#but they work best with complexities and humanizing moments

[anaalnathrakhs]

one day i wish to understand exactly what was my parents' modus operandi for my childhood because i cannot for the life of me figure out the logic but also there HAS to be some kind of underlying belief to it because i turned out with mom-n-dad-shaped fundamental flaws to my character

[evanhereonearth]

The Insidious Cycle of the Abuser Who Says They Love You: Mythal and Solas

Likely goes without saying, but Veilguard spoilers all under the jump.

I have been absolutely wrecked by the end scenes in Veilguard for weeks now, and I want to do a deep dive into Solas's relationship with Mythal and how it absolutely reeks of abuse. Long post incoming!

CW for heavy discussion of cycles of abuse, trauma response, and abuse tactics.

When I finished my first playthrough, this moment hit me like an absolute freight train. His visceral response to her presence and the way he instinctively retreats and flinches back/puts out a hand to protect himself is a full-blown trauma response.

And then she starts talking and moving towards him, and it gets worse.

Solas curls in on himself; his body goes even further into self-protection mode. His face is downcast, not the way he bowed to his vhenan moments before with a straight back and open posture, but shrinking.

And then as she advances, he cowers.

He completely folds inward. He crumples; he shakes, he hyperventilates, and the moment she reaches for him, he fumblingly offers her the lyrium dagger to kill him with.

Is this shame? Yes, of course, but it's far, far more than that.

For the sake of brevity, I'm going to limit this list to the four most widely recognised trauma responses:

Fight

Flight

Freeze

Fawn

As someone whose primary trauma response is fawn (wooo CPTSD), which is intensely common among people who experience complex trauma, especially through emotional and prolonged physical/mental abuse where their needs are discarded, pushed aside, or otherwise steamrolled, I felt this right alongside Solas. My own body responded to seeing it. This is, quite frankly, one of the most visceral and realistic (and extreme) fawn responses I've seen depicted in media.

Mythal in this scene is...phew, something else.

"She was the best of them," Solas tells us in Trespasser.

But she was not good, everything tells us in Veilguard.

Let's look at his regrets in chronological order.

Through Solas's memories of regret, we see this germinate in his foundational regret: leaving the Fade to take a physical form.

He does not want to do this. He tells her he does not want to do this. From the conversation, it's clear it's not the first time she's asked.

And the way she asks? Outright coercion.

"You have so long observed the world. Why not consider joining it?" [I want you to do this thing, so I will frame it as logical for you to make the choice I want you to make.]

"But I have no desire to live as humans. Besides, this talk of taking on a solid form. I think you underestimate the danger." [I don't want to do that. It does not feel safe to me.] "When you took the glowing stone to build your body, did the earth not shake?" [This is dangerous and selfish.]

"The lyrium gives us the strength we had when we were of the Fade; we are the best of both physical and Fade." [It makes us powerful, so I don't care about the risks.] "I need your wisdom, Solas, to withstand the louder voices like Elgar'nan's who would go too far." [If you do not come with me, a tyrant you abhor will make others suffer.] "I need you."

"This is madness. You must know that." [I don't want to do this at all. This will hurt me. I don't want this.] "I will always follow where you go." [Because I love you and trust you.]

Mythal's words in this part are classic abusive framing. When appealing to his natural curiosity does not work and he expresses strong rejection of her logical thought process (just because I have observed this place does not mean I want to go there, echoing his comments to the Inquisitor in DAI: "Many Orlesian peasants dream of travelling to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain!") and expresses that there is significant danger to continue to build bodies out of lyrium, she changes tactics.

Her second tactic is that it gives them power--she implies that he is limited and not enough for being only of the Fade. If he follows her, he will be the best of both, like she is. She clearly already sees herself as above him.

Her third tactic is pure emotional blackmail: "I need you. I will give in to the tyrants without your wisdom, and having your counsel in the Fade is not enough. If you don't go against your own nature and desires, people will suffer...and it will be your fault for not being by my side."

She doesn't say those things outright, but they are implied by everything she is saying. He says again he doesn't want it--that it is madness and that she must be aware of that despite her ignoring any suggestion that she actually is. All she is seeing is power and her desires: for Solas to do what she wants him to do.

So he agrees. Because she is his friend, and she says she needs him.

As far as core wounds go, this one is a doozy. It's absolutely brutal, because it's irrevocable. It's a point of no return. It's the first in what will become millennia of regret, of her ignoring the Wisdom she coerced out of the Fade to do what she wants regardless, to continue to push him to twist his nature under the guise of the greater good, to continue to cede to Elgar'nan and enable the very tyrants she promised him to balance.

This regret was deeply painful for me to watch. The nuance here is easily lost if people don't understand abuse tactics and how this sort of manipulation is used. It also serves to bind Solas to Mythal, an enormous sunk cost fallacy in the making--once he has made this choice, there is no going back.

And you see Solas curled in on himself in anguish and regret from the trauma of taking a physical form. It is in deep, painful contrast to his open, free wingspan as a spirit of Wisdom; he will never be the same.

"Have you created what we need?" From the outset Mythal is framing this as his idea as much as hers, when from everything he says, that is not true.

"With this, the proper ritual will sunder every Titan from its spirit. But you must know, those severed dreams will certainly be driven mad, a disembodied blight of pain and anger. It--is--awful what we are doing."

"And the only way to end this war."

Again, Solas offers the wisdom she claimed she took him from the Fade to listen to. He warns her, again, of the danger. He does not want to do this. Just like he warned her of the earth quaking when they made their bodies--they, the Evanuris, started this war by taking what they wanted regardless of who it hurt. He never wanted to participate in it, but now he is in the middle of that war. Mythal was one of the initial perpetrators of this war; she brought Solas into it against his will because he loved her, and now he's stuck. He is past his point of no return. And she is still using his heart against him. She has isolated him from everyone he knew in the Fade; he has no one to support him. He. Only. Has. Her.

This is another classic abuse tactic; if the person being abused has no one else, they will continue to enable that abuse even if it harms others, because they cannot see a way out. If you don't do what I say, it will destroy our children, our family. If you don't do what I say, this war will consume all you have, and you no longer have a home to return to. If you don't do what I say and hurt yourself and the Other, more will suffer, and it will be your fault.

Again, his posture, curled up and broken, appearing to cradle a now-tranquil Titan beneath him--and be embraced in return. This is an interesting artistic choice here, one that aches. It speaks to the depth of his own wound and how much it rent his own spirit to follow through with Mythal's wants here; that it sundered him from his spirit as much as it did the Titans.

"You cannot do this, Elgar'nan! You swore we would give up our commands when this war was over!"

"Our people need our leadership. If you are unwilling, leave."

From Elgar'nan, this is expected. From Mythal?

"Our people must rebuild. And we must help unite them."

Solas, once again, betrayed. He put his trust in Mythal and in the other Evanuris to follow through with their promise. Everything he has done thus far is poisoned in this moment; had the Evanuris indeed stepped back rather than stepped on necks, perhaps Solas could have healed, found a way to live with what he had done, maybe even to make amends. But this starts his war anew--and Mythal is standing with his enemy despite her promises, despite every wheedling word she's used to get what she wants from him over the centuries and longer, despite him turning from everything, everything, he loved to love her. This is the moment where he understands that he has only been a tool to her all along.

"So we did not fight for freedom, but to conquer this land and our own."

Let's pick apart Solas's words.

So we did not fight for freedom: He truly believed that he was fighting for freedom, that no matter how bad it got, that he could bear it for freedom.

But to conquer this land: Literally the land, I think, because of the Titans. To subdue them at all costs. This was not what he came for, but he believed Mythal.

And our own: Our own, our people, more spirits we gave bodies for this war, more who may not have wanted to leave the Fade. Our own, our people. To Solas, he is one of them. In this moment, he realises how much Mythal holds herself above all of them.

Elgar'nan's words are all too telling: "We fought to win. And now the Evanuris are as gods. I do not answer to Mythal's annoying lapdog."

They all--all--see him thus. As her pet.

Because he is. She has, until now, controlled him utterly with her manipulation and "need" for him.

"The people are afraid. They must believe in something." Mythal does not even stand up for Solas here; she does not reject Elgar'nan's perception of him. All she does is further distance herself.

The people are afraid: The Evanuris made them. They are as controlled as Solas and more.

Elgar'nan asserts, "They need strength."

"And wisdom." Mythal has the absolute gall to attribute this to herself, when Solas is the source of the wisdom she "needed" for so long. (Belated addition: And another level here: she may also be saying again that she needs him, but doing so in a way that doesn't require her to stand up for him directly. Honestly, fucking gross.)

"They need gods who can protect them," Elgar'nan continues.

"We are not gods. You will learn that." Solas's voice here is pure defeat. The scales are falling from his eyes.

"Every lapdog holds a wolf inside," says Elgar'nan.

Solas knows that Elgar'nan's "protection" is hollow, based on subjugation. And I think in this moment, he learns that Mythal's is based only in her belief that she is better than those beneath her, who cannot possibly handle themselves.

So her lapdog becomes the Wolf.

"I was not certain you would come."

Solas's opening words in this regret show the distance between them already and how much he has realised he does not know this woman who called herself his friend.

And her response is to instantly blame him.

"You are the one who walked away. I never turn my back when my friend needs me."

In putting this post together, this line absolutely sucker punched me. I've watched these several times already, but the absolute audacity to blame him for standing up for his principles for the first time against all her manipulation? Hoo.

She blames him for doing just that, "turning his back when his friend needed him." She needed her enabler, and when he stopped, she turned bitter. Just like any abuser.

That he goes straight into "The Evanuris seek the magic of the Blight" instead of engaging, honestly shows that he's still Wisdom. That is one battle that is unwinnable, trying to stand up against an abuser's bullshit like that.

"Impossible," she says. "The Blight is safely sealed away forever."

Gaslight, girl boss, gatekeep.

"Though I wish I could believe you." [You have lied to me so many times.] "I have sensed the breaking of the wards."

And her answer is patronising. "I will investigate your claims." [I don't believe you.] "If they forget the danger of the Blight, I will endeavour to remind them."

Solas knows this is futile. "What if, instead, you left the Evanuris and remained with me? Do you not wish for freedom from this struggle?"

He asks her, again, to veer from the dangerous path. He desperately wants to believe he was not completely wrong about her, I think. If she were to leave, he could heal somewhat, for not having so thoroughly misjudged her character.

Am I enough for you? Was I ever enough? is the unspoken question here when he asks if she will remain with him.

And in return, he gets back even more patronising bullshit and hubris. "Be at peace, love. I will stop them."

(Can you tell Mythal pisses me off?)

She calls him love. What an unbearable insult after everything, to go on telling him she cares for him whilst ignoring his wisdom--the very wisdom she coerced him into leaving the Fade so she would have by her side--and consolidating her own power at the expense of his people.

"As you must," he says. "The Blight is our mistake."

Might be unpopular, but I do not think Solas bears a split fifty-fifty custody for whose fault the Blight is. Could he have said no about the dagger? Could he have pushed then? Maybe. But by this point, he'd already had probable millennia of complex trauma and a deeply abusive codependent relationship, probably also a level of magical bond. Like, sorry, Trick and BioWare, if you want to retcon everything you shared with us in Inquisition about being in service to the Evanuris ("You have given yourself into the service of an ancient elven god! You are Mythal's creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her.") AND Mythal casually overriding her servants' will and Solas burning her vallaslin off his face and leaving a scar and devoting himself to freeing the elven people from the Evanuris's domination, fine, but I don't buy it. Even if there was no magical compulsion on him all this time, that is immaterial.

Complex trauma literally rewires the brain to survive. She spent lifetimes programming him, isolating him, stripping from him every bit of agency he had. This man did not have the capacity to say no.

When our no is trampled even for a few months or years, we stop trying to use it. We comply. We, as mortal humans, cannot begin to comprehend the compounded trauma of millennia of this happening with the stakes of worlds in the balance. Solas, quite simply, has lost the entire ability to consent. No one of us can even imagine.

Yet he managed to walk away from her somehow, when she chose Elgar'nan. This man is stronger than anyone gives him credit for.

The dagger was clearly Mythal's idea. The plan to sever the Titans from their dreams, clearly her idea. To end the war. For there to be "peace". For there to be "freedom". Except that never came.

His loyalty was to her and to their people; hers was only ever to herself.

And again, she walks away and lets Solas suffer.

What a good friend.

[screaming from the general direction of Scotland]

She put her trust in monsters instead of her oldest friend, and the monsters ate her face.

Anyone surprised? I'm surprised. (I'm not surprised.)

And on top of this, Mythal finally, finally giving Solas one tiny breadcrumb that she had any principles remaining? I think that cemented his bindings to her forever. Not just that the Evanuris killed her, but why they killed her: because after millennia, she listened to him.

For someone that deep into trauma and abuse? Well. We know what happened.

It cannot be overstated that with his imprisonment of the Evanuris and the Blight, Solas saved the entire world. The entire world. Every living being in Thedas had a chance at life because of him. Only because of him.

Morrigan says it early on in the game, that for all the consequences of the veil (which, it also must be said, was not supposed to be global!), "his imprisonment of the Evanuris was just. Had he not done so, all of Thedas would have fallen to the Blight."

And the world has hated him for it.

He woke after sleeping for millennia, exhausted by this immense act of magic, to discover that not only had it gone horribly wrong, but that it had cost his people everything. That Tevinter had come in and enslaved them, released a trickle of the Blight after breaking into the Black City, used so much blood magic that the veil itself all over Thedas has been in tatters--not least because in releasing the Blight, the survivors had had to face down and kill the dragon thralls (archdemons) of the Evanuris, rendering five out of seven of them mortal, and with their deaths over the intervening centuries, the veil had grown threadbare with only two Evanuris sustaining it.

The risks were catastrophic, the price unbearable.

Everything he'd ever done to protect the world could still come crashing down...and in a sick twist of fate, he would be alive to see it.

And, shockingly, so would Mythal.

Mythal, whose fragment has just been chilling in a swamp for centuries in human form. Mythal, whose abuse of him lasted through the entirety of the world's history. Mythal, who, due to the Evanuris's betrayal and her abusee's abandonment, has become little more than retribution.

Mythal, who could have set him free at any point in all this time and didn't, because he was hers.

Mythal, who is the only remaining person with the power to do what he feels must be done.

I find it interesting that they chose not to use the post-Inquisition dialogue at all. Interesting also that they used Mythal's voice actor and not Flemeth's. This feels like a retcon, but we'll go with it. Whatevs.

"I knew that you would find me soon enough. You need the power of a god, the strength that I alone still carry."

She's still asserting her own godhood.

He's not having it. "The blighted Evanuris will soon break free from their prison. I must make a stronger one that can contain them."

He's not wrong. Not even a little bit wrong. And he's also right that she won't help him. Why would she? She never has.

"While the prison is important, it is not the only goal you seek."

"Why should I not tear down the veil? And bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it."

And this is where I get even more raging, because Mythal's answer is this: "The elven people of today do not deserve to see the world they love torn apart to salve your conscience."

I'm sorry, what?

The world they love? The world that has offered them nowt but literal genocide for thousands of years? The world where in Tevinter, they're chattel slaves and worse, fuel for blood magic without a thought? The world where in the "civilised", slaveless nations to the south, they're either confined to alienages and subjected to repeated genocide (that's what a "purge" is, if anyone isn't clear on that) or the remnants of the Dales, who are the descendents of another enormous genocide? The world where elven magic has been pillaged but elven mages in human settlements are confined to Circles and abused or made tranquil or also genocided by Templars invoking the Rite of Annulment? The world where they're called "elf savage" and "rabbit" and "knife ear" and cannot participate in Thedosian religious life because the Chantry erases every instance of elves from even the Chant of Light? The world where it took the Inquisitor installing a perpetrator of genocide on the Orlesian throne (both Celene AND Gaspard fit this bill) and either having Celene reconcile with Briala (Briala and Celene's relationship could be a whole other post. Boak.) and blackmailing them to give a single elf lands and a title? That world????

What the fuck, Mythal, die faster.

I got real mad there for a second. I'm fine. I'm fine!

Solas, once more, simply says, "I must fix what I have broken. I am sorry."

More than she deserves, frankly. Man's a mess, but at least he tries. She's been chilling in a swamp and pulling puppet strings for ages and abusing her kids. Nudging history like it's some sort of hobby, because it has always just been pieces on a board to her. They have never been people in her eyes like they are in his.

"As am I, old friend."

Aye, get tae fuck. Friends don't treat friends the way you treated Solas. The closest thing to an apology Solas will ever get from her is that she pretty much just lies down and dies when he comes to kill her. And she still won't set him free before he does. Has to continue to twist her own knife.

This scene has me riled.

And this takes us back to the beginning of this post.

To her essence showing up to release him from her service.

In what is, to me, the least accountable, bare minimum non-apology (she never actually says she's sorry) I've had the displeasure to witness in a videogame, with Solas literally cowering before her and offering her a knife to kill him with since this is the first time he's seen her actual, non-Flemythal face since she died.

This was never a friendship of equals. Ever.

She got one thing right. She did break him. But she knew it all this time, and she never took a single step to put it right until pushed. Her corner of the Crossroads, which he built for her in the desperate hope that she would show a glimmer of the friend he believed she was, notably has a pair of wolf statues. Both beheaded.

She's spent all this time punishing him further.

He never went to visit her? I wouldn't either. I could not blame him.

This has gone to an angry place. So let's conclude with what is, I think, the entire point.

Grace.

"I lied. I betrayed you."

"I forgive you."

Has anyone--anyone--in all his long life, ever said those words to him?

I'll say that again: has anyone--ANYONE--in all his millennia of existence, EVER said those words to him?

I forgive you.

Mythal certainly didn't.

The world certainly didn't.

He has shouldered all the blame of an entire pantheon, a war that broke the world, a blight, everything, always, and while people have come alongside him to help him, I am not sure anyone (certainly not anyone he cares about) has given him the grace of forgiveness.

The beauty of this final scene for me wasn't just Ilaana, wasn't just Ilaana reuniting with the man she has loved for a decade who has spent all that time pushing her away so he couldn't--in his mind--inevitably poison the love of the only person who has seen his spirit and cherished it without twisting him.

It was the slow realisation that Rook trusted his love enough to try.

It was Morrigan, who carries all Mythal's memories and her own of Flemythal's abuse and machinations, who responds to Rook's question about her views of Solas with: "Or do you mean to discover if I would stand directly against the Dread Wolf, were there a need? I shall aid you in any way but that. What has passed between Solas and Mythal...I beg you: do not ask this of me again."

Morrigan knows. She will not raise a hand against him. She will not try to stop him. She will let the veil fall. She will not fight with Rook. Because she knows this being whose memories she holds has harmed him enough.

Solas, in these final moments, even before Mythal shows up to gut punch him, realises all these people have somehow, somehow, banded together to help him.

Not work for him.

Not be his agents.

Not worship him.

Not follow him blindly.

To help him. To help Solas. To help him, after all this time, take the first steps towards himself. Towards his own essence, so long twisted into something he never sought or wanted.

The Inquisitor and Morrigan certainly understand what it's like to be seen only as the symbol others raise in your image. Rook will learn that someday, but is still naive.

But even with that naivete, willing. Present. Able to put aside being a chess piece on his board. Able to see that they would never have succeeded without his help. Able to trust two people who know him better than they ever will.

Able to offer him grace.

And when they produce Mythal's essence, how that must brutalise him; to think that perhaps all this has been to let his abuser kill him back. He clearly thinks that's what's happening. He breaks. He fawns. He offers her the blade that has caused so much pain.

Her release of him is the bare minimum she owes him. I've already railed about that.

What is transcendent here, transformative--it is the mortals.

The mortals offering grace to a god who never wanted to be a god.

It's them together showing him a way out of an endless cycle of trauma and abuse. No one of them alone is enough. Without Rook, they wouldn't have Mythal's essence; Morrigan can't go get it, and she can't do what is needed because she's not actually Mythal, only has her memories. Without Morrigan, who can stand there with those memories but from the compassionate perspective of someone who has watched them in horror from the outside. She's far from objective, but she can do this one thing to help.

Without the Inquisitor (romanced or not, still someone he let know him as he most desperately wanted to be known--the Fade-walker, the Dreamer, the humble mage who desperately needed a friend). The Inquisitor, who kneels before him to comfort him. Who sees his hurt and responds.

If romanced, without Lavellan, who kneels to repeat back words he once shouted at the Nightmare in the Fade after Adamant.

"Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ema mar din." (Speak, traitor. Your victory was fruitless. Your pride gives way only to your death.)

To which Solas replied, "Banal nadas."

On the surface, nothing is inevitable, but can also be taken to mean that nothingness is inevitable, entropy, the final void. (Thanks to Dumped, Drunk, and Dalish for this excellent long post on this scene.)

And here is Lavellan, kneeling beside him with those words. "Banal nadas ar lath, ma vhenan."

Nothing is inevitable but the love we share, my heart.

I see everything you are, all you have done, and I love you. I forgive you for the pain you have caused me. I understand, see, and forgive.

No one has ever shown him grace like this.

Ever.

And Solas, this shattered man, sobs.

He sobs.

Someone has taken the trouble to isolate his voice in the video. This man has nothing left. And, after millennia of this trauma cycle repeating over and over, he is finally free to make the choice he wants to make. It's not the outcome he wants; that has to be said. He doesn't want to leave the veil up. He doesn't want to be bound into prison forever with no hope of seeing the world he fought for ever return.

But he is done.

In the Fade after Adamant, there is a cemetery with the worst fears of every companion scriven on shrines and stones. Solas's is dying alone.

After all of this, he is willing to face just that--and would, if not for her.

She knows his deepest fears. She has faced the demon Mythal made of the man she loves. She has given unwitting comfort to the spirit of Wisdom still within. She has seen his sweetest self. Nurtured him, cherished him, and has been nurtured and cherished in return.

Does she want to leave the world behind and spend eternity in a Fade prison? Probably not her first choice. It's not my Ilaana's; she has been on his side all this time, dreaming of a world where the spirits she loves can be reunited with the world in peace and ready to make that happen.

But it was not supposed to happen this way. It did happen this way anyway.

He has sacrificed everything--everything--including his own spirit self, his soul, his life. How could she not offer him what no one ever has? A friend forever, a lover willing to walk the din'an shiral by his side, a companion to ward off the forever alone.

Together, the two of them can begin to heal, with their counterpart who has always seen through the burdens of the world to the soul within.

This is the only thing I've ever had any faith in. Grace I know you carry us Grace And it was such a mess Grace I don't say it enough Grace You are so loved

[rxmye]

" 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — For so long, he found art in his surroundings, nature was his muse . . who would've thought that he'd be able to find another muse, within you.

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / obsessive / unhealthy themes / I guess the reader is his 'hater' / perfectionist yandere / kind of egotistic yandere / he has a praise kink frfr / maybe a bit self centered . . / kind of unedited / also might appeal to ppl with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: I feel like Lore takes up a good chunk of this fic, but enjoy . . also might be one of my longest fics . .

He was a calming presence, and a thoughtful friend to all he called his own. Elegance took a human form, in Xavier Wilson—A beautiful work of art indeed . . Born presenting a talent that could rival many others in the industry.

From a young age, Xavier presented himself as a man of the arts, often drawing out vivid tapestries of his dreams or memories. He would often lose himself in the pages of his notebook, scribbling away with intricate drawings and stories, his mind was his own magnum opus.

However—people was never his strong suit. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, surely if he was as magnificent as those around him expressed, he'd most certainly be able to recreate the portraits of those around him?—But no, none of his portraits could compare to his various other works.

As he got a bit older, his mother decided to enroll him in classes that could help expand his talents, which ranged from various music lessons, theater (didn't end well), art history—etc . . .

Xavier let out a breathy sigh, staring at the keys of the grand piano absentmindedly—his gloved fingers gently glide over the keys, tired would be the best way to describe him as of right now—his professor had left an hour ago, yet Xavier couldn't find it in himself to move.

Truth be told, Xavier wasn't a fan of music, he preferred quiet solitude—and though he had long since gotten used to the sound of the piano, violin, and any of the other ridiculous instruments his mother was so keen on getting him to play—he still preferred the silence over all.

Over the course of time, Xavier disinterest towards music dimmed—Alongside his distaste towards instruments . . He figured the reason he disliked it so much was due to his inability to play as perfectly as his professor . . Xavier was a perfectionist, and anything he couldn't perfect was simply 'wrong' in his eyes, and as he reached his teen years, he accepted that fact wholeheartedly.

Xavier stood still, as his mother fixed his tie for him—he could do it himself but he let her enjoy this moment, she always disliked watching her son 'grow up so fast'—"are you nervous?", she asked softly, gently holding his hands, smiling so brightly.

'Am I nervous?—' he thought, clearly not. He felt calm, neutral even. It was his first big show, yet internally he knew that things would end well for him, he could feel it. He's always been lucky, in fact his father's nickname for him as a child was quite literally 'Puer aureus' which translated to 'the golden boy' from Latin.

He clicked his tongue, a common habit of his—especially when he wasn't being exactly truthful—he paused for a moment as if to think, then he smiled at his mother, "Just a bit, but I'll be fine" he spoke calmly, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, I've prepared well for this . . Haven't I?"

Praise, he adored praise, and that day he received quite a lot of it—not just from his parents, or acquaintances . . .—but crowds of people. Honestly, it stroked his ego, quite a bit . .

By seventeen years of age, Xavier's talent was known worldwide, his rise to fame quite massive and fast . . He had to attend class, while also hosting live performances and art galleries. (such a struggle, really . . .)

University admissions were coming around, and most of his friends had chosen what schools they plan on applying to—what path they plan on going into—what school they hope to go to the most, the conversation was an eye opener and yet it all felt so bitter.

Xavier tapped his pen on the table, zoning out from the conversation his friends were having . . only to zone back in when Neva spoke, "—so Xavier, have you decided where you'll be applying too . . ? I'm sure you'll get in."

He clicked his tongue in response, closing his eyes absentmindedly as he spoke, "To be honest, not really . . probably something arts related?", Xavier was about to speak up again but stopped himself, starring down at the table, a sigh escaping his lips.

"That seems like a waste of money", he looked up, starring at Oliver with questioning eyes, and Oliver quickly explained himself, "Art school is great and all—But it won't really make much of a difference for you, in fact the rules could restrict your talent . . It could be better for you to just try something new? You're good in school a degree outside of your comfort zone may be something good for you!"

He hated that his friend was right, he hated being wrong. He prided himself for always knowing what was best for himself and his abilities, and in a spur of pettiness he found himself taking art anyway, trying to prove his friend wrong . . even though he was well aware his intentions were pure in all ways.

Xavier had done well in his courses so far, and with his fame, he was breezing through classes—and yet, when the topics of portraits came up . . he found all that floating out the window.

None of the models they had for class, felt right—none of the art he did, felt authentic . . felt like himself, when it came to art, Xavier took everyone to paradise, his art felt like peace . . his art was calm . . his music was soft, lulling almost . .

Yet now, as he stared at his canvas, covered in mixed harsh colours, a vibrant mess of paint, his brushes wrecked, paint dripping from the easel . . It felt like anything but calm.

And that's when he dropped out, a question to his perfection would wreck the fragile image of himself he had created in his mind, a man so perfect and lucky in his own right a humbling experience like that was to never see the light of day.

Xavier found himself turning to something different, just like Oliver suggested, his alternatives were selective, yet he kept many paths open, Photography, fashion, and business were his top picks and things he found himself surprisingly enjoying . . Surely if he could paint and create melodies of such wonders, then he can stitch some fabric together, solve a few equations, and take a few photo's here and there just fine . . right?

A few years had past, and Xavier was now running his very own Luxury fashion line, he still hosted art galleries here and there, and composed music on the side, but his business took up most of his time.

But on his free days he'd turn to photography, taking pictures of things he sought comfort in . . and people, he'd often take pictures of unsuspecting people, pretty ones . . people not so pretty as well, just to try and recreate the life they had on a canvas . . yet somehow always failing to do so.

The moment Xavier found himself close, he'd reach a dead end . . and that destroyed him, internally.

Over the years, he accepted the small flaws in his behavior, and tried his best to reform them, presenting himself as the perfect public figure. He did go to therapy in the past, but when things started rising up, he quit entirely.

Xavier laid back on his office chair, and scrolled through his recent posts comment section, and as expected almost all of it was praise . . some of envy, but that only fueled his ego more . . Until he found a comment that set him off, "His art is so melancholy, it feels a bit sad . . His previous works were brighter, like more happy but now it kind of feels sad . . Like the life in his work isn't there anymore."

Xavier stared at the comment dumbfounded, never had he received that kind of feedback . . portraits he drew were indeed lifeless, but his other art was always regarded as lively, and that was what he always strived for . . Curious, and in a fit of rage . . he clicked on the commenters profile, and saw you.

You, you . . You were what he was looking for, his muse. So, full of life . . He scrolled through your page, and couldn't help but feel the urge to draw you, and paint you . . and paint you he did. . Because soon his entire studio was filled with pieces inspired by you . . so full of 'life' . . .

Yet at some point, he had reached the end of your posts, and it just wasn't enough . . he needed you . . He wanted your feedback, he craved your praise . . like no other, he wanted input . . he wanted to know if his work was truly still lifeless . . he wanted you.

After all, a artist isn't complete without his muse.

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus Draconia: Made Up

… Why does Malleus continue to have some of the most “hey are u lost bbg” facial expressions + poses ever on his initial birthday card artworks… ��

He really looks like his mom when his hair is all pinned back like in his alt and Groovy look. xbjsbsjww The makeup products he’s using… They look like Giorgio Armani 💰

Rise and Shine!

Humans were blessed with two hands with which to do all of their work. Malleus Draconia had no need for either of his.

Lipstick, liquid eyeshadow, and finishing powder lifted into the air, glowing an eerie green. They uncapped and began applying themselves, gliding easily across his lips, painting his lids, and patting down his pale skin. Already, a cloth was busy polishing his horns, and a brush ran through his hair. A mirror, magically suspended before him, displayed his regal visage--a work of art slowly coming into its peak form.

You had heard Scarabia's vice dorm leader mention that he used magic to do his hair--a complex, precise process--but had never in your life witnessed a show like this. You clapped for Malleus, as if a spectator that had just seen a most wonderous trick.

He cut you a curious look. "May I ask why the applause, child of man?"

"It's just so cool seeing you use your magic," you replied truthfully. "There's so many things happening at once, it's hard to know where to keep my eyes. You're really amazing!"

There was a sound akin to a stifled chortle. These, you had grown accustomed to.

"You never cease to surprise. This is but a modicum of what I am capable of." He almost seemed to pout as he said it, as if itching to demonstrate the full extent of his powers. Wanting praise for something more.

"Oh, trust me. I know you are--but it's nice to see the Malleus Draconia using his magic to do normal, everyday stuff too." You grinned, ducking behind him to peek into his mirror. Your gazes met in the sparkling glass. "I wish everyone could see this."

"It is hardly a matter of importance to share the details of my morning routine with the masses. Besides, Grandmother would no doubt grant me a thorough scolding for allowing myself to be seen in such an improper state.”

He yawned, and a hand moved to cover his mouth, where you caught a glimpse of pointed canines. A rare moment of cuteness, of vulnerability. A side of himself kept private. Such a mundane thing--it reminded you that he, too, was but a student, preparing to tackle another day.

"Maybe not, but then again… maybe they'd see what I see too."

You quirked a brow. "And what is it that you see?"

"That you're not as scary as whatever scary made-up version of yourself they have in their heads. It's not all doom and gloom, wrath and lightning. You're someone that laughs and cries too."

"... Do they have that impression of me?" Malleus brought a hand to his chin. "Odd. When I last conversed with a peer of mine, they were so elated to be in my presence that they fainted on the spot. Lilia commended me for making such a strong impression on them."

"Erm... Lilia might not be the best judge for that." You poked at the corners of your mouth. "You have a nice smile, so how about showing it more? That might draw people to you."

"Hmmm. Like this, perhaps?"

He attempted to imitate you. The result was an awkward facsimile of your smile. Not quite the same curve, and with the tips of his fangs poking out. His eyes, still ominous.

Clumsy, but a little dangerous.

Your heart sprouted wings and fluttered. “It’s a good start! You’ll get the hang of it with more practice.”

Malleus sighed, and at once, the items that had been hovering around him collapsed along with his breath. “This is a conundrum. As a public figure and representative of my country, it’s imperative that I maintain my reputation.”

The fluttering in your chest settled like a stone sinking into the bottom of a lake. A sudden weight, a sadness, sitting in your stomach. He cut a gallant figure--but without the fairy lights and fire, he was but a pitiful creature trapped within stone walls.

Lonely and misunderstood.

Without a word, you slipped a hand into his. Malleus felt cold to the touch, like some long-forgotten relic dug up from some ruins.

His eyes shot wide open with alarm. "What are you..."

"Let's walk to class like this," you suggested softly. "I know you wouldn't harm me. If everyone else can see that... they'd understand, right?"

Shock flooded Malleus's face. Then, like a flash of lightning and a fleeting bellow of thunder, it was over, replaced by the faintest chuckle.

"... Very well." He squeezed your hand, the motion sending sparks of electricity through you. "I would not be opposed to this. If they are to weave tall tales, then all we must do is flip the script and write a story of our own to combat theirs."

[illumose]

a snowy day in nyc — harvey specter

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x harvey specter

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: fluff, sweet harvey, a shocked mike ross

⋆⭒˚.⋆ SUMMARY: mike never expected harvey to date someone, least of all to be this… relaxed.

masterlist

Mike Ross thought of Harvey as an old grumpy man who lived for his career. He was glad to be his associate, truly. Harvey had offered him a lifetime of opportunities. He could pay his rent without getting into shady business. However, his boss could be a bitch. And that's why Mike was now biking on this icy road with snowflakes hitting his face. He wanted to yell swears after swears but his lips felt so dry.

As he arrived near the apartment complex, he felt a rush of hope. Hope that Harvey will not ask him anything again. After all, Mike had spent two days working on filing documents and studying court appeals for their new case, whilst Harvey was enjoying work from his sofa. Winter was not his favorite season and he refused to step outside when snow covered the streets.

"I'm here to see Mr Specter," he said to the receptionist, hands full of papers. He was pretty sure that his fingers were frozen to death. Amputation was the way to go. Louis would never stop snickering if Mike came back with bandages.

"I'll let him know that you're coming up, sir."

"Thanks."

Inside the glass elevator, he rehearsed his grand speech. He was no houseboy. He was to be treated like a human being, and not a robot. He too had to eat and sleep.

He did not expect to find Harvey on his terrace putting a carrot onto a snowman's face.

"Love, your associate's here," you announced. "You look frozen dear, please have a seat. I'll prepare a cup of tea," you said, pointing to a cozy sofa.

Harvey rolled his eyes. "You're late, Mike." He closed the patio door and got rid of the snow on his jogging.

"And you're...." Mike could not believe his eyes. Harvey dating. Harvey having fun. Harvey dressing... casual? "I had to put on an all-nighter and try biking with this snow, it's hell."

"You're still late."

You sighed, grabbing the teapot whistling on the stove. "Don't be such a meanie, I'm sure he did his best. Besides, it's not like you really needed this. It's your day off."

"Well, I'm giving him a lesson. It's a teachable moment. The hustle never stops."

"Sugar?" you asked, pouring hot water inside a dog-shaped mug. You completely ignored your boyfriend‘s comment. He could be a jerk with his underlings, though you understood why. From what he told you about Mike, the kid needed structure.

"Yes, please." He turned to his boss, eying the man with curiosity. The brunette seemed relaxed. Unusually relaxed.

Harvey’s hand almost immediately found yours. You squeezed it. "Well, Mike… nice… thank… great job." Mike sure liked the influence you had on the man.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

hii id like to request a how l&d boys act when they're jealous :3 feel free to ignore if u don't feel like it or thanks in advance if u do!! love your works sm xx

How the Boys Act When They’re Jealous

Pairing: xavier x gn!reader, rafayel x gn!reader, zayne x gn!reader

A/N: The game needs more jealous Zayne, and Lost in your eyes moments with Raf. Thanks for waiting! <3

Xavier is an absolute menace.

He’s extremely possessive over you, and he’s well aware of it.

You care a lot about him, but good luck stopping him from being a jealous dummy any time soon. He already knows Jeremiah doesn’t have feelings for you, but is that going to stop him from spraying the other man with a plant mister when he gets to close? Nope.

Luckily for Jeremiah, Xavier likes him. They’re friends. The other man finds it funny to even tease him a little by poking at that jealous side. Everyone else doesn’t have the same privilege.

When he's not glaring, Xavier tries to be subtle about, dropping hints here and there about how you’re his lover. He’ll interrupt your conversations with other men when they drag on too long, so he can talk with his partner, his neighbor, his napping buddy.

Suddenly, everything he says can be taken the wrong way. He mentions how he had a good time sleeping together (when it was literal sleeping). He says the two of you should got out to dinner again or that the lunch you made him for work was very tasty (really you wanted to avoid the apartment complex catching on fire). He might also “jokingly” state within hearing distance of your new friend that the two of you act like a married couple. It’s not his fault if someone takes it the wrong way; you don’t have to look so embarrassed about it.

Xavier likes to flaunt his status a little; he fixes your hair and dusts off your clothes. He would do this for you even if he wasn’t jealous, but it’s a bonus that it gets others to back off and gets your attention on him with your cute little pout.

Worse comes to worst, he isn’t afraid of using underhanded methods to fail any attempt at someone else trying to steal you away from him; even if that means knocking out the streetlights with his Evol to get your coworker to go home early (who even takes 20 minutes to say goodbye anyway? Someone with ill intentions, that’s who.).

He’ll deny it. Deny. Deny. Deny. He’s not jealous. He just wants to know more about your friend. How long have you known each other? Do you go out at night together? Why not invite him sometimes? It takes a few pokes to get him to admit it.

Jealous Xavier can be a moody Xavier; he’s usually calm and easygoing, patient with most of the world except with those who try to flirt with you, and you, if you should flirt back. Though, he has no problem reminding you why he is the only one you should have eyes for whether it be through words, action, or…other methods best left after dark.

It’s obvious when Rafayel is jealous.

It starts as jokes, usually, with a light dust of jealousy like sprinkles on a donut.

“What’s your new friend like? Are they more fun than me,” he asks, trying to coax you into admitting how much more you like him, a little to assuage his jealousy and a little to stroke his own ego.

He’s confident in being your partner and having a bond that has lasted millenniums. So, when a random likes you, it’s usually not a huge deal. He can confidently deal with it, wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulder and putting on his charm as he calls you honey with a lift to his voice, as if he didn’t notice the person who was trying to flirt with you.

His jealousy can even be funny sometimes even cute. He’ll get this pouty look on his face whenever you place your attention on animals, cooing and petting them. He even gets jealous of your dear child, Reddie, from time to time. You love that clumsy fish so much. It couldn’t even stop itself from being caught by humans. Why would you want to play with Reddie so much when you already got a fish you can pet. Please pet him.

 When his jealousy gets really bad though, he can be snippy. He’s vindictive, asking if you forgot about him and if you wouldn’t rather hang out with your other boyfriend. His jokes become a little less funny and a little meaner, and he’ll be quick to demand an explanation in a voice a little tighter and bitter than you’re used to from him.

If you get mad and try to leave, he’s pulling you back. He doesn’t actually want you to go but he’s too stubborn to admit that maybe he’s being jealous over nothing.

He just doesn’t want you to forget him again.

On the other hand, seeing you jealous? He eats it up. 

Zayne doesn’t like his jealousy.

He tries to play it cool and be mature about these things. He’d never interrupt you talking to another person, but he most definitely watches the situation out the corner of his eye. He wants to digest every word and every bit of body language he can about the situation, going as far as pretending to work to have an excuse to stay and listen in.

Zayne wants to be rational about things, but he’s never been completely rational when it comes to you. You have a bad way of making him act out of character (or passionately as you call it).

This emotion always sneaks up on him unexpectedly and makes him clumsier than normal. He’ll give himself away easily, asking about your plans with the other person or if you noticed the lovesick puppy look they gave you when you looked their way. It makes him blush when you mention that you adore his puppy eyes more. If he says he doesn’t do that, well, you’ll simply have to call Dr. Greyson and Yvonne to back you up.

Zayne can be very picky about other people trying to take your time, like not wanting someone else to dance with you or take you out to a new tourist location; he always promises his free time to you, the little he has of it, so he requests that you wait for him. He’ll accompany you wherever you want to go.

Zayne is very jealous of others who can make you laugh. He really likes how easygoing, talkative, and animated you are so he gets insecure when someone else can make you act that way better than he can; however, he feels selfish because you’re happy and that should be enough.

In the end, he blames himself for his own jealousy, questioning if he read too much into the situation or in your relationship. He’s the quickest to apologize for his jealousy if you pick up on it.

When Zayne thinks you are pursuing someone else, he becomes blunter. He suddenly has a lot more relationship advice about being careful who you keep in your company and warning you to make sure there’s no doubt when deciding on something important like your partner. He also tends to cut conversations about any other potential partner you might like short and unintentionally be rude to your love interest.

That’s not to say he won’t try to win you over; when push comes to shove and the risk of losing you becomes too great, he isn’t afraid to finally tell you how he feels in the best way he can. All he can do is try. 

If you don’t like him back, he will allow jealousy to silently have him, choosing to suffer in it, as long as you’re happy with whoever you choose.

However, that does not mean he has to like your partner as well. And if they ever hurt you, he rather not think of what he’d do if that should happen.

[ghostfacd]

WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which you and tom make a special appearance on wired’s autocomplete interview

installment of this au | recommend reading for more context

“Hi — we’re Y/N Avocot and Tom Blyth — and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview!”

You’re both handed a white board, bigger than your face, and there’s a list of questions with some of the words covered.

“Do you want to go first?” Tom asks, giving you a small smile.

“Yes! I’m pretty excited actually,” you begin to peel off the first question. “Okay, first question: what was Y/N Avocot’s first role?”

You think for a moment, “well in terms of roles in general, my first acting role was very small and I believe it was for this ice cream commercial as a kid. I’m not sure if it’s still up but my mom had signed me up for it and they thought I was a really cute kid so they casted me.”

Tom laughs, “really?” He then retrieves his board from the crew. “Okay my turn. Why does Coriolanus Snow turn evil?”

That question makes you slightly giggle, because it’s so broad that it’s nearly impossible for Tom to narrow down exactly what it is that made Coriolanus suddenly switch. “I believe you should be asking Suzanne Collins, shout-out to her for making the entire trilogy and prequel. But honestly? I think he was always power hungry, and even though Tigris tried her very best to bring out the humanity in him, it was just never enough. Especially after Sejanus’s death, I think Coriolanus realized there was no going back.”

“Oh wow,” you say, very impressed with how he decided to answer it. “That was a terrific answer Tom.”

“Thank you m’lady.” You giggle at his antics, rolling your eyes jokingly.

“What role does Y/N Avocot play in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes?” You clear your throat, imitating one of your character’s iconic resting bitch face.

“I play Balleona Laurent, duh.” You joke. “Anyway, yes, I play Balleona, also known as Leona. She’s originally from the Capitol just like Coriolanus. They met at the academy and she automatically knew she had to have him. She comes from the Laurent family, which is a very very wealthy, well off, intimidating family that Coriolanus knows he just has to get into, which is why they start dating. I don’t wanna spoil too much of Leona and Corio in the movie, soooo you guys should definitely check it out!”

“Alright,” Tom adjusts himself in his seat, ripping off the paper for the next question. “Does Tom Blyth have a girlfriend?”

He pretends to think, which makes you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. “Hmm, very complex question.”

“Oh give the people what they want!” You tease, “yes he does. He’s inlove with Jennifer Lawrence.”

“I am not inlove with Jennifer Lawrence!” He exclaims quickly, “although I greatly admire her work. My girlfriend is Y/N Avocot over here, sadly.”

“Sadly?!” You fake offense, “cut the cameras. I’m gonna beat Tom up.”

You peel away at your next question, the interview already being loads of fun for the both of you. “Is Y/N Avocot a good singer?”

Your head falls forward, and Tom’s automatic instinct is to catch you, not realizing you’re only joking. “Oh God, I hope so!” You say, laughing as you pick your head up. “I’m no Mariah Carey but I like to think I’m a pretty okay singer.”

“More than okay,” Tom chimes in, which makes you laugh.

“Aw, thanks Tom.”

Tom reaches to peel another question off. “Is Tom Blyth American?” This question makes you almost spit out the water you were currently taking a sip out of. “Well, a lot of people get shocked when I say I’m from the UK. I mean, is my American accent that good?”

“Guess so,” you shrug. “Okay next. Is Y/N Avocot in The Summer I Turned Pretty?”

You clasp your hands together excitedly, giving the camera a wide smile. “Yes! I play Maekella Fisher, also known as Ella Fisher, Steven Conklin’s love interest and sister to Conrad and Jeremiah. The first season airs out soon so please stay tune for that! I’m so excited to be apart of this amazing show with such amazing people.”

“I always come to watch her on set,” Tom says, “they’re all such funny and charismatic people. I swear I’ve became friends with everyone on Y/N’s cast.”

“Okay, my last question,” Tom peels off the paper, grinning. “Will Tom Blyth star in another movie soon?”

He smirks, eyes playfully looking into the camera. “Who knows? But I do know that something exciting will be coming out soon so prepare yourselves!”

“Way to tease the crowd Blyth,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Anyway! My last question, this was quick. What is Y/N Avocot’s skincare routine? Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.”

You sit on the edge of your seat, and Tom finds it endearing that you’re so excited about something as small as this.

“First, I rinse my face with cold water and I dip my face in a bowl of ice and water for 3 minutes. Afterwards, I put on my dewy toner from Innisfree, it’s so smooth and nice. Sometimes I’m too lazy for this step but I also put on sunscreen, it’s important so I always remind myself to not forget— but I love to use Supergoop Unseen’s Sunscreen. I use drunk elephant’s bronze drops if I wanna go for a sunkissed look that day, but I usually don’t. And then I just shake my Tower facial spray and spray it all over my face. Usually, I touch up my eyebrows and do my eyeliner but that’s really about it!”

“It’s true,” Tom adds. “She asked me if I could go buy her the tower spray yesterday because she was almost out.”

“No need to expose me like that,” you say, clinging your arms onto his. “Well thank you guys for watching!”

“Thank you!” Tom and you wave at the camera, smiling brightly.

[identitty-dickruption]

Is there anything that you see when someone writes addiction/alcohol addiction specifically that really annoys you? As someone trying to write something related rn, having someone who actually knows about it's perspective is really useful :]. Obviously no pressure to answer! Have a nice day <3

oh absolutely yes. I've seen some truly shocking things of late. and also in general very happy to bitch about it for a bit

it may sound obvious but don't. like. blame the entirety of a person's addiction on a single factor or act like "if only they had access to x piece of information, they wouldn't be an addict!". in candy house by Jennifer Egan, one of the characters became an addict because of her dyslexia and her inability to find fictional characters who Truly Understood Her. don't do that.

try not to smooth them out into a singular dimensional person. or even a two dimensional person (where the two dimensions are addiction and trauma or whatever). an addict is a human being. weirdly difficult for people to conceptualise this

NOBODY gets withdrawal right. withdrawal is Not a couple shakes and then you're good. withdrawal can last weeks, if not months, depending on how dependent the person was on the substance and depending on what the substance is

similar to the above, if someone relapses while they're experiencing withdrawal, the withdrawal symptoms do not immediately disappear. if you're throwing your guts up you won't be magically fine the moment you get your substance in you. you will still feel incredibly shit for a good couple hours Minimum

implying that addiction is inherently irrational, or selfish, or stupid. addiction is a response to a set of circumstances that make sense to a person at the time. nobody becomes an addict for shits and giggles. there is always something else going on

likewise, the "high functioning alcoholic" trope has. problems. like I spent an entire year being tipsy non-stop while I was also doing alright in university and whatever. very definition of high-functioning alcoholism I guess. but I think those characters are done Poorly a lot of the time in that the nature of the interpersonal issues they have never feels Quite Right

"I got sober for love" shut the fuck up. "you saved me from myself" go away. "one real human relationship fixed my dependency on substances" no it did not. if love cured all ills, I would be the healthiest guy on the planet. it simply does not work that way <- falling in love makes it easier to love myself and have hope for the future but at the end of the day I'm still a traumatised bitch who struggles with shit

the entire concept of an intervention. addiction does not end with One Grand Event that will make everything better. forcing someone to go to rehab barely ever works. interventions are not one-off events, they are a series of kind and compassionate conversations that occur over a long period of time

sorry this ended up being a lot more than I thought it would. I think if you asked me again tomorrow I would have five to ten more things to bitch about. idk. people get the complexities of addiction wrong A Lot and I've read/seen more bad rep than good rep. but oh well. it's important to me that people are out there trying their best to do better! so thanks for asking

[lizardanya]

part of my beef with pesterquest is that they kind of undersell how casually reactionary the trolls are ideologically?

like, i get that we’re doing a “deconstruct the entire character in like 20 minutes of text”, and “redeem/fix their problems to railroad them into a happy ending” thing but part of the reason why friendsim worked better, i feel, is because they didn’t need to do a ‘why you should find this character likeable’ speed run, because there’s over thirty characters and it’s an introductory game anyway, if you don’t like this ultimately background character from a larger game who cares. you’re not losing anything.

pesterquest can’t do that bc 1. they’re established characters, with established fanbases, and god forbid somebody’s blorbo isn’t presented in the best light 2. some of the routes are genuinely just written by the people for whom these characters are their blorbos who god forbid aren’t presented in the best light.

and so in homestuck proper, we get a group of trolls who, for the most part (the notable exception being largely feferi, even though even she has her moments), are very passively okay with a very oppressive society, while also being very passively okay with breaking the rules of said oppressive society sometimes. and in pesterquest that aspect, that contradiction that is nonetheless very poignant is kind of lost.

terezi, in pesterquest, when pushed says that she knows the system sucks, but it’s just the way things are, and she wants to protect the ones she loves and maybe if she sticks with it long enough she can change the system from the inside or whatever. and i just don’t think she’d fucking say that.

terezi, fundamentally, wants to be a corrupt lawyer, because it’s fun. she has a knack for manipulation, one of her first interactions with the humans is manipulating someone to death, and then she does a very similar thing to dave again. yes, she has complex feelings about it, but she still does it, she’s kind of really good at it, that’s kind of her entire power set: seeing how events pan out, and being able to identify the points that need to be changed for a desired outcome. she wants to become a corrupt lawyer because she’s a 13 year old who was sold on the idea of toying with people as a job.

a big thing with the trolls is that none of them are really fully sold on the ideology of alternia, even the ones most ideologically inclined towards it don’t fully act on it in their personal life. and this is just something that happens a lot in real life: bigots, even staunch ones, often make exceptions when it comes to personal matters, often buy into these systems without uncompromisingly adopting their principles. yes, it is hypocritical. yes, terezi wanting to be a corrupt lawyer while still caring about karkat is hypocritical. no, it’s not a contradiction that needs to be explained away.

a lot of the most interesting character work regarding the trolls is this exploration of their personal wants and desires being at odds with the platonic ideal of themselves they were sold on, writing that off as more or less all of them going “well there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism i guess!” as a way to absolve their moral character is just boring and sucks.

[defututus]

eddie finds you with a migraine and you're stubborn

eddie munson x fem!reader

cw: established relationship, a mix of angst and fluff (you just aren’t feeling well), migraines and talk of past medical experiences, there’s like a hint of a dom/sub relationship but only for a moment I swear

author's note: this is the first fic I've ever posted and it's for the migraine girlies. I have another migraine-related fic idea that I've been thinking about writing so we''ll see what happens. this fic a culmination of my personal experiences with migraines and wishing Eddie could be here and force me to take my medication when I act like I don't need it.

Thank you @munson-blurbs and @corroded-hellfire for reading it and pushing me every time I come up with an idea and yelling at me to write it, love you both <3

The sound of Eddie's boots echo through the hallways of his apartment complex as he finally arrives home from work, pulling his mittens off his hands and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. The weather this week has been horrible, the garage is freezing, and he nearly tripped over a creeper that someone left in the middle of the room. He’s pretty sure the new guy, Gunther, left it there when he went to grab some parts. Everyone in the room, including Wayne, saw the way his arms flailed and he almost fell on his face. The only thing that kept him going was knowing you would be there at home waiting for him at the end of the day. All he wanted to do right now was curl up with you on the couch under some blankets and watch some gory horror movies all night. You had mentioned trying out the new Chinese place down the road, maybe you guys could just have it delivered so neither of you need to leave the comforts of your warm home. He would have been home sooner but you needed a few things for a recipe you wanted to try soon and he offered to pick them up after work.

Eddie finally reaches the door to the apartment and fumbles with the keys, his hands still freezing despite the warm mittens he wore outside. He curses under his breath, eventually grabbing the right key amongst all the identical ones hanging on his keyring. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Eddie finally unlocks the door and steps inside to find the apartment dark and chilly. The streetlights illuminate part of the living room through the half open blinds. A young chocolate lab runs over to greet Eddie, his nails scraping the floors as he skids across, excitedly jumping up to greet his human after being gone all day. Eddie bends down to give him some scratches and pat his pack. 

“Hey Yogi, did you keep the place safe today? You really are the best dog, aren’t you?” After about 30 seconds of roughhousing with the pup, he stands back up to flick on a light. He goes over to your small kitchen and sets down the small bag of groceries. Eddie takes his time putting everything away, humming to himself as he shelves the chicken stock and adobo. Once all the items are put away, Eddie looks around and takes in the state of the apartment.

The faint scent of a lavender candle wafting through the area and your water bottle is left on the coffee table. His jacket is hung up in the small coat closet and he unties his boots, placing them in front of one of the heat ducts and swearing he’ll put them on the shoe rack once they’re fully dry. There’s no sign of you whatsoever apart from your bottle and the blanket you usually use haphazardly draped across the edge of the couch.

The place is oddly silent for this time of day. Normally if you were home you’d have some sort of music playing, usually a playlist split between the two of you with your preferred music in it. Either that or you would have some tv show on for background noise. The space heater wasn’t on and it didn’t feel like it had been on for some time now. All the heat coming from the heat ducts was leaving through the old windows so those heaters were necessary to prevent the apartment from feeling like a walk-in freezer every winter. Eddie knew you had to be home - your bag was hanging next to your coat and you wouldn’t go anywhere without at least notifying him. He turns around back to Yogi, happily wagging his tail and looking up at him, and whispers, “Hey, where’s mom? Go find mom for me.” He motions for Yogi to go ahead and he happily obliges, trotting towards the closed bedroom door.

It’s not fully shut, open only a crack so Yogi could come inside if he so chooses. The dog sticks his nose inside to open it more and pushes through it. Eddie silently follows behind him. The room is pitch black thanks to the blackout curtains on the window, a gift from your parents when you and Eddie finally found an apartment together. Eddie then realizes what’s going on.

You had struggled with migraines for a majority of your life with them getting progressively worse and more frequent in the last three years. You’re on a few different medications now to make it more manageable but you still have your bad days, and today is looking like one of them. Frankly, he should have known this was going to happen. Bad weather was always a trigger for you and you had commented on the barometer this morning as you both were getting ready for the day. He was stupid to just brush that off as small talk while you both were still half asleep. You knew a migraine was coming. 

Eddie sees you curled up on his side of the bed with a sleep mask over your eyes. You’re grimacing under it in the fetal position and what sounds to be whimpering. Before Eddie goes inside, he tiptoes over to the light switch he just flipped and turns the lights off, the streetlights being the only thing illuminating once more. He sees some movement out of the corner of his eye coming from the bedroom and tiptoes back over to your room. Yogi is taking a step back before jumping up onto the bed, taking his usual spot curled up behind your knees with his head resting on your leg. He even lets out a little sigh when he settles into a comfortable position. Eddie steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. You pick your head up just a little bit and lift the sleep mask, wincing at the shooting pain from behind your eyes to the top of your head and call out a strained, “Ed?” 

Eddie slowly walks over to his side of the bed, trying to keep as quiet as possible so the floor would creak as little as possible. Once he’s close enough, he reaches down and cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb and replying with a quiet, “Hey bub, how are you feeling?”

You mumble, “Not great, but you’re home now so I’m already feeling a little better.”

His hands are warm in stark contrast with the cold air circulating the apartment. You nuzzle his hand with your cheek which makes Eddie smile. Eddie moves down to kneel in front of you. You look tired, your eyes only half open with no life in them. He had seen you like this countless times before but it still hurt him every single time. Migraines sucked all the life out of you and Eddie wished he could do something to help you. There were countless times you had to cancel plans because you had a migraine attack and felt so much guilt over it, but Eddie didn’t care. He’d rather lay in bed with you until you feel better than go out and do something when you’re obviously in pain.

He remembered an attack you had last year, it left you crying and asking Eddie to take you to the hospital. You were hyperventilating and complaining that your arm had gone numb. No amount of medication was working and you couldn’t take the searing pain any longer. He had to help you out to the car, only wearing one of his worn band shirts that you stole from Eddie a long time ago and a pair of pajama shorts. You two didn’t even make it out of the apartment parking lot when the medication you took finally kicked in all at once. It was one of the scariest times of his life and he swore it would never happen again. 

Eddie nods, already going through his mental list of things that he needs to do to help you feel better, asking, “Have you taken anything today?” You shake your head no before a wave of pain hits you, causing you to shut your eyes again and bury your face in the pillow with a low pained groan. Eddie sits there, worried but also confused. Why didn’t you take anything? He got up and went over to your side of the bed to open your bedside drawer. It was split into two parts, one with the items you used before bed but the other half held all your medications, including every painkiller known to man. There was a giant unopened bottle of Excedrin, a bottle of Advil, and even the migraine medication prescribed by your doctor. You certainly weren’t low on anything. His attention is turned back to you when you roll onto your back, your migraine moving exclusively to the side of your head that was touching the pillow therefore it hurt too much to lay on your side. Unfortunately, you moving meant Yogi wasn’t able to lay on your legs anymore so he huffed and jumped off the bed.

“Sweetheart, why haven’t you taken anything?” Eddie gets onto the bed to sit down next to you, his hand going back to your face. Your eyes open once more, squinting at the minute level of light coming in from behind the curtains. You whine and answer tiredly,

“I don’t need them.”

Your boyfriend sits up, completely perplexed by your answer. Did he hear you correctly? He takes you in again, noting the noise cancelling earplugs in your ears and how much you keep clenching your jaw, something that he knows will only make the pain worse.

“Wait, what? Honey…,” Eddie stammers, wincing at the volume of his exclamation and watching you do the same. “Listen, I love you. I love you more than everything in the world, but frankly I think you look and sound like shit. You look like you’re in a lot of pain right now.” 

He watches you pout and smiles a little bit, happy to see even a small sign of life in his girlfriend again. “Wow Eddie, rude.”

“Why won’t you take the medication?” he repeats.

“I don’t need it. The pain isn’t that bad, I’ve felt worse.”

“Ok but you have the means to stop the pain NOW so why not do that? Don’t wait until you’re in agony to take something.”

Eddie doesn’t wait for a response. He gets up and leaves the room with your dog following behind like the loyal pet he is. You hear two sets of footsteps walk through the apartment and then the faint sound of running water. You assumed he just left to let you rest so you pulled the blankets up over your head to try and get to sleep. He returns again a minute later, Yogi in tow and your refilled water bottle in hand. There’s a shift in weight on the mattress, which you assume to be from Eddie, followed by Yogi  hopping onto the bed and just standing in the middle of it, as if he’s there just to watch you and make sure you do as you’re told.

Eddie slowly takes the blanket off your head and ignores your protests. He opens up the water bottle and places it on your bedside table. With his other hand he holds out a little pink pill, the medication prescribed by your doctor, as well as two Excedrin. “Cmon, take this,” he asks, moving his hand closer to you when you shake your head no, “Babe, you need to take this. Please.”

There’s no response from you this time. Eddie carefully puts the medication down on the table next to your water. He decides to make it so you can’t ignore him, pulling the covers up and climbs under them next to you. His eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and looks you right in the eye. 

“Listen, I don’t understand why you refuse to take your medication. You have a chronic condition that is easily fixed by a few little pills. Also…” Eddie leans in so your noses are practically touching, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “Think about the creator of that little pill. That nice, strong painkiller. Think about the scientists that made that little pill for you,” he says. You’re looking at him confused as he continues speaking, “Think about how sad he must be that you aren’t taking that pill. He worked so hard to make it for you and you’re being a stubborn little brat.”

You mutter, “I’m not a brat,” and try to roll over, but a hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you could fully turn away from him.

Eddie leans into your ear and you feel his curly fringe tickle your neck. His voice deepens in a way that has always made you squirm and goes, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take your medicine, okay?”

You don’t turn your back to him, but you also don’t fully turn to face him again. The only part of you that turns is your head to look back at him. He’s giving you a look that he only ever gave you in the bedroom, the look he gave you when you were pushing his buttons because you thought it was funny and knew he was going to teach you a lesson when he finally got you alone - in a consensual way, of course. He can see it in your eyes that he got you, that once his demeanor changed you would be more likely to listen to him. To ensure you would really listen to him, he moves his hand from your arm to touch your cheek again and asks, more softly this time, “Take it for me, please.”

Eddie watches you think for a second before sitting up - slowly, because you were still in pain, and takes the covers off of your head. You look over at the dog laying at the end of your bed, now asleep. Eddie takes the covers off his head and turns to the bedside table to hand you the pills and water bottle. He watches you swallow the pills and drink around half of the water in your water bottle. Eddie places his hand on your inner thigh to squeeze it and is finally smiling again. Yogi seems to sense that things are better now so he jumps off the bed and trots over to his doggy bed and lays down there. Once you’re finished with the bottle, he takes it from you and places it back on the table. He asks, “Now, was that so difficult?”

“Extremely difficult.”

“Ok, well we’re gonna stay in bed until everything kicks in. Once you’re better we can take the pup out for a quick—” Eddie leans in to mouth the word walk, so Yogi doesn’t hear him, “—and then we’ll order some take out. Sounds good to you?”

You nod silently, finally smiling at him for the first time since he got home today. He presses a light kiss to your forehead and you flinch away from him.

“Ok, yeah. Forgot to not touch your head when it hurts, sorry.”

Eddie watches you settle back down in bed and reluctantly gets out of the warm bed. The cold is seeping in through the windows and all he wants to do at that moment is just stay under the covers with you, even if it means sleeping in his clothes. You roll over to watch Eddie as he softly treads across the room to the dresser. He starts off by removing his rings one at a time to place them in a little jewelry tray, listening to each piece clink as they hit the ceramic. His hair is taken out of the bun he kept it in all day and he scratches at his head to relieve the tension from having it pulled back all day. 

His shirt comes next, pulling it over his head and revealing the skeleton wings tattooed across his back. You’re stuck there admiring the way his muscles move in the dim light. Eddie complains about how tiring it is being a mechanic but you can’t deny it’s doing wonders for his body. He used to be so lanky but now that he’s been doing this job for a while you’ve noticed how strong he has gotten.

He’s about to put his shirt in the laundry when you wolf whistle at him. Eddie whips his head around to look at you, smirking when he sees you giggling and crawling over to the other side of the bed now wrapping a blanket around yourself to keep warm. He balls his shirt up and throws it in your direction and you swat it away, making him cackle.

“Oh nothings wrong with you, you’re fine!”

You gasp at his accusation and reach down to the floor to grab the shirt so you could throw it back at him. As you’re grasping for it, there’s some shuffling and movement going on as Eddie goes back to getting changed. His work pants are thrown into the laundry basket with his underwear coming off moments later. You’re still watching him, now just admiring his body as a whole while he digs for a comfortable pair of pajama pants, eventually landing on a red pair with reindeer on them that your aunt gave him for Christmas this year. The winds outside from the storm are billowing, meaning more of the frigid outside air is leaking in through your windows. 

Instead of coming back to bed like you thought he would, Eddie leaves the bedroom and goes out to the linen closet. You have a small collection of blankets in there and he pulls out the thickest one in there. He returns seconds later and lays it out on the bed before climbing in beside you. Your eyelids are already getting heavy when he returns to you. You instinctively reach out for him and he pulls you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest with a hand stroking your hair. You roll over a bit to bury your face in the crook of his neck, mumbling, “I’m sorry for being a brat earlier. Thank you for helping me.” He pecks your forehead again and you don’t flinch this time. 

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart, I don’t mind taking care of you. Now get some sleep, okay?”

You nod against him and Eddie notices your breathing changing a few minutes later when you finally fall asleep. It’s the first time you’ve been able to fall asleep, not that you would tell him. You didn���t want him to worry about you or become a burden, but Eddie would always be there for you if you needed him.

[thomamaru]

Brushed Numbers and Lingering Words

Synopsis: You were always admired by others by your sharp analysis in English. Rin itoshi, on the other hand, was known for his swift math solving skills. So what would happen if you both ended up on the same team for a quizbee? Chaos.

Tags: Rin Itoshi x gn!reader, sarcastic Rin, academic rivals trope, lotssss of teasing from Rin, fluff

The announcement came abruptly during homeroom, and with it, a new responsibility you hadn’t expected.

“The school has chosen two representatives for this year’s quiz bee,” the teacher began, her tone as bright as a fresh cup of coffee. “(Y/N), for humanities, and Rin Itoshi, for mathematics and sciences.”

Your head snapped up. You glanced around, wondering if there’d been some mistake.

Rin Itoshi? Seriously?

Rin sat across the room, perfectly composed as though the teacher had just complimented him on his haircut rather than volunteered him for a major academic event. His teal eyes met yours briefly, his expression unreadable, before he returned to scribbling in his notebook.

When the bell rang, your curiosity got the best of you. You hesitantly approached him.

“So… looks like we’re partners.”

Without so much as glancing up, Rin replied, “Partners? That makes it sound like we’re splitting the work evenly.”

Your brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll handle the important stuff,” he said, finally looking at you with a faint smirk. “You know, things that don’t involve reciting poetry.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. “Do you always have this much charm, or is it just for me?”

“Depends,” he replied casually, closing his notebook with a light thud. “Do you always take everything personally, or is it just because you know I’m right?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. This was going to be a long partnership.

---

The first training session in the library was about as smooth as you expected—which was to say, not smooth at all.

“You know, you could try to take this seriously,” you said as Rin flipped through a set of sample questions, barely paying attention.

“I am taking it seriously,” he replied, setting the packet down. “I’m just not panicking, unlike you.”

“I’m not panicking,” you snapped, though the furrow in your brow betrayed you.

Rin tilted his head, regarding you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Right. You’re completely calm. That’s why you’re holding that pen like you’re about to duel someone.”

Your grip on the pen immediately loosened, and Rin chuckled under his breath.

The two of you fell into a rhythm of reluctant cooperation. Despite his irritating sarcasm, Rin was sharp, dissecting complex problems with ease. And despite his dismissive attitude, he listened—though he rarely admitted it—whenever you pointed out gaps in his reasoning.

But it was the accidental touches that threw you off.

Your hands brushed when you both reached for the same sheet of paper, and the contact sent an unexpected spark through your chest. A quiet “sorry” escaped his lips, and for a brief moment, you thought you caught a flicker of hesitation in his usually confident eyes.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

---

As the day of the quiz bee approached, you found yourself pacing outside the classroom, clutching your notes nervously. The responsibility of representing the school suddenly felt much heavier than you’d anticipated.

“Are you planning to wear a hole in the floor?”

Rin’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. He stood a few feet away, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

You opened your mouth to retort but hesitated, glancing at the water bottle in his hand. “What’s that for?”

“For you,” he said, holding it out. “You look like you’re about to faint. Can’t have you passing out before the competition.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. But when he didn’t move, you reluctantly took the bottle.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer. After a moment, you added, “Good luck, by the way.”

Rin’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “We don’t need luck,” he said. “We’ve got my brains and… whatever it is you bring to the table.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

---

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation, and you felt your nerves coil tighter with every passing minute. As the participants were seated, Rin leaned closer, his teal eyes sharp with amusement.

“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted. “Relax. We’ve got this.”

His voice was steady, almost calming, and you found yourself nodding despite the teasing.

When the questions started, everything faded except the two of you. Rin handled math and science questions with a precision that left you momentarily speechless, his solutions flowing so naturally it was almost mesmerizing.

“Focus,” he murmured, nudging you lightly when a question in your area came up.

You answered confidently, earning an approving nod from him. “Not bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

The quiz bee continued, the two of you working together seamlessly despite your differences. Each small interaction—a shared glance, a subtle brush of hands—felt like a thread tying you closer together.

---

When the results were announced, you and Rin were just one point shy of first place.

“We were so close!” you said, laughing despite yourself.

Rin’s brows furrowed as he scanned through the score sheet, his analytical mind already dissecting what might have gone wrong. “One point,” he muttered, his tone laced with frustration.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him lightly. “It’s not the end of the world. We still did great.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re taking this a lot better than I expected.”

“Maybe because I enjoyed it,” you admitted with a small smile. “Working with you, I mean. It was… fun.”

“Fun,” he repeated, as though the word was foreign to him. But the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t disagree.

---

The week following the quiz bee, you expected life to return to normal. To your surprise, the school had other plans.

By Monday, posters of the quiz bee results were plastered in the hallways. Your names were printed in bold letters—Rin Itoshi and (Y/N)—Second Place Winners! Teachers spoke of it during class, while students congratulated you both whenever they passed by.

“Looks like we’re the new school celebrities,” you joked to Rin as you walked together toward an assembly.

Rin shrugged, unbothered. “They’ll forget about it in a week.”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Some people are really excited to know you’re good at more than soccer.”

“Don’t push it,” he said dryly, but there was a faint, amused glint in his eyes.

When you reached the auditorium, a staff member gestured for the two of you to come up onstage. A podium had been set up with a banner behind it that read, "Congratulations, Quiz Bee Participants!" The school wanted to make the most of your achievement.

As you walked up, Rin let out a barely audible sigh. “This is unnecessary,” he muttered.

“It’s just a picture,” you whispered back. “Smile, and we’ll get this over with.”

Once onstage, a student photographer directed you both to stand beside the podium. You positioned yourself on one side, with Rin on the other.

“Ready?” the photographer called out, adjusting the camera.

You turned toward the camera but hesitated when you caught a glimpse of Rin in the corner of your eye. Unlike his usual aloof self, he actually looked… relaxed. He even had a faint smile on his face, which somehow made you look longer than you intended.

That’s when Rin noticed.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, redirecting your gaze. But the teasing smirk creeping onto his lips made it clear he didn’t believe you.

As the photographer called for final adjustments, Rin suddenly reached out and brushed something near your temple.

“Your hair,” he said simply, fixing a stray strand with surprising gentleness.

The soft touch sent a jolt through you. Your breath hitched, and before you could react, Rin looked back toward the camera.

The photographer clicked the shutter just in time to capture the aftermath—Rin, standing tall with a small but confident smile, and you, completely flustered as you looked up at him instead of the lens.

“Great shot!” the photographer exclaimed, unaware of the flurry of emotions in your chest.

You climbed down the stage after Rin, trying to gather your thoughts. “What was that about?” you asked, slightly out of breath.

“What was what about?” he replied nonchalantly, glancing at you with feigned innocence.

“The hair thing!” you blurted, your cheeks warming.

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “It was bothering me.”

“You could’ve just said something,” you muttered, still flustered.

“Would you have fixed it yourself if I did?” he countered, smirking. When you stayed quiet, he added, “Didn’t think so.”

Despite his usual teasing, there was a subtle warmth in his voice. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this on purpose or if Rin Itoshi really was this obliviously charming.

---

Later that day, the photo from the assembly was pinned on the school’s bulletin board. It didn’t take long for students to notice the details.

“Is (Y/N) looking at Rin in this picture?” one whispered.

“And Rin’s smiling?! I didn’t even know he could smile,” another chimed in.

You buried your face in your hands as you overheard the gossip. Rin, on the other hand, seemed unbothered as usual.

“What’s the big deal?” you mumbled when you caught up to him after class.

He tilted his head, smirking. “You’re overthinking again.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Relax,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “It’s just a picture. Besides…” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You didn’t look bad.”

Your heart stuttered at the unexpected compliment, but before you could say anything, he added:

“Just try not to get a big head over it.”

And with that, Rin walked away, leaving you to wrestle with the mix of emotions he always seemed to stir.

---

Days passed, but the memory of the quiz bee lingered. In class, Rin couldn’t help but steal glances at you, his mind replaying moments he thought he’d brushed off.

You were just his partner for a school event.

That’s all it was.

And yet, when your laugh echoed across the hallway, or your hand brushed his while passing a note, Rin found his thoughts straying in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

And though he would never admit it, the memory of your shared moments during the quiz bee was one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

Note: this story might be based on my own experience,,, :P

[adamantmaimai]

I can't say all of Mizi's actions are justified,

Edit: She throw hands at Hyuna and Luka (the one she protected with her own body, but she also wanted to give him a lesson tho), shot Isaac on the leg and directly sabotaging the rebels plan, setting the stage on fire.

but I also can't say I don't understand her & her reasons.

Living in a cruel world, with fictional walls as a home and violence everywhere. That feeling of emptiness, you're lacking something that makes you human, even if you are not considered one anymore.

That's what most (if not all) of the ALNST participants and human pets feel: the need, the yearn for "love" and "devotion." Warm affection and smiling aren't common. Innocence is a luxury there since you're corrupted the moment you're born. But these emotions mean something: their 'love', what they considered 'love', was reserved for their beloved. Until the very end, until the last sacrifice.

Ivan with Till, him with Mizi, and her with Sua, her god & universe.

Hyuluka's case, in my point of view, is different. Luka begged for love to feel that sensation he makes others feel with his songs and innocent/sweet appearance. That "fire" was given to him on a silver platter by Hyuna. Because as much as she hated him, resented him for what he did, she knew his love would keep him close to her. Their relationship was an on-and-off, and now, with Hyuna gone, Luka's love has withered because she, his fire, is no longer there. And he has to live without it.

That's why I love how Vivinos portrays love. I should say that I don't have any close experience with it (hopeless romantic core), much less can I understand all the religious references and symbolism in all their videos... 😔 But I can say that their work is impeccable, and I could spend hours and hours talking about the chemistry of their characters and how complex they are.

Especially Mizi being the center of EVERYTHING along with Sua and her character & purpose. Even Ivan (bc wtf he's beyond complex) I would write more essays than Hamilton if I have to talk about his whole chemistry with Till, his love, and way of seeing life. (Don't even make me yap about Hyuna/Hyunwoo/Luka bc I won't shut up)

I don't know if ALNST has already ended with KARMA, and if it did, it’s the perfect end to a masterpiece. I have to stand up and applaud for hours bc I've been able to see this masterpiece since 2022. I enjoyed it, I got angry, I cried hours on the songs lyrics and heartbreaking edits on tiktok, but the best of all is that I was able to connect with them, with their music, and with the hard & gorgeous work that the team has done.

Tysm ALNST, for altering my brain chemistry in many ways I can’t describe, and for making me try *try bc it lasted less than a week* to learn Korean to understand the beautiful, meaningful and full of life lyrics. <3

[probablyasocialecologist]

What was the purpose of these lies that denied our own sense of sight? El Kurd responds to this question in Perfect Victims and the Politics of Appeal by describing how lies function as one facet of the coloniser’s strategy to distract and change the terms of discourse for the colonised. The purpose of this is to displace — even if momentarily — the coloniser’s violence as the object of critique; to render it indeterminate and in the passive voice, as it were. But lies, with the epistemic fog they create, work in simultaneity with rituals of condemnation forced upon the colonised. Latching onto factual as well as hypothetical violence of the colonised, the condemnation ritual works similar to lies in adding yet another hoop to jump — a caveat, a qualification, or an admission of colonised guilt — before entertaining the coloniser’s culpability. Unlike the coloniser’s recognisably absurd lies, whose function is to exhaust the audience, the imperative to condemn not only displaces critique away from the coloniser’s violence; it not only seeks to place the coloniser’s violence on the same level as the violent reactions of the colonised; but it also “defangs” the colonised. It dehumanises the colonised by robbing them of the “right to complexity, to contradictory feelings, to contain multitudes.” It subjugates them by disallowing the range of sentiments intrinsic to any human being — of anger in the face of annihilation, of irreverence for the coloniser, of ambition or cunningness, of a desire for vengeance, even if in thought rather than practice. El-Kurd cites an example of this imperative, when Palestinian Authority’s ambassador to the UK (a political opponent of Hamas) was called on BBC six hours after an Israeli strike killed six of his family members. “Sorry for your personal loss,” the host cut him short curtly, “but can I just be clear though — you cannot condone the killing of civilians in Israel, can you?” In this moment, the colossal loss of Palestinian life is reduced to background noise, naturalised as an unfortunate outcome of fate and, at best, only grievable as a “personal” disaster. All whilst the Israeli loss becomes a primal violation of the human condition, worthy of collective horror and outrage. This subjugation, or dehumanisation as el-Kurd calls it, is central to the politics of appeal in which the colonised are expected to perform a “perfect victimhood,” to “demonstrate their worthiness of liberty and dignity,” to “respond like automatons” to the psychological cues of colonial logic, and to continually anticipate their shortcomings, which can never really be bridged.

21 May 2025

[kiame-sama]

Oh my god the harpy chicks are adorable! I just want to cuddle and nuzzle my face with theirs

They are actually far more behaved for their Human parent than they are for Vil or Rook. They could be in the middle of a fullblown tantrum and go quiet the moment the Human enters the room, suddenly giggling and affectionate. Vil wants to be the parent his mother never was, so he struggles immensely to find the balance of overly indulgent and proper parenting.

Given there is only one female Harpy chick (the black-sheep monochrome one who prefers the sciences) Vil actually spoils her more than he spoils his sons. From getting her all the gadgets and teaching her complex potion work, Vil cannot tell her no.

He struggles to tell the other chicks 'no' but he is still firm about making them their best selves. He pushes the more colorful male chicks more than he pushes his monochrome female chick, as male Harpies have a more difficult time than females on the regular. He is very proud his little male chicks are so colorful, as that means great status in the Harpy world, but he refuses to let them settle for less in their lives or their partners.

[shallowseeker]

i love that steve yockey wrote michael's dialogue like that, "i'm gonna write the opposite of what dean thinks for every character in order to hurt them" which means you can reverse everything he says and learn his true feelings about each character. genius.

I think this is definitely a clever part of the writing. (Yay Yockey!)

Michael is good at twisting things to create a diversion/undermine his enemies. (Maybe even better at it than Lucifer, heh.)

I think another part is that AU Michael understands absolutes better than duality. He’s picks out and amplifies the negatives. I’m reminded of Cas’s line in season 9 about human emotion: 

CAS: The ebb and flow of human emotion - Dean, I've been on earth for a few years, and I've only begun to grasp it. 9x09 Heaven Can’t Wait

AU Michael doesn’t grasp it. Not really.

He runs around asking everyone, “What do you want?” and if there’s any complexity at all to that answer, he brands that person/angel “lost,” “weak,” or “unreliable.” This is why he allies himself with vampires at the end of 14x01. Because he can’t comprehend shades of gray or nuance.

Humans feel a billion things every day. Moment to moment. But every fleeting discomfort, every microsecond of frustration, every scrap of resentment or bitterness? To Michael, these get magnified into absolutes. (This is often how demons present their truths: through the most uncharitable interpretations possible.)

///

Loved ones are burdens

A more honest answer might be that our loved ones are, in fact, both beloved and burdensome. We trade strengths and share burdens, but that doesn’t mean they come without weight.

It’s only in relationships that are more figmentary, kept at arm’s length, or those that have ended and become idealized—like memories of people who never truly had a chance to be seen for who they really were—that we see relationships without real baggage.

This is especially true in a world like Supernatural.

///

Dean wasn’t happier without Sam in his life

AU MICHAEL: And, Sam—oh, Sam... You know, Dean was his happiest when you quit hunting, leaving him with your dad, just the two of them. See, deep down, he knows that you will always abandon him, again and again.

I think it’s probably true that Dean was occasionally relieved when it was just him and Dad, but mostly because it was a break from the turbulence and in-fighting.

At the same time, he felt abandoned by Sam, maybe jealous that Sam reaped all the rewards (education! freedom!) of Dean bearing the family burdens.

Yet, Dean also wanted what was best for Sam and was genuinely happy to see Jessica Moore in his djinn dream. More often than not in the series, Dean encourages Sam toward happiness, though not at the expense of what he perceives is a balanced work-life obligation the people in their lives that depend on them.

But it’s certainly not true that he was happier without Sam, nor that he wished it had been only him and John all the time.

///

Dean’s not with Cas because he “owes” him but because he loves him

AU MICHAEL: You only tolerate the angel because you think you owe him, because he "gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition." Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

Michael mocks the line about being "gripped tight and pulled from perdition," showing us that this is a line Dean recalls often, perhaps replaying it in his mind over and over.

(AU Michael also coos: “Oh, Cas… I believe in you!” in an earlier scene, and it seems to me that he finds Dean’s emotions a bit… amusing.)

But to my point—maybe the bad parts are a little bit true. Feeling indebted to Cas might be intertwined with Dean’s gratitude, and it’s definitely true that Dean harbors real resentment over Cas’s mistakes. However, Michael can’t completely parse the complexities of Dean’s feelings for Cas. He can’t reconcile the bad with the good. It’s an alien’s perspective.

But Dean… The way Dean talks about love in Optimism shows us that he can handle all the complexities and put them into words. He feels a deep gratitude toward Cas for saving him, and he recognizes that Cas’s mistakes are part of the endurance of real love—not the idealized, immature kind.

Interestingly, while Sam and Jack are visibly shaken by AU Michael’s words, Cas doesn’t seem affected in the same way. Not only does he remain unruffled when he steps in to assure Jack that Michael is “loose with the truth,” but he also quickly picks up on Michael’s barbs as a deliberate strategy—he calls it out: “You’re stalling.”

By saying “Poughkeepsie,” Sam helped Dean break out of his loop of simplistic vampire hunts. But by mouthing off to Michael, it’s Cas who helps Dean rally his self-confidence. Cas's steadfast trust in Dean serves as a source of strength.

I personally think this implies that Cas and Dean have talked through their mistakes more in-depth than we think, even if they haven’t fully discussed their “feelings" per se.

They trust each other, even when they’re feeling completely downtrodden or vulnerable. Even when "their instincts might be screaming otherwise," you know?

///

Finally: Of course Dean loves Jack

We have to remember that AU Michael’s attack is two-fold, here. Unlike with the others, Michael is absolutely seething about Jack turning him down on family bonding time in 14x09 The Spear.

AU MICHAEL: “A moment of familial weakness. It won't happen again."

What Michael probably really wants is to undo the murder of his brother, Lucifer. But Jack is unwilling to become Lucifer’s replacement. So Michael wants to cut Jack as deeply as possible. As punishment.

AU MICHAEL: Like, I know how sad he was when you died… on the outside. On the inside, well, it's not that he was happy— he just didn't care. 'Cause you're not Sam. You're not Cas. You're a new burden that he was handed. You're a weak, helpless thing. You think that they care about you, love you? You're a job, a job none of them wanted.[…]

Ergo, following that mindset, maybe Michael’s a little bit right. Maybe part of Dean does see Jack as "another burden handed to him” and he might even he worried about Jack’s newfound weakness—but it’s also more complicated than that.

And it’s true: Jack isn’t like Sam or Cas, but it’s not because he’s not family. It’s because he’s a different kind of family. While Sam has grown into being a brother, an equal, Jack is and will forever remain wholly “son.” That’s a scarier bond. It doesn’t just come with love but with responsibility, hope, and an undeniable weight.

And as for Jack’s death—while Dean may have initially reacted with emotional numbing and shock, he was devastated. Time has shaped Dean's reaction to grief, and he is trying to do it right:

14x08 Byzantium via @spnscripthunt-inactive

//

Appealing to the “you’re just a burden” is something Zachariah also made good use of in his nightmare-land from Dark Side of the Moon:

ZACH!MARY: I never loved you. You were my burden. I was shackled to you.

5x16 Dark Side of the Moon

///

Oops, I rambled.

Anyhoo, that a wounded Dean echoes any of AU Michael’s words is, to me, a testament to how deep his psychological wounds are (late 14 through season 15).

The series told us over and over again about the psychological ruination that results from being the vessel for an archangel… with many humans implied catatonic afterwards. (The series also spent the majority of season 14 showing us how much being glued to Lucifer wounded Nick...)

But yes, I do love the double-speak in the writing and how it often implies the opposite of what’s being said. That’s so much for bringing this into my ask box!

///

One more bit about indirect dialogue:

I also loved when Dean was hurling word-daggers in at Bobby, Cas, and Sam in 5x18. Dean was mocking his unique relationship with each of his loved ones:

Mocking his belief in Sam’s strength:

DEAN (to SAM): I just…I—I don’t believe […] In you. I mean, I don’t. I don’t know whether it’s gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick or what, but…I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you.

& Pretending he doesn’t see Bobby as a father:

DEAN (to BOBBY): You’re not my father. And you ain’t in my shoes.

& Making light of his deepening feelings with Cas:

DEAN (to CAS): Well, Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.

/////////////////

Finally, I can’t help that point out that fleeting moments of resentment and even longer moments of being angry/upset/disillusioned with our loved ones isn’t a big, abnormal thing. It’s just very human. And healthy.

(In SPN-world, it’s coded as more concerning when we see the opposite, when characters insist someone is perfect or never lets them down. This is a SPN “poughkeepsie” pattern that I mentally shuttle into the “pure” bucket. See: Harper, Amara, Chuck etc)

///

But fleeting moments of negativity are real. Which is to me what makes Jack’s murder of Mary so very sad:

"Only for a second." :(

[maudie-duan]

Fuck Monday Blues When You Can Have a Monday Blurb! Based on @avas-queen-black song request<- For our new Monday Blurb Series!!! Yay!!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: Fem!reader, A quick little angsty sweet moment caught between two lovers.

Life doesn't always promise sanctuary, but in each other, you found refuge.

When you were young, you thought love would equate to a single definition, but that was foolish, and it didn't take you long to realize that love contained a multitude, complex for every human it happened upon—a single word that seemed to defy a complete explanation—It was always you hoping that your search would lead to the bounty that is love, but that wasn't how it worked, because love is multi-faceted, like the light reflected through a glass prism—a revelation that came slow, learned in the rituals you created, in the gestures big and small.

And in the slow moments between heartbeats and flesh, it found you when you least expected it—in the simple gestures that came over time, like waking to a mug of tea he left on the nightstand waiting for you to start your morning, or in the way you found solace in folding his t-shirts just so, knowing he'd probably never notice, but you kept doing it anyway. Each new thing was a discovery, and when he started leaving sweet little notes in your pockets, you followed suit. Every note, like a tiny paper boat carrying words across the ocean of your separate days, would become the things you cherish most.

Somewhere along the way he had become your sunday morning calm, the two of you treasuring those rare mornings when you were able to steal time from the world—the two of you sharing the couch, reading in silence, legs tangled together, occasionally reading passages aloud when words seemed too beautiful to keep to yourselves.

These sweet nothings that had become the fabric of life, your life, his life.

These tiny, almost seemingly trivial moments, became your everyday—unexpectedly forging the footing beneath you, the foundation that had held steady when everything else threatened to crumble, especially on those days when the world wanted to get the best of you.

And tonight was one of those nights.

After a long, grueling day, you just wanted to leave the world at your doorstep. The weight of it looming over you as the door clicked shut behind you and you were met with silence—the kind of silence that wraps around you after a day that's stolen all your kind words, every functioning thought you wanted to save for later, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion trying to settled into your marrow with a grief you hoped you could shake.

And when you drop your keys. They clatter against the entry table in that hollow way that seems to echo through an empty apartment like the exhale of a weighted breath, bringing a finality to the empty space—except it isn't empty.

You find him in the kitchen, his back to you, those strong shoulders relaxed beneath a worn t-shirt as he stirs something on the stove, and like a dream the late evening sun filters through the window above the kitchen sink, casting him in a honeyed light, and for a moment, you just watch him, taking every inch of him in, this man—your pillar, your strength–Harry entirely in his element, unaware of your presence, simply existing in his own rhythm, and you stand there for a moment unsure if you wanted to disturb the tranquil hum of his world as the melody of a soft guitar filled the kitchen, an old playlist playing in the background setting the tone of his peaceful mood. 

"You know you didn't have to cook, babe, I told you I would be late," you speak up, your voice softer than intended, but the words feel like a chance to finally empty your pockets, all the tiny stones you had to pick up along the way, all the chaos of the day, weighing you down.

When he hears your voice, he turns, and that smile, god, that smile, how it still made your stomach flip, and you observe the way the corner of his mouth pulls up first, followed by those dimples that somehow seem to deepen every time they're directed at you.

"Didn't hear you come in," he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel tucked into his waistband. "And I know I don't have to, but want to, love."

With those simple words, you move closer, drawn to him like a sunflower under the warmth of the sun, no matter the setting, no matter the space and it’s all you need, the buzz of his energy drawing you in, his presence enough to cast a bridge, your safe haven.

"Rough day?" he questions, gently reaching out to caress your cheek, and his thumb lingers as his green eyes survey  your face.

"Just long," you answer, leaning into his touch, “Nothing that I want to bog you down with…”

Harry's eyes are trained on your face, now, an uncertainty pulling between his brows. He knows you're holding back, but he doesn’t push, and right before you let go, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I've had a late start myself...dinner is probably another twenty minutes. May I get you a glass of wine, Darling? I just opened it." And without answering, you peer over at the glasses that are already set out on the counter, the gesture tugging at the knot forming in your throat.

"That would be lovely, thank you—" you force, clearing away the burn, and his eyes sweep over your face before moving to pour you both a glass of wine.

As he pours the wine, you moved in beside him, pressing your lips to his shoulder, the kiss lingering as you breathed in his scent, and this familiar smell has you on the verge of breaking, because these have been the moments in your life that you had wished for, because you had wished for Harry, for someone exactly like him. 

The man that stood before you was your person, the one person you've never had to be anything other than yourself with, and all day you had been waiting for this very moment, for the very second that you knew you could let the weight of your day go, but as you gazed into his eyes while he handed you your glass, you saw the exhaustion etched into his features, and you remembered the text you got when he needed to vent earlier that day, and now there was a piece of you that wanted to be strong, wanted to be his pillar.

But then he said, "I've been thinking about you all day," his voice low, and there's a small smile playing at his lips, "Kept checking the time, excited for you to get home."

The thought of him thinking of you, while drowning in the chaos of your day, makes your chest tighten with a longing you could only feel for him, the kind of longing that aches in your bones even when they're near, and as your fingers find the hem of his shirt, playing with the soft fabric all you can say is:

"Yeah?" Because you're not sure anything else will come out. Then you pull yourself up on the counter, as Harry walks back over to stir the pot on the stove.

You swallow another mouthful of wine, letting the warmth spread through your chest, watching him, and when you finally gather enough strength, you simply say, "I missed you too," and it feels like a confession, like a prayer you had cursed at the sky all day. Your eyes are trained on his face as you watch him smile down into the pot in front of him. "Can I help with anything?" you follow up, though you already know his answer.

"Almost done. Just rest, I’ve got it. Tell me about your day, Love," he asks, the smile never leaving his face, giving you the perfect side profile view as a strand of hair falls into his face, and he runs a hand through his hair, turning to you, your legs swinging gently, and when you begin to talk, Harry focuses in, listening like he always does—like your words are lyrics to every song playing out in his head–and as you unload, the burden of your day starts to lift, and you wonder why you even held back in the first place.

When Harry moves in front of you, resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, his green eyes never leave yours, you continue, "My boss just didn’t understand—" But then you stop mid-sentence when you notice Harry smiling at you, that soft, wholesome smile he saves for moments like this.

"What?" you ask, but for some reason, you're questioning yourself, wondering if you're being too much.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I just like watching you talk."

And even though you roll your eyes, you feel the knot burning at the back of your throat again. "You're being weird," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder, and your eyes dart to your lap.

"Always silly—but isn't that what you love about me," he pokes, his hands smoothing up your thighs and he leans down trying to catch your eye, but you can't bring yourself to look at him, because suddenly it all feels like too much, like a kindness you don't deserve, every emotion filling your body conflicted, wanting, but exhausted, needy and desperate all at the same time, yet shamed that you could even question this moment—question him, his authenticity even though you know it’s real.

"Hey..." he pushes, still trying to meet your eye, and you shake your head, smoothing your lips together, sealing all your words behind your lips.

“Listen…look at me, love.” He starts, hooking a bent finger under your chin as the tears begin to fall, “In our world, within these walls. You don’t have to be the pillar of strength I know you give for the world…okay? It’s just you and me. You know–and maybe I don’t say it enough, but one of the things I admire most about you are all the soft edges you try to hide. Do you know how many times you blow me away with all the astonishing thoughts that seem to drift through your mind so effortlessly? All the ones that I’m so lucky to hear.”

You sniffle in a deep breath, silent tears streaming, and when he says, “Darling, those days…the days that you share your world, your thoughts…I feel like the luckiest person in the world. Do you know why?”

Every word aching in your chest seems to fail you in that moment, and you shake your head, unsure of what he’s going to say, “ I feel like the luckiest person in the world because I get to have this version of you. The times when your guard is down, and you wrap yourself up in my arms, are the times I know I’ll get some of your most delicate thoughts, that you’ll give me a glimpse of your world, and it’s like magic…something I can’t even explain, and that makes me so happy.”

And his words break what little strength you’ve been holding onto, his words a gentle kindness you had been searching for in the world all day, “It's just hard sometimes…” you whisper, forcing the simple words out as you sling your arms around his neck, your legs circling around his body drawing him closer.

"I know it's hard...But I don't ever want you to think this isn't a safe space for you. This is your space, your world, your home, fuck the world and whatever it's trying to take from you. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. Okay?" and his grip on you tightens, and when your body goes slack in his arms, his embrace only deepens.

These were the sweet nothings—his warm body pressed to yours, your warm breath filling his neck, now the sweetest gift you could have ever been given, his words now the clarity to every unspoken word that lived within in the doubt that threatened to consume you, in the moments of chaos, in all the push and shove of the outside world–these words–his words only solidified what you already knew, what you already held onto every time he stood before you, everytime you closed your eyes and woke to find him there next to you, your safe harbor, your whole world wrapped up into one person, because he was home. 

A/N: Monday Blurbs is a new series I want to take on. If you have a favorite song that you want to turn into a quick little blurb let me know! Any song, Any Genre, Any Theme.

Send your requests here<-

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