavy themes involved in this fic are not written or should be seen as romanticizing anything that happens. Finally, long ass fic ahead ( this sits on the throne as my longest fanfic I've ever written rounding out to a whopping 17.8k words ) With all this said, read at your own discretion.

A/N: This fic has been sitting in my drafts for months and still ended up two days late.. Sorry yall lmao- This time, I have a book with a brown covering and heart-shaped ivory surrounding the face and back, a bouquet of forget-me-nots, hibiscus tea, and blueberry scones for...Artemis! Enjoy @mikashisus!

Event: AriTsukemo's 2025 Appreciation STELLARONHVNTERS'S Appreciation Reading Party

Tagging: @tragedy-of-commons, @nursedflowers, and @wystiix

Extra: I officially have a taglist! If you liked this piece, please consider grabbing a loyalty card at the front counter!! <3

   “Look, I- I know how this looks — How..I look, but, please, I..” Your words crumble like sand from your chapped lips. You don’t really notice it. After all, you could barely feel them leave your lips in the first place — in fact most of your body felt unnervingly numb. Even more so with the incessant ringing in your ears.

That said, the little you could feel wasn’t at all great. Your skin feels clammy thanks to the ocean of sweat that’s secreted from you. There’s also the light stinging that comes whenever the beads slide down your skin and meet one of the many deep red lines that litter your body like lines of rubies on a costume.

The sensation reminds you of what it feels like ripping a bandage off a wound that’s still fresh and, oddly enough, that thought comforts you a little.

   “I- I- I’ve been told you were the real deal — That you can help me with…all of this,” You raise your hand to your hair. They’re stained, trembling, and are decorated in similar cuts the rest of your body has. Your nails had begun to darkened in a murky color — one which match the black of some of the older lacerations on your body so you paid it little mind.

All in all, they looked like a result of some terribly botched surgery. As if you had forgotten to wear gloves and ended up slashing, mashing, and mixing up organs instead of trying to preserve them and then let the blood on your hands dry to pose as a grotesque display of makeshift gloves.

You run your fingers through the strands of your hair and you soon find yourself wincing they catch on a particularly mean knot — you should’ve probably brushed your hair before doing this, but oh well. You’re here now, nothing you can really do about it.

You gulp, feeling as though your saliva had hardened into a big lump in your throat as it slowly traveled down your esophagus. When was the last time you were this nervous to say what’s on your mind? When you first walked through the doors of the building of your dream job? When you tried to make that stew a month ago without a recipe? When you pulled your best friend, Venti, into that classroom in highschool and confessed your love for him?

…Right. Venti. That’s why you’re here. You need to stay focused.

   “Okay, l- look, I’m.. I’m not crazy...” You begin, pausing for a moment only to then drive home your points with stern repetition, “I’m not.” 

   “I- It’s just— I...I seriously think my dead ex-husband is haunting me, okay?”

Silence was the given response. It was a type of quiet that would typically comfort the lost — especially one as astray as you are — but all it did was allow you to hear the judgemental whir of the ceiling fan, and ultimately, catch a wisp of unsaid opinions in the air. It causes your blood to boil and spike — to the point that it scorches the root of your mouth, your tongue, and jaw — and forces you to puke out the lava that had begun to pour down your tongue.

   “Don’t fucking give me that look!” You snap. Your teeth gritting and grinding as you continue, voice slightly muffled, “I know how it sounds alright — an- and don’t try and say it’s not happening because- because it is! ..I mean, it’s not like it’s the fucking wind from outside flinging a damn lamp at my chair thinking it’s me, now is it?!”

   “And don’t try to persuade me, I know it’s him. Of course it’d be him. I- I mean he hated me, why wouldn’t he try to…” You begin to lose steam and it's not long before your words cool and evaporate into thick, hot puffs of air.

You begin to heave, and the feeling of sharp pricks — like biting fire ants — that quickly coats your lungs ground you enough to force your head clear again.

It’s not right to blow up on someone that you’re also pleading with for help — especially since they’re all you have left to lean on at this point.

You take a breath, forcing your shoulder lax as you fall back on the stiff couch and look up at the stale ceiling. Tear-stricken skin and yawning eyebags are revealed under the blaring yellow of the circular light above. It burns your eyes and blinds them under the stinging pressure so, in the end, you go to bend an arm over your face and shield your eyes away for a few minutes to allow them to adjust.

   “I’ll.. I’ll just start from the very beginning.. You’ll understand me then, no doubt about it! ..You’ll have to..” You muttered, though you were unsure of whether  or not your words were meant to convince them or yourself. Nevertheless, you continued, beginning your inevitably long tale.. 

  “It all began when I transferred to Teyvat Highschool as a sophomore seven years ago..”

The corridor, lined with pale blue lockers, seemed never ending. The walls were shiny and pristine despite their age and it seemed like they stretched on for a millenia. No matter how long you walked, how many turns you took, or how many staircases you scaled, you were met by the same sight of a long hall filled with lockers, doors, and the occasional bathroom and or waterfountain. It felt as though you were in some kind of loop — no matter how far you went, it felt like you always returned to the same hall you started on. The same hall you walked through when you first stepped through the doors of this enormous school.

And, quite frankly, it was starting to get on your nerves.

To make a bad situation worse — ring! The earsplitting jingle sounded your demise as the realization sets in that you’re now officially late to your — you check your phone again, looking at your clock app and then your schedule in your camera roll — second period class. Wait, second?!

You mutter a curse. How did time fly so fast? You couldn’t have seriously been wandering this school for almost two hours, right? Sure, you spent a little time in the bathroom to quell your nerves, and sure, it did take a few minutes to talk yourself out of getting sent to the principals when you accidentally wandered into the wrong teacher’s class — that lady seriously had some stick up her ass — but those detours couldn’t have costed you so much time, surely.

You grunt out a groan. Well, it doesn't matter right now. However it happened, you're lost and have probably already made a bad impression with a teacher you haven’t even met yet. No doubt, you’ll probably get some kind of punishment for your carelessness if this school was anything like your last..

Gritting your teeth at the thought, you decide to unlock your phone and check your schedule again. ‘Theatre Arts II - Furina De Fontaine - Hall 3,’ was the name it read. You feel like you’ve heard that name before, but the fiery irritation that burns at the back of your head is fogging your brain up with too much smoke right now to pinpoint when or where you saw it.

You should just focus on finding wherever Hall 3 is…and what hall you’re even on to begin with before worrying about other things — that’s what you told yourself as you descended the same marble stairwell you ascended minutes before for what felt like the millionth time.

Focus, you repeat to yourself upon making a sharp turn at the base of the stairs. Alas, your glass of concentration shatters before it even has the proper time to be built to its fullest capacity when you suddenly lose your footing on the last few steps and go tumbling to the floor.

Your phone, books, and other belongings that you didn’t haphazardly stuff into your locker as soon as you found it came clattering to the ground like a novice orchestra booming throughout the corridor. The initial wave of embarrassment has you hesitating to sit up and reveal your face to the world again, but that soon passes as curiosity sets in and you begin to wonder what you slipped on. Eventually, you will yourself into forcing your head up and move your body just enough to peer over your shoulder.

..And to your surprise, the culprit of your slip was some horrendous, green cap.

You sit up fully, twisting your body towards the accessory and lifting it with a singular finger. Upon closer inspection, the cap was much more detailed than you initially thought. Instead of some lousy cap, it was a floppy beret of a deep, grass green shade as its base color and close-knit golden lines in the middle that trace and wrap around to meet on the other side and form a full circle. There were blue stars that sat just under the golden lines that followed a similar pattern. And, to top it all off, an unnaturally large yet gorgeous white flower seemed to sprout from the front corner. Its equally large — if not slightly larger — leaves curving almost cartoonishly at an angle.

To put it simply, the hat looked like something straight out of a fairytale. Something you’d imagine only some of the arts could pull off successfully.

   “Well, what do we have here?” Your heart drops at the sound of someone’s voice vibrating throughout the hollow, but most definitely empty hallway. Their voice was kinda deep yet very smooth in a way that reminded you of the delectable-looking velvet wine you’d always see the rich drink in those older movies you often watched in your free time. Its tune quelled the drumming fear that played alongside the fragile strings of your heart for a mere moment, and in the end, that’s all you needed to coax yourself into turning around to face the perpetrator who almost caused you to have a heart attack.

You’re initially faced with nothing and your brows dip. You definitely heard someone speak, you were sure of it… Were you? Has the stress of everything already gotten to you? Has your yearning for aid made your mind conjure up the illusion of some guy with a pretty voice? You can feel your eye beginning to twitch when you suddenly hear the voice again.

   “I’m over here,” You spin your head to the right and your dull, spasming eyes lock with drooping ones. The emerald color surprises you, and in a way, almost instantly calms you with its steady, yet quick transformation from a darkened shade of green to a much brighter hue that reminds you of the beret in your hands. The delicate twinkle along his irises make the comparison seem kind of underestimating though. What did it remind you of…a gemstone, maybe?

Yeah, that’s the word you were looking for; gem. Those eyes, though stricken with drowsiness, shone like some green diamond under the poor lighting of the hallway. They looked absolutely divine, and you found yourself dumbstruck for a moment before that equally angelic voice sung its tune once again.

   “My, it seems my project has attracted a thief,” The strings that were strung were lighter than before, plucked with an underlying note of playfulness that softened his words and made it lack any and all animosity. Furthermore, he goes on to tease, saying, “With that said, such a lovely criminal has found its way to me and already seems to have fallen for my charms so who am I to complain?”

Like his eyes, his voice dragged under the weight of drowsiness and the almost slurred way he enunciated his sentence managed to quell the fire that raged in your body, allowing cool rain to come in and further bury your anger. It reminded you of when your parents used to sing you lullabies despite barely being able to keep their eyes open and the memory was an instant soother to you.

And, for some reason, the owner of such a serene voice sat under the very stairwell that nearly broke your neck like some hobbit.

Upon gaining your silence as a response, a grin stretched across his glowing, smooth skin. It’s then he decides to continue with his jesting, “Do I have a mute on my hands? Or have I managed to render you speechless already?”

   “My bad,” The words fell from your lips the moment you were able to finally rip your eyes away from the breathtaking sight before you — which took all your willpower to do, mind you — and down at the much less appealing porcelain beneath you.

   “I didn’t know this was yours — I- I mean I didn’t even see you to begin with so it's not my fault that I…whatever. Here, just take it back,” And you tossed the boy his beret without looking, deciding to make use of your new position to pick up all your stuff from the ground.

You hear the bouncy orchestra of his chuckle and you could feel your heart doing inhumane tricks in your chest without your permission. Damnit, even his laughter was gorgeous — you found yourself thinking as you squished your books back into the crook of your elbow.

    “I was only joking around! I’m not seriously upset,” He assured with an almost child-like giggle that did not at all match his earlier wine-like serenade, “Besides, I was the one snoozing underneath the staircase — Ah, which I beg you to keep as our little secret. It’s not exactly allowed here after all, hehe..!”

    “Why are you sleeping here anyways?” You had other questions as well, like why this dude wasn’t in class like everyone else, but you found this question was much more pressed for answers. Thankfully, this beautiful stranger seems more than willing to present you with the answers you wanted to hear.

    “Why not? When the mood arises, isn’t it best to just relax and treat yourself? I was feeling particularly tired this morning and since this hallway is barely used nowadays I thought, why not? Alas, it seems I was in too good of a mood since I seemed to have almost destroyed part of my costume in my sleep,” His giddy laughter dies quickly after that, his voice dropping to a mumble as he began muttering in a way that could only have been directed to himself. Nevertheless, you still heard what he said, “In that case, it would have certainly taken more than a smooth apology to quell Lynette’s anger..”

    “So you’re a student after all,” You said, stating the obvious as a desperate attempt of preventing awkward silence to breach the hallway before you can properly collect yourself. It always drove you insane when people just watched you without saying anything. You were never the best at reading people after all and you always assumed they were judging you in some way whenever they did that.

The people at your last school did that a lot. You never understood why and it drove you up a wall. You’re thankful your stepfather got that new job halfway across town and your family moved. Any longer there and you would’ve seriously—

    “I haven’t seen a face quite like yours before. Are you perhaps new here?” That dulcet tone pulled you from your thoughts quicker than any schoolbell or yell of your name. Despite that, the sentence in it of itself made you jump. Was it that obvious that you were lost and completely clueless of where you were? Was he picking fun? And what was that comment on your face supposed to mean? Was he trying to call you ugly? He wouldn’t be the first, but it didn’t make you any less upset hearing it.

    “Maybe,” You bitterly muttered, allowing the venom that began pooling along your tongue to seep into your words freely as you asked, “Is that a problem?”

You glance up, preparing for a possible verbal assault with a glare hardened by all the malevolence you could muster in that moment. It didn’t last long, quickly replaced by chilling shock when you nearly brush noses with the guy. 

You yelp and slide back so quickly you trip again, this time on your bag, and just like that, all your hard work evaporates into dust as you drop everything again on your short descent to the floor.

    “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to jump back like that!” You hear him say, and damn it, does his voice work wonders to your nerves. Instead of that biting anger from before resurfacing like a waterfall being unclogged, it resurfaced as a small pool at the pit of your stomach. It was controlled, manageable, and in the end, it completely dissipated after only a few seconds.

Seriously, what type of magic does this guy possess? No way a mere voice can have this kind of effect on a person naturally..

By the time you looked up from your lap, half if not the majority of your things had already been collected by him. He was quite fast — on the shorter side of the scale too now that you’ve gotten a look at him standing. You decide to keep your comments to yourself as you watch him dart around to grab the remainder of your pens and mechanical pencils that escaped from your binder.

    “To answer your early question, I don’t mind that you’re new here. In fact, I’m happy to see a new face around here!” He chirped, “I doubt Principal Ningguang or any of the assistant principals had the time to give you a proper tour of the school so that means I have the perfect excuse for why I skipped — Uh, I- I mean the uhm…great opportunity to show the brilliance that is Teyvat High! ..Yeah..”

   “Here’s all your stuff you dropped — sorry again for the scare,” Like some prince from a story, the guy stood tall as he offered you your things. Despite his shorter stature, he towered over you in that moment, smiling down upon you so sweetly and with nothing but cheerfulness gleaming in those emerald jewels of his. There wasn’t a hint of pity or underlying judgement in his eyes as far as you could tell. There wasn’t even a speckle of superiority in that smile — not that you would’ve been able to pick up on it if he was looking at you that way. After all, he seems like someone with a good poker face.

But you're sure of it. That everything about his face was genuine. It was a face you’ve only seen once or twice before in your life so there was no mistaking it.

And, gods, does sincerity look good on him.

    “Thanks..” You said after realizing your prolonged staring as you slowly took the books from his grasp without breaking eye contact. It was like you were under some spell. Maybe you were. If so, you can’t find a reason to complain right now.

    “No problem. So, will you let me show you around? Think of it as an apology for scaring you twice,” He said.

    “I wasn’t scared, just caught off guard,” You corrected. You watch him nod with what you can only assume is understandment so you continue, “And I don’t exactly have time for a tour right now. I’m kinda late, so—”

    “Lemme see your schedule,” He chirped, “I know this place like the back of my hand! I’m sure I can help you find your way.”

He extends his hand out to you and you’re tempted to jump on your first instinct and take it with your own. But alas, reason clouds your judgement and the fear of embarrassment and awkwardness drives you to unlock your phone and go to your gallery instead, plopping the small device in his hand after a moment of searching.

As he brings the phone closer to read the text, that dreaded silence you were trying so hard to avoid comes creeping in to make a brief, unwanted appearance. You always despised silence as it left you with nothing but you and your own mind to fill the quiet, and even then, you never truly filled it on your own.

So, you decide to pop the first decent question your mind could conjure up, “Hey, what’s your—” “Oho~! Maybe lady luck truly is shining on me! We’re in the same class this period!”

Your mouth clamps shut upon the initial interruption, but once his words set in it falls open and your feet move to close in on him. Peering over at your phone as if you haven’t looked at that schedule at least ten or so times prior to this.

    “Really?” You ask, and he nods his head as that same gorgeous smile from before shows itself for an encore performance.

    “Yeah! ..And it’s no wonder you were having trouble finding your classes. The majority of them aren’t even in this building,” He explained. Your brows furrow.

   “There are multiple buildings?!” You questioned, which earned a bewildered glance from him.

    “Yes..?” He drawled slowly, “They should’ve at least given you a map that showed the layout of campus..” And this time, you’re the one giving him an odd look which pretty much answers the remainder of his questions and causes a sigh to slip from his lips.

    “It’s always so hectic in the main office, not that I mind a bit of chaos, but they should’ve at least made sure you were set before sending you off..” He sighs again. 

    “No matter. You have me here now so you don’t need a map anymore.” He extends his hand again, loosening his grip on your phone as his smile widens and his eyes close to grant you relief from a brief staring contest. Could he tell that it made you sweat? Was it really that obvious that you wished to tear your skin off whenever it’s under the intruding gaze of another?

    “Yeah, I guess so..” You grab your phone, releasing it from his pale grasp only for your wrist to end up caught in it mere seconds later. Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, the boy was already tugging you in the direction of an exit.

    “C’mon! If we end up any later, Ms. Furina may punish us by making us recite the 357 rules of being a successful performer while tap dancing to one of the Beethoven pieces — trust me, you never wanna experience that,” He says, and for some reason the slightly shuddering edge he says it with sends a chill down your spine.

You decide against questioning why he seemed to be so knowing and nodded your head, “Noted.”

    “Oh, and it’s Venti by the way,” He added, turning back to the front and forcing you to gaze upon the pretty blue tips of his hair. The color reminded you of the pretty shade the ocean transforms into the farther you swim from shore. It was such a calming color, one that you believed was befitting for him.

   “Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked after a few seconds, and the guy repeated himself, “My name is Venti. …Wasn’t that what you were about to ask me earlier?”

  “Oh–! Right, right! Yeah, Venti, got it,” You scrambled, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your head, “Mine’s Y/n.”

  “A charming name,” He replied smoothly. 

His comment made your skin heat up as if you were angry, but it didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable. Instead of the blazing wildfire your body had been scorched in all its life, it tingled as if a bunch of tiny firecrackers were popping along your pores. It was almost a tickling sorta feeling — one that you’ve never felt before.

It was kind of overwhelming, but…kind of nice at the same time.

   “What do you say we start that tour during lunch?” He says, “We can grab something to eat after school to make up for it — Your treat of course, hehe~!”

   “You know he seriously made me pay for lunch that day? Hmph, such a freeloader..” A laugh followed your response, but it was short-lived and lacked any real humor and you continue before the person has any time to critique your sad attempt at comedy..

   “He continued to pester me for so long after that — practically forced our friendship to prosper against my will. H- He was always a brute like that,” You explained, “Such a flirt too! I- It was like he couldn’t go one conversation without throwing some cheeky compliment in there — es- especially during the plays we had to participate in for a grade! He’d always get screamed at for going off script..”

The silence that waned said every word your little helper tried to hide. It was a pathetic attempt. You were nowhere near the mess you were in your teen years and getting into a serious relationship has made you better at picking up on the little things. The small raise of their eyebrow when you mentioned your schedule, the unbelieving glance you earned when you mentioned your plays — it was so painfully obvious what they were thinking and that, quite frankly, irked you.

   “I could act y’know,” You snapped, your gaze hardening, “I was damn good. Th- That’s probably why they didn’t like me at that other place! Those sons’ of a bitches were scared of my talent! E- Envied me because they had to practice endlessly for something that came to me just like that!” You snapped your finger, buffing your words with that brief click, “I could've been the real deal if I actually wanted to, y’know? I- I- I had schools flooding my emails and mailboxes trying to get me into their schools believe it or not!”

   “B- But acting became such a hassle after a while, you know?” Your voice raised, becoming high and pitchy as you breathed out another sandy laugh,  “Bu- Besides I was so in love and my dream school was so far from home..heh. …In the end, Venti was the one to convince me to stay. Can you believe it? I- I myself was…was surprised, I mean, he was always so lax about most things..”

   “He…he fell apart…right there. Begged and cried and pleaded for me to stay by his side.. He even said he’d better himself to make up for the loss — he- he was struggling mentally y’know and it got even worse when schools kept rejecting him. I honestly pitied him — I mean how could I not, right? He was the love of my life a- and I’d be some monster t- to just walk out like that! I had no choice but to move in with him after highschool and go to some local community college!”

   “Y’know, I.. I honestly think he was jealous of me a little,” You chuckled dryly, “Maybe that’s where his hatred started… I- I mean, the majority of the schools I applied for were the same as his… He probably felt…inferior — l- like I was trying to one up him or something! It’s as they say; you can have two stars but only one will truly shine!” As you said this, your lips stretched into a smile as you did jazz hands.

You probably looked pretty unsettling in that moment as you doubt your eyes matched the current situation. Not to mention all the tears and blood from your cuts and your hair being a total mess — …yeah, you probably looked insane right now.

..But they shouldn’t judge the person they’re helping! That’d be cruel and unfair to you and you haven’t done anything to deserve such treatment! It wouldn’t be right to scrutinize someone you know nothing about anyways no matter how they may look!

   “A- Anyways, I got sidetracked… Hmmm where to continue.. Even though it’d be better for me, telling you every little detail isn’t an option since we’re so short on time...maybe I should — ah, I know! I’ll skip ahead a while to the moment I realized I liked him! Yeah!”

Why were you even here — that was the third time you had asked yourself that. Rather pointless seeming as the answer laid plain as day in your face. 

A costume, one that came with a cap plaid in green and a corset with golden buttons — looking deceptively expensive only for the ugly truth to come to light, literally. In the light, it was clear as day that the buttons were made of cheap metal spray painted into appearing gold.

After giving your all out there on stage — bled out every emotion you could onto the wooden flooring — you weren’t given a silver crown like you had expected nor did you gain a throne or a fancy cane. You weren’t given anything, or it’s more like it was taken by someone else and it was decided that it would only be given to you when they weren’t there to wear it..

You were deemed the understudy, and despite all you did, your rights to success were stolen away…and the thief was someone you called a friend.

He didn’t even want the role! He told you himself! The part he yearned for was the carefree, humorous sidekick of the protagonist — a mere pebble in the face of the actual plot, and yet, he was given your flowers! That wench actually thought he’d be better suited to play the charismatic and calculating royal heir. It was ridiculous! 

And what was truly a punch in the gut was his lack of protest. All he did was that stupid laugh of his. As.. As if he expected it or something! Maybe he did. Maybe he was actually aiming for that part but lied to you to make you believe you didn’t have any real competition! Maybe—

   “Ah, Y/n! There you are!”

Your head snapped up and spun towards the door. Your eyes met with the familiar greenery of his hues and you could feel the familiar heat singing your bones. Of course he’d appear now of all times. It’s as if he’s going out his way to try and mock you or something.

   “I have good news—!” “Save it.”

   “What?” Venti proclaimed, bewilderment dousing his tone which only served to aggravate you more.

   “I said save it!” You snapped, “I don’t even wanna hear your stupid voice right now, traitor.”

He was probably here to mock you. I mean, why else would he seek you out like this — who went the extra lengths to hide in the room they throw all the props in after shows? It was just like your classmates from your last school who’d follow you into the bathroom just to harass you. Or when they’d look through the sea of students in the cafeteria just to find you at the farthest corner near the teachers and ‘accidentally’ knock your tray off the table.

Did he think this was funny? Did he find some sick amusement in the way your brows twitched and you chewed at your bottom lip when Lady Furina revealed everyone's roles? It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you.

After all, friends are the most fickle, cruelest things you could ever have in this world. You learned that the hard way. 

   “...Is this about the roles for the upcoming play? Is that why you’re so upset?” Wow, he really is making fun of you. You can hear it in the way his voice dipped as he talked. It was the same as when he’d do something cheeky during practice and you’d notice and give your exasperated reactions. 

He was holding back laughter. He found glee in your pain and hearing his pathetic attempt at hiding that fact made it feel as though a volcano had erupted inside you and the lava was spreading throughout your body. Like torches being set alight at the back of your throat, charring the tender flesh until it slid off like a hot slab of meat and down your throat for you to puke back up.

It was infuriating — so much so that you wished you could take a needle and sew his mouth up until it was bloody and shut.

   “Y/n, I actually—” “I don’t care! Get out!” You cut him off. If he stayed here any longer, you were sure that your body would act on the first instinct your mind conjured up, and right now, all of them would most definitely get you expelled.

You hear him sigh. The air he omits dragging in the depths of exhaustion — like he had just returned from a long night of dealing with an overactive kid. It went straight through you, hit you like a stone to the face, and had you clenching and damn near grinding your teeth into dust.

..But as you whip your head around — revealing your teary, red eyes, clenched jaw, and your lips which had been chewed bloody — ready to release every bit of the built up fire that overtook your body and burn him into a undefinable crisp, a cold feeling surrounds the skin of your forehead and you freeze.

Slowly, your hands went up and when your fingertips grazed its curves, you pause. Soon enough though, you begin caressing the object that had been plopped on your head.

Aside from its temperature, it was unbelievably smooth and hard like metal. You went up farther and the smoothness comes to an abrupt halt and is replaced by something jagged and rough. It’s what you imagine a diamond encrusted bracelet would feel like.

…Wait, is this—

   “Such a hothead I’ve managed to befriend,” Words that were likely meant to be shot out as more of a lighthearted insult was spoken with the gentleness and grace of a meaningful compliment one would only mutter to their most trusted in the dead of night. It felt like a cool balm being applied to your skin.

His next words were spoken in a similar fashion, “You really need to work on that, my dear — listening to. It would save you from a lot of unnecessary agony.”

   “Look at you..” He mumbled, and in seconds his smooth, nimble hands were on you like freshly fallen snow. His hands clashed with the flames raging along the skin of your cheeks and ultimately extinguished the inferno, allowing that unexplainable tingle from when you two first met to take over as he finally finished his sentence, mumbling, “..you’re a mess.”

He wiped at your skin with his thumbs. Tenderly catching the tears that escaped from your eyes and flicking them away with ease, “To think you may assume I would ever want this..”

And that’s when he finally confessed to you, “I talked Lady Furina into giving me another role.”

   “Why?” You whispered. You didn’t intend for it to come out that way, but you couldn’t seem to control the cracking of your voice no matter how much you attempted to change up the way you talked, much to your dismay.

   “I’m not fond of playing roles like that,” He said before a smile deserving of a thousand roses and a row of applause graced his face, “Besides, weren’t you working so hard all this time to get that role? It wouldn’t be right for me to take that from you.”

   “So it’s out of pity,” You shoot out, your words coming out more as a statement than a question because, to you, that was the truth. Venti was pitying you, no doubt, or so you thought at first. When his eyes seemed to somehow soften impossibly more, all your thoughts kinda vanished from your head.

   “I think you deserve it,” He told you, “How could I not after seeing your dedication firsthand? Seeing you skip lunch to practice lines and being on call all night with you as you further research ways to better yourself.. I’d be a fool not to give this to you.”

   “So cheer up. No need for anymore tears,” He whispered. And for a moment, as he leaned in with his smile being ever so sweet, you thought about leaning in and claiming a different prize other than this crown atop your head. 

That thought didn’t fade even after his hands moved down to grip you by the shoulders and pull you into a hug — if anything, the urges to kiss him only intensified, as if it had always been there, and stained the back of your mind.

Has it? How long has your consciousness yearned for Venti? What thoughts truly clogged the crevices of your brain tissue that you just simply blocked out? Were they ever blocked out to begin with?

…How can a person be so warm yet so cool at the same time? How is it possible for a hug to feel like an oasis in a desert? How come you feel so calm so quickly? And, why do you enjoy this so much?

   “Whether you believe it or not, you deserved this. Congratulations, my dear,” He said, and to your ears, it felt like he was playing your favorite song on a harp; soothing yet so, so addicting. 

It made your body slump and lighten up. Made you release a sigh that, for once, wasn’t burning with animosity or anger. He single handedly managed to transform the meaning of your tears into something light and cheerful. And, somehow, his arms made you feel so safe, so content — as though you always belonged there.

It felt like, for the first time in your life, your heart was truly beating a tune you actually wanted to hear and it made you wish for the moment to last an eternity.

   “He was so cruel for that! I- I- I mean doesn’t he know what that did to me?” You exclaimed, stomping your feet on the ground as your nails dragged along the skin of your reddened face.

   “Y’know he went about his day after that? Just- Just left me with this jumble of…of feelings and thoughts I couldn’t control! How could you get any more self-centered I mean c’mon—!”

Your road of words hit a dead end as a bit of your frustration managed to slip past your toothy defense in the form of a loud groan. It was a brief lapse but it earned you a response from your helper albeit in the wind.

   “What do you mean he ‘doesn’t sound that bad’?!” You shot up, sitting up straight as your eyes widened, “Ar- Are you seriously choosing his side here — look what he’s done to me! I—!” 

You pause, your venomous words dying into your throat and sting the underside of your throat. You suddenly take a breath, collapsing once again and allowing the cushions of the couch to swallow you once more. It seems to do you good as the cushion surrounds your head and blocks off your ears, deafening your suddenly chatty helper and allowing your thoughts a moment to cool you down.

  “I.. I just need to finish the story,” You say after a moment, half thinking aloud, “You’ll understand me then… You’ll.. You’ll see I’m not the bad guy here.. You’ll get it, surely..heh..”

Today was the day. You were going to do it. You were going to confess to your best friend.

After a year of talking yourself out of it a million times, using the tiniest of reasons and coincidences to deter yourself a bajilion more, and after nearly getting outed by your shared friends a trillion and one times over, you’ve had enough of it. 

You were sick of the tricks your heart would do whenever he was in your vicinity. Having to pretend like you weren’t quite literally having a heart attack by merely being in his presence. You were tired of the fantasies you’d conjure up at night that would later distract you come morning. 

You were sick of yearning for a million things from him and living vicariously through the characters you would play that had the honor of being scripted to so much as grab his chin.

You were exhausted — both mentally and physically — and yet as you stood here before the very door that held your prize on the other side, you suddenly felt energized and you wanted nothing more than to use that energy to run as far away as humanly possible.

You blame the frilly pink decorations surrounding the door. The overly large heart stickers with cheesy faces decorating the nearby walls and the banners that were strung up  You blame the sign you passed coming up the stairs that reminded everyone of the upcoming, unofficial holiday which became the sole reason you were partially coaxed into doing this in the first place. 

You blame Lady Furina, who thought it wise to make you and Venti the two main leads in the upcoming play — which was written to be a historical, romantic drama to fit the theme of the day it would fall on — that ultimately gave your friends stupid ideas to tease you two with.

You fish for your phone in your pocket and go straight to your camera app upon unlocking it. Your eyes stare back at you, stained by your poorly hidden nervousness and complemented by the deep rings that hang them down like some heavy dress. Your lips quirk up, seeing if you can manage to make them look less like they’re about to just slide right off your face…only for your smile to drop immediately. 

Yeah, no smile. Venti might just run straight out of the room if he sees that…

All is not lost to the wind — your earrings and matching attire are fairly decent and the bouquet in your hand almost morphs this look into something kind of desirable. At the very least, if he rejects you, it won’t be because you didn’t put in enough effort or something..

Somehow, despite that jumpscare of your own face you just barely managed to recover from, you found the strength to put your phone away in your pocket and reach for the door handle. You pause for the final time, the negativities in your mind going all in for one, big final attack in an attempt to discourage you enough to choose your dignity and pride over your desires. They ultimately fail, and what makes things worse, coming out victorious gives you the courage to take the sliding door handle in hand.

You open the door rather aggressively and the sound bounced off the walls like a gunshot going off. It alerts — and startles — the one in the room, making them jump and spin around to see you; the culprit of their heart attack.

You were the one who had scared him, and yet, your eyes were the ones that ended up widening when you saw each other.

Venti stood at the far end of the classroom, perched against the windows that flooded the room with light. His hair — usually braided into two messy braids and hanging at his shoulders — were replaced with a longer, thicker mane that cascaded down his back and tied up at his hip.

The drapery that hung off him was larger than his usual sweaters, much larger, to the point only the tips of his hands could be seen — and they appeared much daintier when he moved his hand to slide himself off the windowsill. Furthermore, instead of the usual cheap polyester you were familiar with, you could tell from where you stood at the door that his clothes were made of something thinner, lighter, softer — something like silk. 

Majority of his attire was dyed in his favorite color — forest green — but was complemented by golden patterns on the innermost part of his sleeves, his waist, and hem — which seemed to go on and on endlessly until it finally kissed his feet.

Your eyes trailed up his body and up to his face. Your eyes catch like a fish to a hook when his lashes flutter and something near his eyes twinkle under the sunlight’s rays. It was glitter — colored to match the accents of his clothing, pool along the upper lining of his eyelashes ,and trail off a little at the corners. That along with the extravagant chandeliers that hung on his ears made his whole look seem more refined and lavish, like some prince from an olden film.

That’s when it all came rushing back to you. Right, you had texted Venti at probably one of the most inconvenient times known to man; in the midst of dress rehearsal — somewhere you should’ve certainly been at rather than the local flower shop. Lady Furina is definitely gonna chew you a new one for skipping.

Despite the hell your abrupt text probably caused him, Venti doesn’t look the least bit annoyed. In fact, he looked much more bothered. His thin brows scrunched his smooth skin and made it protrude slightly and his lips were pursed uncomfortably. Not only that, but when you first entered the room, you caught a glimpse of him aimlessly staring out the window — as if he was mentally being sucked into the void that is the cloudless sky. 

Maybe he is upset after all.

   “Y/n! There you are! Where have you been?!” His words come out as fast as his feet move to cross the classroom. Before you could say anything, he was talking again, “You go missing for two days and don’t bother giving so much as a heads up?! I thought something happened!”

His usual jovial chatter ceased to exist at that moment. Replaced with nothing but dolorous utterings that came from the abundance of thoughts that have clearly spiraled a bit too far because when he reaches you, he immediately latches onto you as if he hasn’t seen you in years. His sleeves fall down his arms as they snake around you, revealing the puffy, yet slightly more fitted, cream-colored sleeves underneath.

Your heart was going a mile a minute. You wondered if Venti could hear its loud drumming. No doubt he can, with his head leaning against your chest like this you’d be more surprised if he couldn’t hear the cacophony of what you hoped was a heart attack about to strike your heart still. At least if that happened, you couldn’t get mad at yourself later for not going through with this.

   “Venti… I—” “Have you been getting enough sleep? I noticed before you disappeared that your eyebags have been more defined lately.. Don’t tell me you skipped school because you were exhausted. If so, you should’ve told me! I would’ve gladly joined you!” 

He cuts you off with the concern of some worried parent and silences you further by pulling away from you only to immediately reach up and cup your cheek afterwards, holding it as if it were some priceless treasure. 

Venti was always delicate with you even in his silliest moments. It’s one of the things that made those incessant fantasies plague your mind in the first place.

But you can’t let him throw you off course. You need to get this off your chest before you can think straight again.

    “Venti,” You called his name more firmly as you, against your better judgement, slid back and forced distance between the two of you. Venti’s eyes widen at your actions before dipping in a way that matches the frown overtaking his expression. The sight reminded you of a sad kitten and the way his entire demeanor flopped absolutely shattered you. 

Maybe it's not too late to back out — you said that to yourself, but as you did, your arm raised to present the bouquet to him.

White suns were practically shoved in his face, blinding the boy with its radiance and causing his eyes to blow wide once again albeit for a different reason. His eyes lit up, sparkling brighter than any star as his aqua hues reflected the delicate arrangement of flowers in his irises. 

You caught yourself staring at him in awe, marveling at the way the oceanic coloring of his eyes made your lackluster bunch of flowers seem so much more appealing the longer his gaze stayed on them.

    “I.. I- I got these for you — cecilias,” You stammered. Your words practically tripping over each other, much to your embarrassment, “Aren’t they your favorites — they are, I- I mean we’ve known each other for almost two years now why wouldn’t I know something like this—”

    “What’s the occasion?” He asked softly, and your throat dried faster than any plant in a desert. This was it. All or nothing. You had to say something now or forever hold your peace. Just rip it off like a bandaid.

    “I- I wanted to..do this for you..” You said slowly, feeling your cheek growing impossibly warmer by the second, “I thought, y’know, since Valentine’s Day is around the corner and…and…” 

You gulp, your lips twitching as the saliva runs slowly down your throat. Were you really doing this? You could feel your hesitance slowly creep up on you like some infectious disease. 

You already have one foot out the door, but are you truly willing to walk out?

You almost told yourself no. That you weren’t as fearless as you gaslight yourself into being…until you felt his touch once again, this time encasing your hand which tightly held the bouquet.

Your eyes darted over from the chalkboard you had found false interest in to lock with what truly had your attention in that moment; Venti. His expression was different from the glum one he was wearing earlier. His lips had evened out and curved at its edges and his eyes were narrowed in the same way it always did when he’d watch you fumble after he’d poke fun at you. It was akin to the face he’d make whenever he was about to do something rather mischievous and it did nothing to quell your nerves in the moment.

    “Go on..don’t hesitate now,” He said. His voice dipped to a low, but coherent murmur as he took a small step closer, “You’ve already gotten so far, it’d be wasteful to turn back, don’tcha’ think?”

But then, his voice raises slightly and he speaks in by far the most dulcet tone you’ve ever heard as he lightly puts pressure on your hand by squeezing down on it..

   “Indulge in your heart. Speak what’s on your mind. You know you can tell me anything.”

You could feel yourself melting at the way his voice tickles your ears. Suddenly, all your worries seemed miniscule in that moment as you two stared into each other’s souls. It felt as though you had finally reached land after struggling tirelessly against the heavy sea’s currents. Like you could finally breathe after being surrounded by thick air for so very long. 

And in that moment, it truly felt as though nothing could go wrong so you finally utter what you’ve wanted to say to him for months now. .

    “I.. I like you, Venti — more than a friend would.”

Your words travel along the stale air of that dank classroom and fills his ears seconds later. You expect to hear his soft rejection or to even hear his laughter before he completely changed the subject like he was oh so good at doing. Instead, you heard a sigh escape his lips. One that you imagine a soldier returning home alive after a war and seeing his family for the first time in years would breathe.

    “Is that so.. That’s such a relief..” He whispered. Finally closing the distance you had put against you two to wrap his arms around you once again. His head falls to rest against your shoulder and he quickly ends up nose-deep in the cloth of your shirt, hiding the deep shade of red that was already running wild on his face and beginning to stain his ears.

    “I don’t think I was going to be able to make it much longer,” He confessed, allowing an airy chuckle to slip from him afterwards, “I was actually planning on just dumping my heart out to you before the play, but this is so much better..”

   “Wait, you actually..liked me back?” You choke out.

   “Of course I like you back,” He corrects, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re so amazing…and being around you always feels so nice and fun… I’ve..never really been around someone who seems to enjoy me as much as you do.. Wh- Who looks at me with such a fire in their eyes..”

He trails off completely and your eyes grow wide for nth time today upon the most shocking realization coming to you; Venti…was actually as, if not more, nervous than you were right now. The same guy who has sung in front of half your school before and has said the most embarrassing lines known to mankind in plays before an even larger audience…was a flustered mess against you right now.

And that…was probably the most comforting reaction he could’ve ever given to you.

   “...Venti—”

   “—How could you say that?!” Your loud exclamation echoed throughout the room and bounced off the bland-colored walls. You could care less about the ruckus you were making, it was deserved after the insult that was just hurled at you — the one who’s getting haunted right now!

   “I’ll have you know he was a horrible boyfriend! A- And an ever worser husband!” You spat, “He would flip all his problems on me and call me all kinds of rude nicknames! N- Not to mention how he’d blow up about every little thing — like can you imagine having to walk on eggshells all the fucking time?! It– It was absolute hell!”

In the face of your distress, their words of gentle protest were like a compress that managed to somewhat ground you. Their words attempt to sink in, but all the buzzing in your head only allows it up to surface level, and ultimately, you end up snapping again.

   “I.. I need help? ..Well isn’t that why I’m here talking to you?!” You yelled, “Obviously I need help! I- I can’t fucking sleep, I’m too scared to even go into my kitchen… My damn late husband is making my life a living hell for no reason! Look—!” At your exclamation, your right hand is finally revealed and raised into the air — which you can barely pin the name to at this point.

Crimson overtakes what was previously off-white bandaging, obscuring the wrap’s beginning and ending. The sloppy hast of which was used to wrap your hand with shines through painfully so as a mere closer inspection shows peeks of blotched, bloody flesh — which stopped halfway and is replaced by so much red that even moving the little you did has made it ooze out from the seams like strawberry jam and slowly dribble down the palm, down your wrist, and all the way down to your elbow where it then dripped onto the plate of your lap.

   “He… He did this to me!” Your voice fell apart like cracked glass — which one would assume was the weapon used to sever the tendons of your hand if they saw the massacre that replaced three out of five of your fingers. 

   “L- Last week. I- It.. It happened then I.. I was trying to make breakfast and I was chopping up fruit— Th- The knife slipped and…he — it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t—!”

Thick globs of translucence glided down your face as rib-racking sobs replaced the slither of coherency you had left. You tried to save face by hiding it away, but all that managed to do was smear possibly infected blood on your wet cheek — which quickly mixed and polluted with the ongoing stream of teardrops.

   “This wasn’t— I- I didn’t ask for this!” You weeped, “Th-... Wasn’t me…. This was all because of him—!”

   “Shh, shh.. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay..”

His faint hushing was like a mouse’s squeak in the face of your body-racking hysterics, yet it seemed so much louder when his arms caged you against his chest — or at least you assume that’s what the sudden warmth surrounding you is. Your thoughts had ripped you from reality quite some time ago so everything seemed unnervingly numb.

   “It wasn’t my fault… Please… Please believe me…it- it wasn’t— I never wanted this to happen I- I swear..!” 

You practically threw up those words along with the metallic liquid that your tongue has been bathing in for far too long — the horrendous color of which also matched your mashed knuckles and stained the cashmere of your costume.

   “I- I didn’t… I— This—!” You tried to plead. Just like the peasant you portrayed mere moments ago. As if you were being trialed for the murder of your mother just like they were, you begged for the ear of the one who held you so tenderly and woefully requested they listen so that you could explain this.

Alas, they don’t seem willing to hear your explanation. Instead, they shushed you again before releasing you from your suffering of lying on the floor of… Where are you even at? You didn’t really take notice of the labeled doors you barged through as you fled from the stage. You just remember running for what felt like ages before your knees finally buckled and you collapsed..

   “No need to explain yourself. Just focus on your breathing..” The voice said calmly, but as it entered your ears, it felt as though the words were being amplified by a blow horn. It made your panic worsen and you immediately tried to break free from their temporarily soothing grasp.

You struggled and broke free, but in the end, only managed to make it a handful of steps before your feet caught on something protruding from the floor. You trip, and your descent is as quick as your landing is painful. Sharp prickles quickly shoot through your side as you smash into what your mind took ages to discern was a staircase, leaving you with no choice but to writhe and blubber.

   “Y/n, are you okay?!” That same warmth surrounded you seconds after that and the pain was so dizzying that you could do nothing but curl into that heat whilst wishing for a million things to cease from your being.

This embrace was not one of them. Not anymore.

   “Crap, you’re covered in blood.. Uh—! Dear, can you hear me? Can you please listen?” The more the voice spoke, the more your brain began to familiarize itself with it. The calming tone like a lullaby, the lightness of their words, the affection of which they carried.. Eventually, the wires finally connected and your discolored, foggy eyes widened.

   “Ven’?” You croaked, “Ven’...! Ven’, I- I didn’t—!”

   “I know, I know..” He said, “It’s okay... You can relax. I’m not going to blow up on you like the others did..” 

The frigidness you’ve long since grown fond of finds place in your hair, rooting itself in your scalp to allow you to feel the supple flesh of his fingertips before dragging it along to further mess up your hair. It sends a light shiver down your spine but you embrace it regardless, burying your face into his chest to better allow him access.

   “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” You whispered after a few seconds of relishing in the feeling and allowing it to guide you back down to earth, “It’s not my fault… I didn’t mean to..”

  “I believe you,” He hushed, “And I’ll take care of it for you, okay? It was an honest mistake so.. so I’m sure I can make everything right…but before that, I need you to calm down, alright? Breathe in and out..” 

He leans in until your foreheads kissed and your ragged breaths were warming his lips. He closes his eyes and then continues, “Don’t focus on anything else but me and the rise and fall of your chest. I’ll do it with you. Just breathe, okay?”

   “In…” He pauses, following his own instructions as his chest slowly puffs and fills with oxygen. He then holds that in for a handful of seconds before saying, “Out,” and releasing it in a slow exhale. Nothing like you, who sucks in air as if it were going out of style and pushing it out just as fast.

   “Let’s try that again. In…” He draws in a breath. You do the same yet quicker. He then pauses, you do not. 

   “Out..” He exhales in a slow breath. By the time he's done, you’ve long since started on your next breath.

   “In…and out… In….and out…”

   “In…. I- In….and..out… In….and out..” As if you were a teenager again, covered in your friend’s blood and sitting on that hard staircase whilst being strangled by your thoughts just like you had been that day, you focus all your attention on the cushy feeling of the sofa caging your thighs and the rise and fall of your chest — just like the love of your life who hated you oh so much had taught you so long ago.

   “I- In…and out… In..a- and..out… In…and out…” 

Eventually your repetitive mantra began to sink in and your chest became lighter. The boulders that sat on it were no longer there, allowing the delicious air to flood in with vigor. It tingles your skin which causes you to tremble a little, but when you’re finally able to feel the leather of the couch again, you didn’t pay much mind to it.

Minutes pass, and it's only when the room finally stops spinning that you’re able to speak again. Your voice still quakes, but now that you’ve managed to caress the ground again and actually feel it, you can formulate your thoughts a little better.

   “Th- That was about it.. Those..were some of the most notable moments of my life with my late husband…be- before he died anyways,” You said in a tone that could be mistaken for one of sadness, “Our dates in between, our wedding…and all that other stuff aren’t really important to the situation— I-I don’t wanna waste time, y’know?” You force out a chuckle. 

    “I’ll just skip right to when all this freaky stuff started and…huh?”

Your tongue stills in your mouth as the question fills your ears. It sank in slowly — like a rock floating to the bottom of a moat — before you finally managed to fix your lips to ask, “Wh- What do you mean? I have been completely honest..”

    “Do you think I’m lying?” You shoot out, “I- I haven’t even finished my story don’t you think it’s wrong to just… To just fucking interrupt me?!” 

Your voice rises faster than any slingshot ride at a fair. For as long as it took for you to finally touch the ground, it’s astounding how fast it was to get you right back in the air. Understandably so, I mean they were really trying to pin all of this on you when they don’t even know the whole story!

    “What? Are you going to say that all this isn’t happening or something? Be- Because it is! I showed you my hand as proof so—” 

    “…Did I…speak to him on the day he died?”

    “I- I don’t see how that matters when I—” You’re cut off again as their stern tone deads all coherent thoughts in your head. Once again, as they continued speaking, it felt as though the room had begun to shift and spin in a circle.

You felt…uneasy. Like you were suddenly being watched by more than just the two pairs of eyes before you — as if the paintings on the wall were staring at you a little too hard and the lights had micro cameras in them, ready to catch the moment you inevitably crack. The air suddenly felt so thick again, as if you were inhaling bricks. The room was on the warmer side, but for some reason, you’re getting the chills from simply sitting in place on the couch.

And then, it finally clicks and your heart drops, “Ha- Has he.. Is he..here?”

You shoot up from the sofa, your eyes twitching worse than a dying insect, “Wh- Wh- What is he telling you?!” You ask. Deafening silence is the response you’re given so you raise your voice again to snap, “Tell me what he’s saying to you!”

The more the silence impeded the space, the more you felt the urge to flee as fast and as far as you could. Suddenly, your little helper seemed more like a judgemental bystander and their gaze began to stab your flesh like a thousand little needles. Their eyes blown wide in your direction felt like a bullet going straight through your heart and oh, did the beedy nervousness that darkened their hues deal the final nail in the coffin.

    “Are you..scared of me?”

    “No,” His response flew out faster than the train you two took to get back home. It did little to comfort you. I mean, how could it when you were surrounded by the product of your own rage?

The lamp lays in the corner, the bulb that was previously being protected by its pretty floral shield now laid shattered along its snapped cusp. Your sofa lays flipped over on its side — the pillows that once complimented the color now ripped to shreds with its cotton guts pooling out. Your coffee table was like the rug beneath it; in ruins. Stained like a picasso painting with the deep red of the wine that you failed to finish serving as the base of the bleeding sky and the glass of the expensive champagne glasses serving as the translucent stars.

The love of your life and best friend laid against the wall mere inches away from the door. Unlike his surroundings, he was the one thing that remained perfectly intact and untouched by your tantrum — aside from the sweet smell that now clings to his pants after you had accidentally doused him in it upon knocking the bottle out of his hands.

He doesn’t seem to be able to meet your eye. Looking past you, to the side of you, down at your feet…but never directly into your eyes even when you tried to meet them. 

Those pretty skylight gems that would often end up the last thing you see before you give into slumber — those same hues that tended to stare at you with such adoration — seemed so dim right now for some reason.

…Well, the reason is obvious. In fact, a fraction of it lays in pieces at your feet.

    “You don’t have to lie,” You said, “It’s okay. I’ll understand.”

You said that, but just the thought of him nodding his head and admitting to fearing you made your eyes sting and your chest tighten. Mere minutes ago, you had just been clinking glasses and getting quick tastes of apple cider from Venti’s lips. You were just rambling about the future — with Venti already cooking up ways he’d sneak into your dorm unsuspected to get his nightly cuddles while you online shopped for items you’d possibly need in said room as you hummed the song you had performed for your entrance exam a while back.

It’s astonishing that a mere piece of paper managed to drastically change the mood and cause such a mess..

    “...I’m..not scared of you,” He admits at last, causing you to sigh out his name, “Venti—”

    “I’m not,” He repeats more firmly this time. You almost want to believe him, “I’m just…shaken and- ..and upset about all the delicious wine we wasted just now, heh..” 

He pushes out his laughter and you cringe at how dull it sounded. Even as great of an actor as he was — more amazing than you, seeming as he was the one given the chance to live your dream — his panic and distress shone through as if it was in front of a clear curtain. You could practically see his tongue twitch with hesitation, hear the light clicking of his teeth as he struggled to decide whether to open his mouth and say something or remain in silent fright. You could just about feel the tremors at the end of every word that he managed to force out and it made your heart ache.

He was terrified, and the fact that he was trying to hide it was honestly pissing you off a little.

   “Don’t look like that,” He says after sneaking a glance at your face and seeing your narrowed look. Your expression doesn’t lighten so he adds a trembling, “..Please,”

   “D- Don’t.. Don’t look so down, dear..” A rather strong crack in his sentence has him pausing. He decides to take a moment to slowly inhale and exhale, but you — ever the impatient one — decide to open your mouth once again.

   “Lying makes things worse,” You hated how threatening that sounded and despised even more that you couldn’t catch the growl in your tone before your words came out of your mouth. It makes you scramble to save yourself, and ultimately, causes you to stammer, “Ju- Just..admit it already. I.. I’m not…—”

    “You need help,” He shoots out just as strongly, but then he gulps and you hear him murmur, “..I’ll help you.”

    “What are you saying?” You ask half frustrated, half curious. After what just happened, how come he isn’t sprinting for the door that’s literally right next to him? It’d be so easy to run to the local police station or go telling everyone about this and turn what little friends you managed to keep after high school into enemies, and yet…he stays, avoiding your gaze and trying to curl impossibly more into himself.

    “I can help you with…this,” He motions quickly to various broken objects in the room. You notice then how badly his fingertips tremble.

   “Ju- Just give me some time… I’ll fix this,” He tells you, but you’re beginning to doubt that he’s talking to you still, especially when his words continue and his voice drops to a whisper, “I can fix this…”

   “You’re staying? E- Even..after all this?” You question, your brows furrowing, “Are you an idiot?”

   “Maybe.. But I- I don’t consider myself one..” He mutters, and finally, finally he meets your gaze. 

Once he locks eyes with you, his lips twitch up and he shows you the sweetest smile he could muster in that moment, which to you, looked as though it tasted sweeter than any of the drinks you had down that evening…and it absolutely broke your heart at the way your heart leapt for joy at the sight.

    “Hey..Ven’,” You whispered, fearing that talking any louder than that would shatter this illusion and reveal an ugly reality — that Venti had run off as soon as the first wine bottle hit the ground and you were actually talking to some hallucination of him or something.

    “...Do you think I’m a monster for this?”

And luckily for the both of you, his smile persisted and he replied, “No, of course not, dear. I could never see you in such a way…not even if I wanted to...”

    “I’m not a monster,” You snapped firmly only for your voice to give way to uncertainty soon afterwards, “I- I- I’m not — and I don’t know about any of the bullshit you’re spewing!”

    “I don’t know so- so…stop looking at me like that — like I’m some murderer! Do you think I’m a murderer?!” 

You can’t decide whether you wanted that to come out as a confident assertion or a genuine concern. Not that one could blame you, right? I mean, you’re seriously being accused of murdering your husband right now!

    “..I haven’t done anything to deserve these- these baseless accusations!” You said, “A- All I’ve done is seek help with my little problem that has been driving me fucking insane for the past few days and I get treated like some damn criminal! How can you be so- so heartless?!”

    “I ha- haven’t even gotten into the main issue here and you’re already labeling me! I mean, sure, ma- maybe I did speak to him that day but it was only for a few minutes and- and — stop giving me that fucking look! Pl- Please, I- I can’t handle it—! Please, please, please…!”

    “Dear, please…listen to me.”

His gentle request has your face souring and scrunching up. You’ve done nothing but listen to him. To his empty promises. To his tender lies. You’ve listened to his animated chatter whenever he’s on the phone with friends when he thinks you’re asleep. You’ve listened to all his little sighs of relief he’d let slip when he thinks you’ve walked off. You’ve listened to the huffs of disappointment he’d give whenever someone so much as mentions your name.

And oh how all of it has waned on you.

    “Is it because I was rejected from all those schools I applied for?” You questioned, “Maybe it’s due to the fact that I can’t seem to hold down a damn job because everyone’s incompetence keeps causing me to snap!” 

As if to emphasize your point further, you lift the clever — that barely passes for a knife — into the air and slam it down with a force powerful enough for the simple slicing of vegetables to sound as though a building had just collapsed on itself.

It was quick, but you caught the slight jerk his body made at the sound.

To play it off, Venti kept his tone incredibly even — an impressive feat even for someone as gifted as him, “That has nothing to do with this—!”

    “Then what is it, huh?” You asked, now fully turning to look at him, “And while you’re at it, explain to me why you’ve been hiding that from me too!” You swing the large knife haphazardly — earning a more obvious flinch from the man — as you aim it in the direction of the countertop where the main cause of your rage sat glistening like a pearl under the kitchen’s poor lighting.

There, on the faux marble countertops where you two often dined out on cheap quick meals…was a gorgeous ring.

It wasn’t the biggest in size, but the gem that sat perched atop the silver, decorated band looked like something the two of you only wished you could afford — hell, from the looks of it, half of your apartment combined couldn’t compare to the likely price of that thing.

It was odd to find such a treasure snug between some old articles of clothing at the bottom of the drawers. After all, even with Venti choosing to get a job at Xiao’s family business and studying locally, he claims to mainly spend his money on therapy, your anger management courses, necessities for the apartment, and his books for classes. 

Moreover, the topic of marriage — even in a joking sense — had quickly erased itself from the conversation around the time of his first semester of his freshmen year. 

So that begs the question; what was the reason for such expensive jewelry and who was it for? It was surely not for you — you’ve done nothing but give Venti severe headaches, bad habits to get rid of stress, and deep eyebags — and no amount of sweet nectar from his lips or honeyed words are going to make you believe otherwise.

    “I can’t believe you’re accusing me like this..” He murmurs in a way that almost seemed rehearsed — like he’s been forced to reenact this exact scene a thousand times before. 

He softly exhales, holding his hands out as he begins his slow approach towards you, “...I can understand the anger from your perspective of things,” He takes tiny steps, closing the distance at a miniscule pace, “That said, I also know how you can get when you’re upset, so first lets—”

   “You don’t know anything!” You screech, knife swinging loosely in your grasp as you shake your head wildly in disagreement. Venti halts in his tracks, eyes widening before narrowing.

   “Hey! Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” He yells. Yes, he yells at you. You; his supposed darling. You; the one who he has claimed to want to spend the rest of his life with. You; who he used to speak of marrying at every waking moment he could because he was just that eager to have you all to himself.

You; who he once swore to never raise his hand or voice to you out of his love for you and understanding of how triggering such a thing is to you — who grew up surrounded by mainly that.

This time, you’re the one to freeze in place. Venti, not realizing his mistake, relaxes when he sees you’ve stopped. He goes back to inching towards you soon after that. His tone when speaking is now lighter, but in a more scolding tone.

   “You need to be more careful! Otherwise you’ll hurt someone, or worse, nick yourself!”

His words sink into you like oil, slowly leaking into your bloodstream once it's slipped into your tender flesh. Iit sets everything it comes into contact with aflame as if the crimson in your veins were some kind of match or ignitor and it rises to your head in a big surge — causing your brain to writhe from the overwhelming pain of being unable to stabilize it immediately. 

That pain pounds at your head, fueling the flames to the point that your fingertips tremble from all the heat and the kitchen seems to start shrinking and closing in on you.

In your almost dizzying haze, you hadn’t realized you had begun backing away from the counter — and ultimately Venti — until you felt the cool, smooth concrete of the wall. You jolt, as if you had been shot in the gut, and a lightning strike of pain hits you like a harsh wave as you realize how unbearably warm the air around you and how barren your chest felt.

And then, suddenly, his voice penetrated your ears, “I think I should hold onto that for now.”

Your eyes dart over to look at his face — part of you seeking comfort like you had done so many times in the past. But alas, unlike before, his expression doesn’t seem so loving.

Instead of his usual grin — softened by the calming waves of his attitude and perked up by his chipper cheeriness — it seemed flat, almost frowning. As you lock eyes with him, hoping to find the familiar glimmer of love in the aqua green ocean of hues that always seemed to be there, you’re instead met with narrow, dimmed, stale grass that was devoid of everything other than exhaustion and…annoyance? Irritation? You aren’t sure what that slight flicker was you saw before it was blinked away, but you’re sure it wasn’t anything good.

Your eyes widen, but not because of his expression itself but more so due to the fact that you weren’t surprised by it. Weren’t moved at all in particular…as if you had seen it a million times before.

Have you? 

How long has your boyfriend looked at you as if you were some annoying little pest he was obligated to take care of? When did it start and why? And…was that ring a possible byproduct of him seeking an escape from it all? From you?

As a million questions begin to swarm your brain like buzzing cicadas, you find your hands coming up to smash against your ears in a futile attempt to block it out. As the already diminishing room begins to swirl and spin like a tornado, you find your quivering eyes snapping shut in hopes that when you open them up once again, it’ll be revealed that this was all just some nightmare and that you were actually in bed curled up with your beloved.

Was he your beloved? Did he see himself as such? You remember all who heard the news of you two getting together being shocked as Venti seemed like the type to never tie down with anyone — being a free spirit of sorts in their eyes. Maybe that was true. Maybe you weren’t as important to him as he was to you. Maybe he didn’t like you at all and was just scared of how you’d react back then so he said yes. Maybe—

    “Y/n,” You gasp. He was so much closer than before. As if he were right on top of you. It made your heart still in your chest. Made you fear opening your eyes and becoming trapped under such an abhorrent stare..

…until you suddenly felt the skin of his palm surrounding your hand which still held the kitchen knife, now in a tighter grasp.

    “Let me see the knife,” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt and the hold of which he held you felt suffocating and constrictive. It was as though he was holding a stranger, or rather, a wild beast and not his sweetheart. That realization came down on you like a sack of bricks as you finally let it sink in that Venti didn’t love you in the slightest.

Everything he did — all those memories that you would often use to ground yourself. All those sweet apple cider touches that you would eagerly drink in and get dunk on. All those equally tender kisses he’d give you as he whispered professions of his love for you in your ear — were all just parts of a script he had written for his own twisted amusement. 

It was all to spite you because deep down, for whatever reason, he despised you. Just like your mother, who was rather disgusted by that title — and by extension, you — and attempted to dethrone herself of it so much so that your father was forced to flee from his sacred home. Just like your stepfather, who only rescued you from that horrible situation to force you into another one that benefited him and his pleasure. Just like those girls, who thought it a fun idea to pick on a defenseless kid who so happened to get into it with one of their friends and just barely come out on top. Just like most of the people you and Venti used to hang with in highschool — and even your theatre director Miss Furina — who viewed you as some ruthless monster after you had been so obviously provoked by Lumine onstage that day and decided to distance themselves from you two and even spread rumors about the entire ordeal.

He. was. just. like. them. all!

    “Y/n, let go of the— Hey!” As he caressed your knuckles and slid his thumb over to try and peel back two of your fingers, he was met with resistance. As if his touch was poison, you attempted to yank your hand away but failed due to him tightening his grip at the last second.

    “Get away from me! You fucking traitor!” Your shouting sounded like a blood-curdling scream of a bell as a struggle for the knife broke out.

    “What are you saying?! Just give it…here!” Venti cried out, keeping a firm grip on your hand until you suddenly jerked your hand downwards and—

    “Ah!” A sharp cry sounds throughout the kitchen, and as if it were that same bell from before signalling that the brief fight had come to an end, you came to a swift stop.

Venti fumbles back, and by the time you look up, he has already opened his hand to himself to reveal the deep color that now stains it.

It oozes out quicker than you can register the large cut it seeped from and before you knew it, his entire hand was shaking terribly and that hideous color you once saw constantly in your life was dripping down his arm and splashing unceremoniously onto the smooth, wooden flooring.

Various childish curses fell from his lips ever so gracefully along with quick, stammering cries for help. None of them reached your ears as the ever so shocking feeling of your blood rushing every which way coursed through you. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and tingled every morsel of your body.

You couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, but as you gazed down at his slight hunched over form which cradled his bleeding hand with utmost care — and with more than he’s probably ever held you with, you’re sure of it — you felt the wildfire inside you spreading into something uncontrollable.

His cries were like nails scratching along a chalkboard to you and, as if it were the final push you never needed, you felt your body — now light and floating off the ground and away from any and everything that could pull you back down — move and your hand pull the now bloodied kitchen knife back, ready to strike.

The next time you could feel the ground again, it seemed as though you were in an entirely new room — one that was unfamiliar to you at first.

The once dull colored walls of your kitchen now had splatters of red here and there that served as a backdrop to the bloodbath at the center of it. The cabinets looked a similar way, but the cabinets bore so much more of the crimson shade that you could hardly tell what the previous color was.

…And at the center of that gruesome canvas sat you — who matched the walls, cabinets, counters…and body in front of you — with silent tears streaming down your face.

    “Hey…Ven’?” You called softly. Silence. You try again, “Ven’... Venti…dear…? Are you… Are you okay?”

You wait a few seconds this time — ever so patient — but when you’re met with no response, you decide to wait some more. Those seconds quickly turn into minutes and those minutes end up stretching to who knows how many hours of you calling his name and waiting in silence for his inevitable response that, for some reason, never came. Why hasn’t it came? Why hasn’t he responded back to you yet? Is he mad at you?

    “Venti…please…” You croaked. Your voice coming out as a mere glass-thin whisper — a product of endlessly calling out to him until the orange of the sky faded into a deep navy outside the small window that sat at the end of the tacky carpet runner you two laid out to make the tiny kitchen pop. 

    “Ven’...? What happened to you…? …Venti!” 

Your eyes — reddened and fluttering from the endless stream of tears that has left your sockets without stopping even once — slowly look down at the knife splayed across your bloody, tremoring, half-open palm…

Something clicks — something you wish hadn’t — and a deep sense of consternation dawns and swallows up your being.

    “I- I didn’t…! I would.. I would never even think about it…” You said, your teeth clenching to the point they crackled and popped in a way that would make anyone who heard cringe and seek respite from the noise, “H- H- How dare you accuse me of… o- of…”

Then, out of nowhere, you let out a horrific scream — one that seemed to claw its way from your throat with its sharp nails. It went on until you physically could not and you were left sputtering and hacking on the soft fur of the cozy rug.

     “I didn’t do it!” You yelled, “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t! No way I did! Yo- You have — have to believe me!” 

You could barely get the words out. With your voice still recovering from the blood-curdling scream, your words were pitchy, broken, and sounded like an incessant ringing even a deaf person would writhe in agony hearing.

Eventually though, your words failed you and in place of those came incoherent blubbering and tears that, no matter how hard you wiped at it with your hands — which smeared freshly discolored and puffy blood along your cheek — never stopped flowing. Leaving you to do nothing but paint your face in your past mistake..

    “Why… W- Why couldn’t you just tell me?” You asked, dull thudding resonating throughout the room in a quick succession as you chopped at the veggies on the cutting board. Your voice was light and quivering just like the hand you were using to chop with.

But that’s okay! A bit of trembling is expected when news such as this arises!

    “Y- You were...— You were really tuggng me along there, heh heh heh...” You said, your lips — doused in cherry — stretched beautifully across your face, “I mean for- for a second— For a second I thought you, y’know….heh.”

Just inches away from your feet, your masterpieces lay there, unrecognizable and colored to match your attire. His aquamarine eyes dulled a monochrome green being the only thing that can distinguish who it is. Not that it matters, after all, you already know who's behind you. No need to check.

Just don’t look behind you. No matter what.

    “Were you nervous? Scaaaared?” Despite your cheery, giggly tone, the words leave a bad taste in your mouth just like the liquid that occasionally coats it when you roll your tongue and move your lips simultaneously to talk. It stings — tingles your taste buds numb — and for the briefest second, your hand tightens on the handle of the knife and you raise it only to suddenly slam it back down.

     “I- I- I wouldn’t have rejected you, y’know? I- I would never— Never!” Your voice raises and your eyes subconsciously dart over to look over at him only to immediately dart away.

Don’t look for even a second. It’s for the best.

    “You were acting so so so odd that — I- I have to confess — I went through your phone..” You pause from your ministrations on the half chopped up carrot to grab the phone nearby. It’s a bit difficult — what with your hands so slippery right now and the screen cracked beyond belief — but you manage enough to turn it on and swipe up, ready to put in the pin.

The crimson circles that you left an hour or so ago give way a clear hint to what the password is — not that you needed the clue in the first place — and you’re quick to type it in and slide open the phone, ruining the screen further.

 Without looking back, you hold up the phone, revealing chopped off green bubbles of texts. There’s no way to read the whole conversation due to the fact that half of the screen wasn’t even there, but does it really matter? He of all people should know what this was!

    “Th- This ring— You…bought it for me, ri- right? You were planning on proposing, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” Deafening silence is the response you earn from your eager question, but it tells you all you need to know and you let out a small cheer.

    “This- This! It’s so beautiful — and the color — it’s my favorite!” You hold up your left hand — which shook like a leaf and was uncomfortably slick — to show off the jewel that sits on your ring finger, “It- It- It fits perfectly too! You shouldn’t have, babe!”

After pulling your hand back for a moment of ogling, you go back to cutting the carrot, “How long have you kept this from me, hm? Months? Years? Why so long? Did you want to wait until after you graduated? Ma- Maybe after we moved out and got a biiiiig, big house like we always talked about!”

    “That was the reason, right? Nothing else?” You pause again. Waiting forever for a response that never comes. Even so, you wait — ever the patient spouse you were — but after a while, that everlasting patience seems to stretch thin.

    “I… I- I happen to see an old….acquaintance of ours in your messages,” You commented, your hand slowing as you finally part from the overly and sloppily chopped carrot to lift the board and slide the bits into a bowl of other similarly cut veggies. You then reach for a radish, your grip immediately staining it in the same grotesque liquid that’s all over your hand and even spreads up your arm. 

   “Do you know who?”

You waste no time, cutting off even the wind in your haste to answer your own question, “Of course you do! O- Of course… You just… Just couldn’t part with her even after all she’s done to us! To m- me.”

    “Your texts went back so far — al- almost like you never stopped talking to her e- even when you told me otherwise. Isn’t that strange, love?” 

The cuts made into the radish quickly turned sloppy and slanted. Alas, it was something you had no choice but to look the other way at as it was due to your left hand — which held the knife firmly in its grasp and shook intensely despite how calm you were in that moment.

You were calm. Completely. No doubt about it.

    “She seemed oddly interested in that ring…— Sh- she was always so nosy, wasn’t she?” You quipped, “I- I- I mean really she just wouldn’t. stop. talking. Li- Like it was her ring or something, hehe.. S- So silly, right?” The speed of your hand increases, “Right?”

And of course, silence is what you're met with. Such a rude response to give to the one you loved.

    “Don’t go all quiet on me now!” You finally snapped, your voice sounding like a banshee’s screeching as your right hand moved from the wooden board to ball into a fist, “I’m your fiance, spouse — whatever, right?! I- Isn’t— Isn’t it unfair that I’ve been left in the dark this entire time?! Th- That my partner may be cheating on me with…some…bitch that I beat up back in highschool that ruined everything I strived so hard to build for myself?!”

The loud clacking that boomed and bounced off the walls played like a novice drumline; bad, offbeat, and unnecessarily loud to the point it stung your ears and made them cry out for help with rings high enough to break glass. 

As if the poor vegetable had wronged you like Lumine did all those years ago — and still seems to terrorize you even now — you slam the knife down over and over and over and over. 

Loud chop after chop followed one after another like falling dominoes, and as you began to float from earth — as your anger began to blindside reason and your vision began to twist and turn colors — you were suddenly yanked back down by heavy chains and slammed back down onto the ground.

   “D- Do you really, really hate me that—!”

Your eyes went wide, bug eyed, to the point it stung and your mouth flew open to let out a scream so loud, so intense, that it made you dizzy. You choked on that scream — and as if you had been forced to swallow a metal sword set on fire — it burned your throat, strangled your vocal cords, but nothing hurt worse than the searing pain that caused such a piercing scream to rip from your throat in the first place.

Everything became blurry and a storm of noise ensued. A singular, quick clack led to an ear-splitting clatter that blended in with your gagged, breathy cry as you felt your feet teetering on flat flooring. You heard a string of similar noises follow before the drumming of your heart in your ears drowned out everything else.

The last thing you could make out was a sea of crimson that splattering everywhere and a glimpse of your hand before everything went black and you collapsed onto the floor — failing to realize the chunks of meaty flesh you had left behind on the countertop in the wake of metallic-smelling cherry jam..

In a heated frenzy, you launched yourself from the ground and towards the chair where your helper sat perched and comfortable.

You reach them in record time and your hand immediately goes to curl around their neck and grip them tightly, as if you were trying to break a bone.

You squeeze down and are met with little resistance as their flesh caves in to bend at your grasp. You pay no mind to it — not even when you lift them into the air by the throat and reveal their infant-sized and colorful body in the light — too focused on the blackened stars in your vision to realize the beady dots that supposedly perceived you with judgement had no intellect or awareness to do so in reality.

  “You don’t wanna believe me?! Wa— Wanna take his side, huh?! Just like everyone else…?!”

You dangle them in the air, crushing them even further to the point your nails dig into the skin of your knuckles. Their clown-like smile merely stretches wider at the assault as the round blush neatly sat on their cheeks began extending ovally.

   “Well I’ll show you! I- I’ll give you di– definite proof and- and shove it right down y- your fucking throat!”

Stumbling about your wobbly legs like a chicken with no head, you drag your left, then your right, then your left, then your right foot over and over as you tread the winding hall of your home. 

It seems to stretch on forever — the many framed pictures and paintings along the walls taking obvious glee in your distress as if they were all being possessed by him — but you eventually make it to the end where a door resides that blocks off your safe haven from the brutish world your forced to mingle in every day against your will.

With clumsy movements, you jiggle the handle and the door falls open to reveal your realm that has held you ever so dearly at your lowest point — unlike a certain someone who currently transcends death just to drive you mad. 

The floor was decorated in various objects, none of which were in one piece, just hoping to trip you off your feet with the rugged, sharp, arms of your destroyed desk — or possibly the snapped chair leg — and embrace you with the cotton guts that were snatched from various pillows you often curled up to at night and wet with your translucent grief. 

The walls were torn, its dress baring holes the size of your fist and thin claw marks that could’ve been made by your chipped nails — of course, it’d be a hard feat seeming as the majority of them were no longer bedded into fingers and lost who knows where. The room also had a pungent odor wafting every which way. One that smells heavily of rusted nails and pennies, but to you — who’s been a victim to this scent for far too long now — it stung softly and even began to resemble the vanilla of the candle you set out a few days ago.

    “E- Excuse the mess..” You throw out with haphazard politeness as you trudged along, just barely dodging some objects and not even trying with the rest despite the fact that whatever you don’t avoid is inevitably stabbed into the flesh of your foot. 

All that mattered right now was clearing your name and proving that you were the one truly suffering in all of this.

You finally make it up to your wardrobe where the stench seemed to linger the most, almost as if the sleek wood of the dresser doors were made out of infested, moldy flesh themselves.

The smell tinges your nostrils — practically sears your nose hair off as it travels up your gummy airflow — but it doesn’t stop you and even causes a smile to break out on your face.

    “H- H- He’s..in there,” You say as if what waited on the other side was your celebrity crush, “Riiight in there, hehe..~! Told ya’ I did nothing wrong!”

    “...Why is he in there?”

You pause, your smile dropping just to straighten out quickly after, “We- Well isn’t it obvious! I- I- I put ‘em in there! I mean, I couldn’t just have him l- laying there in the kitchen — he’s still my husband s- so when I found him like that I just…y’know, helped him out..”

You could feel a teasing quip forming on their plushified lips in the way the room’s atmosphere shifts so you quickly add, “I’m still mad at him. Won’t forgive ‘em that easily, just…

   “...H- He seemed so..cold…on- on the ground— I had no choice but to stuff him in here to warm him up! It can get kinda stuffy, but i- it’s right here by our heater so…yeah— just— …here, look!”

And with that stammering bellow, you swing the door open at last and, just like that, your indisputable evidence comes flopping right out to lay at your feet with a rough thud like a sack of bricks. 

As your eyes slowly part from your helper to gaze downwards at your inexplicable truth, your smile begins to return. Though he looked like a completely different person under the room’s warm lights — his skin dark in color and cracking all over for any insect nearby to seep into and his joints eerily stiff for someone usually so animated — there was no denying that this doll-like lump crushing your toes was the acting extraordinaire, the whimsy ‘airhead’ with the siren's voice and big heart; Venti!

He was right here, sleeping like a rock — rather ill-mannered, seeming as you two have a guest and there will soon be more to come, but oh well! What can you do about that?

You crouch down — tossing your dear helper aside as if they weighed less than a feather — and place both your hands on either side of Venti’s shoulders. Putting all your strength into your unbandaged hand, you manage to lift the surprisingly heavy body of your spouse that he could almost sit straight up on his own — almost. As soon as you let go, he slumps against your chest and his head lolls to limply rest on your shoulder. 

Nausea begins creeping up your throat, but you try your best to ignore it as you lean in and lay your own head against his shoulder. Water builds up in your eye sockets, but you force your lips to widen to the point a glimpse of your pearly whites peek out.

You push out a small giggle, but that quickly devolves into a hysteric fit of laughter — one that would only be appropriate to a group of clowns despite it being fueled by nothing but inner turmoil that has poisoned your thoughts since the day you inhaled your first breath.

…The same thoughts that led to this very situation.

    “H..a… See..?” You said to your fuzzy friend, “He’s just fine! Heh… W- We were just kidding around earlier, surely! I– I– I mean there’s no way all that stuff coulda happened for real, r- right? A- After everything we went through…after everything…w- we don’t deserve an ending like that!”

    “...I remember reading some story about a woman haunting her ex-boyfriend who wronged her a while back… Re- Real interesting story, definitely recommend! ..Th- That’s probably where all of this is coming from.. Like, I- I must be having some nightmare based on that…story.. N- No way this is all real, I- I would never—”

As the first tears finally break free from your waterline and drip off your lashes, the sharp whirring of sirens outside calls you to attention as your entire bedroom is quickly dyed in two-toned flashing, colored lights.

You let a gasp fall from your lips — weak and high, like a whimpering animal — and you’re barely able to stay coherent with your next words as you shuffle to your feet.

    “Th- Th– Look! T- They’re finally, finally… hehehehaha~!” You giggle. Your chest rising and falling quickly as some of your tears begin to seep in at the root of your mouth and splash against the back of your throat as you throw your head back, “Finally…finally…”

    “Le- Let’s go greet them together!” You exclaim, taking a step towards them only to suddenly trip. It doesn’t deter you in the slightest, and in the end, you crawl the rest of the way over to your bear-shaped helper — while promptly ignoring all the new cuts you gain in the process — as you whisper to them, “Please come with me…hehehe..”

At last, you grasp at your new friend and hold him so closely to your chest one would think you were trying to fuse with it — I mean, them.

As yells roar from outside your window, you stand to your feet with your plushie friend-slash-helper in hand.

You step once, then twice, then thrice before stopping. Hesitance clouds your judgement, but as you look behind you and finally, finally peer at reality — the corpse you’ve let fester and rot for nearly two weeks in your home — and let all those heavy truths sink in, you suck in a stuttering breath. One which held all your sorrows and self-directed anger — the same anger that single handedly ruined your life and the lives of many people you love.

You find yourself looking forward to take another step. This time you don’t stop, even when your body threatens to give out to your bone-racking sobs and your many, many regrets and silent apologies. 

You don’t stop, even when your bandaged hand that you single handedly severed falls limp atop the plushie in your hands — which Venti had taken a half an hour  trying to win for you on your first date at the fair — and throbs uncontrollably.

You don’t stop, even when your mind fights for you to just run back to that room and lay beside the one person who’s ever brought you comfort and a sense of hope in your life.

You don’t stop because, deep down, this is what he would’ve wanted to happen, surely.

    “R- Ready?” You ask upon making it to the door. You look down, waiting for their response like you’ve been doing all evening. As expected, they don’t respond. Leaving your mind to fill in the blanks and your smile to turn rather bitter as you hear their ‘answer’.

    “I know… I- I know… I’m not either..” You confessed quietly, “But we have too… T- T- Too late to back out now… We… W- We’re doing this for him..”

Without allowing another second to pass, you begin twisting the knob as the first series of knocks vibrate and shake the door. When you finally gain the courage to finally swing it open, you look up to stare at your guests in the eyes as you allowed them to lay their gazes upon you — who looked and smelled as though you had went swimming in pig’s blood and probably had the worst bedhead known to mankind — and presented the warmest smile you could. A trick taken straight from your late…boyfriend…husband?

Taken straight from your late…best friend’s book.

  “Welcome everyone, hehe…~! Wo- Would any of you like some tea?”

⇢ On the last page, you notice two stick figures sitting side by side. One seems to be starry-eyed and staring up at the other, who's seems to be relaxing while playing minecraft on their nintendo switch, it reads..

Artemis, I love, love, love your energy!! When you were still in the server, I’ll admit I was a bit intimidated ( though everyone and everything intimidated me greatly back then ) but seeing you interact and laugh and joke in the server made that feeling diminish pretty quickly. I loved talking to you and seeing snippets of TATT ( which I plan to read as soon as the time arises. It’s literally like number three on my read list ). It’s not often I meet someone who gets Venti’s character and truly seems to understand him past what he actively portrays and it’s such a relief to see!!

Another thing I love about you is how relaxing you are!! That one time I popped in the vc when you were playing minecraft is a core memory for me. You’d make an amazing streamer and I’ll die on that hill your voice is so calming and nice to the ears ughhh watching you stream would be a lovely experience I’m sure of itI I also followed your selfship blog for a time and I found it becoming a staple on my blog feed. I always looked forward to seeing it pop up and marveling at the artwork you commissioned or made and I’m sorry you haven’t had an absolute blast over there.

Anything that ails you behind the screen, I hope you know that I’m here, praying for things to get better so you can smile, laugh, and have fun again!! If you ever need to rant or simply talk, my dms are always open and I’ll always listen and accept you. Sending virtual hugs and love your way! <33

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[propheticclown]

I need you all to understand. I've seen so many people talk about how Eridan would be slaying the fashion scene. How his fashion sense is awesome and epic, or whatever. NO! Firstly, I wanna preface this by saying that Pesterquest falls under the category of "Dubiously Canon." so his massive closet isn't actually canon. But secondly, LOOK AT HIS FUCKING FIT, MY GUY!

THE DEEP BLUE WITH THE PURPLE??? THE CAPE??? THE HAIR??? BROOOOOTHER!!! THEY EVEN CHANGED THE COLORS OF HIS SCARF AND PANTS TO LOOK BETTER IN PESTERQUEST!

It's subtle but the color shifts towards indigo/cobalt rather than royal blue. "B-But what about March Eridan? March Eridan looks good and is canon!" I don't know how brainrotted you are from buying all your clothes from shien (derogatory) and temu (derogatory) to think that March Eridan looks good, but let me just show you what it looks like again to refresh your memory.

Ignoring the insanity that's even happening with this image in the first place, this IS the Original March Eridan image. Now let me tell you why this fit is more atrocious than Kankri Vantas' takes on feminism. 1. THE COLORS DO NOT WORK!!! His VIOLET symbol combined with MAGENTA arm warmers and thigh highs and a RED SKIRT???? AUUHHG NONE OF THESE COLORS LOOK AESTHETICALLY PLEASING TOGETHER IN A FASHION SENSE!!! NAME ONE TIME RED AND PURPLE HAVE EVER LOOKED GOOD TOGETHER IN TERMS OF FASHION??? 2. STRIPES AND FUCKING PLAID??? WHAT??? IN CARTOONS, MUSIC, BOOKS, AND EVEN FUCKING GAMES, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH "Ew stripes and plaid." IS SAID??? THAT IS LIKE THE NUMBER 1 NONO IN ANY FASHION WORLD!!! 3. AND WHILE THIS ONE IS A BIT OF A STRETCH, THERE IS NO CONVINCING ME THAT ERIDAN AMPORA WOULD WILLINGLY WEAR THIS SHIT! IT JUST DOES NOT MAKE SENSE FOR HIS CHARACTER TO WEAR THIS OUTFIT! FASHION IS A WAY OF EXPRESSING ONESELVES! FASHION, AS A MEDIUM OF ART, IS A WAY A PERSON CAN EXPRESS HOW THEY FEEL ON THE INSIDE! March Eridan as an outfit, artistically expresses confidence, empowerment and a general "I'm a bad bitch you can't kill me" energy. Here's the problem. Eridan at his base components is envious, closed off, emotionally volatile, and a massive fucking nerd, which the old outfit actually does express.

His clothes are long-sleeved, showing the least possible amount of skin he can, which usually can represent being closed off. His cape is large and grandiose, showing that he likes to be exaggerated and theatrical. His scarf indicates his nerdiness, with it being a reference to Harry Potter and how it could be a tie-back to his nerdy love of wizards. The only other outfit he's shown wearing is with a flashback to when he and Vriska were a kismesis.

Here the outfit, even with as little as we see of it, is big and intense. Unlike Vriska, who essentially doesn't change outfits, Eridan puts time and effort into each theatrical performance he considers himself to be a part of. He adores intricate and exaggerated outfits. Things that are fancy, complex, and over-the-top. So that even though he doesn't feel great on the inside, even though he feels as though he's "wworse than evverybody. all the bodies." He can still look well put together. And that's WHY I don't think March Eridan as an outfit works. It's too casual for him. It's not big or flashy in a way he likes. There's not enough for him. It doesn't cover him up and because of that, he'd feel exposed. He's not closed off anymore. It doesn't exude "Eridan Ampora". Who's "most casual" piece of apparel is probably a sweater vest.

Even in the original image, he looks uncomfortable, like he doesn't actually LIKE wearing it. The only way I can find this artistically working from a writing standpoint is if Kanaya made it for him because, in the story, it is shown time and time again that Kanaya doesn't understand Eridan, so by making him this outfit, she'd take it a step further by not even understanding what he likes. Kanaya doesn't understand that Eridan is terrified of being culled, because Kanaya doesn't have to worry about that. Kanaya doesn't understand the pressures Alternian society is forcing upon him, as an Orphaner. Because Kanaya's only societal expectation is raising the new mother grub. Kanaya doesn't think about how he's most likely going to live the longest out of all his friends. Eridan has the second highest lifespan out of every troll blood color, but even then with Feferi, she's most likely going to get culled by the Condense when she's the proper age to inherit the throne. So in Eridan's mind, he's going to be alone, expected to be an Orphaner until the day he dies, utterly alone to feed Feferi's lusus until he eventually succumbs to old age or dies in war. That's why he's so closed off, yet so emotionally grand. That's why March Eridan doesn't suit him from a fashion-artistic standpoint. It's not what Eridan Ampora embodies as a character. Envy.

[thecomfywriter]

✨👾 thecomfywriter’s guide to self-publishing 👾✨

navigation post get my book, Throne of Vengeance! TNV anthologies ToV community!

hi, fools! this was long overdue. forgive me—i got distracted. anyhow! welcome to the official guide to self-publishing, as requested by satoh (@@satohqbanana). i’m going to give you tips based on my own process, but by all means, feel free to deviate and add/remove steps for your own process. some steps are mandatory though. no skipping 😤

okay i’m not going to yamble too much, lets get into it.

1.0 finishing the draft

2.0 the editing process (copyediting vs line editing vs beta reading)

3.0 the latent period (!!!)

4.0 pre-publication marketing

5.0 the cover + blurb

6.0 the final read-through

7.0 pre-orders and marketing

8.0 publish!

1.0 finishing the draft:

stop procrastinating and write, dodohead. words on the page. it doesn’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to agonize over that one line for an entire afternoon. stick to the vision and get the words on the page.

if you’re wondering why i’m saying it doesn’t have to be perfect when we’re talking about publishing a (hopefully good) book, it’s because there’s still the editing process later down the line to worry about typos, grammar issues, beta reader feedback, and all that jazzy good stuff. right now, you need to have your vision and get it down. this isn’t your polished copy. but you need to have your draft completed before you go anyways. so stop moping over whether “elucidate” is the word you want to use in that sentence and finish the sentence.

lol. with love <333

2.0 the editing process:

now you can worry about elucidate and its purpose in the sentence. the editing stage has many sub phases. copy-editing and the line editing. you can hire someone to do this for you or do it yourself. maybe get a friend to help. doesn’t matter. you just have to be critical and thorough. no sugarcoating. no, “oh ill just let this slide” or “i don’t wanna be mean so i won’t give real helpful feedback” editors. proper editors who will say it as it is.

copy-editing (as i understand it) is big book concept editing:

are there plot holes? is the lore consistent? does it make sense? is it unclear? is the story even interesting? how’s the pacing? what about the characters? too many? not enough? the voices aren’t distinct? the style is inconsistent? none of the characters feel like separate or fully formed people?

this is the phase where all those questions are addressed. once the overall concepts and structure of the book has been editing, constructively analyzed, and you’ve gotten feedback for it, go back to step one and revise your draft based on the critique. you don’t move on until those big concept issues are addressed.

done? okay, now it’s time for line editing.

exactly as the name implies, you’re going line per line, word per word, and catching any typos, grammar errors, punctuation—all that jazzy good stuff. REALLY BE THOROUGH. get a fresh pair of eyes on it. hire someone. put it through an editing software like grammarly. but be THOROUGH.

do the words you use make sense? are you using british or american english? slang? are you writing too much purple prose? do the sentences flow? are you using too many commas (stop that. don’t be afraid of periods).

you really need to understand the grammar and syntax rules of the english language to do this step on your own. otherwise, get help. or learn. whatever works with your budget lol.

done line editing? great! send it to a beta reader/ a friend, a writeblr mutual, someone you hired—just make sure they aren’t dancing around feedback and they give it to you as it is. i had a friend straight up tell me one of my drafts was ass LOL because the characters voices were too blurry and she never knew who was talking. there were some slow pointless chapters and the pacing was inconsistent. thus, i went back to step 1 and revised based off her feedback and came back with another draft.

don’t be afraid of critique. you need it to grow.

3.0 the latent period:

this is where you take a step back from the draft, preferably for months, and avoid interacting with it to give your mind a break and reset your eyes. this is a huge stage because this is where i want you fools to get your copyright and isbns in order.

GET. YOUR. BOOK. COPYRIGHTED.

do not share it until it is copyrighted. you can copyright unpublished materials. technically it is your intellectual property even before you copyright it, but that little ©️ is your legal shield. COPYRIGHT YOUR BOOK.

it costs ~$60 to make sure no one can steal your shit. this is nonnegotiable. do this.

i also got an isbn for my book so i could publish it with other services apart from KDP and expand the market. hence why some people were able to buy it off barnes and noble, for example. i highly recommend.

this is also the phase i started looking at platforms i wanted to publish on/with and reading the contracts. i’m being serious. read the contracts. make sure it aligns with what you want and what you’re comfortable with. don’t skim. don’t just accept. you’re putting your signature on that, bro. read it properly.

the publishing platforms i used were ingramspark and KDP. you’re gonna need to know your book dimensions too. so have an idea so you can estimate the printing costs.

the settings i did for mine were off white, 6x9 paper with the recommended gutter margins (used KDPs excel calculator to determine) and black and white ink (no colour) to get the lowest printing cost per book. ingram spark was similar. only thing with ingram spark is you need your page number to be even (no 575–it has to be 576) and KDP has a 600 page limit. so bear that in mind.

4.0 pre-publishing marketing:

you have to generate hype for your book. now that its copyrighted, its safe to share excerpts, little quotes, make edits for your characters or oc profiles to generate an audience. i did this mainly on tumblr vis tag games and whatnot, but honestly? that's the BARE MINIMUM lol.

don't be like me. i hate social media so i honestly did not market my book the way i know i should have (and still should). i still don't market my book because lol... i dont wanna 🥲

BUT! like it said--dont be like me. make an author website (a proper one. pay for the domain if you can, otherwise use the free domain, but make a professional author platform for yourself and your biography. you'll need this to set up a goodreads author account and claim your book on there). use instagram and make an author instagram profile (i technially have one here, but i never use it lol womp womp i just hate instagram sue me) and promote your book with the teasers. go on pinterest and make moodboards or "book trailers" through a carousel of images. USE TIKTOK. i know it's a plague platform (i dont like it, clearly), but it is where you will find the most fruits for your marketing.

this stage is all about generating hype for your book. why? so when you set your book up for preorder (and, yes, you will be doing that so you have a general idea of market demand and interest), you have people who are genuinely invested and want to buy your book.

marketing ideas because apparently i'm your free publicist:

oc edits

character moodboards

quotes and excerpts

that one trend on tiktok where you give the vibe of the book and a soundtrack // song to it

oc / book soundtracks

"would you read a book about..." [list the themes / enticing tagline elements of your story] -- it's a trend on tiktok

platforms to promote your book:

tiktok (#booktok)

instagram (#books, #readers, #bookstagram)

tumblr (#readers, #bookblr, #writers of tumblr, #reading, #writers, #book reccs; don't just use writer hashtags, is what i'm saying)

wix or the like to make your website

twitter (a lot of authors have official twitter accounts. once again, i never bothered OOPS)

youtube (making videos talking about your book--the ogs of this blog know LOL-- compiling playlists, etc)

also, don't be afraid to make or commission art for your ocs. speaking of which...

5.0 the cover and the blurb

you can't avoid it anymore. you need to make a cover and write a back of the book blurb // synopsis for your book.

YES i know its hard to describe your book in a non-spoilery, enticing way. work on it. struggle through it. get help. but get it done. you can't finish your cover until it is done.

NOTE! if you are making your own cover, the dimensions are only going to be .25" longer than your page dimensions if it is hardcover. ALSO you gotta make it a pdf file. one pdf file that contains the back of the book, the spine, and the front of the book laid out as one page. this is why you need to get the blurb down.

if you're making it by yourself: play around with fonts, use canva + photopea // photoshop. add chrome, but not too much chrome. use references and easter eggs of important plot elements for your visual pieces. current book trend is text-dominant covers with interesting font and stylistic elements. i.e. tov has the title "throne of vengeance" as the main eye-catcher, in a metallic, legible but stylistic font, BUT there is the dragon ouroborous ring and the iron-rose dagger on the cover as well. the colours are intentional. the entire cover is an easter egg for the book, almost like a spoiler for those who know. make it engaging. enticing. you wanna draw readers in, but also make fans hyperanalyze and interpret the elements you chose.

another thing--you'll need to know your page count to know how thick the spine should be. so bear that in mind.

commissioning an artist may be expensive. i actually did commission someone for tov. i probably wont for the remainder of the series since this was the most expensive part for me. depending on who you get, it can range from $300 - >$1000. so just keep that in mind. i queried a lot before i commissioned the artist for my cover. and she was very in tune with the books themes, the symbolic motifs, and the general aura of the story when she created the cover. that is a good cover artist. don't pay someone if they dont take the time to learn about your book before making the cover.

resources to use:

photoshop/photopea

canva

reedsy (for finding artists to commission)

i can't think of anymore on the top of my head oops. ALSO if you're gonna use images, pay attention to copyright. you can't use copyrighted pinterest images for your covers. just saying.

6.0 the final read-through:

it should have been some months by now. time to read through your own book, start to finish, and see how you like it. catch any last minute errors, see whether you're satisfied with the end product, make any final revisions. this is the draft you're going to submit for preorder. the pdf cover will be your cover. the blurb will be your blurb.

also, in this phase, add your dedications, your acknowledgements, and your author blurb. oh yeah babes you need a headshot. i just used a picture from vacation LOL oops i dont like taking headshot pictures i got lazy womp womp.

anyways, your author blurb should describe you in a tag line (G.K> Multani, otherwise known as Naveena Khedar, is a pre-med student with a passion for writing... or something like that). then describe your credentials. have you written before? doesn't have to be same genre, but you want to represent your portfolio. list other books, articles, or journals you've written. then you as a person--hobbies, interest, etc outside of writing. finally, list your socials or where people can find you.

7.0 preorders and marketing:

publish the draft on KDP and ingram spark for preorder. announce that your book is available for preorder. it should take about a week for it to be approved and the preorder link to go live. and then repeat the marketing steps from step 4, but this time with your cover and a link to shove down people's throats :)

8.0 publish!

the date it goes live, make it an event! host a live-publish session! do something fun! have a party! do a book signing! go buckwild go crazy!

i did a live-vc session and unboxing.

oh yeah, also... while we're here. go buy/read my book.

Throne of Vengeance Official Synopsis

Buy my book, Throne of Vengeance: Volume One

Read Throne of Vengeance: Volume One PDF

lol :)

--

okay i have to go back to studying for exams. let me know if i missed anything.

COPYRIGHT YOUR BOOKS.

okay cheerios bye!

[potatoofdefiance]

My two cents and a rant on the allegations and Good Omens

(I will probably regret this later)

This has been eating at me for a while now, ever since the news broke that Neil Gaiman was a sex pest (see infamous TERF-adjacent podcast by Tortoise media) and I have been consciously and unconsciously ruminating over it for weeks now, so here goes.

I think the news of Neil Gaiman hit me harder than I was expecting, and certainly harder than I would have liked.

I didn’t (and certainly do not now) consider myself a “true fan”. I was never a hard-core fan, one that goes to signings or book fairs or cons to meet my favourite author. Partly because I never latched that much on any of the authors of the books or movies I loved, and partly (maybe for the best now that I think about it) because I never had the money, or wasn’t located in a geographically favored area. Meaning I never lived anywhere near wherever events with Neil Gaiman were happening.

So, with all this in mind, how is it that the news managed to hit me so hard?

I thought (read: ruminated) about it, and I think it is because of Good Omens. And the latest times. In my life, and I think a good chunk of other people’s lives too, these last few years have been a roller-coaster. You choose which particular scenario the roller-coaster is set into; mine is on fire, running through a sea of shit and we are being slapped by gooey flaming eels hard in the face.

Maybe someone might enjoy this. That someone isn’t me.

But the point is: I have been struggling. With my life, with a mental health condition, with the world and my place in it.

Enter Good Omens. In an effort to actively expose myself to “nice” stuff, stuff that would, if not make me feel better, at least make me laugh, I started tapping more into the fandom.

I’m not a fandom person. Again, never latched onto anything that had a fandom big enough (where are the Ann Halam fans? No one is making cosplays of Sloe from Siberia, are they?).

But with Good Omens, it seemed perfect for me. I wasn’t invested so much, it didn’t make me feel like I was “lacking” something in order to be part of it. I just felt like I didn’t care enough to really be vulnerable to it, I felt like it could have been a nice innocuous hobby.

But that’s the point. Thinking it was innocuous made me let down my guard enough to actually fall in love with the fandom. Fall in love with those two weirdos of characters (which by the way, I’ll say this now: I think Aziraphale and Crowley as portrayed in the series are more a product of fans and Tennant and Sheen than they are a product of Gaiman and Pratchett. And this is not a bad thing per se, I think, but let’s give credit where credit is due).

And let me be clear: I gained so so much from joining the fandom. It has positively affected so many seemingly unrelated parts of my life, and I’m so grateful to so many kind strangers on the internet who have shared such wholesome art with me, and have gifted me so much, that even putting it into words is simply not enough to explain all of it.

And one of the results of this “wave of wholesomeness” is I also started following Gaiman more closely.

Like so many, I loved Coraline. Gaiman seemed a genuinely nice person. An old guy who had wisdom to share, and who seemed to be fascinatingly non-stereotypical? If that makes sense. What I mean is that he was everything my father warned me against. A goth, weird, a writer therefore an artist (and in my family we know artists are fools who end up on the street jobless and homeless). And yet, to me now he seemed such a normal guy. Yes maybe someone who enjoyed that fashion style, but otherwise very far away from the usual excess of a rockstar. Of course I was too young when he was at the peak of his rockstar years. English is not my first language, and when he was 40 I was in elementary school and just learning about him, and you know, they do not write about his fans passing out at signings or his groupies on the back cover of children’s books.

What I mean is that I didn’t have access to all the media and information about him.

So I start seemingly connecting to this writer, whose works I have enjoyed for the most part, and who seems such a nice guy in how he interacts with his fans and people in general. Such an inoffensive, kind person. And kind seemingly to everyone.

I started liking him. To the point where I remember telling my partner: you know, Neil Gaiman is someone I’d take a coffee with (which in Italian culture is one of the greatest honors one can give you. Having a coffee while sitting at a café and chat for hours is what good friends do).

So, in my mind he had a special place now. He was someone I started to admire and look up to.

And this is, I think, where it hurts. It hurts because even if I wasn’t personally victimized, I never met him, he never acted creepy with me, he doesn’t even know me, it still felt like I, as part of the fandom, had been used for his clout. And also, it hurts to feel like someone you trusted because of how they presented themselves has lied to you.

And on top of that: it is so fucking disrespectful. The fact he thought he could get away with it. With hurting so many people (one is one too many by the way), and causing so much pain, while also enjoying crowds of adoring fans, both online and in person.

I find it personally difficult to reconcile my love of the GO fandom with all of this right now. And I think it’s for a number of reasons.

Firstly because the silence of institutions and people around these facts has opened some old wounds and made me angry again towards a system that I perceive as hostile towards me and people like me who might be vulnerable.

What I mean is: I know that Gaiman is a powerful person, and a lot of people need to bring money home and are tied to contracts and what not (yeah I’m looking at our favorite two male presenting british actors here) and I understand it. I do. And this is exactly why this stuff makes me angry again. Angry at the whole shitty system we live in, where if you happen to be in some kind of power imbalance you might end up having to eat shit and shut up while witnessing violence against you or others and not being able to utter a word about it. This sucks. It makes me angry. It makes me angry that Michael Sheen, someone I like to believe would be among the first to shout “I BELIEVE THE VICTIMS” if he was talking to friends at a bar, likely has to shut up and play nicely because Darth Amazon has some fucking clause written in Braille somewhere that says he has to sacrifice his firstborn if he ever dares to suggest he doesn’t like anyone related to the franchise.

It makes me soooo angry that we stay in the dark, and we only know from those people who are brave, and powerful enough to speak up about something that (allegedly) has been known for fucking years in the writing community. That this person was a creep. That he was treating people, mainly women and non-binary folks, if not bad, at least poorly.

And you know, this makes me even more angry because I have been in such shitty situations too! I was a victim of a system where exploitation and borderline abuse were normalized in a work setting.

And it wakes something deep in me to read that “it was an open secret bla bla bla” and again: I understand why people set up whisper networks instead of taking these giants down. I understand it. It still makes me angry because I simply do not want to live in such systems. Systems where I’m either the sacrificial lamb or I’m the one tying it on the table, or handing the axe over to the butcher, or a witness who has no power to stop the suffering.

I don’t want to live in such a system. But I have to. In my real life. I have to put up with so much shit sometimes, shit that makes me feel like I cannot stand up for my values because hey, I need to pay the bills too. And Good Omens was one of those few things where I could escape a bit into an alternative reality, where everything could be a bit better.

And I’m sure the fandom is still like this for most of the fans. I have witnessed first-hand how supportive and cheerful this fandom can be.

For me though, it still makes me think of all this...tsunami of shit.

I want to be able to enjoy the silly fanart, the memes, the wait for season 3 again. But I can’t. I can’t because my brain does not work like that. Good Omens still means Neil Gaiman too much to me. And I cannot go around talking cheerfully about Good Omens while feeling like I’m feeding into the clout of someone who used their power to coerce vulnerable people. Because (and I might be wrong) it feels like the message I’m sending is: my comfort show/book is more important than your pain or your life. And I can’t. This is not the truth.

I feel for the victims. Probably I feel even more than it would be healthy for me, or normal. But I don’t know, I feel like I connect to them. Maybe because I’ve been a victim of abuse perpetrated in clear power-imbalanced relationships, or because I felt like nobody cared about me and my wellbeing for so long, that eventually I stopped caring too.

And it is bad. It’s dehumanizing to a point where you really start believing you don’t matter. Your wellbeing doesn’t matter. There are more important things.

Ok so, I don’t want the victims, the survivors, to feel like this. They matter. They matter to me because if there’s one thing that is going to re-ignate the sacred fire of defiance in me is being able to stop this self-feeding cycle of self-loathing and misery. You matter. We matter. Vulnerable people who have been hurt matter to me. If there is one thing we can do to resist these systems of oppression and these people who abuse their power, that thing is believing that the people they hurt matter. If not more, at least as much as them.

And the way I show myself and others that the victims and their lives matter to me is by distancing myself from Neil Gaiman and his works, at least for now.

I feel bad for people who might have found themselves unwillingly tied to all of this. I feel bad for Sheen and Tennant, for all the wonderful artists and craft-people who have put so much of their work and love in Good Omens and I don’t want to let them down.

My two cents are that season 3 will not be canceled if they see there’s enough traction, and definitely won’t be canceled unless fans start a crusade against it, which won’t happen most likely.

The fandom loves Tennant and Sheen too much, and these are too much nice people to really hold a grudge against them, so I don’t think it will be canceled.

I’m afraid we (I say “we” meaning everyone who loves Good Omens) will be “held hostage” by Gaiman in the sense that he knows season 3 is not going to happen without him, so it’s either “we” or the majority of “we” behave, or it’s not going to happen. Which again, I don’t think he would lose the opportunity to make some money, and he also has contract duties to fulfill, but it still is worth it for him to try to leverage his power.

I wanted to end this rant on a positive note, somehow. But I don't know exactly what to say. Recently one of the things that has brought me laughs and joy has been the Channel 4 series “We are Lady Parts”.

In one of the episodes they quote a very beautiful poem, which came back to mind when I was listening to Claire (the latest woman who has come forward with allegations) on the “Am I Broken” podcast.

The poem is Speak by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, I will paste the version from the show, because I think it’s very powerful and beautiful.

Speak, for your two lips are free Speak, for your tongue is still your own This straight body still is yours. Speak, your life is still your own.

See how in the blacksmith’s forge flames leap high and steel glows red, padlocks opening wide their jaws. Every chain’s embrace outspread.

Time enough is this brief hour Until body and tongue lie dead. Speak, for truth is living yet. Speak, whatever must be said.