#i mean . in this case it's really more of a cruel truth

[mariasont]

Talking to a Brick Wall - A.H

a/n: rip erin strauss you would've hated this fic

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo

wc: 2.3k

You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.

You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office. 

And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks. 

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?

"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."

Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things. 

"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."

Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.

The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door. 

You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.

He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything. 

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them. 

You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people. 

Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation. 

Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.

It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.

Hi honey. What time are you coming over?

You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest. 

so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo

You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.

Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.

You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.

no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!

Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color. 

i look & sound disgustinggg rn

I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.

I want to see your pretty face.

you can be so flattering when u want to mister!

im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?

Hmm, okay.

love u! xoxo

I love you too, pretty girl.

You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic. 

You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.

The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.

Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.

You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.

At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood. 

Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"

The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray. 

He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."

You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."

A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.

His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."

The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming. 

You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm. 

You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"

"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.

"Do you want help?"

The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?

 "Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.

You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.

"How was your day?"

You wince internally at the automatic question. 

"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."

Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?

"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost. 

He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."

You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.

Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."

Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."

You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."

"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."

"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly."

He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."

That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.

"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"

"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You draw in a breath.

His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.

"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."

"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."

"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."

"Oh."

"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"

You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."

taglist: @hotchhner

[weird-is-life]

Hello i have a request for spencer reid x reader. If you have noticed in the show, esp early seasons he doesnt really get jokes a lot and takes stuff literally. Can you write a reader who is the same way, and the team is partaking in a funny joke and they are the only two who dont get it??? They r so perfect for each other

Hiii, lovely🥰ty for the cute request, hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, clueless Spencer and reader, mentions of drinking and tea, (0.5k)

The latest case is finally over, and the whole team is more than happy about it. There are drink being passed around the jet in between, well almost everyone, except from you and Spencer.

You two are comfortably sitting next to each other on the jet's couch with the cups of tea in your hands. You didn't feel like drinking, and neither did Spencer, so instead he made you both some tea.

You are still very much present in the merry conversation happening between the team though, just without the alcohol.

And suddenly everybody is laughing, something to do with Derek and a bar, but you don't get it. You force a fake laugh out because you don't want to ruin the fun.

You find that Spencer is laughing as well, so even he must get the joke. It's only you that doesn't understand. You think of how embarrassing that is for you. Never getting the jokes.

The laughter dies down, and the conversation continues going as smoothly as it has been before.

Abruptly, you get an idea. Maybe Spencer could explain the joke to you?

It takes you a few minutes to find the courage to lean closer to Spencer, and ask about the joke.

"Spencer? C-Could I ask you something?" You whisper as inconspicuously as you can. Not wanting to get anybody else's attention.

Spencer looks at you with a soft smile, and he says, "sure."

You clear your throat, feeling a bit sheepish about it," did you....could you explain the joke to me?"

Spencer frowns in confusion, " what do you mean?"

You sigh in defeat," I mean the joke that everybody was laughing at. I didn't get it." Your cheeks go a bit red at your confession.

"You didn't get it?" Spencer asks curiously. Not mean or cruel about it, just curious.

You shake your head. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

"I didn't either," Spencer grins at you. Eyes shining with sparks of amusement.

"You didn't?" You baffle. You saw him laughing.

"Nope. I often don't. I usually just pretend that I know what they are talking about, and laugh at it," Spencer shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. The sides of your mouth go up.

"Did you pretend now too?" You question with a quiet giggle. You can't believe that he's done the same thing as you.

"Yeah. Did you pretend too? I saw you laughing," he raises his eyebrows. His own smile appearing on his pretty face.

"Yeah, didn't want to be the only one not laughing," you admit.

"Good," he laughs, bumping his shoulder to yours, "now we can pretend to understand together."

You can't contain the laugh as he says it. The both of you chuckling on your own inside joke.

"Oi," Derek draws your attention, your laughing gone, but the smiles remaining on your faces, " what are you two lovebirds laughing at?"

Your cheeks go impossibly more rosy, "nothing." It's an easy lie, you don't feel like telling them the truth.

And one look at Spencer you know he doesn't either, his own cheeks a bit more pink than they were before.

[kityana]

i was going to add this to this post, but it got very long and a little off the topic and i didn't think it was fair so here goes.

i think there's a very good chance octavia isn't really aware of the situation between her parents.

in "loo loo land", octavia talks about her parents not loving each other as a new development.

when we know for a fact stolas and stella never got along, and seemed to dislike each other from the moment they became betrothed.

but in the trailer, she says "you never loved mother", so it seems like she recently realized that was the case. further more, she seems to put it in the same category of disappointment as the idea of stolas not loving her, too.

i think it's unfair to blame octavia for not noticing the dynamic between her parents sooner. for one thing, abusers are notoriously good at hiding their actions, and abuse victims very often hide their situation out of shame. this is doubly true for male victims of abuse, and even more so if the abuser is a woman. stolas himself says he put up with stella's behavior because he wanted to give octavia "a normal life", and i imagine that "normal life" did not entail knowing just how much her parents can't stand each other and how cruel her mother is to her father.

also, as @ceaselessims noted- octavia is rich and privileged. we base what we think is normal on our environment, and octavia's normal is not our normal. try putting yourself in her shoes- most of the people she knew her entire life were other royals. most of the relationship she saw were relationship between royals, probably the kind that is either arranged like her parents or made for other politically or monetarily advantageous reasons. that means most of the adult relationships around her weren't what we would consider loving, healthy adult romantic relationships. so the fact her parents were rarely if ever affectionate toward each other? to her that probably seemed normal. the fact they rarely seemed to spend time together unless they had to? again, normal. the tensions between them? stella's occasional snide remarks about stolas that stolas probably doesn't even address? normal, normal, normal.

i'd like to think that maybe at some point in the future, octavia willll spend some time with fizz and ozzie, or m&m, or any other actually healthy couple, and then the penny will drop that this is what an actually healthy, romantic adult relationship is supposed to look like.

but for now i'm thinking that for 17 years, as far as she could tell, her parents had a really ordinary, stable marriage of the kind she sees all around her. and then, one day, completely out of the blue, her father shatters it all with an affair. of course she's pissed at him. of course she mostly blames him for everything that's happening and seems more sympathetic to her mother. and of course that shakes the foundation of her trust in him, because as far as she can tell, he betrayed one person that was close to him, so who's to say he won't betray her, too?

and stolas isn't exactly helping things by seemingly not even attempting to explain the situation to octavia. i understand he's struggling with a lot, but keeping her completely in the dark is just letting her jump to her skewed conclusions, and it also gives stella a way to control the narrative, which i'm sure stella is going to take.

i think octavia will find out the truth eventually, and then i'm sure she won't take stella's side anymore after that happens. but i also think she's going to be very sad to know just how much stolas hid from her. that also seems like a betrayal of trust- that he couldn't trust her. their road to healing is going to be long and interesting, i think. and i can't wait to see it.

[yanderederee]

hi hii, just saw your new event and- wow✨

wanted to ask if i may join in with ran and rindou :3

Thank you so so much for participating and requesting for this event lovelies!!♡ (sorry if my inbox status is hard to read;-;) ! I really hope you enjoy my headcanons!!♡

yandere mbti event page : here!

Ran Haitani - CAML

Cruel:Aware:Manipulative:Lenient

Ran can sometimes teeter between being reverent and Cruel, but more times than not, I believe Ran is often harsh.

Loves to praise his darling and spoil them rotten, but Ran is sadistic, his heart just pounds watching his dalring cry♡

Not cruel like Hanma; Ran is Cruel in the way that he likes when things make you mad or teasing you too far. He tries not to be the reviving end of your wrath for sake of wanting to be on your good side… but it does turn him on a little.

You’re just so cute when you scream at him for flipping your skirt up to “check what his lucky color for the day is”. (Any other oho asa horoscope followers?)

Always makes up with you for his cruel deeds by doing more kind acts. Again, he teeters reverent in the way he praises everything about you, has your back in every decision you make and fulfills your every wish no matter who what’s at stake.

Ran’s hyper-aware of little changes that go on behind your expressions. Ran can read you like a preschool book. There’s no point in hiding anything from him; because he will point out your lies and force you into telling him everything anyway.

Also isn’t one who likes to falsify who you are, or how you feel about him. He’s quite charismatic anyway, so as long as long as he’s careful, he doesn’t need to worry too much. He’s confident in being able to make you fall in love with him with personality and looks alone.

Ran has never considered his actions as wrong. Or, he does, but doesn’t care. He hurts people everyday for any minor fault he deems worthy.

So when he reasons that he will do anything to protect you? Hurting, killing, dismembering, or mutilating—nothing is beyond unreasonable, for your sake.

Ran is manipulative as hell.

To circle back, Ran would rather stay on your good side, if possible. He’s not beyond being honest with you about his delinquencies, but Ran likes lying about the truth.

Ran likes to lie and tease you. “You saw someone outside your window last night? It was probably just a shadow playing a trick on you~.” It Definitely wasn’t him. “You’re so cute when you’re delirious~ maybe I should come over and watch you sleep, just in case… fufu, I’m kidding doll.”

Similarly to how he wants to be on your good side, Ran will be choosingly Lenient with you.

Loves the idea of you ribboned and cuffed to his room with only a cute piece of lingerie on at all times—- but he decides that can wait for worse case scenario. He’d rather you live youthful and fully, experiencing days challenges with him by your side.

* If you start getting too close to realizing his obsessive craze for you, he gets pretty harsh with his gaslighting. So what if you caught some guy with braids in an ally beating your coworker to death after your shift? You couldn’t prove it was him, because it wasn’t him. You understand how mean it is to blame someone for murder right? So stop looking at him like he was some damn ghost.

* But if the cat’s out of the bag, it’s out. If he ever becomes discovered, I can see him changing into CAHS personality type. Forced to become honest, and restricting you into become more akin to a pet than a person. He would like to delay this change as far as he can, but that’s entirely dependent on you.

Rindou Haitani - RAHS

Reverent:Aware:Honest:Strict

Rindou HATES being mean to his darling!! When Rindou falls in love, his whole heart is in it. When you make an appearance in his life and inevitably change his way of thinking, Rindou is absorbed with being loved by you.

Similar to Baji in the way his Reverence is less like worshipping and more like protecting. Rindou thinks you’re perfect; that you can do no wrong, and redeemable in all things, including hurting him.

Rindou may have a few daydream-delusions of his darling falling for him like a princess would to her knight in shining armor, wishing you would look at him like he hung the stars, and crave him the same way he craves you.

But he acknowledges reality, and realizes he has to be genuinely careful in approaching you in order for that to happen. Rindou is perceptive and aware of your genuine emotions and thoughts of him.

With a reputation like his, he knows you might have some concerns with being around him. So, he actively makes an effort in showing you who he is.

Rindou likes being genuine with you. As his darling, he feels you may be able to truly understand him, if you’re given the chance…

So, Rindou finds being manipulative rather difficult. He’ll honestly own up to his poor behaviors, and ask for your forgiveness. Now, this can obviously depend on the behavior in question, but Rindou is careful enough to hold himself back while in your company, or with what behaviors reach your ears.

Also likes to keep the image you see of him in a positive light. He might not be perfect, but he was real with you and made you feel genuinely safe.

Now.. hear me out. Rindou is most Strict than he likes to believe. He’s not overbearing like locking you up and keeping you to himself.

But he does gift you cute pieces of jewelry often. They’re always so cute, you end up always wearing at least one or multiple of the Tracking Device imbedded accessories.

He knows your every move. Your every calorie intake. Your every breath is being recorded. It’s all for your safety, of course.

Is very particular with who you spend your time with or who you speak to. Is the type to secretly beat the shit out of Anyone he doesn’t recognize who talks to you too long, takes up too much of your time, or acts remotely unpleasant towards you.

Rindou is less thrilled by the idea of locking you away, if only because he knows the action will make you dislike him. And all Rindou ever wants is to feel loved by you…

[strwbmei]

i love bottom ei BUT UGH TOP EI??

i think im mentally ill for this but oh gods please hear me out💪💪

i want ei to strangle me while electro surges through her fingers finger she pounds the ever living fuck out of me to breed me bonus if she has a dick percing to zap your cervix everytime you try saying something snarky despite the shock at your neck and the hand squeezing your neck enough to keep you silent

“how’s that? hm? Baby you always have to be so cruel dont you? I dont mean this my love.” she’s reassuring you as you feel her other hand squeeze your hip. its tight enough to give you another bruise to look back at in happiness

who knew the same woman you ride and give head to could be so domaineering when she had the chance? sweet and shy yet so fucking good at making you sob and smile at the same time

“Love you’re twitching stop moving or i cant make you m-.. feel good.” she pants out shes a bit like a puppy when she wants to be though you felt a snarky remark bubbling up but you couldnt speak this time you knew you had to be silent otherwise it’ll be worser for the only source of light in the room to grow bigger and hurt your neck more with its shock

The piercing being used as a conductor for electricity is actually so genius.

Ei really doesn't want to hurt her precious darling, but what else is she supposed to do when you treat her as if you're above her? When you take all that she gives you for granted?

Ei is a goddess. Your goddess, for that matter. She doesn't ask that you bow your head to her or grovel at her feet, but why must you always disrespect her so? Has she not been good to you; given you everything you wished for as soon as you said the word?

No, she has been lenient. Far too lenient. Perhaps Ei's (admittedly) special treatment towards you has led you to think that the two of you were equal when that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Everything that you want to do, you can only do because she allows you. As long as you are in Inazuma—in her territory—this will always be the case.

Did you really think that Ei, a trained warrior and an Archon, couldn't break free of those flimsy ropes you had always liked to tie around her wrists? Not for a second did you have her cornered and helpless. Ei thought you understood that, but it seems she was mistaken.

It's so easy for her to pick you up, bend you over, and fuck you until you're apologizing and begging for her to slow down. Even easier for her to make you cum until your brain is turned into mush from the overstimulation.

And what better way to drill that into your head than to actually do it to you?

"My love... Stay still, hm? You know I don't wish to hurt you." You squirmed around her pierced cock, the metal acting as a conductor for the gentle yet tantalizing jolts of electricity that traveled up your spine. The piercing at the tip of her dick was just a joke you started at first, but you were pleasantly surprised the first time you saw it.

"Bullshi-" You half shriek in pain and half moan in pleasure as a sudden surge of electricity hits you. "Have you not earned your lesson?" Ei frowns. She doesn't want to see you in pain. Moreover, she doesn't want to enjoy seeing you in pain.

Still, if this is the only way, Ei has no other choice.

[rayclubs]

Which tf2 merc do you think gets mischaracterized the least?

Good question! Let's do a rating.

In my opinion, there are three aspects to characterizing someone.

Facts - you have to get basic character backstory right. This includes all objective canon truths, events, and, well, facts about said character.

Behavior - you need to understand how the character acts, how their interpersonal relationships function, what they're like in their day-to-day life. This is the nitty-gritty of fanfic and fanart, this is dialogue, line-to-line characterization.

Integrity - you need to understand the character's core beliefs and principles, what their values are and how they view the world around them. This isn't something you can easily quote or point to as a mistake in fanfic, it's more of an overall idea of a character.

Each of these is going to be worth up to three points, with zero for terrible characterization that gets everything wrong. This would ideally total to nine points. I'll be awarding an additional bonus point for character interpretation that doesn't make me scream "he would not fucking say that". Let's go.

Scout:

His backstory is fairly simple. He has an absent father, half a dozen siblings, and a crush on his boss who doesn't reciprocate. People mostly get this right, except they also call him a virgin despite the fact he canonically lands the fried chicken queen, and seems to do it with ease. 2/3.

His behavior is also mostly portrayed accurately, in that he's loud, obnoxious, self-absorbed, and can be kind of a dick, though not completely without endearing qualities. The fandom is, admittedly, guilty of making him more insecure and self-conscious than he actually is, to amp up the drama. 2/3.

His core values, however, are completely off. The main interpretations I see of him are "depressed Scout", "homophobic Scout", and "baby Scout", neither of which is true to his character. This is a grown man with a force-a-nature complex. The homophobia is just projection and internalized prejudice, but that phenomena is too complicated for me to dissect here. I talked about it before and might make another post later. Anyway, 0/3.

Scout does not get a bonus point. He would not fucking say "poggers" but he would say "daddy-o".

Overall characterization score: 4/10

Soldier:

Very little is known about Soldier's backstory so there isn't really any room to be wrong about it. What we do know is also vague and unreliable, so it's open to interpretation. Given how little room for error there is, I'll give him a 3/3.

His behavior is completely off in most cases, often shown to either be overly aggressive or so dumb you start to question how this man functions in his day-to-day life. Canon Soldier has plenty of endearingly stupid moments but a lot of them can be read as deadpan jokes on the character's part, and many turn out to be secretly clever moments, such as him infiltrating the robot base with a goofy cardboard disguise. Likewise, canon Soldier has plenty of aggressive and mean moments, but he's not cruel and very clearly not a threat to his teammates, which isn't captured at all in fanworks that decide to go that way. 0/3.

Soldier's core ideals are mostly captured well, as in - yeah, he calls people communist as an insult in fanfics. I feel like he should mention God more often than he does in fanon, it's, like, one of the two ideologically meaningful things he ever talks about. The importance of "America" as a concept to him is mostly preserved but left unexplored. 2/3.

Soldier does not get a bonus point, he would not fucking say [homophobic slur] yet here we fucking are.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Pyro:

His backstory is nonexistent yet people still fuck it up. His technical knowledge is clearly extensive and impressive, as shown by the complexity of his weaponry - which, mind you, looks HAND MADE - but people treat him as if he's altogether incompetent and maniacally stupid all the time always. He also ran an engineering company for hell knows how long and people just forget about it because they're allergic to adults or something. God this pisses me off so much. I mean for fuck's sake, people act like his full job description is "Pyromaniac" and not "Pyrotechnician". I'm so tired. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization and dialogue is also completely off. People treat him as if he's INCAPABLE of communication, make him obsess over childish things he's only shown a moderate liking to in a manner that's borderline creepy and insulting, and take away his whole entire agency in everything he ever does. I will literally not give y'all a single point, you do my man Pyro so dirty. 0/3.

His ideology is complex and vague in canon, and I don't blame people for getting confused by such things as Pyrovision, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. In my time on Ao3 I've seen animal Pyro, cryptid Pyro, monster Pyro, alien Pyro, evil mindless maniac Pyro, incompetent baby Pyro, nonbinary Pyro (HENCE MY PROBLEM WITH THE HEADCANON, do you see how it looks next to all these other interpretations?) but I've rarely, if ever, seen competent adult Pyro with actual hopes and dreams and agency. 0/3.

Pyro does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "uwu" but he would say "fuck", let Pyro say fuck.

Overall characterization score: 0/10 are you fucking surprised

Demoman:

Oh poor lad what have they done to you. So, Demo's backstory is arguably the most detailed and fleshed-out in the entire canon. Too bad nobody fucking read it. Admittedly, in the recent years I've seen people mostly manage to remember he has several jobs and is overall a competent and successful man, but it's rarely - if ever - explored, I've seen exactly one fic where the author bothered to explore what one of his other jobs might be (and it was not a good fic for many other reasons, don't ask me for a link), and it honestly feels like people don't want to dwell on it? Like, they mostly mention it to fill a quota, y'know? Here, I'm not racist, I've acknowledged one of this character's achievements, leave me alone. Also the subject of him being fucking adopted as a kid never comes up. 0/3.

His day-to-day characterization suffers a lot because people think alcoholism is the most morally repugnant thing that can ever happen to a human being. This man honestly barely even has a presence in the fics he's in. Are you wondering where Demo is? Well, he wasn't there! He was BUSY! He couldn't come! There is a handful of writers who bother to write his actual inner monologue and point of view, and this point goes out to them only. Also there was a pretty good Boots and Bombs fic in which Demo was a dick to Soldier but then got better, and it stuck with me. 1/3.

His core character is fucked up by fandom because he's either all flaws or not allowed to have any flaws, and there's no in-between. Ever since I joined the fandom I've seen a lot of critique floating around, and people mostly seem to listen and realize they've been mistreating the man for long enough, but it created a whole separate problem of Perfect Demoman which is bland and boring. People don't want to write an offensive caricature but don't feel like fleshing him out either, so they just make him great at everything and never let him fail and grown in ways that are meaningful. Except that one fic I mentioned earlier, but I've already awarded a point for that. 0/3.

Demo does not get a bonus point. I couldn't find a meaningful example of bad dialogue because, like I said, he has no presence in any of the fics he's in. He would fucking say something.

Overall characterization score: 1/10 and honestly it's too generous on my part.

Heavy:

Okay so Heavy's backstory really confuses people. I've got like a dozen asks in my inbox when I called his father a revolutionary AND a counter-revolutionary. Wait till I call him a royalist, it'll blow your tits clean off. I don't feel like explaining the history of the communist regime in the USSR on this post, let's just say people are mostly faithful to canon but don't really "get" Heavy. 2/3.

His day-to-day characterization is plain bad. He's treated like a mother hen to the mercs when he's more of a stoic friend with a mean streak and a crude sense of humor. I think the main problem is the dialogue, people just can't give him the dignity of speaking in an intelligent manner. It's honestly also pretty bad in the comics. 1/3.

His core ideals are fine, if oversimplified. He's not a complicated man, he loves his family, his guns and his doctor. People rarely give him any more depth than that but it's not offensive to his character or anything. I feel like he should have more political opinions than people give him. I also feel like people make him way more protective of Zhanna's romantic pursuits, to a creepy degree. I mean, yes, he's annoyed by her marrying Soldier, and seems horrified for a brief second, but it's not like he's against it or anything, he's just kinda surprised? Anyway, 2/3.

Heavy does not get a bonus point because he would not fucking say "da". Pizda.

Overall characterization score: 5/10

Engineer:

Yeah people mostly get him. He's got 11 Ph. Ds. Some treat him like he grew up as an actual cowboy or something but most remember he's a nerd. I'd actually give all the points here because Engie's backstory is NOT complicated. 3/3.

His dialogue and day-to-day characterization is also okay, though people really mellow him down a lot. I had a bit in one of my fics where he said something like "let's teach those sumbitches how the real killin' is done" and like three different people commented on it saying they liked or were surprised by his mean energy. It's not even that mean, I think it kinda shows my problem with his interpretation. 2/3.

I asked about mischaracterization once and a lot of people replied "Engie is the most mischaracterized because people treat him like he's good but he's actually evil" which I think pretty much covers it? It's hard to write someone who is not implicitly strictly good or strictly evil. Engie treads this balance really well, I'm actually convinced his demeanor is not a facade, he is nice at times and mean when he wants to be. Fanon Engie can only be one of two things and neither is right. 0/3.

Engie gets a bonus point as an exception. I actually can't tell why, people just have his voice on-point. Is his accent and manner of speaking really that easy for you? I struggle to write him a lot. I think he should say "bitch" more.

Overall characterization score: 6/10

Medic:

People focus on the fact he lost his medical license more than on the fact he HAD a medical license in the first place. Other than that he really doesn't have a backstory. I dislike that people try to give him a sad one, I think he grew up loved and maybe even a little spoiled, but I can't fault others for not following my headcanons, so. 2/3.

His dialogue is the WORST because it's written phonetically. His goofy yet self-confident energy isn't captured well at all. The best I can put this is "people wife him" but it sounds kinda mysogynistic so really I'm at a loss. Submissivepilled breedablemaxxer. 0/3.

His core values are also all over the place. The complicated thing about writing Medic is that he actually doesn't come with pre-packaged drama. His backstory is vague, his demeanor is optimistic, his vibes are fun, and the worst thing that happened to him in canon was working with the classics for a bit - people amp it up to squeeze hurt out of it, which is fine, but not many people actually like going there. Thing is, fanfic writers aren't that good at writing drama when it hasn't been established before. They have to warp his character, make him edgy, self-conscious, or plain mad evil without redeeming qualities. I remember really struggling with my big Medic fic because I wanted it to be dramatic but had to put a lot of work into actually building up the emotion, because Medic is fine. He's fine. He's alright. He's fine. He's doing well. 0/3.

Medic does NOT get a bonus point, he would not fucking say "babygirl" and I'm not even sure if he would say "yass queen slay" I'm SORRY

Overall characterization score: 2/10

Sniper:

People mostly get his backstory right, probably because it's the most well-explained in the comics and it gets the most "screentime". It's also literally a Superman parody which is funny and memorable in concept. 3/3.

People can't find a good balance between stoic professionalism and social anxiety. I think Sniper is actually pretty simple, in that he's a little self-conscious which pushes him to actively better himself as a professional, but also makes him a little awkward so he comes across as standoffish and a little mean. He's a solid bloke that's balanced and feels real. Fandom has to go for the extreme every goddamn time with him. It sucks. 0/3.

People kind of get his drama, his relationship with his family and whatnot - mostly because a lot of us losers can relate, I bet - but, again, go for the extreme in making him anxious, whiny, and sad as a wet kitten. Unless it's a porn fic in which case he's an absolute freak that growls at people. I don't know what it is about Sniper that makes him so difficult to characterize. Manic pixie dream boy. Dark and moody lover love me like no other. 0/3.

Sniper does NOT get a bonus point because he doesn't say "cunt" nearly as often as he should. Also send me asks about my Sniper takes I want to stir up some shit.

Overall characterization score: 3/10.

Spy:

The only piece of his backstory we actually know is that he fathered the blight of the earth that is Scout TF2. 3/3.

His obnoxious and insufferable demeanor is mostly captured well. A lot of his portrayals aren't nearly as classy as people think they are, but that's because most authors are themselves proletarian, myself included, which is fine. Not many make the effort to pepper his speech with French words it would actually be natural for him to say, and blame it on the nonsensical complexity of the French language, but I'm not buying it as an excuse. 2/3.

His core values are off in regards to Scout - he's often portrayed as soft, mellow, overbearing, and critical of Scout's love life to either a comical or an uncomfortable degree. His fandom portrayal often also lacks the self-confidence he's demonstrated in the comics. Spy is not above strangling a man with a chain that holds the shackles around his ankles, he wouldn't consider it a blow to his dignity to fuck any of his coworkers either, come on. He's also funny and goofy but the fandom tends to neglect that. 1/3.

Spy does not get a bonus point because he would not say "perchance" but he would say "your mother".

Overall characterization score: 6/10

The final scores are:

Spy - 6/10

Engineer - 6/10

Heavy - 5/10

Soldier - 5/10

Scout - 4/10

Sniper - 3/10

Medic - 2/10

Demoman - 1/10

Pyro - 0/10

There we go! Pyro is the most mischaracterized, Demoman is a close second, and nobody is characterized well. Cheers!

[winterlogysblog]

Overanalyzing King's POV

Part 2

Link to Part 1

Let's talk about Adoption

So Kiane adopted Mertyl and it's pretty obvious that it's a kept secret and that only a few people know the truth. Which is fine, in adoption parents tend to keep it a secret until the child is ready and prepared to know the truth.

And here's the deal, if King and Diane were just a normal Fairy and Giant couple that's all they have to worry about, but that's not the case here. King is the well the King and Diane is the Queen, they're royals and I don't think the fairies would be too pleased to know that their first prince is actually a human oh and not just any human. The human that was switched with their actual fairy prince.

Realistically, if Kiane we're to have told Mertyl that he's adopted. He'll still be in same situation, probably even worse. Fairies are already on his case, questioning his relation to Kiane. "Are you really their kid?" "You don't look like them at all!" Just imagine if Mertyl being their adopted kid is common knowledge. Their quips would be worse and would hurt Mertyl more. Kiane is trying to protect Mertyl from this, that's why they kept it from everybody.

At least now, yes they say these things to Mertyl but they acknowledge him as their prince because that's what they've been told and that's how he acts. They're actually really cool with Mertyl it's just to them, Mertyl is weird looking. So, even if the truth were to come out it wouldn't matter to them cause yes Mertyl is human but he's still Mertyl he's still their prince.

Now, why didn't Kiane tell Mertyl anything even though it's been 18 years. Cause Mertyl isn't ready yet, I mean based on Diane's expressions she knows that this secret is long overdue but in a way they can't do it cause it'll only break Mertyl.

Mertyl has always been insecure about himself and Kiane is trying to make him feel secure, shower him with love and affection in the best ways they could so that even if the truth would come out Mertyl knows that his parents loves him literally no matter what.

And they've done this, as shown in Mertyl's flashback but Mertyl still feels the way he does.

In a world where Mertyl is secure in his place, that he knows the love that his parents, siblings and everyone has for him. There will be no conflict between him and Nasiens. In this world Mertyl would actually feel happy that Nasiens is at their doorstep and would actually help and guide Nasiens into learning about their true identity.

Unfortunately, that's not the case here.

Mertyl saw King gave the Drug of Yore to Nasiens. Now this scene is just filled to the brim with misunderstangs that my only hope is for Sixtus to use his brain and talk it out with his pops.

Mertyl felt betrayed at this moment. This is his worst nightmare came to life.

There's this medicine that in his mind can cure him, can help him and Sixtus reassured him saying that their father is a kinder King than anyone out there and he'll give it to him.

Notice the phrasing here, they know their father's responsibilities as King, they can differentiate between his two roles. Yes, he's their father and he'll do anything for them but he's also the Fairy King, a being that has immense responsibilities and power. They're aware that there are some things that he can't do for them because he's the Fairy King.

But there he saw, his father giving the very thing he came there to ask for to Nasiens just like that. This is the ultimatum for him, so he ran off. Without knowing the full truth behind his father's actions.

Then, we have Nasiens, I love you but baby you kinda messed up on this one. He just jumped to his assumption here.

When King gave the drug, Nasiens refused and claimed that he's rather cruel for letting him run around and make medicine for Percy and fail everytime for the past 2 years only to give this to him now and argued that he should have given it to Mertyl.

Granted, Nasiens doesn't know that Mertyl is human so I guess good on you for having Mertyl's back. But Nasiens you can't just assume these things without knowing the full story, let the man explain. Regardless of King's reasons (I already made a post about it check it out if you wanna know my thoughts) in my eyes he made the thoughest decision a father could ever make here.

At this very moment, King is letting Nasiens go.

King knows what Nasiens is here for and he knows that the moment Percy wakes up they'll leave. King and Diane have suspected and confirmed to themselves that Nasiens is their kid. But Nasiens doesn't really need them, he's fine, he has friends that cares for him, he has hopes and aspirations, he grew up to be such a great person. To King, seeing Nasiens the way they are now and being able to take care of him for 2 years and help him with his goal, that is more than enough. King is letting Nasiens go because he knows that Mertyl needs them the most.

And here's the thing, I have a huge feeling that King decided on this a long time ago, that's why he didn't explicitly tell Nasiens anything for 2 years. And look at King's face here, he seems content, happy even.

King is willing to let Nasiens go without even saying that he's their father, without saying that they're family, without a hug, without a good heart to heart, not even a chance to hear the word Father from them, without any closure. None of that. Because King chose Mertyl

King chose Mertyl cause that's his son

King chose Mertyl despite the fact that he has finally found his firstborn

This is a sacrifice he's willing to make because that's how much King loves Mertyl

[writing-for-life]

To Be Human Means to Die (Even for Morpheus)

I know one of the biggest points of contention in the Sandman fandom (especially between show-only and graphic novel fans) is the end:

On the regular, we all hear the wish that the ending should have been more hopeful, that Morpheus dying is soul-crushing and devastating and sends the wrong message. And while I agree that it is incredibly sad upon first read (I actually cried my eyes out many moons ago when I first read World’s End, because that’s when I knew, without a doubt, what was going to happen), I would like to expand a bit on why I think we are actually getting the most hopeful message of them all…

It’s a Tragedy: Yes, but That’s Also Simplifying It

Let me briefly talk about tragedies first, because many people, myself included, often bring up the purpose of a tragedy first when we are talking about why realistically, there can be no other ending to The Sandman than the one we already have. That purpose is that we, as the audience/reader, are supposed to do better, and that we are supposed to learn from our hero’s fatal flaw(s).

And while all of this is true, it is also too simple.

Yes, Morpheus has fatal flaws, his inherent rigidity being the most prominent of them (on that rigidity, everything else hinges: his occasional cruelty, his sense of responsibility even if it destroys him, his inability to hold down relationships because he won’t communicate and compromise…).

But it would be too easy to say: “This is what we are supposed to learn from it, let’s not do that and instead be capable of change. Lesson learned, the end”.

For me, the most important personal truth of The Sandman goes far beyond that, and it is connected to the through-line:

Gods Can Die and Humans Can Be Immortal

When we first meet Morpheus, he is Endless in the truest sense of the word—although captured, it is very clear that he is not mortal, not human, and one step further: That he also doesn’t always understand what it means to be human. We get to know him as aloof, arrogant, proud, often devoid of empathy, and even cruel. And we all know that this changes throughout his arc. That the being who always asserted he is incapable of change finally has to admit, to himself and others, that he has changed, most poignantly in The Kindly Ones (e.g. when he tells Nuala that he lied to Ishtar when he denied he had changed).

And that change was initially a slow one--perhaps that is why he denied it for so long. But by the time we arrive at the end of Brief Lives, his change and, yes, his humanity, are already so clear to the reader that most of us probably went: “You really are slow on the uptake sometimes.”

Even Frank McConnell writes in his intro to The Kindly Ones: “And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.” And Nuala is right when she asks him: “You want them to punish you, don’t you? You want them to punish you for Orpheus’ death.” Guilt, regret, and a choice. And his reply is silence, and it’s deafening.

On Becoming Human

By the end of The Kindly Ones, Morpheus basically is human in the metaphorical sense: He feels like a human, and even his body (or at least his relationship to his body) has changed. The most important indication for the latter is when we put in contrast that the Corinthian stabbing him in Collectors doesn’t draw a single drop of blood, but the scorpion whip of the Fates in The Kindly Ones does, and that scar remains. We can of course argue about who can hurt him and who can’t, but in either case, we see a Morpheus now who is more flesh and blood than he has ever been, and he feels a sense of mortality not only mentally/emotionally, but also physically.

(I have to throw in here that the change they made in the show at this point greatly confused me, and I think it is significant, as are a lot of other changes that have been made. And I personally hope they only use them to hint at a more human side to him from the outset to make us relate more, but not as a change to the whole arc. I will admit that I would have preferred if he didn’t bleed at this point because to me, it would have had more impact when we finally do see him bleed at the end. And we got foreshadowing for the scar in the show, when the earthquakes crack one of the windows and he looks through it for the second time. Yeah, I’m really that obsessive when I rewatch it, it’s embarrassing).

To Be Human Means to Die

And before we all collectively go into our evolutionarily ingrained wish to pretend that’s not true (because most of us fear death):

It is our mortality that gives our lives meaning. Without an end, life has no meaning bar feeling empty responsibility (or endless hedonism that gets boring at some point). And after 10 billion years, maybe the burden of that responsibility simply becomes too heavy (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” he says to Death in #69. And that he is “very tired”). It can’t make up for what truly makes our lives worth living:

The Impermanence of it.

Destruction got it right when he said that the illusion of permanence basically depends on our vantage point. That we can pretend if we so wish, and that there is comfort to be found in that, but that things simply don’t last. And that the Endless are truly no exception to that rule (“…even our existences are brief and bounded. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe.”)

And yet, we look at Morpheus choosing death and think: ”But that’s it then, he can't go back on that, but he deserved happiness because he has changed, he deserved (insert preference/head-canon of choice) and will never get a chance to have it now.”

And I get it. Psychologically speaking, we often fight the idea of death tooth and nail. We fear our own, and we have to deal with the loss of loved ones. So the denial is real—it’s not one of the stages of grief for nothing. But staying in that stage of denial is stagnation—the very antithesis of change. Death and change are linked—in the Sandman, they are not truly presented as alternatives, even if we might think so. They are two sides to the same coin. Death says to her mortal form in The High Cost of Living that the fact that life ends is what gives it meaning. That’s why it always ends. And that message has already been given to us in The Wake: “(Death) gives you peace. She gives you meaning. And she bids her brother goodbye.”

It’s Not Just About Dying, It’s Also About Coping With Grief

It tells us something about our own mortality, but also about mourning our loved ones. That’s why The Sandman doesn’t end with Morpheus’ death/The Kindly Ones, but we get a whole story arc after he is gone/The Wake. Because mortality isn’t just about us. It is also about the ones we love, the ones we need to let go while keeping on living, but we also hold on to them in certain ways (“humans can be immortal” because we make them so). All the mourners are us, and in the case of grieving Morpheus, many of us are probably a bit like Matthew:

In the throes of grief, we don’t care that there might be someone else who might even be more kind and loving (poor Daniel)—we don’t want a “replacement”, we want back what we have lost. And we are not ready to move on, until we somehow are/do. And that path is painful and long, as everyone who ever lost a loved one will be able to attest to. The pain never truly goes away, but it changes, from something so raw and painful that it knocks the air out of your lungs, to something that shows up here and there unexpectedly, still painful, but a little less so. Until it only hurts around the edges of memories that make us smile, miss and love someone, all at once. That love is permanent, even if life is not. It doesn’t really die with us either, because we can pass it on.

And it is somewhat fitting that the idea of “to be human means to die”, and that death is what gives life meaning, also extends to storytelling:

Without an end, a story has no true meaning. Our lives are stories, and every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Morpheus’ story is meaningful because it has an end (I already wrote about this before in “Why the order of the last three issues of The Sandman matters” and have attached a long reblog chain)—not because it plods on endlessly (no pun intended). And that end is exactly what makes it last, what makes people feel, reflect, understand, learn, pass it on.

We, a whole fandom. continuously talk about how upset we are that he died, what we learned from it, what we would do differently (be that in our own lives or in a retelling of the story), and I’ll just leave it at that, because it drives the message home so much more than any further exploration could….

[morgana-ren]

He seems to indulge them a little more than he would anyone else

He definitely sees them as something more than he should, whether he admits that to himself or not. He saves them on several occasions, tries to interfere if you get sent to hospital or prison. He gives more attention and care to PC than any other of his charges. So What do you think Bailey sees the PC as? What he views their relationship as?

(Bailey is definitely someone with a lot of power in this town, even the Mayor seems scared of him, theres absolutely something more going on with him than just main antagonist, hopefully they expand more on his character soon!)

At first, I was thinking because the PC is obviously the best money maker for them. A little cash cow under their control. It's in his best interest not to let people have their way with you for free, or know that they can get to you in any way that doesn't involve going through him first.

But in truth?

He protects you before that's really the case.

(Realistically, from the game dev's point of view, it's meant as a soft block to keep you from fucking up too badly and ending up somewhere you aren't prepared for and ruining your game before you're ready. I know that.)

When you're an S tier beauty with massive mommy milkers and a can that could make pringles jealous, it's understandable. You're his best little orphan. His prized product. He's got buyers coming through left and right vying for a piece of your ass, and he tells you as much constantly.

(Though... Avery will pay you a lot of money-- almost all of what you pay Bailey, and he does it willingly, so it's not out of the question to think that someone has offered Bailey more than he charges you, but he has turned it down for... one reason or another.)

But what about when you're just a cute little thing, barely big enough for your boots and getting your bearings? Not really sexy or even appealing yet-- just kind of benign and adorable. Sure, he extorts you, and he's a cruel, ruthless motherfucker, but by God, does he bear teeth trying to defend you.

And he gives you four chances. With Robin, it's one payment out, and he sells them off. With you? He's easy by comparison. You don't get off scott free by any means, but he doesn't just sell you to the dock workers.

He openly admits attraction to you when you fuck him, and not just recently either. Straight up admits it.

"You were always the best looking little bitch."

He's not saying you're the best looking little bitch now that you're impaled on his cock, or even recently, but that he's always noticed your allure. On some level, he's always been aware of his attraction.

Implies possession. Like this is something he's thought about and contemplated. Like he's always claimed it, and known that it was always his to begin with. Like it was only a matter of time.

Not something a typical caretaker usually does, me thinks.

Did I, Bailey? Or did you? Was this inevitable to some degree? Cause it seems like it's been weighing on your mind for a while. Seems like you're trying to convince me— or yourself— that this wasn't your choice. That it was mine.

Want me to remember you fondly? Or with pleasure? Or knowing that the first time was yours and there was never any question or choice, and that I will always belong to you, no matter where I end up?

I think it's a lot more complicated than he lets on— and he hates it.

Obviously they can't have you seducing the main antagonist or else you'd lose the drive of the game. Bailey is the thing that keeps you working and grinding and playing. Having him soften and open his heart would fuck that unless it was replaced with something else.

But in my mind? Bailey is watching and waiting. Repressed and about to burst. A few careful, tactful actions like you've done before and it might unlock something you're not entirely ready for.

His love wouldn't be soft, or even pretend to be sophisticated like Avery. It's fierce and hateful, with hands that bruise and teeth that bite and chains that constrict. You ruined him, and he'll ruin you in return. If he can't bear to let you go, he'll extract value from you himself.

(let me dream, Vrel, let me dream.)

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Want to double check that I've done a decent job of avoiding disfiguremisia, and try to turn it into great counter to hatred instead of just an okay one.

Preface: I have a form of memory loss and likely brain damage so I cannot always phrase things clearly although I will try my best.

Personally I do not feel happy reading escapist stories as that happy ending is not achievable for real people. We don't get to live in a place that's completely safe and free from judgement. I'd like to write people in a hostile world who find love and safety and community, however this does necessite writing hostility. I want to make sure I'm doing so with care.

I would like to make sure that the hostility written as tension does not tar how I write how one of the main characters. He should be written with dignity and respect even when he is not being treated well by those around him.

One of my characters is blind and develops severe burn scars. He wears a blindfold to help with photophobia and sensory overwhelm, but takes it off when its dim. (CVI plus autism.)

While he does wear a cloth coverings in public due to ugly laws, he views it as a ridiculous requirement and happily removes this mask when with friends. He also enjoys that being visibly strange or somewhat unnerving to most people means that shallow people who judge by appearances avoid him.

Question: what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia? I have him being content with his face as it tells a story of his life and he's a blunt, forward person, not covering his face for most of the story despite laws necessitating that he do so, and a few other things too (and many side characters with facial differences and deformities also).

Also none of the central plotlines centre around facial difference. He's joining a servant rebellion, befriending a bitter exile intent on status at all costs, and discovering the truth of history. (Also a mind controlling octopus being is involved and a semi sentient moon amalgam thing but don't worry about it everything's fine.)

I think later books will be a more effective counter due to lack of ugly laws and him finding a lovely interest. I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world. I want his happy ending to feel real.

I respect the hell out of escapist fantasies it's just that they do nothing for me personally. I really want to write someone dealing with a lot - more than I ever have - and coming out the other end happy. Yes this world is hostile and will judge me but I can find joy despite it all. Some say the world is universally cruel but I have not found this to be the case. It is wise to be wary but myself and friends can create small sections of time and space where no precautions are necessary. Am I not part of the world? Are not they? The world is not universally cruel as long as I and those I treasure live in and we are not extraordinary, simply uncommon, and what is uncommon is still a great bounty. (Something to that effect.)

I'm set on what I want to write but the specifics I'm more than happy to change in order to bring joy. Do you have ideas on how I can do this full idea full justice?

Hello,

before getting to your actual ask, I have a "few" questions about the premise of the story itself.

You mention that you don't like escapist fantasies - that's fair. Taste differs; you can write whatever and that's great. But I do find the insistence to write a story about a specific type of discrimination as an outsider rather strange. If you want to have facial difference representation, I assume you want to have readers with facial differences, correct? I mean, I don't think that many able-bodied people would be too interested in it specifically considering most don't know what it is. So okay, this is supposed to be a story of characters with facial differences overcoming centuries worth of hatred and all that. Arguably more, considering that disfiguremisia and ableism go all the way back to Biblical times.

Why are you the person who needs to tell this story?

Just as people with facial differences are readers, we can be authors as well. We tell our stories. I will take an #OwnVoices book over a one that isn't that any day, and this fact will influence the rest of this answer. I'm a firm believer in #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs and all when it comes to this stuff.

Have you talked to people with facial differences who would be interested in the kind of story you want to tell? Do you know what they want to see from an author that's not taking it from their own experience? I don't count here, because as I made clear before, I'm not and won't be interested in it. I also don't know anyone in the community who has ever said "I wish more people without our experiences wrote about how hard it is to be us!". You need to make sure there are people who want this.

So, have, or will you, reach out to those that could like it? Sensitivity readers, random people online who like to read about disfiguremisia in their free time, advocates who work on media-centric problems? Anyone who would enjoy it is automatically a better candidate to help than me. I'm too jaded, I suppose.

If you want to talk about people with facial differences in such detail and setting, you need to get to know us. One guy with a specific set of opinions from a blog on Tumblr isn't that (thank god), but I guess I can serve as a reminder that not everyone will be excited to read a book that represents them in some way. We still have preferences.

To write it, you need to involve yourself in the community, start actually spreading activism about our issues. Preach about Face Equality and celebrate when our once-a-year week happens in May. See what disfiguremisia causes. Share our efforts to get all the problematic garbage off the big screen. Read our stories. Understand us as people who are incredibly diverse, and that not all of us like to be described as strange or unnerving.

If you only want to talk about our suffering as some quota to fill on a "types of discrimination" list, it will always be flat and inauthentic, and if you don't put in the effort it's pointless. We don't want tragedy porn, and we don't need to be included in every story about struggles that just wants some brand-new type of bigotry in it. We want authors who care about us, the living and breathing people. And sometimes it might mean respecting our opinions on writing disfiguremisia.

Here is a great post by @writingwithcolor explaining the effects of tragedy exploitation. Not everything there applies, but I would consider it a very valuable read.

If you think about all this, and decide that you are ready to write such a heavy, community-based story, go ahead to...

Actual Answers! Hooray

what other things might I be able to employ to counter disfiguremisia?

Sympathize with him. Disfiguremisia is a tragedy, it's brutal and it hurts. It's traumatic and impossible to forget, even if it wasn't happening constantly just to remind us that it's still there. On this note, I would recommend you research writing characters with PTSD.

Have him think about it. Sometimes I get home after getting stared down on the street and just want to yell. You don't forget a microaggression or a hate crime after five minutes. Let him vent and let him be upset. He can have flashbacks or recall similar situations that happened in the past.

I'm glad that he's aware of disfiguremisia unlike a ton of characters who are somehow always unable to figure out that it's a problem. If the ableism he's facing is so systemic and severe, individual people will be even more extreme. You can have him remember that the shop owner was a slur-spitting bigot, or that his neighbors avoid even talking to him. I want him to call them out - in retrospective, at the moment, in his head, whatever - on what they're doing. Throw a "not this fucking thing again" or something in there.

The minimum is to make him feel like a human with an internal thought process, who is able to actually experience what's happening to him, and for it to have long-term effects.

Also, outside of the whole disfiguremisia thing and me being overdramatic, check out our #blindness tag, and research burn scar care. If you don't show the boring and mundane, it will only feel closer to tragedy porn; just a sad thing one after another.

I will also do my best to make the counters feel real and feasible - I want it to feel like an achievable option for those who deal with prejudice in the real world.

This I think is the part of the ask that made me the saddest, and not because of what you wrote. I tried to think of achievable ways; ways that we did it, tried to do it, and are doing it, and one-by-one I crossed them out as "didn't work", "no one cared enough" or "kinda worked but honestly, it didn't". Face Equality is basically non-existent, not matter how much it hurts me to admit it! We are trying our best, and it doesn't work. It's just plain hard for me to come up with suggestions for this.

In fiction, I suppose that personal resistance is the way when it comes to this. I don't think there are feasible systemic changes that could happen that don't border on magical thinking or get into the "singular glorious revolution that somehow fixes everything and everyone lived happy ever after. We fixed racism, yay!". This just sucks.He could try to educate the people who are willing to listen - that's somewhat what I'm trying to pull off here on this blog, I guess. Sometimes it works, often it doesn't, but in his situation it wouldn't hurt to try.

The fundamental part here will be whether your character is able to find a way to make the ordinary person care in the end. To me, society who still hates us just as much, with a small group that thinks we're okay isn't a happy ending. The opposite, rather. It's cold and isolating to know only your friends could value you as a human being, and downright sad to imply that we should be happy for that. I don't mean that everyone should love us in every story, but there's a difference between The Ableism being represented by an antagonist or two versus the entire world except for the main characters.

If you decide to go forward with this story, I do hope your other readers with facial differences enjoy it!

mod Sasza

[This ask was submitted before my announcement of not taking questions regarding this subject matter. As of publishing this, it still applies.]

[ckret2]

As someone with a shakey grasp on what “the truth” means, would the Truth Teeth work on Bill, if they had survived the bottomless pit?

Would he agree to wear them if it meant ford was willing to have a conversation

They'd work on Bill. The truth teeth seem to get people to say things that even they themselves might not realize. So anything Bill "knows on some level" but refuses to consciously acknowledge is fair game for the truth teeth. And most of the time, Bill doesn't actually forget the truth, he just buries it so deep he never has to think about it again—but it's still there.

In cases where he's denied something for so long he has lost track of the truth, if he's asked about it with the teeth in, 9 times out of 10 he'd say "I don't know." He has an easier time forgetting the truth than believing the lie.

In situations where he's convinced himself a lie is true, he'd share the lie. The truth teeth don't magically know the truth, they can only make the wearer share what they think is true.

So asking him a question might not get you the truth—but you'd learn what Bill himself genuinely believes is the truth.

Due to who he is as a person I think the truth teeth would have an odd effect on him. It might take several seconds for him to answer questions—he's made his own memories so convoluted that it takes some digging to disentangle the truth from the stories and justifications.

Some of his answers would scare him. Most truths he buries are things he doesn't want to be true, and he believes saying something out loud makes it a little more true, so being forced to state the truth reinforces and strengthens the shitty reality he's trying to alter. He takes the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies to a mind-boggling extreme.

And with great effort, he might temporarily dodge telling the truth by avoiding answering a question correctly. For instance, if somebody asked Bill right now whether he'd really intended to kill Mabel, he'd say "lmao no, of course not, it was a big ruse!" With the truth teeth in, he'd say "I want to believe I wouldn't have killed her. I wouldn't now." True, but doesn't answer the question. Prod again and he'll have to say "Yes, I meant to."

You could barely convince Bill to put in the truth teeth to save his own damn life, much less to have a conversation with fucking Ford. Bill's got plenty of friends on Earth who are much nicer to him and wouldn't make such a cruel demand! (He's got three friends on Earth.) (Two, two friends.) (Okay, fine, one and a half friends.) What could possibly come of a conversation with Ford that's worth such a high cost as the unadulterated truth?

Anyway, the mere demand shows SUCH a lack of trust (Bill's sliding right past the fact that Bill's the one who lost Ford's trust), and Ford really needs to learn to trust more! (Aaand sliding past the fact that Bill is the reason Ford has trust issues.) Hey, you want to get truth teeth involved, how about Ford wear them, huh? Bill wants to hear all the nice things Ford's thinking about him but refuses to share while he pretends to hate him. (If Ford wore truth teeth, he would not share nice things.)

There is gonna be a plot where, due to The Usual Gravity Falls Nonsense, Bill is put in a position where he has to be honest. It won't be truth teeth tho.

[redbleedingrose]

Pretty? - Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was expected that when you become of age, as the daughter of a member of the Autumn Court, you will wed. As you enter the court as a woman, potential suitors make comments about your looks, specifically your weight, and you are devastated. Your best friend, Eris Vanserra, heir of the Autumn Court, comforts you and will always have your back. 

Warnings: 18+/MDNI: men being disgusting pigs (seriously), cursing, men degrading women, self degrading thoughts, topics related to weight and feeling insecure, there is some fluff, and some minor smut? (not really in terms of the smut, but just in case yk?) 

Word count: -8.7k 

Masterlist

A/N: Hey beautiful people, so uhhh what was supposed to be a minor fanfic, really only a drabble, max 1k words, but then it turned into a full blown fic. This concept came to mind because of comments that have been made about my weight practically all my life, and especially these past couple of days since I came home for the holidays. I was crying yesterday morning after being asked if I am hungry even in my sleep, and viola, I was inspired to write this fic, because I just know that Eris would be a real man and would love me in any form. I hope that you know, you are stunning and the only thing that matters in reality is your heart. As always, please show some love by liking, commenting, and reblogging. It means the absolute world to me. Remember to eat something, drink a sip of water, and take your meds. Lots of love!

You didn’t mean to hear him. Your betrothed that is. A male, named Buchanan, you had only recently met weeks prior at a ball the high lord had thrown at the Forest House for the sole purposes of matchmaking. You were presented by your father as a female of the Autumn Court society, a female who was available to be wed. Your sole purpose in life, at least from what your parents had told you since you were a toddler, had been nearly fulfilled when Beron had arranged for you to be married to the male on the winter solstice. 

You didn’t know much about him. Only that he was the army general's youngest son, and he was training to be a warrior. After Beron had decided you two would be “perfect” together, you tried your best to get to know the male. Buchanan did not give you much to work with, in all honesty. The male silently glared at you every chance he could get, only speaking to you with short, cold remarks. All you had learned about him came from the other females of the court, who gossiped about anyone and everyone whenever they were given the chance. They had spoken of his trysts to brothels, taking so many as three females on the same night. They had spoken of his cruel views towards females. How he believed females were only meant to be housewives and had no place in the workforce. How a female's only true duty was to tend to their household, children, and husband, and keep themselves in shape after having said children so the husband would find them desirable enough to use her whenever he pleases. 

Deplorable. Every last word. And frightening. 

You were frightened by the male. At first, you tried to ignore what the females had said, citing it as harsh rumors that were only bound to tarnish his reputation. But the more time you spent with the male, the more you began to believe that maybe the females had been speaking the truth. It was the complete opposite of what you wanted in a potential partner, a potential husband. And you were terrified for your future, a future that was nearly upon you, a future that was only a couple of months away. 

A small part of you hoped that you would be able to change Buchanan’s mind about females, maybe change his values? Maybe, if you let him get to know you, let him see your personality and wit, let him see your love for reading and writing and learning new things, let him see your fascination with healing, maybe he would fall in love with you. And maybe he would try to be a better male for you. And so, you kept trying. 

You went out on walks with Buchanan, hanging onto his arm and letting yourself lose the ‘quiet girl’ mask you usually wore in court, exposing your true self. You would invite him over for brunch, showing him your less than impressive cooking skills and offering him your favorite stories and anecdotes from your life. You took him to your favorite cafe in town to tell him your own dreams and aspirations in hopes that he would love that you wanted more out of your life than just marriage. He… 

Well… he listened, you guess you could say. He didn’t offer you anything in return, never commenting on your stories or anecdotes or your dreams or aspirations. He only watched you, silently brewing in whatever thoughts he had. He never had anything to add to your conversations, and often, it was only your ramblings that would fill the empty silence. But… he listened. 

He listened. 

He was also polite. He would nod in greeting and would hold his arm out for you to grab onto whenever you went walking. He would move you to the inside, away from the cobblestone streets, whenever you were walking on the sidewalk. He would open the door for you, and take out your chair for you and push you into the table. He did all the things a normal gentleman would do. He was amicable at the very least. And maybe, maybe that was enough for you. Enough for a partnership or friendship. Or enough for an understanding in your marriage. At least that was what you had hoped for. 

And that's why when you heard his older brother ask Buchanan what he thought of you, at the party Beron was throwing to celebrate your engagement, you halted outside the door, leaning in and pressing your ear against the stained oak, unable to control yourself from eavesdropping. Your mother had informed you with urgency that he had been dragged from the ballroom by his two older brothers so they could give him advice on, “taming a female,” and she pushed you to go retrieve him so the high lord could see his match of the season interacting in front of him. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe you were wishfully hoping that Buchanan had grown to like you, had grown to see you as more than just a match made by Beron, had grown to enjoy your presence. Because if he hadn’t, then you were too afraid of what your future would be. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“What a fucking cunt, I cannot believe the High Lord wants me to marry that pathetic excuse for a female,” he scoffed out with a harsh laugh, his words laced with acid pulled from the depths of the couldron. Your stomach was suddenly heavy with lead as it churned, your heart leapt up to your throat beating impossibly fast. Waves of nausea rolled over you, threatening you with every passing second. Harsh breaths were slipping past your lips as your lungs heaved in your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm yourself. Your brain had shifted into a fight or flight mode as adrenaline thrummed through your veins, but you were stuck. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t think. You only pressed yourself closer to the closed door, clutching your soft stomach in an effort to self soothe as your toes curled within the heels you had worn. 

One of his brothers let out a loud snort, “Damn Buchanan, speak your truth. Is she a slut?” Horror coursed through you. You were stunned. Absolutely floored. You had thought things were going at least alright with Buchanan. Your eyes began to sting, lining themselves with tears that blurred your vision. Your cheeks were burning as the heat of your blood raced throughout your body, desperately trying to send oxygen to your tissues and organs in an effort to stop them from shutting down. “Gods, no,” Buchanan replied, sounding incredulous from the disbelief. A small bit of relief coursed through you. “Have you seen the fat bitch? What sane male would ever want to fuck a female like her?” 

Disgust. Shame. Utter self loathing replaced that small ounce of relief a hundred fold. 

Your throat tightened shut, a lump forcing its way into your voicebox blocking off any air as you stood still. Silent tears began seeping out from the corner of your widened irises, slipping down your rounded cheeks and meeting at the chin, only to drop onto your chest forming a wet spot at your gowns neckline. You begged Mother above for that to be the end of it, for that to be Buchanan’s final words, but he only continued. Like he was on some sort of tirade. “She is not appealing to look at in any way, seriously my dick goes limp every time I have to look at her. And not only that, she is driving me fucking crazy. The cunt never shuts her fat mouth, and rambles on like an idiot any time I am near her. She keeps going on and on and on about finding happiness and love in marriage, but who could ever possibly love her?” His two older brothers roared with laughter at his rant, Buchanan’s own chortling striking straight through your shattering heart. 

It was the last straw. It was your last straw. Sobs began wracking your body, you pressed your hand tightly to your lips in an effort to silence them, as your biggest insecurities were voiced by your betrothed in such a vicious way, mocking you in front of your future brother in laws and then laughing together. At you. They were laughing at you. Shuffling behind the door alerted you of their movements, possibly approaching the hallway you were standing in. Panic flooded you, your muscles suddenly snapped out of their paralysis and into action. You darted into the room across the hallway, quickly opening and shutting the door to hide yourself from them. To hide yourself from the world. Only when their footsteps receded down the hall towards the ongoing party did you let out a slight sigh of relief that the males hadn’t heard you, hadn’t noticed the scent of you in the hall, that you hadn’t been caught. 

You leaned your back against the door, sliding down as loud choked sobs you were holding back moments ago began leaving your lips. Mangled breaths formed as you tried, and ultimately failed, to inhale a proper breath. Your heart was beating too fast, too hard, trying to make up for the lack of oxygen in your inhales. Your entire body was screaming from the inside, each muscle tightened and every organ twisted up inside until it felt like you were being stabbed at every inch of your skin. Pain, pain, pain.

Pain. It was all you felt. All you could think. 

Your hand that had been clutching your stomach was now holding your head as you hunched forward between your knees. The wave of nausea had become so strong, that saliva had flooded your mouth in order to coat it with some sort of basic liquid before stomach acid would burn at the membranous tissue. Your vocal cords had been pulled taught, only allowing ugly wails to leak out. Self deprecating thoughts flew through your mind, throwing themselves at the base of your skull. The pounding in your head resembled a migraine, throbbing right at the base of your eye meeting your nose. 

Your other hand palmed the floor, trying to find steady ground that you could sit on. Some kind of flooring to prevent you from falling over. But you were already falling. Already falling into a deep pit of hate for yourself. After a couple of minutes of letting the agony sink into you, your throat opened a little, allowing for you to finally breathe some short breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over and over again. Until, finally, there were no tears. Just the streaks they left behind marking your cheeks like scars. Where the pain once reeked within you, you were now numb. You were finally able to look up from the ground, glancing around the room only to realize that you were in Eris’ private library. You weakly pushed yourself off the floor, gripping at the door to help you stand. Eventually, slowly, you made your way to the small couch at the very back of the room that faced the expansive windows facing the outside forest. The one you and Eris often laid on for hours on end, reading whatever books we could find that were the slightest bit interesting, and silently enjoying each other's presence. You slumped onto it, lifting your feet onto the coffee table in front of you, and stared out into the dark forest, the outlines of which were highlighted by the moonlight.

You allowed your thoughts to let go of the terrible words that had brought you here in the first place, and allowed them to wander off to the irony of the entire situation you were forced into. When you were teenagers, one thing that you and Eris had always joked about is the fact that Beron likes to play matchmaker, and has tried for years and years to create pairs who would be unyieldingly loyal to the high lord, and yet, has never made a successful match. The glaringly obvious failure being Eris himself and that one female from night court. Even his own marriage was, and still is, in shambles, taking out his pure hatred and evil on his wife and children through physical, emotional, and verbal abuse. He was to be feared, the high lord. His word was the law. His matches were the law. No matter how awful they might actually be. 

Beron liked to use status and power to make his matches. He didn’t care about a person's beliefs, a person's values. He didn’t care about kindness, friendship, or love. He didn’t care about partnership or finding a balance between two individuals. He only cared about whether or not the person had enough wealth to shove up his ass. 

You had grown up as the daughter of the chief accountant of Autumn Court. Your father, a ruthless male, was claimed by the high lord himself, as his favorite court member and most loyal supporter. The both of them loved to line their pockets with the hard earnings of the general citizens of the court, taxing them on Tithe without mercy and creating trade laws that would only benefit the most senior members of the court, while obliterating the income of the truly hard working. 

Your mother was no better than your father. Beron’s father had played matchmaker for them, evidently the role running within the family, and it had actually worked out for once. They truly were the perfect match in the worst way possible. As the only child of your mother and father, you were raised with the strictest standards and unrelenting criticism that surely ruined your self image. 

Constant comments on how you dressed, constant comments on how you carried yourself, constant comments on you being chubbier than your cousins, constant comments on how you would never find a suitable match because of all of these things. The critics were never ending. They were heartbreaking coming from your mother, and mind-shattering coming from your father. 

The amount of tears you had shed over your lifetime were too many to count. The amount of times you went to bed, crying yourself to sleep, loathing and despising yourself, were too much to count. 

The constant comments from your family was enough to make you unsure. Unsure about your future, unsure about who would want to marry you, unsure about who would ever possibly love you. Because, surely, the way you looked, the way your stomach carried a little pudge, the way your hips had dips that made dresses fit awkwardly on you, the way your thighs were covered in stretch marks, surely it would make it impossible for anyone to ever find you beautiful enough to want to marry you, let alone, love you. 

Two things had been made very clear to you very early on in your life though. The first being, you were to marry whomever Beron chose for you, and you were to be an absolutely perfect bride for your match. And you would need to shape yourself into a quiet and shy bride, beautiful and thin, who followed whatever rules her husband laid without question. That was the only way, your mother mentioned during one of her sessions of berating, that you would be pleasant enough for any male to look in your direction. Truthfully, you were just praying to mother above that whichever male Beron decided to match you with would never lay a hand on you.

The next thing being, there was only one reason you were grateful for being born into the family who had inflicted you with so much pain, so much trauma. One reason. One person. Eris Vanserra. The heir to the Autumn Court. Your best friend. Your person. Your other fucking half. You loved the male, and sometimes… sometimes you would allow your mind to dip into the thought of being in love with the male. But you would quickly yank yourself away from it, not letting yourself even daydream of what it would be like to be more than just friends. 

You had met Eris at the ripe age of five. It is almost impossible in fae culture to have known someone, been friends with someone, loved someone as long as you have known, been friends with, and loved Eris. Eight hundred years of friendship never grew old, never grew tiring like other relationships had. If there was one thing your parents approved of, it was your friendship with Eris, only propelling your family closer to the Vanserra’s. 

Eris… Eris protected you. He had always protected you since you had first met when he pushed the boy who had stolen your favorite plush, snatching it back before handing it over to you. You leaped into a hug, holding him close and thanking him profusely. From that moment on, you and Eris were friends. Your friendship only continued to grow as the years went on, as you became more aware of the horrific abuse he experienced on a daily basis, as he showed up to your house in the middle of the night as your parents slept, as you snuck him into your bathroom and pushed him to lean against the counter so you could clean his wounds, as you would hold him close as he sobbed into the skin of your neck, as you whispered your own traumas despite them being more emotional in nature, as you read to him your favorite book and visa-versa, as you baked pecan and cinnamon apple pies together, as you went horseback riding together, as you trained in weaponry together, as you went hiking together, as you did everything together. 

He protected you against the words of your mother and father, constantly reassuring you that you would find a male who truly loved you the way you deserved to be loved. Eris had never once tried holding you back. He never once judged your expressive nature. He never judged your outgoing personality and often found himself craving your ramblings and anecdotes. He never once said a word about the way you looked, only once on your hundred and fiftieth birthday had he breathlessly whispered into your ear how stunning you looked. He never once judged you. He never once made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. In fact, he only ever adored your true nature.

But after one particular night, when you were two hundred something, Eris had drawn a line. Not daring to cross it out of fear of what Beron might do to you if he ever found out how either of you felt for each other. And Eris was a stubborn male if anything, so he would not let you or himself cross the fucking line. The night Eris found it necessary to make it clear to both of you that he didn’t think it was possible we could ever be more, he had accidentally walked in on you half naked, seeking out your comfort after a particularly hard night, as you were undressing yourself from some sort of function in the town your parents had dragged you to. The only garments that covered you were your panties and a corset bound so tight, your tits almost spilled out past the lacy fabric. He stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly, as you stared at each other through the bathroom mirror, frozen in each other's spots as you eyed each other up and down. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to find some semblance of control, and a flush curled up his neck towards his pointed ears. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the dark ambers in his irises light with fire as he stalked towards you, pushing you forward right up against the mirror, and pressing his entire front to your back. His quickened breath puffed into your hair, and down the expanse of your throat as he buried his face deep into your neck, picking up every last bit of your scent. 

You could only watch through the mirror, your arousal slowly dripped into your panties, soiling them as you felt his taut chest move up and down, up and down, up and down against your back. One of his hands gripped roughly at your waist, feeling the slight sinch in it while the other roamed the expanse of your hips, squeezing ever so slightly at the plush before moving on to explore every inch of your covered skin. Mist from your warm exhales collected on the mirror, dew drops forming and slowly slipping down as Eris held you tightly against the glass. You felt a shot of courage, and arched your back toward his chest, rubbing your full ass against the strain in his pants, a soft moan escaping you at the stimulation. Hot energy struck through your stomach, and down to where you ached for Eris to touch you. The lordling hissed as the musk of yours and his arousal intermingled in the air that surrounded, suffocated and intoxicated you both all at once. 

He lifted his head from where it had been buried into your neck, watching you through the mirror, pupils blown wide open with lust, knocking the breath right out of you. You sucked in a shaky inhale through your teeth as his fingers snuck down to the waistband of your underwear, toying with the edge, before pinching the fabric and allowing it to snap back onto your skin. He did this again, once, twice, three times. A groan of frustration was making its way through your entire body, and you wriggled your hips to get the male to do something, anything. His pink tongue poked out between his lips, lapping at the shell of your pointed ear, sneaking in a soft nibble, almost as if he could sense the growing tension within you. Your sex was throbbing, all the blood in your body had rushed down to focus in on the one area Eris couldn’t seem to bring himself to. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for Er?” The taunt in your voice muddled with his favorite nickname you had gifted him at thirteen years of age… it had a growl reverberating from his chest straight into your back. His hand came down so hard on your ass, the smack echoed in the bathroom and you were sure that a burning sensation would leave behind the mark of his palm. The heir rubbed at the redness that was forming there, massaging the muscle beneath the soft, stretch marked laidden skin, “So fucking needy,” he murmured, voice raspy as the air in the bathroom dried out from the heat. He gently tugged once at the lace. Another tug, this time with enough force that it shredded the fabric lining your cunt. And then he stuffed the ripped red number into his back pocket. Your eyes had fluttered shut, unable to maintain the focused eye contact. Your nerves were on fucking fire, every cell within your body was shunting out desire that rippled in the striations of your muscle and layers of tissue, shaking you to the very core. Several missed beats of your heart had you almost worried you would go into cardiac arrest, but you didn’t care. You would die a happy female, if you died in this moment. 

One of his hands, adorned with gold rings that embodied the lavish wealth of the male, wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing tenderly, but with enough pressure that your eyes snapped open. Your irises were missing, replaced by the dark depths of your pupils as they met his through the mirror. A smirk lilted his face, looking smug as ever, when his other arm snuck from behind you, brushing over the soft, supple skin of your thigh that was damp with your arousal. Strangled gasps turned into pants as the lordling finally reached your swollen clit, the pads of his forefinger pressing down firmly for a second, sending the rest of his digits through your slippery folds. The grasp on your throat tightened imperceptibly, Er bit his swollen lips, trying to hold in the croaking groan that was bubbling within him but coming up short. The beautiful sound from the male was enough to send another wave of liquid pleasure from your cunt. So much so this time, that your slick began to coat the inner-most portions of your thigh, some even daring to dribble down your legs to the tile beneath you.  

You both had been knocked out from the heat of the moment when a loud crash from downstairs, reminding you that you were in your home, where your parents were present, where anyone could catch you both. Before you could say or do anything, something within Eris had snapped, ripping his fingers away from the ministrations he was making at your sex and yanking his hand from its grasp on your throat. He jerked away from your body so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash watching him through the mirror. When you turned your body to face him, your heart was beating so fast, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it across the room. And the butterflies in your stomach that rammed against every internal organ within your abdomen had your knees nearly buckling, as you tried to regain your composure. He had bent over, digits slick with your arousal grasping onto both of his knees, trying to catch his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it had pained him to pull away. You opened your mouth to ask what had happened, why he was here, why he had stopped, but he didn’t give you the chance. He stood stalk straight from his position, giving you a once over as his face dropped into a cold mask that was usually reserved for everyone except you. The neutrality, the ice in his usual burning eyes paused you, your chest heaved for a second as shock settled in you, and with a blink, the heir had vanished, winnowing away to mother knows where.  

You hadn’t spoken to each other for seven months after the incident. You had worried that the moment of stupidity, the moment of lack of self control was going to be the knife that tore into your friendship, damaging it irreparably. But you needed him. He was yours, and you were his. And if that meant that you couldn’t be with him in that way, then that was something you were willing to accept. So one day, after seven months of heartbreaking silence, you marched right up to him while he was in the stables with his sixteen horses and twelve ghost hounds. You reached up and yanked him down by the collar, his eyes widened with surprise as you leaned in close, “Please Eris, lets just go back to how things were. Please, let's forget it ever happened. Please.” It came out as a whimper, not what you had wanted as you had spent days preparing a long speech on how best friends don’t abandon each other. But… it had worked. 

The lordling nodded numbly at your words, before pulling you in for a tight hug. Shaky breaths misted in the cool air as you pushed your face into his neck, leaning in as close as you could while he pressed a soft kiss to your temples in apology for avoiding you. And there it was. The silent agreement. To forget. To never try again. Even if it hurt you, you could live with it. Because the hurt of not having him in any capacity was too unbearable to even think of. And now, almost six centuries later, you were stuck in an engagement with a male who apparently loathed your looks, your personality, every part of you really. And Eris was still only your best friend, never toeing the line. And he would only ever allow himself to be your friend, nothing more, with Beron still alive. 

Maybe… maybe if the high lord was dead… maybe things would be different. 

You had been so entrenched by your reminiscing, you hadn’t realized the lordling made his way from the party with a bottle of chardonnay, to the library in which you were seated. You heard the creak of the door swinging open, “There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you doll,” his deep playful voice brought a watery smile to your face as a fresh wave of tears appeared in your eyes. One slipped out, and you hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of your velvet dress, the dark emerald color blending into the upholstery of the couch. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want him to ask what happened, because you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back if you spoke of it. Because you were embarrassed by the entire situation. Because telling him would involve you speaking the words Bucahnan had spoken about you. Because telling him would mean that Eris would be able to share his own thoughts and opinions. And you didn’t know if you would survive Er agreeing, even in the slightest bit, with Buchanan.

And also because Er wouldn’t hold back. When it came to you, he never could. You knew that if you told him about the nasty words Buchanan had spoken so cruelly, Er would hunt him down, rip the male into pieces, and then feed what was left behind to his ghost hounds. Literally. And Beron would not be merciful towards his eldest son, with his evil nature ruling his every decision, a punishment involving a beating would likely not suffice. And there was no way you would ever risk Er like that. So, you would just have to swallow the fact that you would be in a loveless, probably abusive marriage. 

But for Eris… for him… for his safety… you would. You would do anything. Even if it meant you getting hurt. 

You cleared your throat, removing the lump that had been stuck in your throat since you had heard Buchanan talking with his brothers. A short laugh was forced from your throat, even though your vocal cords were still stiff, “Here I am.” You swiveled your body to watch as he made his way to you, smoothly and swiftly. A grin that had been reserved for you and his mother filled his beautiful face, moving around the couch to plop himself right next to you, so close that his entire side was pressed against yours. The shifted one of the two wine glasses into your hand, popping the cork from the white wine, “Why is the guest of honor to this hideous party hiding herself in the personal library of the most famous, most handsome, most dashing, extremely powerful heir to the Autumn Court?” You snorted at his arrogance, slightly tilting your glass so he could pour in a quarter of the bottle. You leaned into his side and rested your head against his broad shoulders; he slumped further into the couch so you would be comfortable against him, leaning his head onto yours as he took a sip of the crisp wine, waiting patiently for your response. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Another. Again. Another. But it had seemed the lump in your throat had lodged itself deeper into the very muscles that were supposed to sound out words. So you just sat. Hoping that Eris wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t question you. Wouldn’t press you further. 

But the lordling was a perceptive male. Nothing ever, ever slips past him. Especially where you are concerned. 

The pause you gave was long enough for him to grow concerned, setting his already half empty glass on the coffee table in front of him as he rotated to face you head on. His dark amber eyes narrowed in on you, focusing and studying your figure, your face. You shifted uncomfortable against his penetrating gaze, avoiding eye contact with the male knowing that the whites of your eyes were bloodshot. “Have you been crying?” 

Damn it all to the cauldron, how had he figured you out in a matter of seconds? You again forced a laugh out, crossing your legs sending one thigh over the other, “No, Er, don’t be ridiculous.” Your voice came out shakier than you had intended, and there was no way he hadn’t picked up on it. “Don't give me that doll. The tip of your nose is red and I can see the streaks on your blushed cheeks. Who the fuck made you cry? Tell me. Right now.” The tone he had once used had changed entirely too fast, going from playful to ice cold laced with finality. A shiver ran down your spine, your mind racing to come up with any plausible excuse to account for your recent tears. 

Your heart began pounding within your chest, a new onset of anxiety coursing through your arteries. You couldn’t let Eris find out, because he would do only Mother knows what to Buchanan, and Beron would do only Gods know what to him. “I was um… I was just reminiscing–” He cut you off swiftly, “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Tell me who made you cry and what they did.” His hands tightened into fists at his side, continuing to pierce you with his stare. You had never been able to properly lie to the male. You didn’t think you could start now. 

“Don't freak out Er–”

“Mother above, Y/N, tell me. Right now.” You flinched as he cut you off once again, reading right through you. Any chance of you getting away with a half truth had been thrown out the window the second he realized you were upset. He sighed, reaching out his fist unfurling to gently tug on your wrist, “Just tell me what happened doll. You know I will always protect you.” 

Leave it to Eris to say something that would make you smile, even in your darkest moments. The corner of your lips rose slightly, staring up at the heir who had burrowed into your heart. Sometimes… sometimes you thought about how if you got married, there would be no space in your heart for any other male because Eris had taken every corner, every ridge for himself. Unintentionally of course, but nevertheless, benevolently. 

“Do you think I'm pretty Er?” Damn it all to the cauldron, the words had tumbled out, without permission. And there it was, sitting in the empty space between you. He blanched, “What?” The ice in his voice had completely melted into shock. Clearly, it was not what the male was expecting for you to say or ask. You would have laughed at his face if the nervousness of his lack of response wasn’t seizing you, “Well? Do you?”

He scoffed at your question, perturbed that you still hadn’t told him what had happened, “Of course I do, Doll. Only a fool wouldn’t.” His eyes flicked back and forth, locked in on yours, trying to dissect whatever it was that you were thinking. He opened his mouth again, sucking in some air, probably to continue to interrogate you on why you were crying. But you didn’t let him, “Why?” 

“Why what, Y/N?”

“Why do you think I’m pretty?” This was not the way you had expected for the conversation to go. Suddenly, the topic that you had avoided for years, centuries with Eris was becoming the elephant in the room as the questions continued to stumble out. All the self doubt, all the self loathing, screaming into your brain that it wasn’t possible for the lordling to find you pretty. You were too fat, too annoying, too much. He continued to stare at you, gaping at the obvious shift in conversation. 

“What is this about Y/N? Just tell me what happened.” 

“No.” Simple yet final and firm. You became impassive, lifting your legs to face away from him, turning your back to him. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him. You didn’t know how to. Because even if Eris “took care” of Buchanan, there would be another male, and another, and another. And it was possible that all of those males felt the exact same way Buchanan did. The train of thought returned the stinging in your eyes, and this time, there was no holding back. Your lip trembled, pressing together to hold in the sobs, as Eris continued to stare at your back. 

His tattooed arms lifted, wrapping themselves around your waist, hands pressing into the velvet of your dress. He ever so gently, with so much care and worry, pulled you into his lap. You immediately lifted yourself, trying to scramble out, not wanting to crush him under your weight. But his muscled forearms, on display from rolling up his sleeves, held you in place, not letting you budge. A hand came up to grasp your chin, softly turning your face towards him so he could look you in the eye. The immediate eye contact had your eyes dropping down to stare at the rising and falling of his chest. “Look at me, Y/N,” the seriousness of his command had your eyes snapping up to meet his, tears fell down your cheek, hot streaks pressing into the skin below. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, concern at your tears, worry over your recent questions, love and adoration that he held for you, his best friend, and burning anger at what prompted all of this. 

“There are no words that can describe your beauty doll.” You huffed shaking your head, not believing a single word, but the grasp on your chin tightened, not painfully but enough that imprints of the pads of his fingers would be left whenever he would decide to let go. “Hey– stop that right now doll,” he exclaimed, putting a pause in your display of skepticism. “There are no words or expressions that I can use to describe your beauty Y/N… your beauty is not quantifiable. It is everything about you. I– I can’t– Maybe. Maybe I can try.” Desperation started to seep into his voice, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours, trying to convince you that he saw you. Truly saw you. That he adored what he saw. 

“I– I think you are the most divine being I have ever had the absolute delight and luck coming across.” He paused, exhaling softly, “We met when we were only five. Some punk had stolen your favorite doll, and you were fighting him valiantly, not afraid, not cowering. You faced him head on, throwing your tiny fists into his back, and I just knew. I knew that you were different from anyone I had ever met” His hand that was on your hip unconsciously squeezed once, twice, thrice at the recollection of the memory. “You know that's why I call you doll, right?” You shook your head, and his palm came up to rest against the roundness of your cheek. Thumbing away at the final tears that had dripped out. “You had this elaborate richness to you, and it reminded me of your doll. Anyway, over the years, I got to know you. Really know you. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have loved your personality, the female that you were shaping yourself into. You opened up like this flower waiting to bloom in spring, sharing every part of you with me. And letting me do the same. No one had ever done that, Y/N. No one ever listened to me, but you did. No one ever let me be me, but you did. In fact, you loved me for it.” 

He leaned in closer, so close that your mind began to fuzz. His warm breath that smelled of whiskey and chardonnay kissed your lips and nose, as he continued to eye you, tracing every inch of your skin, dimples, bumps with his blazing embers. You wanted to cower, you wanted to hide. You didn’t want him to see what you saw. “When I look at you Y/N, I feel unbridled joy. Joy that I so rarely feel. All my fears, all my worries, they slip away when you look at you. When I look at you, I feel like you are my breath of fresh air after drowning. I feel like you are my warmth that shields me from this cold world. I feel like I am awake after a thousand years of coma. When I look at you, I see all of what is good in the world.” He pulled you closer than you already were, your full thighs spread apart and pressing against the sides of his, the grasp on your chin leaving, favoring running his digits through your hair and massaging at your scalp. Twisting and twirling the strands between his fingers, his next words coming out in hushed whispers as if he didn’t want anyone, not even the air between you, to listen. “I have studied the color of your eyes since the day I met you. I have gotten lost in them countless times, and I still cannot think of a way to describe them. There is nothing I could say that could ever fully encompass the depths of your beautiful irises. And Gods, Y/N, whenever you smile, this little glint appears right in the corner of your pupil before disappearing. I pray I get to see those glints. The way your eyebrows furrow, giving away every thought at a moment's notice. If I am trying to gauge your mood, I only need to look at your eyebrows because they will tell me if you are annoyed, sad, happy. And Mother fucking above–,” 

“Eris,” a laugh sped out of you, trying to scold the lordling for his blasphemy. 

He only smirked at you in response, “Mother fucking above, Y/N. Have you ever looked at your beautiful lips and cheeks?” He tilted his head back in a groan, “No, no you fucking haven’t. Gods, they are my favorite part of you. The color of your lips, the way your smile brightens up the room even in the darkest of days, steals my breath away. Your fucking cheeks, doll. I mean they are so adorable and sexy, all at the same time. How is that even possible? I don’t know, but clearly, your cheeks know. The flush they get whenever I tease you Y/N? Blood goes straight down to my cock.” You gasped out another laugh, slapping his taut chest and squirmed to get out of his unbreakable grasp. 

He only pulled you closer. 

Till your chest met his, and you could feel the beat of his heart through the fabric of your clothes. Your breath hitched, “Y/N, I could stare at you for days, for centuries, and never grow bored. It– It feels like I am looking at a goddess when I look at you. And your body, Y/N. Don’t get me started on your fucking body. Gods. It is so fucking soft, and lucious, and irresistable, and mesmerizing, and alluring, and all the fucking words one could use to create a synonym with beauty. And none of those words are enough Y/N. Gods, you don’t fucking understand how utterly perfect you are. Your tits are the perfect fucking size, and whenever you wear those necklines that fucking dip? I– I have to hold myself back from bending you over and fucking you into oblivion. They are round and full, and I daydream about touching them, kissing them, tonguing and sucking at them. Your waist, it sinches in and is my favorite place to wrap my arm around. Whenever I am around you, my arm grows heavy, begging to be placed around your waist. Your hips are wide and dip, giving these love handles that I just want to bite. Honestly Y/N, they are sexy as fuck. It– It reminds me of depictions of ancient goddesses. And it makes me think of you, swelling with a babe. My babe. And Mother above, you don’t know how many times I’ve fisted my cock at the thought.” 

Tingles began erupting from the places Eris had grasped, all the way into the very cells that made up the skin, up the nerves that lined your entire body, and shot down to reach the bundle of nerves that rested at the apex of your thighs. The way the lordling was describing you with such passion, it had awoken something within you. His hand began to squeeze your hip so hard, you thought it would leave a bruise of his handprint, one that you would gladly welcome. He cleared his throat because his voice had become saddled with lust, “Your thighs are so thick, doll. They– I think about them. Wrapped around my hips. Wrapped around my waist. Thrown over my shoulders. Wrapped around my head as I savor the sweet taste of your arousal. And your ass is perfectly spank-able. Every time you bend over, I have to physically restrain myself from slapping it as hard as I can, just so I can see the ripple of your skin from where I hit you. I yearn to see the bruises that I would leave behind on it, I yearn to rub lotion into those very bruises, and I yearn to kiss and bite into them.” 

Your arms had found their way around his neck at some point during his speech, only a hair width separating you two at this point. “And this… these words… they aren’t enough. They aren’t enough to describe your captivatingly, heavenly, beauty Y/N.” You eyed him, studying the pure sincerity, the truth, the longing in his irises. You didn’t need him to say anything more. Because… because, what he had said… it had been enough, for you at least. You tilted your head forward, pressing a featherlight kiss into his chapped lips before quickly leaning back to see his reaction. He didn’t let you get far though, adjusting his grip at the back of your head to slide down to your neck, his other hand jolting your hips down to his as he surged forward, pulling you in for another kiss. And another. And another. And another. And another. Soft pecks, slowly turning more desperate. Quiet moans escaping the both of you, the sensation of your tongues swirling, first in long, smooth strokes, and then in short, quick strokes. His body shuddered against yours, trying to pull you impossibly close. You kissed for what felt like a lifetime. It naturally slowed as you finally pulled back for a breath. Your chest heaving against his, heart fluttering, mind muddled with only thoughts of Eris. 

He leaned in again, encasing your bottom lips with his in a soft final kiss. You were still trying to catch your breath when he let out, “Well now we’re fucked aren’t we?” A startled laugh left you, but the seriousness in his face had your mood dropping from elation into the ground beneath you. It all hit you. You were still betrothed. You were still to be married to Buchanan. Eris still didn’t know why you were in here kissing him, and not out there, enjoying what was supposed to be your engagement party. And you were scared. You were scared for yourself, for your future. You were scared of Buchanan. Because if he could say such cruel things behind your back while playing amicable in front of you, what else was he capable of? Would his words behind your back one day turn into words spat at you in front of you? Would his words one day turn into a hand lifted at you? 

“I am terrified, Er. What the fuck am I gonna do?” He shook his head, before resting his forehead against yours, murmuring through his swollen lips, “Baby, please just tell me what happened. You don’t need to be scared, I am right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that. I have said this before, and I will say it again. I will always protect you. Always, Y/N. No matter the cost. Please, Y/N. Tell me.” So, you did. 

You told him. You told him everything. Heartbreakingly slowly, sometimes with muffled sobs into his shoulder and has stroked your back in an effort to calm you, you told him. You told him of your parents' abuse, their verbal lashings leaving their mark on your inner child, making it inherently difficult to believe that someone like Eris, anyone really, could ever find you attractive, could ever fall in love with you, could ever be in love with you. You told him you were dreading marriage with Buchanan, how you had tried to cultivate a friendship with the male, how you had hoped the friendship would transform into love. You told him how you were sent to look for him, and how you overheard him. You told him exactly what Buchanan had to say. You told him how his brothers laughed at you. You told him how Buchanan laughed at you. How you had hidden yourself away, trying to bury the shame deep within you. How you feared to tell Eris, knowing that he would in fact, protect you. How you feared that Beron would go after Eris, how if Eris wanted to protect you, what makes him think that you don’t want to do the same for him? You told him that you loved his friendship. How it meant everything to you. How having him, even in the form of a friendship, was enough for you even if you wanted more. How you would wait for him. And you finished by telling him how you were in love with him, and how you hoped that he was in love with you. 

Er had listened to every word you had said, not interrupting once, only offering you comfort and support when you needed it. Only when you finished, did he pull you in for another soft kiss, his own voice breaking as he mouthed, “I love you, I am in love with you, I will always be in love with you,” against your lips. He hugged you close for a minute. And another. And another. And another. And another. Rubbing at your back, your waist, and hips, squeezing ever so slightly every couple of minutes as if to remind him that it was you he was holding so close to him.

You only separated from each other when you heard your name being called out by Buchanan, maybe your mother sending him after you, or your father, or even Beron who wanted to see the “happy couple” dancing before his subjects. Eris sighed irritated by the interruption, pressing a finger to his lips before he moved you delicately off his lap, handling you like you were a priceless jewel in his hands. You tried to reach up and grasp at his sleeve, silently begging for him to stay with you, to not do anything stupid, but Er wasn’t having any of it. 

“He made you cry,” it came out as a hiss not directed at you, but a hiss regardless that only showcased his rage that was beginning to bubble through as he heard Buchanan again call out for you. “He hurt you. And I will kill him for it.” Determination shown through his eyes and inflection, and you knew, there was no stopping him. “We will face this together, my beloved. Fuck, when I am done feeding him to my hounds, I am finding you and taking you to the nearest temple, and we are gonna get married. Consequences be damned.” You laughed out another sob, this time, from happiness, “Promise Er?” You lifted up your left ring finger to link with his, and he brought your laced fingers up to his lips, kissing them, “I promise, beloved.” The tingle of the newly formed tattoo inking into both of your ring fingers, spreading across the dorsum of your hand till it reached up to your wrist, connecting you both into a promise-forged bond that would hold till the end of time.

[spanishskulduggery]

Adjective Placement in Spanish Overview

With regards to adjective placement, I know I linked that bigger post I made about what the placement of adjectives generally mean but I'll give a very brief overview and if anyone has any specific questions please let me know.

IN GENERAL for like 70-ish percent of the time, adjectives go behind the noun in Spanish. These are your basic everyday adjectives that just describe nouns; el gato negro "the black cat", la mujer alta "the tall woman", los datos importantes "the important data", las tormentas peligrosas "the dangerous storms"

And again, IN GENERAL, if an adjective precedes the noun it is as if you bolded or italicized the adjective. It makes the adjective really stand out because of how out of the ordinary it is. It's very commonly used in poetry, writing, or for hyperbole:

La cruel realidad = The cruel reality La fea verdad = The ugly truth Mis sinceras disculpas = My sincere apologies Mi más sentido pésame = My most heartfelt condolences/regrets

If you were looking at it more poetically you could think of "blue sky"... el cielo azul "the blue sky" is everyday Spanish, very typical. Saying el azul cielo "the blue sky" draws the eye to azul making it seem like "blue" is the most important or noteworthy thing about it

You typically see this kind of construction in everyday Spanish with expressions of gratitude, grief, horror, deep love, or any very strong emotions or when you're trying to make an impact

(More below)

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Note: This will impact certain aspects of grammar, such as the nouns that are actually feminine but take a general masculine article such as el agua, el arma, el hada, el hambre, el águila etc.

As an example:

El hada madrina = Fairy Godmother La buena hada = The good fairy

To further explain this rule - el hada is written with a masculine article. This is because it has its vocal stress on the first syllable and begins with A- or HA- [where H is silent]; and treating it as feminine would cause the sounds to run together, so the el adds a kind of phonetic break to preserve the sound; but in plural it will be las hadas "fairies/fey"

A word like this would still retain its normal functions as a feminine word, thus el agua bendita "holy water", el águila calva "bald eagle", el ave rapaz "bird of prey", and then in this case el hada madrina "fairy godmother"

By adding a separate word in front, you interrupt that la + A/HA construction and create a hiatus in the sounds already... so you can then treat it like a normal feminine noun, la buena hada "the good fairy"

You might also see this with grande "big" and its other form gran "great/large", el águila grande "the big eagle" vs. la gran águila "the great eagle"

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Moving aside from the normal grammar, we now enter the exceptions. First - determiners.

There are a handful of adjectives that are known as determiners which come before the noun and they provide an important function in communicating things like number, possession, and location

The most common determiners include:

Definite articles [el, la, los, las]

Indefinite articles [un, una, unos, unas]

Possessives [mi, tu, su, nuestro/a, vuestro/a]

Demonstratives [este/esta, ese/esa/, aquel/aquella]

Interrogatives [qué, cuál/cuáles, cuánto/a] (Also work as exclamatory determiners which just means ¡! instead of ¿?)

Cardinal numbers [uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco etc]

Ordinal numbers [primer/primera, segundo/a, tercer/tercera, cuarto/a, quinto/a, etc]

There are also a few determiners of quantity such as mucho/a "a lot/many/much", todo/a "all/every", cada "each", vario/a "various/many", poco/a "few/less", tal "such", tan "so much" / tanto/a "so many", algún/alguna and ningún/ninguna etc.

And it will generally apply to más and menos "more" and "less", and sometimes mejor/peor "better/worse"

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Note: With possessives is that there are two forms depending on adjective placement:

mi amigo/a = my friend mis amigos / amigas = my friends un amigo mío = a friend of mine una amiga mía = a friend of mine [f] unos amigos míos = a few friends of mine unas amigas mías = a few friends [f] of mine

All the pronouns have their own version of this possessive pattern

mi(s) and mío/a, tu(s) and tuyo/a, su(s) and suyo/a, and then nuestro/a and vuestro/a are the same but the adjective placement is different

As an example - nuestro país "our country" vs. el país nuestro "the country of ours", or nuestros familiares "our family members" vs. unos familiares nuestros "some family members of ours"

A common religious example - Nuestra Señora "Our Lady" and then el padrenuestro "the Our Father prayer"

The possessives that come after the noun are usually translated as "of mine/yours/his/hers/ours" etc.

You can also see a few determiners/adjectives in different places in a phrase like - un viejo amigo mío "an old friend of mine" vs. mi viejo amigo "my old friend"

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As mentioned in the very beginning there are a handful of exceptions

Most notably:

viejo/a = old / elderly

antiguo/a = ancient, old / antique, old

mismo/a = same / self

gran = great, grand grande = large

And includes propio/a "own / appropriate", as well as bueno/a "good" or malo/a "bad". I discussed a lot of these in more depth in the previous posts and in the one linked above

In many cases the exact meaning is different, even if it's slight - such as el hotel grande "the big hotel" vs. el Gran Hotel "the Grand Hotel"

bueno/a and malo/a are generally either "good" and "kind", or "bad" and "unkind", though the meanings can kind of blur together... as something like la buena hada "the good fairy" isn't so far off from el hada buena "the nice fairy"

When places before though bueno/a turns to buen + masculine, and malo/a turns to mal + masculine

As an example - un buen augurio "good omen", un mal presagio "a bad omen/portent"

.....but in feminine it looks like you'd expect: buena suerte "good luck" vs. mala suerte

Similarly, and one I didn't include the first time is cualquier/cualquiera

cualquier persona = any person una persona cualquiera = an ordinary person

cualquier in front - regardless of gender - means "any", literally "whichever"

cualquiera in back comes out as "ordinary" or colloquially "any old" [such as un beso cualquiera "an ordinary kiss" / "any old kiss"], or in the case of people it could be like "a person of dubious/unknown background" sort of like "they could be anyone"...

-

And then you run into what I would consider "collocations" which is another word for a set noun or expression

There are some words/expressions that have the adjective in a specific place and you can't really change it or it sounds weird, so you sort of have to learn them as specific units to remember:

las bellas artes = fine arts [lit. "beautiful arts"]

(de) mala muerte = "backwater", "poor / middle of nowhere", a place of ill repute or somewhere very remote or inconsequential [lit. "of a bad death"]

a corto plazo = short-term

a largo plazo = long-term

(en) alta mar = (on) the high seas

alta calidad = high quality

baja calidad = low quality

Blancanieves = Snow White (the character/fairlytale)

la mala hierba, las malas hierbas = weeds [lit. "bad grasses"; plants that grow without you wanting them to or that grow in bad places etc]

los bajos fondos = criminal underworld [lit. "the low depths"]

el más allá = "the great beyond", "the afterlife" [lit. "the more over there/beyond"]

buen/mal augurio = good/bad omen buen/mal presagio = good/bad omen

buena/mala suerte = good/bad luck

...Also includes all the greetings like buen día / buenos días or buenas noches etc. they're all considered set phrases

There are also many collocations that use adjectives in their normal place that also can't be separated such as los frutos secos "nuts", or el vino tinto/banco "red/white wine" etc.

A collocation just means that they are treating multiple words as set phrases or a singular unit

And again, some history/geographical terms will have these as well:

la Gran Muralla China = Great Wall of China

la Primera Guerra Mundial = First World War

la Segunda Guerra Mundial = Second World War

el Sacro Imperio Romano = Holy Roman Empire

la Antigua Grecia = Ancient Greece

el Antiguo Egipto = Ancient Egypt (el) Alto Egipto = Upper Egypt (el) Bajo Egipto = Lower Egypt

Nueva York = New York

Nueva Zelanda = New Zealand

Nuevo México = New Mexico

Nueva Escocia = Nova Scotia [lit. "New Scotland"]

la Gran Manzana = the Big Apple [aka "New York"]

Buenos Aires

There are many such terms

[the-words-we-sung]

Thoughts and pictures - S3E3

The great rewatch of season 3 continues! And we're halfway through with episode 3. As usual, it's probably gonna get a bit long so proceed with caution 😁

And we're starting off with some big big pressure on Wilhelm, for a change... "I don't know if I can handle it" => ma'am, you're the queen, you're an adult, you're his mother. Get a fucking grip!!

How can she put so much pressure on her son's shoulders? I understand that she's unwell, she hasn't grieved Erik's death properly in season 2 so this break down was bound to happen I guess, but how can she (and Ludwig) just abandon Wilhelm like that? And not so long after his speech (and the "trial" with August). Did either of them talk to him about it? About this huge coming out he just did? About how brave he was? One day I'll write a post just about Wilhelm and his parents because I have A LOT of feelings.

And I don't know a lot about how a monarchy works but would Wilhelm really have to step up and replace his mother if she was suddenly unfit to lead, despite being 16? That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it? Especially in this case when Wilhelm has been Crown Prince for very little time (and even needs a special Crown Prince school during summer to learn his duties).

"You wouldn't have been able to handle it. That I can fuck up too" => oh Simon, my sweet sweet boy... I have to say that I really like his scenes with his mother this season, I really needed to see Linda actually act like a mom, and Simon to become more "real" with her. So I love their scenes and dynamic this season!

Is Wilhelm still seeing Boris? Or is he really all alone in dealing with his mother's health and everything else? My boy needs help...

I'm sorry but Simon with helmet hair is just the cutest thing!

But gosh their communication is just so awful this season... On one hand Simon frustrates me a tiny bit because I didn't think he would be so "naive". I mean, of course it must feel truly awful to receive to many hate comments, but he's a teenager who knows how to use social media so I would have expected him to know that these people are trolls and responding to them would lead nowhere? The people writing these are not interested in knowing him or the truth or anything, just in being nasty because it's easy to do so anonymously. But also I guess he's 16. He's super young, I'm probably expecting too much maturity here and not being super fair ><

And on the other hand, Wilhelm also frustrates me because he barely stops to listen and to actually see what Simon is going through. And yeah, he's got the crazy pressure from his family and his mother being unwell but still, he's being very selfish. And he has always had a tendency to be, but it's 10x worst this season ><

(Also why did he not say anything to these mean girls mocking Simon's song when they entered the music room together??)

I'm realizing now that truly, these Boris sessions with Wilhelm and August are really fucked up: the sessions with Boris helped Wilhelm so much last season, he felt safe enough to talk there, to be honest, and he was able to work through the hard stuff in his life. And now they put August there? The person who made him feel unsafe, who recorded him and leaked the video online. They put that person here in his safe place with him? Which might explain why there's no more therapy sessions for Wilhelm this season (outside of the ones with August). It's so fucked up...

Wilhelm is feeling so cornered...

And Simon is breaking my heart... Omar is such a good actor, he portrays sadness way too well, I wanted to cry almost every time I saw Simon in this episode. He's so depressed, thinking everyone hates him, it's hard to watch... Why did season 3 have to be so cruel to him?

It's hard to enjoy the sweet moments between them (this scene for example, which I forgot was gonna happen there :p) when we just had a sad Simon, bad communication between them, Wilhelm being mean to him... It makes it hard (for me) to enjoy the cute scenes because it just feels like a small band-aid put on a gaping wound ><

I really liked that we got to see Felice's dad again, and this scene is so important! I love Felice's decision to go without her dad and to be honest in the end. I still think she should have had a stronger storyline throughout the whole show. She's a great character and she deserved more!!

Sara and Micke singing in the car: 💛 "I'd rather have a papa with bad spells than no papa at all" => I don't know August... I guess it's the eternal dilemma..

Just because he looks so incredibly beautiful here 💜

This Sara and Micke conversation was so important and needed! I really liked that we finally got a bit more information about Micke and what happened to their family.

And another scene that I forgot was happening in this episode ^^' I got too used to seeing the cute (and hot) scenes from this season with gifs here that I know them without the context around :p

Why is it that every time something good happens to Simon this season, it backfires immediately and Wilhem makes him sad about it? 😩

3 more episodes to go, wish me luck >< This season is even more depressing than I remembered ^^'

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 8 - Rain

prev - chapter 1

"Huh." Hosah stood over the dirtied, coffee-stained notebook page that sat in-front of him.

His assistant leant in uncomfortably closer, his brain left to wonder what the hell it said for far too long by now, "Well, can you make it out?"

The shifter kissed his teeth, unsure whether to tell the truth and have to read all what it said out loud, or if he should keep the team waiting until somebody else had interpreted and written it up in an email.

"No, no yeah, pretty much." To be fair, he wasn't sure of a couple of ink-smudged words, but as long as he got the gist of it, that would be enough to move the case forward.

As eyes of anticipation bore into him, Hosah realised now was probably the time to start reading. With a heavy sigh, slightly contemplating what he'd gotten himself into, he began;

"You fucking vermin. You don't know me, and frankly, I don't really know you either, but I know enough to come up with the conclusion, that you're all, fucking leeches. People worry about the rats that scurry all around the city, in the subway station, in the trash and down the dark alleyways, but the real fucking rats are right in front of us."

Eugh. Cliche. Boring. All the other adjectives Hosah couldn't quite think of right in that moment,

"But, I've found myself growing fond of you. Watching you from afar. I find myself both loving you, and hating you. The lines have blurred by now. I understand you are human, or at least, that is what you parade yourself around as, but honestly, I'm not too sure you're anything at all. Completely devoid of life. Just an empty pit of nothing hiding in a cold, flesh shell. I see you sitting alone at bars on a Friday night, and I have to really stop myself from sitting down next to you, buying you a drink, taking you home with me, keeping you forever. But I'm not that selfish. Maybe later. You make me furious, because I love you. And I shouldn't, that's what you want, after all, you act cute and helpless, vulnerable and fragile, that's what draws everyone in, you've got that ginger prick hanging on your every word, and look at you. Hot and cold, nothing that you say is what you really mean, you work people up just to run away when they start to act on feelings they thought were returned. It's cruel. But, I can be crueler. We would've made the perfect pair, if you didn't drive me so crazy. You're going to be the death of me, Hosah Seung Levi. And the death of many, many others. I don't know, see how I feel once this gets to you. Let's talk more over drinks next time, though."

Ew. Was this really the type Hosah attracted? Serial killer stalkers? I mean, sounded about right. Some of the note seemed pretty heartfelt, some downright offensive, and some offensively corny. If the whole murder aspect wasn't the main thing that put him off, it'd be the cheesy way they spoke about him.

"I've never even told anyone my middle name." The shifter's voice shook, clearly disturbed by the contents of the letter, despite not wanting to admit to being so.

Teddy leant back in his chair, hands rubbing his face in disgust, not saying a word, just groaning endlessly.

"Man." The giant pushed himself forwards again, eyes fixated on the paper, "Got ourselves a next level freak."

If you were to listen closely, a small, unsettled 'Hmm' could be heard from the tiny man sitting before the sheet. There was so much information to rack his brain on. Hosah hadn't even been to the bar in weeks, meaning this killer had been at the whole stalking game for a while now. He wondered if it was just the fifteen they were guilty of, or if years worth of unsolved homicides were all on their hands. Maybe he'd have to take up the offer to chat over drinks, just to pry all of this information out of the twisted individual with his bare hands.

He wondered about what specifically he’d done to attract this kind of attention. If anything, the shifter thought he’d been keeping his head down lately, staying out of trouble, but it seems the more he tries to avoid these kinds of people, the more attracted to him they become.

The contents of the note echoed in his head, everything else becoming white noise. Vermin he could handle, Rat he’d heard a million times before, but there was something far, far more hurtful about the brutal reality of the situation;

Whoever wrote this, was completely right.

Thinking back to how he’d previously behaved, his cold attitude towards Teddy for no other reason than he felt threatened that there was an off chance of him opening himself up to someone again. It was all true. Sure, Hosah wasn’t a serial killer of any kind, but god did he have it in him to be cruel.

Hit with an unexpected punch in the gut from a little something called shame, the shifter couldn’t help but hang his head down, letting out a troubled sigh,

"Should send this all off to the police. Let them know about the painting and shit. Report the stalking. Get a protection order of some kind. I don't know.. Anything, nothing, I.. I'm just tired to be honest." Hosah sat, cross legged, burying his face in his hands, brushing through his hair as he usually did under stress.

Teddy agreed, "God, yeah definitely, shouldn't reported the painting yesterday. Shit. Well, they'll be over later in the day, can lay down the basics then." In all honesty, nobody knew why they didn't come the day prior, it's not like Jeanne didn't try calling, unlike that useless security guard, so the reason for their no-show was seemingly a mystery.

God, as the days went by, Hosah felt more like Fred Jones rather than any Sherlock Holmes, all he needed was a talking dog and a brightly coloured mini van.

As the shrunken man lost himself in his thoughts, a finger reached over, giving him a gentle rub on the back. The touch almost made the shifter jump out of his skin, but it only took a split second for him to melt into it. Surprisingly, it did its job pretty well, easing Hosah's mind, just a little.

"I'm glad I can be of help for you. Keep you safe and stuff. Just not sure if your secret admirer is all too on board," the giant teased, although it wasn't the best of times to be cracking jokes.

Hosah didn't care to get offended, or to laugh either, instead focusing on making the most of what little physical contact he'd gotten to receive in months. He was too tired to care, really. The whole ordeal tuckered him out. Just the thought of being where he was, working for another few hours, almost lulled him straight to sleep. Sure, being stalked by someone that had a kill count possibly in the twenties was probably about as interesting as his life was ever going to get, but Hosah really didn't have any damns in him left to spare.

Thinking back to his dreams, he wished he could be at a little cabin on the lakeside. Spending his days fishing, collecting firewood for his makeshift oven and heating system, his evenings cooking his catch of the day, and his nights watching the stars, skidding rocks over the surface of the crystal water, looking at the moon in its clear reflection. Summers could be spent riding his horse companion around the forest, herding the sheep on the mountain side, making sure they weren't eaten by any wolves when the sun went down. That was the life he was destined for. Maybe he could spare a couple days of the year to paint such a scene, although it'd have to wait until he could safely return to his own apartment.

Teddy rested his head in his folded arm on the desk, much closer to the shrunken figure, with a much better view of him. He looked tired. At least, more than he usually did. The pronounced fat under his eyes always gave him that sort of sleepy look anyway. The giant felt very, very bad for him. The kind of sympathy you feel guilty just for feeling towards someone. Pity was probably a better way to put it. He was sure Hosah could carry himself as well as anybody else in the building, but his assistant just wanted to crawl inside of his brain and figure out just about everything there was to know. What secrets he kept, what he dreams about, what he thinks of everyone he meets, the songs that get stuck in his head.

Teddy seriously had no idea how anyone could miss just how blatantly human the tiny man is. Maybe the killer had gotten their names mixed up, because it was the 'ginger prick' that felt as though he were a dark, endless pit of nothing, using a human shell to disguise himself.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, this was just about as close as he could get to opening up Hosah's skull and crawling in, and he'd take what he could get.

The shifter shrugged, burying his face deeper in his knees, "This dream I keep having." , he waited for Teddy's 'Hmm?' of approval to continue, "Living by lakeside, never having to work again, spending every day fishing, or painting, reading, just thinking.. It's been my dream ever since I could remember. To do nothing."

"Fishing, painting and reading doesn't sound like nothing."

"You know what I mean, not paying my way in society, living off the grid," Hosah sighed, satisfied with the idea. "Would you come with me? Once this is all over, at least."

Yes. Of course, a thousand yes's. "Haha.. We'll see"

-~-

The rest of the day, Hosah spent on edge. Not that he wasn't constantly in some state of fear anyway, but the whole devocoale had sent him down a spiral of anxiety. In the taxi back to Teddy's place, he convinced himself the car behind them was following him, a creek in the old apartment buildings hallway must've been someone scoping the place out and preparing to break in, the people sitting out on the benches outside must be waiting for him to come out so they could grab him. In summary, Hosah was not having a fun time.

As the shrunken figure sat at the windowsill, watching out of the cracks in the blinds, his eyes squinting to make out any activity in the poorly lit streets, he wondered what kind of person had written him the letter. Obviously, he knew what they were roughly, a monster capable of causing large scale tragedy for the likeness of New York's shifter population, but on the surface, it had to be someone he himself wouldn't peg as such a threat.

He thought about everyone he'd ever interacted with, or at least, within the past month or so. Cashiers, strangers on the tube, people in cars giving him the right away to cross the street. Anywhere he could find any sort of answer, Hosah thought about intensively. The shifter felt his breath shorten as he got himself more and more panicked, he'd felt fear before, the kind of fear that the breath you'd just taken would be your last, but nothing like this. The kind of fear that comes before fight or flight, the lingering feeling that something is extremely wrong. His heart in his throat, Hosah reluctantly closed his eyes, trying to steady his readily increasing heartbeat and his uncontrolled breathing.

"Hey. All good there?"

The voice took him out completely, the shifter momentarily feeling his soul come out of his body as he frantically gasped for air, "FUCK, don't.. sneak up on me like that.." Hosah clutched his chest with one hand, the other wiping he sweat that had built up on his brow, "Scared the shit out of me."

Teddy didn't quite understand the gravity of the situation, as he laughed instead, "Sorry, sorry. You looked lost in thought," the giant leant in closer, his elbows at either side of the man before him, "Something bothering you?"

'Oh, nah, just the fact he'd learnt he was the victim of intensive, violent stalking', was what Hosah really wanted to say, but he didn't want to make any more enemies after learning such a fact.

"Just that note. Trying to remember everyone I've got bad blood with, s'all.." If that was all, he wouldn't be such a ghostly white colour right now, starkly contrasting his usual sienna-adjacent tone.

His assistant turned, lifting himself up to sit on the window sill besides the tiny man, "Never really thought you were the type to go around making enemies," Teddy commented.

"God, not now, no.. But definitely in my early twenties." Ah, the good old days, as most would put it. For Hosah however, these were probably the worst years of his life.

The shifter had tried his best to keep everything he got up to around this period a secret, but of course once he'd gotten settled at his first position when first joining the agency, Jules had to and spread exactly the kind of things he got up to around the office like wildfire. 'Just to break to ice' , as she put it.

He winced at the memory, adding, ".. You've probably heard it around work. Always resurfaces every couple of months. Everyone in that place is so fucking bored man, I mean, isn't homicide enough for them?"

"I haven't heard anything, actually. If you don't want me to know, I'm okay with that. Sucks to have your dirty laundry aired out. I know the feeling." Teddy's eyes lingered on everything else that wasn't the shifter besides him, although his hand seemed to inch closer and closer by the second.

Maybe the two were more alike than they'd initially bargained for.

Hosah shrugged, despite knowing he wasn't being looked at, "It's not that bad. I was just a bit of a.." his hand brushed through his hair, pulling on the strands just a little, as he tried to think of the best way to both vaguely and accurately put it.

"A twenty year old? Hah, we all did shit we regret back then. I'm not gonna judge you for any of that, I know I'm not the same person I was like, five years ago."

Not wanting to push the topic any further, the shrunken figure moved himself directly in front of the hand, leaning over and resting his upper body against it. All he could mutter was a quiet, almost unheard, 'I'm tired,' , his eyes instinctively closing once more. He was definitely going to struggle to get a good nights sleep after the day he had, but it was worth a try.

It turns out, going through emotional turmoil does in fact tucker oneself out, as Hosah seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness right then and there, only now awaking after a night filled with the type of dreams he could only assume to be bad omens.

The dream that awoke him however, was one he recalled clearly, although this time, there seemed to be a twist.

None of that mattered though, as Hosah was back to his full height of five foot seven. The only problem is, he must've stripped off as he was so used to doing whilst in a between state of both awake and asleep, leaving him with no size appropriate clothing.

There was only one option for the shifter, unfortunately.

"..Teddyyyyy,"

The yell was immediately met by a creak in the bedroom door, as if his assistant had been stood outside of it this whole time, waiting for the OK to enter.

Teddy covered his eyes as he walked in, making his way straight towards the wardrobe and throwing the first things he grabbed at the shifter.

"I know, I'll go over and get some of your stuff in a few minutes. Just.. put these on for now whilst I make breakfast."

Ew. Hosah didn't get it. Beautiful people should wear clothes that are of the same level as beauty as the individual, but, in all honesty, the guy dressed like shit. The tattered t-shirt only just hung on to the shifter's slender shoulders, and the pants were a complete lost cause. Instead, he opted for the classic 'My shirt will cover all it needs' look, wandering his way into the living area, where he could smell something cooking in the next room over.

The, for once, regular human sized man peaked over the hollow door frame, watching as his new found roommate flipped the final pancake onto its uncooked side, listening to the sizzling of the mixture against the hot pan rather than starting any kind of conversation. He wondered if things would be different, now that they were on equal grounds to each other.

It didn't take long for Teddy to feel the eyes boring into the back of his head, turning to greet his single audience member, "Morning," He froze for a second, looking Hosah up and down.

Teddy knew he was taller than most, but he didn't expect the shifter to still be so small even when at his regular size. Not only was he much shorter than himself, but he was also much thinner, his knobbly knees poking out from each side of his legs, and his collar bone extending all the way out and to his shoulders where it stuck out like a spike of sorts.

Still, the stark difference in his height from what Teddy had grown used to was definitely going to throw him off. He almost found himself reaching his hand out, the same hand the shifter once lounged in less than a day ago, comparing it to his current size.

"Smells good," Hosah commented after a brief moment of silence, whilst his assistant took in the change of perspective.

It took him a second to get his words out, his train of thought being halted by the sudden spark in conversation, "Yeah, thanks. Should be done by now. Then I'll go and pick up some of your clothes."

He tried his best not to look the shifter in the eye, as he felt his face become progressively redder with every word that came out of his mouth.

Hosah, more casual than ever, just propped himself up on the countertop opposite his assistant. "Cool."

As his eyes fixated on everything else in the room, Teddy couldn't help but compare the countless trinkets and decorations he kept laying around the place to the, once tiny, man.

As the day went on, he found himself seeing Hosah in all different kinds of places. A butterfly resting on a flower as he walked past the park, countless erasers lying around on his desk where the shifter sat not so long ago, without even realising it, Teddy had been staring at his hands for the last five minutes. He should really get back to work.

"Here's what I'm caught up on, how the fuck does this guy know my middle name? It's literally only on like.. My legal documents. That's it."

The shifter's words took Teddy out of his trance, "What?"

"The note." now leant against the desk, Hosah sighed, "I'm just thinking about who would even have access to any of that stuff. Jules is the only one with the skeleton key for all the filing cabinets and shit,"

"Is it on your ID, maybe?"

Eyebrows furrowing, the shifter thought about the question for a second, ".. Shit. I don't know. Maybe? Fuck, yeah, since in the note it said about the bar.. But I don't even get ID'd anymore"

"I don't want to scare you but.. Could be premeditating for longer than you'd think." Teddy instantly regretted the words as soon they left his mouth, "Maybe. It's just an idea. Might be wrong too."

He looked at his hand, then back at the shifter, and then back and forth a few times more, not really listening to whatever was being spoken at him. The clothes on Hosah's body hung loose on his frame, despite them being his own, maybe this wasn't his full height after all, or maybe he just hadn't had the chance to get more form fitting options for a while. Something about the bruises Teddy had noticed scattered across the shifters legs, and the fact he could now see his sunken features much clearer, evoked an urge to protect him.

Hosah had made it clear to him that he was in no need of protecting. Just watching him make his way around the apartment when he was a mere three inches tall solidified that fact, but that still didn't stop the assistant from wanting to help him. He could want all he wanted, despite the fact it's not what he necessarily needed, which sort of made Teddy feel better about pitying the man.

Instead of focusing on Hosah’s chatter, his assistant couldn’t help but reach for the phantom weight in his pocket. There used to be someone in here, but now he’s not, and that hurt Teddy’s heart, just a little.

".. Anyway, I'm gonna go see my doctor tomorrow. Im due a visit. I'll meet you back at your place, if... if you still think it'd be better if I stayed." The uncertainty in his last few words concerned the assistant slightly, only just know focusing back into the conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, no I don't think you should risk staying at your own place for a while. At least not alone, anyway." Teddy reached his hand out for Hosah's, trying to give a reassuring touch, but instead, he became focused again on his size change.

The hand that once held his entire form could now only wrap around his wrist, and that Teddy did. He didn't even realise it until Hosah commented,

".. What are you doing?" the shifter asked, arm raised as the hand gently grabbing it had pulled it in closer.

Noticing the fact, he let go, muttering a quiet 'Sorry' , his face now burning up.

Fortunately for the assistant, Hosah did not take offence, or get annoyed at, the action. He didn't even lower his hand, instead, he just smiled.

"It's ok. It's weird right?" the shifter spun on his heel, leaning over Teddy in his seat, placing his hand down next to his assistant's resting one, "Just yesterday, I was right here. Aha."

It's almost as if he took pleasure in seeing the seated man become progressively more and more flustered.

As Hosah's fingered inched closer to the other person's tightly closed fist, he also began to think about the shift in perspective. He also thought about telling a white lie the next morning, making it out that his shrinking had been just so unpredictable lately, forcing him back into the same hand that rest besides his own.

No, not yet, at least. He had stuff that needed to be done at this height still. Besides, he hadn't pulled that trick since he was much younger, when he wanted to spend the day home from school, or to get out of any kind of family gathering he wasn't particularly bothered to attend. Those were the days. Lounging around on his dad's shoulder, spending the day doing nothing at all productive. Just hanging out, sometimes not even speaking, and enjoying the silent presence of each other.

Ah, there's another thing he had to do, call his dad.

"Well," Hosah stood back up to his full height, his hand now moved to pat his assistant on the shoulder, "Back to work."

Right, work. The shifter still had about an hours worth of security footage to try and make out. Why Scotty wasn't doing this, he had no idea. Hosah always seemed to get saddled with the short end of the stick when it came to big investigations like this one, even if he himself was a highly regarded target to the killer.

So far, there was nothing. Almost as if the package just appeared out of thin air. The fact the computers ran at what seemed to be a frame-per-second wasn't helping either. Rewinding took a whole minute, then the footage would buffer like crazy. He should've really just brought a notebook to jot these things down in, as Hosah thought of a new objective that needed to be met; complain to Jules about the dated technology they were saddled with in the shifter specialised unit.

As he sat, staring at the forever spinning wheel that was the computer loading screen, Hosah could only think of one thing, just how badly he wished to be tiny again. The thought had never crossed his mind before, but now, being reintroduced to the feeling of being held in a single hand, the shifter found himself longing for that touch.

He knew he should’ve just kept his guard up, stuck to what he knew and kept Teddy at an arms length, but Hosah always found himself in these kinds of situations. Finding love and warmth in all the wrong places at all the wrong times.

And when you have a crazed killer out to get you, you should probably avoid becoming distracted with meaningless things like touch deprivation. After all, there are bigger things to focus on, and, despite his height, Teddy was not one of them.

[bee-named-alex]

Ok so the promised thoughts about Interview with the Vampire s2e5 (keep in mind that i haven't read the books, i've only seen some posts by people who have) SPOILERS

This episode was... heavy I guess is the right word. Pretty dark. Some things real fucked up. But also like emotionally.

I'll start with the nice thing, which is the Daniel and Louis dynamic; I really enjoy their present selfs, finding out their memories together. I like that Daniel even seems to be disappointed when Louis say that they didn't do anything lmao. Yeah and them in past is super fun too, at least at the start; Louis being happy with, Daniel "I did what I had to" Molloy taking of his shirt the moment he gets an excuse to do so.

It's interesting tho, the way Louis talks about Lestat has changed. But yeah, time passes and changes perspective (or maybe they have met after this sometimes and that changed it, but in that case i would have to ask where is lestat now)

And I think talking about the 70s takes immense trust on both parts, but especially Daniel's. I mean uncovering what he knows is risky, even without Armand in there.

Speaking of, I like that we get to hear how he likes to hunt; they tell us ("he's gonna be begging for it in an hour" or something like that) and show us with Daniel, that Armand likes his victims to be so mentally broken by him that they basically offer themselves up to him (similar to what Santiago does on stage)

Now that I've opened up Armand's behaviour, I'll talk a little about their fight. Like I get it. I get them both, Armand more than I thought I would. But fucking christ. They are both saying the hard truths (which i doubt is common in their relationship) and so it's spicy.

Louis bringing up Armand's past is fucked. But also Armand being so jealous of Lestat, like he's been their whole relationship; i like to see that, this seed of hatred and resentfulness that keeps hurting them even in present day.

And then Louis runs out and that is something i did not see coming and i feel so bad for him, like omg. And the way Armand acts towards him then feels really cruel but in the light of their fight i guess he gets to be angry (but i still dont like it)

Armand listening to the tapes and promptly torturing Daniel for four fucking days. Crazy. I mean yea this is "Torture as foreplay, the show" but still? Mental.

I wholeheartedly agree with "Fuck your boyfriend"

I'm not actually tho sure if he's torturing him for the fun of it or out of jeaulosy or if he actually wants to find out "what makes him fascinating" but still, jesus (He really said, you could be on your knees in a second and you WILL, lol)

The Lestat-Armand scene broke my heart. This means that they both know that Lestat is alive because Louis didn't look at all surprised that he is, only shocked that Armand knew where he was. So id like to know if he actually found out (when? how??) or if he just assumed.

Now, what is Armand trying to do here? If it's to hurt Louis, he's successful but it hurts me to think that's it. If it's actually to make Louis happy, than he's doing it all wrong, like Louis tells him like a million times to stop. If it's to show that he's better, or like to give Louis a choice and hope he's the chosen one, I mean I guess? Still don't get it tho.

I really like that he refuses to say the "I love you", because, well, I'm not sure about the intentions, but to me it shows that he is scared that Louis would leave him if he knew. Which is not an unfounded fear really, not from the point of view of someone who's been listening to the tapes and hearing Lestat, Lestat, Lestat... over and over again. I think that the tapes kinda confirm Armand's fears that he isn't "enough" for Louis and could never be enough because he just isn't Claudia and he just isn't Lestat.

And the talk after that scene, "he is just my maker" yea no we both know you're lying. But then they explain why Armand's acting kinda like a servant to Louis (because to be tired of cleaning messes, you would have to have cleaned a lot of messes), because he's trying to undo something that happened in Paris? (Claudia is in danger, i fear)

Speaking of Lestat, where is he?? I mean he doesn't know where Louis is and Armand refuses to tell him, but I don't think that's just it. Like, I'm pretty sure if he could, Lestat would burn the whole word to find Louis. So it might be that he's been locked up somewhere? (i have seen people who know the books talk about some dungeon i think?? but idk)

Next thing I find quite fascinating (haha) is the very confusing Loumand power dynamic. It mostly comes from Armand and the way he seems to have two conflicting personalities that he switches between; one of them is the "cold, dark, manipulative, always in power, will torture you mentally", you know like he was acting with Daniel for most of the episode, and then there is the "devoted servant, looking to please and get love, yes maitre, of course maitre" or as Louis calls it, very 'tactly' I might add, "the bitch he was groomed to become", (it is obviously a horrible thing to say, i mean come on, louis.)

And I'm not sure what causes him to switch, if it just happens inside him or if the change is somehow (intentionally or even unintentionally) caused by Louis. It also kinda reminds me of the way Lestat has the mental stability of a rocking horse, but instead of it being "Everything is fine -> Rage", it's "I'm in power -> I will do literally anything you say".

Also idk how Louis feels about this. Because he will certainly use this side of Armand to get what he wants, but I'm not all that sure that he necessarily enjoys that power. Whatever it is, he saved Daniel thanks to it so yeah, good.

The ending, i am a little scared about, i will admit. Not sure how fast Armand can figure out what they know, and when he does, if they will know that he knows that they know. Dubai scenes are gonna be fun is what im saying.

Lastly, the trailer. Looks great again, more Loumand scenes that will hopefully be healthier than whatever this was. I am scared for Claudia as per Armand's "Have I atoned for my part of Paris?" i think the girl is done for. Also Santiago clearly play part in that, i've seen some people talk about a court?? and it looks like he's gonna do just that, probably court for Claudia and Louis (and possibly Armand?)

This didn't fit anywhere, but this episode somehow made me like Armand more? Not as a person, but as a character. I was always team Lestat and it might be because he was there first and i tend to be biased towards that, but maybe it's the fact that he was just more fun to watch. Like both his "normal" and his "fucked up". Armand was really cool too, but his "normal" i just didn't enjoy as much. But his "fucked up" was horrifying and also totally fascinating to watch so now i like him a little more than before (lestat still remains above him tho, idk what to tell you)

So anyways I hope you enjoyed my rant. I will happily read any responses also I might add to this if I remember something later.