#for him it would just be relatively easy to justify

[crimsonshadesblog]

Plot bunny about Danchou visiting the Tower of Babyl, easily overcoming the puzzle challenges on the way to the top (it is implied that Bubs devised these to keep his opponent sharp and ready for their legendary battle) (it is further implied that Bubs really does just hang out atop the tower to train and become more powerful and that the Grandcypher crew periodically drops by more to check up on him and make sure he hasn't gotten into any trouble rather than anything else).

Once facing Beelzebub at the top, he is, as always, besides himself with glee, ready to show off the fruits of his hard labor and training. But instead of throwing down, Danchou asks him to train them, so that they may become stronger yet.

Bubs is absolutely ecstatic, rambling at length about how it will be his pleasure to mold them into the perfect warrior, uniquely suited to finally be a worthy opponent to him, to ensure their inevitable clash of Singularities will truly be one for the ages. So he puts them through some training from hell - and is really heartbroken when in the end, they thank him and take off, because they really did just want to become stronger to handle something else that's going on.

[0luv9]

forlorn || mattheo riddle

Summary: based on this request.

Beware: angst, fluff, slightly aged-up characters, Hufflepuff reader, sweet reader, she/her pronouns used, mostly in second person, jealousy, mistreatment, a little bit of blood, slightly commanding(?) and intimidating Mattheo.

Words: 7.8k (not beta read)

Note: I am sorry luv, I don't think I did justice to the request. I also apologize for taking so long. I still hope you like it, even if it's just a bit. @cat-loves-music

Mattheo Riddle, son of Voldemort, or Tom Riddle if you will—for a more humane approach. But then, there's no humanity in the way he's treated. Always an outsider, always a monster.

There is wealth to his name; after all, he is the only living heir of Salazar Slytherin. However, his blood is corrupt, shunned by the very people who kissed the steps his baby feet took. Looked down on by the blood supremacists and not accepted by the other side, the "good side."

Even he was tired of the same sob story. He doesn't even need to introduce himself; they already have a preconceived image of him in their minds. He could try to fix his image in an ideal world, but even then, what would he say?

'Hello, everyone, I'm Mattheo Riddle, son of the man who once threatened your lives. Please welcome me with warm hands.'

Too cliché? Yes, but it's true and the only truth he knew.

Riddle didn't even know why the name Riddle was cursed and didn't know what his father did that made everyone's hate transcend generations. What made their hatred justified and his hate a crime? He didn't know until it was too late.

Mattheo was raised by the only living relative of his, his mother's aunt—the one who died recently. The one who kept all this hidden away from him hid all the Hogwarts' letters, raised him like her own, and protected him until her last breath. She loved him but all within the vicinity of the manor. He didn't know the world that existed beyond those walls.

He knew about the world outside only through the books she'd let him read. He thought it would feel liberating to step off the lavish floors onto the rich earth. It was everything but that.

"But Nona, why can't I go outside?" he remembers asking that silly question when he was about nine. What he wouldn't do to get that naivety back.

"Because, my dear, there are people out there who wouldn't like you. There are bad people outside ready to punish you," he also remembers crying when she told him that. He didn't understand why people would hate him. He just wanted to try the chocolate frogs he read about.

He just wanted to talk to all the different animals out there, the same way he could talk to the garden snakes.

"But I didn't do anything wrong, Nona. Tell them that I'm a good boy. I can even give them some of my toys. Will they like me then?" If only it were that easy. His Nona cried for the first time in front of him then, looking at all the toys he had set onto her lap, looking at her with teary eyes, pleading, "I didn't do anything wrong, Nona, I promise."

Mattheo didn't understand her tears back then, but now as he stands all alone, those same tears fall out his eyes. It's useless. "They'll know that someday, moon pie. You aren't wrong. They'll know." They'll know? What a fucking joke.

Mattheo tries to enjoy the view in front of him, you know. But how can he? When his batchmates are out there partying and enjoying life, he's been a lone wolf all his life. Yet in moments like this, he seems to forget his old ways of existing.

There's not much he can do anyway; he's not needed anywhere. In fact, they all want him gone. Finding beauty in small things is hard when misery clings to him. There's self-loathing in the way he thinks about the night and himself. There's nothing positive he can say.

You'd think that he must've gotten used to it all by now. No, he hasn't; it only got worse. At least little Mattheo held hope that people would understand someday or the other. Every bit of hope was destroyed by the very people who would've feared him had his father been alive. In moments like this, he wished he could see the man, live as the son they paint him as.

He'd have someone to lean onto then, someone to call his own. At least his father would've loved him. But this last bit of consolidation too was stolen away from him when he got to know that he was a backup plan for his father. Mattheo Riddle was not supposed to exist. His father wanted to live on forever; he was the last option the so-called Dark Lord had, to produce an heir and have them further his cause, and control his life as Tom lived on his last lifeline.

But all of it died with him. Mattheo promised himself that he would never be the man they all expected him to be, the man they wanted to point fingers at. So, he stayed in line. But then he thinks, sometimes, maybe, what if—you know?

He simply stares up at the brightly lit sky, it's a shame that he's the only one out there to appreciate the scenic beauty because he's physically and mentally incapable of appreciating anything, you can't blame him now, can you?

Cold breeze in mid-August, how fucking ridiculous just like this life of his, so unlike his peers, who were out there partying and having the time of their lives, the music vibrating through the walls was like salt on wounds. He'd like to drink a few and chat with his friends but then again, he hasn't got any. And it's the bitter truth that he's not welcome there, he'd be greeted with nasty looks if he tried to enter any such party, they'd all glance his way like the ominous thing he is. It's times like this when he really contemplates it.

Mattheo looks down from the height he's on, no one would care anyway, the fall will kill him, might just give it an actual try unlike those previous attempts- he's been a coward all his life, never ready to face the extremes of life but he has nothing to protect at the moment, he's come far too long, life was never going to be worth it.

He climbs over the railing onto the brick ledge, sitting down for a moment, to take it all in for the last time ever. Mattheo remembers all the whispers that followed him, the suspicious looks passed along the way, those words of disdain- at the same time the thoughts of a happy life enter his mind, it all feels unattainable, in fact, he's so far gone he can't even picture joy, all he sees is bright colours when he thinks of a happy life.

Mattheo had desperately sought relief all his life, but the pain only worsened with time, it's only reasonable to want to end this feeling of hopelessness. The weight of his family's legacy feels heavy on his shoulders. He slouches over and looks down once again, sighing as his eyes shift to the ring on his finger, the other Gaunt ring, he slowly removes it- a pathetic heir he is, he doesn't deserve it, couldn't live up to the name, disappointing both sides of the world.

Maybe they should have destroyed this along with his father's ring but apparently, his dear sweet Nona thought he could change their fate, change the course of history, change the Gaunt legacy for the better, fuck- he couldn't even try and change people's perception about him. Even in this sense, he's nothing like his predecessors, incapable of leaving a mark, of changing the world, be it for the better or the worse. He's just fucking worthless- he fiddles with the ring as he shifts a bit closer to the edge, ready to let go of it.

"Nice ring," he turns around startled, "Mattheo, isn't it?" not Riddle? He hadn't heard his own name in a long time, no one had directly addressed him in years let alone called him by his first name. It all feels foreign, he simply nods not knowing what to say. "Do you mind if I join you?" you don't wait for a response though and carefully bend and climb through the gaps between the two rails, settling down beside him. "Hi, I'm-" he doesn't hear it, he's too focused on your face, you were dolled up, for the party he thinks, but then why are you here of all places? Was this some kind of prank? He steals a glance back at the entrance and the seemingly empty hallway, to see if anyone is waiting for a reaction.

"You know you shouldn't sit so close to the edge, you might fall down," you grab his forearm urging him to move back, your hand feels warm on his skin, it feels unnatural, his hands are always cold. Even though it's on him for a couple of seconds he can't help the multiple emotions going on about in his mind and before he can sort them out, his mouth decides to act on its own, "Why aren't you at the party?" "Oh-" you look disappointed, and he apologises right away, not wanting to upset the only person who had the decency to talk to him, "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," he's quick to defend himself, it's a natural response after all but you only seemed amused, "No, it quite alright, I was just surprised by your voice-" "Is it that bad?" "Gosh no! It's just not what I expected, quite rough, it's nice," you are quick to shut him up, "And about your question, I am annoyed at my friends forcing me to try more drinks and all, I just came up here to relax."

"I can leave if you'd like," you add on as an afterthought, but you really didn't want to go, it was the only place with some peace, unlike the loud corridors and dorms, where you were mad at your friends and were in no mood for a party. "No, it's quite alright, I was just surprised," he tries to lighten the mood, repeating your words jokingly, it works, you laugh and properly look at him instead of the waters ahead.

"Haha so funny," you say in a monotonous voice, trying to act like you didn't just laugh but you can't contain your smile, and he finds it quite beautiful. You look down at the ring between the two of you, "it's a beautiful ring I must say," You compliment it again since he hadn't acknowledged it before. Mattheo thanked you quietly trying to think of a response that might not make you run away from him.

It's been only a few minutes and you've said more nice things to him than he has ever heard in his whole life, it's quite ridiculous when he thinks about it, seemingly you find it quite easy to compliment him. He stays quiet not knowing how to take a compliment, but you don't let the silence continue, you look around trying to find something to talk about and soon enough you start talking and he's glad, "You know about those plants right there?" you point to the shrubs at some distance from the castle walls. Mattheo shakes his head unable to recall if he had seen them before. "It's alright but now that you know, you have something to look forward to this upcoming month!" you smile yet again, cheerful that you have something to share.

"What's special about them?" "It's not the plant itself but the fireflies that live there!" Mattheo tries hard to keep up with your energy and pace, "Why aren't they out now? They aren't migratory, are they?" "That's what makes it special unlike fireflies that are present throughout the summer, these ones light up only for the last week of August," "I'll look forward to it," "You should! I missed it last year and then everyone thought I was lying when I mentioned it." Mattheo frowns, "No one knows about them? Not even the professors?" "The professors would know but it wasn't that serious that I'd take it up to them," Mattheo finds it difficult to relate, he always would let everyone know that he was in the right if the facts favour him because no way in hell would he let anyone see him in the wrong light, he couldn't bear to be in the wrong.

And it slips out his mouth, "I would've argued till they knew I was right," "I don't like arguing though, reminds me of my parents, they parted ways because they argued a lot, so I try to avoid it myself," his lips purse trying to think of an appropriate response, "Anyway, you are in Slytherin right?" it wasn't a question, you just knew, "I'm in Hufflepuff, nice to meet you!" you turn towards him and extend your hand with a smile, he can't help but mirror your smile, "Nice to meet you indeed." Your hand feels soft in his, he was finding it hard to let go but you pull your hand back almost instantly- remembering something, "OH right I forgot, do you like chocolates?" Mattheo was quite taken aback by your energetic self, it was infectious, "Of course you do, it's a silly question, I mean who doesn't like chocolate-" you stop midway and fix him with a scrutinising look, "Unless you are some heartless monster-" "Nah I like chocolate alright," "Good good."

You fish through your jacket's pocket and pull out two chocolate bars, "It's muggle chocolate," you place one in his hand, "Muggle? I've never had muggle candy," Mattheo inspects the small sweet in his hand, "You are missing out then!" you chuckle as you take the wrapper off yours, "I'll eat it tomorrow, thank you," He pockets it and looks ahead with a small smile, tonight's beautiful now that he looks at it.

"You are a muggle born then?" Mattheo can't help but want to know more, because how dare his fucking father go after your lot, "Yep, I was surprised you know? To receive the letter, I thought it was some prank but of course, after a few days I realised how real it was, couldn't have been happier, to be away from home." It's funny because all Mattheo wants to do is go back to the gloomy old mansion and here you were saying the opposite, the stark difference between the two of you was obvious to him.

You ramble on and he listens, it's nothing but enjoyable to listen to mundane stories being narrated with such interest, he finds himself smiling a bit too much, to the point where his face hurts but he doesn't care because you are quite the lovely company to be around.

Muggle-born, the same year as him, Hufflepuff, living with your mom- it's not the best back home he gathers that much. You were angry at your friends and were going to hold a grudge if they didn't apologise. He learned a lot about you in that one hour and learned a few things about him as well, he didn't know he had jokes like that OR you were just too kind to laugh at his bad quips, whatever it was he was grateful because you didn't make him feel bad or like a burden. Mattheo was glad that you were the talkative one and that you didn't expect him to share anything if he wasn't comfortable, also the fact that he didn't want to send you running away by talking more about himself.

He admires the fond smile you wear when you talk, the stars reflect a bit too brightly in your eyes, and he inhales breathing in your scent, it's surreal, the moment. Mattheo didn't quite think properly until you left, wishing him a good night, "it was nice spending time with you, Mattheo!" He wonders if you knew how much it meant to him.

...

He finds out your name the next day and sees you everywhere, it's annoying because he was tired since he couldn't sleep thinking all night about you and now he has to see your face again. Now that he knows you, he can't seem to avoid you, earlier it was easy to be blind but now, everything else seems like a blind spot but you. Or maybe it's that his head is not hanging low, avoiding looking up at people.

Mattheo got over the irritation rather quickly, discreetly looking at you, eyes following every movement of yours. But you don't look at him once, he was just like any other guy to you, the realisation both hurts and feels nice, knowing that you don't demonise him but also the fact that he's no one special either. And maybe, he can live with that.

He notices the large number of people you keep around, you are never alone, always surrounded by a group and you are always the one talking, you are clearly popular. How had he not noticed you before? But then again he knew no one in the school apart from the professors, he never tried to get to know anyone because of course his fate wouldn't allow that.

Mattheo seeks out the solace of the library to keep you out of his mind for a while but the plan doesn't seem to work when he finds the chocolate you gave him in his bag. He simply sighs, knowing that there is no escape, unwarps the sweet and pops it into his mouth, shutting his eyes, and recalls your sweet smile. Warmth takes over his body, it feels nice like this, he has to talk to you once again because that can't be the only interaction he has with you, not when it's all he can think about. He breathes out slowly, staring down at the wrapper and mindlessly reading the information on the back, his jaw tightens as he realizes his stupid pathetic feelings. Mattheo puts the wrapper in his quill case and tries to study with a head full of you.

...

Okay, now it was really starting to bother him, he practically couldn't keep his eyes off you, it's like a spell had charmed him in. He wasn't even trying to be discreet at this point, he downright stared at you from a distance, it was creepy, he was aware of that but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Mattheo doesn't like this new feeling you've instilled in him, it's sweet and it's fucking uncomfortable. He finds it extremely difficult to get rid of you from his thoughts, so he gives up on trying and lets his mind go on autopilot.

The way you talked to him without any judgement in your eyes that day, the images of you repeated over and over again in his mind. Even when he sees you with someone else he can't help but think you are in front of him telling him a story, with those animated expressions of yours, but then seconds later he comes to his senses and sees the smile that's not directed at him, the one you gave to everyone, him too. He thinks it was your pity, that made you talk to him. He didn't feel like he was burdening you then but now when he thinks of approaching you, he knows he'd be burdening you. Your life looks no different, every day is full of joy, and you aren't smiling any less.

Why would you talk to him of all people? Perhaps, you only talked to him that day because you needed a change of scenery and not because you wanted to, he's wrong in thinking that but he's also deluded. It's the only way he keeps himself at peace, to not see meaning in your words, to not long for your company.

But he's a Riddle after all, some things just run in your blood, he has his eyes set on you and he finds it difficult to look away. New dream of his, and he'd like to have it, no matter how unattainable it feels. Yet he hasn't got a clue, it's all too new, and he doesn't know what to do, he'd like to have a plan but what would the plan even say? Go and talk to her? Yeah, like he's about to embarrass himself in front of her.

...

Your eyes stretch at the sight of him sitting in the library, alone but not in some deserted corner, he had claimed the whole couch in the centre of the room, sitting right in the middle, reading a book leaning back, a frown on his face. He looked intimidating, and to be honest, you were scared of him, the little beer in you that night had given you the courage to approach him, maybe your fate was too kind to let you find him that night but now your nerves were on fire.

It was no secret to you that he had been staring at you the past couple of weeks, but you couldn't understand the look on his face, his jaw was always clenched, eyes narrowed, and not a hint of emotion on his face. Was he mad at you? Was he the planning on-

No. You didn't like to think about it, you didn't want him to be the man they paint him as, he's just a boy, your age, maybe that's another reason why you hadn't approached him. Staying away because you were scared that they'd be right, you'd rather delve into what ifs than actually be heartbroken, your imagination brought you bliss.

But would it really be your mind if it would let you just forget it? You think and think, getting worked up over every little interaction you've had with him. How could he be evil? He talked to you so nicely the other day, even- even though you were a muggle-born, a mud blood. But when you see how he looks at you, you can't help but feel scared.

It really was an intimidating sight, your courage wore thin but you had made up your mind. You approach him cautiously, as you greet him, you start feeling jittery and flushed, "Hey Mattheo."

Mattheo jerked his head up as he heard your voice, surprised, caught off guard in fact, he didn't trust his words just yet so he simply nodded at you, acknowledging your presence, closing the book and setting it aside, all his attention on you. "I came here to study and noticed you," you look around bashfully before continuing, "I just wanted to ask you if you liked the chocolate I gave you the other day, you know the one with dark brown wrapper-" "Yeah I did," He stops you from rambling on, not that he had any problem with it but you clearly seemed nervous, he just wanted to ease your nerves, "Right so-" you quickly pull out a small pack of the chocolate from your sling bag placing it beside him, straightening up, "I'll go then, enjoy-" you are quick to turn away from him, cursing yourself in your mind, blaming yourself for making things more awkward than they already were.

Mattheo stops you in your tracks as he calls you by your name, you turn around, and he speaks in that cold voice of his, "You said you were here to study right?" you nod timidly, clutching onto the straps of your bag, he leans back and with a flick of his wrist, a table and chair are summoned in front of him, "then study," he motions to the chair opposite of him.

You were quite taken aback, you stood there for a bit before actually registering his words, and you quietly sat down, you didn't have it in you to disobey him, he was Mattheo Riddle for fucks sake, he looked and sounded like someone who doesn't take no for an answer.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you carefully sit down, looking down, not meeting his gaze, he couldn't believe it, you obliged his wishes? Mattheo leaned back fully, arms folding as he watched you, brown eyes capturing each detail, amusement crawled over his face as he watched you pull out multiple books all at once, various colourful stationery items sprawled out all over the table. You looked pretty like this, stray strands of hair framing your face, lips pursed in concentration. He knew how creepy he was being, so he opened his book again and tried to read but he simply couldn't not when you were sitting in front of him, he relished your presence and this was so unlike the others, every time he had looked at you- you had been surrounded by people, so it was a sight to behold, only for him to admire. So he did, in secret, glancing up at you, every few seconds.

It's been two hours and not once did he get bored of looking at you, a small smile lingered on his face as you closed your books and looked up at him, "How's that book?" you nod towards the book in his hand- the one he was supposed to be reading, "Good, good" he bites the inside of cheek as he lies through his teeth, "Got everything done?" he sets his book aside, fixing you with a soft stare, "Yes, I just wanted to revise a bit, I forget stuff easily if I don't revise regularly," you tilt your head a bit, his eyes were much softer now, and it made your heart flutter a bit, feeling a lot more comfortable than before, so you do what you usually do when you are comfortable- talk.

"By the way, did you study for the upcoming herbology test?" And before he could answer, you pulled out a piece of paper from your bag, "This is like the holy grail, a senior gave it to me last year, it has all the specifics, of recognising plants and how to make generalised guesses about their uses-" you speak in a hushed voice, slightly leaning over the table, eyes wide as you shared your little secret, "you can have it, I have it memorised haha" You bless him with that pretty smile of yours, pushing the paper towards him, you don't let him refuse the offer and start talking about something else, he gives you a small smile, and it makes your insides turn into mush, you bite your lip trying to contain your smile, eyes shy as you start fiddling with your hands on your lap.

You talked for hours, he was much more open this time, and the conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, it was you who mostly did the talking but he didn't seem to mind he looked more than pleased, he didn't like talking much, it seemed, so you filled in the gaps, made it look so effortless like it was easy talking to him, maybe it was easy for you but to him, it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. You two stopped only when the librarian came in and told you it was curfew time, your eyes widened as you turned to look back at him, an amused smile on your face, both of you got up, walking beside each other, not uttering a word till you were out of the librarian's stern gaze.

"I made you miss dinner-" your eyes widened further as soon as the two of you got out, stepping into the empty hallway, "it's alright, I don't mind," you playfully rolled your eyes at him, he chuckled at your antics, "yeah sure, but your stomach would, but- we can sneak into the kitchens, you know, sneak some food out," you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a sheepish grin on your face, he scoffs in disbelief, a fond smile gracing his face, "something tells me, this isn't your first time sneaking around."

"No, it's not," you chuckle a bit before continuing, "So, are you coming or not?" you purse your lips, looking up at him with doe eyes and he questions your motives right then because there's no way you didn't have a clue about what you were doing, "would be an idiot to say no," he muttered under his breath shaking his head, "I didn't catch that-", "Yes, I am."

You give him a pleased smile, you looked so happy at that moment, he was rooted in his position as you started walking ahead of him, he had to look away to catch his breath, "Merlin" he exhaled, a hand reaching over to his chest to soothe his loud thumping heart, and in that moment he knew he was a goner.

"Mattheo-?" you turned around since you didn't hear him walk with you but soon he rushed to your side the moment you looked back, you gave him another smile as he walked beside you, he looked straight ahead then, you needed to stop doing that because no fucking way- would he be able to let go of you.

You lead him to the kitchen, both of you cautious, well just you- he was having the time of his life, getting a detention would be worth it, just a small price to pay. Mattheo repeatedly stole glances here and there, the moment you entered the kitchen, you grabbed his arm and pulled his painfully slow self in, "gosh- you sure do walk slow," you glare at him, but there's no malice in your eyes, instead they are just amused, you roll your eyes when he just shrugs in response, moving over to the tables. Mattheo just looked at you with fond eyes, he was just trying to buy more time with you by walking slowly and he didn't feel one bit guilty about it, he felt a bit too proud. 

You sigh dramatically before returning to him with a small tray in your hands, "I didn't find anything else, apart from these blueberry muffins," your eyes wander around once more trying to see if you missed something, "usually there's still stuff left, that's weird- oh well, at least we have these," you give him a small defeated smile, setting the tray on the table, shrugging as you felt that muffins weren't worth the effort of sneaking around and that you only troubled him further. Mattheo saw through you and he hated that you were feeling that way, "didn't I mention this to you? I love muffins, especially the blueberry ones." he gave you a small smile, picking up the muffin, taking a bite, "yeah, that's good, way better than the dry vegetable and chicken pies they make." He didn't look at you as he said that, but you smiled, realising what he was trying to do, you wanted to cry, why was he being so considerate? You were now beginning to go down a spiral, of all the times you thought of him in the wrong light, how dare you even think like that? 

Mattheo caught you staring and it was hard for him to control the heat that rose to his cheeks, he cleared his throat, "What? You don't like these? Well, guess they are all for me-" he teased, taking the tray in his hand and started walking away, "Hey! No-" you rushed after him with an amused smile, "I want one too," and the tray was shoved back into your hands, "better not eat all of them, yeah?" he gave you a small cheeky wink, leaning against the table, finishing the muffin in his hand. 

Mattheo offered to walk you back to your dorm, he didn't have to insist much, after all, you wanted to spend time with him too, you easily agreed after a couple of tries. You two walked in comfortable silence, as you neared the Hufflepuff dormitory, you were thinking about how you'd part ways, overthinking about what would be appropriate and in the mix of it, you just gave him an awkward side hug, squeezing his arm a bit before mumbling a quick "goodnight" and rushing in. 

He couldn't believe his eyes, were you blushing? No way, he must be imagining things. Mattheo could still feel your warm touch lingering on his side, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, he wanted to scream out of excitement- he was getting cuteness aggression, had to be it, his fists clenched at his side as he stared at the door, for god knows how long, if he could- he would've squeezed you into a bone-crushing hug, but you were quick, left him speechless. 

He walked back to the Slytherin dorm without any trouble, he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it, he was pretty sure his skin was burning with all the warmth that was flowing through his veins. Merlin, he was embarrassing! Mattheo sighed contently, a big smile on his face as he replayed the whole day, your smile- 

...

The next few days, you guys didn't talk at all, he was back to staring and this time, when you did catch him in the act, instead of pretending you didn't see him, you gave him a knowing smile and a wave. Lingering looks, and subtle greetings, were sweet, Mattheo was now on a new high, he couldn't get enough. But for some reason, he maintained his distance, he stuck to looking at you from afar, it felt comfortable this way, not wanting to taint your reputation by talking to you in front of others, he'd talk to you if it was only you but you were never alone. 

Mattheo starts seeing life for what it is, when he looks at the trees outside, the castle in its entirety, he feels like he is seeing it for the first time. How had he missed this? He finds himself back at the astronomy tower, he looks at the lake ahead, it was a sight to behold, and he is starting to appreciate the view, these days he didn't care about much, you were all he could think about and you were more than pleasant, it was as if the grey lens of his life was replaced with a coloured one, and it would be foolish to credit anyone else but you for it, and he was fucking grateful for it. The reason he was here was, that it was the end of August, and the fireflies you so damn wished to see would be out tonight, he came here just in the hope that he'll get to see you alone. 

He was zoning out when some movement near the edge of the lake caught his eye, it was you- with a few of your friends, his smile faltered the moment he saw some blonde Hufflepuff dude pull you to his side, slinging a hand over your shoulder, you all walked towards the shrubs and didn't have to wait long before the fireflies lit up and started raising above the shrubs. He was about to leave, he was mad for some reason, really pissed- but then he took another look at you. You were standing a bit behind your friends, who had all their attention on the flies ahead, you seemed sad, looking down, messing with the soil beneath your shoe, hands in your jacket. Mattheo could make out the pout on your face, the deflated shoulders, you then turned to look right where he was, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Your posture straightened immediately, the pretty smile returning to your face as you looked up at the astronomy tower balcony, having spotted him, you waved at him. Mattheo nodded, forearms on the railing as he leaned forward, a smile gracing his features, the anger leaving him. You excitedly pointed at the sky, and he nodded, you turned back around when your friend called you and he couldn't look away, he was staring at you till you left, Mattheo started feeling the warmth creep up to him when he saw you making an effort to steal back glances at him. He felt seen, fucking special- 

...

Mattheo still hadn't talked to you, he couldn't catch you alone really, it was starting to get to him, he longed to hear your voice, hear you talk to him- and yet, he didn't have it in him to approach you in front of others, it would ruin you, you thrived in the company of others, he couldn't snatch that away from you. Maybe if he was a bit more selfish, he'd do it, snatch you away from others, have you all to himself but he wasn't about that life, it was something his father would do, he's sure of it, go after what he wants, not caring what others would think- 

Mattheo feels like passing out when you deliberately look at him just to give him a shy smile, a flushed look on your face. He walks away because he cannot handle looking at you, the urge is too strong, to just take you into his arms, he walks out to the empty hallway, a hand over his chest- it had become a subconscious habit of his, whenever you gave him that smile, the one that felt like it was just reserved for him, yeah that one, he felt like he was in heaven, you sent his heart rate through the roof when you did that, it borderline hurt him since he couldn't do much to satiate this feeling. 

The longing was etched into his eyes when he looked at you, one thing he realised was, that when he had his head up, no one dared to look his way, he was enjoying that power for some reason, it filled his veins with something dark, he liked seeing people look down instead of him looking down, it felt fucking nice, and it felt even better when the only person that did look at him, was you. People averted their eyes when he entered the room, choosing to ignore his presence but the fear was very much evident, so he knew they didn't see him staring at you but at this point, he really couldn't bring himself to make an active effort to look away even if someone noticed. 

It was no lie, that Mattheo wasn't up to date with all the gossip and news, he just lived life passively but now that he was out there more, he couldn't help but hear the words that fell onto his ears, Yule Ball, huh. WAIT- ball dance? That meant having a date, who were you going with? Fuck his mind was rambling shit to him, he could not let someone else take you to a fucking dance as their date, no, he wouldn't let that happen. He had to get to you before someone else did, it was nighttime, and tomorrow's the weekend, approaching you will be the first thing he'll do after he wakes up, he has to plan shit out, you know, make it special and heartfelt, you deserved nothing less.

But his heart nearly broke when he overheard two Slytherin guys talking about you. The way one of them talked about you made his blood boil, his jaw clenched tight, nails drawing blood from his palms as they dug into his coarse skin, "I told you not to ask her out, plenty of guys tried and guess what? She rejected them all." the guy who was being talked to only scoffed angrily, "She's a fucking slut, that's what she is, leading people on-" the other boy just stopped him and Mattheo exhaled, a bit relieved because if it wasn't for him, Mattheo would've smacked the guy and pushed him to the fucking wall, "dude, come on, that's not true, all she did was smile at you when you gave her your seat, she's a nice girl," these guys were in the fifth year, he recognised that much, "sure, whatever," the guy walked away to his room, making sure to loudly slam the door behind him. 

Mattheo then gets up and walks towards the guy left behind, the one who stood up for you, when he stands in front of him, he sees the dude cower into the seat, Mattheo tries to speak in a polite voice but the anger is still radiating off him, his irritated stare didn't help either, "she doesn't have a date, yeah?" his hands were behind his back, over one another, the blood still fresh, "who-o?" the guy stutters out, looking around for help but no one was there- "You know who," he fixes him with a glare, before uttering your name out loud, "no no, she doesn't, rejected them all." Mattheo then nods at him and leans back, then finally he walks back to his room, allowing the guy to catch his breath. 

Mattheo feels relief wash over him as he lets the information sink in, okay good, you didn't have a date but then again, why were you rejecting them all? What if you reject him as well? Yeah, he couldn't handle that wound, he'd fucking die, he contemplates whether he should ask you or not but he's done fucking waiting, waiting for his fate to fuck things over, if things are going to be fucked, he'll be the one to do it. 

...

Mattheo puts on a black shirt and black pants, not caring to tuck his shirt in, the cold metal ring stings him as he puts it on, the feeling is grounding, he's doing something his dad would've done and for some reason that doesn't feel half as bad, he feels like himself, it was like something had possessed him, the confidence was unwavering, even as he stepped out into the crowded hallway, hands in his pockets, looking ahead, people parted, giving him space and Merlin, did that feel fucking powerful. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he approached the room you'd be in, you always were there on the weekends, with your friends and he didn't think before he stepped into the room, heads turning towards him in shock, even yours but the shock on your face was soon replaced with a smile, quietly waving at him and that right there, fed right into his ego.

He walked over to you in a few quick strides, eyes zeroed in on you, nothing else mattered at that moment, "Can I talk to you?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement, you were ecstatic, you've wanted this for so long, to talk to him in front of others, you never knew if you should because he might've felt uncomfortable, "Yes ofcourse, what is it?" you nod, a smile still on your face, "Alone," his voice was cold, "oh yeah, sure-" you step towards him, thinking he'd lead you somewhere private but he stayed rooted in his place, eyes never leaving yours, he stayed quiet for a bit, taking in your whole self, the bright clothes you were dressed in, the equally bright smile on your face. Then he looked over your head, to the shocked faces of your friends, "Alone." It came out as an order, he couldn't care less. 

Mattheo liked this newfound authority, he also relished in the fact that you were being so compliant as if you wanted this to happen and he couldn't be more glad, "Guys, I'll be back, you can go ahead, don't worry," you explained, seeing their hesitance, his unwavering gaze was back on you, brown eyes were intense. The apprehensive group slowly emptied the room and just went the last person was out, Mattheo muttered something under his breath, and the door slammed shut, locking itself. 

Mattheo cursed that pretty smile of yours before smiling back, "You have a date? For the ball?" you lowered your eyes to the ground at the question, a shy look grazing your features as you shook your head, the more he looked at you, the more positive he got. "Good."  He finally pulled his hands out of his pocket and suddenly there was a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand and a velvet box, he wordlessly handed them to you, your eyes were wide, full of amusement, face warm, you noticed how the lights around you got dimmer, the small mock firefly charms that floated in the air, you didn't have a clue on how he was doing all this without his wand but you couldn't bring yourself to think of it, not when you had him standing in front you, in all his glory, about to ask you to the ball, gosh you felt like you were on cloud nine, the guy you were waiting for had actually approached you? You had to be dreaming. 

Then out of nowhere, you hear your favourite song but on strings, you look down at the box curiously- "It's the muggle chocolate you were talking about, the one you said was hard to get your hands on," he shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal but in reality, he was finding the courage to finally tell you what he was feeling, ask you out. Your brows pinched together, as you noticed that all of it was a muggle, even the flower arrangement- the song, how did he do all of this? You looked up at him with an amused look. "No questions please," he breathed out like he was out of breath, you then smiled at him gratefully, and he quickly averted his eyes, his hand subconsciously reaching over to his chest, "Oh Merlin," he exhaled quietly, not being able to look back at you. 

He then slowly gathered the courage to look back at you, you were just looking at him patiently, the smile still on your face, Mattheo cleared his throat before opening up, "I have never been the one to be graceful but I want to do this properly." he inhaled sharply before continuing, "Ever since that night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I think I've gone mad honestly," He lets out a dry chuckle shaking his head, looking into your eyes, "I think I've taken a liking to you, your voice, your smile-" and then he interrupts himself, forgetting the little speech he prepared as he watches your smile widen at his words, "yeah that, more of that please," and that makes you blush, the genuine interest in his eyes, the way admiration shines in his eyes, you are so close to him, that you can hear his heart thumping loudly, "I'd like to have the honour of taking you to the ball," then he says your name quietly, "would you like be my date?" 

"Yes yes!" you couldn't be more excited, you are quick to throw your arms around him, and all the worries leave his body as soon as he is subjected to your embrace, he closes his eyes, pulling you closer, finding everything comfortable in your grip. His heartstrings thrum at the moment, it was embarrassing how quickly you got him flustered but he didn't seem to mind it. He whispered a small "thank you," before hugging you tighter, you just giggled into his chest and Merlin, did he feel like he had just won the lottery.

...

<<prev work: this love || mattheo riddle

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Any particular thoughts on if all of the characters are going to get hometown events? On one hand, it seems like a good way for the devs to have a steady stream of easy story ideas and milk some money from hometown gatcha events. On the other hand, I can see some hometowns being logistically difficult to justify (I can’t think of a reason why Idia or Ortho would bring their schoolmates to their top-secret organization home) or potentially repetitive (Lilia, Silver, and Malleus feel like characters whose hometown events might be difficult to make distinct- Kalim too, if the Firelit Skies event didn’t count as his hometown event).

I guess they could pull a Vil and just have some of the characters go places that aren’t home. Idia could bring some people to an anime convention with him, or Lilia could play tour guide in a place he’s visited frequently. Of course, this all assumes the game’s going to last long enough to get to everyone, but it’s interesting to speculate.

I feel like every one of the main 22 NRC students will get some kind of travel abroad event with a related SSR eventually. They’re great for world building and for making the game $$$/j!! We’ve been colloquially calling these “hometown” events, but it’s kind of a misnomer. For example, Fairest City isn’t Vil’s; he is just traveling there for work-related reasons. This opens us up to the possibility of exploring locations other than students’ hometowns in events.

When you think about it, that makes some sense because there are many weird exceptions in the cast. To name just a few (this is by no means an exhaustive list)!! Cater’s family supposedly moves around a lot, so he has no “true” hometown. Riddle and Trey share the same hometown so if they both had “hometown” events we would theoretically explore the same place, no? We’ve technically already visited the Shroud brothers’ hometown, the Isle of Woe, in book 6. Lilia has a complicated history of traveling around a lot and is banished from the capital where he used to serve; what would count as his “hometown” here???

It would be easier for the devs to logistically justify + avoid repetition, as well as varied and more interesting lore-wise to expand where we can go rather than lock us down to “hometowns ONLY!!” You could get super creative with the reasons for going abroad and bumping into family members (or, as Tamashina Mina has established, not actual blood relatives of the SSR at all) 🤩 I love the idea of joining Idia for an anime con… maybe Silver revisiting the Land of Swords where the Dawn Knight fell in combat and rediscovering his heritage. Figuring out wtf is up with the whole Hunt family, maybe in an event framed like a murder mystery or exploring a jungle region? For Lilia, I’d love to visit his retirement-home-to-be the Land of Crimson Long :DD There are just so many exciting possibilities!!

[komorim]

borrowed time

-> zhongli x gn!reader

[ synopsis. ] it wasn’t the first time morax has experienced the lost of a dear one. but you were different. you were a mortal, not an adeptus, and he was prepared for your departure from him since the beginning. but along with your relatively short lifespan, there was something else…

‣ when the earth bleeds ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

[ content warnings. ] character death. angst. reincarnation. there’s not a lot to say; it’s not dark content.

[ word count. ] 3.8k

[ author’s note. ] yayy! the second one shot of my pair of one shot collections! i had this almost finished for so long but never got the chance to actually write the last few paragraphs. (i did not mean for the second one shot to come out like a year later…at least im not dead!) this also ended up being a lot more longer than i intended it to be…(this is 3.8k????????????) but oh well, enjoy!

you don’t remember how long it has been after you died. after all, you continued to live your life normally. it was only natural that the exact time passed has become blurry to you.

though you remembered everything that happened after you had died. you remember the voice in your head and explaining the whole circumstance to you, and you remember seeing zhongli around liyue as you continued to “live.”

the whole ordeal wasn’t that complicated actually. simply put, you had such a strong love and longing for your immortal fiancé that it was dangerous to let you just pass on. if you couldn’t resolve the knot of regret that sprouted the moment you died, you would likely turn into a disruptive spirit, and the best way to solve the issue was for you to let go of the things that still tied you down to the world of the living.

the solution was for you to let go of zhongli.

it seemed impossible, and you almost laughed when you heard about the mysterious voice telling you that you had to fulfill your regrets. but your regret was not being able to accompany zhongli for the rest of his long, never ending life.

how were you supposed to resolve that regret?

your first thought was to follow zhongli throughout his daily life, thinking that if you saw that he could live on happily, or better yet, if he could find someone to accompany him like you once did, that you could soothe the agony in your heart. even though the thought of him finding someone to replace you tugged on your heart and made it ache, you found it to be better than to see him live in solitary after your passing.

however, what you saw as you followed him was only the ways that he would force a smile on and push through tiredly through each day. you could tell that he still hadn’t completely digested the reality of your death, and he wasn’t having an easy time too.

you originally thought it risky to follow him around so much, as the geo archon was always someone of high observational skills, but he was rather busy with mourning to notice the silent eyes that watched him day and night.

and even though your original plan was simply to follow him and see how he was doing, you soon became greedy and wanted to be next to his side again. you knew that it would not only cause complications if he found out who you were, but it also would only make the feeling of regret grow larger. and yet you couldn’t help it. no matter how long it truly has been after your death, you knew it was far too long to be away from him.

you missed him. you missed being in his arms, missed taking walks with him, missed the feel of his hand in yours, missed the soft and gentle voice he used when he called out your name. you missed it all.

you tried convincing yourself that because you’re only alive temporarily, the mysterious force had changed your appearance to avoid raising suspicion and he wouldn’t be able to recognize you. you wanted to give yourself every single excuse to justify that it was okay for you to approach him once more.

as long as you left before he found out and you got too attached, you’re sure that it would be fine. you’ll even use a different name to avoid him catching on.

though what were you thinking? you were facing zhongli, a previous archon who had many years of experience and knowledge.

and the knowledge that he had on you was probably the greatest.

you have introduced yourself to the wangsheng funeral parlor consultant as someone who has heard many things about him, and wished to seek information about morax’s past. being as respectful and responsible as he is, he offered to meet after he got off “work,” suggesting for you to see him at third-round knockout. you agree eagerly, happy with any opportunity to be with him.

you arrive early, too excited to do anything else but wait in anticipation, and when you finally see him heading your way, you wave.

“mister zhongli!”

he gives you a curt nod as he takes the seat opposite of you. “hello, did i keep you waiting too long?”

you shake your head and hands, “no, not at all. i just arrived not too long ago.”

you exchange the normal formalities and after a short while of asking about how morax was like and the accomplishments he’s achieved, you ask what you were really wondering. how would he feel at the mention of you? will he brush it off and pretend not to know you, or will he reminisce the time he spent with you while you were on the earth?

“is something wrong?” zhongli asks, expressing his concern for your sudden silence.

“it might just be a rumor…but i’ve heard that morax once had a partner before. do you know anything about their relationship?”

zhongli’s hand stiffens in midair as he was about to take another sip of his tea. he sets the teacup down shortly and looks away, seeming to feel awkward upon your question.

“a partner…? ah, i see. yes, i believe they were quite a harmonious couple. i don’t know much about this as it wasn’t widely recorded.”

it was your turn to freeze as your mind runs wild, thinking about all the possibilities for why he wouldn’t disclose anything. was he ashamed of you? did he not think you were worthy enough to mention? with all these questions consuming your mind, the rest of your conversation with zhongli was short and lackluster.

when you were about to take your leave, you convey your thanks for zhongli’s information and turn away, yet he grabs your wrist gently before you could take another step.

“you…will i see you again? you remind me of a dear companion of mine. i’d like to be in your company once more sometime.”

you smile warmly and nod, “of course, mister zhongli. it would be a pleasure to meet with you again.”

he seems to look relieved as his facial expressions relax. he returns your smile and lets go of your wrist somewhat unwillingly as you finally part ways with him.

though unbeknownst to you, his eyes followed your shape as you walk further and further away.

the next few days were spent with you next to zhongli’s side—so much that other acquaintances of his suspected the possibility of the two of you dating. and when you both walked by yet another small shop immersed in a light-hearted conversation, you hear a man’s voice call out to zhongli.

“mister zhongli!” he approaches the him as you both stop in your tracks. “i see you’re with miss y/n again,” he smiles in your direction, a smile knowing and akin to that of an elder. he nudges zhongli with his elbow and leans closer to him to say something you couldn’t quite make out, but by seeing zhongli’s widened eyes you assumed he was caught off guard.

“oh, no, no. i was simply enjoying an afternoon walk with miss yue.” to his response, the man nodded slowly, expression giving the impression that he was not quite convinced by this answer. though he didn’t pursue the topic any further and quickly left you two alone.

you glance at zhongli a few times as your stroll continued and before you could repress your curiosity properly, you were already asking the question.

“so, what did he say to you?”

zhongli’s eyes stray to meet yours for a short second before he chuckles softly. “i believe he was curious if our relationship has progressed beyond simply acquaintances that can share a topic or two.”

even if you thought you were prepared for it, your light hearted smile still dropped at the idea of zhongli having another partner besides you. even if this body was currently inhabited by you, you knew that it was impossible for zhongli to know that. and thus, in technicality, he would be romantically affiliated with another person.

zhongli, being as perceptive as he always was, noticed the slight change in your mood as he stopped with you. your dull eyes that were spacing out in thought slowly meet his golden ones and you catch the worry behind them.

“is something wrong?”

you laugh a bit nervously, your throat suddenly feeling dry as you swallow, trying to come up with something that can fool him. “yes, i…i just wasn’t expecting that.”

his eyebrows furrow slightly and you can tell that he doesn’t buy it. the air between you two is quiet for a long moment and the next time he opens his mouth, his voice sounds a bit less neutral than it usually is. “does the thought of going on a date with me…bother you?”

you wave your hands in distress, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “archons, no! of course not! i greatly enjoy your company, mister zhongli. it’s just i was caught off guard.”

he stares intensely at you, and under the pressure that he unconsciously put on you, you finally speak your mind.

“it’s just…i was thinking about how you’re so knowledgeable about morax, yet you know nothing about his relationships. the sudden lack of consistency made me think that maybe you weren’t interested in any form of romance, so i was worried that you-”

“yue, my feelings for you most definitely extends beyond mere friendship,” he says, interrupting your ramble before you got carried away.

his sentence made your heart utterly drop. you had a bitter taste in your mouth and couldn’t think whether to be happy or not. should you celebrate that he could fall in love with you again—even in another body? or should you grieve that he has now completely forgotten your original self and has no more space in his heart for you now that he’s handing it to another? you suddenly felt like your whole world was turned upside down. no matter how much you initially wanted to believe that seeing zhongli happy with someone else would assure you, you know realize that deep down, it truly was you who couldn’t let go of the past.

“i…i’m sorry, mister zhongli, but i must go now.” you hurriedly bow as a form of apology and leave him immediately. as you turned on your heel to almost run away, your eyes stung and the tears you unknowingly kept at bay started to roll down your cheeks.

the moment you settled down by a tree to finally stop and think about the situation, you started to brainwash yourself into believing that you should be happy for zhongli. you should be glad he’s not held back by the memory of you. you should take this chance to let go of him, to finish resolving that knot like you came here to do. though the other part of you pleaded to not just surrender like this, and the internal conflict only grew as you struggled to unify your mind.

so until you could determine a final solution, you decided to just simply detach yourself from zhongli. the frequent meetings were no more as you couldn’t possibly face him like usual anymore; it would only make the mess that is your mind even worse.

though zhongli’s patience wore thin. even if he’s rarely one to be impatient, his attitude always seemed to be different when it came to you.

so after a whole week of you avoiding him like the flu, he finally hunted you down.

when you turned the corner of third-round knockout, you were met with a familiar face and before you could run far, he caught you by the arm.

“y/n. i know it’s you.”

you almost jumped at hearing your real name. you knew that zhongli was smart and hard to fool, but the fact that he actually uncovered your identity is unbelievable.

you turn to face him, and when you saw his distressed eyes and sad frown, you knew you couldn’t lie to him anymore. the moment he recognized your surrender, he pulled you into a hug, arms wrapping around your waist and head leaning into the crook of your neck—an embrace so familiar you would never dream of forgetting it.

“i missed you so much, y/n. please, you can’t even begin to understand how deeply devastated i was when you started distancing yourself from me. my heart sunk at the thought of losing you once more.”

you could feel tears approaching as you returned the hug. “how did you know it was me?”

zhongli pulled away from the hug to hold you at arm’s length, looking at you lovingly. “i could recognize you even if you became a pile of ashes. though it didn’t seem like you had any intention of reuniting with me, so i played along and pretended not to know you as well. but, it appears that it wasn’t the wisest choice on my end,” he sighs, “i should’ve kept you by my side no matter what.”

you smiled. “it’s relieving to know you haven’t forgotten me.”

zhongli’s eyes fill with disbelief, almost appearing offended at the notion. a sad frown is painted on his face as he looks at you softly. “i could never forget you, y/n. you’re the only one i’ve ever held this close to my heart. although you may underestimate your impact towards my life, i assure you that without meeting you, i would’ve turned out to be a less than pleasing person.”

you look away from him, quietly speaking, almost as if talking to yourself instead of him, “i thought you felt differently from the way you denied having knowledge of morax’s partner.”

with how much attention zhongli gives you however, he definitely caught onto what you said. “i was only avoiding the topic since i didn’t want to remind you of the sad times. not being able to give you a proper wedding before you passed was always the biggest regret i had.”

the air is silent for a moment before he cups your face and brings your gaze back to him. he smiles endearingly at you, an idea coming to him suddenly. “how about i give you that promised wedding?”

in the back of your mind, you knew that this body was only temporary, that even if you did go along with the idea, you wouldn’t be able to live with zhongli as a married couple forever. though the offer was too tempting to turn down, so you nodded your head in a silent agreement as you mirrored his smile.

“can we keep it small though? i don’t want such a big audience.” since you knew this wouldn’t last long. you didn’t want zhongli to have to deal with prying questions of where you went whenever your time was up.

“of course, my dear. it will be as you wish.”

so the next few days were spent planning the wedding until the moment came when you heard the celebratory music as you walked down the short aisle. only a few familiar faces were present in accordance to your request of zhongli; you recognized xiao and xianyun and many other friends from your past life and you smiled in their direction. it was evident that they were all happy for you and zhongli, the well known couple of the time.

when you finally stopped to meet zhongli at the end of the aisle, you noticed how he wore the same soft expression that was met with you every time he was in your presence. a few minutes pass as the introductory was given and anything and everything that followed seemed to have past in a blur or sound and colors. your attention was solely on the love of your life in front of you, and nothing was received by your brain until after the classic question was asked and zhongli began speaking his vows.

“in a long time past, we shared our hearts with each other. you accompanied the most important and joyous moments of my long life, only to be separated from me in a cruel joke of fate. i could not do anything as i watched you fall into sickness, and i may have resented the powers that took you away from me. your absence left a void in my soul, and i could only regret that i could not fulfill my promise to you. but blessed as we are, fate has bestowed me with a chance to make those vows a reality in this life as we are once again reunited. with this ring, i pledge to cherish you as i did before, if not more so and longer. i vow to stand by your side no matter the obstacles that we may face, honoring my never ending love for you. today, let us continue the journey that we had started so long ago, and let our fates and hearts remain interconnected throughout this life and beyond.”

your eyes never left zhongli’s as you struggled to match his loving gaze with one of your own. his vow to you composed of too many promises you knew he would be forced to break due to the nature of your stay in the human world. this would not last. you can’t tell if the watery view you had was due to hearing his profound and unwavering love for you or if it was out of sorrow for the knowledge that this was all temporary and won’t be anything beyond that.

though you couldn’t break his heart like that all over again, so you hid the truth inside your heart, even if you knew doing so would hurt the both of you more. you pressed your lips into a small smile and declared your own vows, mimicking zhongli’s in the way that it was filled with empty promises yet very much honest words of how you deeply loved him as well.

your head struggled to remain clear in the short time span that you recited your vows, and by the end of it, you found that you have come to accept the fact that this was all temporary. you knew that it was from the start, so there shouldn’t be so much of a reaction when you’re only just being reminded of the fact.

your rings were then exchanged before your officiant declared the marriage. you smiled at zhongli, genuinely this time, as you finally found peace with the situation you were in. when the officiant finally announced that you and zhongli were now permitted to kiss, you took a small step forward as zhongli’s hands reached out to cup your face. he tilts your face upwards gently, staring into your eyes softly before finally kissing you as your hands rested gently at his sides.

common to loving couples, your wedding kiss lasted rather long. you smiled into the kiss in relief that at the end of this all, at least you were able to officially marry zhongli in this life. yet when you finished thinking about this, you heard that familiar voice in your head.

<it seems that you have let go of that obsession of yours. congratulations.>

the voice didn’t have to spell it out for you. you knew that this means that your borrowed time in the human world was finally coming to an end. you admit, you do feel satisfied now knowing that your broken promise from your last life of marrying zhongli was finally fulfilled. though it didn’t help soothe the ache that came with knowing you had to leave much.

you and zhongli pulled away from each other and you felt your body growing lighter each minute that passes as you turn to face your audience—your friends. you smile at them and walk down the aisle with zhongli as you both thank them for joining the event. though as the reception starts, you pull zhongli aside as you smile at him once again, this time not as worry-free.

“what’s wrong?” his face expressing a curious worry, though it doesn’t override the joy he felt from finally being your husband.

you bring up your hands to cup his face as you try to engrave his features into your soul so that you can recognize him when you officially reincarnate. it was then that zhongli finally noticed you blending into the dark night and his eyes filled with a type of sad understanding.

“you…you’re leaving. is that right?”

you nod softly. “it’s okay. i’m happy that at least i was able to be wed to you once. that’s honestly more than i could ask for,” you laugh gently, “i thought that i would’ve had to leave after seeing you move on. but zhongli, i truly do wish that maybe, with time, you can find another that treasures you as much as i do. although it isn’t ideal for me that you’ve found someone else, i don’t wish for you to spend eternity alone. i…i don’t know how long it’ll take for me to reincarnate or if i will for that matter. so,” you caress his face as he leans into your palm, “please don’t spend too long trying to wait for me. if an opportunity for your happiness presents itself before that, i hope you can take it without feeling burdened.”

zhongli chuckles bitterly, “you’re asking something impossible of me. i don’t believe there is anyone other than you that will be able to make me happy.”

“you never know.”

“i do know,” he insists, closing his eyes as he holds the hand you had on his face with his own, “perhaps i will just spend the rest of my life anticipating your return.”

you shake your head with a small smile, not knowing how to deal with his stubbornness in things he’s set his mind on. though both of you knew that your silence meant you had accepted zhongli’s way of handling this.

your body dissipates to almost nothing, though it seems that the powers above have granted you just enough time to finish your farewell with your new husband.

“i don’t mind if it takes eternity for it to happen, but please return to my side one day.” he pauses for a short moment before speaking softly, “i’m sure that we’ll get our happy ending.”

he looks into your eyes as he sees through the borrowed appearance you wore; he sees through all the disguise that they tried to cover you with and he sees the true you. he smiles with eyes that treat you as the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. it was the last thing that you saw before being blown away with the wind.

zhongli’s eyes linger in the direction that you disappeared in as his eyes turn watery at the realization that he lost you once again. he can only wish that you heard his last few words.

“i’ll be waiting.”

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

[pinkiemachine]

Diana Prince and Steve Trevor

Okay, okay—yes—I am taking a lot of influence from the 2017 live action film, but I thought they did a pretty good job (minus the moustache. If you know, you know.) Anyway, I did make some changes. First off, Steve is British. There was a very distinct difference between the mindsets of the soldiers depending on which country they were from, and I’d prefer to explore WW1 through the eyes of a British soldier rather than American. I’m also still deciding whether or not to keep him a spy or to make him a pilot because, while at first glance at the movie, the idea of him being a spy sounds all cool, it really only serves one purpose and it’s at the beginning of the film and then him being a spy almost loses all meaning (except for that one scene at the party). I then thought that making him a pilot would be a better option because, hey, he crashes onto Themyscira in a plane, doesn’t he? And come on, you do need to be taught how to fly those things. Anyway, that aside, Steve’s personality: He’s a relatively stand-up bloke who just wants to go home and take care of his mum. It’s 1917, which means it’s been roughly three years since the War’s started. His dad’s already died in the service of his country. His older brother too. He can’t risk dying now, someone’s gotta come home to his mother and take care of her.

When his brother and father enlisted, they were all for serving. Everyone was. They were promised an easy war. A noble war. An opportunity to stand up to tyranny and let righteousness prevail. What they found instead was Hell. WW1 was unlike anything the world had yet seen—some of the things—the weapons—invented and used in this war are downright creative in their ruthlessness and twistedness. Steve’s done. He wants out. He’s not coming back.

Diana, on the other hand, still has not seen active combat. She’s battle ready and gung-ho to jump into the middle of this war… but Steve rebukes her. Their story is one about maturity and the nature of right and wrong. Is it right to fight? What’s the right way to fight? Is WW1 really justified when you look at how many men had to die? Just the nature of war, in general. A big topic, I know. But if you’re gonna write a WW1 story, write a WW1 story. And you know something, after reading about it all, the Wonder Woman movie seems downright PG by comparison.

Diana proves to Steve that there is still good in the world, while Steve teaches Diana to be wary of those who are not so good. Diana helps to bring a little joy back into Steve’s life after everything he’s been through, and Steve teaches Diana about some harsh realities of the 20th century. They balance each other out nicely.

[projectionistwrites]

FOR SCIENCE | the project proposal

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (3.2k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: descriptions of mental illness, depictions of DID, fetishization of mental disorders (DID), potentially unethical scientific practices, no smut in this part NOTES: again, please don’t read this if you’re concerned at all with research ethics, as this is NOT a good demonstration of scientific procedures and studies. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

next part →

Marc Spector’s psyche was a psychologist’s wet dream.

Three distinct personalities, completely separated from each other, all occupying the same host body. At one point, all mutually unaware of the others, but now living together in solidarity and (relative) cooperation.

Meeting Marc Spector was a happy accident—but meeting a man with a clearcut case of Dissociative Identity Disorder as a Professor of Psychology? Now that was just pure, dumb luck.

You had met Steven Grant first. You’d run into him at the British Museum during a university-sponsored visit. Your interaction had been brief, but it was memorable for you nonetheless—there was just something about those soft brown eyes and dopey, shy smile that melted your heart.

Imagine your surprise when you accidentally ran into that same man on the bus, only for him to introduce himself as Marc with a midwestern American accent and a cold, calculated gleam in his stare. He was forward and confident—very much unlike your previous encounter with him. When you called his bluff and swore you’d interacted with him under the guise of Steven, he pulled you aside and gently tried to justify the confusion.

“It’s—I have this...condition. It’s—have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

You had tried hard to fight your smile.

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

It was only revealed to him—after his winded and lengthy explanation—that you had a doctorate degree in clinical psychology and specialized in mental disorders.

Steven’s curiosity was piqued, and Marc silently hoped you’d be able to shed some insight into the functioning of his fragmented mind. You quickly established an easy friendship, somewhat reminiscent of a relationship between a client and therapist—although you knew and cared for each other on a much deeper and more intimate level.

Several months later, you were finally introduced to the most elusive alter within the system—Jake Lockley.

You began to spend the majority of your free time with the men—all three of them seemed to be relatively taken with you. Steven was sweet, Marc was shrewd, and Jake was steadfast. It was sometimes difficult to conceptualize that they all shared the same physical body with how differently they behaved.

It hadn’t started as a project—genuinely, truly, it hadn’t. It wasn’t your intention to be so captivated by those big brown puppy-dog eyes or the softness within his smile. And the feelings you had for him—for all of them—were real, and raw, and indisputable. You would never, ever, ever do anything to make them feel uncomfortable or jeopardize your relationships in any way.

Which is why this was such a bad fucking idea.

Your nails drummed against the side of your porcelain coffee mug as your nervously chewed on the cap of your red pen, making a futile attempt to focus on grading the research report in front of you, but your attention was clearly elsewhere. Your eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall across from you, watching the second hand tick away slowly. The coffee shop was playing gentle soothing acoustic songs, the smell of cinnamon lingering in the air, but even the coziness wasn’t enough to shake your nerves.

“Hey, there, Doc.”

Your head perked at the sound of a familiar voice, a warming hand clapping your shoulder as Marc Spector walked to the other side of the small table and sat down across from you. You groaned at his greeting, pulling your reading glasses from your nose and setting them on the table in front of you.

“Marc, I swear, if you call me that one more time, I’ll—”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, although he was smirking slyly at you.

“Alright, alright, jeez—what’s got you wound up so tight, huh?”

He reached for the paper on top of the stack in front of you, reading off the title aloud.

“An In-depth Investigation Into the Underlying Psychological Causes of Erectile Dysfunction in Men Under 50.”

His face contorted in a look of disgust.

“Jesus—that’s gotta be the most boring fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

You watched as his eyes fluttered briefly, his posture sinking and his features softening. When his eyes regained focus, he shook his head, huffing.

“Bugger off, Marc—I think it sounds plenty interestin’.”

Steven smiled graciously, offering the packet back to you. You accepted it tiredly, throwing it atop the pile of what seemed like an endless supply of mediocre student submissions that had yet to be graded.

“Thanks, Steven, but Marc’s right—my brain’s fried. I swear, if I have to read another shitty case study about men whose dicks don’t work, I’ll gouge my eyes out.”

The man chuckled at your confession as you shoved the stack of papers into your briefcase clumsily, snapping it shut without a second thought and letting it fall back to the floor beside your table. You carefully picked up your mug and took a long, slow sip—your coffee was barely lukewarm, at this point, as you’d be sitting at the cafe for hours, working quietly as you patiently waited on your friend’s arrival.

Although Steven was blissfully oblivious, Marc was observant. His consciousness pushed to the front, studying you carefully—your white-knuckled grip against your cup, your shifty eyes that were looking everywhere but at him, the tension in your shoulders and nervous bouncing of your leg.

“Alright—what’s wrong?”

Your gaze snapped over to him where he was sat with arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed in suspicion. You tried to force a smile in an effort to cover up your uncertainty.

“Nothing’s wrong, Marc. Promise.”

You held his gaze intently, trying to convince him with your half-hearted response. His stare didn't waver, and after a few brief moments, you had to look down, overwhelmed with the intensity of his scrutiny.

“Alright, let’s try that again. Y/N—what’s wrong?”

You let a long, exasperated sigh, running a tired hand down your face. This had been weighing on you for a few days, at this point, and you still weren’t sure if you could handle the emotional labor this conversation would require.

“It’s true, nothing’s—nothing’s wrong, per se, I just—I just need to talk to you. I’ve—I have this idea—”

“Like—a work-related, science-y idea? You want Steven? Or—I can try my best to help, but sometimes you get excited and start talking really fast and I can’t keep up, but—”

“No, Marc, it’s not—I mean, it’s not really science-y, but like, also—it kinda is? I don’t know how to explain it, but I really need to—”

“I mean, whatever it is, you seem pretty worried about it, so obviously it’s important, and—and I just wanna make sure we’re giving you whatever response you need, or, at least—”

“Jesus, Marc, if you’d let me finish.”

You clipped, and his jaw snapped shut instantaneously, somewhat taken aback by your outburst. You were normally so controlled, practiced with your expressions, so seeing any sign of emotional imbalance was startling.

Guilt immediately flooded your stomach after you lashed out—you buried your head in your hands, taking a few slow, deliberate breaths in an attempt to quell your rapid heartbeat.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean—this is just... I’m not sure how to go about this.”

You felt the featherlight brush of calloused fingertips against your forearm, coaxing your face away from your palms. When you finally lifted your head, Steven had returned, his eyes soft and reassuring. He pulled your hand into his, squeezing briefly before rubbing his thumb comfortingly across your knuckles.

“S’alright, love, truly. Take as much time as you need, and—and if there’s anythin’ you need from us, it’s yours. Just—whenever you’re ready.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies flitting in your stomach at Steven’s gentle promise. You inhaled once more, before finding his eyes.

“This—I need to talk to all three of you. Can you—are you in a place where you can all be co-conscious?”

Steven’s lips turned up at the corners at your thoughtfulness. He received verbal responses from both Marc and Jake—a confirmation that they were both actively listening.

“’Course. We’re all here. Is—do you have a preference, as to who you’d like to speak with?”

You returned his smile, offering a slight squeeze to his hand.

“I mean—since you’re already fronting, might as well stay, huh?”

Steven blushed, trying to fight the giddiness that came from your validation. He quickly steeled himself, reminding himself that you were struggling to open up to him.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready, then, yeah?”

You cautiously pulled your hand away from his, mostly to keep yourself grounded and get out what you needed before you second-guessed yourself.

“So.”

You cautiously began.

“I had this—this idea. And it’s—it sounds crazy, and I get that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, especially because—well, I just feel like this is something that could have damning effects on the entire field of psychology, with both practical and theoretical applications, but—that doesn’t mean—I don’t want you to feel obligated by any means to agree, or—or to feel pressured into anything, and I definitely don’t want you to think that—that I’m using you, because that couldn’t be farther from the truth, I swear, and—”

“Y/N.”

His tone was soft, a quiet interruption from your rambling, and your eyes widened in concern. However, he offered you a reassuring nod.

“Just tell us what it is, yeah? We’ll go from there.”

You nodded slowly, squeezing your eyes shut, before beginning again.

“There’s this huge debate in psychology. It’s pretty much the basis of a lot of our research—the whole nature versus nurture debate. Basically, it’s all about how much of our personalities can be attributed to genetics versus how much can be attributed to our life experiences.”

Steven was listening intently, leaning forward into your words.

“Well, it’s—it’s a concept that’s really difficult to research, because, well, we don’t really have a basis of comparison. The best thing we have to go off of is when identical twins get separated at birth and grow up in different places. Or, at least—that was the best we’ve had up until this point. Does—does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

He assured, nodding in acknowledgement. You only hoped the other two alters were keeping up.

“So, basically what I’m getting at here, is, well—you, and—and all three of you, really—Marc and Jake, you guys provide a really, really unique opportunity, because, well—you share a body. So, physiologically, you’re completely identical. The only thing that’s different about you is who you are, so—your life experiences and memories and things like that. You’re—you’re like the perfect example of how our experiences shape our beings.”

“Right. Right.”

Steven followed your train of thought carefully, brows furrowed. You took a deep breath. This is the part you were dreading.

“So, I had this thought... you three boys are so vastly different from each other. Like, really, really different, and—and you each have your own preferences, things like that, but—but you still have the same body. In my Abnormal Psych course, we’re studying intimacy and desire right now. So—so what I was wondering was about your—your sexuality. Like, to what extent are your sexual preferences due to your biology rather than your cognition.”

Steven blew out a shaky exhale, though he tried not to appear perturbed by your words. His mind was silent—he could feel the intense focus from his alters, now hanging on your every word.

“What if there was a way, to, you know, test, how different your sexual preferences are? And to test and see how your arousal is different, or the same, based on locations of stimulation and things like that?”

Bloody fucking hell.

In a split second, Marc was fronting, Steven slipping back into the headspace, completely overwhelmed and unsure of what to say or how to react. You noticed the abrupt switch, and after recovering from the brief whiplash, you felt panic spur within you. You’d scared him away.

Marc’s brows were furrowed, like he wasn’t completely picking up what you were putting down.

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”

You closed your eyes.

“I guess—what I’m suggesting is that you—you help me research. You—you let me study you, each of you, independently, to see—to see how different your sexual behaviors and preferences are.”

“Like—like a questionnaire, or something?”

Marc questioned, but when you shook your head, eyes casting downwards, it suddenly dawned on him. Steven’s departure made sense. Everything made sense.

“So... so lemme get this straight.”

Marc made a stopping motion with his hand, gesturing for you to pause.

“You—want to have sex, with me—with us... for science?”

“Well, I mean, it—it doesn’t necessarily have to be with me, I could—we could find someone else, if you’re more comfortable, and—and I could just observe, or—”

“So you’re a voyeur, now?”

You jolted and Marc’s vulgarity, eyes quickly scanning your surroundings to make sure no one was listening in on your conversation. Luckily, the cafe was relatively deserted at that point.

“No! No, that’s not—I’m just saying, with what I’m suggesting, it—it would make the most sense for the researcher to—to be more hands-on, but that’s...”

Your voice trailed off, staring at a speck of grime on the table, trying to calm the rapid racing of your heart.

Yeah, seems she's interested in being real hands-on, huh?

Marc struggled to hold in his snickering at Jake’s internal dialogue, but after seeing the worry that was clinging to your features, his sympathy prevailed.

“Y/N.”

He spoke calmly, cool and collected. Your eyes flitted to his, where he was watching you intently. However, you could see the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“So what you’re saying is... you want to have sex, with me, for science.”

He reiterated, and you opened your mouth to protest, to defend your credibility, to rationalize your bizarre proposition, but instead, a long sigh escaped you as you admitted defeat.

“Yes. Yeah. That’s…exactly what I’m saying.”

A brief silence stagnated between you, and there was a tightness forming in your chest as every worst-case-scenario began coming to fruition in the forefront of your mind.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to overstep, or—or—”

“What, exactly, would this entail?”

Marc inquired, unable to deny his curiosity. You blinked once, then twice, processing his words.

“So—so you’ll do it?”

He held up his hands as if to tell you to slow down.

“Just—hang on. Hypothetically speaking, what—what would this even look like?”

Excitement zipped up your skin as you reached down into your briefcase, pulling out a manila folder full of several sheets of scribbled ideas and disorganized thoughts.

“Well, see, I’ve been brainstorming—”

Christ, she has the whole thing planned.

Steven’s voice sounded faint, breathless, winded. Marc ignored him, instead focusing in on your sudden enthusiasm.

“—and I came up with a research plan. So, the way it would go—we’d meet for the weekend, three weekends in a row, with a week break in between. Each alter will have their own weekend to be the subject of study. Day one, we—well, you would lead the sexual encounter. Do what you want, showcase what sex usually looks like for you, what you like, what you don’t like—”

Marc's mind was reeling. He shamelessly attempted to ignore the effect your words were having on him. Do what you want. What you like. To you.

You were still talking.

“—and then the second day, you’d let me take the reins. I’ll psychoanalyze your behavior from the first day, and synthesize that with all the information I already have about you, and I’ll try to—well, I don’t wanna say push your buttons, but—basically, as shitty as it sounds, I’d be trying to bring to light any vulnerabilities, prod at the soft spots, stuff like that. Try to see if I can find what it is each of you seeks out through sexual intimacy. Does that make sense?”

Marc shook his head, lost in thought, but he blinked away the fog in his mind and quickly corrected himself with a nod.

“Yeah, I mean—I think so? Would this—what would you do, once it’s over? Like, what’s the point?”

“It would never be published, or shared with anyone else, I can promise you that. It’s—it would mostly be for me. Kind of like a passion project, I guess. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and, well...”

Passion project?

What’s she mean, ‘she’s been thinkin’ about it for awhile?’

Marc almost shushed the voices in his head aloud, trying to clear his head of static so he could properly take all of this in.

He looked up at you, and you were staring up at him with eye round and hopeful, almost reverent as they passed over him. He blew out a slow breath.

“Do... can we have time to think about it? To talk about it?”

The fuck do you mean, jefe? I’m ready to start right now.

You nodded encouragingly, although Marc caught the brief glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.

“Of course, Marc. Take as long as you need. And—please don’t feel obligated to say yes. I mean it. I know—I know this kind of came out of left field, and—and I don’t want to violate any boundaries, or—or jeopardize our friendship in any way, I would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, just—”

You stalled your tangent with a slow breath.

“Just let me know, okay?”

Marc nodded at you, smiling softly and contemplatively as he rose from the table and exited the coffeeshop, leaving you to stew in anticipation and something adjacent to remorse.

The call came in the next day, at 11am on the dot. It was Steven on the other line when you answered, walking out of the lecture hall doors as your class adjourned.

“Hello?”

You answered.

“Mornin’, Y/N. It’s, uh—It’s Steven.”

You giggled.

“I know, Steven. I have caller ID, and believe it or not, your accent is kind of distinct.”

You could practically hear him blush on the other end.

“Right. Yeah. Well, I just—I was callin’ to, uh—Christ, of course they made me do this, I can’t even—”

“Steven.”

You interrupted gently, your calmness soothing his nerves to some degree. He took a breath.

“Sorry. I—We talked it over. The whole—your experiment. And—and I think we’re all up for it.”

You froze in your tracks, students continuing to rush around on either side of you in the hallway. Your hand was shaking.

“I—really? Are you sure?”

“Well, no—I mean, yeah, I just—of course, I’ve got some reservations, but, I mean—it’s for science, yeah?"

A smile was creeping up your face.

“Yeah. Yes. For—for research purposes.”

Yeah, solely research purposes, my ass.

Marc quipped internally, and Steven gulped.

“Right, then. Could we—shall we meet again today, or—whenever, to talk it over a bit more?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you.

“That’d be perfect. We can meet same time, same place as yesterday?”

He gave a hum of agreement, and you felt suddenly breathless as the reality of the situation began to set in.

“Right. I’ll—I’ll see you then, okay, Steven?”

“Yeah, ‘lright, cheers.”

“And, Steven?”

You called quickly, hoping to catch him before he ended the call.

He hummed in response. You smiled.

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

in an interview a while back, vivzie compared stella to beatrice horseman from bojack horseman. if you haven't seen it, beatrice's childhood AND adult life were awful but at the exact same time it's also very clear that nothing about it justified how she treated her son bojack - much like how bojack's own abusive childhood didn't justify the way he treated people. it just explained it.

we'll have to wait and see if viv can actually pull this off (signs point to 'no' atm tbh) but stella being written with this particular comparison explicitly in mind is giving me a little hope she'll at least try.

Hey, Anon! Thanks for the ask!

I’m really glad you brought this up because I had actually been planning a post comparing Beatrice and Stella because I find it kind of fascinating that the writers say Stella is similar to Beatrice Horseman. Because so far they’re really, really, really not.

In fact, the way Stella and Beatrice are introduced and developed as characters are inverses of each other. (Explanation below)

Beatrice is introduced to us as being unambiguously the one in the wrong—she’s so ridiculously abusive towards Bojack, her own son, that it sometime crosses over into pure black comedy. Bojack is clearly the wronged party here, as he was a literal child. He depended on Beatrice for everything and was met with abuse.

Even when Beatrice’s abuse becomes so over-the-top that it’s almost comedic, the audience still understands she’s in the wrong. We understand even though it’s played for black comedy, Bojack was clearly very negatively affected by the abuse, and that her treatment of him was horrific.

During the flashbacks to Bojack’s childhood in earlier episodes, the audience has no further details or information as to why Beatrice would act this way, (not that there’s any excuse regardless) so it seems like there’s not a lot of depth to Beatrice because of this. Season 1 Beatrice Horseman is a very flat character.

But after season 1, the writers of Bojack Horseman continue to develop Beatrice. In the beginning of season 2, we learn that Beatrice is aware of her abuse and how it affected Bojack and, in her own messed up way, tries to apologize to him. She acknowledges that she is a deeply flawed person, and acknowledges her own part in Bojack’s terrible upbringing.

We learn that she regrets the way she acted, that she thinks of herself as being broken, and she sadly admits that Bojack inherited this broken-ness from her.

NONE of this makes the abuse okay for course, but we’re given more insight into her as a person. As Bojack Horseman progresses, the audience is continually given more and more information about Beatrice that explains her in depth. We learn why she acted the way she did, how she coped (and failed to cope) with the intense trauma from her childhood, and how everything that happened to her affected her behavior and outlook on life, and how that in-turn affected Bojack.

The writers develop her from being a flat character to one with depth, one that feels like a real person.

In contrast, the VERY first thing we learn about Stella, before we know anything about her personality, or how she usually talks, or what her relationships are like, is that Stolas cheated on her. She is literally introduced to us as someone who has just been wronged, and presumably, hurt by her husband’s cheating on her.

I don’t think it’s unfair to assume that audiences immediately understand why Stella acts the way she does around Stolas in season 1. Being cheated on sucks. It’s a breech of trust, and extremely hurtful.

Unlike Beatrice, Stella is introduced to us as the wronged party.

Again, that doesn’t mean her actions are warranted or should be excused, but it’s very easy to understand why she is acting the way she is.

Due to this, while Stella still starts as a relatively flat character to b/c we don’t know much about her (other than how she acts directly after being cheated on) she has a lot of potential. The writers could have gone in lots of different directions in her character development.

So naturally, in the first episode of season 2 of Helluva Boss, we learn that Stella strangled puppies as a young child, was always mean to Stolas all the time even before he cheated on her, loves “tormenting” Stolas, and is physically abusive. We learn that since she was a young child she’s always been terrible and evil.

Any potential for some further depth to be added to Stella at the beginning of season 2 is fucking steamrolled by this writing decision.

Since S2E1, The Circus, Stella has been written consistently as being mean, rude, vindictive, and stupid. The audience has been given no further information on her, other than that she has brother who is smarter and than her, and that we should hate her for standing in the way of Stolas and Blitzø’s relationship.

Due to all of this, I have absolutely no idea how HB’s writers could possibly develop Stella to be even 1/8th as nuanced or “real” as Beatrice.

At this point, I think it’s too little too late for Stella’s backstory. Why would I care about her upbringing now? What important bit of information could the writers possibly give us about her past that would make her behavior understandable, or develop her character further??

I’m not saying it’s IMPOSSIBLE. But I can’t think of anything they could do to build upon Stella’s character after they already cemented her so firmly as a one-dimensional villain.

So. To summarize (TLDR)

Beatrice Horseman started out flat, and was developed over time until she felt like a fully realized person.

Stella started out flat, but with the potential to be developed into a more nuanced character.

Instead of being developed more gradually, like Beatrice, starting in season 2, Stella was written to be as evil as possible in all her appearances.

Due to this, the writers have made it incredibly difficult to go back and give Stella a backstory that will matter or explain her behavior in any meaningful way.

[quill-and-whetstone]

“The Sniper Problem”

I have a favorite litmus test that I apply to just about everything I write: “Could this entire plotline be resolved by one sufficiently trained sniper?” The hypothetical sniper is there to evaluate the quality of the conflict I’ve set up. If they can resolve the whole thing by taking out their target then I… probably have some rethinking to do, because the test succinctly highlights a few key issues with any story that fails it.

First, the obvious: if the problem your protagonists are facing can be solved this way it’s probably just not as interesting as it could be. A conflict of “big bad evil dude does a big bad evil thing and our hero goes and mercs him about it” can make for a fun blockbuster action film, but the plot of those films are rarely–if ever–the point. Stories with a central villain stand to gain a lot of narrative depth from asking yourself what issues would linger if they were suddenly removed from the picture. What internal struggles might remain in your protagonists? How might the world around them still need to be changed or healed? Which elements or areas of the story just seem empty without the big bad to fill the narrative space, and how can we develop them?

The second facet of the sniper problem is an inverted Occam’s Razor, a call to ensure that there’s a good reason the protagonists aren’t just using a simple and direct route to solve their problems. It’s like how modern horror movies have to cripple the victims’ cell phones to justify everything else that happens, though ideally less contrived. When revising a story through this lens, it’s almost difficult not to improve it. It aids suspension of disbelief, lets your protagonists present as more competent, and gives them more to do outside of biffing people they don’t like which in turn showcases more of their personality.

A great example of all of this is Avatar: The Last Airbender. Throughout the show the bottom line is that our heroes are out to defeat the Firelord to stop the atrocities he’s committing against the rest of the world. So it stands to reason to ask, why not camp outside his house early on with an assassin good enough to score a quick or lucky kill? But the show answers this amply with just its concept, mostly without having to draw direct attention to it. If Firelord Ozai dropped dead in the pilot there would still be a whole Fire Nation pursuing his goals complete with other emotionally unstable royals and military officers. It wouldn’t actually… solve anything. “Defeat the Firelord” is just the mission that sets our heroes on the path they need to take to stop a war that’s destroying the world. The real solution is cultivating friendships across cultures, healing and maturing together, growing spiritually, protecting and empowering victims of generational violence, dismantling fascistic power structures, and ultimately even finding a relatively peaceful / humane solution to the problem of the Firelord. While they do call this out directly in one episode, they didn’t have to, because with the way they structured the narrative it was already evident. As a result of that good planning the characters got to do a lot of interesting, character driven, thematically resonant things and the show isn’t just one long and kind of dry martial arts training montage until they show up at the finale.

So keep the sniper problem in mind as you write! Or even as you read, watch, and analyze other media for what worked and what didn’t. I can’t promise it’ll be relevant to every story, but I can promise that it’s a quick and easy standard that’ll help you layer in a lot of nuance and flavor into your narrative.

[clownakai]

Oughhhhh wait. Wait wait wait. Shuuichi tells Jodie that he's willing to sacrifice anything for his mission, even his relationship with her. Later on, despite being in love with Akemi and all, he accepts without protest to leave her behind when she refuses to come with him, right. Did he simply apply the same reasoning to that situation too, thinking he'd be able to handle whatever the fallout of that would be, only to be kinda fucking devastated when Akemi died because he was not, in fact, ready for it. For the sacrifice he chose to make to become an actual tangible death that weighs on his conscience. And it had been so easy to tell that to Jodie because he hadn't actually experienced that kind of loss just yet, and it went relatively well with her (she's. Alive. We'll take it) but it did Akemi no good at all. But hey, Shuuichi said it himself, that he'd sacrifice anything for the mission. And the lives of those he loves and love him in return are included in that. Which means he's chill with it and isn't deeply affected by the consequences of his own actions no matter how justified he believes them to be. Totally. Haha

[morrigans-umbrella]

putting my english major to work

AKA

unit 919 favourite (semi popular so you’re not forced to google them all) classics headcanons

starting off strong with morrigan. for reasons i hope are evident i think she is absolutely a gothic girlie, she’s probably got an affinity for poe. i’d say her favourite is the raven, though unlike most poe fan girls i don’t see her as someone who is able to yap endlessly about why she likes him. she’s quite reserved with her interests after all. i imagine she’s capable of giving solid but simple reasons to justify herself when asked (pressed) by her friends but otherwise keeps her thoughts internal.

cadence, this might be a hear me out, has an adoration for oscar wilde. my first thought was dracula actually but as someone who is perpetually cursed to be forgotten i think she’d enjoy the way wilde writes. she finds society frivolous and rather stupid, and wilde is prompt to agree with her on this. i’d say her favourite text is the importance of being earnest, as it’s possibly the most ridiculous piece of nonsense ever, entirely on purpose.

hawthorne was a hard one, as i don’t think he willingly reads anything that he could preemptively deem “boring”. i had to shake my brain like a maraca to try think of something easy and entertaining enough to keep his white boy adhd brain locked in long enough for him to intake it. the conclusion drawn was that i think he could survive through three men in a boat (sincerest apologies she’s a little niche). i found it funny enough, i think hawthorne is capable of switching off his brain and blindly enjoying it.

anah. well. i adore her greatly and i was a little in between. i think she’d ADORE little women. i think she has incredibly strong opinions on all the film remakes and could give you an extensive breakdown of the pros and cons. however. i also think the only CORRECT choice with her is pride and prejudice. she seems like she enjoys a good love story that has her giggling and kicking her legs it just befits her.

now, archan. if you ask he will lie to your face, he will very confidently say the most pretentious book he can think of. this is because his favourite classic dodie smith’s i capture the castle. which isn’t embarrassing by any means, but it is a very silly romance novel (i am strongly passionate about it). i think he likes to read casually more than obsessively and it’s a relatively easy read, and if you get the right copy the cover makes you look very distinguished in public.

mahir was harder as i had to test my knowledge of various translations across the world. he’s definitely a poetry type, i think he likes collections of poems as opposed to large brick novels. poems are more entertaining to translate and test your skill far more. i think he’d like mahmoud darwish (who is unfortunately NOT a classical author but i wanted to bring him up anyway), so i’m marking his as leaves of grass by walt whitman. which i strongly recommend to all poetry enjoyers out there. he definitely would get into translation purism beef online if he could. i know it in my heart.

so francis was kind of hard. i was actually tempted to be sneaky and pick an old recipe book as his favourite without specifying BUT i concluded through my non biased perfectly objective opinions he’s an agatha christie enjoyer. poisoning and cooking are sort of born of the same mother. to me at least. his favourite is dumb witness, as it features a brilliant dog. full disclaimer that’s the one i am presently reading, so i don’t know everything that occurs in it, but i know in my heart he would enjoy this.

thaddea was hard, man. i expended my one easy ish to read comedy on hawthorne and i refuse to repeat. then i remembered treasure island. which i also have not finished (someone stole my copy when i was 50 pages in). i don’t actually think she banks too hard on humour to get through books, she more so is interested in action and adventure. i actually think thaddea enjoys to read, she just has a hard time keeping herself focussed and finding the time to sit down and enjoy it, so she probably leans toward audiobooks.

lambeth. well. i opted against the one i initially was thinking of not because it wouldn’t fit just because i considered the discussion that surrounds it and concluded i didn’t feel compelled to dig into that here. she’s definitely a prose enjoyer, she has probably the most “refined” taste save for maybe mahir (i like to believe they talk books together frequently). after much consideration i concluded on black beauty. on account of the fact that it’s my (second) favourite and i think she would appreciate how gorgeous the craftsmanship is.

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

a (relatively) minor (in that i'll usually tolerate it if the characterization is otherwise solid) pattern i see in fanon akechi is people writing him as if he is actually motivated by logic and reason when i assure you. his ass is Not Logical!!!

sure, he'll justify his actions by logic retroactively. he'll think what he's doing is logical and reasonable and will have a ready list of reasons why. but this man is motivated wholly by emotion. look at this creature who destroyed his entire life and moral code just to get revenge on one (1) man and tell me. with a straight face. that he did any of that because of logic.

akechi's emotionality extends to everything he does. it's what underlies pretty much every action he takes--just taking third sem for example, he despises maruki because he despises being controlled, not for logical reasons, but...because of his trauma with shido, in short. he'd back up his hatred of maruki with philosophical arguments, but that isn't the crux of it. and he doesn't distance himself from joker and the thieves because of logic, though he could justify it logically. it's because he can't emotionally stand being loved or cared about when he is dead. he doesn't feel he has the right to be on the team at all, let alone their friend.

this extends to a lot of small things too. for example, people writing akechi going to therapy post-canon. after all, he logically knows he's got a fucked up psyche and therapy helps, right? i think this can work, but going to therapy would not be an easy or simple choice for him. because he emotionally does not like the idea of accepting help or being vulnerable, even in a clinical setting--especially after maruki. if he did go to therapy, he'd absolutely have a ton of shame over it and try to keep it a secret.

in short, akechi's an emotional guy. he couches his choices in reason because he does want to think of himself as logical, but emotions are what drive him at the end of the day. and it affects characterization in a lot of tiny ways when people don't understand that about him.

[streets-in-paradise]

The Real Deal - Matt Murdock x Witch!Reader

Warnings: I haven't wrote for Daredevil in a long while, so forgive me if i have mistaken details of the show.

Summary: You want to help your lawyers in their most challenging case, but the controversial nature of your skills leaves it up to question.

Tags: @chezagnes

Matt and Foggy meet you as one of their early clients and, in their perspective, you were a simple fortune teller unfortunately caught in a legal issue. Your case was so absurd that it represented easy work for them. Even in the strange times they were living in, it still made no sense. A matter of police profiling through the mass hysteria in the post Loki New York making you suspicious for carrying symbols of norse witchcraft. Runic readings weren't the only service you offered and your practices weren't culturally límited to what then started to be considered an asgardian danger. However, society was still adapting to the discovering and the clueless officers couldn't tell the difference between an asgardian sorceress and the neighborhood's witch. Your lawyers realized of that, and the instant fondness of you that at least half of the firm developed closed the deal for you to get out of trouble.

Unlike most of their clientele, you were managing to pay them in cash. Slow, but consistent payments that also worked as a way to stay in touch. Despite they were highly skeptical of your activity, they did appreciate their owned share of its product. Catholic belief wasn't an obstacle for Matt's flirting and his friend would never miss the chance to tease him for that when you were arround. That precise combination of factors made you be always welcome, but with each visit you noticed they were struggling deeper than just financtially.

They got in serious trouble attempting to legally save the neighborhood from gentrification taking down the lead of the dirty business surrounding it. Even their secretary was involved in the investigation, huge deal that made you feel quite concerned for all of them.

You were relatively new in the city, but that didn't mean you weren't inclined to help. The chain reaction would screw everyone over, except for the top rich.

You weren't an asgardian terrorist, but neither the easy to underestimate facade associated with your business. To some of your clients, the ones coming for meaningless issues or unethical things, you would ocassionally sell advice disguised of bullshit.However, you were a real witch performing unmistakeable results for causes that justified it.

Overhearing the plotting of your favorite lawyers, you found one that was worth all your efforts.

" Let me help you out with Fisk." You interrupted them instead of awaiting for Karen to take your payment. " … A full name, birth date and a personal object is all I need, for a start. "

Foggy couldn't believe what you had just proposed, taking it as absolute nonsense.

" Not in the mood for jokes, Princess Opal. We have a serious situation here, but we will call you to join the search if someone goes missing. "

You didn't let the demeaning comment bring you down, it was exactly what you expected of him.

" Believe it or not, I am a worker of justice just like you." You corrected him ríght away. " When your system fails, some people come to me hoping to rush the action of karma. Others want me to give them the hope in justice that their practicers can't provide. Do you have any idea of how many clients i get that are currently in legal battles, but don't trust the courts to give them what they need for the sake of it? How much work with justice i get demmanded? It's insane! Regardless of what you believe about it, you can't deny it says something. "

Matt was very silent, untill the tease got him snarky.

" We are working to make things better, I hope you will not resent us for winning that hope back. "

You smiled, already struggling to resist his charm. Despite he obviously couldn't see it, you could swear he noticed the effect he had in you.

" On the contrary, I admire you. I know of the kind of hard time you get when trying to do the ríght thing." You admitted, not realizing you were already toying with the tips of your hair. " When an obsessive weirdo comes asking me to magically force someone to love them, or to curse a coworker they envy, I sell them teraphy disguised with self satisfying witchy-sounding talk. Placebos, so they will get someting to come back for and not search for an unethical bastard that could either scam them worse or do the damage they want for the proper price. When worried parents bring a sick child, I do the real healing ritual for free and make up my costs doing readings or charging an asshole tax on the crazy ones. That's who I am, my concience makes me loose money, and i believe we are on the same page when it comes to business models. "

The comparison was strange, but it showed perfect understandment of their situation found in the weirdest of places.

" I was not aware there were ethics in witchcraft. "

" For you only, I'm willing to ignore my code. " You snarked back in a flirtatious tone. " Let me hex Fisk, show him something that would make him regret to mess with the neighborhood. "

Foggy was cautious of your slightly sinister expression at the end and started to think you trully believed in the power on your threat.

" Sounds like a mobster message, clearly not our style. "

" How would that work?" Karen interrupted him. " It won't kill anyone, ríght?"

Her friend stared at her in disbelief.

" You can't be serious. "

" Foggy, gods have fallen from the sky ... I say we let her give it a try. "

" Those were aliens, not gods. " Matt corrected. " I don't believe in curses, it comes with being a catholic. "

He did make you chuckle with that one.

" Well, hipocricy also comes with catholicism. "

" She got you … can't beat the allegations! " Foggy teased him ríght away. " Your fault for making us jump in defense of the beautifull savage for you to play missionary with. "

You both were left in evidence on a matter of seconds.

" Thanks, Foggy! It's the first lovely thing about me you have to say today."

He didn't intend to sound harsh, but he couldn't possibly understand you.

" Try to see things from my perspective: i feel like i'm being mocked. "

" If it eases your concience, the methods are mostly a facade. I'm the real deal, it runs in the blood. " You confessed, wondering if you would regret it later. " Mom thinks i got it from my father. I don't know, I never meet him and at this point i don't think I want to. Don't waste time asking me about that."

" Can you cast the honesty curse from ' Liar, Liar'? That would be really helpfull. " Foggy mocked you once more. " We seek to expose Fisk, get him in jail. Even if we could believe you, I don't see how your offer can be any usefull. "

At least you could say you got him Interested. Weirded, maybe, but attentive.

" I can curse his business. Mysterious incidents will keep happening and he will loose money. Of course, I believe the Devil is doing his part on that, but why not giving him some help? Fisk will be easier for you to legally take down if he has too many things to attend at once. A vigilante and the curse of a real witch should be enough to do the dirty work for you. One problem, he may attempt to solve, but who is going to warn him about me? Even if they would … Do you think he would believe it?"

The next objection came from Matt, but that didn't surprise you as it should.

" Well, for a start we don't work with vigilantes."

" Too late, i think he is working with you." You snarked back. " Sounds like a good plan to me. After all, your church believes witches are the devil's consorts, ríght?"

In that simple comment he obtained all the proof he needed to believe in your gifts, realization that stayed between him and you.

[yesimwriting]

Sick Day

Set in the Final Girl universe, but it is a stand alone fic that can easily be read with no context :)

Summary: Billy and Stu don’t get why they’re so antsy about the latest addition to their friend group being absent from school. Sure, they talk about her more than they talk about anyone else, but not seeing her for one day isn’t enough to justify panic, right? Guess that doesn’t matter, because they find a way to justify checking in anyways.

a/n if you haven’t read final girl and this makes you curious,, the main fic and extras can be found here: Final Girl Series 

fun fact, this is chronologically set at some point after ‘first impressions’ but before the main series, if you haven’t read either that’s fine, it’ll still make sense, i just like building “lore” lol 

also if there are any typos i’m sorry, i’m stuck wearing a wrist brace for a little while, especially while writing

also this was really fun to write so i might do some more mini fics in the final girl universe in between full chapters, it’s more low stakes and is a good way for me to work on adding to their dynamics,, so if you have any ideas/requests for final girl universe specific stuff pls feel free to ask! 

----

It didn’t take Billy long to realize that part of your appeal comes from the fact that you’re not as predictable as everyone else. Maybe it’s because you’re still new, but that’s easy in Woodsboro, where lifelong friendships are practically assigned by the locker you’re given on your first d of middle school.

You’re also a contradiction. Almost everything you’re feeling is visible on your face, but what you’re thinking isn’t as easy to guess. It balances you out, keeping you from being unknown enough to be threatening but still letting you pop enough to keep you from blurring into the background. 

That’s part of the reason he picked up on your routine so quickly. What he knows about you isn’t as concrete as what he has on the people that are a part of his plan, but he knows enough. More than he intended to. He memorized your classes without meaning to and knows the time you get to school and the approximate time you leave. It’s useful, he tells himself, you’re around Sidney and Tatum all the time and him and Stu are still working on fitting you into the plan.

Sure, they’ve decided that you fit as their potential final girl, but it’s rocky. You bring out something panicky in him and some days it’s too much to be around you and know you have the ability to affect him. It’s not the same, not at all, but Billy can’t help the way it reminds him of what his mom’s distance used to make him feel. At risk. And Billy knows Stu, knows that he probably thinks about you twice as much as he brings you up and that there’s such a thing as Stu liking someone too much. 

When there’s uncertainty, it’s easy to fall back on routine, and you stick to a relatively simple one. You get to school riding close to late more often than not, during your study hall you tend to study outside unless Randy doesn’t use it as an excuse to leave early, then you bother him in the library (something Billy doesn’t get), and you take a little longer at your locker at the end of the day. Billy also knows you’re not one to skip. 

You’re never not at school (which may or may not have lead to an increase in the regularity of Stu and Billy’s attendance). You’re too hyper focused on your grades to not show up without a reason. So when Billy passes by your locker right before the home room bell rings and you’re not there it’s weird.

Billy knows you really must not be here when his eyes land on Stu, who’s staring at your locker. Stu walks you to most of your classes and always walks you to homeroom. 

“She’s not here,” Billy summarizes flatly. 

Stu turns his head, a little unsure. “Or she went to class without me.” 

The jab would be subtle to anyone else, but Billy knows what Stu’s getting at. “She’d still be at her locker, she’s always running late in the morning.” Billy focuses on hearing his words, tries to feel them. “We can check her homeroom.” 

A casual enough suggestion. Still not overly concerned. Stu has to walk past your classroom to get to his anyways and Billy takes that route sometimes. With that justification, the two walk down the hall and peak through the door’s long window as un-notably as possible. You’re not in your usual spot, at the desk right behind Casey Becker, who you talk to from time to time (a potential future problem they’re both aware of).

By lunch, it’s confirmed that you never showed up. You’re not in the first period you have with Stu or the third period you have with Sidney and Billy. Tatum brings it up first. Where’s Y/n? Sidney shrugged and mumbled about how you weren’t in second period today. It only took a minute for the girls and Randy to brush over your absence with a simple she must be sick. 

That got under Billy’s skin a little and he couldn’t figure out why. You’re almost weirdly into the whole school thing--everyone here could likely list your top 3 colleges--and stubborn. Even if you’re only absent because you’re sick, you must be pretty knocked out to not be here. But why should he care about you being really sick or your friends being relatively dismissive? 

“Isn’t she a little...Annie Wilkes about school?” Stu’s question comes out casually enough.

Randy looks up, “She’s not that bad.”

Stu blinks, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Randy was quick to defend you even though Stu’s seen him call you worse to your face. Maybe that back and forth is a sad attempt at flirting. “Easy, no one’s saying anything bad about your girlfriend.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“Knock it off, Stu, they’re basically related,” Billy forces the words out as casually as he can manage.

Sidney picks up on the joke, mumbling some comment about how they do sort of act like siblings, which gets Tatum off on some tangent about her brother. The conversation doesn’t circle back to the person that’s missing.

In the english class you share with Billy and Stu, the teacher hands back an old essay and gives out a homework packet. The two of them exchange a look. That’s a good enough excuse to stop by your house...if they...wanted to, which they don’t because it’s not like your absence is that relevant.

Billy talks to the teacher after class anyways, saying that he could make sure you get the graded essay and homework. You’re friendly enough that he’s sure he’ll be able to get it to you before you come to class and it’s never a bad idea to have options. Stu doesn’t say anything when Billy gets the papers and neatly places them in a folder. 

----

There’s all this energy and there’s no real outlet for it. Stu doesn’t know what it is, he can’t tell what he wants to do with it or what’d make it feel better. He’s felt versions of it all day, having it drop and morph into an off-brand version of that dark, craving feeling he gets at the thought of feeling a knife plunge into someone and rise back up to an antsy-ness that’d better fit a kid in line for a ride at a theme park.

The energy reaches its peak on the front steps of your porch, but the feeling doesn’t settle on a particular charge. It remains focused on the more positive side of the spectrum, but it’s undercut by some of the urgency of the other urge. 

He had been the first one to bring it up after school, when Billy and him were finally alone. It had started relatively detached, things are still weird when they mention you outside of certain contexts. They’re so used to being open about other things that the fact that they’re both almost shy about something--someone--is twisting. It’s a feeling they’re still learning to take in larger doses. 

They had spent a little too long trying to find an angle to justify a pop in to themselves. It’s one thing to think about you, to talk about you, to like you even. But it’s something else entirely to openly care. To worry about why you’re missing school or if you’re sick. 

Eventually, want won and Billy finally said something that stuck. She can’t be a final girl if she’s dying, and we need her to trust us, to like us. 

This is stupid. A flaring feeling in Billy’s chest has been yelling at him to stop since the idea first formed his mind. It’s a distorted echo of his father’s voice. 

Billy swallows once, forcing himself to finally knock. The only thing more pathetic than what he’s doing is lingering, coming here and then turning back. 

The seconds pass and with each of them, they both feel worse about their decision. And then they hear the lock click and the front door opens and they see you. 

You look more tired than usual and the blanket that’s practically swallowing you whole makes you seem smaller, more vulnerable even though you’re more covered than usual. You squint at the sunlight in a way that makes them think you’ve spent the day in intentionally dimly lit spaces. It takes you a second, but once you finally register them, it’s visible. You’re grinning, practically beaming. 

Billy feels the reaction in his chest. It strains uneasily beneath his ribs, not much unlike what he imagines a heart palpitation could feel like. He briefly thinks he might be able to hold the discomfort against you, but even that thought mostly fades. 

Stu’s flooded with the strange desire to wrap you up in bundles of blankets the way that his mom used to when he was younger. The few times it happened, it was weirdly comforting. He can’t remember the last time she took the time to make sure he was warm until his fever broke, but he knows his dad put a stop to it at an early age. Too needy, too dependent.

“Hi?” It’s partially a question, and your voice hints at raspiness. 

Snapping back into reality, Billy answers, “You weren’t at school.” Your eyebrows draw together and Billy realizes that that wasn’t the easy reaction he thought it’d be. It’s too open and implies concern. 

“Yeah, I kinda have a cold-fever-something. It’s a bug my mom brought home from work. I thought she was being dramatic, but it totally knocked me out.” You lean against your front door. If you sense either of their conflicts, you give no indication of it. “Karma, I guess.” 

Stu lets out a laugh at that. “Karma? You were that mean?” 

Your lips pull into an almost-smile. “The universe seemed to think so.” 

“You think the universe gave you a punishment cold, but your mom’s the dramatic one?” Stu’s biting down a grin, all concerns about showing up melting. 

You glare halfheartedly, “You can’t be not-on-my-side when I’m sick. That’s like...against friend...rules.” Your eyebrows draw together. “That was--that was really lame, forget I said that.” 

The reaction is so warm and you’re doing your best even though you’re clearly still not feeling well and Billy feels an awful swell of what’s likely fondness. “Not sure I want to.” 

Rolling your eyes, you relax even more of your weight against the doorframe. The shift is small, but Billy can’t help but note it. Are you just being casual or are you that tired? “You’re both here to cause problems.” 

“We’re here to be nice.” The look on your face says you might be a little out of it but you haven’t lost IQ points. “We got our essays back and some homework. Billy picked up yours and I drove him to school, and because one day felt way too long to go without seeing you...”

Your laugh is punctuated by a brief cough you burry into your elbow. It’s not like you’re coughing up a lung, but it is a little concerning. “You guys grabbed my stuff?” 

The genuine surprise in your voice sticks out. “Yeah,” Billy slides his backpack off of his shoulders and starts unzipping it, “One of those friend rules.” 

Billy finds his folder as you roll your eyes. “Funny.” 

“It’s what I’m known for,” he keeps his voice flat, and the sarcasm feels a little off, but you smile and that makes it a little easier.

He hands you the papers, his fingertips brushing against yours. “I see why.” 

“I never get that many gold stars.” Stu leans forward, re-reading some of the notes scribbled on next to your grade. “Maybe you should invite me over, tutor me...”

Your nose wrinkles. “Shut up.” By now they’ve learned that that’s the closest you’ll come to retreating.

Stu exaggerates a frown, “What? Bringing you your stuff doesn’t get us invited in?” 

The redirect is a bit of a stretch, but you’re used to the jumps and you’re tired enough to not read much into it. Not as much as Billy does, who’s a little surprised because he and Stu never talked about what they’d do after. He decides that it’s harmless enough. 

Turning your head a little, it almost feels like a part of you forgot there was anything to be invited into. “I don’t want to get you guys sick.” 

It’s such a you response. Always considerate, polite. Billy looks past you and into the house. There’s no noise indicating that anyone’s in there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. Though the one time he came over to work on a project, he briefly met your mother and was given the impression that she likes making her presence alone. There’s also your mother’s boyfriend, who wasn’t around when Billy came over but based on your comments, he’s not sure being alone with him isn’t worse than being alone. 

“Are you okay?” The question comes out of Billy a little unexpectedly. “You don’t look too...” 

You glare. “Thanks.”

“Not like--” Billy cuts himself off with a sigh. Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. “You look too sick to be alone. At least say your mom’s here.” 

Billy takes in the details of your reaction even though he already has a good idea on what you lying looks like. Harmless, white lies often used to seem more okay with things than you actually are. He sees something similar in the way your chin tilts upwards slightly. “I’m fine.” 

That’s all the confirmation Billy needs. You’re definitely alone. The lack of lie and attempt at dismissal is oddly endearing, especially while you’re like this, leaning against the front door and squeezing your blanket a little tighter. Wait--are you colder? It’s warm out today and there’s not even a breeze. 

A half thought embeds itself beneath Billy’s skin. He gives in, extending an arm slowly. You’re just as confused until Billy’s turning his hand so that the back of his palm is facing you. “I’m--Billy, it’s--” 

The cutoff of your words is sudden, your lips still partially parted, some other jumble of words dying in the back of your throat as Billy’s hand meets your forehead. You don’t move away. It’s been a few seconds, definitely long enough for Billy to have deduced whether or not you have a fever. How did his mom use to do this? 

He takes his time dropping his arm back to his side. Billy doesn’t have too many references to what a fever feels like on someone else, but you did feel warm. “You have a fever.” 

You press your lips together briefly in a forced pout. “You’re worse than my mom.” The blanket is slipping off of your shoulders, you tug it back up. “I’ll take some Tylenol, find a jar of vapor rub.” Angling your head to glance behind you again, you’re returning to that awkward uncertainty. 

The small dismissal digs at them both. It’s bad enough that they let themselves get to this point over one absence and here you are, alone and unwell and completely okay with sending them away. “You sure you’re good here?” 

This time you’re considering it. The proof of the deliberation is there in your silence. More often than not it takes you two or three offers to accept anything you think is an inconvenience. You’re nice to a point of fault. “I’m okay, because no one dies of fever, but if hanging out for a little and seeing absolutely nothing happen to me makes you guys feel better, that’d be cool. But you need to be careful.”

Stu grins, “I thought no one dies of a fever.” 

You take a step back, offering some space for them to pass, “I hope you get this, I think you could use a karma cold.” 

“Now I see why you have one,” Stu mumbles, pretending to be more annoyed than he feels as he steps into your house as you turn your head to stick your tongue out at him. 

Billy follows, lingering in your doorway before shutting your front door. You’re approaching the kitchen, turning your head to look Billy in the eye, “What do you think? Stu deserve one?” 

He briefly pretends to debate, “Worse.” 

You laugh at the irritated sound Stu lets out at the back of his throat. “Do you guys want anything?” They swear they’re fine as you pour yourself a glass of water and use it to down two tylonel tablets. “If my mom gets back from work and thinks I haven’t offered you guys anything to eat or drink, I’m not hearing the end of it.” 

“We’ll defend you.” Stu rests his weight against the kitchen counter, noting the bottle of cough syrup still out. “You need this?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I took some earlier and still feel foggy. I slept most of today.” 

Stu runs his thumb over the white cap, watching it spin without coming off. He considers pushing. Billy changes the subject before Stu has fully made up his mind, “You would be the type to have the most boring sick day.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re offended, and it’s oddly soft. “I didn’t just sleep.” 

Billy’s amused enough to press, “What else did you do?” 

“I think I know...” There’s a smugness in Stu’s voice that instantly floods you with embarrassment. Oh no. He’s found them. You snap your head up in time to see Stu holding up some of the tapes you left stacked on the counter. “Beverly Hills 90210, the first four seasons.” 

Billy looks right past you and focuses on Stu. “Only four?” 

“Uh--” You’re caught. “Five’s on right now...and I don’t have a copy of six.” They’re both too quiet, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. “Don’t judge. Trashy teen soaps are popular for a reason.” 

“What about artistic integrity?” 

You dismiss Billy’s question with a scoff that’s a hint too raspy. “Cheap writing in Hollywood isn’t my fault.” 

Instead of returning with another joke (maybe some comment about what Randy would say if he ever found out), Billy pushes himself off of the wall he was leaning against and approaches your refrigerator. 

Billy knows he’s at least heard of the usual home remedies, but he can’t quite place them. Won’t place them because the only person that ever worried about these kinds of things isn’t someone Billy’s willing to think about right now. 

Starve a fever or maybe that’s colds. There’s also...electrolytes? And hydration. That’s probably the best idea. Why does it matter? That thought bothers him, digs under his skin and settles at a wrong angle. He’s seen you. You’re alive, unscathed, and relatively fine. It’s not like any of the bad thoughts were proven right--you weren’t skipping for some other person or leaving.

But you’re uncomfortable. And alone. And vulnerable. Billy hates it. Hates that his awareness of your feelings is lodging itself in his mind and that he can’t really help and that it matters. He’s not sure he remembers the last time anyone besides Stu’s feelings actually mattered. Maybe Sidney’s did once, awhile ago, but that--that didn’t feel nearly as urgent as this.

“You okay?” Your voice snaps him back to the moment, to the glass of water he was getting. “You’re kind of staring at that glass like it knows something it shouldn’t.” 

You drop your voice a little, chin tilting down as you try to be funny. The humor is real enough that Billy doesn’t feel overly pushed, but he does note the thinly veiled genuineness in your words. That’s another thing about you. You say things and you mean them. Even if it’s completely casual, even if it’s a sentiment you’ll forget about immediately until it comes up again. You mean it. 

Billy sets the freshly filled glass on the counter, “Drink more water, your voice sounds like it could be used by a horror movie villain.” 

You frown like Billy’s offended you beyond repair. Just as he thinks you might protest, you pick up the glass and down a fair amount in a few gulps. “Happy?” 

“Oh, he’s thrilled,” Stu hums, “That’s what he looks like when he’s happy.” 

“I think I believe you.” Billy waits until your attention is fully on Stu before letting himself give in and smile a little. 

Stu takes a step towards you, “I’d never lie to you, baby.” He ignores the slight face you make at the nickname. Being sick must make you more irritable because you’ve let much more creative nicknames slide. Stu cups your face between his hands before you can protest. You don’t move or try to shake him off. He takes a second to exaggeratedly feel your skin. “You’re as hot as you look and that’s saying something.” 

“I’m wearing Christmas pajama pants that I got in 8th grade and I spent half the morning on the bathroom floor. No one could find this look attractive.” Stu half shrugs, protests already building, but you snap back to reality before he can get them out. “And if I’m that hot,” you step back, using your hands to pry him off of you, “You shouldn’t be touching me.”

He takes a step towards you. “My immune system’s strong.” Stu briefly flexes an arm, “You think all this could be supported by a weak one?” 

You half smile, giving Stu the opportunity he needs to place his hands on the soft blanket still on your shoulder’s. Again, he’s pleasantly surprised when you don’t brush him off. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Stu rubs a hand up and down your left shoulder, hoping the gesture comes off as light and comforting. “I’ll be fine.” 

Nothing about Stu has given you the indication that he’d be a tolerable sick person. Also, a small part of you is worried a cold like this could really take him out. He rarely dresses warm enough and you’ve seen the amount of energy drinks he’s willing to consume on one day. You’re also not sure you’ve ever seen him eat anything with significant nutritional value. “Every day I find out you’ve managed to keep yourself alive, I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

He squeezes your shoulder. “You’re cranky when you’re sick.” 

“At least she said pleasantly.” 

Stu looks past you to throw a dirty look in Billy’s direction. “Aw, he’s jealous of what we have.” 

Okay--you might be drowsy but you know where the play fighting over you goes. It starts off lighthearted enough, but if you’re not careful it can end kind of sour. One second everyone’s joking and the next Stu’s actually pushing you to pick a side on something that should be harmless but feels heavy. Sometimes Billy gets a little more involved than you think he wants to seem and it never feels fully about you. It’s like half of what they say means something else to them. 

“Okay, no fighting over me,” you shrug Stu off as best you can without losing your blanket, “I belong to this blanket and the couch.” 

You grab your cup of water off the counter and start walking to the living room without checking if they’re following. You hear their footsteps, but pay little mind to that as you settle on the couch and set your glass on the coffee table. 

Billy sits down next to you. “Couch and not your room?” 

Reluctantly sighing, you drop your head back, letting your neck rest at an awkward angle. "I live here now.” 

He can’t tell how much of that is a joke. Are you feeling that sick? “Right.” 

Your attention briefly flickers to the TV, the cliche teen drama that’s still playing being enough to suck you back in even though you’ve missed some context. To him it just looks like overly pretty-ed people overreacting. The scene ends and you return to the present enough to shrug off your blanket and settle the fabric more comfortably on your lap. “You guys can change the tape if you want.” 

A small mercy. Billy stands and begins looking at the tapes stacked on a shelf near the TV. It’s a fair collection, but the movies he saw in your room the time he came over to work on a project were better. He picks the first title that feels decent enough for background that doesn’t seem like too much just in case you’re prone to nausea. 

You’re patiently waiting for the tapes to switch out. Stu’s being quiet, which would have clued you in on a better rested, less sick day. You don’t realize he’s planning anything until you feel the side of your blanket being tugged on. “Stu.”

He scoots closer, “It’s cold.” 

Stu stretches his legs, weaseling himself under your blanket. You weakly try to push him out “There’s another blanket over there.” He ignores you, adjusting so that your legs overlap. “You’re going to get sick.” 

“Your pants are soft,” it’s said so softly, like a kid getting clothes fresh from the laundry.  You’re not sure you have it in you to ruin his good mood. He stretches a foot past your knee and a few inches up your thigh before relaxing back into place. “Fuzzy.”

Despite what you’re wearing, you can feel the comfortable warmth radiating off of him, turning the space beneath the blanket into a space heater. “You’re like a radiator.” 

“I’ll keep you warm an--” 

“Don’t ruin it.”

He frowns, mumbling something about you being “no fun” before sinking further into the couch. You pull more of the blanket onto you and Stu’s hit with the realization that you might not be warm enough. “You want another blanket?” 

You’re clearly surprised by the question. “Uh--no, I think I’m--” 

Stu pushes himself so that his legs are almost off your lap in order to reach the fabric draped over an armchair. He moves back into place and makes a point of draping the blanket over you. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah,” the admission is hesitant.

That is so like you, needing a little push to accept what you need. “Told ya.” 

He must be right because you don’t say anything else. Silence is usually your way of being reluctantly wrong. Stu takes his victory as an excuse to move a little closer. 

Billy sits back down, settling a little closer to the side of the couch. He’s not exactly jealous of how open Stu is. Distance is a good thing, a smart thing. But he does--

A weight on his shoulder. It takes less than a second for realization to wash over him. You’re relaxed, head resting on his upper arm. The room feels a little snugger but it’s not an uncomfortable change. 

The opening credits of the movie are rolling off screen and your eyes are focused on that. “Not to make this weird or lame,” you pause, sniffling slightly as you breathe, “But you guys are kind of nice, sometimes.” 

That has to be a sign of you being tired. Billy fights down a smile. “Sometimes?”

Stu turns his leg to tap your knee, “I think we deserve a little more than that.” 

You move your hand under the blanket to halfheartedly flick his leg. After that, your hand relaxes and rests there. “Fine. Most of the time.” 

[utilitycaster]

I think Laudna said "I gave you a bruise, you left this gushes" as proof of Orym's capabilities. It's after he says he's 3ft tall and quick and it's all he's got. He thinks himself less strong or powerfull than the magic users, and maybe it's just me having that impression of him throughout the campaign, but those gushes are an easy proof of how untrue that is, especially in comparison to a bruise left by magic. Of course this is circumscribed to this specific moment and we know how much more dangerous Laudna can be, but I'm not sure Orym realizes that he too is absolutely deadly.

This to say I don't think that phrase is an accusation, but a counterargument

That's a valid reading! I think my thoughts on it are that it is true that her damage was relatively minor compared to his, and it's also true that he can do quite a lot of damage. On the other hand: setting aside that a not-insignificant chunk of his damage was dealt to an unknown assailant in pitch darkness, the same day as Fearne was lured away and a day after the entire Volition mission and FCG's subsequent death (ie: yeah, pretty valid to hit first ask questions later) Orym has two swords. He can do a lot with those swords but he can't actively counterspell. He can't heal. He can't get around damage because he deals like 2 types max. He can't really take on more than one target at a time. He can't shield as a reaction (though he does have quite the bag of tricks). He is very good at doing damage, but that's one of the main things he can do.

I usually play spellcasters, and I'm currently playing a fighter and it's actually shocking to me how much I can do compared to the spellcasters at low levels. But also, I've played spellcasters and it's amazing how much more I can do than fighters at high levels. On a meta level I would say that this is in some way a commentary on that. (Liam's fond of this sort of understatement, as well; he had a pre-multiclassed Vax say, effectively, that all he was good for was picking locks.)

But in the end, more importantly, while I understand why Laudna is putting up a counterargument, there isn't really a like...justified reason, after the sword was openly discussed earlier, to do this. Chetney and Ashton both said it was Orym's decision; if she is upset seeing it at all that was the time to bring it up, or when he asked for it in the room, or the next morning. If she thinks it's cursed the time to bring that up is also the next morning, or if she thinks it's imminently dangerous, wake Orym up. And yeah if the issue is "this shit is cursed" maybe, the night of the day we mentioned the buddy system, don't do this in secrecy alone. Like, I'm not saying she's not justifiably upset and in pain here at being injured, nor that Orym can't do a hell of a lot of damage, but also. Don't start fights you can't finish.

[zhongscara]

in MY opinion... i think that aside from being a diversion tactic (to make sure the fatui dont find out about the primordial sea), wrio threatening lyney could have also been him subtly checking on the dynamic between arlecchino and the house of the hearth orphans.

like wrio knows manipulative adults Pretty Well, and the fact that he knows the fatui sent orphaned "children" undercover instead of grown agents already tripped alarms in his head.

Wriothesley: Mr. Lyney, the cards are stacked against you right now. Miss Lynette is in my hands, and Mr. Freminet is still slowly being pickled out there in the brine. You know just as well as I that he cannot last out there forever. Wriothesley: You need do but one thing to guarantee their safety. I would like you to contact your superior, and ideally invite her over for a cup of tea with me. Lyney: You want to see "Father"? Ha, but why should she bother giving you an audience? Wriothesley: Well, if she cares for the well-being of her dearest children, she should have plenty of motivation to join me for a parents' evening. Wriothesley: I've heard that the bonds between the members of the House of the Hearth are like the bonds of family. I don't see why she would refuse.

(emphasis mine)

"call your parental figure or your siblings will be in danger" would be a relatively easy decision to make if your parental figure... yknow... cared about you. but lyney insists that arlecchino shouldn't be involved in this and breaks from the stress of possibly losing his siblings. which makes ME think like... how much value does arlecchino place in the orphans if lyney refuses to "trouble" her with possible imminent torture or DEATH.

Lyney: …Was this the extent of your master plan to get to "Father"? No matter how much pressure you may put on me, I won't allow you to use us to blackmail her. Lyney: I… I shouldn't ask "Father" to do anything because of us…

(emphasis mine)

like... lyney... if she really cared about you she would willingly help you... you know...

and yes later on arlecchino is like Well he shouldve called me :/ but its way easier to say that after the fact.

The Knave: [...] It's unfortunate that Lyney's so eager to prove himself that he can't learn to rely on others... including me.

i mean lyney came to rely on the traveler pretty easily..? i think deep down he doesn't trust arlecchino.

so wrio noticed that something wasn't right pretty quickly, and could have also set this up as a sort of test - both for him, and for lyney - in a way - to take a better look at the dynamic between arlecchino and the siblings.

basically i think that specific part of the archon quest shows us that the house of hearth isn't a Found Family Despite All Odds situation and definitely has something much darker (aside from, you know. the orphans basically being FATUI AGENTS). i keep saying this but i think the fact that the previous head of the orphanage was "even worse" means that traumatized children/teens/young adults can easily justify a different kind of abuse as "well at least it isn't (x) which is even worse!" and based on the siblings' profile stories, it seems arlecchino leans more towards emotional manipulation/neglect, which, again, if compared to the physical abuse from the previous head, can be pretty easy to justify in the eyes of already traumatized and vulnerable people.

[crownedwithstars]

Why doesn't Thingol just give the Silmaril to Fëanorians?

One thing I find curious about the discourse around the Silmarils and their ownership issues is how it seems to often simplify the Sindarin and especially Thingol's perspective. I mean, Thingol giving the Silmaril Beren and Lúthien stole from Morgoth's crown to the Fëanorians is framed as somehow easy and obvious option. But I don't think it really is?

It's not even about whether Thingol is right or wrong to act as he does, it's about why his actions are justified from his point of view (and why it is more believable than him being compliant to Noldor).

1. Noldor disrespected and antagonised Thingol from the start. They have given him little reason to be nice or helpful.

When the Noldor arrive in Beleriand, they immediately start to do their own thing, and disregard Thingol, the local sovereign who is regarded as the overlord or at least respected and revered by the Elves native to this region. But Noldor (and Fëanorians) do not attempt to gain his friendship and alliance, they don't establish diplomatic relationships, they bring no gifts (which would be expected in this kinda medieval based society) and neither do they ask for help as Exiles, they don't let Thingol know where they are going to settle down or ask whether it's convenient but grab lands whether the locals like it or not, they don't recognise his position even as a friendly gesture, they don't disclose the nature of their expedition, withhold important information, and most of all, they bring violent trouble to his backyard. This must seem deeply and outrageously insulting to Thingol, especially because these princes are children and grandchildren of Finwë, Thingol's close friend - and yet they treat him without an ounce of respect.

Thingol is no less proud or particular about his position than Fëanor or Fingolfin is. He probably has not had it challenged or ignored by anyone except Morgoth's servants. Also he may see it as indicative of general Noldor prejudice/disdain against Sindar.

Whether Noldor had justified reasons for the way they act upon landing in Middle-earth, you can't deny that they don't do even the bare minimum to win the locals over. Yeah, you could argue that bringing reinforcements at the time when Morgoth returns and becomes active in Middle-earth again is something, but this is still not a way to treat potential friends and allies.

2. The Kinslaying of Thingol's people and kin at Alqualondë and the burning of their ships.

Obvious, really. He may see himself as standing in for Olwë, and regards the Silmaril as weregild for slain relatives and friends - people he himself probably knew before Teleri were sundered. Also why would he respect Fëanorian property rights when from his point of view, Noldor don't give a damn about Teleri or their rights?

Thingol may also judge that the Kinslaying and burning of the ships disputes the Fëanorians' right to the Silmarils and their moral high ground to a degree where anyone brave and cunning enough to reclaim even one of them becomes a rightful owner. Obviously he is biased in Beren and Lúthien's behalf but it would be weird if he was not? After B&L's efforts and their suffering, and quite literally achieving the impossible, he may be of the opinion that they have more right to the Silmaril than Fëanorians who seem more invested in competing Morgoth for land than for the Silmarils. Thingol may share the same attitude as Dior has in one of the drafts: there are two more Silmarils in the same place where the one in his possession came from, so why don't the Fëanorians go get them first?

3. Celegorm and Curufin.

I mean, after the way Lúthien was abused and attacked by the two brothers, Thingol could be holding on to the Silmaril out of pure spite. His daughter never gets any apology for how she was treated, and Thingol has no reason to believe that C&C's actions - and the attempt to force Thingol into an alliance - were not sanctioned and approved by the rest of the brothers. These people have been consistently terrible at everyone Thingol loves and cares about, so why should he help them in any way?

4. The Silmarils mess with your brain.

It's clear that the Silmarils have an unwholesome effect on almost everyone who possess them. Time and again Tolkien describes how characters fall prey to this greedy, possessive lust for the Silmarils. I mean, Fëanor and his sons are ready to spill blood again and again just to get them back. There is something about the jewels that, if you desire them for their own sake, kind of enslaves you to them. Thingol won't give up the Silmaril to Fëanorians because he can't.

5. The Doom of the Noldor compels him.

It's explicitly stated in the Doom that while the Oath will drive the Fëanorians, it will never yield its objective, and the Silmarils will elude them. As soon as Thingol names a Silmaril as a bride price for Lúthien, he becomes involved in the Doom and what it dictates, limiting his control of the situation. Because of the Doom (and the effect the Silmaril has on him), Thingol is not free to give it to the Fëanorians.