#This isn’t super lore-related

[mod-autumn]

I been drinkin' and smokin' too much, that shit damages Gimme a lot, I can do it myself, I can manage it Two Xans, I gotta leave, and you know how it is You and me, we can take on the world, we can be savages

[babygirlhaljordan]

hi. not to be autistic on main but. autistic dan heng(tm)

he has a strong dedication to researching (which can be argued as a special interest), finds repetitive tasks engaging (collecting data, sword training), has a hard time verbalizing or describing his feelings, and has a flat tone of voice (a common autistic symptom). he also finds comfort in nature and seems more comfortable being alone to ppl which a lot of autistic ppl connect to. he gets tired out or exhausted by ppl easily and needs alone time to recharge, canonically spending lots of time in his room

tldr: autistic dan heng

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[nevadancitizen]

-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵���́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off. 

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years. 

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids. 

You never… died. Not really, anyway. 

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon. 

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship. 

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.) 

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds. 

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying. 

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected. 

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well. 

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment. 

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin. 

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules. 

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up. 

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller. 

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you. 

“Come with me,” he says simply. 

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies. 

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth… very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door. 

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring. 

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man. 

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again. 

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly. 

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on. 

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me. 

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric. 

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor. 

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all. 

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it. 

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes… 

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see. 

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy. 

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one). 

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close. 

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way. 

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far. 

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget. 

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock. 

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots. 

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks. 

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs. 

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face. 

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent. 

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…” 

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature. 

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier. 

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame. 

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to. 

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small. 

“Good?” Ghost asks. 

“Good,” you parrot back. 

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I’m gonna get some water on you now.” 

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn. 

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other. 

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.” 

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice. 

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions. 

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands. 

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank. 

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine. 

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say. 

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone. 

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it. 

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face. 

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater. 

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

[thehollywoodnecromancer]

YELLOWJACKETS CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS!!

- Van absolutely LOVES Home Alone (partially because she relates to it) and makes everyone sit through it three times every December

- Lottie hates Home Alone for the same reason, only Nat knows why she cries every time they watch it

- Laura Lee goes super Catholic about it, need I say more

- Shauna loves those morbid “fun facts” and will not shut up about how St Nicholas resurrected butchered babies and punched a guy in the face

- Jackie’s Christmas tree is really stuffy and white so she always goes to Shauna’s place and the two of them decorate a chaotic little shrub in Shauna’s attic

- Tai’s favourite Christmas movie is 100% Die Hard. Travis doesn’t think it’s a Christmas movie but he still loves it, and Jackie does too because of her “secret” thing for Bruce Willis (and let’s be honest, Bonnie Bedelia too)

- Jackie always gets super competitive over the Wham game

- Misty makes Coach Ben a hand-painted bauble every year, he just has a box of them at Paul’s place labelled “fuck no”

- Misty pretends to still believe in Santa Claus for attention

- Javi is still bitter Travis told him that Santa isn’t real (which Travis only did bc he’s bitter Bobby Farleigh told him)

- Nat is 100% a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie, she & Kevyn always have some sleepover with popcorn to watch it

- Mari knows the lyrics to You’re a Mean One Mr Grinch off by heart

- Misty has a thing for Michael Bublé

- Jackie keeps her own personal naughty & nice list in her diary and gives gifts accordingly. Shauna is always on the nice list and Jeff is almost never, which Jeff is silently so devastated about, like he cries in his room over it

- Lottie always gets the most insane shit for Christmas but it’s literally never what she asked for— she’ll be like “hey can I get a record player” and her parents will be like “I know!!!!! Have an ice sculpture which melts immediately and some million dollar earrings which you will never wear because they clash with your complexion”

- Misty loves the snow, her entire yard is filled with snowmen. There’s lore. It runs deep

[accio-victuuri]

tho i’m kind bummed that wyb isn’t gonna be at that greater bay event, i’m still very appreciative cause gege is gonna be there and will be onstage multiple times 💕 and it’s understandable cause wyb was in Milan and it’s cutting it short if he attends. i’m waiting for his alleged event with lacoste next weekend tho.

i love being busy with content related to them! anyway, look at the photo he used for the poster. it’s the same as last year’s, when they both attended. kinda like how bobo was using photos from cql events on his posters long after the show.

and we were talking about how the moon represents my heart’s lore started essentially because of a fake rumor. one of the songs xz is gonna sing tomo is possibly related to one too. sort of. hui ge once posted something and caption was 我有个我们. if you search that, what will come up is the song he will sing with Karen Mok. it’s actually an OST for a movie called love will tear us apart. Just reading through the synopsis, i’m nodding my head and understanding why XZ would be partial to that film lol. whether he watched the film or what, idk. but i wanna add that here.

anyway, going back to the song and hui ge’s post. it was perfect cause the photos are the two of them. and it’s sending a really sweet message. if you relate it to the lyrics….

there are so many people in this world and there is an open door in the crowd. the blue morning when I first saw you will always remain in my misty eyes. there are so many people in this world, so lucky that I have us

i’m crying. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

the photo was them at two separate events, living two separate lives �� but they have each other. i’ve said this before but even in a non-cpn way, back in 2019, they were lucky to have each other. suddenly being in that kind of spotlight and dealing with that together was a huge help. and i only hope they continue to have their person to rely on for years to come.

and anyone else thinking of wyb’s “i have xz” line too? 🥺🥺🥺

-END.

( if you have no idea who hui ge is i posted that on my key posts. but what makes the photo he shared more sus is that shot of XZ was never shared by any official accounts — and the angle meant the photographer was super close. like at a rehearsal. making it more “real” that hui ge is from xz’s side. )

[gigisnetwork]

NERDIFYING UR DEMIGODS 🗣️🗣️ (things I think they’d enjoy :3)

Nico

- Batman - in fact, the whole DC universe (he would collect figures + comics)

- The Maze Runner (he’s read all the books and watched all the movies and has a crush on thomas) (maybe newt too)

- Gravity Falls (insane lore, enough said) (also he’s the one who introduced it to Hazel) (They see themselves as Mabel n Dipper) (also went ballistic over the Book of Bill)

- Song of Achilles (LOVES madeleine miller) (Bonds over her books w annabeth i don’t make the rules 🤷🤷)

- POKÉMON (YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ITS SIMILAR TO MYTHOMAGIC I KNOW IT) (also had a HUUUGGEE hyperfixation on pokémon go) (collects cards (ofc) and plushies too)

- My Little Pony (hazel got him into it) (thinks it’s super cute) (collects plushies of them)

- Fallout (Thinks it’s sick and loves dystopian stuff) (frank introduced it to him 😇😇) (sometimes like redesigns things so they look like they’re from Fallout) (like MrsFallout on yt)

Annabeth

- AGGTM (you can’t tell me she wouldn’t love pipravi)

- The Hunger Games (shes read all the books and absolutely LOVES katniss) (also she definitely sees her n percy in peeniss)

- Murder Most Unladylike (idk she seems like the kinda girl to be into murder mysteries n stuff) (also i just think it’s fitting for annabeth)

- Circe (again LOVES madeleine miller) (hasn’t read medusa yet, i don’t think she would) (hubris + she isn’t fond of medusa AT ALL) (bonds over her work w nico 😇😇)

- The Sims (SHE THINKS ITS SO FUN) (she absolutely loves character customisation, and interior design n stuff) (has so much custom content it’s insane)

- Minecraft (Again, loves designing things) (makes the most intricate builds EVER) (super skilled like it’s actually insane how she makes her builds) (usually plays on creative but absolutely has a hardcore world she’s been working on for YEARS)

Hazel

- Bee and Puppycat (she loves how pretty the show is) (also she kinda sees herself in Bee)

- Steven Universe (Again, pretty art) (also, the lore goes crazy and has pretty good music ‼️)

- Gravity Falls (again, pretty art n insane lore) (also she went BALLISTIC over the Book of Bill) (She and Nico see themselves as Mabel n Dipper)

- Dolls (haunted/creepy dolls, cute dolls, ball jointed dolls, figures, you name it) (she’d try and communicate w the haunted dolls w nicos help) (its actually pretty fun to her)

- My Little Pony (it’s cutesy) (also she likes the message it gives ^^) (has a ponysona) (LOVES EQUESTIRA GIRLS YOU CANT CHANGE MY MIND) (AND THE NEW GEN TOO)

- Animal Crossing (she likes all the versions but mainly plays new horizons bcus she thinks it’s like the best) (loves the character designs, and being able to basically make her own island)

Percy

- Spider-man / The Spider-verse - actually, the entire marvel universe (He thinks it’s sick) (also ABSOLUTELY relates to peter parker and miles morales) (only really got into it bcus of the movies, before starting to collect comics)

- One Direction (no one knows this) (was absolutely HEARTBROKEN when they broke up)

- The Hunger Games (annabeth got him into it) (but he only watched the movies, got half-way into the first book before being like “i can’t do this anymore” and watched the movies) (RELATES TO KATNISS 🗣️🗣️)

- SEGA/Mainly Sonic (he thinks it super silly) (also sonic boom was incredibly funny to him) (CONSTANTLY quotes him too) (has every single game w him in it)

- SUBNAUTICA. (you CANNOT TELL ME HE DOESNT LOVE THIS GAME) (EVERY TIME HE PLAYS HE IS SO INVESTED LIKE YOU CANT TEAR HIM AWAY FROM HIS PC OR CONSOLE)

Frank

- POKEMOONN 🗣️🗣️ (he introduced it to nico) (they both play in both mythomagic and pokémon tournaments, when they can find some) (they also love playing them together) (he has all the games)

- Unpacking (thinks it’s super relaxing and absolutely loves the visuals) (also loves how it tells a story, ykwim ???) (introduced it to hazel) (really, he’s the one who introduced hazel to all the video games that she likes)

- Resident Evil (people are like incredibly surprised when they find out he’s into that game) (he really likes the lore/story, thinks it’s super sick)

- The Last of Us (again, people were super surprised he was into this game) (he likes shooter games) (also thinks ellie and joel’s dynamic was super sweet) (has a love/hate relationship with the hbo series) (100% thinks dystopian stuff is sick)

- Yu-Gi-Oh (another card game) (idk i feel like he would really be into it) (this definitely came before pokémon to him) (he’s known this before mythomagic) (the OG 🗣️🗣️)

- Fallout (he introduced it to nico) (again, game mechanics are sick and loves the lore 🗣️🗣️) (sure, he’s the one who liked it first but he isn’t as big of a fan of it as nico)

(will update when i think of more 🗣️🗣️)

[alnair-jpg]

Can we have a news broadcast about the nico and will “scandal”

The what!?! lol

Assuming this is Olympic AU related:

maybe you mean the “di Angelo tragedy”?

That’s referring to Bianca’s death… and yeah, actually- you might get some broadcast/sketches about how that all went down one of these days 😬

As for a “scandal” - currently there isn’t one. Nico and Will are together but not super public. After the celebratory embrace after Nico’s win though…. Maybe there was some unwanted attention from the press 👀

Love the idea of a news broadcast as the format/setting though. I’ll have to keep it in mind for future lore.

[cornbread818]

Random Things I noticed with the ABiBaZ:R designs.

Southern Russian Olivia theory

I initially excused the tan skin as trick of the light since Olivia is standing behind Asmodena, so she casts a shadow onto her. But if you compare the shades of darkened and lightened skin, Olivia’s are always darker slightly.

Another thing is her hair being NOT black as fanon portrays, but instead dark brown. I also thought this was trick of the light, but if you compare the shade of her clothes to the shade of her hair, it’s more noticeable.

Dark brown hair and tan skin are Southern Russian traits; Northern Russian people aren’t originally born tan, they are pale skin by nature. Though, to ber fair, ABiBaZ:R does apparently take place in Australia, so Australian Olivia having tan skin isn’t surprising in that context. But for the people who are stubbornly huffing copium — that includes me — by believing that most ABiBaZ chr. were originally from Russia but were forced into Australia because of Alex’s crazy demon powers, this is the medicine to explain Olivia’s skintone.

Dolly Isn’t Pale-Skinned

Instead of having chronically pale skin, she is now made of yarn that resembles ivory skin — or I think it’s yarn? The texture resembles crochet yarn dolls.

Asmodena Losing Her Propeller Hat

I think it’s pretty obvious why he removed it. MrDrNose wants his characters to be seen as adults, but Asmodena’s properller hat + her immature/childish personality makes her look young.

Un-changed Asmodena

I’m honestly curious why she looks the way she does if she’s supposed to be related to fire magic wielding underground miners who never visit humans… She doesn’t look fire-magic’y non-Earth’ish at all. Back when Asmodena was a demon, it was said that she came to the mortal world to train under Alex, thus implying that she knows about humans and this outfit is supposed to make her blend in.

So her funny looking pajama uniform was acceptable and even compliments the demon lore, maybe even imply some cultural intelligence. But with the miner lore it kinda… Feel out-of-place… She’s supposed to know nothing so why… Well… To be fair she does look really silly so… You could explain the outfit the same way with the demon lore thing (i.e. to blend in with humanity)… I guess it’s not that bad.

Buff Candice

I can’t believe I was predicted buff Candice. I thought that was just a model mishap, but no, it was intentional.

Dolly’s New Button Eyes

Nothing super crazy. Random small detail.

Removal of Candice’s Cat Ears

This one is also pretty understandable, it makes her design look less cluttered and more cohesive; The cat ears had no relevance to her lore. though I also understand why other people cling to the cat ears anyway — they’re iconic.

Olivia’s Boots

Why does she have those, it’s like she was prepared to run for her life. She definitely has an advantage over Asmodena’s slippers — they don’t look like slippers in ABiBaZ:R for art style reasons, but in original ABiBaZ she had slippers.

Olivia Transition from Goth to Emo

I know some people were upset she got changed to emo in the remaster, but be honest with me guys. Do you seriously want MrDrNose to call this 3D model goth? That is an emo adolescent, through and through. I think the aesthetic change was a blessing cause MrDrNose isn’t interested in making a goth ABiBaZ character — we have Ena from VoTV for that. Also I have a VERY STRONG suspicion that the new design might’ve been based on Yangure’s 3D model…

[aurorialwolf]

Y’all ever heard of epigenetics?

Okay, mildly (though some not) angsty parent!Darlin and parent!Sam headcanons for what their kid would be like (focusing on ages 15-19)

So; for starters, the name I chose for my lil guy, the son of Sam and Darlin, is Samuel Jr. Sylvester Collins-Barrera (Barrera being the last name I hc for my Darlin)

Also, my hc for Darlin is that they’re half or fully Mexican and can speak Spanish fluently

Gonna start off with average character stuff

- Everyone his age calls him Samuel, some of the older pack call him Junior, to differentiate from his father

- He’s fluent in Spanish, lies about it though to take a Spanish class to breeze through a couple credits for high school

- Now, this one depends on what mood I’m in, but he’s either a Freelancer or a Shifter before he gets turned (more on that later), orrr if I’m feeling real funky and wanna ignore some canon lore I make him a bit of a hybrid, able to shift but quite adept at freelancer magics

- Him and Darlin’ spar, so his combat ability is honed to the point of them being evenly matched by the time he’s 19, but he can never quite defeat them in a match

- When he gains access to his magic at 13, Sam teaches him some small magic, and starts teaching him healing, which he picks up quickly

- Eventually specializes in healing, with a minor in illusions and dabbles in elemental magic at D.A.M.N. (This is in the further future though so this isn’t in a timeline order or anything)

- He shifts accidentally for the first time at home with Sam, 3 days after the solstice, not a very fun experience :(, and Darlin isn’t home, so Sam kinda freaks out cuz he doesn’t know what to do

- Not going to discuss the other pack kid headcanons here much (different post perhaps?) but basically, David has a son, and Samuel (the kid I’m talking about in this post) has a crush on him (him being the son of David)

- Vivienne, Vincent’s daughter, and him are very close, both being kids of clan-less vampire parents, so they can relate to each other the most

- He’s just as much of a vigilante as Darlin was, which makes his parents very worried, but he can heal himself, and use magic, helping him be better off in fights

Okay, now for the angst!! Yay :D

- He and David argue a lot about his reckless actions, leading him to distance himself from David and act similarly to how Darlin did, albeit relying on the general pack much more

- This one requires a small explanation; in my headcanon of how kids of vampires work (since they kinda can’t reproduce in canon etc idk it’s weird), they still inherit the current blood of their vampire parent, as well as their parents original blood (I did take a bio class so ik it would prob be only their old blood bc of genes and gametes but it’s cooler this way lol), and if their parent’s blood is from a very strong old-blood, it can affect the child adversely when they reach the age of unlocking their magic

- Sooooo because Samuel Jr. has Solaire blood, he’s turned by his own blood trying to take over the rest of his body when he’s 15, and basically dies!! Coming back as a vampire ofc

- And this is massively depressing for Sam, like majorly,, because as his son dies in his arms he tries his best to heal him and fails, not to mention he’s now the reason his son has lost the same freedoms Sam did many years ago :(

- In my headcanon of how this works with being turned early and stuff I think Samuel Jr. continues to age until he’s physically about 19 ish

- Ofc Samuel is bitter asf and says some super vitriolic stuff to Sam, temporarily severely harming their relationship, though they make up afterwards

- While in bloodlust, Sam and Darlin try bringing him to pack stuff still, but he’s a danger to non-vampires, making things difficult

- David eventually starts to get protective of the pack, seeing him as a possible threat (does it get dehumanizing? Yeah a little bit) but David’s son doesn’t care, and hangs around Samuel even though it’s dangerous, letting him drink his blood

- At one pack event David can’t find Samuel or his son and gets a bit panicky, even though he tries to hide it, and gets Sam, eventually they find them both, David’s son (who is the same age as Samuel, my guy ain’t feeding on a child dw 🥲) sitting on a bed playing a game on his phone, with Samuel calmly drinking from his wrist

- David is confused and a little frustrated, but his son explains that Samuel still has enough control, and that just because he’s been turned doesn’t mean he should be outcasted even during bloodlust (though he’s a little bit wrong because Samuel really is a danger but yk,, it’s ok Samuel is trying really hard to be careful around him bc he still has the crush from when they were kids)

- David cares about Samuel I promise 🥲 but he’s very concerned for the general well-being of the pack

- Samuel, being a stubborn guy just like both his parents, refuses to accept that he’s a vampire and is unable to enter sunlight and does some.. very reckless experiments, essentially running into sunlight at pack gatherings when no one’s looking and having to be dragged back by one of the nearby shifters

- Eventually he finds a weird way to alter his own core with a lot of magic, but he’s not really altering it, it’s more like his core never fully changed because he only had >49% Solaire blood so it didn’t have full effect (that does mean Vincent’s daughter got fully turned though 😔) so he can oddly change between forms, still having many disadvantages ofc (mary sue? Nooooooooo why would I do that :3 I just like multi-faceted powerful folks yeeeup) like sensitivity to sunlight, and a hard limit on how long he can retain his humanity (he can seem totally human / a shifter / a freelancer for about 2 hours until his hold on the magic keeping his core the right way slips)

- So once he’s around 17 he’s got a good hold on his magic, having reaccessed it after his experiments when he was 16 ish

- ..this does mean he’s a pretty crazy fighter now after a while of practice

Nowwwww who remembers me mentioning epigenetics way at the beginning of this lol (I promise I’m almost done but he’s my favourite redacted oc 😞)

- Fair warning this may imply that Darlin has the ability to birth so erm if that isn’t your cup of tea that’s totally okay and you can ignore this bit

- Basically Darlin’s epigenetics are passed onto him, and he has some major mental baggage because of it, being far more prone to mental health problems :(

TW: ALCOHOLISM

- He also copes very unhealthily with his problems by drinking, so much so that he swears off alcohol and stays sober when he’s only 20 and still can’t drink legally (in the US at least) :((

tw over it’s ok to read now

Okay okay that’s it for now I know I blabbered so much just now immm sorrryyyyy 😞

I will be posting more because there is a lot more to this little canon divergent thingy of mine !! Been having this in my brain for almost two years now but felt it was too.. idk.. self indulgent? Cuz I made him a littleeee too powerful and cool 😔 but I give him disadvantages so it’s ok ✅!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

diasomnia, 1 — 19

***Spoilers ahead!!!***

Note: this is just a general summary of what has happened so far and my initial reactions to those major events. I focused my comments on whatever interests me the most (ie lore and funny character interactions), so there are definitely details that were overlooked and lines that were simplified to make a joke; please do not rely on this as a translation.

Big thanks to @shuuenmei and @curekibouka-writing for clarifying the more confusing tracks of the story (some parts were difficult to follow the sequence of events for) and the details of the✨ deep lore ✨ It was fun screaming with the both of you—

Ah yes, Yuu’s Sleeping Beauty dream right on cue. Finally starting to put together the puzzle pieces, huh (Yuu goes to check on the Great Seven statues to confirm they saw the Fairy of Thorns in their dreams)? About time—

As expected, Sebek loses his mind and tells Yuu to not abuse Malleus’s kindness. He’s also super pissed that Malleus and Yuu act familiar with each other (and over the nickname). Yup, that interaction went about as well as we all predicted…

Not Lilia being the “I’m an anime boy late for anime school (the internship meeting)!” trope 😂 All he needs is some toast in his mouth!

Crowley talks about boring things how the internships will work and we hear more about the areas of interest for the third years.

Lore ✨ Each internship “semester” is 3 months and you can only take certain internships if you qualify for them via your grades, credits, and electives. You can choose to do 3 separate internships (again, 3 months each) or do 1 internship (for all 9 months). A B or higher is needed on two of the “semesters” to graduate. Students must also submit reports each semester. Some places additionally require interviews and/or special tests to be passed before a student is accepted as an intern. Placements are not first-come, first-serve; you need to earn that spot.

Trey says he wants to do something related to pastries or agriculture; basically, things close to food production 🌾 He wants to take advantage of his opportunities as an NRC student while he still can!! Trey said he wants to work right after school rather than go to university.

Cater is interested in the entertainment industry; he mentions magazines and videos?? It seems he isn’t interested in higher education.

HELP they randomly mention that Ace’s older brother interned in the entertainment industry too (it gets brought up when Cater was considering a theme park for his own internship)??? TRAPPOLA NII ALSO CURRENTLY WORKS IN ENTERTAINMENT????? When do we get to meet him, Ace—

Vil is continuing to advance his own career in film. He already picked out a studio to apply for, and expresses an interest in magical pharmaceuticals (though he doesn’t intend on going to college). Very fitting specialties for everyone, I must say!

Rook is interested in archeology so he can learn more about the world! After learning about S.T.Y.X., he realizes there’s so much more he doesn’t yet know. According to Trey, Rook does appear to intend to pursue college/higher level studies.

LMAO at Trey constantly having to translate Rook-isms for everyone 😂 Classic Science Club…

Unca Weona is cwanky cuz the talking is disturbing his nappy—

Leona’s going to a mining and energy facility in his home country. It’s an option offered only to those with high grades. Leona wants to be a lazy ass 🦁 “They won’t fail their prince, lmao”

Idia is doing an software engineering internship at Olympus Corp (ie TWST Google) 👀 This is huge because back at the end of episode 5 (ie the episode 6 preview), Idia was actively rejecting offers from Olympus Corp, claiming that he wasn’t welcome anywhere. Character growth… Idia isn’t welcome back at S.T.Y.X. because of the Overblotting and how it nearly exposed the organization to the public eye LOL 😂 Absentee Shroud parents upset with him cksbskwbkcnfke

Malleus doesn’t seem to be interested in picking an internship; he says that, to him, 3 months is too short a time to really learn anything (temporal dissonance strikes again). In the end, he is going to research historical ruins?? He can hang out with the Gargoyles 😎 and Rollo/j

BRO WHAT ???? Lilia is dropping out of NRC??? THE FUQ,,,,!.’sveksbskebkzvczbvvv?$$$&85inmw I had to hard stop at this scene because it caught me by surprise.

The first years are talking about Mickey (like if there are certain conditions to get him to appear??). Oh god, they're planning a Mickey Mouse stakeout????? AND ORTHO IS INCLUDED IN THE GROUP AWWWW 🥺 He searches his databases and uses his cool robot tech to look for more information about Mickey but finds nothing.

GRIM MAKES A SUS COMMENT ABOUT HOW ORTHO IS MORE HELPFUL WITH THIS (Mickey and Yuu's worlds perhaps being tied or related to one another) THAN CROWLEY IS.

They overhear Sebek shouting in the cafeteria; he’s in disbelief that Lilia is dropping out of school.

So anyway, Lilia’s magic has, in fact, weakened significantly (he was almost late for the internship meeting because he woke up and found that he couldn't teleport). He plans on retiring in the Land of the Crimson Dragon (Mushu???? IS THAT YOU).

Interesting??? It seems that Lilia has been progressively losing his powers since even before Sebek and Silver were born… It’s not a super recent occurrence.

Sebek and Silver are understandably upset and mention that while it would be easy for either of them to visit Lilia, it would be almost impossible for Malleus because he will be so inundated with his royal duties after graduation. Malleus is distraught as well, but he insists that they respect Lilia's decision. AND HE’S LEAVING IN LIKE A WEEK? That’s barely enough time to mourn or to emotionally prepare for the fallout…

Malleus pitches an idea to talk to his grandma to not overwork Lilia (vice dorm leaders being overworked? What? In this game? Nooooooo/s).

Malleus's grandma is name-dropped (Maleficia)??? Is everyone in the Draconia family just Mal-something????

LOTS OF OMINOUS DIALOGUE ("Time is running out", "Fate cannot be defied", etc.)

After that whole conversation it’s clear that something isn’t right (despite Malleus maintaining his calm in front of Diasomnia). As soon as he’s away from them, the weather instantly turns stormy AND we see Malleus's blot accumulating as early as 7-13 in what I assume will be a very meaty episode.

Sebek and Silver help Lilia pack; Silver finds this tin in Lilia’s room. There is an old bracelet of acorns and thread inside.

Lilia shows up and says that it’s the most precious item he’s ever been gifted??? But it’s not clear who it’s from.

There's another item in the tin (the ring on a chain)! It has a weird effect on Silver?? I think it makes him sleepy???

The gem in the ring is the same color as Silver’s eyes; Lilia thinks its because his parents wanted his eyes to be forever unclouded and pure 🤨 That’s cute and all, but it makes me really suspicious that something super bad will happen later and I’m living for that—

This ring was tied to baby Silver when Lilia found him. He planned on gifting it to Silver when he's finally an adult... and now is that time 😭 Ain’t no way they’re giving us these heartfelt moments only to not tear it down later with something devastating… And?? With the ring being so fancy, there’s no way Silver isn’t descended from some rich family (or even royalty/nobility) himself??? Prince Silver real????/j cuz that ring sure does look like Princess Aurora’s crown…

Sebek pulls up with THIS fucking monstrosity?? It’s a weapon (axe???) Lilia used from back in the day (like, in war). However, nowadays he uses it to chop regular shit like wood. The weapon looks very similar to one that Maleficent’s minions use.

It's made out of a special magical ore! It’s called Mystium, and it changes shape according to the wielder’s magic.

Back to Yuu and co. staking out Mickey! Grim is finally realizing that if Yuu goes home, he’ll be alone 😔 Noooo, fur baby… Don’t be sad..

They wait for a while but get sleepy because Mickey is taking forever to appear. When Yuu wakes up, they see Malleus’s green lights and they go outside to find it’s snowing (again, because of his weird mood). He apologizes and makes the snow vanish, then confides in Yuu about his insecurities.

Malleus tells a story about how he froze the castle and some people when he was a little kid (omg Elsa core???) because because his grandma had promised to eat with him and was late or didn’t show up due to her royal duties keeping her busy. It sounds like even the palace servants were afraid of his power because of incidents like this. Like. It’s kind of implied Malleus almost killed them (Lilia says Malleus almost “lost” those people) with his magic.

Lilia was the only one who came for Malleus to check on him when he was upset, dried his tears, and tried to understand him. He comes over and frees the people that Malleus froze, then everyone starts preparing and eating shaved ice made from the ice encasing the castle (not randomly, I think it was Lilia’s suggestion).

Malleus gets jealous because he saw everyone enjoying food without him and/or he thought Lilia was angry at him. (This is the point when Lilia tells him he has great power so he has to be careful how he uses it, ie the “you almost lost the people that you’re now happily eating with at the hands of your own magic” talk.)

Lilia uses his weapon to make some shaved ice for Malleus and invited him to join in (I think this may be the same weapon Sebek finds in his room in the present???); this helped Malleus “connect” with other people, or at least invited him to join and do the same thing the others were) It’s because of Lilia that Malleus is okay with eating cold things. UM???? HELLO???? Is that why Malleus’s favorite food is ice-cream??? Or at least a part of it?

BTW LONG HAir PONYtAIL LILiA CANON yes I’m way more excited about this than I was about that entire ice story

Yuu calls Malleus lonely 💀 and Malleus is shocked because he’s so used to being alone that the thought never occurred to him…

Oh no, Malleus learned that Yuu has “found a way home” (ie Rickey Rat hunting) 🙃 he’s like. “You are leaving me as well?” AND RIGHT AFTER HE JUST LEARNED ABOUT LILIA GOING… Lilia, who has been with Malleus ever since he hatched from his egg…

Friends, family… everything and everyone he cherishes is leaving Malleus. “Even if I have great power, I have nothing. I gain nothing, I always lose. No one will invite me, not anymore.” No Lilia, No Yuu 😞 Malleus, your abandonment issues are showing—

NAUUUR not more ominous shit 😭 Not the “man, I sure do wish everyone wouldn’t go :(((( if only there was a way for me to have everything I want…” coming from the mouth of a super insanely powerful magician…

NOOOOO not Yuu unintentionally enabling Malleus… He asks if there was a way to be with your loved ones forever, would Yuu take it?????? YUU DOnT SAy YES YOU FUQQinG IDIOT… ENABLER Yuu didn’t learn from Trey/j

MaLLEUS MY duDE 😔 DOn’T PULL ANY STUPID ShIT PLEASE (ie we all know he probably will)

Aaaand that’s all for now, folks!! Lots of sketchy lines and lore centering around grandpappy Lilia 🤡

Overall, I like the direction episode 7 is going so far! I was really worried that it would focus too much on Yuu and Malleus’s relationship rather than elaborating on Malleus’s relationships with the rest of Diasomnia, but I’m glad that the main story actually touches upon how integral Lilia is to his found family—and to Malleus, of course. A lot of interesting plot points have been set up (especially surrounding Mickey and Lilia), and I’m really looking forward to seeing how those conclude 👀 I feel like we also got spoiled with character lore; I love that time is a Real Thing in TWST and the the boys are aging and thinking hard about their futures. Can’t wait for the angst to hit me full force like a truck 💕

[bleue-flora]

tbf its hard to tell whats lore in exile and what isnt cuase it was the ccs having fun like tommy making fun of dream eating ice cubes, and talking about fanta and dreams merch. also kinda related but isnt it funny that cdream canonically taught ctommy about climate change like did that converastion happen off screen in exile lmao

I mean I take as much of it as canon as possible, because I think the fourth wall breaking and the silliness at times is part of the lore. It’s impossible to entirely not accept the two. In addition, regard of cc reasons for things I like to look at why it might make sense for the cs. Like I said in a different response, I have a feeling Dream coming up and hanging out is for the audience. It’d be very boring to watch Tommy mope around and Dream is obviously going to make excellent thumbnails lol. But story wise, unless specifically retconned, in my mind it should still be considered lore in some sense. Sure maybe it doesn’t make sense for Dream to be selling merch, but them talking and bonding I think should still be canonical. The fourth wall breaking ya know is just kinda apart of the story.

Does Techno actually play golf on the dsmp? No. But that doesn’t mean that that conversation isn’t canon if that makes sense. Did they mean for the cat or dog to magically appear in the cell? I don’t think so, but it became apart of the lore. The Prime Church is a canonical place so can we really write off that stream? Getting primes or subs or members ended up becoming so canon they had to get a god to give them a bell in prison…

Anyways… see now you got me thinking about Dream in Exile just standing there with a cup of ice in his hand, munching away while watching Tommy lol XD… Look lets be honest climate change is super depressing, are we sure he didn’t build the tower because of that ;D lol

[lightning-and-sparks]

what do you think the august event will be for plus?

The way I jumped when I saw this ask,

Ok first what it’ll probably be: some random event that isn’t prevalent to the lore

What I think it’s going to be:

Two new songs like the May 14th Night Swan event that are Jack-centric. First being Loose Yourself which badges relating to the map were found in the code of the game. I think this map is going to serve as a flashback and explain why Jack was so easy to turn in majesty. It’ll probably be the “Darkest Hour” equivalent where it doesn’t push the narrative forward that much but still serves as an important filler.

I genuinely believe that they’re going to make the first 2025 lore song available to all players either in this event or later to try and hook you on 25. I think plus players will be able to play it during that event and I’m going to assume the map will either focus on Jack returning to the streets of Eternyx to mirror Wander and build an army, or we see what the Night Dancers have been up to. I’m curious to see if there will be a time skip and if we get more main characters. I don’t think we will seeing as Brezz, Mihaly and Sara are hardly flushed out.

This got me super excited but does anyone know the exact date bc I’m not sure I’ll be around to play it immediately.

[theashesofthefirststar]

Genuine question: why do people argue that Gale couldn’t have known Mystra during his adolescence?

I made a Reddit post a week back discussing the relationship between Gale and Mystra and merely the implication that she revealed herself to him at a young age set a bunch of people off for (insert lore related reasons here). The thread got way too big and overwhelming for me to keep reading through, but the gist of their arguments, I think, was that the timelines didn’t line up. Not a timeline given in game, but the timeline created by the preexisting canon.

Which, okay. I think bg3 values thematic clarity more than it does making a 1 to 1 replica of the 5e canon, but it had been a while since I played act 1, so, I thought, maybe I misremembered.

Well, I’ve been doing a new play through and I finally got to the part when Gale reveals the story behind his arcane hunger, and i guess I was expecting something more subtle, but it’s actually more explicit than I remember. Does Gale look at the camera and say “Mystra groomed me”? No, but the implication of what he does say is pretty damning.

{paraphrasing} “I was a child prodigy. That’s what caught Mystras attention. She revealed herself to me and became my teacher. Later, my muse. Later still, my lover”. I guess you could interpret it as her becoming his teacher when he was already an established wizard/adult, but that seems like a really overly generous reading. Like, bordering on bad faith, because the sentence is structured in a way that’s meant to imply cause and effect. ‘My talent as a child caused Mystra to pay attention to me, which had the effect of her becoming my teacher’.

I know that bg3 is supposed to follow the canon of 5e, but some people were arguing she couldn’t have revealed herself to him any earlier than five years ago because (insert more lore reasons here) and that just isn’t the vibe he’s giving at all. it’s more likely to me that they made tweaks to the timeline so that it worked within the individual stories they were trying to tell.

I get that dnd super fans are going to want to defend the integrity of this world that they love. That’s fair. But I’d rather judge characters and relationship dynamics based on the themes of a story than how perfectly they align with pre-established world building.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

In honor of my being welcomed by the horse people I ask you this question that lies at the center of our intersecting interests: does Elrond speak Rohanese/Rohirric, and if so how did he learn? (I do not think there is a canon answer? So your headcanon. I think he does not, a rare linguistic blind spot for this lore master)

Ooh, interesting question! I love to speculate! ♥️ But also, my Elrond lore isn’t super deep (though I am a devoted fan of your Dr. Peredhel, I am but a child in comparison to what people like you know about him!), so please correct me if you think I go astray anywhere.

I think you’re right that Elrond doesn’t know Rohirric as it’s spoken by the Rohirrim. Hardly anyone outside of Rohan seems to know it, and there obviously aren’t any books that he could have acquired for his famous library. There’s also no evidence that there was contact between Rivendell and Rohan in any of the years of Rohan’s existence that would have put a native Rohirric speaker in Elrond’s orbit. The only link there is would have been indirect, and that’s Aragorn. He knows Rohirric and he knows Elrond. But I strongly doubt Aragorn was using his precious time during visits back home to teach Elrond a language he didn’t really have a pressing need for — Elrond isn’t dealing with Rohan and, if he ever had to, the Rohirrim all know the Common Speech anyway (and some of their leaders even speak Sindarin!).

There IS a chance Elrond had heard an older, more archaic version of Rohirric based on contact with ancestors of the Rohirrim or related communities. That’s all speculation, of course, but Elrond did spend time in Rhovanion for the War of the Last Alliance, and that was the home of the Northmen who would become the Éothéod and eventually the Rohirrim. So it’s possible he heard some of their language then? Rohirric is also related in some respects to the languages of the Men of Dale and Esgaroth and the traditional tongue of the hobbits before they wholesale adopted the Common Speech. So if Elrond ever dealt with those communities over the ages, he might have picked up something that would have at least had some commonalities with Rohirric (just as Merry was surprised to discover that he could recognize some Rohirric words because they were related to old, archaic hobbit terms).

So, with that being said, I think my personal HC would be that Elrond knows some random words and phrases that he learned over the years in an older language that’s ancestrally related to Rohirric and might sound vaguely familiar/intelligible to a modern Rohirric speaker, but he couldn’t have a conversation in Rohirric with a Rohirrim without Aragorn to translate. And that was probably fine with him, because he had no practical need for it.

But, once he leaves Middle Earth at the start of the Fourth Age, now he’s got all the time in the world and no burdens of leadership to distract him. Now can pursue languages just for the pure joy of learning (he is that kind of nerd, said with all due affection). So maybe then he got Oromë to teach him some (Béma himself absolutely knows how to understand the language of his people!) once he got back to Valinor?

Plausible maybe? Certainly fun to think about! (I am also that kind of nerd!) And of course, anyone with the more substantive Elrond knowledge, please feel free to let me know where I’ve gone wrong!

[chosetherose]

*WSJ Link*

There Are Plenty of Power Publicists. But Only One Works for Taylor Swift.

By Allie Jones

April 18, 2024 at 8:00 am ET

Taylor Swift was celebrating the end of the Australian leg of her Eras Tour in late February when a bit of unpleasantness sailed out from Down Under and landed on the home page of TMZ. The New South Wales Police Force was investigating a 71-year-old man for allegedly assaulting a 51-year-old man at a wharf north of the city, according to their media unit. Per TMZ, the septuagenarian was Scott Swift, Taylor’s father and a key member of her management team, and the younger man was a photographer. 

The story had all the makings of a public relations nightmare: (1) Celebrity family member allegedly behaves badly while (2) disembarking from a luxury yacht, resulting in (3) a police investigation. To make matters more complicated, Taylor was reportedly present for the alleged altercation—hiding under an umbrella, TMZ said. Though the man didn’t require medical treatment, the police said, there was video footage. Would this be the end of the pop star’s marathon run of fawning press? 

Not if Tree Paine could help it. 

Swift’s longtime publicist first released a statement that did not refute TMZ’s story, exactly, but offered some exculpatory evidence: “Two individuals were aggressively pushing their way towards Taylor, grabbing at her security personnel, and threatening to throw a female staff member into the water.” Subtext: Scott Swift was simply protecting his daughter and another defenseless woman from a couple of rogue aggressors. He was not charged. 

Around the same time, as if by magic, People found a video of Scott passing out sandwiches to young female fans at one of the Sydney shows and published it along with fan commentary. “Isn’t he the sweetest and cutest,” one cooed.

Online, Swifties clocked the People story as good old-fashioned damage control. As a chorus of fan posts put it: “The devil works hard, but Tree Paine works harder.” (In late March, the New South Wales Police Force media unit said that the North Shore Police Area Command finished its investigation and that it is taking no further action.)

The public often sees Paine expertly attending to Swift’s needs, from smoothing out Swift’s red carpet dresses to leading her past scrums of paparazzi.

The average celebrity publicist does not have fans. But Paine, the 52-year-old redhead seen trailing Swift at awards shows and rubbing shoulders with Gayle King in the Eras Tour VIP area, has become a Swiftverse cult figure in her own right. Fans post reverently about her PR machinations and share videos of her expertly attending to Swift’s needs: smoothing out Swift’s dress on the red carpet, leading Swift right past a scrum of reporters whose questions have not been approved, subtly offering Swift what appeared to be water at the Video Music Awards—a night when the star was filmed dancing in a manner that suggested inebriation.

Swift has trained her followers to look for meaning in her every gesture, outfit and Instagram caption. Paine’s own work—the stories she chooses to respond to, the narrative she puts forward in the media—has become part of that lore. 

And Swift and Paine are creating a lot of lore lately. Swift spent the fall cheering on her new boyfriend, Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce, as he sailed to Super Bowl victory, and dropped by the Grammys to pick up album of the year for Midnights and announce her new album in an acceptance speech for yet another award. The Tortured Poets Department, which fans speculate is at least partly inspired by her breakup with the British actor Joe Alwyn, drops this month, and Swift will promote it while balancing her public relationship, continuing her sold-out international Eras Tour amid growing criticism of her private jet usage and brushing off baseless conspiracy theories that she is secretly working as a Democratic operative to swing the 2024 election for President Joe Biden. 

In a long career of riding high, Swift has hit the stratosphere. It’s Paine’s job to keep her there. 

Back in 2014, Swift’s world domination was not yet assured. That March, trade publications reported that the pop star’s publicist of seven years, Paula Erickson, had submitted her resignation. Fairly or not, during Erickson’s tenure, Swift developed a reputation for being both boy-crazy and unwilling to joke about it. See: Swift’s string of high-profile relationships with Joe Jonas, Taylor Lautner, Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles; her alleged wedding-crashing with Conor Kennedy; her humorless response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s joke at the 2013 Golden Globes about her dating life. (“There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women,” she told Vanity Fair when asked about the incident.) Erickson declined to comment for this story.

Paine, who had been working as the senior vice president of publicity in the Christian and Country divisions of Warner Music Nashville, came on board and quickly flipped the script. She launched her own firm, Premium PR, and signed Swift as her first and only client. “There isn’t a publicist in NY, LA or Nashville that wouldn’t jump at an opportunity to work with someone as talented as Taylor Swift and her management team,” Paine told Page Six at the time. 

That year, Swift moved from Nashville to New York, went full pop with the release of 1989 and began flaunting her friendships with a gaggle of famous women, known colloquially as The Squad. The public started to forget about the time Swift, age 22, allegedly bought a house across the street from the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. 

Now that Swift has hit the stratosphere, it’s Paine’s job to keep her there. 

Throughout this transformation, Paine refused to let rumors about her client fester. The very week her hiring was announced, she began issuing public rebuttals to the tabloids. “Never believe the National Enquirer,” she tweeted about an apparently false story that Swift declined to record a duet with Randy Travis. Ten years later, the gossip about Swift has changed, but Paine’s approach has not: She recently called out the anonymous gossip account Deuxmoi for causing “pain and trauma” by posting false rumors about Swift secretly marrying Alwyn before the two broke up. 

Paine became even more visible to fans in 2020, when she appeared in Swift’s Netflix documentary Miss Americana. Wearing white shorts and blue nail polish, she clinked white-wine glasses with Swift as the singer-songwriter anxiously prepared to post her first political statement on Instagram. Swifties have since turned Paine into something of a meme: Online, they joke that Swift’s “Out of the Woods” lyric “the monsters turned out to be just trees” is a reference to the publicist and that a redheaded Eras Tour backup dancer is Tree-coded. They have decided that in the inevitable Paine biopic, the publicist will be played by Amy Adams, and that she will win her first Oscar for it. 

The fan obsession has been fueled, in part, by how little Paine has shared publicly about herself. Her Instagram is private. The last time she sat for an interview was 2012, when she was a VP at Warner and appeared in Nashville Lifestyles’ “Most Beautiful People” issue; she posed for a photo in front of a shiplap-covered wall wearing a peasant blouse and made the astonishing revelation that she was “trying to enjoy life.” I cannot report whether that is still true; Paine declined to be interviewed for this story. 

Born Trina Snyder, Paine grew up in Costa Mesa, California. She was still going by Trina when she was initiated into Pi Beta Phi at the University of Southern California in 1990, according to the women’s fraternity’s official publication, The Arrow. 

Like her client, Paine is a Nashville transplant. In her early career, she worked her way up at a variety of L.A. record labels—World Domination, Maverick and Interscope, whose roster included Snoop Dogg, No Doubt, Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson. She launched her own guerrilla-marketing company, worked for the Academy of Country Music and eventually joined Warner Music in Tennessee. 

In 1998, she married Lance Paine, a businessman and onetime president of the Nashville candy brand Goo Goo Cluster, in Las Vegas, according to public records. (Lance also served as president of the company owned by HGTV’s Property Brothers.) The Paines have one teenage daughter, and according to the society pages, they have spent some nights mixing with locals at Nashville charity galas. 

Paine has built a fearsome reputation in media circles, closely guarding access to Swift.

But mostly, Paine works. She has built a fearsome reputation in media circles, closely guarding access to Swift and sending emails to journalists with surprising velocity whenever she disagrees with a story. “Once I started working in media, I would always hear about people getting emails from Tree Paine, or maybe, people being afraid of getting emails from Tree Paine,” says Hunter Harris, a self-described “Painiac” and the writer of the entertainment newsletter Hung Up, which regularly chronicles Paine’s engagement with the press. (Harris has also contributed to WSJ. Magazine.)

In the past 10 years, Paine has guided Swift through some of the more tumultuous moments of her career: her feud with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West; her trial accusing a former DJ of sexual assault; her battle against her former label, Scooter Braun and private-equity giants for the control of her master recordings. At almost every turn, Paine presents Swift—arguably the most famous woman on the planet, a billionaire with a private jet—as a relatable underdog fighting for her voice to be heard. 

It has, for the most part, worked. In the process, Paine has become one of the most powerful people in the entertainment industry. 

Getting any kind of journalistic access to Swift has become a fool’s errand. The star sits for few magazine interviews, and in between, Paine does her best to ensure that no information about Swift that Swift has not expressly chosen to share with the public becomes available. One magazine writer recalls the slightly fraught process of interviewing another artist on one of Swift’s stadium tours a few years ago. As a condition of the interview, the writer had to agree that anything they witnessed or discovered about Swift while spending time with the other artist before a show would be off the record. Paine was clear: No journalist is going to catch Swift in her sweatpants backstage and write about it. 

When writer Emily Kirkpatrick reached out last year to seek Swift’s comment for a profile of the actress and musician Suki Waterhouse for the fashion website Ssense, Paine surprisingly acquiesced, with the caveat that Swift’s quote be printed in full—no edits, no line breaks. (Kirkpatrick, annoyed, accepted the terms.)

This is an understandable sticking point for Paine. The Kardashian-West debacle revolved, in large part, around a truncated recording of Swift. Before the rapper released the single “Famous,” which contained lewd lyrics about Swift, they spoke by phone, where he asked her to promote the track on Twitter. For years, a snippet of the call released by Kardashian painted Swift as a liar who publicly rejected the lyrics but privately approved them. When someone released the full call online—a friendly heads-up but one in which West never shares the final lyric (“I made that bitch famous”)—Kardashian tried to save face. “To be clear, the only issue I ever had around the situation was that Taylor lied through her publicist who stated that ‘Kanye never called to ask for permission…,’ ” she tweeted. But Paine never said that exactly. She tweeted a rejoinder: “I’m Taylor’s publicist and this is my UNEDITED original statement. Btw, when you take parts out, that’s editing. P.S. who did you guys piss off to leak that video?”

The biggest year of Swift’s career has also been her most public yet. There’s the tour, the new album, the NFL boyfriend, the constant tabloid coverage of her relationship with the NFL boyfriend, the never-ending paparazzi strolls with her famous friends at sceney New York City restaurants. There have been stumbles: Swift forgot to thank Celine Dion, who presented the album of the year award, when accepting her Grammy. (A photo of the two singers hugging circulated online later.) She’s still taking heat for her private jet. She dated Matty Healy. 

But the sheer volume of information about Swift that pours, ceaselessly, out of every tabloid and news outlet from the Daily Mail to the New York Times typically washes away negative stories as soon as they are published. There are fans who speculate that Paine sent Swift to Kelce’s regular-season game against the New York Jets in October so that internet searches for “Taylor Swift jets” would return cheery images of Swift dancing in a VIP suite with Blake Lively instead of stats about CO2 emissions. 

Swift is at a point in her career, however, where she could completely disappear from view and still generate more headlines than just about any other person on earth. Scientists at Caltech and UCLA recently published research proving the existence of “Swift quakes” (seismic activity caused by fans dancing and jumping at concerts). Ancestry.com shared on social media that Swift is a sixth cousin, three times removed, of poet Emily Dickinson. The New York Post talked to experts to guesstimate how much Kelce has spent wooing Swift so far (more than $8 million, allegedly). 

If Swift released The Tortured Poets Department with zero fanfare, it would probably still hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts. But she chooses to feed the beast—with black-and-white Instagram posts, snippets of possible lyrics, a pop-up poetry library, so many vinyl editions—and, with Paine’s help, make her own news.