#actually everyone defense squad

[crab-people-overlord]

Ok, so I reread my last post about Stan's characterization in fanfics, and I realized I focused too much on just the Kyman community. The truth is, some of the most frustrating mischaracterizations actually pop up in Style fics (and I say this as someone who writes Style). These same issues show up in K2 and other ships too, but since Style is literally centered around Stan and Kyle's dynamic, it hits harder here. *Quick Disclaimer:* Again, this isn't calling out ANY specific creators - y'all are talented af and I respect everyone's right to interpret characters their own way. I genuinely love this community. Write whatever floats your boat! I hope to one day be a lot of ya'll, fr. The way I interpret characters isn't gonna be the gospel truth, and anyone can write characters how they want! That's literally what fandom is about. But can we talk about some patterns? Because... (*gestures vaguely at everything*)

The "Smart Kyle/Dumb Stan" Phenomenon

Look, I love a good "Stan is occasionally an idiot" moment as much as anyone (the boy has his moments, let's be real). But there's this weird trend of making him consistently intellectually inferior to Kyle and I'm just like... did we watch the same show for the past two decades??

Also, fun fact (and I fkn hate that I even have to say this): this whole "Jewish character must = intellectual first and foremost" stereotype we keep falling into? Let's maybe... not? Especially since the show gives us a Kyle who's equally good at sports and just as socially competent as Stan. Part of what draws me to this fandom is how multifaceted all these characters are! Because if you actually watch the show? Kyle is smart, sure, but he’s also athletic, socially competent, and rebellious. He’s not just the token brainiac. Characters can be multifaceted!

STAN (Pls I BEG you he's more than just his depression and alcoholism):

Stan often demonstrates critical thinking, seeing beyond surface-level problems to deeper issues. This often expresses in a more critical thinking lens (emphasis on the word 'critical' and 'cynical', as demonstrated so often in the show such as the vote or die episode or when he tries saving kyle that psychic, etc). Stan often sees through bullshit- this is literally critical thinking at it's finest. And while again, you can characterize him as you see fit - I just don't get fics that characterize him as stupid when there's so much evidence to the contrary. While luckliy I don't see these fics as often, Stan characterized primarily as dumb genuinely makes me feel like I'm reading a completely different character as we have literally over two decades of him demonstrating a high critical thinking ability.

His cynicism isn't just him being negative - it's usually him being RIGHT and REALISTIC about shit

NOT easily manipulated (unlike certain best friends we know and love)

He literally leads entire movements when he cares enough

The fact that his depression and emotional sensitivity can sometimes get twisted into him being "less than" is honestly infuriating

KYLE (not just the smart one!!):

Kyle excels at moral reasoning and debate, but can sometimes get caught up in righteous anger. Hes the most consistent at standing up for society's greater good. This is something incredibly admirable, yet at the same time, can at times reduce him to seeing moral issues on an incredibly black and white angle compared to Stan and others in the show, just like Kyle's own mom.

He should be acknowledged for his backbone in standing up for what's right (he's so morally brave), while at the same time acknowledging that at times this causes him to lose some nuance and grey in situations that call for it

He's also known for being the intelectually and grade-wise best of the class. This is partially due to his own parental expectations of doing well in class as well as his own natural ambition and intelligence.

Top of the class but also the most consistently in the show not afraid to throw hands

Complex mix of rule-following and rebellion

Gets manipulated by Cartman more than he'd admit

Both show high ability to analyze complex situations, just through different lenses. Stan through a more critical, nuanced lens, and Kyle through a more consistently yet at times missing nuance lens. Neither are more 'right' than the other, so I hate any 'realistic' claiming fics (i fkn love crack fics lmao) that try to show otherwise.

The Depression Thing (🥺)

Here's what's actually infuriating to me: when works treat Stan's depression and emotional sensitivity as proof he's "less than." Like... my dudes... my buddies and pals... (me reaching out to my Canadian friends fr)... my fellow fans... that's not how depression works??

Stan's depression and cynicism sometimes get misinterpreted as lack of intelligence - something too many folks with depression get misinterpreted as. His coping mechanisms might be unhealthy (looking at you, alcohol), but they don't negate his ability to think critically or problem-solve. Using alcohol to cope isn't a sign of weakness (it's incredibly unhealthy, not saying otherwise)— but it's a sign of someone who's overwhelmed and trying to survive.

Society often equates emotional sensitivity with weakness, especially in men, and I'm so tired of it. Stan's emotional intelligence should complement his analytical abilities, not detract from them. There's a reason he gets called a "hippie" or "pussy," but these traits should be celebrated, especially when they're often mocked in boys.

Tropes I'm Begging Us All to Reconsider, in ALL representations of Stan and Kyle despite the ship:

Making Kyle the "rational caretaker" to Stan's "emotional mess"

Reducing Kyle to just the “smart Jew” stereotype rather than someone who equally breaks rules, etc

Both being smart in completely different chaotic ways

Stan's emotional intelligence as a strength

Their complex friendship that works BECAUSE they're equals

The classic 'sensitivity and addiction' = 'loser' and 'selfish idiot' trope that needs to die in a fire

Some things to remember:

Their friendship demonstrates equal give-and-take. This is canonical. And I would love to see more of a balance of this in fanworks as well.

kyle shouldn't just be the 'smart jew' with no flaws with stan being the 'sensitive' hippie'. they're both equally complex.

both are smart in different chaotic and different ways

Stan’s emotional intelligence being useful, not a flaw.

Kyle's moral compass spinning occasionally (because it does, just like everyone else on the show lmfao)

But seriously, write what you want! this isn't even me saying he can't even be written as an antagonist in a story just like any other SP character. Just maybe consider that Stan’s character is genuinely pretty complex (And Kyle's!). Reducing him to “the dumb/broken one” does him (and those who struggle with similar issues) a disservice. 💙

Understanding Stan Marsh: A Character Analysis and Response to Fandom Mischaracterization (Writing Depression/Addiction Responsibly):

I’m sure a similar analysis exists - but I haven’t found it so I wanted to make it. I’ve seen similar analyses about Wendy with her intelligence/tendency to serve as a villain in things like Style fics and Kenny with his own addiction as well as lower-class designations, which absolutely should exist. But I haven’t seen any about Stan in the same sense despite issues I’ve seen in fandom about his characterization and either blatantly disregarding and misunderstanding what depression is/or/trying to further their specific shipping agenda such as Kyman. And I think it’s finally time we fucking talk about it. This is due to me noticing a prolific increase in the ‘Stan Marsh is an asshole’ tag on AO3.

The Problem of Character Flanderization

Character flanderization (the tendency to focus only on a character's weaknesses) has always existed in fanworks, but the current treatment of Stan Marsh reveals a particularly troubling trend in how mental health and addiction are portrayed. This isn't about calling out specific creators - many (even most) write Stan beautifully, even in ships like Kyman. Rather, this analysis addresses a broader pattern of mischaracterization that does a disservice not only to his character but to real people struggling with similar issues.

Please note this analysis is not directed at any particular creator at all! I see SO many good characterizations of Stan, even in Kyman fics (I’d argue a lot of them do!). But I also see very unfair portrayals of him in some fics which at the end of the day show a complete disregard to addiction/depression and ignore his good traits in favor of furthering their own agenda. I’M NOT OKAY with this, and I think it’s time we talk about this as a fandom. 

 This trend often manifests in two primary ways:

Depression Mischaracterization:

Some of fandom's handling of Stan's depression reveals a profound misunderstanding of clinical depression that goes beyond simple character misinterpretation. The "You're Getting Old/Ass Burgers" arc isn't just about Stan being "negative" or "selfish" - it's one of television's most authentic portrayals of how depression manifests in young people. Stan doesn't CHOOSE to see everything as shit; his brain chemistry literally alters his perception of reality. This isn't character weakness - it's a medical condition that he fights against while still trying to maintain his relationships and sense of self.

What many fanworks miss is that depression often coexists with deep empathy and care for others. In fact, Stan's depression might partly stem from how deeply he feels things - his awareness of environmental destruction, animal cruelty, and societal hypocrisies. He continues to fight for causes he believes in and protect those he loves even while struggling to find meaning in his own life. That's not selfishness - it's remarkable resilience. The show demonstrates this complexity brilliantly: even at his very  lowest points, Stan still:

Tries to maintain his friendship with Kyle despite literally seeing him as shit

Continues to stand up for what he believes in when he realistically thinks it can make an impact

Attempts to understand and help others, even when he can barely help himself

Fights desperately to stay present in a world that has lost its color and meaning

When fanworks reduce Stan's depression to mere selfishness or use it as a convenient plot device to make him the villain, they not only mischaracterize Stan but potentially harm readers struggling with similar issues. They send the message that depression makes someone unworthy of friendship or love - exactly the opposite of what people with depression need to hear.

Alcoholism Mischaracterization:

Stan's relationship with alcohol deserves particular attention because it's portrayed with a nuance rarely seen in either animation or fanworks. The show presents a complex web of factors that contribute to Stan's relationship with alcohol:

First, there's the genetic component - Stan comes from a family with clear predisposition to addiction, particularly through Randy. But crucially, Stan never sought out alcohol on his own. He was introduced to it by adults who should have protected him, making his initial exposure a betrayal of trust rather than a character flaw.

What makes Stan's arc so powerful is how it captures the insidious nature of functional alcoholism. He discovers that alcohol makes an unbearable world bearable - it literally changes how he sees things from "shit" back to normal. STAN HAS NEVER EVER BEEN ABOUT getting drunk for fun; it's always been about self-medication to seem 'normal' to others in response to genuine mental health struggles. The show demonstrates how someone can be both struggling with addiction and highly competent - a reality many fanworks seem unable to grasp.

Even in the "bad timeline" of the Post-Covid episodes, Stan maintains his fundamental characteristics and ability to function. He becomes what's known as a "functional alcoholic" - not because this is healthy, but because it reflects a tragic reality that those who seem most adjusted often hide the deepest struggles. He learns exactly how much alcohol makes him functional versus dysfunctional, developing the kind of careful management that allows many real-life individuals with addiction to hide in plain sight.

When fanworks reduce this complex portrayal to "pathetic or asshole drunk Stan," they miss the point entirely. They ignore:

The environmental factors that led to his alcohol use

The relationship between his depression and self-medication

The reality that addiction often coexists with high functionality

And especially, and something I think a lot of you need to fucking understand - the way addiction can stem from trying to feel normal rather than trying to get high. Stan never ever tries to feel ‘high’ or even drunk. He ALWAYS is just trying to feel fucking NORMAL. 

This oversimplification doesn't just do a disservice to Stan's character - it perpetuates harmful stereotypes about addiction that make it harder for real people to seek help.

Stan's Core Character Traits

Stan consistently demonstrates practical morality alongside emotional depth. His quiet leadership often goes unnoticed - he's frequently the instigator of group plans alongside Cartman, but without the manipulation or need for credit. His relationship with Wendy shows realistic pre-teen awkwardness while maintaining genuine care and respect. These aren't the traits of a "simp" or an "asshole" - they're the complex characteristics of a well-written character dealing with real challenges.

Just rewatch the show for evidence of this - Stan at the same level of Cartman instigates things. And at the same level of Kyle, he tends to do it for the greater good of society. He’s just not as attributed to his actions because he’s naturally more quiet about it than both Kyle and Cartman are. 

TLDR- /Mental Health and Responsiblity in Writing:

The show's handling of Stan's mental health offers a masterclass in nuanced characterization that many fanworks ignore. His depression and struggles with alcohol aren't plot devices - they're part of a larger narrative about growing up in a world that often doesn't make sense. Writing Stan as a "pathetic drunk" or "selfish depressive" isn't just bad characterization - it's potentially harmful to readers who share these struggles

His depression on the actual show is shown as a legitimate struggle, not a character flaw

His relationship with alcohol is portrayed as functional and carefully managed - something maybe some of you would be surprised to learn that some of the most functional folks in your life actually are pretty good at hiding. Stan in his depression arc is ultimately meant to be shown as someone who is a ‘functional’ alcoholic rather than a ‘dysfunctional’ one. That’s not to say it’s healthier to be functional. But it’s ultimately the whole point of that goddamn arc - that even those who seem the most well-adjusted may be hiding a more sinister addiction. So I don’t really see the fucking point of writing Stan as someone who is so alcoholic to the point that it fucks up his entire life. 

The Shipping Problem

The rise of ships like Kyman often comes with an unnecessary cost: the villainization of Stan. This ignores the show's complex web of relationships - Stan's deep friendship with Kyle doesn't need to be erased or twisted to explore other relationships. The best Kyman fics prove this by maintaining Stan's character integrity while exploring new dynamics. Additionally, Stan's relationships with other characters, particularly his often-overlooked friendship with Kenny, deserve more attention and respect in fanworks.

Complex relationships can be written without villainizing other characters like Stan

Good Kyman fics prove you can write the ship while maintaining Stan's character integrity. 

Both Kyle and Stan canonically view each other as super best friends and equals- and this is because they literally ARE equals, even in a moral sense. Neither of them is better than the other. They have a deep connection to each other. Any fic written about either of them HAS to accurately represent this without making Stan to be a primarily weak selfish villain. This is so incredibly unfair to Stan’s character, and a massive representation of him. Same if it’s vice versa for a fic for Stan misrepresenting Kyle (though I’ll be honest - I far more often see Stan as misrepresented in recent works as a selfish asshole over Kyle). 

When writing Stan, consider:

His actions, even negative ones, should stem from established character traits

His struggles with mental health and substance use should be treated with nuance and care. Writing him as an asshole or complete loser (he can be a lil bit of a lovingly designated loser lol) is a slap in the face to those who do function quite well in the real world but with this particular struggle of depression and addiction. Don’t ignore Stan's many strengths, such as adjusting well to things in the moment both physically and intellectually. (He absolutely can be dumb about some things to the extent that it's humorous, but he is not actually dumb - he consistently shows some of the most complex critical thinking in the entire show, even compared to Kyle. And it makes no sense to disregard this aspect of his character.) 

His relationships with other characters should reflect their canonical complexity.

If writing him as antagonistic, ensure it serves character development rather than plot convenience.

Stan deserves better than reductive characterization. His struggles with mental health and addiction make him more relatable, not less worthy of respect. Writers who reduce him to his lowest moments not only do a disservice to a complex character but potentially harm readers who see their own battles reflected in his story. We can and should do better - both for Stan and for each other. He is literally meant to be written as the person most relatable to general society, after all.

[lunabug2004]

I'm sorry but Mike being "rude" or "mean" or "a little bit of jerk" is NOT a valid reason to hate him when characters like Troy or Billy or Angela (or Brenner but he's a whole different breed) exist in the same show ☠️

[separatist-apologist]

Do you think Elain is a coward?

LOL???

NO?

God, okay, this is going to be long but no, I don't think Elain is a coward. I think Elain displays a lot of courage and bravery throughout the series, even when she's afraid and would have every right to do even less than she does. And like always, I can prove it. Below the cut because this became way too long:

Starting in ACOTAR, consider:

When Feyre returns from Spring and is talking with Elain in the garden, Elain is ready to leave everything she knows behind and is asking Feyre if she'd like to go with her (page 256)

"You should come with me," Elain went on. "Nesta won't go, because she says she doesn't want to risk the sea crossing, but you and I...Oh, we'd have fun, wouldn't we?

I'm not always sure I agree with Feyre's assessment that she had less strength than Elain in the next moment because I think Feyre had to do a lot of horrible things that Elain did not, which sucked the joy out of Feyre's life. However Feyre's allowed to think whatever she wants, and this is what she thinks about Elain on page 260:

"I gazed again at that sad, dark house- the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter- a shelter from the world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger."

Again, when Feyre is ready to go, Elain is practical and ready to help, even though I think she's both sad and scared (page 270):

"Elain, to my surprise, had a horse, a sachel of food, and supplies ready when I hurried down the stairs. My father was nowhere in sight. But Elain threw her arms around me, and, holding tightly, said, "I remember- I remember all of it now."

I wrapped my arms around her. "Be on your guard. All of you."

You get a better sense of Elain's courage in ACOMAF, starting on page 248 when her newly made sister and three enormous warriors show up on her doorstep and ask for help. Feyre describes them as "wild and rough and ancient (250), and Elain and Nesta are afraid of the Fae and have been their whole lives:

"'Nesta,' Elain said again, twisting her hands. "If...if we do not help Feyre, there won't be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan's battlements and all his men, couldn't save me from...from them." Nesta didn't so much as flinch. Elain pushed. "We keep it secret- we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they'll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she'll send word ahead, and we'll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won't be back until the summer anyway. No one will know." She put a hand on Nesta's knee, the purple of my sister's gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. "Feyre gave and gave- for years. Let us now help her. Help...others."

They're afraid, Feyre can smell it on 253:

My sisters did not curtsy. Their hearts wildly pounded, even Nesta's, and the tang of their terror coated my tongue-

Here is Elain, on 256, owning her part in Feyre's neglect which is the opposite of cowardice because all through this scene she is visibly afraid. She's trembling, her voice is described as a rasp, and she's gripping her knife so tightly Feyre wonders if she might use it as a weapon. A coward would have let Nesta take all the blame:

"And as for Ferye's hunting during those years, it was not Nesta's neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us."

I can't not share my favorite line ever, on 389:

And it was Elain- Elain- who sighed and murmured, "I hope they all burn in hell."

I think what is highlighted for me in ACOMAF is that if Elain is the coward hiding behind the most powerful person's skirts, and she values power as a way to stay small/unharmed, then Elain would defer to the people she feels has power. Her fiance, with his battlement, her elder sister who runs her household. She could have gone to Graysen and hid behind his walls the minute she saw Rhys/Az/Cassian and who would have blamed her? And instead she conceals from her Fae hating fiance that she's helping them because she views this as working for the greater good and repaying Feyre for years of perceived neglect. And she argues with Nesta to continue helping them, even when Nesta is saying no. Consistently Elain is described as the kind of person who could convince someone to do something with a smile and a few kind words which implies she has learned how to get the things she needs through a combination negotiation, flattery, and perhaps a little manipulation if it suits her. What use are any of those things to a coward? Why not have Nesta do all of that for her?

On page 549, Feyre even acknowledge how strange it is that Elain is there when she could be under Graysen's protection:

"Does my sisters' presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister's finger-and ye here she stands with us."

Elain seemed to be fighting the urge to tuck her hand behind the skirts of her pale pink and blue dress, but stayed tall while the queens surveyed her.

"I would say that it is proof of her idiocy," the golden one sneered, "to be engaged to a Fae-hating man....and to risk the match by associating with you."

That doesn't look like cowardice to me. That looks like courage, that looks like risking everything in service of the greater good, and it even looks a little like shame that she's wearing that iron ring which is a symbol of her and her fiance's prejudice in the face of her Fae sister who I believe Elain does love.

Rhys offers to take Nesta and Elain to Velaris for protection in the face of war and the queens acknowledgement they're leaving the humans to suffer. Rhys, the most powerfully magic man in existence and if Elain values power so much and is such a coward, surely she goes? (555)

Elain swallowed, a doe caught in a snare. "I-I can't. I..."

But she could, and she chooses not to.

Which leads, of course, to her own tragedy. Elain who gives up safety in Velaris for love, finds herself kidnapped and shoved into a Cauldron. Gagged by strangers, and knowing she's going to drown and probably die, Elain still manages this moment on 602:

My sisters were shrieking over their gags. But Elain's cry- a warning. A warning to-

My right, now exposed. Tamlin ran for me. To grab me at last. I hurled a knife at him- as hard as I could.

So now she's traumatized, and I think Elain get's too much unfair criticism for how she handles it. She's never going to be loud, or a warrior and she's not girlbossing her way through it. She is the thing she's always feared and yet, with war coming, Elain is pushing it aside for the moment to think about others (ACOWAR, 470):

Then Elain said quietly, We could move them to Graysen's estate."

And while I think she desperately wants to see him, this is still an act of courage to consider that they would be safe. I also think Elain knows quite well Graysen is not going to accept her as she is now, and still she hopes he will, hopes enough to agree to see him when hiding away and quietly mourning would have been emotionally safer.

Feyre even tells her, on 471,

"This could end very badly, Elain."

She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. "It's already ended badly. Now it's just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences."

Not the worldview of a coward, but I digress.

On 492, before Graysen, the love of her mortal life, and his terrifying Fae hating father, she says:

"Graysen, I've come to beg you..." A pleading glance at his father. "Both of you...Open your gates to any humans who can get here. To families. With the wall down...We-they believe...There is not enough time for an evacuation. The queens will not send aid from the continent. But here-they might stand a chance."

Up to this point, Elain and Graysen are just staring at each other while Nesta and Feyre speak. Elain could have let them continue but they know her best, they've liked/loved her up until they realize what she is, and she knows it. She has to be the one to ask, and so she does.

And God she risks so much. Between 498-499:

"You belong to him."

"I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you."

Elain, willing to damn convention and immortality to be with the man she loves.

"Take that ring off."

Elain's fingers curved into firsts. "No."

Elain in the war is endless courage, despite having no tools to defend herself. After Nesta's scrying causes the Cauldron to lure Elain away as punishment, Elain risks her own life to get out a human when a coward would have looked the other way and risked nothing that put them in danger. On 577:

"Grab onto him!" Elain ordered the wide-eyed human girl as Azriel thundered toward her. The girl looked like a doe about to be run down by a wolf.

The girl did not open her arms as they neared.

Elain screamed a her, "If you want to live, do it now!"

Elain holds the entire time, keeping her from slipping and dying.

Elain, on 610, when the violence is unavoidable and Azriel offers her his knife:

"I -I don't know how to use it-" And of course, Elain, who tells Azriel she doesn't know how to use a weapon, who could have hid (and might have been smart to do so) while everyone else fought, does this (653):

But as a blade broke through the king's throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck as she snarled in his ear, "Don't you touch my sister."

On 655, I love this moment because Elain is truly Cauldron-blessed in that this sentient cooking pot made of ancient, godly magic, loves her and wants to protect her/gift her things. Nesta makes herself into a God, but I think Elain could have been made one, too, had she the inclination. The Cauldron certainly had the will:

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she'd done, too, as his head thumped to the mossy ground. That Elain...Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it wanted to give her something...It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

I like this moment because the argument that Elain aligns herself with power implies that whatever/whoever is most powerful would be a draw for her, and yet consistently, Elain eschews that to protect the people she loves, which includes Nesta. It is revisionist history and willful misinterpretation of the text to suggest Elain does not love Nesta because when she comes for Hybern, who has bested EVERYONE at that final last hour, and is poised to kill her sister, there is no reason for her to think her plan will work or that she, too, won't die. And still she comes. She still tries. The last words Hybern ever hears are a defense of Nesta. Don't touch her.

God this is so long. I think Elain gets labeled a coward in part because of what happens in ACOSF- she didn't stand up against the IC, so she's a coward because Nesta would have never let them take her up there, but Elain spends a good portion of ACOFAS trying to coax Nesta out, and then offering Nesta space in equal measure when it's clear Nesta wants to be alone. I'm not going to argue whether the intervention was good (I have made posts about my problems with this before, so go right and spare me your anger), only that Nesta was spiraling and I don't think Elain abandoned her out of cowardice, but a desperate hope to help her sister.

And Elain has never enjoyed the coddling, no matter how she benefitted from it. In ACOSF, we see her pushing back when Elain is offering to scry on Nesta's behalf. Nesta doesn't WANT to scry but Elain DOES (232)

"Absolutely not," Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. "Absolutely not."

"Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I end to my little garden forever?"

When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater."

I think this moment says so much about how Nesta views herself and what she's worth to people more than anything else. Elain is offering Nesta an out- I will do this because I want to (Feyre states it Elain's choice and still Nesta is saying no), and you don't have to. Nesta can't let her, because she can't risk Elain and Nesta is in such a bad place (and I think she was way before she was made, which only amplified it), that to her, she's the expendable one. She can get hurt, she can be the shield because who would miss her? Who would value her if she didn't? That doesn't make her view true, but it does offer insight into their relationship over the last few books, and it makes Nesta all. the more tragic.

But it doesn't make Elain a coward, either.

Infamous passage on page 580:

And he knew the cruelty of Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn't hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared hat she was part of this court- and would do whatever was needed.

Anyway. This has gotten away from me. Elain is a lot of things, but cowardly is not one of them. Elain gets a lot of shit for being quiet (which someone makes her devoid of a personality- but Azriel is brooding and mysterious and the fandom's sexy, shippable boyfriend like yeah okay) and for internalizing her trauma, but she consistently shows up for her sisters every time it matters, often at the expense of herself. I don't think Elain is drawn to power, nor do I think she's a coward hiding behind whoever can keep her safest. I think Elain is in stasis, partly because her time hasn't come for a narrative but also because she doesn't know where she fits anymore. She has no clear, defined purpose and so she's looking for one.

Also, this is a SJM book. Nesta likes the IC by the end of it and idk why people think Elain wouldn't, too. Feyre, Nesta, and Elain love each other even if you don't so like. I don't know man.

[probablygayattorneys]

Me and @vaptainhammer …. And @transpoettryinghisbest … and Juliana… and that one anon who kept asking how my play through was going… and my therapist… and my mom… and my brother… about Emmy.

[teddydeer]

cottagecore? back in my day we only had humble plant blogs

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu roleswap where disciple Shen Yuan knows he's gay, and figures out that he has a big huge crush on his handsome Shizun, but also concludes nearly at once that he's not going to be drawing Luo Binghe's eye any time soon. Firstly, Luo Binghe is notoriously straight. Secondly, even if he weren't, he wouldn't go for his scrawny untalented nerd of a disciple! Shen Yuan's not bad looking, not before or after transmigrating, but he's neither a beautiful nor a hot manly man, and he assumes if Luo Binghe were into dudes he'd be into the same kinds of twunks that Shen Yuan likes. Guys on his own level, etc etc.

Plus Luo Binghe hated the original disciple Shen, and only started to warm up to the transmigrated version after Shen Yuan got injured in front of him trying to stop the other disciples on the peak from killing a small animal. For some reason, Luo Binghe brought Shen Yuan medicine. He got even nicer after Shen Yuan distracted the skinner demon by trying to convince it to take his skin instead of Luo Binghe's, and then again when Shen Yuan successfully fought off a demon invader -- though initially when Luo Binghe volunteered him for that job, he thought it was an assassination attempt. His heart was in his throat when Luo Binghe nearly took a poisoned blow for him, but luckily he reacted more quickly and got hit by the thorns instead. His heavenly demon blood took care of the poison, and he managed to convince everyone that he narrowly avoided getting cut at all.

Shen Yuan's careful not to read anything into it when Luo Binghe finds out about his, erm, uncomfortable dormitory situation and moves him into the side room, or when he completely messes up trying to make dinner and Luo Binghe takes over cooking and bans him from the kitchen (he swears he's not actually that bad at cooking, he just never had to use a kitchen without a microwave or an electric hot plate before...)

After all, it's not like Luo Binghe is cooking for him, he's just making food he likes and letting Shen Yuan eat it too! Because he's nice! He's way nicer than the book gave him credit for being, see, clearly Shen Yuan was correct in signing up for his defense squad, "top ten worst villains of all time" his ass that poll was nonsense...

Unfortunately, though, the plot's still gotta plot. Shen Yuan is heartbroken when the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around and his shizun stabs him and throws him down into the Endless Abyss. Heartbroken, but not surprised. After all, it was always going to go this way, wasn't it?

But at least, now that it's done, he has some agency in how he reacts to it. He's changed the story enough that he doesn't need to go get revenge. Maybe Luo Binghe's still the villain of his story, maybe that was inevitable, but some heroes let the villains get away. Don't they? It's all part of that noble, breaking the cycle of abuse type stuff. He can be that kind of hero. He can let it go. As long as he avoids Luo Binghe altogether, it should be fine, right? It's not like he's obligated to turn people into human sticks. He asked the system, he's definitely not!

Technically he's not even required to conquer the demon realms. He just has to get out of the Abyss and the be sufficiently cool and/or tragic. Conquest is just one means of doing that, and not even Shen Yuan's preferred, since he doesn't exactly want to rule over anybody. Going around the demon realms beating up some jackasses and rescuing some damsels in distress and becoming sworn brothers with Shang Qinghua, one of the current demon kings, is suitable. He definitely doesn't want to marry any of the damsels he encounters (thank fuck the system lets him off the hook for that!)

But eventually he has to go back to the human world. Not only is it mandated by the system, but he also misses living there. The demonic realms are in many ways better than expected, plus a lot of the monsters are really cool, but he misses the weather and plants and the people he's more accustomed to being around.

He misses Qing Jing Peak, if he's being honest with himself. Shizun's cooking and the bamboo forest and the crisp mountain breezes, the comforts of home.

Not that he can actually go back there in specific. Of course not. If he did that, Luo Binghe would try to kill him, or else the system would try and make him kill Luo Binghe. Bad ideas all around. No, he can't go back to Qing Jing Peak, but he can go find someplace nicer than the demon realms at least. He just has to keep a low profile, which shouldn't be hard since the original goods did that even while actively scheming to kill his former master!

Except.

Everywhere he goes, suddenly Luo Binghe is also there?!

Good thing Shen Yuan thought to take a page out of the book of Luo Binghe's actual love interest, Liu Mingyan, and start wearing a veil. He just didn't want any randos who might have seen him at the Immortal Alliance Conference or on any of the other missions his shizun sent him on to recognize him. But one minute he's investigating a strange case in Jinlan City, and the next the streets are full of Huan Hua cultivators (Shen Yuan has no intention of joining them, that's the path the original took to getting revenge! He doesn't want revenge!), and then Luo Binghe and Sect Leader MBJ and Peak Lord SHL show up, and SY is ducking down alleys and hiding behind columns, just trying to stay out of the way until the lockdown on Jinlan lifts and he can leave.

Except...

Luo Binghe really isn't acting like himself?

He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping well. There are dark circles around his eyes, and something almost melancholy in his countenance. And he's dressed entirely in white, none of the usual Qing Jing greens and blues anywhere to be seen. Of even greater concern, he's being reckless. Shen Yuan can't stop himself from rushing out when he sees his former shizun get infected by a sower demon.

Luckily, it's been some years since the last time they saw one another. Shen Yuan's gained a few inches in height, so he's almost at eye-level with his old master now, and though he's still more slender than bulky he's picked up some totally new styles from training the demon realms. He doesn't move the same way he used to. With that, plus the veil, it's enough for him to quickly swallow back his words as he grabs Luo Binghe and quickly administers a cure for the sower infection.

Well, he has one of course. He wouldn't need it himself, heavenly demon blood and all, but his time running around playing hero in the demon realms meant he rescued a lot of humans from such fates. Which is hard to do if you don't have a cure to their afflictions, but between him and Shang Qinghua, sourcing such things was almost easy.

Luo Binghe looks at him like he's just seen a ghost. The other Cang Qiong sect members are alarmed by SY suddenly accosting one of their own and of course find him suspicious, so he runs away right after, and then he has to lose Sha Hualing's pursuit in the city.

But what else could he do? He manages to evade the system's attempts to railroad him into meeting Gongyi Xiao, avoids the rest of the Cang Qiong crowd, and drops some of the cure through the current Qian Cao peak lord's window to get the incident sorted out. Then he flees and puts a good amount of distance between himself, Jinlan City, and every righteous sect he can think of.

The only problem is that after this point, Luo Binghe is everywhere.

Any time Shen Yuan stays in one place for longer than a few days, Qing Jing disciples start turning up. Any time he takes a job hunting some cool-sounding monster or pursuing some interesting tome of knowledge, the better to satisfy the system, it seems like Luo Binghe has selected and gone after the exact same target! Which is especially annoying because back when SY was a disciple, Luo Binghe was always assigning him to do this stuff. Since when does his chronic homebody master have an interesting in six-tailed scorpion lemurs or ancient spiritual kilns?

What's weirder, though, are the rumors.

It seems like any time SY stops at some well-populated place and asks for the latest gossip, he has to hear about how the Qing Jing peak lord lost his beloved disciple during the Immortal Alliance Conference, and mourned like a widow, and now wanders the earth in search of solace for his grief. Seeking something, possibly even the ghost of his dear disciple.

What nonsense! Luo Binghe threw SY into the Abyss himself. He had to do it, it was the plot! And also his obligation as a righteous cultivator, confronted with a "dangerous" half-demon. Does it sting? Yes it stings! That's why SY wouldn't just forget it! Despite logically knowing it's pointless, is there some part of him that wishes his master would have chosen differently? That thinks he should have known that no matter what kind of power Shen Yuan had, he would never use it to hurt people recklessly, or harm innocents, or especially not harm... well. It's pointless, his blood condemned him, and if there is some part of Luo Binghe which regrets what happened, it's doubtless just that he unwittingly harbored a monster for so long.

Which is fine and Shen Yuan would leave it at that, if the guy would just let him!

But no. Instead he has to deal with Luo Binghe turning up and asking him questions, trying to get him to talk (SY has no hope of disguising his voice, if he says anything he's not even sure it won't crack as he comes perilously close to tears instead, so he just stays silent), and then asking for his name, asking if he's mute, asking about his background, his sect, his kin. Is his a righteous cultivator? Where did he get that sword? (NOT Xin Mo, thanks, he used that thing once and then tossed it back into the Abyss before the portal finished closing behind him -- he knows a poisoned chalice when he sees one, although knowing the plot twist about that sword from the novel sure helped.) Where did he learn those forms? Is he... does he have a safe place to go home to? Someone to tend his injuries? Make sure he eats his meals?

SY, of course, stays silent. But it's difficult. Not only because Luo Binghe asks, but because he still looks... bad. Sunken, sorrowful, desperate almost. Shen Yuan can't figure out if he knows or not. Maybe he's unsure, maybe he's looking for SY to give him a sign, so that he can figure him out and then flip a switch and try to finish the job he started.

That can't happen. If they fight, SY will win, and he doesn't want to hurt Luo Binghe.

But even if Luo Binghe's not a heavenly demon, he is a highly accomplished cultivator, and it seems he's got his own breaking points to reach. Eventually he corners SY and gets a hand on his veil, and for a moment SY is sure he's going to rip it off, see his face, and confront him all "I knew it was you, you twisted evil demon, you won't escape justice a second time" and he feels a deep, icy terror close around his lungs--

Luo Binghe lets go of the veil before he can lift it.

But then something even worse happens. Because Shen Yuan's handsome, peerless, noble master breaks down. He falls to his knees, begging forgiveness, sobbing, clutching at his head like he's being driven to madness.

It all spills out of him, then. How he pushed his own dearest disciple into the Abyss, which obviously SY already knew, but also how he was apparently qi-deviating the whole time, and his senses could not differentiate between one kind of demonic "threat" and another. How he realized what he'd done only after he regained his senses hours later, and rushed back to the place where the tear to the Abyss had opened, but could not find a way in after the one he lost. How he had betrayed and thrown away the only person who cared about him, and couldn't even explain that he hadn't intended to. How he would accept anything, any punishment, hatred, penance, or revenge, if only he could see his disciple's face once more.

SY is stunned.

Apparently, Luo Binghe hadn't rejected him for his demon blood?

Not only that, but beforehand, he seemed to have valued Shen Yuan a lot more than Shen Yuan would have credited.

Is it a trick? Is he lying? SY would have guessed so, would have assumed that Luo Binghe's plan was to lull him into complacency only to turn on him once he finally had confirmation. But somehow, he just... doesn't think this is an insincere display. His old master is too cool for this stuff! He has too much dignity to just throw it away on a scheme! There are other ways to get what he wants.

Even if it is a lie, Shen Yuan is tired of running. He's the hero. He won't actually lose, and if it comes to it, it's still in his hands to decide if he wants to spare Luo Binghe or not (he does, of course he does, even if this whole spiel is an act). Plus he's got a backup plant body in one of Shang Qinghua's greenhouses if all goes to shit.

He takes the veil off himself.

Luo Binghe, teary-eyed, stares at him as if his face is the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Shen Yuan nearly puts the veil back on. His cheeks heat up. Dear Shizun, aren't you an immortal master? A noble peak lord? Isn't it your calling to vanquish demons? Get up off the dirty ground right this minute! Where did your dignity go? Shen Yuan did not spend all those nights doing the laundry to watch his teacher dirty his knees for no good reason!

There's a quaver in Luo Binghe's voice as he points out that Shen Yuan was terrible at doing laundry. Luo Binghe had to redo it the day after, all the time.

Shen Yuan chides at him that he should have made one of the other disciples do it then.

Luo Binghe just laughs, and stays on the ground, until finally Shen Yuan has to physically pull him up. Muttering about how he's being ridiculous, what's he crying for, why's he been moping so much, doesn't he know that handsome face should never look so bereft? Then he realizes what he's saying and shuts his mouth, but Luo Binghe just looks happy for the first time in years. Since the Abyss. How is it possible that SY, who actually had to slog through that awful place, can still smile more than Luo Binghe, who didn't?

They're standing so close. Holding on to one another. Almost as if... as if the scene's tone is... well...

Oh what the hell!

Shen Yuan closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses Luo Binghe.

[0mg-bird]

Late Night ~ J. Seresin x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Jake had gotten into an intense argument before he went off to work, now it was night fall and he comes home late.

Warnings: language, angry Jake, fluff at the end.

Never go to bed angry. That’s what everyone tells you when you’re engaged. Hold each other in the mornings, kiss each other good night, go out on dates, don’t have boring sex, keep showing up for one another. That’s what all the old ladies say in public when they see the ring.

Here you are now though, staring at that rock on your finger and not listening to any of that advice.

You paced around your home for a while, you made dinner, sat at the table and waited. Your food got cold. You left Jake a plate in the microwave, then cleaned up. You watched tv for a while, the hour of his usual arrival came and went, time kept ticking on. You took a shower, you put on your silk nightgown, you brushed and blow dried your hair and then you sat in bed, getting more and more frustrated.

Where was he?

The fight was ugly, Jake canceled plans yet again and you were overly frustrated. He’s missed dinners, changed multiple plans of going out with your shared friends. He wasn’t in bed most mornings anymore because he wanted to get his day started earlier for work. You were very understanding at first, he was up for a promotion, his job is stressful enough and you understood his need to lighten his load. That was a month ago. He still skipped out on plans, he wouldn’t even discuss a date for the wedding. Slowly but surely, you were losing your mind, your frustration finally spilled out in the morning when Jake said he was going out with the squad after work, making you have to re think your idea of setting up a romantic night in.

It was a perfectly good Friday night and your fiancé was spending it without you.

He had asked you why you were being moody, you told him you were fine but he grew irritated at your irritation. Soon the two of you were calling each other ridiculous and he was slamming the door shut behind him on his way out.

You got in bed and laid on your side, huffing. There’s the distinct sound of his key turning in the front door, you can hear him coming down the hall and the soft creak of the bedroom door opening. He knows you’re not asleep, but you don’t turn to face him as he stands in the doorway.

He comes into the room, shuts the door and goes to his side of the closet. He undresses, goes into the bathroom for a little bit to wash his face and brush his teeth.

“It’s really late, Jake.” You simply say as he comes back out.

He nods even though you can’t see him. “I know, sorry.” He says, then comes to your side of the bed, standing, looking down at you. You don’t meet his gaze, he can clearly see the irritation on your face. “You’re just not even gonna look at me?” He asks in a growing defense.

You finally look into those green eyes you once fell for. “I’m tired, just come to bed.”

“Tired or just still pissed at me?”

So this was the game he wanted to play.

You adjust to sit up, the covers sliding onto your lap. “Both, actually.”

He sighs, taking a seat at the end of the bed, putting a safe distance between the two of you. “The fight this morning shouldn’t have happened.” He says.

“No, it shouldn’t have.” You agree. “And you should’ve called and told me you were going to be late. Actually, you shouldn’t have gone out at all.”

Jake’s brows crease together, you know his features well enough to know he’s slowly growing irritated. “I needed a little space, especially after you created a mess this morning.”

He was an idiot with words.

You take a second to gather your nerves. “I cannot believe you right now. I’m sorry if I blew up at you, Jake, but I didn’t know what to do when you blew me off yet again. Seriously, what is your deal?” You ask.

“My deal?” He scoffs. “I have no ‘deal’. You’re the one who’s making problems where they don’t need to be.”

At his words, you shove the covers completely off of you. Your feet plant on the floor and you put a significantly more distance between you. Jake watches you slowly pace.

“I think I’ve officially lost my mind.” You say, nodding your head. “That has to be the case, right? I’m just a problem starter, I’m too suffocating, just someone you need space from?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He states after realizing how bad it sounds. “It just gets a little hard when you’re being too demanding.”

You pause, looking at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. This was Jake, your Jake. The man sitting in front of you, calling you demanding, was the same man who promised you a great future.

“Tell me how I’m being demanding.” You say. “Am I too much when I ask to eat dinner with you? Is it too overbearing when I just need a night with no interruption, just one night where you’re not focused on work or going out with your squad?”

He stands now too. “You make it sound easy.”

“Because it can be!” You snap. “It can be easy but you aren’t trying! Jake, I need you to try.”

He runs his hand through his hair, groaning before lashing out in his own way. “I am trying, for fuck sakes! Do you honestly know how hard it is to try and balance everything?” His tone is rough and it startles you. You stand, looking up at him. He doesn’t let you get a next word in, he just continues. “So I miss out on a few dinners, there are bigger things I need to deal with.”

You scoff, huffing. “A few dinners? Jake, you’ve been treating me like I’m your casual girlfriend and not the woman you’re marrying. Hell, who knows if we’re even getting married at this point, it’s like I’m torturing you when I talk about it.”

“Of course we’re getting married.” He rolls his eyes, thinking you’re being overly dramatic.

“You could’ve fooled me.” You say, arms crossed over your chest. “Jake, I am your partner, that means something.”

“I know that! I know it means something, you think I don’t feel like shit already? I do, trust me, I know how fucked up I’ve been.” Jake snaps, tone utterly deep and it rumbles from his throat.

“Then why do you do it?” You ask, voice wavering. You didn’t want to cry, but it felt like your heart was breaking.

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what else to do, you don’t understand.”

“I could understand if you’d just fucking talk to me!”

You weren’t a very loud person, you were always very calm and collected, but standing in your bedroom, looking at your fiancé who was being far too confusing, all you wanted to do is scream. A thousand thoughts run through your mind, your insecurities rage.

Jake just looks at you, chewing his tongue. His silence makes things worse.

You take in a breath. “Is it…is it really me?” You begin to ask, hand on your uneasy stomach. “Am I so hard to talk to? I feel like I’ve been right behind you this entire time, ready for whatever you need. Have I not made you feel that way? Or-or is it you? You don’t want me by your side anymore?”

His eyes soften, he shakes his head. “No, no.” He mumbles but tears are already falling down your face.

“Is it someone else? Is there someone else?” Your shoulders shake.

He comes forward swiftly, gently gripping your arms. He looks you dead in the eye. “No. Don’t ever think that.”

“Then what’s the real problem? Please!” You plead.

“It’s me!” He shouts back. “It’s my fear, it’s my stress and I haven’t figured out how to move forward withe life and have all these damn changes!”

Your lip quivers, watching him work through his thoughts.

Jake breathes heavy. “I got moved up the ranks, I have all these new responsibilities I thought I could handle with ease but I can’t. I’m st-”

He chokes on the word.

“I’m s-struggling and I hate that.” He steps back, motioning to you next. “And I’m taking it out on you and I don’t know why, it’s like being around you too often reminds me that I promised you an easy life and right now, that’s not what I can offer.”

You soften, still crying but not for yourself. You come to reach up, pushing his hair back slightly.

“I’m not marrying you for an easy life, I’m marrying you because I love you, Jake. That means being the only one you can come to at the end of the day. The stress and fear won’t scare me, okay? What scares me is the idea of you disappearing.” You softly ensure, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

He sighs and pulls your hand away, intertwining it with his. “I’m an ass. I’m a really big ass, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

His other warm hand wipes your face clean of any tears. You smile. “I’ll only forgive you if you promise to talk to me about things from now on.”

Jake smiles, then kisses your forehead. “I promise.”

As the two of you lay in bed, you turn over to wrap your arm around his middle, head on his chest as you tangle your legs with his. His calloused hand slides up and down your back.

“I’d be okay with a Spring wedding.” Jake says, breaking comfortable silence.

You adjust to look up at him. “Spring?”

He nods. “Yeah, I think you’ll look nice next to all those colors.”

You grin and lay your head back down. “Spring time it is.”

[bookclubforme]

Fuck all of Xaden’s simp point of views. I would trade my left tit for Liam’s POV when he gets moved into Violet’s squad.

First of all, I’m assuming Xaden had an actual conversation where he asked Liam, but did he actually explain to him it was because Violet was attacked in her sleep? Did Xaden give Liam a run down on Dain being her childhood best friend? That she and Rhi are friends because Violet gave her a boot on parapet?

Because Xaden’s usual level of communication leads me to think that the extent of that conversation was “Liam, I need you to protect Violet, because if she dies I die.” “Sure, anything for you, Xaden.”

I’m just going feral imagining Liam trying to sus things out when Xaden dumps him in the squad.

First of all, Violet and Xaden get into a pissing match about Liam being added to the squad that has people gasping that she’s talking to a wing leader like that.

Then their squad leader is overly concerned about her very visible bruises, drawing attention from everyone around them about it.

And then there’s a wild turn out of nowhere, because while Panchek is setting up for the disciplinary stuff, they start teasing Ridoc about sleeping with the XO for 2nd wing, and with no prompting, Little Ms. Violet Sorrengail goes:

“I miss sex.”

Ma’am, you’re supposed to be the smart one. The commandant has just announced their was a codex violation, and you know that you just told your wing leader who has a vested interest in your safety about a codex violation against you last night, and you get so distracted by your own horniess that you don’t even think that it’s about you when you hear the announcement? Get it together Violet.

That is one of the very first things that Liam ever hears Violet say. The first five minutes that he gets to be around Violet, and see her around her friends and one of the very first things she does is publically admit she’s horny.

Liam is right behind her, and right beside Ridoc. So judging by the fact that Ridoc hears it and responds, Liam ABSOLUTELY heard her.

And Liam doesn’t have any context to know that when Ridoc offers to have sex with Violet, and Violet teases him back with amending her statement to ‘I miss good sex,’ that she isn’t teasing Ridoc because they had sex before! Liam could totally absolutely hear that exchange and think that Violet and Ridoc had a thing.

Liam is standing there, watching Violet have a weird moment with her squad leader, flirt with another one of her squadmates, all while the proceedings for a public execution are starting. That is his first impression of the woman he is now responsible for keeping alive.

And Liam probably also somewhat knows Ridoc and Violet from comments they make in classes. Violet’s smart, Ridoc’s the class clown. But the first impression they both make is “Horny and screwing around the chain of command”

Granted, both Violet and Ridoc get it together and both of them come to the marked one’s defense during the execution proceedings. Ridoc outright calls Nadine out for being biased against the marked one’s.

Just the idea that Liam’s first impression of his new squad mates is “horny, but good people” is so funny to me.

We were absolutely robbed of a scene of the iron squad sitting around talking about all their first impressions and Liam just absolutely teasing them about how horny they came across.

[n0tamused]

Could I request Dr Ratio's s/o defending him when people insult him (calling him a boring lover and a man of loose morals)?

A/n: This request was long coming, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless! Dr. Ratio defense squad, assemble! I feel a little rusty writing this, so I hope it's all good :,)

Contents: Veritas Ratio x GN!Reader, fluff, headcanon format

Words: 1163

-It is well known that Dr. Veritas Ratio is well known throughout the entire cosmos for his feats, but however good or grand those accomplishments may be, not everyone looks at them fondly

-Not to mention that one particular hater he has noticed posting about him for 10 years, without a stop? He honestly admires their persistence. It takes a lot to be a hater too y’know

-There was a time where even Veritas wasn’t made of tougher skin, when the comments really did get to him; thankfully, he had the patience and pride to get him through without publicly reacting in a way that would only fan those flames further. Still, some words have left their mark on him - even diamonds can suffer scratches and cracks

-You, as his partner, naturally knew of these things. You’ve picked up on them from the things he has told you and from his body language when put in certain situations. And when you did openly ask him about it, although he appears stiff, he did not lie to you in private

-Knowing his innermost opinions and his background was, probably, what drew you to be particularly defensive over your the plaster-head-donning professor. They were all so quick to judge, yet none of them took a moment to think how much hard work it actually took for Ratio to reach the position he was in now. Knowledge does not fall into your hands, you have to work for it.

-And one day, this inner justice seeker had gone short of patience. The academy was always filled with wandering students and professors alike, all chattering among each other during breaks. And you just happened to pass by a couple conversing about him. 

-Ears perked and focused on the little group, you heard them speak rather unsavory words about a professor. Words ‘hard exam, unpassable, books that were too thick and chalk being thrown’ were all mentioned in their conversation, and it truly didn’t take a genius to figure out who the person in question was. Then they began to throw out insults they wouldn’t dare speak in front of another professor, let alone Veritas. But worst of all, they touched upon the subject of his relationship, your relationship, making such wild claims you had to wonder whether they were really talking about Veritas or someone else. Even worse - since it can always get worse - an assistant professor joined in on this gossip, spilling a “fact” that he even had other lovers than you and that he had loose morals.

-WHAT?

-Feeling your blood boiling and teeth grinding together, you couldn’t hold it within yourself. It was wrong! Ratio worked for his place and knowledge and pay, and sure - his exams and classes were tough, but he was neither a bully or an unjust professor! 

-That little group heard you loud and clear, and one did try to argue back but was quickly silenced. And one tried to walk away - you didn’t let that happen either. The people close around stopped and gaped, and perhaps they saw similar or shared characteristics between you and Veritas, maybe that’s why they also didn’t feel brave enough to keep talking or leave before you’re done. Who is to say? But what’s true is that they listened to you. 

-As you were getting to the end of your speech of defense, a familiar figure walked out of one of the classrooms close by. Clearing his throat he sent you a look, ‘enough’ he said without a word, but he was not angry. The students were dismissed after he feigned ignorance to the situation, as if he hadn’t heard a peep outside of those four walls of the classroom. 

-”I am done for today, have you wanted something of me? Anything you need?” 

-He spoke calmly, but his eyes showed some softness you barely ever saw. It was a rare sight, a look reserved for when he looked at you in bed, having you in his arms or when you held him, when he told you he wasn’t staring or being ‘too sappy’, but he was just looking at you, perhaps even admiring ‘if he may be so bold as to say that’.

-”A walk would be nice, I even got us a spot at that restaurant for lunch”

-And so it was. The walk towards the location was unusually quiet, and somewhere along the way he uttered “You shouldn’t have caused such a scene in the hallway”, his tone once more lacking the anger many expected of him. 

-”I should have, and I did. They were being rude and such behaviour is not fit for any student” You have been a student once, and there were terrible professors and your own opinions of them had been sour at some points in time, sure, but to openly spit venom? That was ridiculous. Or were you perhaps being stubborn, hypocritical? You wouldn’t say so. They were being rude, period.

-”They are students, they are also young. Gossip, however much unsavory, and however much I do not like it, is natural for them. It is not something that needs to be challenged, especially in a situation like this”

-You gave him an unsatisfied look, and he returned it in equal measure. It would take a while to convince him.

-”It doesn’t matter.. I did what I did, because I had enough of hearing people spread lies about you.. Disagree with me as much as you wish, but I’d do it again”

-He sighed and shook his head. He wanted to say something more, but for once he chose to keep quiet. It was better to leave it be as you were still not cooled off from the encounter 

-The rest of the evening went well, and you touched upon the subject briefly, not going too in depth. Ratio told you about his day, the upcoming events and plans, and you told him about yours. It was enjoyable, and it certainly helped to calm you both down

-But once you both came home and changed into more leisure wear, you told him of the thorn you felt whenever people spoke badly about him. He only looked at you, told you he understand, but “My name has been through a lot, I can take it”

-You weren’t sure if you wanted to slap some sense into him or kiss your reasons into his skin. He may be used to it, but you weren’t and you didn’t plan on getting used to it. And even as you took his face firmly between the two of your hands and brought him closer so he could hear your crystal clear, even as you saw the defiance melting from his eyes, he looked more vulnerable than ever; not angry, not sad or shocked or disappointed - vulnerable.

-So with conviction you kiss his face more times than you care to count and tell him he is someone worth defending, no matter what

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[wall-maria-around-ba-sing-se]

Things you learn by reading the Xenoblade X pre-story short stories that were never officially translated:

The gravity on Mira is 0.94 that of Earth

The Planet Mira was named after a woman from Earth named Mira Torrez. I think it's possible to learn this in-game but I've never seen it personally

The literal first thing you learn about Mira Torrez is that she was Protestant. Which I'm sure she could be but, statistically speaking, with that last name she probably wasn't lmao

Mira was considered the "emotional backbone" on the Earthlife Colonization Project and helped bridge the communication gap between regular citizens and the more military/governmental sides of the project. She was simultaneously a clergywoman, an educator, and a scientist. Without her, many normal people perceived the project as too concerned with preserving national interests rather than life on Earth. Mira was focused on steering the plan to be "free of racial, national or religious motives"

Mira chose to stay behind on Earth as it was attacked seemingly to help board people until the last second 🫡

Most of the people in current-NLA worked in heavily-fortified sectors of the ship like the Habitat Unit and the bridge. Meanwhile, the escape pods (like the one the player is found in) were for crew members who worked in less fortified sections of the ship

The Ghosts are called such not because we don't know anything about them, or because they disappeared suddenly, but because they phased through the hull of the ship when attacking

Tatsu got captured trying to get his shut-in friend to go outside and Touch Grass. He also got captured by the Prone RIGHT as the White Whale was crashing onto Mira.

While being dragged back to the Prone camp, Tatsu wished on the White Whale like a shooting star which, to me, felt very much like:

The Nopon did not know they lived on a planet until these weirdo aliens showed up and told them they live on a big ball in space

Nagi is the one who decided that Tyrants are called Tyrants

Nagi's the one who named it New Los Angeles/NLA

Nagi is the one who got rid of the ranks (recall in the beginning of the game, Irina is used to calling Elma "colonel" but Elma corrects her saying they're all the same rank now) mostly because he didn't actually want to be the chief defense minister lamo

Nagi ended up being defense minister anyways because Vandam called him a chicken about it

It was already obvious based on his in-game dialogue and battle lines, but the short stories really drive home that Nagi really really would rather be in the field commanding a small squad than be stuck at a desk doing paperwork

He tried to get Vandam to take the job but when that fails he ends up making it so Vandam has to be head of BLADE

Before the reorganization, Elma outranked Vandam

Nagi is the one who named it BLADE, seemingly based on something Elma had said a long time ago

Nagi is constantly going "man.... if only Elma was here" and I think it's so cute. They're besties your honor.

Maurice was the only "passenger" awake on the White Whale while it was in space. Everyone else was crew.

Maurice was supposed to be loaded into the lifehold alongside the president (unclear if Of The US or of some other organization) but the alien attack started and the president and the other aides fucking died(?). He woke up on the ship alone and he was depressed with survivors guilt for a few weeks until he resolved to start building connections with people, which ended up getting him a lot of ears up the chain of command

Maurice ended up running the government because everyone else thought it was a boring job

Nagi muted Maurice's comm device because he was sick of his nagging lmao. This made it harder to find him after the crash though, unfortunately

Maurice looks up to Mira Torrez and wants to "carry on her ideals"

Maurice was the one who suggested the planet be named after Mira

Lin saves Maurice's life by using herself as bait to lure a Tyrant away from him with flares

While all of the characters agree it is an unfortunate necessity that they have to fight the indigens, Lao seems to be the most against fighting native fauna, rolling his eyes and scoffing at retroactive justifications like "sorry, but it was me or you"

Nagi notes that Lao used to be more cheerful "before all this". I did not know that Nagi knew Lao before the destruction of Earth

Elma does not make an appearance until the end of the final short story. Unsurprisingly, Irina is the happiest about Elma resurfacing and is described as "clinging" onto Elma "with tears in her eyes" (👈 👀 🏳️‍🌈❓) while Elma explains where she's been this whole time (fixing her Skell after the crash so she could meet up with the others)

[ilguna]

Piano Sessions: "White Leather" by Wolf Alice + Finnick Odair x reader, their relationship had just started when Quarter Quell happened and both sent to arena, when the rebels pull victors out she gets left behind but her tracker was taken out and the gamemakers can't find her in arena. so everyone assumes she's dead but she escapes. while she's on the run she thinks about the life she wants with Finnick (maybe she sees the propo he does and he says something about her death). as "star squad" makes their way through the capitol they are reunited.

☼ white leather (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, reader has an injury.

wc; 5.7k

prompt; Piano Sessions: songfic, white leather by wolf alice. not noticable.

--

The seasons are changing, the warmth is fleeting, and the loneliness is burrowing in your heart. While you were being roasted alive a few weeks ago due to the unrelenting heat, mother nature has since decided to be kind rather than cruel. With summer ending, it allows her to relax, iron fist loosening.

It’s perfect timing, too.

If you had to endure it for any longer, you think you would’ve stopped traveling, ultimately setting you back. It was different when you were in the arena, because you weren’t actively moving for the entire day, just in increments. Out here you have no choice, especially if you want to make it back.

The Capitol can’t be that much further. After walking in the trees of Panem for hours at a time for weeks, it has got to be around here somewhere. You know for certain that you’re heading in the right direction because you stumbled into District Nine by accident. 

You didn’t even realize you had, even though you crossed through a fence to get inside. In your defense, there’s a lot of sectioned off areas inside of the wilderness, with no apparent reason why. What should’ve given you a clue was the burnt wheat field, stretching as far as your eyes could see.

In the distance, you could make out buildings, something that also wasn’t too unusual, considering that when the districts were formed after the Dark Days, a lot of structures were abandoned. You’ve been hopping between them, actually. It’s dangerous, they’re falling apart, and there’s critters absolutely everywhere, but you don’t have much of an option. 

You’ve tried sleeping under the stars, it’s not at all comfortable. You get increasingly paranoid as the hours drag on, afraid of the wild animals coming across you. You’d be able to defend yourself, with the knife that you have from the Quarter Quell arena. In the case of a pack, you’d be screwed.

They’d tear you apart, and then you’d have to add on their damage to injuries you already have. The last thing you need right now is another infected wound. The one on your forearm is bad enough. It’s your own fault, you dug out the tracker prematurely, assuming that you’d be rescued out of the arena, because that was the plan. 

When Katniss short circuited the dome using the lightning, she unintentionally messed up the plan, putting the rebels on a time crunch. They were able to get her, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena, you believe. Which left you, Johanna and Peeta behind. And Enobaria, but she doesn’t really count.

You ran across your allies, tried to tell them that if they didn’t want to fall into Capitol hands, then they had to escape that minute. Johanna, who usually trusts your judgement, was resistant to the idea of escaping the dome. She didn’t like the idea of having to survive outside of it, not knowing where to go. She wanted to play it safe, and if that meant enduring whatever the Capitol had in store, then that’s what had to be done. 

You would’ve argued with her, possibly even convinced her, if the hovercraft hadn’t appeared above the three of you. They knew exactly where they were because of the trackers they still had. With you being set on not being captured, you ran, leaving them behind, while you got out of the dome.

They should’ve caught you. It was an open field for at least a mile, they easily could’ve seen you, shot you and scooped you up. You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life. Johanna and Peeta must’ve put up a fight, if it took them that long to grab them out.

You didn’t hear news for a long time, not until that farmer caught up with you in that wheat field. She was out of breath, face a bright red from running for so long, sweat running down from her temples. You paused, watching in slight amusement as she tried to catch her breath, clearly wanting a conversation.

“You… what are you… doing out here?” She gasped, a hand on her chest. “If the Peacekeepers catch you…”

At the mention of Peacekeepers, you were no longer smiling. “Where am I?”

Her face twisted. “Well, District Nine, of course.”

The burnt field clicked then, and you turned to look at it with new eyes. It also explained why the fence you climbed over was harder than the last few. Which then got your mind working, wondering if you’d been in District Nine the week before, because it was heavily barbed.

“My name is (Y/n).” You said, head shaking. “I don’t live here, I’m a victor from District Four.”

She squinted at you, unbelieving. She eyed your body, the clothes you were wearing, which is nothing but an undershirt, a pair of shorts and water boots. Not the typical clothing for a farmer out in the fields, you guessed. You came to the right conclusion, because her mouth opened.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” She told you. “How did you get out of the arena?”

“It fell apart. I simply climbed out.” 

She made a noise, as if the answer was too easy. “Where are you heading? District Four?”

“No, the Capitol. How far away am I?”

“Close, but you’re going in the wrong direction. You need to get to District Two, they cracked the Nut.” She pointed over your shoulder. “If you get to the rebel base, they’ll help you there.”

You nodded slowly. “They still have Peacekeepers here?”

“We’re too close, that’s why they haven’t retreated. They’ve up and abandoned the further districts. They wiped out District Twelve completely.”

You tilted your head. “Everyone’s dead?”

“They bombed it, seen it in the propos with Katniss Everdeen. Some of her people made it out, they’re in District Thirteen now. Not much left of ‘em.”

“Right.” You murmured. “Thank you for the help.”

“Wait, don’t you want me to look at that for you?” She motioned to where you’d cut out the tracker. “It looks nasty.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Well, good luck.” She said, “You better hurry and get out of here.”

“I will.”

She nodded, watching as you turned away, heading for District Two. From what you’ve gathered, you’re confident enough to say that the Quarter Quell arena was placed in the space between Districts Eight, Nine and Two. When you picture the map of Panem in your mind, it’s the area that makes the most sense.

A part of you wishes that you’d taken up her offer on cleaning out the cut. You have some herbal knowledge, which is what’s keeping it from killing you, but that has nothing on real medicine. This could’ve been healed days ago, and it likely wouldn’t have left a scar.

There’s also so many questions that come to mind since talking to her. Parts of the conversation that didn’t make sense to you. The biggest one being her telling you that you should be dead. Why? At the very least, the Capitol should know that you made it out alive. Especially if they did a sweep of the arena and didn’t come out with your body.

Unless they figured that you escaped and you’ve died out here somewhere, starving and alone. Which is the dumbest conclusion that they could possibly come to. With your track history, the bare minimum that you’ve lived off of your entire life, including your Games, they should know you’re a parasite that you can’t get rid of so easily.

If there’s one good thing that’s come out of fighting in the Hunger Games, it’s that you know how to survive. It would’ve been harder to do if you were rusty, but your time in the arena was a refresher, setting you up to live out here, which is not nearly as difficult. You don’t actively have other tributes hunting you down every waking second. 

If the Capitol really thinks that you’ve died, they have a surprise coming.

Your feet stutter a step when you realize what that means. It’s not just the Capitol, District Nine believes it too. There’s a good chance that they’re advertising it to the rest of the districts, then. You wouldn’t put it past them, they rub factors in your faces all the time, like District Thirteen. They led you to think that it’d been destroyed decades ago, when in reality, they came to an agreement that allowed Thirteen to slip out without the others noticing.

Oh, you hope that Finnick isn’t believing the same thing that girl did. You really hope that he wouldn’t take their word for it. But why wouldn’t he? District Thirteen didn’t have enough resources to rescue you all, and the Capitol was right there. Who’s to say that you didn’t die before they could get you out? Or that they didn’t kill you in captivity? Or that they’re secretly hiding you.

They could say anything they wanted about you, and he’d have no choice but to believe it because there’s no evidence proving otherwise.

You’ve been thinking about Finnick a lot lately out here while you walk, mostly your future. It was discussed briefly before the Quarter Quell, because the two of you had come to the agreement of volunteering for the Games. The conversation didn’t get very far after you started talking about the hypothetical rebellion if the arena did work out.

If you had it your way, you think you would’ve talked to him about what he wants to do after the rebellion, because you have so many ideas. Primarily, you’ll be able to travel, you won’t be held down by District Four. You and Finnick could spend months bouncing between districts, and come back home when you get tired of it.

For the first time in your lives, you’ll have freedom. You’ll be able to do anything you want with little to no limit. There will be no more Hunger Games, no more months of preparation with teenagers that have no choice. There won’t be any interruptions, something that held the two of you back for so long.

And you’re not talking about the Games being a burden, you mean the relationship you’ve been denying. You and Finnick have had unavoidable chemistry for years, but between district life and the Capitol, there was no room to explore until recently. And even that seems to have been a mistake, something that should’ve waited.

Except, neither of you could suppress the urges any longer. You were already sharing longing looks and gentle touches, there was no point in withholding the pleasures when you were already dipping into it. That’s why you made it official in April, four months after the announcement, three months before the reaping. 

There had been countless nights where you stayed up, dreaming of the day where you’d be able to be yourselves. Where the stars would align perfectly to allow you to become more than just friends. When it finally happened, you almost didn’t believe the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth.

It’s been difficult to take it slow with him, because you feel like you’ve been dating him this entire time, under the table. You might not have been physical with him, but the emotional aspect was there. In your mind, he was already yours. And he admitted to you that he felt the same, that you belonged to him years ago.

You remember shivering when he told you that, because you had a feeling that it was true. These were words that you thought you’d have to wait to hear come out of his mouth. He was eager to tell you these truths, like a weight being lifted off of his chest. Like he’d been planning the exact moment they’d slip out of his lips in a whisper.

When this is over—when the rebellion is done—you want Finnick to yourself. It’s what you deserve at the very least, after all that you’ve been through. If it’s up to you, you’d want him to propose once Panem has begun to relax. You don’t want the teasing, or more years of build up. You just want to make him officially yours, forever.

Whatever comes after doesn’t matter. As long as you can say that he’s your husband, and you’ve agreed to love each other eternally. You’ll take what’s thrown your way with grace. You won’t ask for anything ever again. You’ll be especially good, if you could get what you wanted for once.

You step through the treeline into a meadow, letting you get a clear view of what’s ahead. You take a few steps before you come to a stop, staring at the colorful buildings in the distance. While you had tried your best to stay on track for District Two, you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d rather go to the Capitol, like you’d originally planned.

It’s not that far now. If you keep going, you think you’ll make it there sometime tomorrow.

—

Four hours. That’s all the time it took for you to realize that the situation has majorly changed here. The further you travel into the Capitol, the more it grows increasingly obvious. Especially if they’ve turned to violence to keep people out.

It’s a ghost town, which is not what you expected. The streets are usually crowded, with no space on the pastel sidewalk, crawling with people dressed in bright color. You were sure that you’d get spotted in the first minute of stepping foot into the city. It turns out that you had nothing to worry about.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. While you were temporarily relieved to find out that the outer half of the Capitol had been evacuated, you were put back on alert when you figured out why. There are traps placed on almost every street, with exponential damage to the buildings around.

You’ve yet to figure out if it’s the Capitol trying to defend themselves, or the rebels ensuring that if citizens return, they’ll be met with resistance. If you had to guess, you’re leaning more toward the Capitol. The way the traps are placed are methodological—it’s a pattern you’ve seen before. It reminds you a lot of the Gamemakers.

The traps are nearly perfectly hidden, the triggers in plain sight. You fell victim to the first few, but once you started to really notice where they were and what they’d contain, it was so much easier to avoid them. Once in a while, you’ll find yourself trapped, where you have no choice but to set them off. In those cases, you duck and cover, hoping for the best.

With the sun setting, you think it’s about time you call it a night. The last thing you’d want is to miss a sign and get yourself seriously injured. Everything is easier in the daylight. Besides, you covered a lot of ground today, more than you thought you would. 

You stop in front of a lime green apartment building with front doors that are made out of frosted glass. You grab the handle, pulling it open to slip inside. The lobby is cool, reflecting the temperature on the outside. It’s very carefully decorated here, with tall green plants in white pots and a small loveseat with a side table. On top of it is a magazine, with Katniss and Peeta on the front cover.

You wander forward, looking at the directory to find a paper taped to the front of it, the words successfully evacuated printed across the middle in bold writing. You lift it up to see beneath it, curious to how many floors there are. There’s five of them, you’ll probably stay on the third floor to keep from going too high.

As you start up the steps, you keep a sharp ear and eye out for noises or cameras that might capture your appearance. Just because this part of the Capitol has been evacuated, doesn’t mean that they’ve surrendered control entirely. For all you know, there’s Peacekeeper bases around here, ready for the signal to round a rebel up.

When you reach the third floor, you choose the unit that’s located next to the fire escape that you step out of. The door is locked, of course. You hold out your knife, staring down at it. It’s dulled considerably because you’ve been using it for everything while you’ve been traveling. This will be its last job.

You stuff the blade into the keyhole, wiggling it from side to side. For a second, nothing happens, and then there’s a click. You twist the knob, pushing in, opening the door to reveal the expensive living room. You pull the knife out but leave the door open as you inspect the apartment from top to bottom. When you’re convinced there’s no one, you pick up a dining room chair, going back to the front door. You shut it, lock it as best as you can, and then shove the chair as stiffly as you can beneath the knob.

The first thing you do is raid the bedroom, tearing it apart for clothes that you’ll be able to wear without looking ridiculous. Once you have an outfit that makes sense, you shower, watching as all the built-up dirt and dried blood mixes in the water, creating a grainy substance at the bottom of the white shower.

You feel so much better when you step out, drying yourself off. You change, letting the bathroom air out while you go through every cabinet you can, searching for the medical supplies. They’re hidden when you do find them, but they’re top-grade, the type of medicine that you’d send to tributes in the arena to get them healed within days.

You read over the ointment’s directions, and then you slather it over the open wound in your arm. Your teeth are grit hard enough that you think you’ll break them, toes curling at the pain it’s causing. It burns as it works its magic, you toss the tube on the counter, leaving to go back to the living room.

The sun has fully set now, there’s barely any light coming through the windows. Still, you shut the curtains, blocking out the rest of it. You head to the kitchen next, digging through the pantry to find countless cans and boxed goods. You pull out a few familiar soups because you’re starving. After you’ve finally located a spoon, you go to sit on the living room floor in the dark to eat.

You could heat it up, you’re sure that it’d be better that way, but you don’t want to risk more than you have to. You open the can, dipping your spoon inside, and raising the creamy substance to your lips. As expected, it’s not very good when it’s cold. Yet, it could be worse.

You manage to get down half the can before an alarm cuts through the stillness, making you jump in surprise. Your hand wraps around the knife before the television set lights up on its own, and you’re immediately greeted with the face of Beetee Latier.

“This is a repeated broadcast from District Thirteen, a reminder of the faces we’ve lost to get here.” He says. “We Remember, do you?”

It cuts to Haymitch Abernathy, sitting in a dark room, wearing a grey jumpsuit. The background is an empty area. To an extent, he looks better than the last time you saw him. 

A feminine voice speaks from off-camera. “What do you remember about Cashmere and Gloss Ritchson, the brother and sister duo from District One?”

“They were a bright pair of mentors, even when they were teenagers.” Haymitch says, staring at the camera. “There was nothing the two of them couldn’t do, and it showed time and time again when they performed miracles outside of the arena. Cashmere had an undeniable dedication that was admired by everyone, and Gloss was very hardworking to ensure his tributes got the best possible. It’s a great loss we’ve suffered losing them to the Quarter Quell.”

You squint, eyebrows twitching. Is this a memorial piece? If so, it’s a little funny for someone like Haymitch to speak about Cashmere and Gloss, considering that they were never invited into the alliance. Or thought about twice, beyond the idea of them possibly killing Katniss or Peeta.

The screen fades to black slowly, before Haymitch comes up again. “Brutus, he won a couple years after I did. He was friendly to me after my Games, and had briefly tried to help me after the tragic loss of my family.” He pauses to sigh. “Even though we could never see eye to eye, that did not keep him from drinking with me on occasion.”

Beetee shows up in the next clip, in the same spot that Haymitch was on a stool, only he’s in a wheelchair. Something must’ve happened between the arena and now. You wonder if it has anything to do with the lightning tree.

“Wiress was very intuitive, incredibly intelligent.” He adjusts his glasses, shaking his head. “It may appear that we have lost no one at all, but with her absence, Panem will not function the same. She worked alongside me to create some of the more important Capitol devices, a factor they neglected to think about. We will miss her dearly.”

You finish the can of soup, and you’re pulling on the tab to open the next when his face shows up on screen. Finnick sits on the stool, eyes puffy and a little bloodshot, bags underneath from the lack of sleep. There’s a slouch in his posture, a small length of rope in his fingers that he fiddles with.

“Tell us about (Y/n) (L/n).” The female voice says.

Finnick swallows, voice quiet. “What isn’t there to say?” He asks, looking into the camera. “She was my best friend, and more than that, my girlfriend. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known, always so considerate and patient with everyone around her. How President Snow can take such a gentle life and then brag about it is a mystery.”

Your blood runs cold, suspicions confirmed. So, they have been broadcasting you as dead. They saw an opportunity and took it, wanting to make themselves look more ruthless. When in reality, they haven’t so much as touched you since you escaped.

“I love her and I miss her.” He says, tired eyes filling with tears. An overwhelming urge to reach through the screen to hold him seizes you. “If I had known my time with her would be cut short, I would’ve done everything to protect her.” He breathes shakily. “This is why we must stop the Hunger Games. For loved ones like (Y/n).”

Finnick is gone, once again replaced by Haymitch, who begins to speak about Mags, your mentor. For the first few seconds you stare at the screen, face slowly twisting before it hits you.

Mags is dead.

“What?” You murmur, sitting up.

��Mags was the first mentor to approach me after I won my Games.” Haymitch says. “She was a sweet woman that could see the pain and understood what I was going through. I was the first victor of District Twelve, she was the first face of the Hunger Games. And for as long as I let her, she helped me mentor.”

Of course she did. That’s who Mags is—was. If she saw someone that needed help, she was there. She even approached Johanna after her Games to give her some tips because Johanna was slowly sinking. 

“Mags did not deserve to die the way she did.” Haymitch says.

It moves on to the next victor, the woman from Five who was killed in the arena. You try to listen, but it’s difficult. You can feel yourself slowly getting sucked out of your body and into the open air. You’re here, but are you really?

The entirety of Panem thinks you’re dead, and as serious as the situation is—it’s a little funny. If this is the rerun, that means that they’ve been Finnick speak on your death dozens of times. There is not one person left in this country that believes otherwise.

But you’re not dead. You’re here, in one of the many luxurious Capitol apartments, eating someone else’s vegetable soup that they’ve saved. If you had gone to District Two like the girl from Nine told you to, this wouldn’t be the rumor.

For the remaining eight districts, the statements are brought from the victors that now reside in District Thirteen or some faces of previous Capitol citizens. Which you can tell by the way their skin is tinted or the tattoos that line their bodies. There’s even a part where a former Avox sits on the stool, signing while his brother translates.

It wraps up with Finnick talking about Rue and the future that was stolen from her. She was just an innocent child, and the Capitol thought it was right to force her to fight for her life with other older kids, who were much bigger and more skilled. When she should’ve been at home, with her family.

Beetee shows up at the end, hands in his lap. “We Remember.” 

The screen dies, but not completely. It glows faintly, illuminating the small area that you’re sitting in. You need to get out of here—out of the Capitol, at least. You should be with Finnick. He needs to know that you’re alive, because the idea of you being dead is killing him. After the two of you fought to be together, you’ve been ripped from his fingertips.

You don’t sleep tonight. 

You want to, with the couch being the comfiest thing you’ve laid down on in months. You know that the apartment is secured, you triple-checked everything. No one is coming to get you. This isn’t what keeps you up.

So, you relax in front of the television in the living room, eyelids feeling heavy the moment your head touches the pillow. When they shut, that’s when the problem rises. You’re not tired anymore, even after counting sheep for what feels like hours, your mind is still running.

By the time the sun is peeking through the curtains, you’re ready to leave the apartment with a packed bag. It has the essentials inside like food and water, and the ointment you’ll be using to heal your arm. You’ve grown too attached to the knife you had in the arena, so you find a way to sharpen it, giving you a reason to keep it.

The streets look the same way as they did yesterday, nothing has magically shifted. You head for the train tracks that’ll bring you to a tunnel that runs to District Two. It’s what the girl in Nine called the Nut. It serves several purposes, including training the new Peacekeepers underground, but it’s also the easiest path to get in and out of the Capitol.

While you should’ve gone to District Two straight away, you’re glad you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have known the whole story. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it could’ve been if you came across the rebels and they bombarded you about how you’re alive. 

You travel blindly through the streets, dodging and setting off traps, watching the chaos that follows. A few of them are made up of weapons that shoot out once triggered. You manage to react quickly most of the time, but you still come out with a few nicks from blades that are impossibly sharp.

Other traps are made up of insects that are abnormally colored and move in ways that they shouldn’t be capable of. When you see this, you decide that you’re right to say that they’re designed by the Capitol’s Gamemakers, because it makes no logical sense the other way around.

When it appears to be around lunch, you stop to eat in a shop with broken windows, stomach growling. There’s a nice aqua blue couch a few feet away from the door, void of the glass shards that litter the tile floor. You open a can of soup, and dig out a small pack of crackers to have with it. 

It’s still disgustingly cold, and yet it could be worse. After what you ate in the woods these last few weeks, anything is a good meal compared to that. Even the crackers seem like a treat.

You set the empty can on the floor when you finish, sitting back against the cushions, staring through the open window. A pair of black birds circle over a nearby alley for a minute. They’re the first sign of life that you’ve seen in this city since you got here, besides the mutts that come out of the traps.

They settle on the roof of a building, side by side, much like the birds at home when they land on power lines. You’re about to look away, when you watch as they both simultaneously tilt their heads, attention set on whatever is in the alley. Your face twists, confused.

As soon as they open their beaks, beginning to screech, you realize that they’re not birds, either. They look to be like jabberjays—a Capitol weapon. You get to your feet, swinging the bag strap over your shoulder. You don’t know how they can see you, because they are definitely not facing your direction. You shouldn’t be in their view.

You take a single step, before you freeze where you are, watching as a group of people dart out from the alleyway. They’re dressed in black, wearing combat gear and carrying weapons. You’re terrified, wondering how the Peacekeepers have found you, until you realize that they are not Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers wear white.

There’s almost a dozen of them, and their leader is pointing his finger down the street to your right, an area you haven’t explored yet. He barks out an order, one of the girls in the middle turns with a gun, shooting at the jabberjay. They flap their wings, rising from where they’re perched, flying around.

Rebels.

Your lips part, wanting to speak, but the words die in your throat. You’re not dressed like they are, you look like you belong in the Capitol because of the clothes you’re wearing. You’re even sitting in an abandoned boutique as if you’re not completely surrounded by danger.

It doesn’t matter, they’re gone before you can work up the courage to speak. You watch as one of the boys toward the end grabs another boy with blonde hair, pulling him along. Neither of them stick out in your mind, and then the first boy turns, looking over his shoulder, right at you.

It’s Finnick. It’s Finnick, and he’s pulling along Peeta. 

You move now, trying to follow him. You’re sure he’s seen you, but as you step out of the shop and in front of it, looking at where you’d been standing, you see that it’s too dark to make out much of anything. The awning above the street blocks any sunlight that might be able to get inside.

“Hey,” You call, walking after them. They’re moving too fast, trying to escape the birds, running around the corner. You begin to jog, not wanting to lose them in the maze of Capitol streets. 

Even as a team, they move remarkably fast. You’re barely catching Finnick’s bronze hair in glimpses each time they take a turn. They’re losing the birds, though. And even worse, you.

“Hey!” You shout, sprinting down the street. “Wait!”

It grows more narrow, crowded with decorations that citizens couldn’t pull inside before leaving. There’s many places to hide, too many buildings to duck into. You can’t see Finnick anymore, much less hear the stomping of their boots against the asphalt. 

When you’re breathing so hard that you’re sure you’re going to throw up your lunch, you slow down, coming to a stop in the middle of the walkway. Your face contorts, hands on your hand.

“Fuck.” You breathe, walking at a slow pace. “Finnick!”

You peer into the local stores, checking behind every bush. You know that eight people would never be able to hide around this area without splitting up. They could’ve gone anywhere.

“Finnick, please!” You stop in the middle of a crossroads, taking your time to look down what each road offers. “It’s me, it’s (Y/n)! I’m alive!” You struggle to breathe normally, whispering, “Please, I’m alive.”

When there’s no appearance, you sigh. The one chance you had, and now he’s gone.

“(Y/n)?” A faraway voice asks.

You turn instantly to face the person, finding Finnick standing at the end of a walkway. He’s not alone. In fact, he’s with the leader of the group, who’s clutching a large gun in his hands, wary. This doesn’t bother you.

“Finnick.” You say, starting toward him. “Oh my god.”

There’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, watching you come closer. “You’re—how are you here?”

You walk straight into his arms, letting him crush you against his body. You grip on tightly to his shoulder, face pressed into the space above the vest. He presses a kiss into your hair once, then twice, and again and again. When he’s had enough, he pulls away, grabbing your face to kiss your lips.

It’s gentle, loving, but quickly turns greedy as he refuses to let you go. And when he does, it’s not because he needs to breathe, it’s because his shoulders are shaking. His face is wet, eyes filled with tears. You bring his forehead to yours, thumbs wiping away the tears.

“It’s okay, Finnick.” You murmur.

“The Capitol said you were dead. They showed your body. How are you—?”

“I escaped out of the arena.” You tell him, stroking his hair. “I’ve been in the trees between the districts the whole time. I got here yesterday.”

He backs away, lips pressed together, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “Of course you did.

You pout, shaking your head. “I cut the tracker out.” You show him your arm, which is looking better this afternoon, but still far from healed. “I’m not sure who’s body you saw, but it wasn’t mine.” You reach for his hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

He pulls you back into his body, hugging you. “You’re alive, (Y/n). That’s all that matters to me.” He frowns. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

-

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hi! could i request a rosa diaz fic where rosa has a really awful stomachache while she’s at the precinct, but she doesn’t want to admit she doesn't feel good. she keeps trying to work until reader eventually pulls her aside and rosa opens up and tells reader (rosa and reader aren’t dating yet). then reader brings her home and they get all cozy, and reader stays until rosa feels better. at the end rosa finally admits she likes reader and they kiss and its all very fluffy and sweet. tysm!!

Hey, friend! Hope this is what you were looking for. 🥰 This one took me a little longer than usual, but I'm really pleased with how it turned out. And for all you Rosa Diaz fans, get ready because I've got a lot of Rosa requests in my inbox! —illdowhatiwantthanks

Just Playing

Rosa Diaz x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, cops (duh, but they don't do any cop things), mentions of periods, period pain, implied sex Word count: 2.9k

Summary: You take Rosa back to her apartment after she has a rough day at work thanks to period pains. But you never could have seen where the evening would take you.

Rosa was nearly bent double as she stood at the podium, reading notes from a clipboard on a new drug ring they’d be investigating over the next several weeks. Her teeth were gritted, and she looked for all the world like she could kill someone. Well, she looked more like she could kill someone than usual.

You were good at reading Rosa, better than the rest of the squad. Maybe because your job allowed you more observation time; you were an officer, sure, but you didn’t carry a gun and you didn’t police the streets. You were their digital analyst, doing your own investigations online and finding information for the squad to use in their investigations. As a result, you had a lot of time in the precinct.

You were quieter than the others, more reserved, more observant. You knew that Jake got loud when he got insecure. You knew that simply telling Amy she was doing a good job was enough to stop a spiral in its tracks. You knew that Captain Holt had a fondness for candy canes, so you kept some in your desk drawer all year round, just to pull one out when it seemed like he needed a pick-me-up. But you knew Rosa best of all.

You’d be lying if you said you watched Rosa for solely platonic reasons. She was pretty. She was smart. She worked hard, and she cared about people–no matter how much she tried to act like she didn’t. Best of all, you could make her smile. No one else made her smile. After your first month or so on the job, she started talking to you. At first you were taken aback. Why was she being nice to you!? Why was she approaching you at all!? Rosa didn’t do small talk. She didn’t do politeness for the sake of being nice. It had to be that she actually liked you. You were flattered. As far as you could tell, Rosa didn’t like many people.

She especially didn’t like people today. She was clearly not okay. And you weren’t the only one who could tell.

“Any questions?” Rosa asked, finishing up her presentation, and pressing a hand over her abdomen.

Jake raised his hand and Rosa rolled her eyes.

“What, Jake?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

She glared at him. “Why, fuckface? Do I not look okay?”

“No, no!” he squeaked, hands up in defense. “You look great. Everything’s great. Carry on.”

You fiddled around in your bag, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before approaching Rosa, who leaned heavily on the podium, eyes closed.

You approached her cautiously. After all, Rosa was known for her explosive temper. She’d never exploded at you, but there was a first time for everything you supposed.

“Are you really?” you asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Rosa grumbled, inhaling sharply.

“Feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice was decisive, rough.

You lifted your eyes to study her face. When she finally looked at you–her expression pained, exhausted, embarrassed–you knew. She was not okay. The fact that she’d let you see that she wasn’t okay underlined just how not okay she was.

“What’s going on?” Your voice was low, your posture casual so that no one observing would be able to tell you were concerned about her.

“Cramps.” Her cheeks reddened a bit, and you nodded. She didn’t need to say anything else. You got it. Any woman would get it.

“Why don’t you go home?” you suggested.

“I can’t,” she said tersely, glancing into the squad room to make sure no one was watching you two.

“Rosa,” you scolded her. “It’s not gonna kill you to go home an hour early.”

“No, I mean, I can’t.” She grabbed your arm, and gently pulled you aside to where no one could see. Your stomach did little somersaults, and you felt bad for getting excited when Rosa was clearly in pain. “I tried getting on my motorcycle. It felt like I was being stabbed in the fucking uterus. I’m just gonna call a cab once everyone else heads out.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Rosa raised her eyebrows at you. It’s true, you weren’t normally that blunt. “I’ll take you home. You shouldn’t have to stick around here just being in pain. That’s stupid.”

“No, Y/N, don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.” She started walking away, and this time it was you who grabbed her.

“It’s fine, Rosa. I don’t mind. I’m done with my work for the day. We’re friends, right?”

Rosa looked at you long and hard, like she was thinking through a problem, before nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Okay, then.” You threw your bag over your shoulder. “This is what friends do.”

You started to walk out of the room, swinging your keys around your finger before stopping and turning back to Rosa. “It’ll, uh, be a minute, though. Just so you know. I parked… pretty far away.”

She grinned at you. “Yeah, I heard about that. You don’t use the precinct lot?”

“No! You have to pay for it! I’m not paying for parking at my job.”

“So where do you park then?” Rosa asked, sitting heavily in a chair and spinning.

You shrugged. “Wherever there’s street parking.”

“I’ll give it to you, Y/L/N,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re committed.”

You shot her an awkward, two-finger salute before walking out of the precinct and starting the several-block trek to your parked car.

You were kind of hanging out with Rosa tonight! Sure, she wasn’t feeling well. Sure, she might just be desperate for a ride home. But it counted… right? You’d parked just a block away from a bodega and silently thanked this morning’s parking gods. You picked up an assortment of things, some you knew Rosa liked, some that you’d want when you were on your period. And then, at the last moment as you waited to check out, you grabbed a bouquet of baby’s breath. It always made you feel better to have something pretty to look at. They might be a little too much, but it’s not like you’d gotten her roses or anything. Baby’s breath was a just friends flower? Right?

You threw your shopping bag in the backseat, then zoomed to the precinct for Rosa. You texted her, then waited, growing more nervous by the second. You’d never been alone with Rosa. Not like this, not in an enclosed space that wasn’t work. She sat with you at lunch sometimes or you went out for drinks with everyone after work, but this was different.

Pull yourself together, you thought, taking a deep breath as Rosa opened the passenger door and sat down heavily, leaning her head back.

“You alright?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded slowly. You waited for her to tell you where to go, but she was quiet.

“Uh… Rosa?”

She glanced at you.

“I kind of need to know where you live.”

Rosa seemed to think deeply about this, then leaned back and said, “Turn left up here. I’ll tell you where to go.”

You put the car in drive and simply followed.

When you pulled up next to Rosa’s building–a pre-war dairy refurbished as lofts–you followed her in quietly, stunned into silence, the bag of bodega groceries swinging at your wrist.

The elevator took you up to the fifth floor, and you couldn’t help but gape at her huge windows, the sealed concrete floor, the top-of-the-line appliances and expensive furniture.

You set the grocery bag on the kitchen island and took it all in, eyes wide.

“No offense or anything, but… how the hell do you live here on a police officer’s salary?”

“I don’t,” Rosa said bluntly, opening her medicine cabinet and rustling around. “I flip old cars in my spare time.”

“Oh.” You were glad Rosa was turned away from you so she couldn’t see you flush bright red at the thought of how she’d look fixing a car.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, slamming the cabinet shut. You jumped. “I’m out of–”

“Midol?” you asked, pulling a series of medicines out of your bag. “Tylenol? Advil? Aleve? Pick your poison.”

Rosa looked at the pills, grabbing the Midol, then staring at you so hard you blushed and turned away, rummaging through the grocery bag. You couldn’t see it, but her eyes softened as she watched you.

“You brought me painkillers?” she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, still avoiding her eyes. “And…” You pulled things out of the bag like it was a magic hat. “Takis, Hot Cheetos, chocolate, a frozen pizza, and Moose Tracks.”

Now it was Rosa’s turn to gape at you. But somehow that made you blush all the more. “I just…” You stumbled over your words. “I always like pizza and chocolate when I’m on my period. And I know you love Takis and Hot Cheetos. And you always have Moose Tracks in the freezer at work.” When Rosa didn’t respond, you kept talking, trying to fill the silence. “It’s no big deal or anything. I didn’t want you to have to go out later or–”

“You noticed my Moose Tracks?” she finally said, smirking, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, yeah.” You shrugged. “I notice a lot.”

“Uh-huh…” Rosa mumbled, watching you flutter around the kitchen, opening cabinet after cabinet to find a glass and get her and yourself some water. You were so nervous your mouth was dry.

“Go lay down or something!” you told her, flustered. “I’ll bring you some water. Do you want me to put the pizza in the oven for you?”

“That depends, will you stay and eat it with me?”

Rosa seemed to have transformed all of a sudden. She’d been largely preoccupied with her pain before, and you could tell she was still feeling it, but it was like a switch had been flipped. Where before she’d been, if not distant, just vaguely nice, now she seemed smug, confident, almost… flirty? As if she had something on you. You desperately hoped that what she had on you was not the fact that you had a massive crush on her.

“Uh… s-sure,” you mumbled. “If you want.”

“I do,” she said, flopping onto the couch and covering herself with a blanket. You brought her a glass of water so she could take her pills, then preheated the oven, fishing a sheet pan out of a cabinet and placing the pizza in to bake.

You sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Rosa, inching to the very edge, and trying your very best not to touch her. You never, ever wanted to make her feel uncomfortable by touching her, even by accident. But she spread out and pressed her feet against your thighs, making your breath catch in your throat.

She scrolled through shows on her TV, then asked you abruptly, “You ever watch Drake’s Hollow?”

You shook your head.

“You should. We could now, if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, okay,” you said encouragingly, willing to watch literally anything with Rosa.

“We’ll start at the beginning so you know what’s going on,” she said, searching for the right episode. “It’s not good. It’s like… the McDonald’s of television.”

You grinned. “Like the frozen pizza of television.”

“Yeah.” She smiled at you. “But sometimes it’s all you want, you know?”

Rosa was right. Drake’s Hollow was not good. The acting was awful. The plot? Melodramatic and borderline ridiculous. But it was fun. You loved to gasp at the hilarious twists and turns. The melodramatic, lovelorn speeches of the characters. To yell, “Boo! Dump his ass!” at the screen when the husband was revealed to be cheating on the wife.

For her part, Rosa loved watching you watch Drake’s Hollow. But you wouldn’t know that. You could hardly believe your luck that you were here. In Rosa’s apartment. With Rosa next to you, so close she was touching you! That you were watching this stupid, stupid show together and making a frozen pizza. You were on cloud nine. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at her, so scared were you that you’d fumble and get awkward again and ruin everything.

“Bathroom?” you asked, standing during a commercial break.

“Down the hall to the right,” Rosa said, pointing behind her.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands, patting cool water on your cheeks in hopes that it’d bring down the flush that hadn’t left since the moment you’d stepped foot in Rosa’s house. You heard the oven timer go off and quickly dried your hands.

You walked into the kitchen, and your stomach dropped all the way to the floor. The pizza was out of the oven, cooling. And Rosa was standing at the island, pulling the slightly rumpled bouquet of baby’s breath out of the grocery bag. The bouquet you’d foregone, thinking it probably was too much.

She looked at you, and you looked away.

“Did you buy me flowers?” she asked.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yep,” you sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. “I just… like to have something pretty to look at. You know, when I’m… on my period.”

It was a ridiculous excuse. You knew it. Rosa almost certainly knew it. She wasn’t stupid. You exhaled heavily and slapped a few slices of pizza onto a plate, hoping that a return to the couch, to Drake’s Hollow, would return everything else to normal, too.

You heard Rosa fill a vase with water, heard her arrange the flowers before grabbing her own pizza. Be cool, be cool, be cool, you told yourself as she sat back down, setting her plate next to yours on the coffee table.

You avoided her eyes, waiting for her to start the show again. You got more and more nervous the longer the silence went on, the longer the paused screen vibrated on the TV.

“Y/N,” Rosa finally said, her voice softer than normal.

Fuck, you cursed internally. You’d fucked it up. She knew. She knew and she didn’t feel the same because of course she didn’t, and now you’d ruined everything. It was all going to be awkward and weird now. Fuck.

“Flowers aren’t a thing that friends do.”

You let out a shaky breath. “They… could be?” you ventured, knowing as soon as it left your mouth that it wasn’t true, not for you and her.

She carefully slid her hand into yours, and you felt your heart stop.

“And what if I wanted to give you flowers?” she asked.

You blinked, not quite believing your ears, and turned to look at Rosa. Her face was light, playful, so much softer than usual. Was she teasing you? Tricking you? Making fun of you? Surely, she wasn’t that mean. She could be ruthless, sure. But she wasn’t cruel. Not to people she cared about it.

She gently grasped your chin, and your stomach did flips. Then she leaned forward and she kissed you. Just like that. So simple, so easy, so soft. Softer than you’d ever imagined Rosa to be. A softness she probably didn’t let many people see. She was so gentle, her fingers light as feathers against the skin of your face, her lips barely grazing yours, as if to ask for permission.

When she pulled away, you were breathless, even though she’d barely touched you, barely pressed her lips to yours. You just looked at each other for a moment, as if to gauge the other, as if to ask if this was real. But you–you’d wanted to kiss Rosa since the day you met her. The fact that she wanted to kiss you? Unbelievable. Beyond your wildest imagination. Rosa fucking Diaz. Absolute enigma. Terror of the Brooklyn 99. Wanted to kiss you.

Before you could even fully register what you were doing, you’d surged forward, grasping her face in your hands, pressing your lips to hers with all the fervor of an unrequited love that had, against all odds, become requited. She laughed, smiling into the kiss, pressing her hands against your collarbone, curling them around your neck.

When you finally ran out of breath, you leaned back, grinning, hand pressed to your forehead. Rosa laughed again, and you turned to her.

“This isn’t a prank, right?” you asked.

“No!” she scoffed, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a bite. “I’m not that mean.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Okay, I wouldn’t be that mean to you.”

“Wow,” you smirked, taking a bite of your own slice. “You really do like me.”

“Shut up, nerd,” she grumbled, mouth full, shoving her shoulder into you.

But you could tell by the way her eyes sparkled, by the way the corners of her mouth turned up, by the way she let herself linger next to you, skin touching, that she was playing when she called you names.

But she wasn’t playing when she kissed you. Wasn’t playing when she turned Drake’s Hollow back on and tentatively tucked herself into your side. And she certainly wasn’t playing when the pizza was done, the ice cream eaten, the show over, the night late. When she said, “You might as well stay if you want to. You’ll have to drive me in the morning anyway,” then stood and walked to her bedroom, giving you a look that let you know you were meant to follow. And you did.

[the-far-bright-center]

The way this post aged like fine wine... 👌

“Stop hating on the new Star Wars movies before we even know anything about them. They could actually be good.”

“Besides, it’s not like they could be any worse than the Prequels.”

[saltpillarlicker]

the camarilla should be bad guys. this isn't an original take, but it's one i hold pretty strongly, and it's a pretty core design ethos of the game i gm.

as presented, the camarilla is a beautiful elite. it's run by ventrue for the most part, who, while rich, privileged and callous, are often shown to be true believers in the sect. the camarilla is the last tide of defense against violent, depraved extremists like the sabbat, and while some anarchs might hold moral superiority, come on, do they really have a chance? the camarilla might not be the best, as presented, but it's the best we've got, so it's worth it, at least for the moment. right? i took a little bit of an issue with this. i've always thought vtm, for a game that purports to be punk, is a pretty status-quo-ey kind of game and setting, where the entrenched, openly exploitative establishment is shown to be the best chance against scary hordes (among other issues i have with it). so i decided to spin things a little.

in the game i run, the camarilla is nasty. not merely "bad because they're vampires," but nasty. in the city i run my game in, the camarilla is dreary, sterile, trashy, faceless, broken by design, run by and riddled with the absolute worst sorts of people, not merely repulsive morally but thoroughly tasteless, actually miserable to be around. the elite of the city are hideous, tacky, BMW-driving yuppie trash, the kind of people who hold immeasurable power but lock their doors when minorities walk by their car. they've got the delicate touch of a jackhammer; they swallow neighborhoods overnight and sic hit squads on the "squatters", seize their assets and rush clumsy through the liquidation so they can set up overpriced low-tier feeding grounds as quickly as they can, all while they lock down on feeding outside said grounds "for the safety of the masquerade". speaking of masquerade, they enforce that with their overbloated force of violent yes-men, who are set loose on undesirables and out-of-favor sect members, disappearing people and ripping out memories left and right - they're not efficient, or even effective, but they're not supposed to be; their only real job is to intimidate and browbeat the city. the sabbat is used like a tool; desperate sorts eking a living, selling out false-flagging and goon-squadding for the enemy just to get by - that is, when they're not the sickos, perverts and serial killers given the pass because they make a great excuse to scare the populace and justify further bloat of the camarilla's law enforcement.

the camarilla is exactly as i imagine it'd be, exactly the sort of system put in place by the sort of people who'd get embraced in the upper class of vampire society. it's the same sort of broken-by-design system that exists in the real world, in countless places across the globe. on the nose? yeah, sure. hell, i lean into it. there's a sick sort of undercurrent to see that undead society is broken just as bad as ours - even in death, you don't get to escape the bullshit. lord knows what i'd be doing if i was running wraith.

the camarilla are not the main villains of my campaign. it's hard to say there even is one singular villain, due to the setting-first way i design the campaign. but the camarilla is at the heart of vampire; it's the most important faction of the game, and all the other factions are informed by their opposition to it. so i had to go big and nasty with it, yeah? the tower's shadow looms hard. the anxiety it inflicts on my players is palpable at times, the we're-so-fucked stress that bubbles up whenever it comes up in conversation. it's a sleeping dragon that the players keep poking, and everyone - including me - is dreading the night when it actually gets up.

it's a nice change of pace from what the books put forth. try it sometime

[kyasemi]

Murder Drones Incorrect Quotes

N: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Uzi: You’re a hazard to society

V: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

N: What time is it?

Uzi: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out

Uzi: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune*

V: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING

Uzi: It’s 2 am

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: HELP! I TOLD N I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK! 


V, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: If N and I were drowning, who would you save?

V: You two can’t swim?

N: It’s a hypothetical question, V! who would you save?

V: my time and effort.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: Please bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste

V: We got spring water

Uzi: NO.

N: with EXTRA minerals

V: it's like licking a stalagmite

Uzi: DON'T COME HOME.

N: Mmmmm cave water

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: V, keep an eye on N today. They're going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

V: Sure, I’d love to see N get punched.


Uzi: Try again.


V, sighing: I will stop N from getting punched.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
*The group is getting into the car*

V: I’m driving.

Uzi, out of view: Shotgun!

N, turning to face Uzi: Aww! But you had it on the way here-

Everyone except Uzi: WOAH-

Uzi, holding a shotgun: No! I found a shotgun! And I want the front seat! *Pumps gun*

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

V: Can I take a stab?

N: Who gave them a knife?!

V: An idea, I have an idea

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

*The squad is having dinner together*

Uzi: V, can you pass the salt?

V: *Throws N across the table*

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: If you had to choose between N and all the money I have in my wallet, which would you choose? 


V: That depends, how much money are we taking about? 


N: V! 


Uzi: 63 cents. 


V: I'll take the money. 


N: V!!!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: Don't worry, I got a plan.

V: Alright.

Uzi: TraitorSayWhat?

N: Excuse me?

Uzi: What?

V:

Uzi:

Uzi: No wait-

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

V: In my defense, I was left unsupervised. 


N: Wasn't Uzi with you? 


Uzi: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Uzi: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

V: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and N isn’t

Uzi: Self care is actually getting into fights with randoms in dark alleys.

N: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap!

V: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!!

Lizzy: Lmao self care is taking your birthday cake just so I can eat the frosting.

Uzi: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Lizzy: *Gently taps table*

V: *Taps back*

N: What are they doing?

Uzi: Morse code.

Lizzy: *Aggressively taps table*

V: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

[uriekukistan]

alright i've been seeing so much megumi hate recently, and especially after the new chapter (not on here, mostly twitter youtube and tiktok), so as president of the megumi defense squad, here is my dissertation defending him against the bum allegations.

i've seen a lot of people comparing megumi's situation to yuuji in shibuya, and saying that megumi should be able to "just get up and keep fighting," so i'm going to tell you why this is not a fair comparison, and give some context on yuuji's "recovery" from shibuya that i feel people are missing when they say this. this is quite lengthy, sorry in advance

i. fundamental differences in the ways in which yuuji & megumi view saving people

yuuji wants to save everyone. he wants to save as many people as he can because of what his grandfather said to him on his deathbed. this is what kickstarted the events of jjk. if yuuji hadn't felt this way, he never would have eaten that finger to say some guy he met an hour ago, which is another point. yuuji cares for people easily. he threw his life on the line to save megumi immediately after meeting him. he mourned junpei, who he spent all of a few hours with in total like he had known him for years.

this is very different from megumi, who both does not get attached to people easily, and does not care to save everyone. he only cares to save people he deems worthy, and as far as we know, this list consists of only tsumiki and yuuji. its even unclear if he feels this way about nobara or gojo, despite them also being relatively important in his life. as you can see, when he thinks about saving people by his conscience, the only two characters shown are tsumiki and yuuji.

this is why he sometimes gets some criticism for not doing a half-assed job as a sorcerer, but i think its important to remember that he does not actually want to be a sorcerer, only doing it out of necessity to keep tsumiki from the zen'in clan. the times where we do see him taking things seriously are when yuuji and/or tsumiki's lives are what's at stake.

so in shibuya, after watching his own hands slaughter innocent people, and watching nanami and nobara die, yuuji is able to keep going because there are still more people who need to be saved, and he wants to save everyone. in contrast, megumi has watched his own hands kill one of the two people that he cares about saving, and severely maim the other one, so what is there to keep fighting for, given the way he views the world?

and i think it's also important to note that megumi has not been aware of his surroundings since sukuna v yorozu, so saying that he should get up now to save yuuji is not reasonable because he doesn't even know yuuji is there.

ii. the environment yuuji was in in shibuya vs the environment megumi is in right now

now none of that is to say that yuuji did not also break down and want to give up in shibuya, because he absolutely did (actually, im not sure if this is canon or just my theory, but the reason he did not switch back with sukuna at the detention center was because he wanted to give up), but the circumstances were way different

within minutes of watching nanami and nobara die, todo & nitta were there to encourage him and get him back on his feet (most of that was due to todo, but nitta was also telling yuuji not to lose hope).

meanwhile, megumi has been alone for over a month now, save the few seconds in 251 where i'm pretty sure he didn't even know yuuji was there, with nothing but his own misery to keep him company. sukuna took over his body and killed tsumiki with megumi's technique on november 16th. the shinjuku showdown takes place on december 24th. that's over a month stewing in guilt and mourning with no one to support him at all. that makes it a lot more difficult to bounce back quickly like that.

iii. more context on yuuji

even after todo's little pep talk that gave him the strength to get up and finish mahito off, yuuji didn't just "bounce back" and stand up to keep fighting in the way people think he did. in the days following the shibuya incident, he was really directionless, probably a bit reckless, because he genuinely didn't know what to do with himself, and didn't know if he even deserved to be alive. in my personal interpretation of yuuji immediately post-shibuya, if it weren't for choso, he would have likely lost his life, as he just showed a lack of self-regard in those days following. just one example:

it's not until megumi shows up again that yuuji finds a direction to go, and even then, he's operating with the mindset that once everything is over, megumi and tsumiki are safe, and gojo is unsealed, he will die and stop causing trouble for everyone.

so again, i think the megumi/yuuji comparison as a way to hate on megumi is not fair, both because there are important differences in the way they think and their situations, and because yuuji's reaction post shibuya isn't quite as resolved and strong as people make it out to be. this is not to say that yuuji is not strong! he absolutely is, just to point out that he, like megumi, was/is also lacking the will to live, and there's nothing wrong with that! wanting to give up is a completely reasonable reaction to being in this situation as an ADULT, let alone at 15 years old.

if you've made it this far, thank you for listening to me ramble 🙏 pls let me know any of your thoughts as well, i'd love to chat about this!