#i can’t stop writing in the tags. i think it’s because i’m hesitating to post this lmao

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

*insert Elmo in flames meme*

Ahhhh! I'd be happy to give you some Ominis fic ideas 😁🩷 of course, you could just scrap this altogether but I was thinking 🤔 could we have a 7th year Ominis being able to gain financial freedom from his family because MC gave her Hogsmeade shop to him? I know a lot of people want him to escape to America but Hogsmeade just feels so cozy and perfect for him being a shopkeeper.

And MC realizing her feelings for him during one instance when she had to return to him to replenish her supplies from her travels, and maybe decides it's time to be with him? 😣💕

It's okay if you don't like this plotline but I just finished the Haunted Hogsmeade quest, and I immediately thought of Ominis being its owner!

Thank you so much!!

Threads of Fate | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Anon, I hope this is everything you hoped for! Thank you for the request and inspiration <3 it was my absolute pleasure writing this.

Words: ~6,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Fluff, Fluff AGAIN

“You’d think after all these years I’d be better at writing letters, but somehow, I still find myself pausing, trying to decide how to start. Then again, you always make it easier when you write first. Your last letter was… exactly what I needed. You have a knack for saying the right thing, even when you don’t realize it.”

“Anne stopped by the shop recently. She told me to stop ‘hovering like a nervous bird’ over your enchanted scarves and to start charging more for them. Apparently, she’s appointed herself my business manager, whether I wanted one or not. She also asked about you—how you’re doing, where you are, why you haven’t written her back, and, most importantly, when you’re finally coming home. I told her I didn’t know, but she was unimpressed by my answer. Honestly, I’m not impressed either.”

“Sebastian, meanwhile, has decided that I’ve become too boring for his liking. He keeps trying to convince me to pack up and visit you, as though I could just leave the shop to run itself. His words, not mine. It’s ridiculous, of course, but I wonder if there’s something to it. You’ve been gone so long now, it’s hard not to feel like there’s a part of this place missing.”

“Speaking of which—are you planning to come back anytime soon? You told me six months, and that was, what, six months ago? You’re not terrible at keeping promises, but you’re testing the limits here. I’ll forgive you if you write soon with some good news—or better yet, with the promise of coming home.”

“The shop is still standing, though I’ve made a few small changes here and there. I hope you won’t scold me when you see them. It’s funny, even when you’re not here, I find myself thinking, ‘What would she do?’ And sometimes, I swear I can hear your voice, usually chiding me for something I’ve misplaced or forgotten. I wonder—did you know, even then, how much this shop would mean to me? …Did you know how much you mean to me?”

“Take care of yourself, won’t you? Though I doubt I need to remind you. You’ve always been reckless, but you’ve never been careless. But I can’t help worrying about you—it’s impossible not to.”

“Write soon, or better yet, come home. I’d like to see you again. I’d like to… well, there’s plenty I’d like to say in person.”

Yours, always, Ominis

The letter, over a month old now, was worn at the edges, its parchment soft from being folded and unfolded too many times. Your fingers traced the familiar loops of Ominis’ handwriting, lingering over the slight smudge where his quill must have hesitated.

Even as the train carried you closer to Hogsmeade, you felt guilty. You hadn’t written back. But you hadn’t trusted yourself to put quill to parchment, not even to Anne or Sebastian, neither of whom could be trusted to keep your long awaited return a secret.

Six months. You’d promised him six months, and here you were, long past that mark. You’d wanted to return sooner—Merlin knew how much you’d wanted to—but there had always been one more ruin, one more curse to break, one more excuse to stay away.

It wasn’t just the work, though. The truth you hadn’t dared admit to yourself was that the thought of walking into Stitches and Draughts again, of seeing Ominis after all this time, terrified you. What if things had changed? What if the delicate balance of your friendship—of your stupid, traitorous feelings for him—had changed?

Merlin knew you had.

You caught your reflection in the train’s window, and for a moment, it felt like looking at a stranger. The girl you once were, the one with the boundless energy and effortless grace of youth, was nowhere to be found. Gone was the lithe figure and carefree ease that had come with an 18-year-old’s metabolism, replaced by a version of yourself you were still learning to accept. The life of a cursebreaker hadn’t been kind to your body—or your soul. Years of chasing dangerous leads, grueling physical labor, and long nights spent deciphering ancient scripts had taken their toll. Meals were often hurried, whatever you could grab between assignments, and the relentless travel left little room for rest. You were softer now, and your body bore the marks of your journey—an ache in your shoulders from carrying too much weight, faint scars from brushes with danger, and an exhaustion that felt carved into your very bones.

You turned away from the window, forcing your reflection out of sight. The sight of it only dredged up insecurities you had no business indulging—not now, not when you were so close. It was stupid to worry about it, you told yourself. What did it matter whether Ominis found you attractive? Seven years had passed. Seven years of separate lives, separate paths. You couldn’t expect him to still see you as he once might have—or to have waited for you at all.

Back then, you were just kids, after all. Even when your friendship had danced on the edge of something more, neither of you had ever been brave enough to take that final step. You thought of the moments that had felt like more—his hand brushing yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d linger in the shop late into the night, his head tilted toward you as though he could hear the shape of your smile. But those moments were fleeting, always followed by silence or a change of subject. Neither of you had ever said the words.

And now? Seven years was a long time to expect someone to wait for something that was never truly spoken aloud.

Still, the thought haunted you, gnawing at your resolve. Would he notice the changes in you? Would he care about the extra softness to your curves, the faint lines of exhaustion that hadn’t been there before? The idea that he might—that he’d look at you with anything less than the quiet warmth you remembered—made your stomach twist.

The train jolted, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts as it slowed to a screeching halt at Hogsmeade Station. The sound of the brakes, sharp and familiar, was like a spell breaking. You rose stiffly from your seat, clutching your bag as you tried to gather yourself.

The platform was just as you remembered it: bustling with witches and wizards, steam curling in the crisp air, and the faint smell of coal mingling with the fresh, wintry scent of snow. Twinkling fairy lights hung from the lampposts, casting a warm glow on the frosted cobblestones, while festive garlands of holly and enchanted mistletoe draped along the edges of the station roof. You adjusted the strap of your bag and stepped off the train, your boots crunching against the frost-dusted ground.

The walk into the village was surreal, like stepping back into a dream you hadn’t dared let yourself miss too much. The bustling streets, the cheerful glow of the shop windows, the distant chatter of students—every detail tugged at something deep inside you. It looked the same, as though no time had passed, and yet that was precisely what unsettled you.

Time had passed. Seven years, to be exact.

Seven years since you’d walked these streets as a Hogwarts student, clutching a bag of Honeydukes’ sweets or ducking into the Three Broomsticks with your friends to escape the cold. Seven years since you’d stood inside Stitches and Draughts as its owner, turning your ideas into enchanted creations, the room filled with the warmth of softly glowing candles and the sound of laughter. Seven years since you’d worked side by side with Ominis, his sharp wit cutting through Sebastian’s dramatic tales of Quidditch triumphs, all while the three of you shared late nights in the shop as though the world outside didn’t exist.

But even then, you’d known the shop wasn’t meant to be your forever.

The decision to give it to Ominis had come in the quiet months of your seventh year, after countless conversations where he’d confided in you about his family, his fears, and the cage he felt he could never escape. You’d listened as he spoke of the suffocating expectations of the Gaunt name, how every aspect of his life had been dictated by tradition and duty.

And money.

It wasn’t fair. Ominis deserved more than that. Far, far more.

Your Ominis deserved everything.

The idea had taken root during one of those late nights in the shop. He’d been helping you charm a batch of scarves to repel rain when you’d caught him standing at the counter, running his hands over the worn wood. There’d been a wistful look on his face, one that had stayed with you long after the candles were extinguished and the shop had gone dark.

By the time graduation loomed, the decision felt inevitable.

You still remembered the day you handed him the deed, the way his pale fingers trembled as he unrolled the parchment. His expression had been unreadable at first, his face carefully composed as he scanned the document.

“What is this?” he’d asked, his voice low and wary.

“It’s yours,” you’d replied, keeping your tone light even as your heart pounded. “The shop. Everything in it. Consider it a… graduation gift.”

The silence that followed had been deafening. Ominis had stared at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You can’t be serious,” he’d said finally. “This is yours. Your work. You can’t just—”

“I can,” you’d interrupted, placing a hand over his. “And I am. You’re the only one I trust to take care of it. To make it more than I ever could.”

He’d tried to argue, of course. Ominis always argued. But you’d stood your ground, knowing in your heart it was the right choice.

“It’s not just about the shop,” you’d said softly, looking into his unseeing eyes. “It’s... about giving you a way out. A chance to build something that’s yours—not theirs.”

That had silenced him.

He’d accepted the deed reluctantly, his gratitude laced with disbelief. And though you hadn’t admitted it aloud, you’d known you were giving him more than just the shop. More than just securing his freedom. You were giving him a part of yourself, a way to stay connected even when you left.

And now, as Christmas loomed all these years later, your legs carried you through the village, back to that very same place. You were almost on autopilot, even as your heart pounded erratically in your chest with every step that brought you closer to the shop. Around you, the village bustled with holiday cheer, but all of it faded into the background, a distant hum drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat.

And then you were there.

And Stitches and Draughts looked beautiful.

The building had been freshly painted, its trim gleaming with a soft, snowy white that contrasted perfectly with the deep emerald of the shop’s sign—still the same one you’d painted years ago, but lovingly restored. The doorframe was draped with enchanted holly garlands, the bright red berries twinkling like tiny stars. The windows sparkled in the glow of lights strung carefully along the eaves, and the front display was nothing short of magical.

Inside the glass, enchanted scarves floated gracefully in midair, their threads shimmering with subtle, festive embroidery—snowflakes that danced along the hems, holly leaves that twisted and turned like they were caught in a gentle breeze. Beside them, self-heating gloves sat arranged in neat little bundles, their tags tied with golden ribbons that seemed to hum faintly with charmwork.

It was perfect. Too perfect. And the sight of it, so familiar and yet so undeniably different, had your heart aching in your chest. This wasn’t just a shop anymore—it was his shop. Every detail spoke of Ominis’ care, his precision, his thoughtfulness. He’d taken what you’d built and turned it into something so much more.

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as your eyes flicked between the display and the freshly polished door handle. The urge to turn and flee surged through you, but your feet remained rooted to the spot. You’d faced cursed ruins, ancient traps, and magic designed to kill, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt as daunting as the prospect of walking through that door.

Would he even want to see you? Would he welcome you after all this time, after the months of silence and unfulfilled promises? Or had the years widened the distance between you too far to bridge?

The bell above the door jingled as someone exited the shop, their arms laden with carefully wrapped packages. They offered you a polite smile as they passed, but you barely noticed, your gaze fixed on the door that had swung closed behind them.

Your legs felt heavy as you took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

With a deep, unsteady exhale, you pushed the door open, the familiar chime of the bells above echoing like a memory brought to life.

The warmth of the shop enveloped you immediately, the scent of cedar and lavender mingling with something faintly sweet—probably from a batch of enchanted candles near the counter. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bolts of fabric, potion bottles, and racks of neatly displayed scarves and gloves. The hum of magic thrummed softly in the air, a comforting, familiar sound.

But none of it mattered, not really.

Your eyes were drawn to the figure standing behind the counter, his back to you, the blond of his hair catching the golden light.

"Be with you in a moment," he said, his voice smooth and warm, but it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d last heard his voice, and even now, it was exactly as you remembered, richer with age but still undeniably Ominis. It overwhelmed you, the weight of it pressing down on the breath you tried to draw, stealing the words you’d thought you’d prepared.

And then he turned.

The sight of him was truly your undoing.

Ominis was taller than you remembered, his frame lean but strong, elegant but unyielding. He was wearing a soft sweater in a deep charcoal gray, the fabric snug across his broad shoulders and loose around his narrow waist, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp angles of his wrists and the pale skin of his forearms. His blond hair, a touch longer than it had been when you’d last seen him, was still combed back, though a strand at the front had fallen to rest against the curve of his face.

Time had only refined the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strong, angular line of his jaw. His features were striking in a way that felt almost unfair, the kind of beauty that drew the eye and held it captive.

And yet, there was something softer about him, too—something that hadn’t been there before. The rigid tension that had so often defined him in your Hogwarts years seemed less pronounced, replaced by a quiet ease as he worked. He looked… content.

It was too much.

You’d imagined this reunion a hundred different ways, but none of them had accounted for the way it would feel to see him again, to hear his voice, to stand so close and yet feel the weight of all the time and space that had separated you.

“My apologies for the delay. Welcome to Stitches and Draughts,” he said, his tone polite and practiced, yet warm in a way that made your chest ache. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening more intently. “What can I help you with today?”

The words hung in the air, impossibly ordinary for a moment that felt anything but.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All the carefully rehearsed greetings, the lighthearted explanations you’d planned for why it had taken so long to return, evaporated.

Your silence stretched just a second too long, and you saw the faint furrow of his brow, the slight tilt of his head as he picked up on your hesitation.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softening, concern creeping into his tone.

That was what finally broke you.

“Ominis,” you managed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it.

His lips parted as though to say something, but no words came, and his sightless eyes, usually so calm and focused, seemed to search for you in the space between.

“Is it—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges. “Is… it really you?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and relentless. You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see the gesture.

“It’s me,” you managed.

Ominis moved before you could register it, stepping out from behind the counter with a swiftness that made your breath catch. “You’re here,” he murmured, his voice filled with something close to wonder. “You’re actually here. But you… you didn’t write back. I thought—”

“I know,” you said quickly, guilt flooding your chest. “I’m sorry, Ominis. I—” Your voice faltered. How could you possibly explain everything? The silence, the distance, the fear?

Before you could try, Ominis closed the gap between you. His hands reached out, tentatively searching, as though he were afraid to reach out and find nothing there. When his fingers brushed against your sleeve, he inhaled sharply, and then his hands moved upward, settling on your shoulders.

You watched as his expression crumbled. The carefully constructed composure he’d always worn fell away, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

“You’re home,” he said, his voice trembling. “How long have you been planning this?”

The crack in his voice broke something inside you. “I… for months,” you whispered, your own voice shaking. “I'm so sorry, it took so long—”

Your words were cut off again as Ominis pulled you into him, strong arms wrapping around you with a desperate urgency, his hands firm against your back as if he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away again. The suddenness of it made you stiffen, your insecurities flaring instantly to life.

He’d know.

He’d feel the difference—the softness of your curves where you’d once been lithe, the weight you carried now, both physical and emotional. The image of what you’d been years ago, the version of you he might still hold in his mind, clashed violently with the reality of who you were now.

But then there was the feel of him.

Him, warm against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of his characteristic cologne—it was all so achingly familiar, so Ominis, that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the way you’d changed.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you let yourself sink into his chest, your arms lifting to wrap around his waist. You clung to him, the years of distance and silence collapsing between you as if they’d never existed.

His hand moved gently, brushing over your hair in a soothing rhythm that made your heart ache. “I missed you hopelessly.” He murmured, his voice muffled by your hair

“I missed you more than anything,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at him, tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. “I thought about you every day.”

Ominis pulled back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. His sightless eyes searched your face as though he could somehow see you, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. You felt his thumb brush against your sleeve, as if he needed the tactile confirmation that you were truly there. One of his hands slid down to grasp yours, his fingers curling firmly around yours as if to anchor you both in this moment.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you spoke.

Then, without a word, Ominis turned toward the shop’s entrance, your hand still firmly in his. He moved quickly, his steps sure as he crossed the space to the door. Releasing your hand only briefly, he flipped the sign to Closed and twisted the lock with a decisive click.

“To hell with work,” he muttered under his breath, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The words caught you off guard, pulling a startled laugh from you—a sound you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back.

When he turned back to you, his expression softened further, though there was still an edge of something you couldn’t quite name in the set of his jaw. Relief, perhaps. Or the determination of someone who wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.

“Come upstairs,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The shop can wait.”

He didn��t give you a chance to argue—not that you would have—before leading you to the small staircase tucked behind the counter. His hand stayed in yours as he guided you, his grip firm but gentle, like he was still afraid to let go.

The stairs creaked faintly under your feet as you followed Ominis into the flat above the shop. The scent of cedar lingered here too, mixed with something faintly herbal—his cologne, no doubt.

“Forgive the state of things,” he said quickly, his tone uncharacteristically self-conscious as he gestured toward the room. “I wasn’t exactly expecting... well, anyone. Least of all you.”

But as your eyes roamed the space, you couldn’t find the “mess” he spoke of. The room was tidy, cozy, and so very him. A small bookshelf stood against one wall, lined with neatly arranged tomes you recognized from your Hogwarts years, alongside a few newer additions. A comfortable-looking armchair sat in one corner, its seat draped with a soft, worn throw blanket. A half empty mug of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside it, next to what appeared to be a half-finished crossword puzzle.

There were small signs of his life everywhere: a folded sweater resting on the back of the chair, a walking stick leaning against the wall by the door, a well-cared-for violin resting in its case near the bookshelf. The window was framed by simple curtains, their edges charmed to shimmer faintly in the light, a detail that felt unmistakably him.

“It’s perfect,” you said, turning to him with a soft smile.

He let out a huff of disbelief. “Hardly. It’s small, and I wasn’t expecting guests, so it’s a bit—”

“No, really,” you insisted, stepping further into the room. “It’s... you. I mean that in the best way.”

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, his free hand gestured vaguely at the space. “I haven’t had much reason to bring anyone up here,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “I usually keep to myself unless Sebastian or Anne drag me out for something."

You turned back to him, catching the faint blush dusting his cheeks as he moved to straighten a few items on the table near the armchair. The sight made your heart ache in the best way, the years falling away as though you’d never been apart.

“It’s nice to see you’ve kept up the crossword habit,” you teased, gesturing toward the table.

Ominis smirked, his confidence returning just enough to quip, “It’s either that or let my mind wander, and we both know that can only lead to trouble.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, "That's true."

He gestured toward the couch near the window, its cushions plump and inviting. “Sit,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “I'm sure you’ve been traveling all day.”

You hesitated, still standing near the door, but Ominis stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Please,” he added, his voice quieter now.

With a nod, you set your bag down near the door and crossed to the couch, sinking into its cushions. It was as comfortable as it looked, and you let out a quiet sigh as the tension in your body began to ease.

He moved toward the kitchenette. “Tea?” he asked, his head tilted slightly in your direction.

“Yes, please,” you said quickly, your voice softer than you intended.

Ominis nodded, his movements fluid and purposeful as he filled the kettle and set it on the small stove.

“I’ve got chamomile, mint, and… some Earl Grey that Sebastian swore I’d love but tastes like someone soaked socks in bergamot,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk.

You laughed softly, leaning back into the couch. “Chamomile sounds perfect.”

He nodded, plucking the sachet from its place with an almost practiced precision, his hands moving with the same quiet grace you remembered so vividly. Despite the ease of his movements, you could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he hesitated before reaching for the mugs.

"Did Sebastian and Anne know about you coming back?" Ominis asked, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of curiosity.

You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "No," you admitted softly. "I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t… want them to spill the secret. I thought it might be better this way."

He turned slightly, his sightless eyes tilted in your direction, one brow arching faintly. “Better for whom?”

You huffed a humorless laugh, biting your lip. "Me, I guess. I thought if I just showed up, it would be easier. Less... complicated."

Ominis tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words, his fingers brushing the rim of the mug as he prepared your tea. "You thought sneaking back into Hogsmeade unannounced would be less complicated?"

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the knot of nerves in your chest. "Okay, maybe not less complicated. But at least it meant I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Sebastian. You know how he gets."

He let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine, and it warmed something deep inside you. "Indeed. He is relentless," he said, placing the mug of chamomile tea in front of you on the low table. "Though, I can’t say I’d have been any better. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else."

You looked up at him, startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his expression open and unguarded as he sat down across from you, his own mug cradled in his hands.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait,” you said softly, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic. “I just—” You paused, your words catching in your throat. "I don't know. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

Ominis’ lips pressed together for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as though he wanted to press further. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly around his mug, the tension in his shoulders betraying his thoughts.

But then he exhaled softly, the lines of his face smoothing as he nodded. “You’re here now,” he repeated, his voice quiet but steady, though you could hear the unspoken for how long? lingering in the air.

You quickly took a sip of your tea, the warmth a welcome distraction as you scrambled for something that would steer the conversation elsewhere. “This tea is lovely,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped looked effortless. “Everything is. The flat, the shop... it’s all incredible. You must be so proud of what you’ve built.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his expression softening into something almost amused. “That’s kind of you to say, but I hardly think a well-stocked tea shelf qualifies as incredible.”

You laughed, grateful for the easy banter. “It’s not just the tea shelf, though it is very impressive. The shop looks amazing—I noticed the display when I walked in. And the enchanted holly on the door? It’s such a nice touch. It’s all so... you.”

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I did have some help with the holly—Anne insisted. She thought it might ‘soften my cold, foreboding reputation.’”

You grinned, picturing Anne bustling around the shop, her infectious energy clashing against Ominis’ quieter demeanor. “I think it works. Though I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re 'foreboding'.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said dryly, his smirk deepening. “Anne says I scare away the first years who stop in. Apparently, my ‘stern demeanor’ doesn’t pair well with curious children looking for enchanted scarves.”

You laughed, the image of wide-eyed first-years inching cautiously into the shop playing vividly in your mind. “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” you teased. “Maybe they just don’t appreciate your charm.”

Ominis quirked an eyebrow, his smirk softening. “Charm, is it? I’ll be sure to tell Anne you said that next time she accuses me of being the ‘shopkeeper equivalent of a Boggart.’”

That earned another laugh, lighter this time, and you shook your head. “If she really thought you were a Boggart, she wouldn’t have helped with the decorations.”

“She likes to keep me humble,” he replied, his tone full of wry affection.

But even as Ominis joined in your banter, you could see the way his fingers drummed absently against the side of his mug, his thoughts clearly turning over something unsaid. He was playing along with your attempts at small talk, but you knew he wasn’t fooled.

Still, for now, he let it go, his quiet smile lingering as he said, “So tell me, how does it feel to be back?”

The question caught you off guard, and your smile faltered slightly. “It feels... surreal,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “Like I’ve been gone forever, and yet somehow nothing’s changed.”

Ominis nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Hogsmeade does have a way of staying the same. But you..." He hesitated, and his words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

You’re different.

He had noticed. Of course he had. Ominis was nothing if not perceptive.

You lowered your mug to the table, your hands curling into your lap as if that could somehow steady you. The warmth that had spread through your chest moments ago was now replaced with a twisting unease, a voice in the back of your mind whispering, This is it. This is when he sees what’s changed and decides it isn’t enough. That you aren’t enough.

"I know I’m different," you murmured, your voice trembling under the strain of your nerves. It cracked as you spoke, barely louder than a whisper. "I… I’m not the same person I was when I left. I know I’m not exactly how you remember me, and I—" Your breath faltered, hitching as you shook your head, your thoughts spiraling. "I just didn’t want you to be disappointed."

“Disappointed?” Ominis’ voice broke through your spiraling thoughts like a sudden, sharp wind, and when you looked up, his sightless eyes were fixed on you, his expression taut with something between shock and frustration. "Is this... is this why you've taken so long to come home?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting, like the edge of a blade poised to strike. You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came. The truth was tangled in your chest, knotted with years of insecurity and fear, and the weight of it pressed down on your throat, stealing your voice.

Ominis’ expression softened as he straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening as though he were holding back his own frustration—not at you, but at the very idea that you could feel this way. He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around his mug before setting it aside with deliberate care.

“Is that really what you’ve been carrying all this time?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You thought I’d be... disappointed? In you?”

The lump in your throat grew heavier. "I’ve been gone so long... and you’ve built this incredible life here, and I—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you fought to steady yourself. “I didn’t know if I’d still fit into it.”

“You think I could ever—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s beard, don't you have any idea how much of this life exists because of you?”

Ominis leaned forward further, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His fingers curled and uncurled against one another, as though he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.

“Do you know what I thought when you walked into that shop today?” he asked, his words deliberate.

You shook your head, though he couldn’t see it. “No,” you whispered.

“I thought I’d finally woken up from the longest, most frustrating dream of my life,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. "And now, you’re sitting here, telling me you’re afraid I’d notice you’ve changed. Of course you’ve changed. I’d be more worried if you hadn’t. Life does that to people. It changes them. But just because you're different doesn't mean..." he swallowed, his words catching for just a moment before he pressed on, his voice quieter but laced with conviction. “Just because you’ve changed doesn’t mean you’re any less.”

He paused, his fingers tightening where they rested, his knuckles pale with the effort. His expression softened as his words seemed to tumble out, as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “That couldn’t be further from the truth, actually.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, by the faint flush creeping up his neck.

Ominis sat back slightly, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of bashfulness. “It’s been seven years,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Seven years, and in the brief time I’ve had to—to touch you, to hear you, to smell that very same perfume you always wear, you’ve only… Merlin, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding foolish.”

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly, but the intensity in his voice made it feel as though he could see every piece of you, laid bare and vulnerable.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly in your direction as he gathered his thoughts. “You’ve only improved,” he said finally, his voice low but unwavering. “Despite whatever ridiculous notions you’ve been carrying around, you haven’t diminished. You haven’t become ‘less.’ If anything, you’re... more.”

“You’ve been away, yes," he continued. "You’ve faced things I can only imagine. And yet here you are, sitting in front of me, as strong and resilient and...” He hesitated, his lips curving into a faint, almost shy smile. “As breathtaking as the day you left. You think I’d notice the changes and find fault with them? How could I, when every single one is just another piece of the person I’ve been missing for so long?”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your vision blurring with tears. "Are you... you sure? You really don't have to say this, I—"

He shook his head, raising a hand to stop you, though his touch hovered just shy of reaching across the small space between you. “Of course I'm sure,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve never been more certain of anything."

He drew in a slow, measured breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though he were steadying himself for a duel.

“I’ve spent seven years wondering if I’d ever get the chance to say this,” he admitted. “To say all the things I was too much of a coward to admit before you left. And I won’t waste it by letting you believe for even a second that you’re anything less than extraordinary," his voice softened, trembling at the edges as he stood from his chair. For a moment, he simply stood there, his sightless eyes cast downward as though steadying himself for what he was about to do. Then, slowly, he moved forward, kneeling on the floor in front of you with a grace that made your breath catch.

His hands reached out, tentative but deliberate, brushing over yours where they rested in your lap before curling around them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice raw with emotion. “But I need you to hear this. I need you to understand.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

“I love you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, his thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands. " I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t even remember what it feels like not to. And I know I should’ve said this before. I should’ve told you when we were still at Hogwarts, when you handed me the shop, when you left. But I was scared. Scared of what it would mean, scared I’d ruin what we had. And then you were gone, and I thought… I thought maybe I’d lost my chance.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, your heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might shatter through your ribs.

“But now you’re here,” he said, his words almost a whisper. “And I can’t let you leave again without knowing how much you mean to me. You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known, and I’ve spent seven years building a life that, no matter how complete it might seem from the outside, has always been missing you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching as the world seemed to slow around you. The face you’d waited seven years to see again—its every detail etched into your memory but now somehow more vivid, more real—was right before you. The faint furrow of his brow, the slight parting of his lips as though bracing himself for your response, the glisten of unshed tears in his sightless eyes.

It was all so achingly familiar, and yet time had made him even more beautiful in his quiet, unassuming way.

And you loved him.

You always had.

The years apart, the missed chances, the countless letters you’d written and rewritten but never sent—it all fell away, leaving only this moment. This man. The only person who had ever made you feel like you belonged.

“I’ve loved you too,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips unbidden, your voice trembling but resolute.

Ominis stilled, his brows furrowing further as though he hadn’t quite heard you. “What?”

You reached out, your hands shaking as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. His breath hitched, his sightless eyes searching the space between you as though trying to see what your touch already told him.

“I love you, Ominis,” you said again, your voice steadying as you saw the hope flicker to life in his expression. “I always have."

His lips parted, his breath catching audibly as he tilted his head toward your hands, leaning into your touch as though it were the only thing grounding him.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You smiled through your tears, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. “I love you,” you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

A shaky laugh escaped him, a sound filled with so much relief and joy it sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent and tender as his thumbs brushed away your tears.

“Merlin,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t believe... after all this time...”

“Believe it,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

His grip tightened slightly, his hands trembling as he pulled you closer. “Promise me,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Promise me you’ll stay—I’m begging you—don’t leave again. Merlin, I... I can’t go another seven years without you. Not knowing where you are, if you’re safe, if you’ll ever come back.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

[grimst4rs]

marauders era unpopular opinions, once more

i really don’t like fanon regulus. i don’t like him being helpless and kind and a sirius variant. he’s morally grey, leaning towards morally dark, he’s selfish, he agreed to his parents’ and voldemort’s ideologies, having joined the death eaters most likely by his own will (unlike draco malfoy). but obviously, everyone is allowed to characterise characters the very way they want to

and while we’re on it, i don’t like evan and barty either, for the same reason. maybe i would, if they were realistically characterised (i LOVE reading morally grey or morally dark(er) characters), and once again, i believe that just because one likes a character, that doesn’t always mean that the character is a good person

and continuing on the same topic, the sunshine james potter, although being a topic that i like and delved deeper into myself, is nice, but i would also love to see more of arrogant, spoiled james potter, too

not liking severus snape and peter pettigrew but liking evan, barty and regulus is kind of hypocritical

i don’t like jegulus

i also don’t like the casanova, bad boy characterisation of remus, and the helpless, needy characterisation of sirius either. to me, they’re out of character, overly done and absolutely not enjoyable

and because i earlier mentioned severus snape, i think he’s an interesting character, actually. that doesn’t make him a good person (once again, i believe him to be morally grey, too) and i can’t call myself a lover of his, however i find his story and character very interesting and compelling

i don’t like a lot of the wolfstar dynamics in current fandom

“we need more content about the girls!” literally do it yourself. please. whenever i write content about the men, i get a wave of new followers, and whenever i post about the non-men, suddenly i have tebs of people unfollowing me. oh, and my posts about the men have twice or thrice the notes of the other ones

sirius > regulus

and speaking of which, sirius is such an interesting character, and he was reduced by many people to nothing, or whatever is relevant to the plot

james would pick sirius over regulus any time, with literally no hesitation

i don’t care about popular fics (read or don’t read, i generally don’t read popular fics to be honest), however i do care about the way creators, especially writers, are treated in this fandom. i made a few posts about this topic, feel free to ask me to link them to you, but the way some people feel entitled to fic and fandom content is horrible

“x is the female version of— !” please stop. i’m going to stop you right here.

stop tagging jegulus and wolfstar and other mlm ships with wlw and nmlnm tags, for god’s sake. you’re just clogging the tag, and if i came looking for a certain ship, that’s what i’m going to expect to find. besides, why would you tag jegulus with, say, pandalily, when jegulus is by far more popular?

jegulus < jily

[irisintheafterglow]

No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.” 

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?” 

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try. 

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again. 

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you. 

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.” 

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house. 

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island. 

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?” 

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals. 

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle. 

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip. 

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber. 

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle. 

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.  

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him. 

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours. 

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[stars-and-inkpots]

Greetings, I'm hoping you're having a great day and or night😊 I love your writing, you're talented! If your requests are still open, can I request Tav (female please) being insecure that she doesn't live up to Gales standards because he was with Mystra? Tav just tells him "I'm in love with you, but I'm nothing. I'm no Goddess" I love my romance with some angst🥲❤️

I finally have a little time this week to write!! I loved this request, thank you so much. I actually had two versions of this planned out, one where you aren't yet together (this one), and another set in post game when the two of you are together in Waterdeep (I might finish this version and post it at some point too) ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy!

With You | Gale x Reader

You were nothing when compared to a god, and Gale certainly wasn’t blind to that. 

So you keep yourself at a distance. You convince yourself that this is for the best. 

Of course, Gale notices.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Love confessions, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, first kiss, comfort, self-esteem issues, low self-worth issues

Ao3 Link: Baldur's Gate 3 Requests

Word Count: 1,037

Realising you had developed feelings for Gale was a complicated discovery on its own. Knowing that Gale’s previous partner had been none other than a literal goddess complicated it even further. 

The two of you had grown close, and both of you would be fools to not admit that there was something between the two of you. But you hesitated everytime the opportunity to take things any further than friendship arose. Not because you didn’t want to, no; Gods, you wanted to so badly. But it was exactly because of Mystra that you hesitated. 

Gale had been with a goddess before. A goddess. And you were just… well, you were just you. You were mortal, and you could never hope to possibly compare to the divine. And what if he was just settling for you? Was he simply lowering his standards? What if Mystra, for whatever reason, decided to return to her affections for Gale? Would he, despite everything that She had done, go back to Her? You were nothing when compared to a god, and Gale certainly wasn’t blind to that. 

So you keep yourself at a distance. You convince yourself that this is for the best. 

Of course, Gale notices. 

Not immediately at first, but after a few days of you barely speaking to him, he can’t help but worry he’s done something wrong. There are no more late night talks by the fire; no walking just a little too close to be simply friendly during the day; no stolen glances. Nothing. Where there was once undeniably something, there is nothing. He curses himself for not saying anything sooner, for hesitating. 

At first, he wants to assume it’s because you suddenly realised that he’s dangerous, that he’s volatile. Then he worries that you’ve realised he’s just not as impressive as you thought he was. Maybe his skill no longer impresses you, and if he doesn’t have that then what else is there? The thought that you look at him and see only what he thinks he is, a pathetic shadow of a man who once was. 

Maybe it’s desperate on his end, but he’s not willing to just let this go. As much as he’s ready to wallow in self-pity, he needs to know. He can change, if that’s what you want. 

---

“I want to talk to you, if you have a moment,” Gale says before you can duck into your tent for the night. 

“Alright,” you relent. “Let’s go for a walk then.” You lead the two of you out of camp, and Gale follows beside you. You can’t shake the anxious feeling that only grows with the silence between you two. Once you’re far enough away, Gale speaks up. 

“I’m going to be perfectly transparent here; and if I’ve misread anything, do stop me before I embarrass myself too much.” Gale takes a breath, as if he’s already waiting for you to object. When you remain silent, he continues. “You mean a great deal to me, and I care about you a lot. In all honesty, I have feelings for you, very strong feelings. Now, a few days ago I had thought that you returned and shared my affections. But you’ve been quite different with me as of late. I know I am not owed an explanation or an answer, but I will still ask for one all the same.” 

You freeze. Even though you knew this conversation would come eventually, you don’t know what to say. He’s here. He’s here and he just admitted that he felt the same way as you did, and yet you can’t bring yourself to answer. 

“I just want to know if it was something I did. Did something change? As I said, you don’t have to answer, of course, I just… what happened to make you change your mind?” You can hear the nervous self-consciousness in his words, but it confuses you. How could he ever think it was something that he did when he had been with a goddess? How could he want you? 

“No, nothing changed. It was nothing that you did. I promise.” You sit down, and Gale follows, sitting beside you. 

“Then why have you been so cold with me? It isn’t fair to tell me I did nothing wrong when you go from spending so much time with me to barely even looking at me, let alone speaking to me.” He sounds frustrated, and you don’t exactly blame him. It was cruel of you to treat him so differently without an explanation. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally bring yourself to look over at him. Even through his slight annoyance with your behaviour, there is hurt. “You deserve better than me,” you say finally. You watch his expression change to one of confusion. “You shouldn’t lower your standards for me.” 

“What?” For once, you seem to have rendered him nearly speechless. 

“Gale, I’m in love with you, but I’m nothing. I’m no goddess.” 

A sudden understanding crosses his face. 

“Yes, you are. You most certainly are.” He takes your hand in his. “And you are more than I deserve, I assure you. If you truly wish to remain no more than friends, then so be it; but if those worries were all that were holding you back, I assure you you need not entertain them any further.” Every word sounds so completely genuine. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, despite yourself. 

“Completely.” He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. The act and the way he looks at you is enough to push your worries aside for now. You can tell he means everything he says. 

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, in a rush of newfound confidence. 

“I would like nothing more.” 

The hand not holding yours rests against your face, thumb brushing along your cheek. You brush your fingers through his hair, and you feel him shiver. It’s a soft kiss, the beginning of things. When you part he rests his forehead against yours and both of you are smiling. 

The walk back to camp is quiet, but comfortable. Gale doesn’t let go of your hand until you kiss once more and retire for the night to your tents.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part III

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

Tag List: @anishake

Part IV >>

The smell of copper, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air. 

It took Elain a moment to realise that it was blood, and it took her even longer to realise that it was her own. She released a shaky breath, loosening her clenched fists. Her nails had cut into the skin of her palms, perfect crescent moons, already healing.

The suite was poorly lit, as the whole of the Hewn City seemed to be, but in the dim faelight, Elain could just barely see her blood. Her brown eyes tracked the scarlet drops as they left small trails along the inside of her hands. 

Elain frowned as she watched the skin on her palms knit back together, her pain muted, unnatural when compared to her human aches and injuries. Elain was still in the Night Court, and already she was feeling incapable, useless. 

Eris had been very clear in his assertion that no other member from the Night Court would be allowed to join her, certainly neither one of the Archeron sisters. It had been enough for Elain to reconsider leaving with the Autumn prince, but she had not voiced her doubts out loud. 

“You can just as easily change your mind,” Azriel said gently. “No one would think any less of you for it.” His wings were tucked close to his body, making him smaller, less threatening. Concern was evident in the pull of his brows and in the tension of his shoulders. 

Azriel’s words were meant to be a comfort, Elain was sure, but the suggestion was enough to annoy her. She flashed him a friendly smile, her response simple. “I know.” Elain could tell that it was what he wanted to hear, that Azriel wouldn’t push her to further explain. 

“Why are you pacing?” Nesta asked from the Illyrian’s side. The tone of her voice was somewhat reproving, like she was catching her younger sister in a lie.  

Elain froze, pausing her movements. She hadn’t even realised she’d been walking in a constant back-and-forth. She straightened the fabric of her gown, settled her nerves. “I’m not pacing,” she argued. 

“I don’t understand why all of this can’t just be resolved with a letter,” Nesta snapped, her arms crossed, not convinced by Elain’s reassurances. She was in her fighting leathers, Ataraxia at her back. Elain knew Nesta wouldn’t hesitate to use the sword on Eris if he provoked her. Nesta had been the one to help Elain pack for the trip, and then she had insisted on waiting with Elain in the Hewn City until Rhysand and Eris arranged her departure. 

Elain turned to face her eldest sister,  “Probably because it’s all very complicated.”

“I think it’s very simple,” Nesta’s words were sharp as a knife’s blade. “Lucien is our emissary, Autumn has no claim to him.” 

“Blood means nothing to you, Nesta?” Azriel asked. Elain could hear the ghost of amusement in his voice. 

Nesta responded, but Elain missed it, her whirling thoughts a storm within her mind. Elain knew she owed Lucien nothing, that no one expected her to uproot her life in Velaris and run to his side, but she had become tired of all the bloodshed. The war had drained her, she told herself, she couldn’t bear another death, another loss. 

What did it matter that Lucien was her mate, Elain had declared as she and Nesta packed away her most beautiful dresses, she would do the same for anyone. She was worried, of course, but only in the sense that Lucien was Feyre’s friend. Feyre had hugged her tightly back home, close to tears. Elain knew her sister was grateful, but she wished Feyre would have come to the Hewn City to see her off.

Elain breathed a sigh, her shoulders raising in a shrug. She was about to respond to Nesta, to once again try and persuade her sister that she knew what she was doing, to have Azriel understand that she was confident in the choices she was making. Elain was growing tired of the constant coddling, how everyone in her family just assumed they knew what was best for her. 

A spark of anger, resentful, came to life inside her, and Elain was glad the doors to the suite opened and Rhysand entered. He had been the only one who hadn’t questioned her decision, who had understood Elain’s resolve from the start. It had come as a surprise to Elain, but she was grateful for whatever support her sister’s mate offered.   

Rhysand, though, had not come alone. Walking a few careful paces behind him was a woman, dressed in Night Court black. Elain took in her simple and modest attire, and she raised a brow in question. 

The woman didn’t respond, her dark eyes flashed to Nesta and Azriel before she clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead. 

Elain would have spoken to her if Rhys hadn’t captured her attention instead. “You’re ready?” 

As soon as the sun’s last rays disappear behind the horizon, I’ll return for you. 

Eris’s last words to Elain rang clear in her head. She glanced to the window, to the quickly setting sun as the sky turned a deep violet, a pink hue still visible behind the mountain range cutting across the territory. 

Elain placed her hands in front of her, fingers laced so that no one could spot the nervous tremors. She nodded once in understanding, “I am.” Her voice was firm, convincingly unafraid. 

Elain wondered if Rhysand was looking into her mind, searching for answers that she would never freely give. She snapped out of her thoughts when Rhysand spoke to her once more. “Allow me, Elain, to introduce you to your lady’s maid,” he gestured to her with his hand, “Cora will be with you for as long as you’re in Autumn.” 

The woman, Cora, didn’t even bother looking at her. Elain questioned if it was because she had not wanted to join her, or if it was because that was to be expected of the woman’s position as a lady’s maid. Elain knew very little, still, about Prythian and its people, but she could have sworn that the woman was Illyrian. If not for her lack of wings and sharp ears, Elain would have bet on it. Her beauty was shocking, enough to give Elain pause so that she could admire the other woman. 

Her focus once more entirely on the High Lord of Night, Elain could feel as her back tensed, unsettled by the obvious disregard for her opinion on the matter. “I thought maybe one of the twins—”

Azriel interrupted Elain in the middle of her sentence, his words suggesting the decision was final. “Nuala and Cerridwen are needed here.”

Elain hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye, and while she was irritated, she chose to respond in a pleasant voice. “Then tell them both that when I’m back in the city, I’ll be expecting them to pay a visit to the River House.” 

Azriel offered her a small, genuine smile in return. His expression was quick to turn serious, though, as his shadows whirled from their hiding spots to his shoulders. 

It was then that Elain glanced at the arched windows on the room’s opposite end. The sun had finally set and stars now seemed to wink at her in the distance. Elain faced the doors, expecting them to open, but she gasped in surprise as Eris neglected to use them. 

The heir to the Autumn Court stepped into the room as though he were entering into the small space from a rip in the fabric of the universe. The flames in the fireplace flared at his presence, whether he had done so on purpose was unclear to Elain, but he definitely seemed like the type.  

“Not a moment past the agreed time,” Rhysand drawled 

“I’m nothing if not punctual,” Eris barely looked at the High Lord in front of him, choosing to bow slightly at the waist in Nesta’s direction. “Lady Death,” he greeted. 

Nesta merely glowered, her eyes flashing silver. 

Eris did not seem afraid, but rather impressed at the swirling flames in Nesta’s gaze. He was quick to turn his attention to Elain. “Last chance to change your mind.” A dare, like he was expecting her to be inconstant, unreliable.  

Elain could see why Azriel disliked Eris so much. She looked straight at him, “My mind won’t be changing.” 

Eris flashed her a grin, “Good.” 

“You can winnow more than one with you to Autumn?” Rhysand asked, and Elain nearly sighed in relief when embers came to life in Eris’s observant eyes and he paid her no mind. 

“Why?” Eris questioned, so much distaste in that one, simple word. 

“Elain will be needing a lady’s maid,” Azriel bit out. 

Eris hummed in response, facing Elain once more. “You’re bringing a friend?” 

“Will that be a problem?” Elain lifted her chin, ready to argue on Cora’s behalf. The woman took a few small steps closer, her black skirts brushing Elain’s light blue ones, as though she too was ready to make her case. 

Eris frowned, “My father won’t like it.” 

“You can’t expect me to go alone,” Elain snapped, not bothering with upholding pretences any longer. 

Eris raised his auburn brows, amused. He took a moment to inspect Cora, seeming to examine every inch of her. His eyes trailed assessingly from the fabric of Cora’s dress pooled along the marble floor to the elegant braid of her dark hair twisted in a crown. “At least she’s nice to look at,” Eris finally commented, a dismissal. 

Elain knew it was an understatement, that Cora was lovely, but now that Elain had gotten what she wanted, she kept her mouth shut.   

Cora scowled, but she did not utter a word either. Elain gave her a look that she hoped suggested that they were now in this together. 

Elain watched as Eris raised his hand, beckoning the two of them closer. Elain’s eyes flicked to his palm as she raised her own hand tentatively. 

Eris’s nostrils flared with his next breath, flames flaring in his eyes. Elain wondered if he could smell the dried blood on her palms, whether he would remark on it, but he remained silent. 

Elain’s hand shook as she placed it in Eris’s much larger one, and quick like the harsh strike of lightning, her world went dark.

[amethystfairy1]

I rewrote my novel. Admittedly I deleted it because it felt like it was me ranting and you wouldn’t enjoy it, but it made me feel good that you wanted to read a random person’s analysis.

To get out of the way first is the potential wild card invisible stalker. I saw some people speculating it was Mumbo because that seems like a rogue ability, but there’s no reason for him to have been stalking this group he barely knows instead of be with his own. I think it’s a new character, which you didn’t tag either for spoilers or because they don’t truly appear in this story. The latter is my guess, and their purpose is to be another thing hanging over Gem’s group as they go into the fight. As to who they are, because of that recent post on spoilers and the ninja thing, I’m going to guess Etho. The “why” for whoever it is is “to be revealed” information.

Next, the bird reunion. Based on that summary, they have to fight and it’ll definitely be intense. My guess is either during the pre-fight banter between the others or when they first come in contact and a failed sneak attack, the twins will recognize each other, hesitate, but go into the fight anyway because that’s what their friends/masters want. Major cognitive dissonance. I predicted one would get the upper hand and almost, but not quite, finish the other, but more specifically I think Grian will beat Pearl because she’s still injured. If I was writing it, he’d notice the injury, target it because that’s what a good killer does, and simultaneously hate himself for it. And then more delicious angst because a good avian would finish her off, but he can’t do it.

Meanwhile, I think Gem would be fighting the other two. She says in the first chapter that she’s low on magic, but she’s scary enough without the spirits. If I had to guess, I’d say she could normally solo everyone in the other group (not without difficulty, but would win in the end), but it would be the combination that could get her. Scar is also running low on magic, but we don’t know how the two compare. I don’t think we’ve seen Scar fight without magic either, so he could quickly empty his reserves. Mumbo is a very scary opponent and has the element of surprise, but I’m not sure how he’d stack up in a brawl. Judging by that summary of him nearly dying, I’m not optimistic. Scar has previously detected enemies with the spirits, but it’d be interesting to see if another nature elf can go undetected with their own magic. Then it’d be up to Grian to notice them when they’re pretty close, if he’s in a state of mind to do so effectively.

Speaking of state of mind, that was just them physically. Mentally no one is doing well. Mumbo and Scar are worried about Grian and are probably mulling over the target they painted on their backs. Gem is stressed out about the stalker, always worried about Pearl, and her guilt and frustration are turning to rage. That could all cloud her fighting abilities, but so could that empathy she’s trying to shut down. Recognizing Mumbo could give her pause, as could seeing Pearl in Grian and herself in the other boys. A vision just came to me of Grian using his wings to protect one of them from Gem and that causing her to stop. I could also see her stopping if she thought Pearl was about to die again. Both sides would stop if one of the avians admitted they’re siblings, but I can’t see them forcing that information out in the middle of a fight. I think the fight will end with one side recognizing themselves in the other and choosing not to continue. Then we can get a more wholesome birb reconnecting.

The thing I’m less sure about is Impulse and Skizz. I don’t quite know if they’d even participate in the fight or how that would go. I can easily see Impulse deciding not to participate because it’s not his job and he wants to protect Skizz, or him going with the group and being worried about Pearl with this job. If they do participate, that weighs things more in the favor of the Soup Group. From what we’ve seen, Impulse is strong and can tear through normal adventurers. Of course the boys are much stronger, but I’d expect him to hold his own. Skizz is a little more tricky. If he fully fights, I’d expect he’d be a beast. He was nearly retained, so he had serious skills, the only concern would be how much fighting he’s done since being sold. Granted, that didn’t seem to hold Grian back. I doubt Skizz’s heart would be in this fight though, and he’d be looking more to see if Impulse will die or if he can kill him. That won’t happen of course. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a moment comes and Skizz either saves Impulse or doesn’t take the kill, and later has to ask himself why.

So, yeah. That’s my thoughts on what I think is being set up for this story. You don’t have to respond to this. Now I know that even if you don’t, you still enjoyed it. I look forward to seeing if I’m right or be proven wrong. Doubt I’ll be disappointed either way.

I

LOVED

THIS

SO MUCH

RAHHHHHHH

This is so so so so sooooo cool!?

Obviously I'm not gonna super in-depth respond to any of your predictions because I don't wanna give any tells because spoilers but I need you to know that I LOVED THIS.

I WAS BEAMING THE ENTIRE TIME I READ IT

It just makes me SO happy that my stories have the moving parts that make someone able to think it through and come up with theories about what's gonna happen, and that you enjoy the story enough to do so just makes me so very glad! Thank you so much for retyping your novel because I ADORED IT and I will be saving it and I love it very very very much!!!

I'm so glad you're looking forward to this fic, I have so much planned and lots is gonna happen, I'm just SO excited to share it all and it's so wonderful to see everyone is trying to figure out what's gonna go down!

Thank you thank you thank you for sharing!!! 💖💖💖

[theraggedygirl11]

Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud

Bojan's POV

Kris' POV: AO3 - Tumblr

SUMMARY: In a world where Heaven and Hell exist, angels and demons are constantly fighting and killing one another. What if a demon easily dominated by his emotions falls in love with a stoic and cold angel trained to kill demons?

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

WARNINGS: swearing, blood, implied violence, hurt/comfort, implied suicide, emotional rollercoaster, enemies to lovers, hint of jance in the background

WORDS COUNT: 5.094

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Hello! Welcome to my first ever BoKris fic. It all started from this post by @arctixout and that damn tag (for reference: #stoic angel!kris and demon!bojan who's slave to his emotions and then they somehow fall in love wait who said that). And what could I do? It was too juicy to not write something out of it! So here we are.

Besides, as you can see from the title, I used Bluza (Youtube video and lyrics+translation) as my inspiration (and background music while writing), and this songs plays a role in the plot too 👀 yeah, I know we all think this is a BoJere song, but in this fic it's a BoKris fic, you'll understand why

Also, thanks to my beta @anxious-witch!

Last but not the least, I did this aestethic/moodboard trying to match @arctixout gifs

“You should talk to him.”

“Why? He's a demon. He's impure, a damned soul.”

“And you love him.”

“Angels can't love. He started corrupting me.”

“Angels can love and they must love. It's not corruption.”

“How can you tell it's not his corruption, Jan?!”

“Because I fell in love with a demon too. And I accepted it. Go to him, speak to him. He’s singing for you.”

When humans think about demons, the mental image they have is that of a terrifying creature, maybe with huge bat wings, a tail with an arrowhead at the end, claws, horns, red skin, maybe even hooves instead of feet.

Well, we do have a tail, and wings, and claws, but nothing alike of what you see in those pictures, and not every demon has them. We own a human form, just like everyone on this planet, that we use to roam among mortals. We have feelings, desires, hobbies, friends and families. Our only drawback is being born a demon from demon parents. We are guardians in Hell, we just watch over the damned souls who doomed themselves to suffering.

Heaven knows this, angels too, but they deliberately chose to not see this, to hate us, and they kill us with no hesitation when they find us on Earth. They think we are impure beings that don’t deserve to live.

And this is what led me, a demon, to meet the most beautiful creature ever seen on every plane of existence. I fell in love with an angel, I don’t even know his name, but I will discover it.

He almost killed me, I was terrified for my life, but he stopped when our eyes met, the sharp point of his dagger barely touched my throat. Something exploded in my chest, my heart was beating so fast. I've never felt something similar to what I felt at that moment.

And since that night I find myself staring at the sky so often, during both daytime and nighttime. Am I a hopeless romantic that waits for his angel to come and get him? Oh yeah, you can bet on it. And I'll wait for him to appear for eternity, if necessary.

* * *

“Bojan, come on!” Shouts Nace, one of my dearest demon friends. “We are late!”

I turn my eyes in his direction. I was staring at the sky, again. As always, no signs of my angel. He will appear, I’m sure of it, but this is not that day. I sigh, then reach Nace and Jure.

“Still looking for that feathered ass?” Jure asks.

“I…yes. I’d like to meet him again.”

“It’s better if you forget him, he will try to kill you again the next time he sees you,” says Jure while looking me in the eyes.

“He’s different. I’m sure of it. He didn’t kill me.”

“No, but he was about to,” replies Nace. “You know better than us that those winged assholes can’t be reasoned with.”

I lower my eyes, aware of the truth behind Nace’s words. We lost so many of our demon friends because of angels. But maybe…maybe he’s not like the other angels. I saw something in his eyes, something different, this sparkle.

With this thought in mind, I followed Nace and Jure to our destination: there’s a concert of a human band we all like, so we decided to go. We enjoy music so much, we also joke about forming a band together and tour together on Earth, among mortals, but that would put too much attention on us. It’s too dangerous. But at least we can enjoy concerts and gigs!

I’m dancing, taken away by the rhythm of the songs, when my gaze meets familiar eyes in the crowd, two amazing blue-green seas. I completely stop, and so does he. The music and every other sound disappears along with the people around me.

We stare at each other for moments that seem to last decades, blue into brown, light into darkness, Heaven into Hell, a perfect but forbidden combination, something that should never exist.

This magic spell breaks when I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately after a tight grip. I turn and see Nace on my side, who is harshly staring at my angel. Jure appears on my other side.

I turn again towards my angel and I see two other people near him, one of them with dark and long messy hair and a beard, the other one with shorter hair but well combed and a trimmed beard. They are definitely angels. And they know we are demons.

The guy with messy hair steps in our direction, but my angel stops him, raising his hand and using it as a barrier. The dark-haired angel steps back and quickly glances at his friend. No one says a word.

“Bojči, let’s go,” Jure whispers into my ear, then grabs my arm and pulls me away.

I keep looking at my angel until I can no longer see him in the crowd.

In the next weeks Nace and Jure forbid me to go to the surface, but I sneak out. Every other demon could tell that my self-preservation instinct got fried because I want to talk to that angel, at all costs.

I keep looking at the sky, searching for him. Waiting for him to show up. And every single time nothing happens. But I’m stubborn, I won’t give up.

Tonight the sky is clear, stars are shining bright, and there's a small crescent moon. I'm lying on a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, around me only trees and mountains. 

Suddenly a shadow partially covers the sky above me.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

I startle and stand up immediately, recoiling scared. When I recognise the person in front of me, I wide my eyes and open my mouth in surprise.

“Angel,” I whisper.

It’s dark, but I can sense his piercing blue eyes on me. He’s tall, taller than Jure and Nace too. His cheekbones are prominent, I can for sure cut myself while stroking them. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I want to touch them and feel them under my hands and bleed for him. He’s standing straight, rigid like a soldier, or maybe a general, I can’t tell his celestial rank.

“I repeat, since you seem to not understand my words, what are you doing here all alone?”

Shivers run down my whole body, his voice is…ok, this might sound cheeky, but yes, his voice sounds angelic, a slow caress of a lover on my back down to my waist. 

“I was looking for you.”

“For me?” He’s surprised.

“Yes, for you. I wanted to talk to you, angel.”

Now he’s confused. Well, not every day a demon comes looking for an angel. I go closer to him, moving slowly.

“I’m not armed,” I show him my hands. “You can check on me. This is not a trap.”

His eyes follow every single movement I do, even more carefully when I’m in front of him. I stare at his face, stunned by his beauty. I lift a hand to touch it, but I stop mid-air. No, I can’t touch him, my dirty hands can only ruin his perfection.

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?”

“I…I want to know you, angel.”

“I beg your pardon, you want to know…me?”

“Yes,” I nod. “You are amazingly beautiful, angel,” I let slip this comment, without realising. 

I notice a weird red-ish colour on his face. Did I just make him blush? I chuckle, he replies with a shy smile. Oh, he’s so wonderful! That smile almost made me melt on the spot. 

“Would you like to…I don’t know, come grab a coffee or anything else to drink?”

Who said that angels and demons can’t get along well? They must have never met an angel, then.

My angel, whose name is Kris, is a pleasant company. Well, he’s still a little bit rigid, but since that night when we had a couple of drinks together in a bar he became much more open and relaxed and he smiles so much now! Oh, I adore his smile. And his laugh too! 

We started going out together here and there, but every time it happens, my heart almost explodes out of joy. I can’t wait to see him again and again and again. Jure and Nace are worried for me, but I feel safe around Kris. He’s not like the other angels.

Our “dates” are pretty diverse. Sometimes we just hang out in some park or in the middle of wild places; once we sat on a cliff for hours, we talked and we observed the environment, at least Kris, I was too busy looking at him with heart eyes. Some other time we choose a city and we explore it, we can just appear anywhere in the world, a perk of being supernatural creatures!

This night though is special. Tonight I will confess my feelings to Kris. By now we have been seeing each other for some months and I’m completely sure about my love for him. Yes, I, a demon, fell in love with an angel, I’m not afraid of saying it, I want to shout it from the top of a building.

I’m putting on some makeup. I’m in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a small apartment I rented for when I’m roaming around on Earth. Jure and Nace are with me in the room, they are still worried for me.

“Are you sure of what you are about to do?” Nace asks.

“Yes, never been so sure in my long demonic life,” I reply.

“But he’s an angel, Bojči,” Jure whispers. “He’s dangerous. What if he’s playing with you?”

“He’s not, Jurček. I see how he looks at me, he…I think he’s in love with me too,” I glance at him through the mirror. 

“Angels are sly creatures, you can’t trust them,” Jure adds.

“They say the same stuff about us, you know?” 

I smile at my reflection. That black eyeshadow with glitter is perfect for me, my eyes are shining. “I love him, I’m going to tell him this. Tonight will be a special night, nothing can change this.”

We hear the sound of wings in the living room. He’s here.

I almost run in the room, a huge smile appears on my lips when I see him. He’s wearing beige trousers, a shirt with light colours and floral designs and a silver jacket. He’s from Heaven, no one can be mistaken. And his clothes collide with mine: I’m wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt, when we’ll go out I planned to wear a bright red leather jacket. He’s the good boy, I’m the bully, the bad boy.

“You are stunning, ljubavi .”

“You…too, Bojan.”

I notice his eyes passing over me. I turn and I see Jure and Nace.

“Oh, yeah, these are my dearest friends. This is Jure,” and I point to the blonde demon. “And this is Nace,” I move my hand towards the tattooed demon. “They are safe, they won’t hurt you. I ask you to do the same.”

“...fine,” he grants. His eyes turn back to me. I notice hesitation in him.“You put on makeup.” 

“Yes, just for you. Do you like it?”

“You…look good.”

I grab his hand. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me.”

I practically pull Kris to the bathroom, where I make him sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“What are you trying to do, little demon?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” I reply while I take the palette I bought the other day. I start putting makeup on his face, I chose a wonderful golden eyeshadow for him. I admire my work.

“You are otherworldly, ljubavi . Open your eyes.”

Kris opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. I observe his reaction: I can read astonishment in his face.

“Gold is your colour. It suits you perfectly.”

“I-It does,” he whispers.

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. “We can go, then. I have other surprises for you, my angel.”

Our first stop is at a wonderful restaurant where we had already eaten so many times because it’s Kris’ favourite. I let him order whatever he wants and then pay for the whole dinner. We talk about many topics, but Kris is weirdly more silent than usual.

“Is everything ok, ljubavi ?” 

“Yeah, sure, don't worry. I…had a rough day in Heaven, that's all.”

I smile fondly at him, then gently grab his hand and slowly stroke its back.

“Now it's time for you to relax, then. Enjoy this night out.”

Our eyes lock. I see him relaxing a bit, the shadow of whatever happened retreating.

Once dinner is finished, we take a long walk into the city centre. It's almost summer, the temperatures are pleasant, so many other humans are around. We blend in, looking like a proper couple, even because we are holding hands.

When we arrive at our final destination of the night, I bring Kris to the top of a building, so we can be alone and closer to the sky, his home.

“Why did you bring me here?” Kris asks.

I shake one hand in the air, around us many candles appear and some slow music starts spreading, embracing us. I turn towards my angel and offer him my hand.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kris?”

He looks at me, confused, but then takes it. I lay my other hand on his waist and smile at him. We start dancing, slowly. My angel is a bit embarrassed, but he tries to follow my lead.

“Just let the music flow over you. Hear it inside of you and allow it to take control over your body,” I whisper to him with a tender voice.

A few seconds later Kris is more relaxed and we are dancing more fluidly, following the rhythm and the melody. I can’t stop smiling while I look at my angel. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, so perfect. I can see stars reflecting into his eyes, an entire galaxy in which I could lose myself, bewitched by its beauty.

We keep dancing along with the music, but the more we dance, the more I see a shadow coming back in Kris’ eyes, until he leaves my hands and takes two steps back.

“We can’t go on doing this, Bojan.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“Because we can’t! You are a demon, and I’m an angel. We are not supposed to…mingle.”

“We are not mingling, ljubavi . This is a romantic date between two creatures who have feelings for each other.”

I grab the angel's hands and look him in the eyes.

“Kris, I'm not the monster Heaven teaches you to despise. You saw me, you got to know me.”

“You are still a demon, Bojan, no matter how you behave or what you do.”

“And so? What does it change between us?”

“I'm a freaking angel! We are supposed to fight each other, not…doing this, dancing alone like two teenagers in love!”

“Only because we are not human teenagers? Because we come from two different places? Because others tell us that we should hate each other?” I clutch his hands between mine. “You know me,” I repeat. It’s the truth, we have been seeing each other for some months now. I bring one of his hands on my chest, right over my heart. “This heart is yours, ljubavi , and no one else’s.”

“Bojan, this is wrong .”

“Kris, I love you. What's wrong with that?” I feel my heart sink into my chest. “You…don't love me?”

“No, Bojan. I don’t love you. Let’s stop pretending.”

My heart stops beating in that exact moment and I feel my head spin. The ground under my feet is crumbling. I’m falling even if I’m right in front of Kris, my angel. I struggle breathing.

“I-I’m not pretending.”

“Don’t lie, Bojan. You are a demon, all demons do is lie. You know who and what I am, you saw weakness in me because I didn’t kill you that day. You are corrupting me because you want me to lose my wings!”

“I know you are an angel and nothing else! I-I don't want you to lose your wings!” There’s panic in my voice, and maybe it’s showing on my face too. “I’m not lying!”

“You want to bring me to the path of perdition! You want me to fall, just like Lucifer.”

I let Kris' hands go and recoil, stuttering. My heart is clenched, it can’t beat.

“I-I’m not, Kris. I-I don’t want to-”

“Stop lying!” He shouts and his eyes begin shining out of celestial power. “You are a filthy demon. You don’t change, you just want to destroy us.”

I recoil again, scared, I even fall on the ground. I stand up then turn and run away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes violently, they want to come out and a few seconds later they manage to do so. My makeup is for sure ruined and dripping down my face. 

I feel like an idiot. I hoped that Kris would be different, but what was I thinking? He's an angel, those creatures are heartless killers when it comes to demons like me. Their hatred for us is blind, almost innate. I just got another proof.

Nace and Jure were right. Angels and demons are not meant to be together. Then why did I, a demon, fall in love with an angel? If we are supposed to be mortal enemies, then why was I destined to lose my reason for a celestial creature that would slaughter me just because I am what I am? Just why? Will I ever get an answer? 

I’ve been locked in my room in a building in Hell for…who knows how much time. I don’t want to see anyone, neither Nace nor Jure. I keep crying, stopping the tears coming out of my eyes is difficult, or dare I say even impossible. My heart is shattered.

Why are demons born with such intense feelings? Why can’t we control them like angels do? Or are we cursed to be dominated by our emotions exactly because angels don’t have them?They teach us that the universe needs balance, so if angels can’t feel, someone else must feel double the time. 

I wrap my body with my arms, trying to look smaller. My tail is out, wrapped around my leg. It’s a pathetic endeavour to not feel so alone and abandoned. 

I wince when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see Nace sitting by my side. He’s visibly worried.

“Bojči, what happened?”

I sob. “Y-you were right about him. He-he’s a heartless angel, just like anyone else of them,” I stutter, my voice is trembling.

Nace lays on my bed, facing me, then pulls me over to hug me. I plant my face against his chest. I feel his hand running up and down my back.

“Not every angel is heartless.”

“He is, Nace!” I shout, utter despair in my voice. “He is! I showed him my love and he accused me of trying to corrupt him! I-I gave him my whole heart and he laughed at me, he stabbed it with his ice dagger and killed me-” I stop. I can still hear his words in my mind. “H-He called me a filthy demon, Nace. After all I did for him and showed him, I-I’m still a filthy demon to him.”

My friend says nothing, he just stays there and cuddles me, attempting to make me feel a little bit better. 

And since that day I kind of started feeling better. Well, it’s more of a euphemism. Let’s say that I was barely surviving. I came back to my chores as a demon, but now I don’t smile anymore, or very little. I’m quiet. I prefer to stay alone than in the middle of a crowd. With me I have a small notebook in which I write my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and also lyrics. I can’t be a singer in the human world, but no one can stop me from writing what I feel, what I experience. 

This is how I wrote a song about my angel and how I fell in love with him. It has a stupid name too. I can write good songs, but I’m not able to name them. I will find a better one, one day. Hopefully.

“What are you writing in that notebook?” Asks Jure while sitting next to me.

We are in the human world, more precisely in a park. We needed some fresh air and some sunlight. 

“It’s nothing…” I answer.

Jure leans forward to read. “Is this about him?”

I nod. There’s no one else in my mind. I don’t like his presence, he’s haunting me, my mind is working against me. 

���It’s really intense,” Jure whispers. “Do you really love him?”

I nod again. “I know I’m a stupid demon. I should move on, forget him, but I can’t. He doesn’t love me back, he said it,” I sigh. “I’m just hoping to forget him as soon as possible. Maybe writing this stuff will help me process this stupid feeling.”

“Love isn’t stupid!”

“My love is absolutely stupid. An angel, Jurček! I’m a freaking demon and I fell in love with an angel.”

“You are not the first one.”

“Yeah, and how many of them survived? Are they here to tell their love story? No, Jurček, because angels killed them. I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

Jure pushes me with his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, Bojči. There’s always time to change.”

I look at him. I don’t believe his words. Months have passed since my last moment with my angel, his shiny eyes are still impressed in my mind. He was about to kill me that night. 

No, he won’t change. Kris is an angel, full stop. He’s born to despise demons like me. I just need to accept that, but it will take time.

Is this despair that is guiding my actions? Possibly. Will I regret my decisions? Almost certainly. But if I can’t be with my angel, then I’d rather be dead, maybe slaughtered by him directly. That would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? A demon executed by the angel he’s fallen in love with. There’s poetry behind all of this. Maybe demons will use me as an example to the younglings to warn them to not fall in love with angels if they want to live.

I tried to forget him, move on, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He's haunting me. And with him also the lyrics of the song I wrote for him. 

I’m in the middle of an abandoned industrial area. I prepared an amplifier with a microphone and a computer. I recorded some music for my song and I will perform it for the first (and last) time here, hoping that my angel is listening to me and will come to…I don’t know, to do anything. I’m ready for whatever he will decide to do to me. Included death.

I test the volume and the music. Everything sounds good, so I play the music and I start singing, looking directly at the sky.

“ Stolicu primakni, ruku mi dotakni, noćas ti si moja muza, ja u ritmu tvoga bluza ću da plešem bez prestanka .”

Nothing. The sky is blue, there’s not a single cloud, not a single sign of feathered wings. I continue singing.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

Still nothing. But I won’t lose hope, I will keep singing for him. He will show up, eventually. I just need a sign, Kris, please, I’m begging you.

“ Samo se okreni, baci pogled prema meni. Preći će tišina sama kilometre među nama dok jednom srce otkuca .”

Now it’s again time for the refrain. Some tears started running down my face, but I continue singing, I must, even if he won’t appear. I need to take these feelings out of my heart or it will explode. Maybe it will be my heart to kill me and not my angel.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

I see something in the sky, then the clear sound of wings hits me. I lower my eyes and I find Kris right in front of me. I see his three pairs of wings. A seraph, I should have guessed. Of course, I fell in love with one of the most powerful angels in the sky. When I do something, it’s always something big or I’m not happy with the result.

I kneel in front of him. Now I’ll sing the last part of my song.

“ Ne palite još svetla, još samo jedan tren da se nagledam lepote te. Ne palite još svetla. Ne prizivajte dan. Spasite me, smislite neki plan. Ako svane sunce, ostaću sam .”

The music stops. I’m looking at my angel, finally here for me. I’m breathing deeply, my heart is racing in my chest. My hand that’s holding the microphone is shaking. I’m afraid of what might happen, but at the same time I’m relieved. 

“You came,” I whisper.

“You called.”

Silence falls again between us. Kris slowly approaches, his facial expression is cold, hiding every emotion. I have pure angelic power in front of me, a deadly machine trained to kill my kind, and I’m looking at him in adoration.

“You know I should kill you right now because you are on Earth and not in Hell, right?”

“Then do it. I won’t fight, I won’t run away. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be dead.”

Kris averts his eyes and presses his lips together, then talks. 

“You are an idiot, Bojan.”

“Yeah, I know, ljubavi . Love made me lose my mind in a way I didn’t think possible.”

“You said that in the song.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it’s just one of the many flaws that make us demons so imperfect in front of you angels. I was so unlucky to fall in love with you, but I don’t consider myself unlucky. I had the best moments of my life with you, I don’t want to change this for anything else in this world, not even a place in Heaven, if this means that I will lose my ability to love so strongly.”

I let the microphone fall on the ground and grab Kris’ sword, he has it in his hand, then I lay his sharp point right on my heart.

“You are here for this, no? Killing another impure soul that doesn’t follow the rules.”

Kris looks at me, finally. I smile, those eyes are so cold and so beautiful at the same time.

“Don’t make me do this, Bojan.”

“It’s ok, ljubavi . It’s ok. It’s…it’s your nature, you have been trained to do this your whole life.”

My voice trembles with emotions. Tears keep running down my face. No, I realise I’m not ready to die. I want to live, to be with him, but I know I can’t. It’s not allowed.

I feel the point of his sword pressed against my chest. In a few seconds it will reach my heart, and it will stop beating. I close my eyes.

But nothing happens. I’m still here, alive, breathing. I hear a metal sound against the ground, then two hands cup my face and I feel warm and soft lips pressed on mine.I open wide my eyes. Kris is kneeling on the ground in front of me and he’s kissing me.

I close my eyes again. I kiss him back, desperate to feel him, to make him feel my love through that act. I gently grab his wrists. 

When we interrupt the kiss, I touch Kris’ forehead with mine. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.  

“Please, let it be real,” I whisper, without even realising it. “Please, please, let it be real.”

Kris chuckles. “It’s real, Bojan.”

I open my eyes and part a bit from him, just to look him in the eyes. “Real-real kind of way or…real-I’m-in-some-sort-of-Heaven-for-demons-because-I’m-dead kind of way?” I ask.

My angel gently strokes my cheeks, then leans forward to kiss me again. 

“This kind of way, my little demon,” he whispers against my lips. I shiver thanks to that lovely nickname. I hate being called little because it reminds me of my lack of height, but I’d let Kris call me whatever he wants, just to hear his voice again and again.

“I’m your little demon, then?”

Kris nods while looking me in the eyes. He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. His touch is so gentle, shivers run down my spine again.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Your song. I had feelings for you, they developed pretty early, but I…wasn’t acknowledging their existence because I never had the chance to fall in love with someone.”

I jump on Kris to hug him, sending us both falling to the ground, so I end up on top of him. I burst out laughing.

“Well, now you have someone right here.”

My tail appears behind me and shakes in the air, showing my happiness. I kiss him on the cheek, then giggle when I see him blushing. A couple of tears run down my face, but this time they are out of pure and simple joy.

* * *

I've been a demon my whole life. I grew up fearing angels, but nothing could have prepared me for what fate had planned for me. I fell in love with Kris, an angel, a seraph. Our relationship began with the worst scenario possible, with him trying to kill me. And yeah, I might be dumb, because I fell in love with him in that moment, but now we are happy together. And I wouldn’t change a thing about us.

Heaven and Hell finally united thanks to the love between an angel and a demon.

[mairitess]

ebbs and flows pt. 2 // jaya

a/n: i wrote this bc i got back into ninjago and i needed to write something for them bc i'm not caught up enough to be able to read the current fics + also on ao3 in caps

words: 1.5k, part one here

tags: angst, fluff, post-skybound, post s10 ninjago: masters of spinjitzu, jaya, no beta we die like kings, they r so traumatized after nadakhan, minor violence mentions from skybound, kiss kiss rated t just in case

preview:

she might’ve missed it, if she weren’t so keyed up already. “you’re my yang, nya.”

the ninjas returned to the temple absolutely beaten. they’d defeated the latest ninjago city menace, but it took more effort than usual. their entire way home, jay was tapping his foot incessantly.

“can you stop that?” cole said, irritated. “you sound like a walking time bomb.”

jay started to apologize. “i’m sorry! i can’t help it. i’m…”

“nervous? anxious? stressed?” the suggestions came in a popcorn chorus from zane, pixal, and kai.

jay put his head in his hands. “yes,” he sighed, defeated.

cole put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “what happened…?” to you and nya?

“i have no idea.”

everyone was quiet until they got to the temple. they knew jay was doing his best, and they knew how stubborn and guarded nya could be, too — much like her brother. when they landed, jay filed out last, worry troubling his stomach.

“you got it, jay,” lloyd said, clapping jay on the shoulder. “it’ll be okay.” he turned from jay to look at cole, also unsure. they’d known nya had been different recently, as much as she tried to hide it. but they didn’t know what they could do, especially if jay wasn’t able to fix it.

with heavy heart and steps, jay made his way to nya’s room in the early morning hours. misako and wu were standing just outside her door, making jay even more nervous. he rushed over.

“what happened? is she okay? where is she?” he couldn’t keep his voice down, his lightning energy rushing into his veins again.

“she’s fine,” misako said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “she’s okay. but…” she trailed off, as nya’s door started to open.

it was the first time she’d really looked at him in weeks, and jay’s heart dropped as he saw her bloodshot eyes and dark circles. as much as he was exhausted from their fight in the city, she had been draining for far longer.

“hi, jay.”

—

he followed her into her room, gently closing the door behind them. when she sat on the edge of her bed, he sat a foot away, careful to keep some distance. he didn’t want to make things worse.

“i missed you,” he said, unable to keep it in. “i miss you. i love you. i…” jay suddenly felt too loud, too brash, and worried he’d scare her away again.

“i love you too,” nya replied, tears brimming again. “and i think i’m ready to tell you what happened — or, what’s been happening, and i’ve been so worried to tell you before because i’m scared you’ll hate me and want to leave me but i love you and if that’s how i make you feel then i just want you to be happy and safe and secure and i’m scared when i tell you this you’ll —“ nya cut herself off, too scared to speak into reality one of her biggest fears. “you make me feel more special and confident and myself than anyone i’ve ever known,” she whispered. “and i’m scared you’ll throw me away when i tell you.”

sometimes, even when jay wasn’t talking, nya could still hear the lightning coursing through him. this time, she couldn’t. she was scared to break the silence. she needed to know if he even wanted to hear what she had to say.

and she might’ve missed it, if she weren’t so keyed up already. the quietest he’s ever been, the most hesitant yet gentle and kind.

“you’re my yang, nya. nothing you could say could ever change that.”

jay knew nya well enough to know she was struggling with not feeling like she was doing their relationship “right”. a perfectionist through and through, as soon as things started to dissolve, so did she. but jay needed her the way the moon needs the tides, the skies reaching for the waters beneath. she knew ebbs and flows, but so did he, because he yearned for her throughout.

nya told him of her nightmares, and how she thought she was dying that day. she drew in a deep breath, before she told him that his hold felt the same way. she thought she was angry he wasn’t upset like she was. she wasn’t angry anymore.

he was quiet, processing, until he asked, “do you really think i’m not upset like you?” nya stilled.

“all our friends died. i had just seen you in a wedding dress, and you were about to marry someone else, even if not by choice. and then you started to die in my arms, by a tactical choice i made. it would’ve been all my fault, if you…” he paused. “you’re the love of my life, nya. and i held you as i cried because i don’t know what life there is without you.

“i made my last wish holding you. and everything was good again when we went back and you took my hand. i know that right now my touch feels like… death, but i need you to know that to me, touching you gave us a new chance at life.”

nya was stunned; all she could do was sit there, his words ringing over and over again in her head.

“i love you, nya. i just… need some time to think about it, too. okay?” jay said, standing up. he smiled, but it was small and somber. nya couldn’t help feeling like she’d hurt him, that she’d thought so little of his actions. she nodded, and it wasn’t until her door closed again that she was able to mumble, “i love you.”

—

nya didn’t leave her room all day. she was feeling better, but she didn’t want to step out. kai brought her dinner and they sat side by side as she ate.

“how’s jay?” she asked, and kai shrugged. “he’s been in his room ever since we got back. so i don’t know. but it was a pretty bad fight, so maybe he’s just resting. though normally he’d rest by playing some video games,” kai joked, nudging nya lightly with his shoulder. she quieted again, looking down at her food.

“i think i messed up,” nya said, swirling her spoon in her congee.

“i don’t think you could with jay, sis. he loves you.”

“i know. but that doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean things will always be okay.”

“sure. but it also doesn’t mean you two can’t be okay, either.” kai paused. “uh, let me say that again. you guys will get through it. that’s what love is. love is about getting through things together, not keeping things perfect all the time.”

nya smiled, genuinely, for the first time in awhile. “when did you get to be wu number two?”

kai laughed. “probably when i realized how much you and jay love each other.”

nya understood it was time to stop fighting the flow. it took the master of water long enough.

—

it was just after 10, and nya needed to see jay. but as soon as she opened her door, there he was, hand poised to knock. he jumped back. “gosh, nya! you’re quiet.”

they stood in her doorway, just looking at each other, not quite sure what to do next. they started speaking over each other in a flurry.

“nya—“

“jay, i—“

nya laughed, and jay could feel everything start to lighten. “come in.”

they lay down on nya’s bed next to each other, closer than they’d been in weeks past.

“i’m sorry, jay,” nya mumbled, drawing circles with her finger into her pillowcase.

“no, i’m sorry, nya. i shouldn’t have left the way i did earlier.”

“it’s okay.” jay raised an eyebrow and nya nodded. “i promise. i’ve… been thinking about it longer than you have. it’s only fair.”

he smiled, and nya kept looking between the freckles across his face and his brilliant blue eyes. how could she have ever been so afraid of what he would say?

“so…” she started. “what now?”

“i don’t want to rush you into anything,” jay said. “i love holding you, and you know how much that means to me, but we don’t have to touch or anything until you’re ready. but i do think it could help,” he offered.

nya shook her head as he talked. “you could never rush me. and i want to fix things. so maybe… we start here?”

she gently grabbed his hand, and placed it on the side of her face, holding him there. nya nudged closer to jay until they were a breath apart. she tilted her head up and gazed at him, waiting.

“i missed you,” nya said, and jay met her halfway, their lips melding into each other where they belonged. softly, first, then as nya grew more incessant, jay matched her, and it was like breathing and drowning in confessions of love all at once.

jay was careful not to move his hand from her cheek, but as they kissed, she moved his hand down to her back, and he pulled her ever closer. nya broke their kiss first to breathe.

“i missed you too,” jay said, one arm behind her back, the other under her neck, cradling the back of her head. they laid there for hours, and just as nya was starting to doze off, jay asked, “nya… what do want me to do if you have another nightmare again?”

she thought about it before, but wasn’t sure what would work until they tried. “just don’t let go,” she mumbled into his chest, and he held her tighter.

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — PROLOGUE

WARNINGS: not really any except for alcohol consumption

NOTES: sooo i’ve decided to rewrite the ao3 fic (fragments of fear) i was working on because i felt like the current draft i was writing could’ve been better and i’m a perfectionist sooo i am trying something different here! let’s see how writing this on tumblr goes. i’ll make a custom hashtag for this work on here that way the chapters are more easily accessible. in the future i’ll make a new work on ao3 and post the rewritten chapters there too. i’ll have to think about it.

while obviously this version is going to be a rewritten version therefore tweaked and all that, i’m still going with the idea of having everything set in the 80s. i already plan on writing a sequel to this shit and i’ll try to make the whole 80s au thing more obvious there. for now, i’ll try to make it work 💀 i just think an 80s abigail au would be interesting, at least for this fic.

SUMMARY: it’s been five years since frank’s last seen sylvie, yet somehow he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about her. how can some random woman he arrested affect him this much?

turns out, he’ll be crossing paths with her again.

WORD COUNT: 1,497 (i have a headache okay)

TAGS: @shawsfinalgirl @reclaimedbythesea @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @atcarpenter @blackwolfstabs @witchy-weve-monbebe @simpingforclaudette

Tonight was just another night — another night of bad decisions for Adam. There were plenty of seedy dive bars to get wasted in, and of course, he had planned to take full advantage of that. Anything to drown out his thoughts, right?

Unfortunately for him, even the strongest liquors couldn’t keep his brain quiet. With every shot of whiskey he did, he was still thinking about her — that damn fucking brunette. Adam could still picture her big, brown eyes that always stared at him with that look of defiance that was simultaneously infuriating, yet… encouraging. He had loved visiting her jail cell just to tease her and get her all riled up. She never hesitated to snap back at him with that feisty, snarky attitude of hers. It pissed Adam off, dealing with someone with such a stubborn attitude who refused to back down to him. He was a man who thrived on power. He craved having a sense of control over somebody, and that girl refused to give it to him, that sense of control.

As much as it bothered Adam, it also… intrigued him. Plus, he thought she was even more attractive than she already was when she was pissed off. Right from the minute he met her, he knew he was going to be giving her a hard time.

A few months later, she was able to go home, and… strangely enough, Adam felt a tinge of disappointment. The fun was over.

Five years later, he wasn’t a detective anymore, now a criminal. Five years later, he was a deadbeat father who had abandoned his now ex-wife and his son, sitting all alone in his pathetic apartment and drinking. Five years later, he was driving himself insane over some woman he’d most likely never see again.

What was her name again, anyway? Sylvia? Yeah, Sylvia… or, as he liked to call her, “Sylvie.”

After a period of time, Adam managed to return to his apartment, but with an excruciating headache from clearly drinking too much. He felt lightheaded and had a tinge of nausea. It didn’t help that he hadn’t really eaten anything at all today. Alcohol and an empty stomach — a very poor combination, Adam.

He stumbled into his apartment drunkenly grumbling and swearing, and eventually managed to take a seat on the couch. His surroundings were blurry, even despite wearing his glasses.

Adam’s apartment was quiet and lonely. Once upon a time, he had a family. He had a wife, he had a son. Now, he was alone again, and he had brought it upon himself. He had decided that being a family man wasn’t the life he wanted. Another bad decision, Adam.

He could only hear the sound of the clock on the wall ticking, and it only served as another bitter reminder of the fact he was alone, leaving him to struggle with his thoughts by himself. Sylvie ended up in his mind again, and it was only making him increasingly agitated.

“Fuckin’ damn it…” Adam grumbled, massaging his temples in an attempt to try and relieve his headache. He didn’t even really give a fuck about Sylvie, so why was she stuck in his mind? He couldn’t recall the last time somebody had gotten under his skin like this, really under his skin.

There was a knock on the door, causing Adam to flinch. He was tempted to get up and answer it, see what the fuck it was about, but he couldn’t do it in the drunken state he was in. He simply just remained seated until the knocking ceased, and that was when he decided to get up and investigate. Maybe it was mail. That was usually the only reason why he’d get somebody knocking on his door.

Sighing, Adam forced himself to stand and staggered over to the door, desperately trying to keep his balance as he reached for the doorknob, his unsteady hand trembling just a little. Then, he turned it, carefully opening the door.

Sure enough, there was a plain white envelope waiting for him in his mailbox. “The fuck…?” He murmured, snatching the envelope. Quickly, he closed the door and headed back inside, placing the envelope on the kitchen counter. Sure enough, it was addressed to an “Adam Barrett” — him. When he saw the address information of the sender, his eyes slightly widened. Lambert?

Adam tore open the envelope, revealing a piece of paper inside. There was no “dear, [NAME]” or any other formalities, just a simple, to-the-point message. He tried to focus his gaze on the letters, trying his best to decipher what had been written.

“Adam — I’ve included a list of five addresses. I need you to deliver a message to each of these addresses by mail. Tell them that they’ve got a bit of a job offer for them — kidnap the daughter of an incredibly wealthy man, and they’ll all be rightfully rewarded. If they accept, I’ll call them individually. — Lambert.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. God, he hated being told what to do, but he knew damn well that Lambert wasn’t a man who was meant to be crossed. He also knew Lambert well enough to know that if he needed something, it was urgent.

“I’ll do this shit tomorrow…” He muttered, and he tossed the piece of paper aside. Right now, he didn’t feel like fucking doing anything. However, as frustrated as he was right now, he’d undeniably do anything with the incentive of money.

“Why didn’t anyone say we were kidnapping a kid?” A dark-haired woman muttered as the group headed inside the mansion in front of them. A taller, more muscular man was carrying the kid in question over his shoulder.

Adam turned around to shoot the woman a sharp, cold glare. “It doesn’t fuckin’ matter. It’s a kid. Fuckin’ deal with it.” He snapped, before turning back around. “Alright, get the fuck inside.”

Once everyone was inside and the doors were closed, they all looked around, gawking at the place. The guy who had been in charge of driving the group to this place seemed especially impressed, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Damn!”

“Like it, huh?”

Everybody turned around, and sure enough… Lambert was standing there, a smirk on his face.

“Find a room and get the girl situated. Set up a lookout position. Meet back here in five. For those of you who don’t know, I go by Lambert. You all came highly recommended, and so far, those recommendations are paying off.”

Lambert’s eyes surveyed the group, and as they started to disperse, he narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t… right. He could’ve sworn there was supposed to be another person amongst the group. If he had forgotten to mention her, he remembered now. He’d wait until the group had returned.

Once they did, Lambert continued to speak. He gave the group members new names: Joey, Sammy, Peter, Dean, and Rickles. As for Adam, he was now “Frank.”

“The only one to be allowed in the room with the girl is her,” Lambert gestured to Joey, “so the rest of you… make yourselves comfortable. Any questions?”

“Who’s the girl?” Joey questioned.

“You don’t need to know her name,” Lambert responded.

“I don’t care about her name. Whose kid is she?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “The fuck’s that matter to you?”

“A very wealthy man who’s about to be $50 million poorer,” Lambert answered matter-of-factly. His eyes then darted between Frank and Dean. “Frank, Dean. Come over here.”

Frank rolled his eyes as he followed Dean over to Lambert. “The fuck is it now?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

“We’re missing somebody.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Frank questioned, his tone one of confusion. “You gave me five addresses. I brought five people.”

“There’s one address I forgot to write down. 7871 Lantern Drive. You know where that is?”

At the mention of that address, Frank felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his chest. Wait a second… it couldn’t be the same person, right?

“Yes, I do.” He responded, attempting to keep his voice steady.

“Good. Track her down and bring her here. Don’t hesitate to use the tranquilizer if you have to. She’ll be referred to by ‘Ava’ while she’s here.”

Before Frank and Dean could say anything, Lambert turned around and began to head for the doors. He gave the group a final look before speaking one last time.

“There’s clean bedding and lit fires in the rooms. Kitchen’s fully stocked, so is the bar. See you in 24 hours, my lovely pack of rats.”

And just like that, Lambert was gone. Frank exchanged an annoyed glance with Dean.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered, before leading Dean out the entrance.

“Where are you both going?” Sammy called out.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.” Frank curtly responded. “We should be back in a few. All of you, behave.”

[thegreatobsesso]

wooooooo working on something exciting!!! ;D

The fellow who walks into the room is even more delicious than his profile picture, but Octavius recognizes the gentle eyes, chubby cheeks and perfect blonde curls that initially stopped him browsing. If there’s a single word that could sum up his appearance, it’d be, simply, sweet.

Octavius likes sweet things. Fancy little cakes, two hundred year old port from the Douro valley, and darlings like this who shuffle on their feet, unsure of themselves in the presence of a superior.

He’s got no choice, really, but to toy with him. 

“Well,” he says experimentally, looking him up and down. “Jules must’ve been having an off day, sending you up.”

It works a little too well - the boy can’t even hide the way his face falls, and Octavius can’t bear to see him suffer so, sap that he is. He takes his guest’s chin in his hand.

“Surely he knows better than to send me someone under the age of eighteen.”

Milo McKenzie huffs a little relieved laugh and blushes impossibly, vibrant as a cartoon character. “You’re a decade in the clear there,” he says shyly, which of course, Octavius already knows. “And a bit on top of that.”

“Good,” he says, tugging the man closer by his shirt. “That’s very good, because I like what I see.”

He’s thirty-two, a baby, really. A mental health professional, has an office space in Notting Hill and a modest flat of his own in Ealing. Caucasian, five-foot-five, blood type O positive, no major chronic health problems, single, and an Eighth Sin regular able to provide reliable references.

He relies heavily on these references; he wouldn't be caught dead in his own club. 

“Open your mouth.”

The boy complies without hesitation - and yes, Octavius will call him a boy in his own mind, and perhaps later out loud. But he’s got a solid four inches on him at least, so it’s the simplest thing to tip his head back and descend upon him.

Milo’s got to break for breath and that’s just fine - there’s more of him to kiss. Octavius turns his head to the side and sets upon his porcelain little neck, eliciting a beautiful whimper.

“Are you quite alright?” hums against soft skin.

“Yeah,” the boy gasps. “God. You’re. I wasn’t expecting, uh, this.”

“Mmm. Did Jules make me out to be some kind of untouchable ice sculpture?”

“I. I don’t. Oh.”

How adorable; the path of Octavius’s hands under his jumper has already disabled his ability to complete sentences. 

“So responsive. What do I call you, love?” He twists the boy’s nipples while looking straight into his eyes, delighted by the way he squirms under two different kinds of calculated attention.

“Milo,” he manages. “Milo’s good. That’s my name, so.”

He repeats the name out loud to see how it tastes. “That’s a very nice name,” he concludes. “I’m going to take you apart, Milo. Find all the secret little mechanisms that hold you together and snap them off one by one. How does that sound?”

He doesn’t think much in these moments, just lets the words tumble out like he’s communicating with a dear little animal who can’t really understand him anyway, but the boy exhales with a heady sort of pleasure that lets Octavius know it’s working.

“Fucking fantastic.”

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

The corner of Milo’s mouth quirks up. “Fucking fantastic, sir.”

He withdraws his hands from under the jumper and ruffles his blonde curls, enjoying the tousled effect it provides. “Well done,” he praises. “Now, go lay on the bed.”

“Oh. You mean...?” The boy glances down at himself.

“Yes, in your clothes.”

He’s already sized up the fabric and knows it will stretch up and over the back of the boy’s head once his wrists are tied to the headboard. He’s in that sort of mood to ratchet up the tension very, very slowly - keep this one around for awhile.

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[imagionationstation]

Hi! I read your TMNT 2012 separated au that you made with ellestrade and it really gave me brainworms so I wrote a small one-shot for it! The characters kinda ended up writing themselves haha.

anyways, wanted to share it with you and also make sure that you're okay with it. Not sure how you feel about other people taking inspiration from you ideas, so if you would like me to take it down, just let me know!

Thanks for sharing such fun ideas. Here's the post (I've also tagged you in it but sometimes tags are weird and don't always show. Also its on my fandom specific sideblog, but I am the same person haha)

Gotta love those brain worms! (Ironic statement from a 2012 viewpoint, actually-) HOLY CHALUPA, BRAIN WORMS IN THIS AU UNIVERSE, WAIT WAIT ACTUALLY WAIT-

*background rambles and spazzing*

Okay, I’m back.

I’m always a-okay with whatever fan things anyone wants to create with inspiration from something I made or helped make. As long as it isn’t containing some stamp that says “this I deem canon” when neither me (nor my partner) deemed it canon, no one ever has to worry with me getting upset over some story/comic/art.

I’m going to give some thoughts and I want to disclaimer.

When I discuss my thoughts on your POV of events in the AU, I will never, in any way, intend to diss or attack the story. I think the flow was excellent and Raph’s analysis of the events occurring was intriguing. I loved it! And nothing I say will be a statement otherwise.

But, since I have a distinct inability to keep my mouth shut when it comes to turtles and you asked, I have thoughts 🧐

My brain is now turning and ya’ll have to deal.

Characterization:

Donnie: Much distrust. Much sass. A strong sense of duty to defend his brethren turtles who don’t deserve it but he’s doing it anyway.

Very on point. Much approval 👌

Mikey: Could not be more perfect. I love him. Sweet soul ✨

Leo: He’s a bit less… Forceful. Cold and calculating. Than I envision.

I’d imagine that he had to learn to shut feelings down in order to survive. Fidgeting/smiling/visibly hesitating is out of the question. Staying in Shredder’s graces meant learning to play the game. His silence is what earns Raph the ability to be loud. The only times that he’s himself is when him and Raph are alone, outside of the sight of cameras, or when someone in is danger and fear/fury overwhelms all else. He seems bland to outsiders and it takes the Hamato brothers a while to see that that he’s just a scared little boi at heart that’s just trying his best in a cruel world.

He’s also set in his beliefs, so he’s going to assume that they’re being tormented mentally, if not physically. There’s no place in his mind that wonders if they were actually safer elsewhere.

I do like your POV, though. Plenty for me to play with.

Raph:

He’s ABSOLUTELY the first to question the differences between how Shredder treats them and how Splinter treats their brothers. He doesn’t jump the gun, but as devoted as he is, he’s never really liked Shredder. I love the implications that he’s been filing away concerns subconsciously and his brain keeps poking him like “HELLO?!”

He’s very deep. I can’t decide how I feel about that 🤔

Shredder would have wanted to fan that temper into something unforgiving and vile. Or course, that doesn’t mean he stops being a sensitive soul. It could… Have something to do with Shredder manipulating him into being angry when he wills it (basically all the time) and solemn and still when he doesn’t (such as during lectures, punishments, etc).

His brain registers this situation as one where he’s not meant to be loud and angry, and so he’s kinda… Shut down. Sassy, but mellow. Processing. Adapting. Letting what happens happen because he’s not meant to stop it.

It’s a reason that Leo gets so defensive when punishments come into play. It forces Raph to feel small. It make him vulnerable.

HOLY MOTHER OF MUTATIONS- I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS NEW TAKE ON THE AU @ellestrade TELL ME IF I’M ONTO SOMETHING

Anyway, commentary:

“in one of Takeō's strategy books he couldn't care less about”

It’s like Space Heroes. He claims so and YET he read, recalls, AND clearly has DEBATED the passage so I call sus vibes.

I get giddy when I think of Takeō discovering Space Heroes-

“Junkō and Kōta— or Donnie and Mikey, whatever false name they’d been given—”

My brain made connections. I don’t know if it was intended, but I always believe that they knew them by Shredder’s names through the beginning of season one, end of season one/beginning of season two they were associating them as both, and then by the time that the City is under attack, they’ve adapted to using their real names. (But the Saki brothers still keep their Foot names.)

So, now I assume this is somewhere in that middle plot.

Fun little Easter egg~

“Takeō and Akihitō were the offense, and Donnie and Mikey were the defense” “They held their own. In fact, they dominated.”

I’m in love with Raph’s simple acknowledgment of their roles in battle. It’s a very practical outline of exactly how their dynamic on the field plays out and he's so certain of his place.

On the other hand, I’m a bit uncertain about whether they’d dominate. I do believe that they are trained and can hold their own, but I don’t know about them being as impressive as Raph&Leo, simply because Splinter trained them to defend and Shredder trained them to kill. The Hamato brothers haven’t had much time to practice in the offensive, especially since that’s Leo&Raph’s job. (In non-AU canon, they are all offensive/defensive.)

I think Mikey might learn that kinda strength at the farmhouse after being taught by Leo&Raph, and Donnie will step back from that, finally finding his place not as a fighter/leader, but as a scientist.

Definitely an interesting take, tho 🤔

“Only now does he think that, perhaps, there was a reason their master made their primary weapons blunts and not blades.”

I am chewing on this line so hard. It’s so powerful.

I can’t even tell you why. It just is.

“Akihitō knows that Takeō isn’t lying. He’d already tried to take tonight's blame all on his own shoulders, spare Akihitō of the punishment. But Akihitō knows all his tricks and he won’t let his brother suffer alone. Again.”

100% behind Raph learning to butt in when Leo tries to take the fall as they get older and punishments get worse.

“Seeing the situation, the evidence glaring at him, Akihitō cannot deny that this wasn’t exactly a great sell. Takeō and him are tied to the ground, trying to convince these two strangers that they would be safe with them. That their clan would not hurt them while that same clan was just about ready to beat them to a pulp.”

I was thinking the same thing 🤣

Leo, dude, seriously. Look around. Think for a second. You are not selling your point. You are doing the opposite.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter. Sensei will always find them no matter where they run. It was better to follow than be chased.

SOMEONE NEEDS TO TEACH THESE KIDS THAT THIS IS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP. YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL MOTIVATED TO STAY WITH DAD BECAUSE HE WILL FORCED YOU TO REMAIN OTHERWISE. BRUH. RED FLAG.

These were Foot Ninja binds made specifically to hold them. Mutant strength and all.

It makes sense that Shredder would make these. But.

But man. He made those. For them.

Takeō tries to take control of the situation again, the bossy oldest sibling coming out in him.

HA. Got him. Leo is Leo in any universe.

“His name is Mikey.” Donnie glares. “The rat is lying and he has—” “Donnie, its fine.”

Absolutely how they view things. Mikey doesn’t care what they think or do as long as no one he cares about is paying the price. Donnie feels it is a manner of principle that they accept logic and truth.

Leo talking over both of them is valid. This kid, I swear.

“Then tell your older brother to shut up about—”

LEO IS IT OFFICIAL YOU HAVE BEEN DISOWNED

“Sounds like a you-problem.” Donnie stands. “Mikey, we saved them. It's time to go.”

Donnie would die for them <3

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he recognizes it. Takeō always knows when to give support. He’s a good brother. He hopes Donnie and Mikey will know that one day too.

OH. OKAY. WELL. 🥺

THOSE FEELS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE-

He loved his big bro sm hjkhkjhkjhjkkjhkjhkjhku

If Akihitō didn’t know any better, he’d say it was longing.

Oh, don’t worry, he is dying to have other people in his life who genuinely care for him, but as long as you guys are with the enemy, you’re a threat to his baby brother and daddy and not to be trusted

And, just maybe, it could be their world too. 

Oh, so that’s what pain feels like. Glad to be reminded.

[sichore]

Also 23 for the otp prompts!

tagging @nightklok because they asked for this prompt too! it got away from me a bit... like 2K words a bit.

23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

MagJam | mention of MagCharles | 2271 words | post s2. ep. 19 Black Fire Upon Us | non-explicit sex

Mordhaus is attacked and the first thing Magnus feels is worry, sick and gnawing in his gut as he tries to go about the shop as usual. Are they okay? Did they make it out? And the anchorman goes on to say no, they did not. 

All the money and fame in the world didn’t stop them from being infiltrated, invaded like the micronation of shit that they are, and now Charles is dead.

Charles is dead.

Time passes in a haze, swirled and blurred images of life moving on regardless. Nairi notices and asks what’s wrong and he can’t bring himself to tell his daughter the truth. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was class?” And Nairi’s furrowed brow is a mirror of his own, but eventually she stops asking, her hands no longer hesitating as she tells him about her day.

Charles is dead and the hate and resentment that’s built up over the past decade is numbed by a wave of grief so deep that Magnus finds himself visiting the liquor store more and more because he can’t bring himself to touch the bottle of arak in his cabinet. He’s far from sober, but he usually doesn’t let beer bottles collect in his recycling bin this fast. They gather like his regrets and dreams, empty and dusty and sometimes broken before he tosses them out, and then the pile grows all over again.

Two weeks go by. Maybe a month. And then Jimi comes back.

“Oh, hey!” She greets him in a scene like an echo of a time past and it takes his breath away. Jimi, standing in his kitchen with Nairi as they put away groceries, smiling as brightly as she did the first time they did this so many years ago when Nairi was much smaller.

“We were gonna make dinner, but we got a bit carried away at the store,” Jimi apologizes, shrugging, and holds up a takeout container. “How’s Italian sound?”

“Good.” Magnus swallows down the lump in his throat and hopes that eases in the hoarseness in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Some stuff came up at work, so…” Jimi shrugs, doesn’t exactly meet his eye. “Here I am!”

Dinner comes from a local Italian spot that Magnus and Jimi had gone to once, together, the evening they decided that no, this probably shouldn’t be a thing. The bread is still soft, the pasta exquisite, and the sun-dried tomatoes far, far sweeter than Magnus remembers.

“There were some changes,” Jimi says, once Nairi retreated to her room for the evening to leave the two of them to polish off the bottle of white wine Jimi had picked up ‘for fun’. Her gaze stays focused on her stemless glass, swirling around her drink. “So I’m finally back here for the time being.”

“For how long?” Magnus ventures, trying not to think about how much his world has shrunk since Jimi started spending more time away at this mystery job than her apartment. Since he was left behind, three times now.

“Mmh, not sure.” And Jimi sets her glass down on the coffee table, curls a leg up onto the couch so she can face Magnus. “How ‘bout you? How have you been?”

Terrible. “Fine.” Spiraling. “Same as usual.”

“You look tired, Magnus.”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Jimi is home a lot now. His home, which could have been hers, too. Magnus doesn’t realize how much he’s been slacking on groceries until he starts coming home to the fridge constantly being stocked with more than takeout, leftovers, and beer. Nairi is bright and cheery the following weeks after Jimi takes her on a shopping spree, and frequently sports a colorful jacket from one of her shows.

One evening, Magnus comes home after closing shop to find Jimi asleep on his couch, having been in the middle of folding laundry. She’s not even that good about putting away her own clothes from what he recalls.

He reaches down to brush an errant curl, stops himself, and instead moves her glasses to the side table. It’s enough to wake up the artist.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says hastily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I was just –”

“Jimi, what are you doing?”

The way she pauses and her eyes widen in embarrassment makes Magnus kick himself for his lack of tact, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I mean, you’ve been –”

“Weird, ah, I know. It’s weird. Sorry. I’ll just go–”

“No. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t –” Don’t go, please. She starts to rise and he places his hand on her shoulder and the way Jimi looks up at Magnus makes him jolt. A dormant urge sparks to life and he’s not so quick to snuff it out. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I know I’m not great at showing it.”

And he pauses, the words sending him down a completely different train of thought. He redirects. “And Nairi’s been really happy to see you again.”

Ignoring the protest in his knees, Magnus kneels down to be more at Jimi’s level, and he sees the way she sucks in a breath, hands clasped in her lap. He tosses his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “You’ve just got me worried, is all.”

The way Jimi presses her lips together and her eyes harden, he expects her to challenge him right back, because he knows the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten much better since she first asked about them. That the recession is hitting everyone hard, the shop hasn’t been doing its best, and Jimi just seems to be biding her time while making sure Nairi has everything she needs.

And Magnus is grateful, even if his pride is wounded a bit. It’s really not a talk either of them wants to have. “Listen, if you need to come back to the shop for a bit, it’s not a problem–”

“It’s not that,” Jimi interrupts, then sighs, looking away. Her hands twist in her lap and this time Magnus doesn’t hesitate to take one. He watches Jimi’s shoulders sag, and the fight leaves her body, replaced with an emotion he can’t identify that’s gone as fast as a ripple. “I’ve just got a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I should go back to school. Actually finish this time.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Mmh.”

He forgot how small her hands were compared to his, long and knobby and weathered as they are. Jimi holds his hand much more carefully than he handled all those bottles he knocked back. She looks at him now and her eyes are dark as midnight in the summer. He can see the glitter of stars, feel the warm breeze in his hair, the blades of grass on his skin.

“... hey, Magnus…”

“Yeah?”

Jimi squeezes his hand, worries her lower lip with her teeth. Soft, plush lips that he remembers should be treated delicately. “... Lemme finish up here.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting. He should be used to disappointment. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

Weeks and months pass and Magnus remembers feelings other than grief and monotony and apathy. Even tragedy can’t stop Dethklok from flaunting their wealth before the world and that familiar sneer of disgust curls Magnus’ lip, before he changes the channel away from news of that damn statue.

Charles is dead and Jimi’s back and the need for revenge still burns in his chest and Nairi is healthy and well. It’s not exactly his normal, because he’s missing more than he usually is, and maybe some part of him really did believe that negotiating his royalties wouldn’t be the last time he spoke to Charles. It was the band, the rest of those selfish assholes who cast him out, and Charles wasn’t much better than himself, casting away his heart in favor of reaching his goals.

Magnus feels like he’s on the verge of waking from a dream, like maybe he’s getting to the acceptance phase, when Jimi turns to him and says Nairi’s gone for the weekend.

And he snaps out of whatever haze he was in. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Jimi chirps, shrugging. She’s more relaxed as of late, did actually take up classes again. Went to see her family. Said work had slowed down, but it was fine, apparently. “Told her and Haséyá to go have some fun.”

That would explain the text he got from his daughter. “I see.”

“She won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”

Jimi smells really nice today. “Uh huh.”

“So… I thought we could watch movies, or something.”

“... Oh.”

She does not want to watch no damn movies.

It’s Friday night and Magnus is not alone and he doesn’t really need to concern himself with opening the shop tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend. Jimi is dressed simply in a shirt and sweats and what seems to be little else, now that he takes a good look at the dips of her chest. Jimi is turned towards him on the couch, same as the first night she returned, only this time she’s not asking how he’s doing.

The offer has stayed open all these years and now she gives him an answer. Yes, now, because if not, when? Magnus’ breath catches, and her fingers brush his knee, and the walls he had started building up again atop his mound of grief come crumbling down.

Jimi’s hand is small against him. Her skull, too, feels tiny cradled in his hands as he threads long fingers into her thick hair to draw her face near. Magnus only sees half as well as he used to, yet he plainly sees that beneath the care and sweetness that is Jimi is a pain he can’t identify. He asks if she’s sure and she nods her consent. The last time they kissed outside of the holiday season was on that doomed date. Kissing her feels like tasting the rain after a long drought, only it pours, and pours, and pours.

Magnus pulls back from the deluge and the whimper Jimi lets out takes the rest of the air from him. He takes her hands in his own, kissing her palms and fingertips, unsure if they are promises or apologies. Jimi accepts them all the same. She accepts his touch everywhere; rough calluses over smooth skin, a vice grip on her soft hip, and his longing into the aching core of her.

For her, he tries to be a gentle lover, but Jimi doesn’t let him. She doesn’t look at him much, but they both have a lot of hair in the way, and with him having only one eye, Magnus isn’t sure if he wants to glimpse anything other than whatever pain drove her back here. This, at least, is familiar territory to him, so when she claws at him and holds him tighter, closer, he ducks his head down, and gives it back tenfold.

He buries himself in her and with it he tries to bury that grief, that guilt, the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could be’s’ that haunt him every time he looks into the mirror and sees that pale ghost staring back at him. It’s far less than she deserves, but Jimi takes it all the same, and in turn does not allow him to ride the bliss that follows release. No, she drags more from him with biting nails and pleading cries, with a voracity that shatters any illusion of innocence he may have still held towards her.

Jimi’s arduous cries turn to shouts, turn to sobs, and eventually, their mingled, labored breaths. In the wake of the storm there is stillness, and silence, and for a while, there is no loneliness.

It’s been twenty years or more since Magnus has shared a bed with anyone through the night. He never did with Mari, and the last person he remembers doing so with is dead. But Jimi stays with him until morning and it’s not as strange as it could be when he wakes up and she’s smiling at him. Wearing his shirt. Pushing his hair from his face and chiding him for not tying it up.

He doesn’t ask if she was thinking of someone else, too, in the dark. In the morning light, she’s looking at him, kissing him, swinging her legs over his hips and sinking down onto him. Jimi moves like the waves and Magnus lets her pull him under.

Afterwards, once she’s cleaned up and he finally manages to rouse himself from bed and do the same, he finds Jimi in the kitchen. The tea she claimed she’d make is unbrewed. Instead, she stands at the sink, the water running over her fingers as she stares with an unreadable expression.

It’s the crack in the otherwise perfect image of her standing in his kitchen, in his shirt, still wearing his scent. Maybe this will only last the weekend. Maybe this is all he’ll ever have. But he had nothing before, has nothing with Charles dead, so he’ll hold onto what little he has, however long he has.

“Hey,” Magnus says softly, jolting Jimi out of her trance.

“Oh, hey.” Her smile is weary. “Sorry, I guess I just kinda zoned out there.”

Magnus says nothing at first. Just closes their distance and wraps his arms around her. With their height difference, her face presses to the center of his abdomen. “It’s okay.”

Jimi’s arms wind around him, too. For a moment, he feels the gravity of a collapsed star, and his raspy voice fills the void. “It’s okay.”

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[lamuradex]

Friday Kiss Tag ❤️

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet. Always appreciated.

Rules: From Your Story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, platonic smooches, to full-blown makeouts.

And for excerpts without a kiss, you can use this post as a writing share! :

Rules: Share a snippet of your writing!

Haven't done in tag in over a week. Been buried in trying to keep the momentum up to get Ninth Realm finished.

A lot of fun so far with a lot more romance in it than I initially planned, but that isn't a bad thing. So, let's have a kiss.

Barely a kiss, but we do later find them in bed together, so yeah.

Anyway. Here we go:

-

Some time on the rowing machine, and then onto the treadmill. He was a half a mile into his run when he became aware of someone else. Hunter was waiting in the doorway in sports gear.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“I’ve never minded before,” Mike answered, slowing his run so he could talk.

“I know. It’s just things feel different now. Didn’t know if maybe you wanted to be alone.”

“Do you know what? I think I’ve been alone enough recently. I can’t think about all this shit anymore. False memories, evil scientists, aliens, Reggie…” His voice cracked but he swallowed and soldiered on. “I need to do something. And if it isn’t hunting down those creeps responsible, then it’s this.” He stopped the machine so he could lift some weights instead.

"You should have a spotter,” Hunter agreed.

Mike shot him a small look. He was only doing dumbbell curls.

“Sorry, clumsy metaphor,” Hunter explained. “What I meant is, you don’t have to do things alone. You know that, right?”

“I do. It’s just difficult. I can never just ask…”

“I get that,” Hunter smiled. “Pride cometh before the fall though. I used to hate asking my parents, or anyone for that matter, for any kind of help. But then I realised something. Your friends want to know how to help you. They want you to tell them.”

“It’s just…” Mike hesitated, formulating the thought. “I don’t really know what to do anymore. Without him.”

“Hey, welcome to the boat. We’re all in it,” Hunter patted his shoulder. “We’ll find a direction though. We’ve got one for the moment, hunting Solace. After that… we’ll work that out too, I’m sure of it. People have work, we’ll do jobs. Simple.”

Mike didn’t looked convinced, but he did smirk. “You ever thought of being a motivational speaker, Hunter? Because I’d advise against it.”

“Ouch!” Hunter said cattily. “All I mean is, we’ll keep doing stuff together. We’re a team. We’re all friends. More than that in places, but we’re all together. You understand that, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t walk out on you guys.”

“Always good to hear, but you don’t need to do it alone, is all. You don’t need to do anything alone." Hunter came and sat beside him. “There are things people can do together.”

Mike curled an eyebrow alongside his arm. “Another clumsy metaphor?”

“Less a metaphor, more a… double-entendre.”

“A clumsy one,” Mike chuckled. “But, before we do anything else, let’s get a workout in.”

“I can think of a good workout.”

Mike stared over his shades at him.

“Alright, that was a clumsy metaphor,” Hunter admitted, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

-

And there we go. Having a lot of fun with this book, so I'll still be pretty quiet until it's finished most probably. I'm 80K words in and still have a way to go.

Anyway tags:

@wintherlywords @stephtuckerauthor @fayeiswriting @mikathewriter @sableglass @agirlandherquill

By the way, if anyone doesn't want to be tagged, or alternatively would love to be tagged, feel free to let me know. Currently I'm just tagging Writeblr mutuals, as best as I can work out.

[penny00dreadful]

WIP Weekend! 🎺🎺🎺

Thank you for the tag @nburkhardt I'm excited for this! 😘🖤

The Rules:

In a reblog (or a new post w/ rules attached) post up to five (5) file names of your wips. Not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That's it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

The WIPS:

(I'm usually much more organised with my file names)

Assistant Steve Harrington

Comeuppance

DND

Through The Valley

Return of The King

The Snippet:

From Through The Valley

“Munson, if she has something over you that makes you think you can’t switch to the better team then you’ve got to know we can help you out. No matter what it is. You have a lot of respect in this community, we could use that. And you wouldn’t be stuck acting as some little girls guard dog-”

Eddie swung around, pressing the barrel of his rifle into Chester Hagan’s neck, backing him into the wall. Hagen immediately threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide with fear, looking like he was about to piss himself.

“What if I like being a little girl's guard dog, what then?”

Hagen swallowed, shifting the muzzle ever so slightly around his throat. “S- so is it a sex thing? Because I’m sure we could find-”

“For the sake of your own head I’m encouraging you to stop talking now.”

“Right, right. Yeah. I’m… I’ll stop talking.”

“Good. Now listen to me very carefully. Under no circumstances whatsoever will I be persuaded, coerced, bought or bullied away from Nancy’s side. This town voted her their leader and unless the majority no longer wants her overlooking things, it’s going to stay that way.” He pushed the barrel of the gun in harder, right under his jaw. “But if I ever get approached by you or one of your goons trying to get me to switch sides or go behind Nancy’s back for information again, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your eye. We both know I’ll do it and I won't lose a wink of sleep over it."

😳🥵

No pressure tags! I'm sorry if you've been tagged already, my brain is ✨liquid✨ @augustjustice @mentallyundone @hardboiledleggs @every-aj-needs-an-angel @scoops-stevie @estrellami-1 @grimmfitzz

[omniblades-and-stars]

ROY G BIV tag

tagged by @outpost51 and thereby inciting a panic but also I want to play.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

this is me tagging whoever wants to play!

look under the cut because this is bound to be out of control

RED

From: The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin.

ORANGE

From: following the current, circling the drain

Something burns in my leg and my stomach, but I can’t stop moving. If the krogan gets his hands on me, I'll die. I leap onto his back, I nearly drop the assault rifle, it’s too big for me. I launch myself from his crest plate and fire down into his neck while I’m still in the air. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's too fucking loud. He’s still coming, and I just keep firing. It's over. I'm covered in blood, indigo, cadmium orange, and my own emerald. A cruel painting in brilliant organic color. I run to Tertus. He's already dead. Honey eyes glassy. Jaw lax, mandibles hang limp next to his dear, sweet face. I scream, everything hits me all at once. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But I have no time, I hear more boots on the ground, and I am surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. I don't hesitate. I leap into the river and follow the current to somewhere new.

YELLOW

From: Suck It Up, Buttercup

"You gonna walk in front so that bright fucking armor of yours draws all of the fire?" "Says the man wearing sunflower yellow! If you wanted to look at my ass, all you had to do was say so. Now, enough dicking around, let's move out." Frankie pointed above her head and spun her hand in a tight circle. "After you, sweetheart," he said with a touch of sarcastic daring. "Gonna have to work harder than that to get under my skin, bounty hunter. Keep trying, I like seeing you struggle.” She smiled and took her place at the front of the squad. Miranda and Zaeed fell in quietly behind her without further comment.

GREEN

From: Torment Me Until Dawn (Dragon Age)

He shuffled forward, one shoulder stooped severely, sword hanging limply from his hand. His movements were those of something not quite human. His skin had taken on a green tinge, and his face had a skeletal quality. Skin clung to his cheekbones as if there was no longer any muscle or fat to separate it from his skull. He had no visible wounds, except . . . Oh, Maker, his eyes! They were gone. Dark, brutalized and empty sockets existed where bright, light brown eyes had once been. The skin around them looked as if he had scratched his own eyes out - harsh, uneven grooves rent into his flesh. There were little trails of blood where tears might have been.

BLUE

From: Under the Rays of an Autumn Sun

I have always had a weakness for beautiful eyes. Humans have a saying, "The eyes are the windows into the soul." It's a sentiment I wholeheartedly share. Hers are a light brown that I am unused to seeing in humans, but they are heavy. I can see the weight she carries within them, evident in the red lines lightly spidering over the white space around her iris. Blue tinged glass presses to soft, bare lips, and she coughs as the liquid burns down her throat. A warm chuckle bubbles up after it, and she sits next to me. "I don't know if I'll ever learn," she shakes her head, chestnut waves brush against the sun-kissed and freckled skin exposed on her back. "Eden Shepard," she says and offers me her hand to shake. She is named after the holy garden of one of Earth's many creation myths. It suits her, I think, but the thought passes before I can fully understand why I feel that way.

INDIGO

From: The Way

It's in the way she can be so boastful without being arrogant. She calls herself a biotic bomb. At first, he thinks that smirk as she says it is cocky, and it is. But then he sees her in action. With biotics like that, she doesn't even need a gun. He knows the smirk isn't cocky, it's knowing. She's earned being cocky, the way she wields the forces of physics themselves. How the air shifts around her body just before she ignites brilliant indigo. The sudden change in air pressure around them as she reaches out to pull an enemy towards them takes his breath away. Or maybe it's just her that does that.

VIOLET

From: Tipping Point

Except that Commander Shepard was the one who wreaked this particular havoc, was still wreaking actually. She was standing dead center of the cargo deck, bathed in violet energy so intense it had pulled her hair free, it floated up around her as if she were underwater. She was wreathed by a glowing halo of her own power. It was terrible and it was beautiful all the same. Oh, shit.

[destinygoldenstar]

While I don’t have context for everything you’ve said here, I just want to say that this is why I’ve been hesitant and practically avoiding trying to talk about the show again.

I am not going to take either side, as I really don’t want to. I am not the type of person to be openly happy all the time, as when I feel any emotion at all I will say it. And I am not going to hide my emotions to make other people happy. That’s not who I am.

But I also don’t want to be seen by the public as a hardcore complainer for that. Spending all your time whining is just exhausting and tiring and unrewarding, when you could be doing literally anything else, and healthier stuff, with your time. I should know. I used to criticize Dhar Mann videos. While those were worth critiquing it cause multiple mental health problems for me. So I stopped and did other stuff with my life.

So really, if I were to pick a side, either one, it would be doing injustice to my character. And the fact that people have to be split in fandom sections for a single show is insane. I’d be harassed endlessly no matter what.

And harassment like this over a cartoon is just not worth it. Even if you try to calmly explain yourself and defuse a fight, you’re not gonna be heard. They’ll just keep arguing until you reluctantly confess to their side. Which is gaslighting.

And this is a both sides issue. So you know. Again, I’m not picking sides when I say this.

At that point it has nothing to do with the show itself, or a rewrite of said show that some people made. (A rewrite that I actually HAVE seen for myself) If anything, it stops being about the show and more about throwing around accusations on people as though you personally know them. News flash: ten to one, you don’t.

This is why if you go to my blog you see me more often than not making posts about other media. Not because I think these shows are better than RWBY (I’ve criticized them plenty as well, criticisms that I think are deserved), but because I feel more welcome in their fandoms…? I’m not gonna pretend they’re perfect, every fandom has some nasty people, but at least I’m not gonna get barraded for every single opinion I have as though my opinions over cartoons are a judgement of my real life character. Yes people have disagreed with me and given me criticism, but at least it’s focused on what I’ve written and the flaws in my logic of writing style. An IMpersonal critique towards me. That gets more through to me than personally insulting everyone and treating everyone that isn’t you like they’re pure evil.

Even when I try to look at RWBY related tags, it’s just this exact stuff.

You say an opinion that isn’t 100% positive? BASH.

You like something about the show? BASH.

You make art of a ship someone else doesn’t like? BASH.

You try to make an analysis post? BASH.

You write a fanfiction? BASH.

You like a fanfiction of the show? BASH.

You don’t like a fanfiction of the show? BASH.

You dare title that fanfiction ‘fixing’? BASH.

CLEARLY everyone who doesn’t agree with you are dares to say why and how they personally would’ve done it is a PURE EVIL HUMAN BEING GOING OUT IF THEIR WAY TO SPITE AN ENTIRE COMMUNITY. Never mind actually getting to hear the person out or letting them say why they feel this way or why they changed it, (like they DO in streams btw) NOPE. PURE EVIL. SOLELY BECAUSE YOU MADE A REWRITE.

It’s not like rewrite fanfiction as a concept is all about people reimagining someone else’s work into their own vision, and multiple fandoms do this with varying intents, whether it’s out of fixing a critique they had or trying a different tone or ‘what if’ scenarios or whatever. And again, multiple fandoms do this. (Hell, I did it with Total Drama’s Season 2. I don’t think that show is perfect, either. Far from it.)

It’s so unwelcoming and I just… can’t.

I can’t take that.

No one deserves that level of harassment over something so not worth it at the end of the day. It’s just a show guys. This isn’t real life propaganda. This isn’t Election Day. This isn’t school. It’s a product designed for entertainment purposes. You can feel whatever way you want to about it. You don’t deserve to be shut out for however you feel.

I am not a perfect person. That much, I will admit. I will admit to my mistakes when I recognize I make them and try to improve myself. Just like the rest of you, I’m just a normal human on the internet talking about stuff I find interest in. But I will also admit I need to get better at defending myself when I recognize something is just plain bullshit.

So… yeah. Maybe I will try to talk about RWBY again one day. Explain my opinions fully. As honestly as possible. But I know no matter what I’m gonna say, I will not be welcomed with warmth, instead with guns pointed at my head. To that I’ll just say, ‘Hit me with your best shot’

Lilith Fairen, Canonseeker, Dishonest Discourse and Fixing RWBY

Preamble

I'm going to preface this by saying I'm not directly part of the RWBY community. You could say I'm a genuine 'hater', or whatever, and that's fine. I'd be considered a legitimate one; though I'll disagree with you about what constitutes hate, as I'll discuss below. Had it been my choice, I'd have only ever interacted with RWBY after a friend showed me the first two volumes and I, an animation student and aspiring novelist, disliked it. I moved on with my life. But circumstances led me to seeking out critical content that soon led me into the Tundra Discord server where I eventually met my boyfriend. I don't interact with RWBY spaces because I don't (didn't?) consider myself a fan, but I do have a morbid fascination with it and all the issues I have with it and how frequent issues crop up. The only time I've ever interacted with broader RWBY fandom directly was when discussing Fixing RWBY on reddit (and that one time where I commented when someone compared RWBY to Digimon Adventure 02. But Digimon is my fandom so I commented as part of my space).

I have had many discussions, mostly negative, but also positive about the show itself and while I never cared to watch further in, I eventually watched V3, and V6-8. V4-5 were skipped due to a migraine one week and group watch party exhaustion the next, respectively, but reviews and criticism videos allowed me to know what goes on in them.

Note that I enjoy critical content as a creative myself, and dabbling in critical content is important for someone learning how to write and create. It's just as important to know why something does not work from a critical perspective to understand why other elements do work while also keeping in mind there is a level of subjectivity. Someone is always going to disagree with you. I lurk the r/RWBYcritics for critical discourse, and occasionally r/RWBY, though the actual discourse there is fewer and far between by comparison, and unless I come across someone mentioning Digimon or FRWBY, I don't comment because I feel it's not my place.

So as you can see, I've been on the outside looking in at aspects of this community and considering where my interests are focused, (Fixing RWBY being an interest) found myself overlooking a clusterfuck of nonsense.

The concept of "Hatedom/HTDM"

I'm old guard. Old fandoms and old engagement from a time when the internet was a wild west and niche anime communities were tiny. The days of geocities and fan shrines and webrings. Never in my life have I come across a fandom that shunned a big chunk of itself, gatekeeping being part of the community and saying that aspect of the fandom wasn't valid. Perhaps I was lucky in that regard, but considering I dabbled in quite a few communities, I doubt it. Digimon Adventure has been around since 1999 and there were a lot of hot-button topics that split the fandom back then. More than 20 years later, you tread these old, rusted buttons and under your feet a sinkhole will open with a warm, bubbling lava plume of strong opinions will greet you as you wake the sleeping beast. But not once was there any sniff of a concept that someone wasn't a 'true' fan because of their opinions and outlooks on the show, and that is just a single example of many.

So to see the RWBY community simmering in barely contained venom over the "critics" is certainly an unwelcome sight to behold, and one that has alarming implications. There has been elements of gatekeeping in all fandoms, sure, but this feels on a new level. To think that it would get so bad that it was even considered to ban an entire related reddit group for having critical opinions is frankly shameful, and yes, I was around for that. Anyone who thought that was correct should feel embarrassed.

This idea that having a negative opinion equals a hateful person is patently absurd. It has been stated time and again that having a negative opinion on something doesn't mean you hate it. There are many different types of people in the world, with different mindsets and different ways of engaging with the things that they enjoy or engage with. Some people do art or fanfiction. Others dissect or criticize. It can be a combination of these things and whether or not the criticism is positive or negative does not negate the passion behind the words. Labelling someone who criticizes the show, even if that is all that they do, a 'hater' or part of the HTDM, comes across as punishment for engaging in fandom in a way you don't approve.

The internet as a whole, and fandom space, doesn't just belong to you and people who think like you. It belongs to everyone who has passion enough to engage with the media they've consumed and there are plenty of options available for those who don't wish to engage with certain methods of fandom discourse and immersion. To dictate who can and cannot participate in the fandom and who is worthy of hate and derision for being an "other" or "outsider" is frankly disgusting. If you think that someone cannot engage in "your" space because you don't like what they have to say, get over yourself and for once in your life, look past your own petulant selfishness. Seriously, we got taught to share space in preschool.

Criticism As Art, Engagement, Growth and Study

Criticism is an invaluable tool in creative spaces, both positive and negative, and there seems to be a growing idea of what constitutes valid criticism or not as simply whether or not it is positive and the thought of that is quite disturbing. You'd think that I wouldn't have to talk about this, but there are quite a number of people who don't fully understand there is more to criticism than being nice and gentle - which can do more harm than good, by the way.

There can be an art to criticism, and there is no one way to criticize something as being the ultimate 'correct' way. Just like there are different art styles, brush stroke techniques, chord progressions, building methods, etc, there are different styles of critique. It's up to the personality of the individual what form that critique manifests and there is no right or wrong way to critique like there is no right or wrong way to paint a painting. But there is something to be said about whether or not the messages you're trying to get across are being understood properly; whether the critiques are in good faith and can be understood to correspond accurately to the work in question, and with that in mind, we can gauge whether or not the criticism is good.

Critique and criticism, whether good or bad, can open up someone to a piece of media they may never have seen or heard before. It is then that they can decide for themselves, as individuals with their own minds and relative free will, whether or not they want to further participate in the consumption of the media being criticized. To get defensive over the idea that negative criticism exists because it influences the sheeple, dimwitted and easily swayed as they may be, is insulting to the intelligence of others, Eren. Individual people can look at a criticism of a work and decide for themselves whether or not the work is something that does not interest them, or is something to look into for themselves and decide whether or not they personally like or dislike it.

On the more creative side, criticism, even - and I'd say especially - negative criticism, is an essential tool to help the growth of the artist. It helps you grow and learn the many mistakes and errors one can have in a piece of media and teach someone to grow past and learn to avoid those pitfalls.

When it comes to criticizing a piece of media like RWBY, some individuals within the RWBY community view the criticism not only as an attack on the quality of the work, but harassment of the writers themselves. This is patently absurd for the simple fact that these men (and woman) are professional writers and criticism goes part and parcel with the job. To show yourself as a professional in the industry you'd want to put your best foot forward, show that you have the skills to write, and be humble enough to take criticism when given and seriously reevaluate your work, no matter how difficult it might be. The concept of 'kill your darlings' applies to beloved concepts and scenes in a story that, while loved, might hinder the story you want to tell. When you are putting something out there, even as a job, the goal should first and foremost be to entertain the audience, and to do that, strive to create the best version of your work that you can. Passion for what you do is such a hard thing to describe, but most can see it when it's there and can point to when it's not.

I don't doubt there are a couple of individuals that do legitimately harass the writers and others directly. We've seen that with other franchises, and individuals like that can be in more than one fandom. But I specify individuals because there is a trend to lump everyone that some people (like Lilith Fairen and Canonseeker) dislike and disagree with as one and the same, as though the 'critics' are a hive mind, and that everyone is connected to every other critic and knows what they do or say.

But dissent allows an honest writer or artist to grow from where they are, a community who strive to help others to make everything better so that the media we consume is better and the artist will be more satisfied and fulfilled. That is the goal. That is what critics strive for, because they can have as much passion for that work as the artist, if not directly for that work itself, then for the desire to see a fellow creative flourish.

Canonseeker's Logical Fallacies

Eren is someone that I consider to be fairly innocent in intent. At least I don't consider him to be outright malicious, unlike Lilith, but the results of his actions in trying to rectify what he considers to be a toxic situation is in fact toxic in and of itself. Eren is someone who views the situation of the critics as being outright harmful, as though fans voicing their dissent is bullying. Fans have no power and very little means to influence the media they're passionate about.

Therefore, when someone criticizes a work, the main audience for their criticisms are other fans, people whom they can engage with and share in their frustrations and worries. There is always a chance that the writer or some creative can see their complaints, but it is a low chance, and often little in the ways of rectifying the situation other than in the future. When Eren criticizes the 'critics' he attacks their character rather than the ideas they present. When called out on it, he never acknowledges his own faults, instead doing a what-aboutism to deflect from himself.

Just because other people are assholes doesn't mean you aren't also a problem. And considering the fact that we can see you being a problem right now, and you haven't named individual people for us to also slap on the wrist, we focus on you as a problem community member. Critics attack ideas and competency, not the writers as individual people (for the most part. If the situation calls for it, then how the writers are seen in the public eye becomes fair game for scrutiny).

He puts Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross on pedestals, saying that they created RWBY. They did not. Monty is the sole creator and he picked them to fill in the blanks between his fight scenes. Personally I don't envy that situation based on what I've heard and I feel sympathy for that. But being 'hand picked' by Monty doesn't mean anything other than the fact that he was personal friends with these men. That doesn't speak to their skills as writers, as the romantic, lofty wording would suggest, and it doesn't mean anything beyond they happened to be available to do the job. Monty wanted to work with friends, that's all. Rooster Teeth runs on nepotism. Fact of the matter is, RWBY is now owned by a corporation, not an individual person any longer and when owned by a corporation, can be used and abused for whatever the corporations needs. If fans think that corporation shouldn't have the product any longer, then that's their opinion that they are allowed to hold. When they criticize RWBY for being the mess they think it is, they're criticizing Rooster Teeth as a company, its practices, and its willingness to allow or even encourage incompetence within the production through various means, some more terrible than others.

Eren's understanding of Death of the Author is tenuous at best and nonexistent at worst. Barring people's misunderstanding of the concept in question aside... The concept that once a work of media exists out in the public, it is out of the control of the owner how their work gets interpreted is something that Eren struggles with. An author or creator can do their best to convey their ideas to their audience as best as possible, but that doesn't guarantee that someone will see it in that exact way. Whether a member of the audience understands what the author is trying to convey is up to the individual person, and their understanding or lack of understanding is valid to their own experiences. Of course there are dishonest ways of interpreting a piece of work, such as misdiagnosing a theme of a work (especially when the theme is stated) and then saying its bad for poorly handling that theme. The themes should be looked at on their own and judged how well they're done.

Anything else that I could say about the man has already been talked about in a different document by SYTOkun, barely anything of which I am interested in talking about, as I'm currently more interested in the misunderstandings and mistakes that lead to someone who wants positivity in a fandom to become a poster child for anti-positivity.

Lilith Fairen's Dishonest Motives

Lilith is such a curious person, and I've tried to understand her mentality and see where she's coming from and where the misunderstanding starts. The main issue seems to be that she came into the fandom with dishonest motives from the start and has admitted to it. Her motivation for coming into the RWBY community was strictly to bully people whom she had ideological issues with, or people she deemed 'critics'. She was mocking people while having never watched the show herself, something that many people pointed out. She's claimed to have since watched RWBY and still finds no issue with it. I have no reason to disbelieve her and thus will not accuse her of still having never watched the show. But considering her starting point, either likes it more for ideological reasons or likes it to spite the haters. While her enjoyment of RWBY may be genuine, due to this history, it's very difficult for me to see her desire for this show as anything but sociologically political.

Lilith herself is a very caustic individual with a large chip on her shoulder. She has a preference for female-led stories, and ones that don't require the girls/women to have motivations surrounding men. While I think there's nothing wrong with that conceptually, it becomes a problem when viewing certain stories one has little preference for as problematic for not fitting into what she personally prefers. For the most part, women and girls are more motivated by social aspects of life, whether it be friendships or romance, and that's not inherently a bad thing, but Lilith has some issue with it due to said aforementioned chip labelled 'misogyny'.

She throws accusations of misogyny around like it's candy going out of style. Rarely does she back up her accusations with any factual evidence, randomly accusing this, that or the other of being misogynistic as though one should just accept or already knows it as fact when in reality is quite odd. Guns, for example, are considered masculine representations in her eyes, and not gender neutral items that can be used by either gender, and thus unsuitable weapons for magical girls, like in Madoka Magica, to use.

I've never seen Madoka. But I don't think I have to in order to see how silly this concept is. Girls can like guns and that doesn't make them less girly. I've never heard of guns as being a gendered item.

While I also don't necessarily disagree there's issues in anime and female representation, tropes and cliches can be overdone and become outright tired and boring, I believe Lilith takes it a step too far when she starts going after other people for their acceptance or ambivalence toward the things she's personally not a fan of. In attacking something like Madoka or other so-called 'deconstruction' anime, she infantilizes female characters by saying they shouldn't be subject to the same challenges and difficulties male characters often are, because they're women. She also claims anime shows girls as hysterical and overly emotional. As though teenagers - which most anime feature - is a foreign concept to her. Also stuff often gets turned up for drama. It's called fiction and literally all media around the world does this.

She's also a negative, salty, bitter person in general despite her preferences for happy, saccharine and light-hearted stories. It makes me wonder if she seeks out these fluffy tales because she has such a dark mentality that she desperately wants to get away from, but has the delusion that what she likes isn't respected for what it is, or liked. As though Sailor Moon or Pretty Cure aren't incredibly large, successful franchises in Japan. As though Sailor Moon isn't still beloved in the west. People in different countries can have different tastes and expectations outside of the niches of anime lovers who already understand and cherish these properties. That doesn't make them disrespected. Madoka was enjoyed by (some) people who had no concept of magical girls outside of cursory knowledge of watching Sailor Moon as kids and praised it as being the best despite likely never having watched before or since any magical girl anime. And these people are the ones she hates, but conflates all Madoka fans as these individuals.

Because of her perceived notion that magical girls are disrespected and dismissed due to misogyny, her attitude toward her original stories can also be quite cynical at times. Maybe if she took a step out of her self-loathing and victim mentality she would realize that a prospective reader seeing something like this on her blog might be a turn-off.

It's not like there are other factors that contribute to your story's relative obscurity like poor marketing on your part or the fact that superhero novels (which magical girls count as) in general are not very popular. Yes, even ones that feature male leads. You find more success with more visual mediums like comic books, movies and television. Girl. From one author to another... There's more to putting your work out there than simply writing and publishing it.

I'll get to Glints Saga another day, but from a cursory glance (at an old version, mind you) I can already tell that if you had gone to a writing meetup and got the story critiqued and they found little issue with it... you should find a better critique group because they were seriously doing you a disservice.

Gotta wonder if Faye said Monara's name often enough she'd eventually remember it. There's also a lot more wrong here, dialogue-wise and prose-wise. But that's more for a comparison between the old and new version if this section had been cleaned up.

But her bad attitude doesn't end there. She also has spite for anyone else that seems to have more success than her that she knows is 'touchable'. Instead of looking at a piece of inspirational messages by a writer trying to encourage others to keep going, she dismisses the critique because they're popular and it's so easy for them. Because it's not like an artist or writer could be popular because they've worked hard for it and were able to market themselves effectively in order to gain an audience and conduct themselves in a manner that wouldn't turn prospective fans away. No, it's just that they only got lucky. That somehow makes their altruistic encouragement meaningless.

Also notice how she never actually engages in arguments when people call her out on anything. Because she either knows she's full of crap or she wants to appear like a tough beotch on the internet and hide the fact that she has no counter argument and treats childishly typing out her laughter like some cartoon buttmonkey is a rebuttal instead of some obvious attempt at trying to hide her discomfort.

You know, completely missing the point of the original post that said if you create for the main purpose of getting recognition and acknowledgment, then you'll soon hate your writing and become miserable when your expectations aren't met. So the advice was to create regardless of whether or not you get any attention because you love to write, not because you feel owed anything for writing. But if she did that then she'd actually feel good about herself and her work and not bitterly lash out at everything and everyone. It's enough to make one wonder if part of the reason why she goes after critics is because she's jealous many of them do get attention and engagement and the main thing she manages to attract is people calling her out for her shitty behaviour.

By the way, both Lilith and Eren think that people going to their public blogs, where they post things that other people can see is somehow stalking. On a website where the whole point is that your posts will likely travel, especially if you talk about a franchise (even if you don't tag). Or that people responding to them at all is somehow stalking. They want to be able to say any kind of vile garbage about other fans they don't like and not have to face any repercussions for it.

One final thing because I know it's going to bug me...

"Critics" do not compare autistic people to robots. We compare ourselves to robots because when they aren't written to just be humans straight up are neurodivergent. They do not think like neurotypical people and in some ways even like humans do. That is the definition of neurodivergence - thinking and processing in a way that is outside the norm. Allistic people accept this and also headcanon many robots the same way in order to be inclusive. Lilith, if you aren't going to properly understand why people say things in relation to mental health and neurodivergence just stay out of it entirely.

Toxicity of FNDM, RWDE and Anti-RWDE

Here's where I'm going to get a little controversial, because members of all sides have done shitty things. Anti-RWDE is obvious, as they're just a salt tag dedicated to complaining about people who have negative opinions because how dare. But even the side I "agree" with more, I think have said some ridiculous and toxic things. Never mind anons here.

Accusations of "fascist", "white supremacist", "racist", "terf", "transphobic", "homophobic", "sexist", "ableist", basically anything under the sun that is a pejorative you can think of it was probably spewed out of the fingers of some member of RWDE or FNDM/Anti like a child throwing insults on the playground.

You have passions and societal issues that you want to address, and that's perfectly fine and understandable. But to accuse someone of being any flavour of 'ist' or 'phobe' over disagreements on whether a character in a cartoon does this action or interacts with that character in such and such a way muddies the waters, dilutes the impact the word has and even makes it easier for people to casually dismiss accusations and even real life and serious instances of these things due to how low the bar has been set for being labelled as such. You aren't engaging honestly anymore, you're trying to shut someone down by calling them names. Attacking someone or a work for miniscule things they do or say that you interpret as being bad without considering that there might in fact be a different reason why they said that thing is dishonest and harmful.

Hey Lilith, you wanna, maybe, define what an alt-righter is to you? Or are you just going to call out anyone who is right-of-far-left an "alt-righter" so that you can feel good and justified for shitting on someone else for literally no reason other than you had a temper tantrum at the concept that someone is unsatisfied with a cartoon? It's not like you have any evidence that Celtic is an alt-righter or anything you just made that shit up.

I've seen both sides do this, and I'm not calling out specific individuals because I've seen many act this way.

There are even certain people within the fandom who say it's your fault that you're upset with the show because you dared to have expectations that the show didn't meet. As though this is somehow a gotcha, that it's somehow wrong of you to have desires to see something you think is being presented in the show, only for it to fall flat with something you don't think is good in its place. You're a bad person for having an opinion that isn't positive about the cartoon. The show has either somehow done the impossible and achieved perfection or there is no amount of problems with the writing or anything else that can justify you expressing your opinion about it. It's best for you to shut your mouth because it personally inconveniences them.

It's gotten to the point where it's almost impossible to have certain discussions without devolving into a slobbering screaming match, because even the characters aren't saved from the pejoratives and some even attach characters and liking certain characters to certain mentalities and mindsets. If you dare like the wrong character you will be seen as x toxic thing. If you want to discuss a certain character you'll be dismissed as y type of toxic person. You also better watch how you dress your characters in redesigns or else you're z type of bad people because somewhere out there someone may or may not make a connection to a real life group you may or may not have taken a couple of design elements from and that is evil because there are 100728 different negative ways you can portray a marginalized group to the point that it would probably be better to forget those groups exist at all and only keep your fantasy series based on the standard big cultures and that's somehow more progressive despite also being a problem. Always watch your step. Always be ready to be seen as a monster, or fight a monster. Absolute lunacy.

On top of that, it makes you no better than the people you criticize. How hypocritical to call someone out for shitty behaviour, complaining about toxicity in the fandom and turn around and do shitty behaviour yourself.

Don't think I didn't notice when Judgmental Critter calls out Lilith for calling her misogynist for criticizing RWBY, saying that she just hates women, then turns around and casually accuses people who criticize High Guardian Spice (or some things about RWBY) for the exact same thing with no basis. I love Critter's sass, opinions, views and her work in general, become one of my favourite youtubers even. I can't wait for when my boyfriend shows me Madoka so I can watch her magical girl series and other videos. But I don't fail to notice when she blanket statements groups of people because she doesn't/won't understand their arguments.

Honestly there are many examples like this but I wanted to highlight an example from each "side" to emphasize my point and to show that I'm not just pointing to any particular side as being the problematic one. I think the worst example of toxicity has to be in the tags of this one post I found on tumblr ranting about hbomberguy's video. It's actually disturbing.

I was so flabbergasted by the idea that someone could actually say this, not because they disliked what was said, but because a video that didn't praise RWBY existed at all.

Backtracking a little, I wanted to talk about how quick people are to make connections and accuse others in the fandom of being something terrible.

We are pattern-seeking creatures and our pattern recognition is exceptional. But it also produces false positives in the pareidolia effect, the phenomenon where you see things that aren't actually there. The most benign and silly of the pareidolia effect is 'faces in places' and likewise, you can see patterns of behaviour, thought processes and ideologies in conversations out of context to the wider behaviour of the person. This is why I'd studied up on Lilith and Eren before writing this to make sure that there was a noticeable, repeated pattern of behaviour before writing all of this up. Lilith, Eren, and their ilk also suffer from this when it comes to criticism of rewrites that they have particular issues with, and I'll talk more about this in the next section.

There's an example of a man whom I'd had an argument with in a server I moderate for. I hadn't meant to get into an argument with him, more genuinely wanting to get his thoughts on a rewrite-heavy AU-turned-original-story idea of my own, as someone who liked RWBY. I thought I could have a fun, creative conversation, getting insight into how I did handling the characters in an AU setting and what I could do to expand on my interpretations. I find the idea of setting characters in different scenarios while still maintaining their personalities a fun exercise. Instead I was met with defensive vitriol.

I wanted the focus to be friendship between the girls rather than a mishmash of family and romance, which he hated. When asked why, it was because I said I didn't like feeling as though I was being lied to with the premise of the story, which was meant to be about four girls who became friends, and I felt it personally didn't satisfy me in that department. Then we got off on a long argument about lying to your audience, which eventually revealed a sort of sad element to the guy that I was talking to: that basically he felt that he had no right to be upset over anything that happened to him. If he was lied to, he shouldn't be upset at it. Not that he didn't want to be upset, but that he felt he couldn't, and eventually admitted to a deeper underlying issue with self confidence and worth he struggled with that seemed to manifest in being upset when anyone voiced dissenting and negative opinions.

While I think looking on the bright side is all well and good, there's a limit my dude, and trying to explain to him why I felt being lied to was a negative thing that I had the right to be unhappy about was such a foreign concept to him due to not feeling like he should ever be upset when people treat him poorly. Then he accused me of disliking him for liking a show I disliked. The whole exchange left me spiraling

But that interaction was telling, and while I can't apply that to all the members of FNDM who feel threatened by criticism and dissent, eyes can be opened about possibilities into the reasons why they find critical engagement so offensive. On some level, at least for some, it might feel like they get personally attacked because the show they love is picked apart, and in turn, picking them apart. RWBY is fundamental to who they are as people, and if you attack it in any way, you are threatening them, their worth and self-esteem.

What is 'Hate'?

Hate is a strong word, and one that, like all the above pejoratives, is used far too liberally. It's a strong negative emotion of loathing and disgust, and if kept too long can cause negative effects on one's mind and body. It takes some amount of derangement, I feel, to legitimately hate something passionately for a long period of time. Hate is usually such a strong emotion that it is temporary and fades quickly.

There were a lot of people who hated Twilight when it first came out. Those people quickly faded away after their rage subsided and the main people who stuck around on the Twilight 'hate train' were people who disliked it, but thought it was fun to mock rather than outright hate. It was silly, after all! Who wouldn't love making fun of something ridiculous and harmful and boring and dumb. Many critics of Twilight even pointed out aspects of what they liked in the book series, namely the side characters of the latter books. The vampires and werewolves helping the Cullens and the inter-species political struggles were more fascinating and interesting than the teen melodrama forced love triangle going on between Bella, Edward and Jacob. There were many more still who enjoyed Twilight knowing full well how trash it was, acknowledging it for its camp and bad writing but enjoying it for being bad.

Twilight is still criticized to this day, broken down and dissected to see what makes it tick, and why it ended up being as bad as it was. But it's not for hate for the most part, though there is dislike. But mostly if you're going to deep dive, pick apart or rewrite beyond an anger-filled review, that takes a certain level of passion for what you're doing. You see the good inside it and want it to be better. If you're going off youtuber's opinions you do have to be mindful that some of them play up their emotions for entertainment. Youtubers are entertainers, after all, and while those feelings might be genuine, there will be elements of hamming it up. Even positive youtubers do this and there's nothing wrong with that.

It's the same with RWBY and a lot of RWBY criticism. Most people who genuinely hate the show have moved on to bigger and better things. Those who stuck around either do so because they genuinely love it, or hope that it will get better, or at the very least need to see it to the end because it's been a part of their lives for so long.

Hate, ultimately, is a negative experience that can't birth anything creative. Hate does nothing but tear, break down and destroy. It's tearing down someone else directly to fill a void, or to make yourself feel better.

Hate, ultimately, is what many in the Anti-RWDE does to the part of the FNDM they don't like.

Fixing RWBY

Now comes the lengthy part of my post! Fixing RWBY or FRWBY is a project started by Raymond McNeil, as most people likely know, and started as a passion project due to his love for RWBY and his dissatisfaction with elements of how RWBY has been handled. If anyone says that he hates the show, you know that it's in bad faith and they haven't watched his content. He's said multiple times how much he loves the show, he's just frustrated it doesn't live up to the potential he thinks it has.

This section is voicing my rebuttals to larger criticisms of the show by people who admit they don't properly watch and engage with the project and purposefully look for things to pick apart, regardless of if it's true. While there are legitimate criticisms to be had about the project, they are harder to come by as they get drowned out by a flooding of this low brow shit flinging.

Some people think being dissatisfied is wrong, as I've previously mentioned

They, for some reason, think that having expectations for a show is invalid. I've already discussed how terrible that mindset is. But the main recurring criticisms of Fixing RWBY are mainly perpetuated by Eren and Lilith and a handful of their friends, which get spread around to others who think like them. We know Lilith is dishonest because she, by her own admission, skims his content and doesn't properly evaluate it, looking for things to take out of context or at face value to shit on. EngineGear at least has the decency to honestly summarize without comment. So let's go through some of their criticisms, shall we?

Special mention goes out to EngineGear, who had been one of the people throwing around the idea that Raymond kept Fixing RWBY behind a paywall simply because, as a youtuber, he had his discord as a patreon reward. When I calmly explained why his discord had nothing to do with FRWBY, and how his criticism cannot be put against Raymond without also demonizing non-critic youtubers and other artists who get paid for their fan content, he deleted the reddit post from his little saltmine, r/RWBYCynics. I appreciate his honesty in recognizing his mistake and deleting the post.

We're certainly off to a start here. The implication of this post is implying that Celtic Phoenix, and to a larger part his volunteer team - the Sketchy Huntsman - are racist.

Okay, so, there is practically no information about Oscar in terms of background or creation information to confirm anything other than what fairy tale character they could graft onto him. Who knows, there might be some obscure podcast or interview or tweet or however many different methods the writers have used to supplement their poor writing skills. I'm not about to go on a wild goose chase for something that might not even exist. His concept art says he has sunburnt skin. That makes sense, he's a farmer. He's out in the sun all day. So it stands to reason he has a farmer's tan. Even if he doesn't, the guy has my skin tone and I'm not what you would call non-European in origin.

Let's nevermind for a moment that this is incredibly American-centric thinking. This is an ancient relic of the past where we divided ourselves up into Reds, Whites, Blacks, and Yellows (... huh. I... didn't mean to sort them like that;; ) and sometimes Browns. It still has its uses in the modern day, and of course there is just acknowledgment of visual differences, but it should also be acknowledged that the terms are arbitrary descriptors of shades of the same colour (brown). All humans regardless of how much melanin is in your skin, is a shade of brown. Skin can have an underside of red, blue, green, yellow and determine whether their skin looks cold or warm. Europeans can naturally get pretty dark, being born with natural olive skin and there are non-Europeans who can be born with light skin. Europeans (or descent) can run between Type I-IV and non-Europeans can range from Type III-VI. What's more, we don't know anything about the migratory history of Remnant or whether skin types are random like faunus apparently are.

The main RWBY characters have ridiculously translucent, even glowing skin lighter than Type I that no actual human being would have. Blake and Weiss are beyond even anime pale, so someone looks at a character who has realistically coloured 'white' skin and all of a sudden they're poc. There's no problems with headcanoning that. But that's what it is. Your headcanon. And you're accusing Raymond of racism for getting rid of a character you headcanon as being poc. The same goes for Lionheart, who looks to have an (albeit sickly) ashy grey skin tone. Not dark enough to definitively be poc. It's a headcanon that you can choose to have, but should not weaponize to vilify someone you disagree with.

This is gonna be a general onsen post, one that is going to have some overlap with the faunus heat cycles section below. Mistral is meant to have vague connections to Asian culture. Onsen, or bathhouses/hot springs, are a very important part of Asian culture. Not only that, but they were and are also important to the Ancient Greeks, Ancient Romans, Turkish, and many other societies as places of community, healing and relaxation.

From a meta standpoint, an onsen episode, like a beach episode, is easy on the overworked animators to create, and thus become a staple of anime. But they aren't used purely for fanservice.

Fruits Basket used the onsen episode as another way for Momiji to pay back Tohru for the Valentines chocolates, further establishing his bond with her, for the characters in general to bond, another way for Tohru to show how much she thinks of her mother in everything that she does, and as foreshadowing to Ritsu's arrival by meeting his mother, who owned the facility. Ritsu's mother is one of the few zodiac parents who has a good relationship with their child and was able to give Tohru some insight into the family. Plus, another moment of Yuki showing his affection for Tohru and growing desires to see her as happy as she made him.

Outlaw Star's onsen episode is very raunchy to the point where American syndication cut the episode entirely from television. And because of that the American audiences missed out on an incredibly important plot detail. The episode was heavy in many establishing things, generally being wacky, but also an important, unskippable element to the story.

Blue Seed is an anime that I never got to watch, though my old video store had the sequel OVA Blue Seed 2, which featured three episodes. One of those episodes featured an onsen, and a bomb rigged to explode once the water level got too high or low or the timer ran out. It was a thrilling episode featuring a tense plot and showed the cultural differences between the characters and their one (American) gaijin friend.

There are other examples of onsen episodes in anime that aren't just for fanservice, so to suggest that they only exist in this way is absurd. The female members of the Sketchy Huntsmen, particularly the Asian members advocated hard for this scene, practically twisting Raymond's arm to put it in because it was thematically important, and culturally, for the character moments the cast (especially Weiss and Yang) would go through. By ignoring all of the context to what went on in this scene to say it was purely for Raymond to be gross is to wave away the cultural significance of onsen to Asian culture as being reduced to nothing more than stripteases and ignore when characters do have important moments between one another.

Roman also didn't say anything about Weiss being a man. He said she was flat-chested. He thought Ren was a woman because he was beautiful and had a gentle, feminine face and thin physique and justified it by talking about how women are varied. The joke is making fun of Roman for being an unobservant ass, not at Ren for being feminine and certainly not at Weiss. How badly did you not pay attention to this scene to get so offended that you had to make it about you and your expectation to be slighted. Again, pareidolia. Trans people, rest easy. Not every joke involving gender and being seen as the opposite gender is about you specifically or meant to slight you specifically. And I mean this genuinely. If you think that it is, kindly take a chill pill and reduce your ego before you hurt yourself. Your blood pressure will thank you.

Does this screenshot of a Rated T game upset you?

Faunus heat cycles were treated more or less the same as the onsen scene. Subverting the expectation that this sexual concept can only be used for cheap hentai games and anime. Realistically any trope or concept can be used in a more serious story setting, including sexual concepts like heat cycles. There’s no rules that just because something is used often as one thing that it cannot be used serve a different purpose. That’s the beauty of writing. In this case, Raymond used the heat cycles as one of many minuscule differences between the species to further exacerbate racial tensions and drive xenophobia, which would in turn affect the world on a global scale. Wow that kinda sounds like stuff that happens in real life! What a concept!

To those of you weirdos that think heat cycles are gross still, chew on this: Real life humans have evolved the ability to have sex and get pregnant 365 days of the year. If you think about it, our heat cycles never turn off. And the reason why we have periods is presumed to make sure that if we do get pregnant at any time we can attempt to abort a dead foetus before it potentially goes septic and kills us. Fascinating stuff, but that’s not all. Humans might actually have a heat cycle on top of that after all. There are days during the reproductive cycle where women are more receptive to the idea of sex, and finds normally unpleasant bodily odours more pleasant and men are attracted to the odours of women during this time.

Basically this means that women have periods of subtle extra heat that make them more receptive to sex on top of the fact that humans are basically horny all the time. This is something that is a biological fact within human beings and it can influence society of a variety of ways in the wider context of the world, so why is it so far-fetched and disgusting that a faunus would have a more non-primate mammalian estrus?

Now this is a new one. Ilia did turn away from her destructive spiral. Just like in real life that doesn't mean you get off scot free. She got a reduced sentence and some privileges for her help. She’s being rewarded by getting to go out and have fun at the festival and she said she’d rather be in the (presumably) solitude of a jail cell than have to deal with Sun (and his loud, boisterous energy). What’s offensive about that? Also hmm... 3 poc faunus. Well, faunus are all Remnant's version of poc so you can't mean them specifically do you mean... these three?

Those two on the right are looking pretty damn pale to be poc could it be that you're lying, Eren? And maybe that even if it weren't the case it wouldn't matter because it's a legitimate police technique at the very least seen in procedurals on television and are used regardless of the suspects' skin colour? You trying to slither the idea that Raymond is racist because he dares to have something at all happen to a non-white character is rather slimy.

A lot to go over here, so let's get started shall we? First of all, it absolutely tickles me that changing Shay D. Mann into Shiloh would cause Eren to go into such a big tizzy. Like, it's such a small thing and yet it's one of the main complaints they had about V5, which in my opinion means that Raymond was doing something right. Apparently upgrading a character from a tertiary to a secondary position if there's a need for it is blasphemy.

Okay, so let's go over the concept of character hierarchies. Primary Characters (which there is 8), secondary characters (which there are at least 15), and tertiary characters, which outnumber the stars. Honestly these could be broken down further into Main Characters (Ruby, Weiss, Jaune, etc), Primary characters (Nora, Qrow, Oscar, etc), Secondary characters (Raven, Ironwood, Ace-Ops, etc), Tertiary characters (Whitely, Willow, etc) and then Quaternary characters (Henry Marigold, Dust Shop Guy, Background people).

A quaternary character being upgraded to a tertiary character... what a terrible concept. I also don't understand this predilection for playing up the severity of Shay's actions, acting as though he's straight up assaulted her. He was drunk and tried to flirt. When she ignored it, he tried touching her hair. I've had a more eventful night in real life at a bar dealing with drunk guys who didn't mean any harm and one of them stuck his fingers in my mouth (I had on vampire fangs and that blew his drunk mind). He returns, bruised from his punch and worse for the wear with friends and Yang makes him lead her to camp.

He's not a good guy, obviously, and Shiloh is still not a good guy. But he's more human. He has people he cares about and his own set of morals, even if they may be looser than our protagonist's. If you don't think terrible people can't also have people they care about, I don't know what to say. You're mad because a criminal character, along with the rest of his tribe, got nuance beyond 'bandit'. I do not see the problem.

Shiloh is also not married to Raven, Eren. You do know that people can have children out of wedlock, right?

Gotta ask how Vernal was ruined in FRWBY. He says a lot of basically nothing and doesn't explain himself, acting as though his incoherent rambles are meant to be enough.

Oh yeah, Vernal was such a unique character all right with how... there she was. Existing. I'm supposed to be impressed? Ohhh. Ahhh. Her hair is very pixie cut. Such non-feminine (except it totally is Eren you silly), much discount bargain bin Yang outfit. It's not like Raven isn't literally a palette swap of Yang anyway so I don't know why you clowns complain about Lily, who has different features than both her mother and Yang while still being unique and yet sleep on this.

Raven also didn't dismiss Vernal's death in FRWBY. She refused to outwardly express her grief or accept that her poor actions got her daughter killed. That whole scene with her trying to destroy and then hide the relic was her focusing her feelings because she's not a very mature person. Sorry, that bit of character writing might be a bit subtle for those who are used to blunt-force character writing so it's understandable if you don't get it.

Now this is a weird claim. Let's look at it shall we? Zooming in for the visually impaired on Ruby's face, we indeed do see her looking at Roman and she has a very light amount of colour on her. There's also a white shine that was popular about 7 years ago with a lot of artists. You know, the artists that would put what I like to call blushies/sunburns on cheeks, shoulders, breasts and knees all had this style of redness for parts of the body that are naturally darker in places or have redness. Though with some artists the breasts were a weird one, I've always thought. It's not a style I go for in my own work, but I'm not going to care if that's what an artist likes to do.

Also most blushes, even ones by the artist herself go over the nose to differentiate between a blush and healthy cheeks.

But they claim that Roman doesn't have the blushies so the idea that this artist puts them on everything is false! So let's have a look at the Clockwork Reject.

Well, how can you tell he has no blushies when his hair is covering his face?

Could it be...?

Darker discolouration right beneath his eye that lightens up by his nose? It's almost like... a blushie hidden in shadow!

That settles it for anyone still furiously grasping at straws, desperately looking for any tiny little thing they can twist and warp into being something problematic.

Also one final point that these people are implying that Ruby is being shipped with either Roman or Ozpin. As far as I'm aware RubyxOzpin is kind of a popular ship (heck... RubyxOzpinxRoman was featured in a recent fic we read in the Tundra). It's not Rosegarden or Whiterose, but it's still fairly widespread. Why you gotta ship-shame?

So there's this idea going around that rewrites always sideline the heroines of the story (as though canon RWBY doesn't do that already). I can't speak for all rewrites, because I don't follow any except for FRWBY and I'm starting to get into Remnants. So for all I know every single other rewrite out there features Jaune or some other male character as the protagonists instead of RWBY.

Roman effectively replaces Oscar in FRWBY. A criminal who has found himself in unusual circumstances and now has to work with his former adversaries to complete a common goal.

How does this lead to Roman taking centre stage? Beats me. The fact that he... technically does things, unlike Oscar, I guess.

Now, I happen to like Oscar. I think he's a cute little muffin that wound up in a bad situation. But I also don't deny that he's been squandered as a character and as much as I've given Raymond shit for removing Oscar from his place in the plot, I won't deny that at least he's done something with the character he's put in farmboy's place.

Also Ruby being "reduced" to Roman's sidekick is very interesting phrasing by Lilith here. She tries very hard to manipulate language to give the most uncharitable interpretations as possible. The context for the scene is that the characters are being proactive in searching for leads and Roman is going to go check with his sources and connections in Mistral. Ruby goes with him to keep an eye on him.

She's his handler, not his sidekick. There's a difference.

You... ever get the feeling that Eren doesn't actually understand RWBY or it's characters?

Like... I think Ozpin did nothing wrong in V6. Jinn had no right to air out his dirty laundry like that just to show that Salem couldn't be killed. But while he may be supportive, I don't know if necessarily I would call him kind. In some aspects, sure. But Ozpin is meant to be a calculating character, striving to do what he can to hold back Salem at all costs. He is meant to be a morally grey character, not quite as good of a character as Dumbledore, but he does have that theme of leading pigs to the slaughter. Except these 'pigs' signed up for this job and know how dangerous it is unlike Harry until the end so the analogy doesn't quite work for Ozpin. (By the way, notice his contradiction there by saying Dumbledore is made morally grey by making him evil. Those are two distinct concepts, Eren. Maybe you should look up what morally grey is.) But the terrible way the characters treat him and Oscar's body afterwards makes many of us more sympathetic to him than to be against him. He's morally grey, but we don't mind it, and view him as being someone who is still ultimately good.

"They removed another poc character"

Sweetheart... Gretchen has to actually be a character. She's just a name said on the lips of a couple of characters. We don't even get to see anything of her. Summer got the same treatment, but at least she got a gravestone and characters sort of talked about how great she was, attempting to characterize her post mortem but doing it poorly. Eventually she got a cheap palette swap model. We at least were interested in Summer and who she was and how she disappeared even if we might have only cared because Ruby did and she's the main protagonist. Is anyone interested in Gretchen? And I mean truly, genuinely interested in Gretchen to the same degree that we are interested in Ruby? What about Raven? May Marigold? Even Summer? Gretchen is a fridged tool who only exists as justification for Hazel to be a relatively nice guy but still align himself with the villains. She is not, in and of herself, a character. At least with Magnus, we see the shell that Osma resides in and it hits us that this used to be a person. A person who had family who loved him and miss him and that is why Hazel is here. Do we know anything about the body in canon other than he'd once been a farmer?

The concept that an organization has to be single minded in a goal, no matter what it is, or else it is no longer that thing, is funny to me.

No, Eren. The White Fang is still a faunus rights group in FRWBY. It's just that there are people within the organization who have very strong opinions about how to go about achieving their goals and don't mind stepping over their fellows to get to that goal. That's what we call politics.

I don't even know why this is an issue when the White Fang and the racism plotline were not well done in RWBY and that is an undisputed fact that M&K admitted to. There is nothing wrong with trying to bandage that up and adding human elements to behind the scenes stuff - things that M&K themselves tried to implement but were just too inexperienced as writers to be able to pull off. It really shouldn't be that controversial to say that they reached beyond their means with what they wanted to do with RWBY, which is partially why it's such a mess. And I want to emphasize that I don't think they're incapable of pulling it off just because of the colour of their skin. They didn't do their proper research or think about a complicated topic well enough and rushed through it because they didn't know what they were doing as writers. They also admitted to not knowing what they were doing in the writing department for the first several years of the show so it shouldn't be controversial to criticize them as inexperienced writers pushing out a subpar written product.

While we're on the subject...

In a big ol' rant titled "The Problems with Fixing RWBY" you would think there would be a lot more pointing out the problems with FRWBY and not... pointing out the differences between FRWBY and canon. There's no explanation for why these things are an issue. He just presents these as though they speak for themselves, but they don't. And most of his points are like this, by the way. I could be lazy and answer 'why is this a problem?' to most of them. But I'll do the work for Eren since he's so bad at argumentation.

I'm going to assume here that Eren is trying in a very roundabout and sloppy way to accuse Raymond of saying 'the N word' without actually saying it. One of the fans of his project had been the one to suggest 'Critter' as a slur for the faunus, and due to the similarities between the two words, Raymond thought it would be a clear parallel as being the harshest, dirtiest, derogatory term in his version.

Jockey makes sense as a mocking, derogatory euphemism for someone who is for faunus rights and is faunus friendly as someone who might not themselves be. We know what a jockey is so the imagery that invokes speaks for itself. That's how language works and we have non-offensive examples of it in real life of 'white whale' and 'foxy' and 'bought the farm'.

As for the claim that Raymond said there's no racism in America, that's quite the accusation. You better damn well have a link to a sound clip that isn't out of context or else it's best to just forget about the idea of that. Saying that as a throwaway statement to just hang there without any evidence to back it up leads to speculation and witchhunting. I strongly oppose anyone, even you, being accused of anything of the sort without strong evidence to justify it. Innocent until proven guilty.

Moving on to Cardin and Velvet. Again, I don't see what the issue is. As someone who partook in some Dramonie back in the HP days, I enjoy a good story about a racist getting humbled and humiliated by the fact that he falls in love with someone he considers beneath him. Though that isn't the case with Cardin and Velvet.

Cardin's whole arc is that he was a racist and held certain viewpoints and beliefs. Being forced to work with Velvet and spend time with her on a school project, and the lack of evidence to support his biases led Cardin to begrudgingly break out of his racist mindset and come to respect Velvet as a person, and eventually a friend. By the events of the Fall of Beacon, Cardin is no longer racist for the most part and views Velvet as an ally and companion.

Starting from that point, it's no wonder we can see these two growing close and eventually getting into a relationship. It's all in how the ship is handled, not the ship itself. However, it's not confirmed they'll even get together in the first place. Raymond has only talked about his approval of the idea.

If I can go of on a slight tangent for a moment... like, holy shit, Eren really has it out for the concept of smaller bit characters getting any kind of development. As though the very idea of characters being more than cardboard cutouts is a grievous sin. He claims that small bit characters getting any time to flourish at all takes time away from the main cast.

That isn't the problem, nor is that the ultimate problem with canon RWBY. (Like it's so very transparent what these people are trying to do is to criticize Critic Rewrites by saying the exact same things the critics say about RWBY. But the thing is that criticisms of both aren't 1-1 and so instead of engaging with the rewrites in good faith, they just regurgitate argumentative points of critics without understanding why we make these criticisms in the first place as a sort of 'gotcha' to try and shame critics into silence. A sort of 'how do YOU like it' thing. Nevermind the fact that most creators don't read the majority of the criticisms they get online and will never see it and the complaints are mostly for other fans to consume and agree or disagree with. Nevermind that critics are just fans with as much power and influence over the show as everyone else - which is none.

They don't want to see critics as fans because that means they can't build a boogeyman for themselves. It's a bullying tactic, straight up.)

The problem with RWBY's character bloat was that the main girls weren't being handled properly in the first place. People thought that if there were less characters to juggle, then there would be more time to focus on the characters that mattered. But I don't think that would solve the problem, ultimately. We've seen when they cut the cast and they still struggle with properly implementing character stuff. It gets better, for sure, but the problems persist.

Finding a balance between proper arcs for your main cast while sprinkling in quality of life things for your other characters is the goal. Not focusing on your characters doing basically nothing other than having technical screen time and bloating the rest of the time with splotches of cardboard zooming past.

A lot of people are interested in the side characters, Eren. It shouldn't be an issue for them to get a little attention on the side as a treat to the main plot and that should be the goal for RWBY.

The final point to touch on is the injuries the characters sustain. All I can say is... why is this a 'problem'? Yang lost her arm in canon. The presumption was the Fall of Beacon was a situation that was more than the students in training could handle, and many people (presumably) got injured or killed. But all of that is off screen and swept under the rug and forgotten about. It's hard to take seriously as something that is supposed to be the greatest challenge the students ever faced, even more than they can handle when we see no one struggling, no one getting their aura broken and having to fight differently, getting hurt or anything. All of that storytelling happens off screen and that is bad writing. Telling us people got hurt instead of showing us is bad writing. So again, I ask, if it's okay for characters like Yang to get injured, why is it a problem for Velvet, Neptune and Cardin who had been more prominent characters in Fixing?

Eren didn't understand the concept of volunteer work and how that differentiated between being exploited. Many of the artists came out in defense of Raymond on this, so thankfully, I don't think this argument is used anymore. From the look of it, this argument was the only time people who make these arguments tried to be nice to the artists. Now they're just fellow 'haters' who Raymond collected like Pokemon cards to work on his project. And I'd show a screenshot of calling the artists haters, but honestly I'm running low on my picture limit. You'd think there wouldn't be so many 'haters' but when anyone who voices any dissent toward the show can be considered a 'hater', they exist in abundance. The victim mentality knows no limits.

There were other criticisms about art, legitimate ones, and they were sorted out.

"The entire Brunswick Arc ... is now devoted to Roman."

Did Raymond say that? Or are you just pulling shit out of your ass? I've noticed a lot of people make baseless assumptions like this. Like how someone thinks Emerald is going to be killed by Ironwood when FRWBY V8 rolls around. Which is absolutely stupid. You guys comprehend that the point of the project is to stick as close to canon as he can, correct? That is a thing that can be understood by your goopy goblin brains? My goopy goblin brain can get that, so if not, what's your excuse?

Like yes, things are going to be different from canon. But they're not going into wild AU territory.

Changing Ozpin's host to Roman doesn't affect the trajectory of the story because Oscar was a thing in canon. Emerald isn't going to be killed in FRWBY because Emerald is going to be a thing moving forward that he needs to account for. Understood? Okay good.

As for the Brunswick arc, yes, a lot of it probably will focus on Roman. But that doesn't mean he's going to lean RNJRWBY against a wall to collect dust. This is a leap of logic that I can't comprehend, it's as if Eren thinks that scenes and scenarios that last an entire episode can only exist for one character. Maybe that's because that's what canon does.

I already actually ranted about Eren's apparent dislike of the side characters. So I presume that one of his so-called complaints that he says he does have about RWBY, but from my recollection he's never talked about because that is VERBOTEN, is the fact that RWBY has character bloat.

I think this is all that I really wanted to address, so I'll close this out on the, frankly nothingburger criticism that is 'How dare you title your project a thing I don't approve of'.

Some people like to argue that Raymond wouldn't get hate if he just titled it differently. But I hope that I showed you that with how they attack any and all rewrites, including SYTOkun's RWBY Remnants and other, usually unnamed, "Jaune Main" rewrites, that argument holds no water. These people dislike the concept of rewrites entirely and think it's okay to harass and criticize the work not based on how it functions, but for the fact that it exists at all. Ultimately the message is that this fan content is not Approved to be within their holy space.

They call Raymond arrogant for thinking he' better than other fallible human beings simply because they happen to hold jobs working at a company and Raymond does not. As though that is supposed to magically make them better as writers. Fact of the matter is, there are plenty of writers out there who are likely better than MKEK, and their personal credentials of whether or not they worked for Big Company XYZ doesn't matter. At the end of the day, this is opinion. Opinion that you're free to disagree with and it doesn't make anyone arrogant to think their skills are better. He put his money where his mouth is. But also no one is holding a gun to your head to consume fan content that you aren't interested in. If you feel that you have to because it appears on your dash and that just makes you the big mads, then maybe turn off your screen for a while. Read a book. Go for a swim (or don't if you're in the Northern Hemisphere right now it's December. Go skiing). Do something.

Its not arrogant of Raymond to call his work Fixing RWBY. Its merely a statement of intent with the work. If you have a problem with that then you are saying that is a problem with you. No work is perfect, no work is untouchable. There is always going to be something wrong with it and someone will always be unsatisfied and wish something would be different. That is the value we have as individual people.

Ultimately I am not saying they cannot dislike FRWBY. The work can be criticized. But it does need to actually be engaged with properly in order to be criticized. Critics engage with RWBY, but we aren't afforded the same courtesy.

It says a lot about a person who tries to control another fan into how to think, act, speak or consume content within a fandom space. If you want positive content in the fandom, then don't go after other fans with vitriol, and if you have issue with something they create, then look at it from a constructive standpoint and critique it with the desire for it to get changed. If an artist does not accept every single criticism, that is something you have to get over. They have the ultimate decision in the end.

I'm an old. I'm tired. I've said my piece. Thank you for reading my novella-length complaint and goodnight.