#the point isn’t supposed to be my bitterness but just to let people know that diversity exists

[hunterarden]

Another comment from The Witcher fandom which I’ve seen here that I dislike is people snarking about how the show abandoned Geralt’s autistic representation. Some said in season two and others said season three? I get the person posting may be autistic, but FYI even autistic people, certainly those over a hundred years old, contain multitudes lol. People can not talk for a long time and be perfectly capable of talking depending on the situation—even articulately. It doesn’t mean all non speaking people are that way at all, obviously.

We see Geralt not talk to too many over the years (though we only see snippets of his life, not every waking second). He’s not a big fan of large crowds or Jaskier and those who don’t stop talking. He speaks to Yennefer and a few others fairly “normally” (in contrast to people who say he only speaks like regular normal dude in season 2 / 3). He and Ciri don’t talk much, but being around her so often, he talks (to a human) more than usual. (He of course has talked to his horses plenty.) Even if he still grunts.

In season three he continues to be somewhat taciturn, though obviously speaks more to Yen and Ciri, in spite of trying to ignore Yen. (Thus… still speaking less than usual.) He still has no interest in large groups, bluntly dismissing everyone he encounters at the ball. He does give a few speeches—but he’s been capable of that for a while, it’s just they were usually a bit more acerbic.

Anyway, just not a fan of seeing almost non stop narrow mindedness from The Witcher fandom, which again stuns me since I thought the show at least was about alterity. And difference. As opposed to “if you don’t fit my stereotypes exactly, you deserve to have bad things happen and are objectively a horrible writer.” Which I’ve repeatedly seen posed as legit criticism.

So yeah there’s my take on autistic Geralt and how not all autistic people are identical or static. I know dunking on the show might feel necessary or good, because it seems like mocking it is almost a requirement when mentioning The Witcher (yes the Netflix version). But you really don’t have to, especially if what you’re saying isn’t true or makes no sense. You can write that down in a diary, never publish it, or say it to your friends, instead of publishing it for the world to see and for white supremacists to like and reblog. (Last part is for real lol.)

[ferritins]

THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU | S. RILEY

SUMMARY: Simon takes a step you never thought he would, in a way you’d never imagine.

NOTES: the endearment ‘pet’ is used once, in an “author grew up in The Midlands City God Forgot AKA Leicester” way, not the kink way. credit for the idea for this piece goes to @bleuu-moon, who’s post about Simon letting you take off the mask has been living in my head rent free bills and utilities included for ages.

disclaimer; whilst I’m down bad for fictional men who are taller than me, I also an anti-militarism pro disarmament pacifist. COD and other military games a recruitment tool for the armed forces, and PMCs are just a way for governments to outsource war crimes to avoid The Hague. do not enlist; big oil and genocidaires are not worth dying for and armed service will chew you up and shit you out to die as soon as you are physically or psychologically incapable of dying for the sake of capital.

You come home to Simon illuminated by your television, scant blood splotches blackish on his fatigue sleeves.

“Um. Is any of that yours?” You venture, dropping your keys in their designated dish, casting a careful eye over your lover. “I thought we had come to an agreement about you actively bleeding all over my sofa cushions after last time.”

Simon grunts.

You roll your eyes.

“Words, love.”

“Just got back from Santo Domingo.” You hiss a quiet breath through your teeth, wincing as you turn to hang your coat; the boys had been following an organisation of information brokers trading in NATO military intelligence, the kind of people with whom contact was both rare and in its eventuality, incredibly bloody.

Nevertheless, Simon has never been someone who is particularly receptive to sympathy; by the time you turn back around to face him, your face is carefully neutral.

“Did you achieve your mission objective? Wait, more importantly, you didn’t answer my question; are you bleeding?”

There’s a bitter little chuckle. “Affirmative to the first, negative to the second.”

The air sits heavy as you and Simon watch one another, flashes of colour and light bouncing off the skull of his mask like a nightmare in Technicolor.

Just when the tension reaches the point of being unbearable, Simon speaks.

“They knew your name.” He says, voice basso profundo with his gathering fury.

A frisson of fear runs down your spine — not at Simon, not after all this time, but at the information — before dissipating like cigarette smoke in a hurricane.

It’s a target on your back, sure, but it is one of dozens. Your career has made you many enemies.

“They trade in military intelligence, Simon, which is pretty much my entire area of specialty.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you think I’m a shrinking violet? What, should I give up my Lance Corporal’s stripe and my job? You met me when I was working signal intercept radio intelligence on RAF Ascension Island, for God’s sake.”

“You’d be safer.” Simon’s voice has taken on as much of a pleading tone as he’s capable of.

“I’d be miserable.” You retort.

“Fuck.” Simon snarls, a savage sigh of breath leaving him. “You know I’m not gonna leave your side after today, pet? Gonna get sick of my face.”

“If this is supposed to irritate me into obscurity, it’s not going to work. I like the mask, and having six foot eight of perfectly built spec ops soldier at my back isn’t exactly a hardship.” You snarl.

“Simon’s head tilts, predatory.

I”I said my face, lovie.”

Your heart starts hammering.

“”Simon, you’ve not been barefaced in front of someone in nigh on a decade. Your personnel file doesn’t have a photograph of you, and the only one that exists of you is redacted so far only His Maj can see it. For fuck’s sake, you’ve torn men’s throats out for so much as touching your mask.”

“Simon hums an affirmative, a mocking note under the tone of it.

“So now you’re scared of what intelligence gathering can lead to? Scared I’ll tear your throat out, hm?”

“Fuck you.” You snarl. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to let you violate your own autonomy and boundaries to prove a point, you supercilious son of a—“

“You’re the one taking it off.” Simon interrupts.

“You’re insane.”

“If you’re not going underground to wait this out, I’m gonna be living in your fucking shadow, sweetheart, breathing in your every exhale, and I can’t do that when all they know me for is the mask. The next person to so much as look at you sideways is going to die, slow and bloody, and my face is going to be the last thing they see.”

Your next inhale is shaky. Simon, sensing blood in the water, goes for the kill.

“Either you can look me in the face, acknowledge what you’re dooming anyone who hurts you to, or you back down.”

Even as you’re swinging a leg over both of Simon’s to situate yourself in his lap, you’re aware of how hideously stupid what you’re doing is.

Bolstered my nothing but bravado and an inkling of curiosity, and with your pulse rabbiting, you slowly pull up his balaclava, revealing his face to you piecemeal; a strong jaw, a bottom-heavy mouth, a patrician nose broken thrice and healed right only twice, whispers of long blonde eyelashes, and brown eyes, dark as bitumen.

On anybody else, the features would be discordant, too much dissonance to be cohesive; on Simon, they work.

His face is arresting, more than handsome; you can’t help but look at him.

His top lip is pulled up into a perpetual snarl on the left by a long deep furrow of scar tissue that starts just under his eye.

There’s a silvery scar about a half-inch long from his hair line, and his cheeks are dotted with faint demarcations; nicks from shrapnel and knifepoint, you assume.

All flat eyes and scarring, this is perhaps this most dangerous Simon has looked to you in a while.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, referring to both your job and Simon’s unmasking. “I’m not backing down.”

Simon is a big man, and has a surprising amount of heft to him, even when he's not trying.

His hands are large enough that even the love tap to your rump has you tipping into him. Your front is pressed to his, and you're looking up, up, up into his eyes, bearing witness to the way hunger floods them, a hungry kind of dark pouring into his gaze like an oil slick in the Mediterranean Sea.

“And I’m not backing off. Hell or high water, death or desertion; we’re in this together for good now, you and I.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been in the development hell folder of my Google docs for like two months so if it’s shite that’s no longer my problem I’m afraid 😭🙏🏽 thank you for reading! please do not recommend/repost on TikTok.

[hxjikonn]

Could I request Vil, Rook, Kalim, Idia and Jamil with an s/o that speaks their (the boys') native language when flirting?

A/n: This idea is rlly cute but a small warning y’all, I do not speak German, French, or Arabic😭💀 I’m gonna be using apps, websites, and google translate to help me so if you speak any of these languages feel free to correct me, that would be VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! Also I’m sorry I had to cut this to 4 characters only ;-; I’ll try to add Idia’s one in a separate post if I have time!

(@/l1ttleclouds helped a lot with the french, @/hivequeenb33 for the corrections in german and @/sugary-bluebell for the corrections in Arabic tysm🥹♥︎)

——————————————————————————

Say that again…

☆Staring☆: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Kalim Al Asim, and Jamil Viper

Synopsis: Their reaction to GN!Reader flirting using their native language.

Warnings/Heads up: I do not speak any of these languages and am using translators, it might be cringe cuz I’m using phrases off google💀😭

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was stressed about a photoshoot, usually he loves them, the flashes of cameras, praises from the photographers, people crowding around him to make sure everything is perfect, and the clothes. But as of now he’s frustrated because of Neige Leblanche stealing his spotlight, people praising him just sounded like noise in Vil’s ears.

You watched him fumble around his vanity mirror, fixing his hair, retouching his eye shadow, “Can you believe it potato? I was the only one who’s supposed to have a photoshoot today, then he came, ugh suddenly everyone’s attention was on him…” he said the tone of bitterness lingers in his voice.

“My attention isn’t” you pouted, walking up behind him. He expression softens, this only happens with you, he picks up another make up brush but you stopped it with your hand, slowly putting it down “Put it down…” you said “I’m not done potato I need to look-“ “Liebling, Du siehst umwerfend aus” you interrupted him and kissed his cheek

He froze, blinking a couple of times and snapping his fingers making sure he was awake… “What did you say?” He looked back at you, spinning his chair to see you better, you giggled “I said you looked stunning” you were about to walk away but then he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back “No that wasn’t what you said…” he replied “It was!” You defended “Yeah but not that way…” he stood up in front of you “Say that again…” he stared down at you softly…anticipation bubbling in him…

“Liebling…” you started, “Du siehst umwerfend aus” You finished pecking his lips right after earning a smirk from him. He completely forgot that he was mad at something… “see? you don’t even need the blush” you teased pointing out the fluttering pink painted on his cheeks….he chuckled “oh is that so? Well…I think you need a little color on your lips…” he cupped your face as he bent down slightly to kiss you. “Vil! You’re up!” the photographer called out, Making him pull away as he rolled his eyes “Ugh…wrong timing” he half yelled

You laughed softly, “Go…” you motioned him to leave you for now, he smiled “Alright, hold on, let me just reapply my lipstick” he called out, still looking at you, your lips now tinted with the lipstick he put on earlier…you placed a featherlight kiss on the back of his hand as a form of an unspoken ‘good luck’ and he replies with a smile squeezing your hand before he lets go and walks to the photoshoot while applying lipstick.

Needless to say he did very well even if there was a photo where he and Neige had to be in one shot, when he sees you watching in the background, remembering what you said to him, he doesn’t even care anymore. He has all your attention, and he knows it.

Rook Hunt

It was sunset, and you two were still practicing, you couldn’t let yourself give up without hitting that red dot in the middle of the target…he readjusts you posture again…lifting you arms slightly, as he looks forward to see if the angle is right, while his hands rested on your waist…

No wonder you couldn’t hit the damn target…Rook is a very distracting teacher…he noticed that since you lost your aim again…he adjusted it back, tilting the bow upward a little with one hand…while his other hand still rests on you waist. “Mon amour, Concentre-toi…..” he whispered slightly teasing you of course, he knows what he’s doing.

“J'aimerais bien, mais tu es trop distrayant” you whispered back firing the arrow, he was caught off guard, staring off into the distance in shock, as your arrow hits the target he snaps out of his trance. “YES!” you cheered “I DID IT!! SEE???” You pointed happily to the arrow that pierced through the red dot on the target, excitement coursing through your veins.

“Mon ange….” He called out to you while slowly walking towards you “Did you just speak french or was I just too hypnotized by your beauty that I started hearing things?” He asked, you giggle and cupped his face… “Oui, je parlais français..” And kissed his nose, he felt like he was shot by cupid once again, Rook Hunt, was love-struck…

“Oh mon Dieu! I think I fell in love with you all over again” he said to you while also cradling your face in his hands…you swore you almost saw hearts in his eyes, he pulled you close to him as he leaned in to kiss you “AGHHH CAN YOU TWO KISS LATER I’M HUNGRY!!! Y/N PROMISED ME TUNA WHEN THEY FINALLY HIT A BULLSEYE” Grim shouted…

You both broke into a fit of laughter, “Awww poor kitty” you went to Grim and teased him scratching behind his ears “Stopppp!! I’m a powerful mage you know???? I can set you on fire!!” He said while swaying his paws back and forth to shoo you away “Monsieur Fuzzball is hangry, we should get him his promised tuna” Rook said while picking up the arrows on the grass and putting it back in his arrow quiver.

“Yes! Yes you should do that right now! Then you two can kiss for the rest of the day and I wont bother you, sound good?” Grim negotiated “Yes that would be quite pleasant Monsieur Fuzzball” Rook laughed as he grabbed you hand “We’ll go get it right away, won’t we Mon amour?” Rook said to you, you knew he was a little upset that he didn’t get to kiss you so you chuckled and nodded “yes.”

“GREAT! Now stop making googooly eyes at each other and lets go!” Grim shouted as he ran, thrilled by the tuna he has yet to receive. You two laughed and followed behind him, hand in hand.

Kalim Al Asim

You are fighting for your life right now…Kalim clinging on to your waist stopping you from walking out of Scarabia’s doors as he weighs you down while you drag your and his weight attempting to leave.

“Kalim I have to go” you said clutching on to the door frame “Why??? Scarabia is much more comfy than Ramshackle just stay with me” he whines, “Grim’s gonna go hungry, can you live with yourself if my cat dies of hunger??” You guilt tripped him, hoping he’d let you go.

“I’LL ASK JAMIL TO BRING GRIM HERE JUST PLEASE DONT LEEEEAVVEEE” He practically yells as he begs for you to stay “I’ll come back to tomorrow…” you got tired and plopped on to the floor as he further tightens his hold on your waist, burying his face on your lap, “I’ll go a whole night without you here, if you can sleep knowing that than do I even matter to you??” He dramatically says, muffled because he still has his face on your lap.

You sighed and ran your fingers through his hair… “ ‎أَنتَ تَعني الكَثير لي حبيبي (You mean so much to me, my love)” you softly whispered to him, he looked up at you, letting go of your waist and sitting up right to meet your eyes. You were smiling at his expression.

A pigmented flustered hue shyly shows up on his cheeks and his eyes were filled with a whole rollercoaster of emotions, you let out a small laugh and a pecked his lips to bring him back from the love struck void he was falling into

“Kalim? You there?” You asked chuckling while cupping his face with both your hands, “Marry me.” He blurted out without warning, you stiffen for awhile not expecting that, but you saw his eyes twinkling and you burst out laughing earning a pout from him.

“I’m sorry you just looked so cute أميري (my prince) ” you apologized, he felt like melting, He crawled his way back into your arms, nuzzling into your neck, he could feels like his heart could beat out of his chest at this point. “Now you really cant leave…not after you said all that.” He protested.

You sighed in defeat, “Okay…Alright…I’ll stay…” you said, playing with his hair again “Forever?” He asked “For the night, Kalim, I can’t move out of Ramshackle” you laughed “I will marry you one day yknow?” He said, “I know” you answered kissing the crown of his head. “أحبكِ (ily)” he says to you, “أنا احبك (ilyt)” you say back to him.

Jamil Viper

It was a normal day for you two, well to be honest a “normal day” is rare in NRC, with Jamil having to deal with his responsibilities to Kalim, and you being Crowly’s erand runner, you two rarely have time to see or spend time with each other.

Right now though is different, for once you two had somewhat of a day off, Kalim went back to his hometown to attend an event for the royal family, and Crowly surprisingly didn’t have anything for you today. It was nice…you two sitting in a couch, your back against his back and he has an arm on you shoulder

Both of you are each reading a book right now, it’s quiet, not much words are exchanged but it’s fine you two liked the peaceful silence for once. You’ve just finished yours and you plopped it down your lap with a contented sigh. “You finished it?” He chimes, not looking away from his book, “Yup! All done, you?” You stared up at him “Just 4 more chapters” he said focusing on his book, you just hummed in reply, not wanting to disturb him further.

You shifted you position and laid your head on his chest and he lets you get comfortable again, his other hand tracing circles on your back as you played with the ornaments near the ends of his braids. Your gaze slowly found it’s way back up to his face again, though he feels your stare, he doesn’t really mind but the corners of his lips lift a little.

You admiring you boyfriend and suddenly remembered that one phrase you asked Kalim to translate for you ‎“أَنتَ وَسيمٌ جِدّا حبيبي (you’re so handsome my love)” you mumbled, you were just trying to remember what Kalim said the translation was so you weren’t aware of speaking it outloud.

It hasn’t really registered in his head yet either, so he continues to read his book, “شكرا لك حبي” (thank you, my dear)” he replied simply…you blinked and realized you said it outloud, but you’re happy he heard it so you hummed back happily snuggling into his warmth, but when he heard you hum he finally caught up with what you said earlier

He slowly puts his book down as your words sink into his brain, you looked up at him again questioningly this time “You’re done already? I thought you said there was 4 more cha-“ “Love what did you say just now?” He abruptly cuts you off putting a hand on your cheek looking down at you “I was asking if you were done with your book?” You said confused, “No no before that…” he anticipated your answer…

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, you knew what he was talking about, you thought he fully heard you but his expression seem to say otherwise. You smiled up at him and kissed the palm of his hand that was cupping your cheek

“All I said was, ‎أَنتَ وَسيمٌ جِدّا حبيبي (you’re so handsome my love)” you repeated it to him “I thought you heard it cuz you said thank you after” you added giggling.

He huffed in amusement, “Well there goes my book…” he says while putting the book away “what do you mean? you can still read” you said to him, he smiled, pulling you closer to him with his other arm that rested on your waist “No I don’t think I can, you have all my attention now” he mumbled, a soft blush dusted his cheek, an effect from your compliment to him earlier “You’re blushing~” you teased poking his cheek, he chuckled and inched his face closer to you

“Yeah? You don’t say?” He asked sarcastically before kissing you breathless, once he pulled away you were the one blushing, he grins at the sight “there, now we’re even.” He teased as you hit his chest lightly and hide your face in the crook of his neck while he laughs at your expense, you two continued teasing each other for the rest of the day.

A/N: you know the drill: NOT PROOFREAD LMAO 💀 THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE ANON I KNOW THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG TO POST ;-;

Edit: WTH TYSM FOR 1K 🥹♥︎

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee dates (Iridescent, Part 3)

A/N: I don’t know how to enemies to lovers, why can’t we all just be friends. Again, I haven’t seen past season 10, I don’t know how it works or who is present so if there are mistakes you can blame showrunners for making me too nervous to keep watching <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: Their last coffee date before finally getting back to the office, he’s bored and wants to find out what she’s been working on. 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: swearing, spencer is an ass™

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt4

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

They’re getting close to the end of his probationary period now, and the thought of getting back to the office, and back to catching psychos was intoxicating.

Sure, she enjoyed his lectures, but not nearly enough to deal with him for longer than she had to.

There’s only one of his lectures left, and yet she still finds herself completing the last assignment he gave just like all the rest. It’s due today and mostly completed, but she just wanted to tweak a few things and add some more references. Working quietly next to him in the campus cafe as always.

He’s realised before, but now that his time was coming to a close, he was properly aware of the fact that she was always working. On all their little coffee dates - he refuses to call them that, and she only does it to piss him off - between their lectures, she’s always writing.

So far that’s been perfect, because he didn’t want to talk to her unless absolutely necessary, neither did she. The two of them avoid conversation like the plague and have silent coffee dates in his breaks.

However, he has no marking left, and finished his book, he is bored and wants to annoy her.

A quick text told him that it’s paid leave for her, which he didn’t know until now but makes the fact that she actually put up with him make sense, and means that she isn’t going over casework. He’s dying to know what it is.

When he sends her off for another round of coffee, he barely even waits for her to turn the corner towards the till to reach out and snatches the page she had been writing on.

Surprise turns him cold to find that it’s his work, set in the lectures that he expected his students to complete. Not only that, but he recognises the writing style, and she had been giving in work as someone called ‘Maisie’, lying about who she is.

Of all the people attending his lecture, he certainly didn’t expect her to do the work, much less under a different name.

Especially when the writing is so.. Good.

Maeve finally came back, sitting down and sliding his coffee across to him, not even batting an eye that he had her work in his hands. Sipping her coffee and feeling the immediate bitter tang of caffeine. Setting her own mug down and shrugging at his questioning tone.

“You’re completing the work I set?”

“Yeah.”

Part of him wondered if she would try to lie, wanting to determine what he could get from profiling her if she did. Expectedly, however, expected her to tell the truth, it’s definitely on brand for her. Suck up.

“Why?”

“I’m not allowed casework when I’m with you, in case you try to involve yourself.” Glaring at him, considering they had proved Emily right by inserting himself uninvited into her work the minute he got bored and she turned her back. Cons of working with profilers, he supposes. “I needed something to do or I would’ve gone crazy. Besides, I felt like you’d want someone completing the work because they enjoy the lecture, not because they think you’re pretty.”

He stared at her for a moment, really using all 187 points of his IQ to take in what she said, then shook his head. Placing the sheet back on the pile and picking up his coffee.

“My students don’t find me attractive.”

Honestly, he’s a little offended by the way she scoffed at him.

“The room is 80% women, they don’t even pay attention half the time, they just stare at you and your hands.” His hands? Now it just feels like she’s projecting, but she doesn’t stop talking yet. “One of them didn’t even complete your last assignment. She just handed in an A4 piece of paper with her number on, it was titled ‘Call Me’.”

He remembers, and he didn’t even look at it long enough to remember the number. The past minute of conversation feels like it shouldn’t be real. Blinking softly in confusion and trying to subtly glancing down from her to his hands and then back again.

Deciding to just hum softly, as if it wasn’t actually something new to him. Picking up his coffee to finally take a sip, irritatingly perfect - God he wished she didn’t try so hard.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“You’re a woman.”

Lifting her head, the look on her face was a picture. Feeling that, had he spoken in Dutch, he probably would’ve gotten the exact same facial expression.

“Am.. I supposed to congratulate you for correctly identifying that I’m a woman?”

He scowled over at her, and that’s a lot better. Their little coffee dates over the last 30 days had been spent mostly silent aside from snide comments and scowls, she wasn’t used to all this conversation from him. So getting him back to scowling again felt like progress.

Until he leant in, a smug grin settling on her face again that she was quickly coming to hate.

“No. But~ surely, if you’ve noticed them finding me attractive, doesn’t that mean you think I’m pretty as well? Hm, little assistant?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t even miss a beat.

“I’d rather make out with a pencil sharpener than you, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer couldn’t help the scowl on his face, even though he was still very smug on the inside. She so gets off on calling him that.

But she got up, and that startled him slightly, watching as she started to pack away her work into her bag. Eyes darting to his, meeting his scowl with a smug grin of her own for managing to get back at him again. Hoping, desperately, that he doesn’t notice that she didn’t actually answer his question.

“Your last lecture is starting soon, hurry up.”

Of course she thinks he’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean she likes him. And she certainly isn’t going to admit it to his face.

Want more?! Good!

[hxhhasmysoul]

I’ve been seeing these jjk takes such as “Gege doesn’t like writing jjk!” And what not. And while I personally don’t think so, I do think Gege is getting a bit burnt out hence the more fast paced storytelling due to the cutthroat manga industry. But claiming that Gege doesn’t like writing jjk? A person who isn’t passionate about their story would not have such an in-depth power system and world building. But that’s just me

Sorry for taking so long to answer. 

My personal opinion is that somewhere around the foreign armies invading Gege decided to wrap up JJK. There’s so much stuff set up in the story, so many plots going on, and suddenly the manga sped up. 

I won’t express a definitive opinion as to why that happened but I will tell you what I suspect may have happened and how I feel about it. 

I agree with you, that Gege’s put a lot of passion into JJK. The story is intricately woven, connected through character arcs, intrigue and themes. 

I also get how people can get vibes from JJK that its author doesn’t like writing it. I don’t know what the takes you mention mean by “Gege doesn’t like writing jjk!”. Because if it’s an accusation against Gege, then well this fandom’s always been the pits.

As a writer I get burn-out. There are several stories I have in progress that I’m passionate about, but it takes me months to update. These stories are not my job, I can give myself time to just let them hang there, unfinished. 

In the cutthroat manga industry there’s no such luxury. There are deadlines and exact page counts and chapter counts. And there’s the fandom and expectations. I don’t know how much of the social media vitriol gets to Gege, but even if the social media is handled by WSJ, Gege is probably aware that there’s just a lot of chatter. From a story that was supposed to get cut from WSJ for not performing well, JJK became its most popular title and I think that took a toll on Gege’s mental health.

I’ve written before about how devastating it must’ve been from the point of view of a creative to be told that your story is not popular enough to continue. Then moving an event from later in the story (Yuuji’s death in the detention centre) forward  to give the story some ending. Just for it to catapult the story into popularity and being told that the story will continue.  The whiplash, the bitterness, the desperation to rearrange the story to make sense with the new order of events that wasn’t planned for it. 

Also JJK wasn’t the long series Gege pitched to WSJ. They weren’t planning on expanding on Zero, at least that was not the first long form series they wanted to do. 

There are all these factors surrounding the creation of JJK that could’ve soured Gege on the story. It’s not impossible Gege stopped liking writing JJK at some point and just wanted it to end. 

Like there are these moments after the foreign troops bit that are so good, that to me look like stuff Gege was happy to write and draw. Moments centering Yuuji, or between Yuuji and Sukuna, fights including Maki, Kenjaku’s date with Takaba, Hakari fighting Uraume, Toudou’s comeback. But for example the whole fight between Gojou and Sukuna doesn’t feel to me like anything Gege wanted to write, at least not in the form it exists now. 

For me, as a writer, it’s a very sad experience to get vibes from moments in the story signalling that the author wasn’t excited to write them. I feel so much sympathy for Gege. I think there’s something really tragic about how JJK came to be.

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 10

Just two more chapters to go and then this little story is done. I'm glad I wrote it. It was very cathartic for me. I hope it brought some comfort to you too.

Here we find out who Steve has been grieving this whole time and that Eddie mourned them too.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

****

Steve was quiet and contemplative on the trip back. And Eddie let him be. That was quite the roller coaster of emotion he had gone through and he knew Steve needed time to sort out all of his thoughts and feelings.

As they neared Ashland, Eddie asked, “Are you okay? It got pretty heavy back there.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured.

“I wasn’t asking for forgiveness,” Eddie admonished gently. “I was asking if you were okay.”

Steve sighed. “I guess I just had so many things bottled up that it all came out in a rush.”

“So talk to me,” Eddie said softly. “I know you think you can’t talk to anyone else because they’re all younger than you. But I’m not. So spill.”

Steve let out a long shuddering breath as if he had been holding it in for years.

“It’s just there have only ever been two adults involved in the whole Upside Down shit,” Steve murmured. “Well, there have been others, but either they haven’t been trustworthy or they’ve died. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m not bitter about Mrs Byers taking her family out to California and leaving me as the remaining adult.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie said softly. He hadn’t even thought about that. “That wasn’t right. I get she was trying to get Will and El as far away from Hawkins as she could, but considering the frequency of the U.D. coming back, it does seem selfish when looked at from your point of view.”

“El wasn’t the only one grieving Hopper’s death,” Steve spat out. “Why were only her feelings taken into consideration? Why was his funeral ‘a private family’ affair instead of one benefiting a hero where the whole town could attend? Why was El the first one that got to see him? Why did it take days before anyone else was informed?”

Eddie saw a shoulder and pulled off onto it, the Bimmer crunching the gravel as it slowed to a stop.

“It must have been so hard on you,” Eddie murmured. “You mentioned back at the diner that he always looked out for you and then suddenly he was gone and no one thought to ask you if you needed time to grieve, right?”

Steve nodded. “I just felt so stupid after it was announced that he was alive, you know? Like how dare I mourn someone who hadn’t even died. But I thought that once everything settled down we would get a chance to talk, but nope. He went off to California with the Byers. They’re supposed all be back before school starts, but who knows if that’s even true.”

“Steve it isn’t stupid you grieved,” Eddie murmured. “But I bet if you told him what you’ve been feeling, he’d pretty upset that he hurt you like that.”

Tears started streaming down Steve’s face. “I just want to be loved as much I love them, is that really too much to ask for?”

Eddie unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled him in for a hug. “Of course it’s not. And I don’t doubt if you stopped to really think about it you can name at least a half a dozen people who love you as much as you love them.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “I could probably fill up all ten of my fingers, if I was honest to myself.”

Eddie wiped away his tears. “There you have it, big boy. But it’s okay to cry and if you feel like you need to fall apart, call me. I’ll come over with beer, weed, and bad horror films to mock until you laugh.”

Steve wiped his nose on his arm. “You promise?”

Eddie leaned back far enough to hold up his pinkie. “I pinkie promise.”

Steve hooked his finger around Eddie’s and shook on it.

“You ready to face the road again?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. After a moment or two of silence, he spoke up. “You remember when ‘fake’ cried for Keith?” He used his fingers around the word fake to put it into air quotes.

Eddie, who was about to pull into traffic again, cut the engine. “Holy shit. It was Hopper, wasn’t it? That’s who you were remembering.”

Steve nodded. “It’s easy to cry when thinking about him, you know?”

“Because it’s new and even though he’s not dead, you never got your resolution?”

Steve nodded again. “I just feel so selfish about the whole thing, you know. He wasn’t my dad. I wasn’t related to him in anyway. But I thought I meant something to him, you know?”

Eddie turned the car back on and eased into traffic. “I’m sure you meant a lot to him, but there could be extenuating circumstances that prevented him from expressing that. Like I said before, I bet if you told him how you felt he’d be gutted.”

Steve just shrugged.

Eddie glanced over at him and then back at the road. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll tell Dustin about the time you flirted with his mom to get the brownie recipe.”

Steve’s went wide. “That was not flirting! I was just buttering her up a bit. That’s not the same thing.”

“Oh I know that,” Eddie said with a grin. “But would Dustin know the difference?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “You drive a hard bargain, Lord Eddie.”

Eddie giggled. “You know, sometimes I forget you like ‘Star Wars’, you just aren’t great with their titles.”

“The third one is my favorite, after all.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “So back when I was just little metalhead, dealing for the first time one of my best customers was the Chief.”

Steve blinked. “Oh wait, I think I did hear something about that. I’m surprised he wasn’t fired.”

Eddie shrugged. “He wasn’t up for re-election. Sheriffs are elected. And small town like Hawkins, change is difficult. Hop would have to straight up murder babies in town hall and smear their blood over the church walls to get people to not vote for him.”

Steve snorted. “I doubt even then. It would take him being soft on homosexuals before they ousted him.”

Eddie laughed. “You’ve got me there.”

Steve smiled at him.

“So,” Eddie continued, “the reason I bring it up is that despite what people think, I’ve never been arrested for dealing and Rick hadn’t either until Hop ‘died’.”

Steve straightened up in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Hop always said it was better to steer Rick away from certain places because he could,” Eddie said, “then it was to arrest him and have an all out war with the new supplier.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “That’s why Rick didn’t get arrested until Powell took over because he didn’t have the same philosophy that Hop did.”

“Right in one,” he said. “And it did get bad with people trying to fill the void he left behind. Uncle Wayne convinced to stop selling once I was out until Rick was released because I couldn’t trust the new suppliers not to cut their shit with something dangerous.”

“Holy shit, yeah,” Steve agreed. “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because Hop looked out for me, too,” Eddie said. “Especially when my old man rolled into town. He would make sure he got to the carnage first and made sure I never got a record.”

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “That makes since I always wondered why the police or Jason never brought up your arrest record. It’s because Hop made sure you never got one.”

“So this is me saying,” Eddie finished, “I get it. I get mourning him. Because in my own way I mourned him, too. Because between Hop and Uncle Wayne they made sure I could get out of Hawkins when the time came.”

“This is exactly why I pushed for a public funeral,” Steve grumbled, sinking back into his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t know who had the final say on that, but it makes me mad that just because they didn’t have a body people in town wouldn’t want to come see anyway. It blows.”

“Here’s that,” Eddie agreed.

Too soon they were pulling up the Nelsons’ and the sun was starting to set.

By silent agreement they both got out of the car and sat on Steve’s hood to watch the sunset in a beautiful array of blues and purples until the sky darkened and the stars came out.

“Thank you for today,” Steve murmured. “For all of it. Getting me out here, taking me to my grandmother’s grave, sitting with me when I talked to Uncle Percy. Helping me with my grief even though yours is far more fresh and painful than mine.”

“Grief is grief, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “You don’t get to decide when it heals over. You were there for me when my dad showed up, so I was more than happy to return the favor with your family.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve said.

“So...” Eddie said. “You want to tell me why you and your uncle weren’t keen to let your other uncle see you?”

Steve snorted. “He’s the one that was the most against my mom getting any kind of inheritance. He didn’t think she should have gotten anything because she was a girl child. He kept saying that she got her money in the form of the lavish wedding she had when she married my dad.”

He ran his fingers through his hair.

“He’s sued her at least three times that I know of. If he had seen me he would have started screaming about how my mom didn’t deserve that money and that I was just as complicit in its ‘theft’ as she was.”

“But he got the house or whatever it was, right?” Eddie asked.

He nodded. “Yeah and the two acres of land it sits on. If he were to sell it would go for at least a few million, easy.”

“I’ll bet,” Eddie said, whistling long and low. “Which means Percy got the business?”

“Which another thing that upset Uncle Jasper,” Steve said. “But Uncle Percy is the oldest and had the best business sense, but he can’t let it go that he thinks his siblings got the better deal.”

“I heard this quote once about how some people are content in life, but that others just can’t be. That they will always seek more. Nothing will ever be enough.”

“Uncle Jasper is definitely one of those.”

Penny poked her head out the front door. “Come on in, boys, it’s really getting late.”

Eddie and Steve stood up and walked back into the house, feeling lighter then they had since before March.

****

Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster @r0binscript @awkotaco24 @ilikeititspretty

[desideriumwriter]

hi! i'd like to ask a one shot on fred weasley where the reader is a pureblood slytherin (introverted, stubborn, etc) and they're in a secret relationship. one day their differences lead them to having a huge argument where their pride gets the best of them and they insult each other (about their hogwarts houses stereotypes, their families, blood status) saying the worst things.

thank you <33

this is my first request ever and i’m so excited! im not rlly sure how i feel abt it but i do hope this fits what you wanted! (900 words)

“I’m tired of us being a secret. I’m tired of being a secret.” Fred said as he closed the door behind him, locking you both in the potions classroom that was now abandoned and empty.

“What?” You scoffed.

“I can’t keep doing this. Hiding our relationship from everyone. Why can’t we just tell them?” He sighed.

“My family, they wouldn��t approve of it, you know that.” Your voice was small.

Your family’s views were strict and old fashioned. They were against wizards or witches and muggles being together, especially getting married and having children. They called anyone They saw and they’ve pushed those views on you ever since you were small.

It hurts to say but if they found out you were in a relationship with the type of person they weren’t fond of, someone like Fred Weasley. You’d be shamed and disowned in less than a minute.

“I don’t care what your family thinks! Why do you care so much about what they think?” Fred groaned. “We don’t have to tell them directly, we can tell other people, let your parents figure it out on their own. They can deal with it.”

“Fred. Our families are-”

“My family has said nothing but good things about you! Hell, George cares about you as much as I do! Yours can’t even return the favor.”

“What? You told your family about me?” Your face slightly dropped.

“Only George…” He trailed off.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” You spat, the awkward look on Fred's face was wiped off and replaced with anger.

“Deal? What bloody deal? You’re making it sound like this is some bet you took.” He scoffed.

“No! You know what I mean, we promised not to tell anybody.”

“That’s what I’m tired of! How many more times do I have to say it?”

“Fred..don’t you know what they’ll say about me?”

“You won’t be the only one getting talked about. This isn’t just about you!” Fred rubbed his face with his hands. “I should’ve listened to George. He was right.” He mumbled to himself. Your face slowly dropped.

“What?” You spoke quietly, all the volume in your voice had been washed away.

“When I first told George about you, he seemed offended that I could be in love with someone like you.” He spat.

“Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You were taken aback by his sudden change of tone.

“A slytherin. He didn’t think someone as bitter and stubborn and vile as you could love me.” His words stung like acid.

“And you’re not? Don’t you see how reckless and narrow-minded you can be with the things you do?”

The next few minutes were just the both of you taking stabs at each other. Insulting anything you could find one another. You both began to sound like broken records, repeating the same cruel things at each other.

“I’m choosing my own path in life, I’m not letting myself get pushed into something I don’t want to do.” At this point he was just spewing things out, biting back at you, you decided to do the same.

“You mean that little shop you want to open? With all your stupid trick candies? Have you even thought about how you’re going to get it, if you’ll even be allowed to sell things like that?”

“Well, it’s better than being like you and following in the footsteps of your mother.” He shook his head. You scoffed in disbelief.

“Don’t you dare compare me to her. You don’t know how hard it’s been for me. You don’t know what I’ve dealt with.”

“Oh of course, it must be so hard living in that giant mansion, getting everything you want handed on a silver plate.” He fake pouted and mocked a sad voice.

“I’ve worked for everything I have and I'm grateful for it. Have you ever?” He pointed a threatening finger at you.

“Working for it? By stealing and lying? At least I tell the truth.” You shot back.

“Then tell me why you refuse to let us be together in public.” Fred blurted out, you went silent.

“I’ve told you a million times, it’s my family-“

“No it isn’t! It isn’t about them anymore!” He shouted. “Are you embarrassed of me? You can’t be seen with a Weasley?”

“No! It’s not about you, it has nothing to do with you.” Your voice crackled, Fred only stepped back and sighed.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Y/N.” He ran his hands through his hair.

“I love you.” You blurted out, eyes beginning to water, tears filling them up. Fred was already crying, his teardrops hitting his robes and the floor.

“If you truly do, then you don’t in a way that I can understand.” He sniffled and began to turn away, heading for the door.

“Please don’t go. We can fix this, alright?” You cried as you clinged onto his wrist.

“Either you can stop being afraid and walk out there with your hand in mine,” Fred’s voice was stern as he began to give you his ultimatum. “Or I can leave, alone. And we’ll choose to believe nothing has ever happened between us.”

He stood there quietly while you searched to find the words, hot tears began to stream down your face. Freds eyes were only red and puffy now, his cheeks tearstained.

“I don’t…I don’t know. I can’t.” Your voice crackled as you shook your head weakly, giving an answer that you weren’t even sure of. He nodded weakly and tucked in his lips.

“Alright.” His voice was small. Defeated. Fred looked down for a moment, then brought his head back up and sniffled.

Fred gave you a pained smile. Then left, he didn’t even dare to look at you one last time. Shutting the door quietly.

[strxnged]

1k. (suggestive) misunderstandings, platonic. gn!reader.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Of all the questions you expected Kaveh the Architect to ask you on what you had supposed to be a first date, this was not among them. Indeed, being the juxtaposing type of question you’d expect any sane suitor to ask, it was flabbergasting, and you could hardly think of a reply to combat this. Your jaw dropped and you peered into his ruby eyes, searching the jewels for a saving clue.

“You can be honest,” he continued bewilderingly. “That’s why I wanted to properly meet you for coffee. So that we could talk like adults.”

No, of all the questions you anticipated coming from someone who had asked you to meet for coffee “as soon as possible,” bringing “just yourself,” this was not among them. But maybe it should have been. The urgent nature of it all may have been a clear enough indicator, had you paid attention. A bit awkwardly you realized how far off your assumptions about this all had been. To think that you’d thought he was trying to get into your pants. Taking you on a date first like an adult. Not asking you to coffee just to talk like one.

Finding no answers in his eyes, you settled your gaze on your joe and pondered. Then at last, with much less certainty than you had intended, you responded, “I… don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

You met his eyes. “I don’t hate you, moron.”

Kaveh visibly bristled. This was how you had expected him to look after you’d turned down his supposed sexual interest as planned. “I don’t buy it. After the way that you talk to me, how you’ve turned down my project ideas, how you talk about me to other people…”

There was much for you to unpack here, but the last point caught your own sense of urgency. Your mug came down onto the table harder than you meant. “I don’t talk about you to other people. What do you mean, how I talk about you to other people?”

“You know.”

“I don’t. Where is this coming from? Kaveh, what the hell?”

He swallowed and spoke with seemingly great effort. “Alhaitham said… that you said… you can’t bear to be around me.”

“Kaveh.”

“Yes?”

“Alhaitham isn’t people. Alhaitham is person. A person who has been known to enjoy messing with you.”

He hesitated, and then declared, “A lot of the stuff he says is true. Even if it’s utterly uncalled for.” Kaveh looked anywhere but at you. “Sorry. I just…”

You looked him up and down. Here, you’d thought he was all of the things he wasn’t. And here he thought you were all of the things that you were not. You let a short laugh slip, and then quickly covered your smile with your knuckle.

He spoke feebly and towards the cafe aisle instead of you. “I’m taking this seriously. I don’t want you to hate me. Can’t we talk about it?”

Oh, it was sweet, and ironic, and delightful, and hilarious.

“Yes, Kaveh. Let’s talk about it.”

He glanced at you and quickly away again, nodding. His avoidance of eye contact made you feel a bit bad, but for only a second. You wanted to get the truth out before you made any attempt at comforting the poor soul.

“I don’t hate you,” you continued. “I don’t even dislike you. I like your company and I think you’re marvelous and creative. I think—and this is what I told Alhaitham—I think that if I spent too much time with you, I’d become more engaged myself, and I’m just not ready for that change in my life. Or I wasn’t. I was too comfortable with the status quo.” You paused to sip your bitter coffee, trying to figure out the words for the rest of it.

“But my projects,” he said, “my project ideas, the ones you refused to help with.”

“You wouldn’t want to do those with little old me,” you replied, simply and honestly.  

“I really would.”

“No, Kaveh. You don’t understand. I’m not brilliant like you. I’m a materialist, a realist, a square-cut function-obsessed gadgeter. I don’t do pretty designs. I can’t contribute to—” You gestured as if his mind was splayed out as a galaxy of ideas before you. “—All that.”

He tilted his head, looking again keen and reactionary. 

“And I’m sorry,” you finally said, “for how… for how blunt I can be. And I know I can be mean. I swear it’s just the way I talk, it’s not—”

He cut you off. “So I’m not the one you hate?”

“What do you…” It was your turn to cock your head. 

“I mean…” He raised an eyebrow, not mockingly. “You’re just unhappy, aren’t you?”

You set your mug down and leaned your elbows onto the table. He looked intently back at you now. Like a friend. Like someone who cared about being hated by you, and someone who cared about you hating yourself.

You cleared your throat, grasping at the straws of a changed subject. “I thought this was gonna be a date, nitwit. Not a therapy session.”

“A date?” He looked horrified.

You laughed at his expression, feeling all sorts of relieved. “Good to know neither of us were looking for that.”

“Tell me: Why would I ask you on a date if I thought you hated me?”

“Oh, Kaveh.”

“That doesn’t make an inch of sense.”

“Speaking of inches. Are you sure you want those columns in that desert library design to be that thick? Why not just have a few more columns among the shelves?”

And as quickly as that, the fear and sensitivity in his face faded and was replaced by glowing defense of his idea. 

The supposed date turned into a shrewd planning convention and you watched the remaining tension leak from his fingertips as he gestured at his invisible designs in the air. You thought, yes, this is why I can’t bear to be around him. He’s so bright and alive. It burns my eyes.

But you were alive too, thanks to the warm late-night caffeine. And thanks also, perhaps, to the feeling that the conversation you had avoided earlier might come around again, and that you didn’t mind that. You didn’t mind the idea of more conversations with Kaveh.

author's note. i don't know, guys, i think i'm obsessed with being this guy's friend. and... yeah, this is sort of a vomit of words about how easily social signals are misinterpreted, especially when you're ANTISOCIAL like me. i'm fine though. do not worry.

consider reblogging or leaving a reply if you enjoyed.

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Please write something with this when u have time?

“What are you doing in my house?”

The villain, draped across the windowsill, regarded the hero with a coy look, as if the answer was obvious. “You left your window open.”

“That’s usually not an invitation,” the hero replied. They had moved one too many times because of uninvited visitors and the hero had just gotten used to this apartment. Often, they felt like they couldn’t win, no matter what. They felt like a failure, someone who couldn’t even secure their own home.

“I’m not searching for a fight.” The villain stepped into the living room, studying everything before their eyes found the hero. All together, they seemed quite peaceful. Observant. “I’m here on, well, you would call it a mission, I suppose.”

“Not interested, sorry.” The hero was getting sick of missions. Bridges falling down, subways derailing, buildings collapsing. Heroes die alone, they always do, and even though the hero wasn’t loving their job, death was a tad too far.

Still, every single mistake they made would be printed and posted. Every failure would come right back at them with an intensity that chewed on their spirit. They didn’t have time for therapy, so they felt themselves turn into a bitter human being.

In all honesty, did the hero deserve this? Probably…it’s easy to point and laugh at someone, even just for a second, so thinking about one’s own personal failures can become bearable. The hero had power, the hero had responsibility. Who deserved more to be blamed for failure than the most powerful being in the city?

“I’m just here because our sidekicks are friends, okay?” the villain said. They weren’t in costume and the hero didn’t see any weapons. As a civilian they looked quite nice. “They told me where you live. They’re worried about you. ”

The hero looked up from the pan they were cleaning. A failing villain was a win for the city and a failing hero was a catastrophe.

Hadn’t they done enough? Hadn’t they worked hard enough? Hadn’t they saved enough people? When was it their turn to be satisfied?

“My sidekick doesn’t know where I live. Safety protocol,” the hero said. The villain’s ears turned red and they cleared their throat.

Their eyes were glued to the floor. A rather futile attempt to hide their lie.

“Okay, well…it’s still true. They’re worried about you. You’re overworking yourself. They said you’re in danger.”

“And you wanted to come and save me?” the hero asked. Their chuckle was as insincere as it could get. “How cool is that? I’m getting saved by the villain.”

Silence. Only the siren of an ambulance far away cut through it.

“I’m not a saviour,” the villain said finally. They walked towards the hero who was more or less done with cleaning the dishes. “The morality of it is…confusing to me.”

“It’s quite simple, actually. All of it is a trolley problem and no matter what you do or how many people you save, people will prattle and hate and blame you,” the hero sneered, letting their sponge fall into the dirty dishwater. At the end of the day, not doing anything might be better.

“Maybe you need a vacation.”

“Vacation? You’re funny.” The hero laughed humourlessly yet again. They hadn’t been on vacation for what? Five years now? Having the luxury of a vacation was an insane thought.

Sometimes they thought this decadence of their character made them unendurable enough to turn themselves into a villain.

“It’s okay to find out that your dream sucks,” the villain said softly. They were hesitant as they put a hand on the hero’s shoulder. “It’s okay to find out that what you’ve always wanted isn’t what you expected and that it’s not the right thing for you.”

The hero didn’t find that so funny. They looked up at their enemy, the person they had sworn to fight and hate.

“It’s okay to be dissatisfied and tired. It’s okay to hate what you’re doing. It’s not okay to hold onto that, though.”

“I have a responsibility.”

“Yes,” the villain said. “The responsibility to take care of yourself. You’re falling apart and I am not a saviour. I can’t save you from yourself. I can only challenge you to do better. So, do better. Be better and start taking care of yourself instead of everyone else.”

The hero had the tiny suspicion that the villain wasn’t doing this for their sidekick’s sake.

@avvail thank you for the prompt hihi

[beauty-and-passion]

Lore Olympus: a superficial vision of Greek Mythology

Hello again,

here we are with the third and last post about Lore Olympus. New post (posts?) will come when the story is over, but this is my last one for now.

This post will be about the main characters of the story: Hades, Persephone and Demeter. The story is about them after all, right? Right?

These three aren’t just the protagonists of the story: they are also the sum of all the problems we talked about: they’re badly written, they’re a waste of potential and they’re insulting to Greek mythology - and everyone’s intelligence.

But let’s talk about them in detail.

_______________________________

Hades: boring rather than mysterious

Hades isn't exactly an easy character to write. According to the myth, Hades is serious, dark and gloomy - and of course he is, he should be the representation of death!

In addition to that, he's not exactly a positive figure. In the original myth, he kidnapped Persephone and when Demeter asked for her daughter back, Hades tricked Persephone into eating a pomegranate. The pomegranate was considered a fruit of the underworld and whoever ate it, could not leave the underworld anymore - so he found a way to have her around, at least for half of the year.

So nope, he wasn’t exactly the good guy here.

However, Hades is also one of the very few gods/mythological figures who is mostly faithful to his wife: he had just a few lovers, compared to the billions of lovers other gods had.

That could be used to portray him as an introverted guy, who isn’t able to find the love of his life - at least until he meets Persephone.

Or it can be used to make him even more intimidating: he’s the god of the dead after all, so people can be rightfully scared of him. And he would grow bitter and dark, because of the constant rejection. This could lead to a sort of Beauty-and-the-Beast remake, in which he slowly learns how to improve, thanks to Persephone’s acceptance.

Or it can be a way to show him for who he is: a dark, gloomy figure no one can accept because he’s linked to death and only someone who deals with the cycle of nature can understand. (Guess which idea I like more.)

Hades can be very interesting. He has A LOT of potential.

But Lore Olympus doesn’t exploit it. Hades is rich in the most boring way, just like any modern American capitalist could be. He owns stuff and people and doesn’t care about anything and anyone, starting from his dogs that appear only when the story needs them, to his godson or whatever Thanathos was supposed to be.

In addition, Mrs. Smythe tries so hard to make us sympathize with Hades by giving him a ton of traumas. But we never delve deeper: I don’t care about Hades’ childhood, I don’t care about his resemblance to his father, I don’t care about his supposed abusive relationship with Minthe. I. Just. Don’t. Care.

And this is bad. He’s the male protagonist, I should care about him! But I don’t. I don’t remember a single moment involving him. He's incredibly bland, for someone with all these issues going on.

This is one of the biggest proofs of amateur writing: in order to make a character interesting, you add as many things as possible. And so Hades has stuff and problems and everything, but it’s all words. It’s telling and not showing. All of his threads are not developed and do not reach any point.

Do you know what Mrs. Smythe could’ve done instead? She had two possible choices:

1) To spend time on Hades’ character and his personal growth (and focus the story on him and not on a shit ton of other characters).

2) To make him a simpler character. No character needs 200 traumas and 300 quirks to be interesting. And considering we’re talking about fucking Hades, we don’t need much else. He’s the god of the underworld, what else do you need? Mrs. Smythe could’ve focused on his role only and it would’ve been a great story already.

But nope, we got a rich, old guy swooning over a young, naive kid like everyone else does in this boring story.

_______________________________

Persephone: over-perfection

Persephone is never allowed to be a character in this story. She cannot have flaws. She is always nice, the nicest, the most perfect girl in the world. All the other girls are bad and mean, but not her. She is and she will always be nice.

But then, oh, she starts talking about "a feeling" inside her: a super vague-y feeling that made her angry.

And I had a feeling inside me too: the feeling that this would lead to some bullshit.

We reach the end of act one, by finding out about Persephone's act of wrath. Helios' version is: Persephone got angry because the humans were killing her friends (friends she never mentioned and will never mention, but let’s pretend it makes sense), so she killed the humans in return.

Okay, so Persephone can get angry. She can be vengeful. She can make mistakes and be flawed. Wow, that’s interesting! I can’t wait to see how she will talk about these feelings inside her and I want to see the contrast between them and her need to be perfect. We will see her regret and her growth, because she did something terrible despite harmless humans begging her to stop and she will learn from her mistakes...

Nah nah nah, none of that. First of all, we should justify Persephone because clearly this is the right thing to do: justify a bad character.

Do you want to know what the truth is? The humans weren't begging as Helios thought, by they were mean to Persephone: bo-hoo, poor little goddess, she's just a fucking goddess after all while they were humans, she's clearly the perfect target for bullies.

Also, it wasn't her who did her act of wrath, it was the feeling inside her! The feeling made her do it!

This is the epitome of immature, horrible writing: justifying the bad actions of a character at all costs. It's a bit like saying that, idk, Voldemort murdered a lot of people, but only because they were mean to him and because he was surrounded by bad people who made him do it - otherwise, he would've been the nicest guy ever. That's bullshit, that's idiotic, that strips the character of their responsibilities because the author is very biased and doesn't want to see flaws in their perfect creation.

Because of that, Persephone's flaws disappeared again. She isn't bad, it's the thing inside her (that is not her and we see it reconfirmed over and over) that made her bad! She is perfect! She is the purest!

I hated this. This is the biggest proof that the author is immature, inexperienced and immensely biased. Persephone had her chance to finally be something more than a smile and a pretty body but nope, once again she was nothing more than a bidimensional cardboard.

But that's not all. The constant reconfirmation that Persephone had "a feeling" inside her, that "it wasn't her doing this" was still pushing in the back of my head. My bullshit senses were tingling more than ever.

And then, we reached the fucking trial.

A trial that doesn't make any sense because, even if Zeus trusted Helios' version of the story (i.e. Persephone got angry because the humans were killing her friends, so she killed them in return), this whole thing isn't worth a trial. I mean, the gods did worse stuff for a lot less: for example, Hera and Athena were so pissed at Paris for the story of the golden apple, to welcome the Trojan War and take sides, despite Zeus telling everyone to not interfere. And speaking of Zeus, what about when the gods tried to overthrow him? He punished Hera and a couple of other gods, but didn't make a whole ass trial.

But okay, fine, this is a retelling and the gods are a lot more tamed, compared to their original selves. A trial is needed. We may see Persephone fighting for her version to prove to everyone she is Little Miss Perfect. Maybe we will have the immensely boring clichè of the Unexpected Witness we see in every stupid movie, when the lawyer suddenly says, look, they found a witness hidden until now who saw everything! And Persephone is perfect as always!

But nope, we got something much, much stupider.

Instead of the clichè of the Unexpected Witness, we got a walking plot device, who appeared Because Yes, moved the conversation where the author needed Because Yes and delivered the answer of a plot point. Because Yes.

Hear me out: Persephone isn’t a flawed character, how dare you think she is less than perfect? She is Perfection Incarnate and her act of wrath wasn’t her doing this, but Eris making her do it.

Why? Because, when Persephone was born, while other gods blessed her with perfection, Eris blessed her with a “feeling”, i.e. wrath. And this is the reason why she becomes angry: not because it’s a normal feeling and it would make sense that she can experience it, but because of Eris.

No, I'm not making this up and yes, it’s a fucking Sleeping Beauty rip-off. Only worse and more stupid, because it doesn’t acknowledge that Persephone might be flawed like every other character. She is the absolute fucking best forever and ever.

In case you’re wondering: no, this isn’t good writing. That’s the exact opposite of good writing - and the opposite of logical sense too.

Do you want to know what we could've had instead? What about a Persephone who has a real dark side? A goddess who spent so much time trying to appear as the perfect daughter, to grow anger and bitterness inside her? A goddess who, when her friends died, reached a breaking point and let out years of repressed frustration? A goddess who isn’t perfect and not because of Eris, but because she is a gray character?

I would've loved to see it. And it would’ve been great for the romance too: instead of the typical "dark gloomy Hades finds love in the sunny happy Persephone", we could've seen the other way around: a dark Persephone who finds her soulmate in the darkness of Hades.

_______________________________

Persephone: over-sexualized in the wrong way

Persephone started being sexualized since her first appearance. Not only because Hades stared at her like a fucking creep, but especially because her friend gave her a dress so short to barely cover her boobs and ass. Considering that Artemis is taller than Persephone, my question is: are we sure this was a dress and not an oversized top?

So the female protagonist has been introduced with a feeling of awkwardness and embarrassment, because she is wearing something she doesn't feel at ease with. The first thing we learn about her is that she doesn't like to show too much skin. And, over time, she reconfirms that.

However, we also see her frequently half-naked or almost naked. And this rubs me the wrong way.

Why? Because it has been clearly stated that Persephone is extremely young. She's barely an adult - if you consider 19 years old like "being an adult". And the time skip was so stupid and useless, I didn’t even realize there was a time skip, because she STILL looks like a teen.

Her physical connotations are also accentuated to be the same as a child: round face, big round eyes, very tiny figure. She literally looks like a child in some drawings and that rubbed me even more wrong. Making a youthful character is one thing, making a fucking baby is a different one.

And if we think about it, the first time she and Hades met, she wasn't even wearing clothes, but pure light. And I’m not even sure she was 18, so... bleurgh. Just imagine a naked adolescent on top of an 80-year-old man. Or even just a 50-year-old man. I don’t know you, but I find it fucking disgusting.

And the more the story goes on, the more we see her sexualization. Persephone’s boobs are so big that, if they were real, she would have some serious back pains. Her ass is huge as well and her figure went from a simple hourglass to a literal hourglass, with huge hips and an impossibly tiny waist.

However, this isn't inherently a bad thing... If this goes along with Persephone wanting to be more sexualized. If we saw Persephone wanting to show her skin, to be sexy, to do alluring poses, to be naked, there would be nothing wrong with showing her like this. The art would match the character's desires. And there's nothing wrong if a character (or someone in real life) just wants to be sexier or to show more skin.

But Persephone never wants to. We never see her saying/thinking or even trying to be sexier. She vaguely thinks about it, but everything is kept in a façade of family-friendlyness (despite the, well, almost naked scenes). She never wants to show too much skin, yet she always shows her skin to everyone.

That's not interesting, that's not character growth, that's not even sexy. That's just sad. And, as a woman myself, I do not like to see women being forced into nakedness without wanting it.

_______________________________

Demeter: incoherence to its finest

In all of this mess, Demeter is treated like a manipulative mother. Why, do you ask? Because Yes, of course!

Let’s just ignore that, in the myth, Demeter is not a manipulative mother, but a simple worried and angry mother, whose daughter got fucking kidnapped and she could not find her. Let’s close both eyes and accept that Demeter is manipulative. Okay? Okay.

Now please tell me when we see her being manipulative, besides the stupid “eclipse” episode in act 3. We always saw her being worried and protective of her daughter, but not manipulative.

And even the overprotectiveness isn’t handled well. If Demeter is so overprotective, then why did she never call, when Persephone was at Artemis’ house? Why did she never pay them more than one visit? Why did she never give Persephone a phone? She could’ve used it to track her every move and call her daily.

But she did not, because she was not an overprotective mother. Her actions were not overprotective, but the simple actions of a worried mother.

But then I suppose Mrs. Smythe needed a villain to start act 3, so Demeter changed and became overprotective and manipulative Because Yes.

The problem is that it’s still by words. I still do not see an evil, manipulative mother. All I see is a mother who has every right to be worried, because Hades is an asshole and Zeus is an even bigger asshole and because patriarchy wins in this “feminist” retelling.

But hey, she’s bad because the plot says so and because Mrs. Smythe needed a villain, so let’s hate her... even though she has all the right to be worried. And even thought most of the time, all she said is perfectly logic and reasonable.

Also, let’s not forget how Mrs. Smythe mistreated her, by taking away a lot of her power and influence. The real Demeter is an insanely powerful goddess, she controls the cycle of seasons and fertility all over the earth. When her daughter disappeared, she basically let everything die. Zeus was forced to intervene and find an agreement, otherwise Demeter would’ve ended life on the planet.

The most powerful thing this Demeter does is put a stupid embargo that Hades and Persephone bypass in 30 seconds. Do you see what I mean when I say that these gods are much more tamed compared to their original counterparts?

Also, this Demeter was used by Zeus for sex with the promise of becoming a queen, which is

disgusting

still part of this weird obsession for sex, rape and sexual assaults

disrespectful towards the mythological goddess, who didn’t give a fuck about the throne because when you’re already this powerful you don’t need much else.

_______________________________

In conclusion

A story is nothing without good characters and Lore Olympus doesn’t have any: Hades is a ball of nothing, Persephone is so perfect she makes me puke, Demeter doesn’t make any sense and when she does, everyone treats her like a villain.

And I know I said I don’t want to talk about act 3, but the whole Eleusian kid is such a bullshit it deserves at least one mention. What’s the moral of the whole thing supposed to be? That if you know the right people, even death isn’t a problem? That nepotism always win? That Demeter doesn’t give a shit about Persephone, but she was just projecting?

What an absolute waste of time, what an absolute disrespect to Greek mythology and life in general. Death is never underestimated in Greek myths: as I said in my first post, Greek myths are supposed to offer explanations for things humans cannot understand and there isn’t a force as strong and as impenetrable as death. Death is unstoppable and impossible to overcome and it’s treated as such in Greek myths: no one escapes death and the exceptions are few and rare.

So changing a story to make a character escape death is the ultimate proof Mrs. Smythe didn’t understand the Greek myths in general and the myth of that character in particular, because that kid

wasn’t Demeter’s son

died in his myth because death is not a swinging door you can cross whenever and whatever you want

And speaking of Demeter: what this story is supposed to tell me, about her? That she doesn’t care about Persephone so much? The same Demeter, who in Persephone’s myth was grieving her child and because of her sadness, she almost ended life on Earth? The same Demeter, who refused to do anything, until Zeus intervened?

Or maybe Rachel wants to tell me that a mother’s love is finite and you can either love one child or the other? In that case, I really hope this woman has no children at all.

Portraying Demeter as this shitty mother is beyond disrespectful. In the original myth, her love is what changed the cycle of life and death forever. It’s because she fought for Persephone, that she didn’t get stuck in the underworld forever with her kidnapper. It’s because of Demeter’s love, that life blossomed again after the winter.

Lore Olympus is disrespectful towards the original material. And if I find it a waste of potential as a reader and a badly written story as a writer, as a Greek I am just sad. Sad because I’ve already seen a lot of rewritings and this one isn’t as original as I hoped. It doesn’t give me that tingle of pride and joy, it doesn’t make my imagination work. When I read it, I don’t think: “Oh, I remember this figure! And this myth! Can’t wait to see how it will be developed!”. I think: “Oh wow, another clichè. Oh, come on, what kind of solution is that?! That’s just too stupid to handle”.

That’s just sad to see part of your cultural heritage being mistreated. And I feel bad as Italian too, because Romans treated these gods and stories with respect, not by doing stupid, soulless rewrites. I feel insulted 

So, do you want a rewrite that doesn’t seem as sad as Lore Olympus? Then check Punderworld. It’s still going on, so it could end up being shitty too, but for now, I think it’s much better than Lore Olympus and much more interesting.

Just an example: the author knows about Hades’ invisibility cloak. That’s something small, sure, but that’s promising. And, at least for now, seeing Hades and Persephone talking about the cycle of life and death is much, much more interesting than “I’m a fertility power battery”, “Bring me Hera because now I’m obsessed with her for no reason”, “I’m such a stupid villain all I can do is cling to other gods because I want power Because Yes”.

So check that and check other rewritings too! Luckily Lore Olympus isn’t the only one: there are a ton of rewritings, both old and new ones. You will find a better one in no time.

And if you enjoy Greek Mythology, then read the original myths too. You will find complex personalities, human flaws, metaphorical stories and much more. After all, there’s a reason why these myths survived the passage of time and they’re still so well known and so beloved despite being so old.

Thank you all so much for your time and thank you for reading these posts.

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(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

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[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt4

(Summary): After your sudden disappearance from the face of Tevyat, some people take the time to discuss their next move

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Nahida, Venti, abyss prince!Aether, traveler!Lumine, Paimon

(Warnings): Not proof read, characters might be ooc

(A/n): I didn’t think a lot of people would enjoy this little idea, but hey I love writing stories and I hope you guys enjoy the rest that I have planned out

∘◦ ✧ ◦∘ means flashback

─────────── ✧ ───────────

It’s been a few weeks after your detainment and escape things have changed at the Dawn Winery, the once cheery mood you brought was now replaced with one of bitterness

The entire household have refrained from bringing up any mention of you so to not upset anyone, especially the master of the house

He’s taken up to locking himself in his study, completely drowning himself in work. It’s gotten to the point where the servants would urge him to eat a proper dinner instead of the small meals he would request sparingly

It looked like today would be just like that until a servant Moco announced that Diluc had a visitor

“Hello Diluc.” Kaeya said as he waved while leaning on the doorframe

“Agghhhh! Leave, I’m in no mood to deal with you!” Diluc grunted

“Aww don’t be like that, is it so wrong to see how my dear brother is doing?” The blue haired hand said as he sauntered towards his brother’s desk

“If I entertain you for 5 minutes will you leave?”

“Make it 10, then I’ll leave.”

“Fine…”

“So how have you been doing?”

“Good, I suppose. The knights have came to my door multiple times but haven’t but haven’t arrested me yet.” Diluc explains as he leans back on his chair. “I figure I should thank you for that.”

“I’ve been trying to explain that you don’t pose a threat to anyone, but ever since the failed execution and the traveler’s betrayal everyone’s been really tense.” Kaeya leans in towards Diluc. “Apparently the Creator is going crazy just looking for them.”

“By ‘them’ I assume you mean Mentir? If you’re here to get any information on their whereabouts then I can’t help you.” Diluc crossed his arms. “But I would assume you know their location when you were the one who aided in their escape.”

The cocky smirk on Kaeya’s face still held on but a slight panic flashed in his eye

“Whatever do you mean, dear brother?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Diluc asserted as he got out of his seat and was eye to eye with his brother. “I know you helped Mentir along with someone else!”

Kaeya’s face fell flat and began to make his way towards the window

“Throwing accusations that severe, are dangerous Diluc,” Kaeya feigned as he threw the curtains, after drenching the study in darkness he walked towards the door. “with how things have been, one wrong comment could cost someone their reputation or worse their life. He continued as he opened the door and looked down the hallway to see if someone was listening in. Seeing no one, he closed the door and locked it from the inside

Kaeya walked back to his previous spot and looked Diluc with a serious expression that is rarely seen

“I remember we always used to try to listen in on dad’s conversations but never heard a sound, I’m pretty sure I could yell at the top of my lungs and no one would hear.” The captain commented

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m just letting you know my appreciation for the soundproofing of this room.”

“That has nothing to do with you abetting the escape of a criminal!”

“Isn’t referring to Mentir as a ‘criminal’ a bit too harsh, I would assume you would call them something a lot nicer considering you opened your home to them.”

Diluc harrowed his eyes at Kaeya, getting ready to summon is claymore if need be

“Think about it, why would you a social recluse, let a stranger into your home who you just met in the forest at night?” Kaeya said as his movements became increasingly more genuine, a complete contrast from his controlled and practiced movements he would do when interrogated people for information. “Unless, their was something about them that felt familiar to you, an aura they radiated that you experienced before…” Kaeya put his hands on the desk and leaned in towards the redhead on the other side. “Like when you were used as a vessel…”

“Are you implying that Mentir is the Creator?!” Diluc spat back, his body language getting more visibly tense

“I’m not implying, I’m downright saying it.”

“If you knew Mentir was the Creator? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Their name is (y/n) and I thought you wouldn’t want any information from a ‘heathenistic Khaenri’ahn spy’ dear brother.”

“Is you dropping this bomb on me the reason why you’re here?”

“I’m here to ask if you know the whereabouts of their Grace.”

“I don’t know, as I said before I would assume you have some idea on their general whereabouts.”

“That was the plan, Lumine was supposed to contact me when she found a safe place for them.”

“I could report you to the knights for spouting such blasphemous claims and conspiring against this ‘faker’ as you so claim.”

“Hehe. I know you won’t do that, want to know why? Because I know you and your sense of justice wouldn’t let you live with you turning me in.” Kaeya explained as he got up and walked towards the door before stopping and turning to Diluc. “And most of all, you don’t want to get rid of the remaining family you have left. Because no matter what we have between us, we’ll always be brothers. Least that’s what I think.”

As Kaeya walked out the door Diluc was left alone in complete darkness and with his thoughts

A truly awful combination

─────────── ✧ ───────────

In the neighboring of Liyue, two archons walk through Tianqiu Valley. The oldest and youngest of the Seven walk side by side admiring the scenery the region has to offer

“Your nation is magnificent, Mora.”

“Thank you, Buer. I’ve formed this nation into what their Grace would’ve liked.”

“What was the Creator like, before they died?”

“They were an amazing person, they had a wisdom and philocaly that I haven’t seen in any other being.”

∘◦ ✧ ◦∘

“Your Grace! Yahoo!” A high pitched voice called out

You turn your head to see Barbatos waving towards you and Morax

“Barbatos! How are you?” You gave the god a bright smile that rivaled the brightest of stars

“Wonderful, thank you very much.”

Morax scoffed at the laidback nature the wind god would often have when addressing you, seeing the behavior as childish at best and sacrilegious at worst. But you gave a little chuckle showing no contempt

“I see you brought your lyre, do you have a song you want to play?” You asked

“Why yes, your Grace! I actually wrote a song just for you.” Barbatos spoke

The deity readied his lyre and became playing his tune with the upmost care and passion. His fingers pluck the strings with grace he rarely shows

Once the ballad ends the smaller god looked at you expectantly

“Barbatos, that was lovely!”

“I don’t know why you entertain such foolishness, your Grace.”

“Don’t be like that Morax. Everything on this planet is beautiful in its own way.” You held your hand up as a crystal fly began to land on a finger. “Even from the most vibrant gardens to the moss that grows on rocks.” The crystal fly fluttered its wings as it flew away.

“Everything has a right to exist how it wants to exist.” You said as you watched the creature flying further out of sight

∘◦ ✧ ◦∘

“The sadness in their eyes is something that will never leave me no matter how long I’ll live.” Zhongli ended

“Ohh…” Nahida said as she looked down. “They seem to be very different from that, person.”

“They truly are but there is another reason why I called for you.”

Zhongli extended his hand and a petal appeared out of thin air. The petal didn’t appear to resemble any of the fauna native to Teyvat, it was light gold color and looked to be it was just plucked from the flower

A bright light blinded Nahida, shielded her eyes from the intense brightness

“You can open your eyes, Buer.” Zhongli spoke

Following his instructions, Nahida opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of a massive library. The shelves nearly reached the tall ceiling, all containing books of multiple formats, including hardcovers, scrolls, stone tablets, you name it

“This domain once belonged to our Grace, but fell into mine and your hands when they fell.” Zhongli explained as he ushered Nahida to follow him. “In your previous form, you helped collect manuscripts pertaining to the Creator.”

“This collection much be very extensive, it puts the library at the House of Daena to shame. I would love to read at least a percentage from here!”

“Thank you, Buer. Once this issue has been resolved you’ll be free to read anything from here.”

Nahida was a bit too excited to notice Zhongli stopped walking and bumped into him. She took a step back and saw what the two were standing in front of

A door with an unknown symbol on the front of it

“What’s behind this door?” The dendro archon asked

“I don’t know, we’ve tried to open it but to no avail. The door was here when I first came here. I was hoping if there’s anything in the Akademiya that would give us some insight on how to open the door.”

“I’ll see what I can find. I do hope that we can see what this door is hiding.”

─────────── ✧ ───────────

The months in the abyss changed you, the once scared outlander transformed into a resilient fighter, both physically and emotionally.

You mastered sword fighting thanks to the training you had with Lumine. Once getting little nicks every time you and the traveler exchange blows, now someone who can keep up with her

Along with that one could say you radiated the same level of command your doppelganger had, but the thing that separated you from them is your compassion

You treated everyone as your equal, never holding your authority over the heads of everyone else. You showed respect even to the hilichurls and mages, never dreamed of raising a hand to anyone who displeased you (as if anyone would ever try)

“(Y/n)!” A high pitched voice brought you out of your thoughts

You turned around to see Paimon and the twins following close behind

“We’ve been looking for you all over the

“Paimon can you stop calling the Creator by their name, it’s very disrespectful.” Aether reprimanded

“It’s fine, I prefer it if you use my name anyway.” You explained

The floating fairy looked at Aether with a smug grin on her face

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” You asked

“Ahem! Well I came to see how you’re adjusting to life here, I can be very hard on those who just came from the surface.”

“I’m doing great actually, I wasn’t expecting to get used to being here this quickly.”

“That’s good to hear, I heard from Lumine that your training is coming along nicely.”

“Well, what can I say? When I have the renowned traveler teaching me.”

“Ohh stop it, you pick up the sword very quickly I ran out of things to teach you.” Lumine said trying to hide the blush creeping up on her face

“Lumine’s right, it’s almost like you wielded a sword before and were really good at it.” Paimon added

“You think so, hopefully I’m quick to learn abyssal magic.”

“I don’t think that would possible?” Aether said

“Why is that?” Lumine asked

“Because abyssal magic is a lot more complicated to control than the 7 elements, it would be easier if you learn said elements first.” The prince explained

“Really…?” You said as you stroked your chin. “Okay, then let’s get to learning the elements.”

“Uh, do you know what that would look like? It would mean that you would have to go and be out of the abyss.” Aether advised

“I can’t stay here forever, and I certainly can’t let that tyrant go punished. And besides…” You clasps your hands behind your back and leaned in towards the blond guy. “I’ll have you and Lumine with me!”

“WHAT?!”

─────────── ✧ ───────────

Tags

@tartarsaucechi1de @chuuya-brainrot

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[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 27- Snow

Warnings: getting together, only one bed trope except I as the author provided 2 beds and they do it to themselves, Canada (which was supposed to be realistic but comes across as satire. No judging me unless you are also Canadian), some 18+ implications but nothing happens

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k (i went crazy :/)

A/N: Honestly I've either made up or researched everything I've put in a fic about America so it was a nice change to just Know Things (although I am not from the province where this takes place). Also in my mind this is a continuation to Day 9- Pine

Once again, bonus points if you can figure out which Taylor Swift song I was listening to when writing this

Cases have taken you all over the country, face to face with some of the worst serial killers that America has ever seen. Much less often, they take you to Canada.

Specifically, in the case of a psychopath who skipped borders after killing in two states almost a decade ago and resumed his killing spree further north now, they occasionally take you to the middle of Nowheresville, Saskatchewan, Canada. In the dead of winter.

“Hey, folks.” The chief of police greets you all- well, most of you, since Rossi and Prentiss are already out on the field- with a friendly wave, shaking Hotch’s hand. “Chief McCartney. Sorry to make y’all take a trip up here, but we sure can use the help.”

“The FBI has been searching for the unsub for some time,” Hotch answers as their hands part. “The case has been assumed cold for several years by the Bureau, so we’re grateful you reached out. Two of my agents are at the latest crime scene already.”

“Where should we set up?” JJ asks, and the chief leads you to a conference room. “And, er, speaking of cold…”

You’re all very cold, just from the drive from the airstrip to the station. You’d seen people snowmobiling past the road, and JJ had marvelled aloud wondering how they could bear to be out in this weather. It’s not surprising that she’s the first one to bring up the chilly air in the precinct with her parka still zipped up to her chin.

McCartney snaps his fingers like he’s remembered something important. “Y’all must be freezing, eh? Let me rustle up a space heater, get you nice and toasty.”

The fact that he’s wearing a button-down shirt and a light jacket isn’t lost on any of the experienced profilers in the room. “You’re not cold?” Derek asks, half in disbelief. “Man, I grew up in Chicago and I can’t feel my toes right now.”

“We hit minus 30’s a few weeks back,” McCartney says, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of it. Guess we’re all used to it around here by now.”

“Minus…” You glance at Spencer, who’s locked and loaded with an answer.

“Negative 30 degrees Celsius is about negative 22, Fahrenheit,” he reports. “I’d estimate we’re closer to negative 31 degrees Farenheit, though.”

“He’s smart. Windchill’s pushing us a little under,” McCartney confirms. “I’ll go get that space heater. Y’all settle in, and I’ll have one of my officers bring over the files ASAP.”

You ‘settle in’ as best you can, poring over the case with your team while wrapped in thick sweaters and cradling to-go cups of coffee. They’re branded with the Tim Hortons logo from the traveller case that one of the officers brings for you along with the files and a box of donut holes labelled ‘Timbits’. The space heater sits in the corner of the room, slowly bringing the space to a temperature that you’re all used to.

Hotch takes the first sip of his coffee without adding anything into it, his face screwing up at the taste. “It’s not too good when it’s black,” the officer tells him. “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Try a double double, it’s way better.”

“Here, I’ve got it.” You take Hotch’s coffee from him, adding in two little packets of sugar and two creamer cups while he watches you. “Better?” He stirs it and takes a sip, deliberating.

The second sip must be miles better than the first. “It’s not as bitter. I think that’s all I can ask for,” he murmurs while he takes a seat next to you, and you smirk.

He’s wearing the same quarter-zip that made an appearance when you went to Alaska, and he seems relatively warm. Lucky him. The less-built members of your team, particularly JJ and Spencer, have rosy cheeks and keep sticking their hands in their pockets to warm them. Poor Spencer goes through several cups of coffee in mere hours, a weak attempt to warm himself from the inside out.

Nearing the end of the day, you all pack up your things. There haven’t been any more murders today, but the information gleaned from the crime scenes helps you add to the profile. The unsub has a pattern of striking each week, probably to gauge how close the investigation is to catching him during the cooldown period, and he hasn’t strayed from the pattern since resurfacing.

You trudge to the hotel across the street from the police station- this town is so tiny that you don’t think it’s made up of anything other than a main street and rows of suburbia housing- in the pitch-black, wind whistling by your ears and freezing them. The sun went down several hours ago even though it’s only nearing seven PM, and the dark doesn’t lift anyone’s spirits.

“Get some rest,” Hotch says while he hands out room keys in the hotel lobby, speaking over the sound of chattering teeth. It’s more of an order than a request. “We’re at the station bright and early tomorrow, and I want you all rested and ready to work.”

The room key in your hands leads you down a hallway to a door that you unlock right as Hotch turns the corner. “119, right?” He clarifies, and you nod. “Alright. You’re with me.”

“Sounds good.” Your voice sounds cool and even, and you’re sort of proud of yourself for keeping it together after finding out that you’re sharing a hotel room with your very kind, very attractive boss. You’ve shared a room with him before, but it’s a battle of willpower to appear normal every time.

The hotel room is decently nice, and it’s warmer than you expected. Two queen-sized beds share a nightstand, and there’s a desk with a coffeemaker on it pressed up to the wall next to the TV. It’s a standard hotel room, a setup you’re familiar with. The heater under the window is whirring, filling the room with blissfully warm air- almost too warm- that has you shedding your jacket as Hotch sets his go bag on one bed and his briefcase on the desk.

“No working,” you remind him, your tone as scolding as it is light-hearted. “Bright and early, remember?”

Hotch snorts at that, then takes off his quarter-zip sweater. “We’ll be six bitter coffees deep before the sun comes up,” he says, but you struggle to hear a single word out of his mouth when you see his biceps through the thin white material of his shirt. He’s been covered up all day, and you haven’t hit your daily quota of staring at his arms.

It’s been a hard day, particularly for that reason.

“I’m going to shower,” Hotch says after a moment, discarding his fleece on the desk chair. He picks up his go bag, and the bathroom door closes behind him a moment later.

By the time he re-enters, wearing flannel pajamas pants and a white shirt, you’re fiddling with the heater. It seems to be broken, and when you turn the dial to blow cold air in the room it only seems to come out a few degrees cooler.

“The blanket’s really heavy,” you warn as he gets into his own bed. You can’t believe you’re overheating at negative-a-million degrees, but the combined weight of the duvet and warm air blowing steadily into the room is reminiscent of falling asleep in Arizona rather than the snowy north. “Something’s wrong with the heater.”

“I’ll try to manage,” he responds with a dry smile before pulling the blanket over himself. It lands on him with a solid sound, thick duvet against chest, and a soft ‘oof’, and you count to three in your head before he says, “Okay, you were right.’

“Aren’t I always?” You pull your own duvet down when you get into bed, leaving yourself covered with the top sheet of the bedspread. He stays underneath his blankets, not shifting them while you reach out and turn the lamp off.

Falling asleep has never been so difficult. Without the thick duvet, you’re curled into a ball within five minutes when the slightly colder air fills the room. With it, you’re sweating so much that it’s a wonder you aren’t sliding right off the bed. One leg pokes out from under the heavy covers, but it feels like the only part of your body that’s at a closer-to-normal temperature while the rest of you overheats. You toss and turn, falling asleep briefly every once in a while for maybe ten minutes at a time.

It’s a little embarrassing, actually. Your blanket and sheet are lifted and shifted so many times that you have to hope you aren’t waking Hotch up, even when you move as quietly as possible. The only sound in the air is the wind whistling and fabric shifting, louder than you thought possible.

Around 1 AM, hours after trying to fall asleep, you’ve all but given up. You’re considering getting to work on the file by lamplight, or just stripping down naked under the thick blankets. What other option do you have?

That’s when you hear a grunt from the other bed, and Hotch’s outline shifts in bed. You can see him move around, lifting up like he’s flipping over his pillow. In the barely-there lighting from a streetlamp, you notice that his duvet is ruffled and partially folded over itself. It looks like he’s been tossing and turning, just like you.

“Aaron,” you whisper once he’s still. It’s quiet; he can pretend not to hear you if he’s close to falling asleep, and you won’t be offended. 

When he responds, his voice is gruff and just as loud as it was in the precinct today. “Yeah?”

“Can’t sleep?” It’s a stupid question, you realize as soon as it leaves your mouth. He isn’t sleeptalking, after all.

He doesn’t call you out on it, but just sighs instead. “No. It’s not working too well for me. I’m really hot.”

Yeah, you are, you want to say, but the logical side of your brain beats the sentence back with a stick before you can say it out loud. “Me too. How do you think everyone else is doing?

“Better than us, I hope.” He sits up in bed slightly; you can tell from the rustling and the dim outline. “I’m sure Dave has some kind of temperature-controllable blanket with him.”

“Spencer probably researched the best kind of pajamas to bring,” you joke back, and Aaron chuckles at that.

“Morgan probably worked out before bed and didn’t need any blankets,” he murmurs, and you snicker.

“JJ and Emily are probably cuddling for warmth.”

Why did you say that? The high altitude- the provincial average is roughly 1700 feet above sea-level, Spencer would tell you- combined with the restlessness is probably getting to you.

Aaron clears his throat, and you cough. Neither of you seems to know what to say, so he speaks first. “As long as they don’t tell me anything. It’s a lot of paperwork, for that sort of… fraternization.”

“Well, I mean. If they’re just doing it to keep warm, that’s got to be an exception,” you point out.

“I.. suppose so, yes. As long as nothing further were to happen, two agents just trying to keep each other warm isn’t inappropriate. They… we all need to be professional.”

He sounds hesitant now, speaking carefully like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You wonder if he’s dancing around the same thought as you. If he is, is he trying to avoid it? Or does he not want to say it first?

“So, by that logic…” you trail off, waiting for Aaron to say something. He can say anything now. He can cut you off, bid you goodnight again, or even ask you to go bunk with Rossi, but he doesn’t.

The fact that he also isn’t exactly not encouraging you doesn’t disembolden you at all. “Yes?”

“Well. You know,” you murmur. “I’m just saying that if it’s completely professional… and if it’s helping them sleep, and therefore be more well-rested to catch a serial killer tomorrow…”

“What are you saying?” He isn’t really asking. You can hear his smirk as clearly as wind whistling through the trees outside your window. “I think you need to clarify for me.”

Your huff of annoyance is more forced than it sounds. “I’m saying that if we sleep in the same bed we might be able to actually sleep. Body heat, and all that.”

Aaron’s voice is softer now, less sure than when he teased you just a minute ago. “Are you comfortable with that?”

“If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me,” you promise. The only sound in the room for a moment is both of you breathing, and you wonder if he can hear your heart thumping against your ribcage. What are you doing?

“Alright,” Aaron agrees after a long moment, pushing the duvet down to the foot of his bed. “Does it matter what side you sleep on?”

You get out of your own bed, and murmur, “No,” as he rolls over to make room for you. He lifts the top sheet up and you slide in under it, curling up. There’s still some distance between you, and you try to maintain it; he’s the one who’s concerned about things being ‘inappropriate’, after all. There’s no need for him to know that your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s about to jackhammer out of your chest.

“Goodnight,” you mumble as soon as your head hits the pillow. His body heat is like a furnace, warming you up perfectly from a foot away, and the thin sheet is warm like it’s been waiting for you to climb in. He says something under his breath- ‘goodnight’, maybe- but it’s been such a long day that you fall asleep in what feels like seconds without responding.

When you wake up to the sound of Aaron’s phone alarm, you’re much less than a foot away from each other in the warmest bed you’ve ever known. He’s curled up against your back, one of his arms slung around your waist to hold you to his chest. Previous experience with room-sharing tells you that he doesn’t wake up at the first alarm- he usually sets two or three, a few minutes apart- and you’ve got a couple of minutes to just be.

The sound of the alarm grates on you, but it must be on a timer because it stops ringing after a minute or so, and you relax back into Aaron. His cheek is resting against the back of your head, and you can hear his steady breaths in time with the rise and fall of his chest against you. It feels good, it feels right to wake up like this. You don’t want it to end, but you know that it has to.

When the second alarm goes off, he rouses with a little startle, like he doesn’t remember where he is. The arm around your waist tightens, just for a moment, as his body relaxes into yours. Soft as a whisper, you could swear that you feel warm lips brush the shell of your ear before he pulls his arm away and sits up.

The room is just as dark now as it was a few hours ago, and Aaron manages to fumble for his phone and quiet the alarm before he speaks. His voice is raspier than it was in the middle of the night when he checks the time and then says, “It’s almost a quarter to seven. Er, did you sleep well?”

“Very.” You yawn as you sit up, stretching both arms above your head. “I wouldn’t complain about a couple more hours, though. That whole same-bed thing works wonders.”

Aaron yawns too, turning away to grab his go-bag as he stands up. “I’m glad to hear it. You can go shower. I’ll change out here.”

“Deal.” You gather your own things when you get to your feet, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Your mind is already on the case, pushing aside all thoughts of sleep arrangements and large arms holding you close in favour of your job. When you exit the bathroom, Aaron is already gone.

When you meet with the team in the lobby, you find out that he headed to the station right away to get ahead on the case. Everyone bundles up before walking back to the precinct; the walk is no warmer than it was last night, and fresh snow begins to fall just as you get to the doors of the precinct.

Once you find your way to the same room as yesterday, you find Hotch already there, dressed in yesterday’s fleece. He’s got a Tim Horton’s cup in one hand, and he sips it while staring, perplexed, at the geographic profile. “Good morning,” he greets everyone at once. “Reid, I was thinking. If we intersect his old hideout parameters from Minnesota and Georgia with his murders here, then…” their chatter fades into white noise as you turn your attention to the files lining the tables.

The first hour passes in a blur, the conference room lit only by harsh overhead fluorescents as you trade theories and examine new evidence provided by the local officers. The clock is just announcing the arrival of 9 AM, the sky beginning to brighten slightly, when you realize that you need coffee.

You’ve got the same setup as yesterday in that regard, too. One of the officers must have picked up a fresh traveller for you, evidenced by the steam rolling off of the coffee that Hotch is pouring for himself. “How’s it going?” He asks, stirring two creams and two sugars into his coffee.

“No big break yet, but I’m sure we’re close. We’re going to get this guy soon,” you promise, and Hotch nods at that. “I wanted to thank you again. For, you know. Helping me sleep last night.”

“It was no trouble,” he assures you, fiddling with the stir stick in his hand. “It was helpful for me, too.”

“And, hey.” You lower your voice a bit, and Hotch leans in to hear you better. “Maybe we can do it again tonight. You know, if that’s okay with you.”

He gives you a smile, that tight-lipped one you’re used to seeing around the office. “It’s alright with me. I just don’t want to… well, I’m your boss. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It has no impact on my views of your professionalism.”

There’s that word again. You wish he could be a little less professional, for once. But he’s right, he’s your boss, and there are certain things he can’t say first. Your profiling skills tell you that he still wants to say them though. “Well, what happens in Canada can stay in Canada,” you half-jest.

“It can, if you want it to,” he murmurs. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, and he hands the cup to you while he pours a second one. “The sun will be coming up, soon.”

He’s right. Pale orange is streaking the sky through the large conference room window, tracing pink lines around the edge of the sun that’s just starting to peek up into the prairie sky. The snow is still falling, painting a picturesque image in the sky “It’s gorgeous,” you comment, taking a sip of your coffee. Without taking your eyes off the sky, you step a little closer to Hotch.

“Yes,” he agrees, holding his coffee in his right hand. His left rests on the table that your back is against, and it might be wishful thinking, but you think that he would wrap that arm around you again if there were no one else around. “It certainly is.”

----

“Longest week of my life,” Emily complains as soon as you’re airborne, a mere three days later. The unsub has been apprehended and is in federal custody of the country you’re returning home to. “But those beds were insanely comfortable. I haven’t slept that well in months.”

You and Aaron exchange a glance, a double-layered inside joke about why Emily slept so well and why exactly you both slept so well for several nights in a row. 

The last four nights have brought with them some of the best rest of your life. You’ve grown familiar with the feeling of Aaron’s arms around you in the morning, and by day three he stopped jerking them away as soon as he woke up.

That was the same day he asked you out, his gaze averted while he fiddled with a gold-coloured coin that he had received as change when he went out to buy a coffee. You had agreed, of course, and had assured him more than once that it didn’t matter that he’s your boss. You want him, and you have for ages.

On the fourth day, just this morning, he had held you a little tighter when he woke up and rumbled, “Morning, baby,” against your ear. If he hadn’t felt your heart beating around in your chest before, he had certainly felt it then.

Despite the fact that you’ve got a date planned with the man you’ve been cuddling for the better part of a week, you’re ready to tease Emily for cuddling JJ, before Spencer chimes in.

“I thought that the beds were quite comfortable, also. According to Sheriff McCartney, they’re primarily a transit town, which runs on a completely different economic structure than a transit village. The economy depends on truckers and people on road trips or similar travel to sleep in their hotels and eat at their restaurants,” he explains. “It’s fascinating, actually; transit towns pour the majority of their resources into making sure travellers making one-night stays enjoy themselves enough that they take the same route on the way home, thus giving the town more business.”

“The only business I want from that town is the name of whoever supplies those blankets,” Derek says, grinning. “That thing was so heavy, it was like getting crushed to sleep. Exactly what I needed with all that cool air blowing in.”

“Your room wasn’t too hot?” You ask, your nose scrunching up. “I think the heat was broken in mine. It was just hot air the whole time, every night. Way too hot to sleep.”

“Ours was like that on the first night,” JJ recalls, and Emily nods in agreement. “It was awful.”

“Right?” You complain, sinking further down into your seat. Hotch is sitting to your right, his face an impassive mask while he watches the exchange. “Let me guess, you guys shared a… uh…” 

Your teasing falters when the look on both JJ's and Emily’s faces tells you that, no, they did not share a bed, and you’ve just implied your solution to the heater problem. “We used the other blankets,” Emily says slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh! Oh, the other blankets. Yeah, the ones in the nightstand.” You nod along, your mortification growing in time with JJ’s smirk.

“They were in the closet,” she corrects you, obviously trying not to laugh. “I guess we know how you and Hotch stayed warm.”

You don’t need to look at your boss’- boss? Friend? Lover? You aren’t too sure right now- face to know that his cheeks are dusted rosy pink. “It wasn’t like that,” you protest to deaf ears as Derek whoops and high-fives Emily.

“About time,” he snickers at the look on your face. “So, when’s the first date?”

“It’s not-” you start to say, but Hotch speaks before you can.

“Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to him. He raises one shoulder and smiles, like What was I supposed to say? “Friday,” you relent a moment later.

Derek is still grinning ear to ear like a maniac, and even Spencer cracks a smile when Aaron snakes one arm slowly around your waist. The sun is rising on one side of the jet, and the orange glow illuminates his face.

For one suspended moment, everything is perfect. You’ve got a date for this Friday, you’re more well-rested than you’ve felt in ages, and your team doesn’t seem to care that you and your boss are much closer than you were a couple of weeks ago. It’s a blissful moment to you, and it’s only broken by Emily’s gleeful not-quite-a whisper to JJ. “Penelope is going to be pissed that she missed this.”

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[huntingteeth]

Prompt (if you’re still doing them): realizing how far you’ve come with healing from trauma and how those around you have helped you

(sorry if that’s heavy I thought it fit well with the themes of IKHWGHGIA which lives rent free in my mind at all times)

is this anything?? it’s not quite what the prompt says but:

He never means to do it, is the thing.

Vessel is always quick to reassure him: healing isn’t linear, it isn’t a setback, it takes time to unlearn behavior from trauma. In the grand scheme of things, IV figures it isn’t the worst behavior to have stuck around, even months and months and then — a year later.

The thing is, there’s a lot of people in their relationship. To go from being in a relationship with one person to a relationship with three people is, in some ways, a shock to the system. Sometimes, it’s easy and in other ways, it’s really, really not.

The point is, he doesn’t mean to do it on purpose. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time: smoothing over rough spots, trying to anticipate his partners’ needs and wants. Out of context, it doesn’t even seem that bad. He rationalizes to himself that he should know what his partners want. That’s not a weird thing to do. It’s not.

“Ves and I have a meeting this afternoon,” II says one morning. “Maybe you and III could pop ‘round to the shops and pick up groceries.”

IV hums as he thinks about what he has planned for the day. He’s supposed to hang out with Mattie, having planned the outing earlier in the week, but he thinks he could shuffle it around if that’s what II wants him to do. If he and III go early enough, it might not even mess with his plans at all, but he doubts that III will wake up early enough for that to be a possibility after the accidental all-nighter he had. He pulls out his phone, ready to text Mattie to see if she can reschedule when Vessel interrupts.

“No, that won’t work,” he says distractedly, struggling to open a bag one-handedly. “IV has plans this afternoon.”

IV braces for the inevitable fallout, and feels silly after a minute, the sensation souring in his stomach, when he realizes that all II does — all II is going to do — is chuff a breath in realization.

“You’re right,” II says. “Let’s just go after our meeting, then.”

IV thinks he should feel II’s disappointment, but all he feels along the bond is a soft contentment.

Vessel looks up at IV and asks, “You alright?”

IV feels frozen, thumb still hovering over Mattie’s contact, as he chews on his bottom lip. “Um,” is all he offers, as he glances with wide eyes between Vessel and II. He puts his phone away. “Yeah, sorry. I do have plans.”

“No need for apologies, love,” II says, seemingly having not caught on that anything is amiss until Vessel trips the bond to catch his attention. II’s attention narrows in on IV and IV wilts underneath it.

“It’s no big deal,” II says, coming around the table to scoop IV’s jaw into a strong hand. He tilts IV’s face to either side and then leans down to press a kiss against IV’s cheek. “I’m glad you have plans.”

To his mortification, IV sniffles, eyes tearing up as he realizes that he immediately jumped to flight or flight when he’s never actually had to do that with any of them.

II tuts lightly, but it’s not a dismissive sound, and pulls IV up so he can hug him around the waist.

“I’m sorry,” IV hiccups into his shoulder.

II just squeezes him tighter. “You’re fine,” he croons back.

IV pulls back after a moment and scrubs at his eyes, and laughs, a brief chuckle that curls its bitter way out of his ribcage.

Vessel reaches for him next and presses a kiss against his temple. IV sways into the contact, and lets Vessel lead him up the stairs. IV can hear II following behind.

Vessel creaks open the door to III’s room, where III is already sat up, knuckling sleep from the corners of his eyes. His hair is a mess.

Vessel pours IV into the bed next to him as II sing-songs, “Special delivery.”

IV feels III’s arms pulling him back into the bed, like a kraken pulling a ship below the sea, and lets himself be enveloped by III’s long limbs into a warm spot.

[sparxwrites]

"Play Your Part", director's cut edition

[original fic]

“I killed him,” says Grian, as Scar comes up behind him. He’s staring down at Bigb’s grave – at the improvised headstone, the wilting flowers, the little handful of sand poured on top of it like an offering. He doesn’t look sad, exactly. A bit regretful, maybe. But mostly just confused, as though this wasn’t inevitably what happened when you dropped rocks on people’s head at close range. 

As though this wasn’t always where they were heading – a red life, a shallow grave, and no remorse.

Scar is back on his I know how stories work bullshit. In my head, he’s always like… a weird combination of superior, because he can manipulate stories like no one else can, and bewildered, because it’s so obvious, guys. It’s so obvious where they’ve been heading, to him. He’s been able to see it since the story first hooked into them, locked into its course. Right now, though, I think he’s mostly just bitter.

“Yes,” says Scar, cold and unkind. He stops a few feet from Grian, and makes no move to come closer. No move to reach out and offer comfort. “You did.”

Like I said! Bitter. And he’s hiding it so well. :)

“He was my secret soulmate,” says Grian. He sounds lost, a little. He looks up from the fresh-turned earth, dark eyes drawn to Scar’s red ones. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Grian… not so good at stories. He’s above all that. He’s clever enough to do what he wants! He’s got agency! (This is deeply sarcastic, btw.) Which means he’s bewildered, each and every time, when the narrative bonks him over the head with a tragedy he’s very obviously (to others who know stories, i.e. Scar) locked himself into from the start.

Scar closes his eyes for a moment, and breathes through the red thump thump thump of his heart. He’s gritting his teeth so hard he can feel his pulse in his molars. 

Red because hearts are red, blood is red. Red because the red mist descending as a metaphor for uncontrollable anger. Red for red life.

“You play your part,” he says, and though he aims for cruel, he mostly hits tired. “I’m your soulmate. Not him. And now he’s dead, and we’re not, and the story must go on. So. We’re both red. We’re in love. We kill people. We play the game, together. That’s what we do.”

This is Scar admitting a lot of stuff semi-unintentionally, under the guise of educating Grian about what the server’s story is. We’re in love is especially sharp, though I doubt Grian catches it – it implies that they’re not really in love (or at least, one of them (Grian) isn’t), they’re just play acting it for the sake of the narrative. It’s also an indication that this narrative is a strong one, a big one. Stuff like friendship points is a small narrative. Sure, it hooks people in, but it isn’t all that binding. Scar can weaponise it. But this one… this one is too big, too hungry, too off-the-leash, for him to have any hope of that. Because Grian started this one, and Grian always lets his stories get out of control. So now the only way to survive is to play the game.

“But–”

“You play your part, Grian.” Scar’s voice is flat, unyielding, and brooks no argument.

Grian, as always, brooks one regardless. He sets his jaw, juts his chin out like a stubborn child. The motion is so endearing, so familiar, it makes Scar’s cold chest ache. “What if I don’t want to?”

Agency is throwing a temper tantrum when fate pulls the trigger on that Chekov’s gun you left lying on the kitchen table in plain sight, according to Grian. According to Scar, that’s called being a dumb fucking idiot. You don’t leave a gun on the table and then get surprised when someone picks it up and shoots it. Especially not in a server that’s been taught to love death.

“You think Pearl wants to be crazy?” snaps Scar, the tiredness burning away into irritation. “You think Scott wants to hate her? You think Martyn and Cleo want to do whatever the hell it is they’re doing? You think Impulse really loves Bdubs?” He pauses, his eyes hard. “You think I really love you?” Grian flinches. Scar presses on. “No. But we’ve all got our roles to play, and we’re playing them, because that’s how this works. There’s a story to be told, here, and I for one want it over, as soon as damn well possible. And so, just like everyone else on this godsforsaken server other than you, I’m playing my part.”

This… is a little bit my headcanon for the Life smps (other than ‘fun murder holiday’, which is my Other headcanon for the Life smps). That like… I touched a bit on this in Battle Plans, but this idea that the Hermits are being dragged into this, and they’re terrified of it, and they’re pissed off with it, and they’re doing their best to just make it stop. There’s a very real sense I was trying to get across of them being puppets on a string here, where they’re all miserable and scared and feel like they’re being forced to dance for someone else’s entertainment.

“I swore– Scar, you know I swore I’d never– I wouldn’t let Them control me again–”

Trauma? About the Watchers? From Grian? :) Nah, couldn’t be. No idea what you’re talking about.

“For once in your life, listen to me,” snaps Scar, grabbing Grian by the front of his jumper. Grian’s staring like he’s never seen Scar before – and maybe he hasn’t, not like this. Not cold with anger, cruel with frustration, face blank and eyes dead. “There is a narrative loose on this server and, one way or another it’s going to eat us all alive. Now– we can either get it over and done with, as quick as we can. Or, we can fight it, and lose, and drag the whole goddamn thing out for no goddamn reason. And we have all, collectively, picked option one – other than you. So.” He shakes Grian, hard enough to half-lift him off the ground. Hard enough he sways where he stands, held up only by Scar’s fist curled tight in his clothing. “Play. Your. Part, Grian.”

(John Mulaney voice) There's a narrative LOOSE on the SERVER. But also, more seriously, a) me back on my narrative bullshit again, and b) this is Scar being like. the server has collectively given up. What he's describing is functionally everyone on the server collectively committing indirect suicide, which is horrific.

Grian gulps. Swallows. Nods, tersely. 

Scar lets him go. Raises an eyebrow. When he crosses his arms over his bare, scarred chest, his fingers dig bruises into his own biceps.

“Yeah. Okay,” says Grian, tight and miserable. “Fine. I’ll play the stupid bloody game. Fine.”

“Okay, what?” says Scar, and wishes the victory felt less hollow.

Scar’s just being nasty and vindictive now. This has nothing to do with narratives, and everything to do with punishing Grian for his infidelity.

“Okay, beloved.” The endearment sounds like a razor blade in Grian’s mouth.

Two can play at that game.

Scar swallows bile. For a second, the ice in his eyes cracks. There’s heat beneath the surface, a raging, howling fire somewhere just below the cold. Then it’s gone. The ice returns.

Literally no one is fucking happy about this. They’re both mad at each other for dumb bullshit reasons because they’re toxic and dysfunctional and don’t fucking talk to one another and are madly in love without ever actually telling the other person explicitly and therefore both dealing with ‘unrequited’ love in the worst and stupidest way possible here. Guys. C’mon. You could fix this with a lil bit of talk therapy, I swear to god.

“Good,” he says, with a bright smile, and takes Grian’s hand. Pulls him away from the grave. Grian lets him, his fingers cold, his grip slack in Scar’s. “Because, no matter what – the show must go on.”

He’s not really talking about the narrative here, any more. I mean, he is. But mostly he’s talking to himself. Chin up, Scar. Mask affixed. Don’t let them see you hurting.

[specialagentlokitty]

Saul Silva x reader - this empty space

Part one:

You paced back and forth, hands running down your face as you tried to calm yourself down.

“I didn’t do anything!” You sobbed.

“The only person with this kind of magic is you (Y/N).” The man next to you sighed.

You whipped around to look at him, pointing an accusing finger.

“You know I wouldn’t do that Saul, you know I wouldn’t just go destroy an innocent village!” You hissed.

He sighed, shaking his head at you as he looked out of the window.

“I want to believe you, I do but you’re magic it’s… it’s dark (Y/N)… you’re the only person who has dark magic.. and it was a village of fire fairies..”

You looked at him broken, tears falling from your eyes as your shoulders slumped.

“You really think I would kill people?” You asked softly.

He walked over, placing his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb.

“I’m not saying you did it on purpose.. I’m sure it was an accident.. just let them take you in for questioning, let me bring you in. Running isn’t going to help your cause, you know it isn’t?”

You looked at him.

Your eyes searched his, glowing red slightly as you used your magic to read his emotions. Fear, a very strong sense of fear, anxiety and sadness.

You stepped away, eyes returning to normal.

“You really think it was me..”

“What else am I supposed to believe?” He whispered.

“That I wouldn’t hurt anyone! That I’m not wait history makes my family out to be! Your supposed to believe me Saul!”

“Your family tried to take over Solaria (Y/N)! Your family using dark magic! I took an oath to Solaria, to Queen Luna, I don’t have a choice.”

You breathed heavily, eyes turning red as you held out your hands, a black mist creepy at the tips of your fingers and he took a step back.

You looked at him, eyes narrowed.

“This is all you see me as? A monster? A killer? After everything we’ve been through.. everything I told you.. everything we did..”

“Please don’t make this anymore, I don’t want to hurt you.” Saul begged.

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh.

“Go ahead, turn your back on me then Saul… but remember that soon you’re going to need my help, Solaria is going to need my help, and I’m going to watch this realm burn down.” You hissed.

You stepped back, melting into the shadows and you were gone, using the cover of night to your advantage as you ran to the barrier to escape before they could get to you.

You blinked, snapping out of your head as you stood by the window of the old castle.

Just on the other side you could see some of the Solarian soldiers standing on the other side of the barrier, taking notes and photos.

You knew what they were doing, so you simply stuck your middle finger up at them for a minute before waving your hand, covering the entire grounds in a cloak of dark smoke.

They trying to push the barrier back, because if they did and you fall inside of it they could legally arrest you, but here they had no jurisdiction.

They knew the moment they stepped on to your land they would be screwed and it would create a war between you and the entire realm.

Which anyone would think wouldn’t be a big deal, but the Queen was still trying to keep it quiet that you were actually alive, that you weren’t killed evading arrest.

Walking back into the room, you sat down in front of the fireplace, flicking your wrist to start the fire, you focused on the papers in front of you.

Rolling your sleeve up, you looked at the black veins on your wrist and sighed heavily, running your finger over the old writing.

“Why didn’t you write the rest down dad..?” You asked softly.

He was doing research to figure out how to stop what was coming, but he left it half finished, he wasn’t able to carry on.

You don’t know if he figure it all out, but all you had to go on was what he did write down, and now you were stuck.

There was no other path aside from the one you were on now.

No matter how much you read through these papers you never found anything new, you had read them that much that you had burned the words into your brain.

Yet you sat there, reading them over again, well into the night until you went to bed.

The following morning you woke up, got ready for the day and made your way down the stairs, you made your way to the front and waved your hand, removing the barrier to look up at the sky.

And that’s when you realised you weren’t alone.

Standing just inside the barrier was 4 fairies, looking around confused.

“One of you should be on the other side of that barrier.” You said.

They all snapped their heads towards you, gazing at you in fear as you walked down the steps, stuffing your hands into your packets as you stopped a few feet in front of them.

“Will the princess take a step back.”

“Why?” She asked.

“Because if you are on this side of the barrier it invites your mother to declare a war, I would prefer to avoid such trivial things. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to hear and see what’s going on.”

She nodded and stepped back into the other side, and you looked at the the three.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“We.. we’re just looking for someone. I’m Bloom, this is Musa, Terra and Stella.”

You gestured to the dead looking surrounding.

“I assure you that you will find no one you are looking for on this side of the barrier.”

“What is this place?” Terra asked.

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

“Wow, do they not teach you anything now? It’s called the wastelands. Nothing grows here and nothing and nobody lives here. No animals, no people, no plants.”

“You live here.” Stella said.

“And I should treat you like trespassers, yet here we are.”

Bloom gave you a small smile.

“We’re looking for (Y/N) (L/N), we think they might be able to help us with something.”

“(Y/N) (L/N) died twenty years ago. Now remove yourselves from this land or I will do it for you.”

Turning around, you began to walk away.

“Stella heard her mum talking, we know (Y/N) isn’t dead!” Musa called.

You stopped.

“We know they aren’t dead. We need their help Solaria is in trouble, they’re the only person who knows how to fix it.”

“I know of which danger you speak off.”

You slowly turned around.

“And I have no interest in helping you. Solaria will fall, and I will watch its ashes burn the sky.”

“You’re (Y/N)..?” Terra whispered.

Bloom stepped forward, and you raised a gloved hand, dark mist surrounding your arm and she stepped back.

“Isn’t Solaria your home?! What about it’s people?! Your friends?!” Stella yelled.

You took a step forward, red eyes glaring at her as you sneered at her.

“That realm is not my home. This is my home, this is where I was born and this is where I will stay until the day Solaria burns in chaos and flames. I care not for it’s people, and I have no friends there either.”

“What about Mr Silva, Miss Dowling? We found a picture of you all when you were younger.” Bloom said.

“The day their turned their backs on me they were no longer my friends. They left me, abandoned me. They are no friends of mine.” You hissed.

“You said you know what’s happening, so you know how to fix it right? So tell us, we’ll fix it, you don’t have to do anything.” Terra said.

You stood properly, releasing the magic you were building and shook your head.

“Even if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to fight it. You have no shadow magic, without it there is no way you can stop what it coming.”

“Shadow magic?” Stella frowned.

“You would call it dark magic. It’s originally named shadow magic, one of the first two magics. Light and shadow.”

You looked at them all.

“What is coming?” Terra asked quietly.

“A fate which has been awaiting to rise for over a thousand years. You think burned ones are your biggest problem? You have no idea what shitstorm is about to rain down on your realm.”

Bloom held up her hand, rummaging through her bag she pulled out a notebook and flipped through it.

“We found these words burned into the side of the school, I managed to write it down before they covered it up.”

Walking over, you took the notebook from her and read the words aloud.

“And the first king shall arise on the day of the blood moon.”

“We don’t understand what it means, but Silva, Dowling and Professor Harvey seem pretty worried about it. Queen Luna has retracted her arm from everything and she’s refusing to tell anyone why.”

You handed the notebook back, and pointed to Stella.

“Because they’re coming after your family. And they will destroy anyone in the way.”

“Who?” Musa asked.

You looked between them all.

“How long do you have?”

Bloomed looked at her phone.

“A few hours before they finally get here.”

You nodded your head and gestured for them to wait there and you walked away, vanishing into mist and coming back with some pillows and a thick book.

You handed them a pillow each, and you tossed Stella one and you all sat down, and you set the book in the middle.

“Let me tell you the history that was wiped out by the royal family for their own protection.” You said

[sapphobolide]

FFXIVWrite Day 9 — "Lend an Ear"

Rain drummed on the roof of the Pendants, and gusted into Tamsyn’s room on the wind. Her window was open, because the ghost that was haunting her wanted to look at the night sky.

“You won’t see the stars till the clouds pass,” she said from the kitchenette. “Or have you forgotten how that works?”

“Just the rain’s enough,” Ardberta murmured, though Tamsyn still heard her. “After so long…Gods, I wish I could feel it.”

“Well, I can. It’s cold.” The kettle whistled, and Tamsyn busied herself with taking another crack at her room’s coffee maker. Rather than a traditional brewer like she might find in Limsa Lominsa, the Crystarium had thin devices that held ground coffee and hot water in two tiny, stacking chambers. Screw them on tight and pull a lever, and a plunger pushed the water through the coffee until it dribbled out into a small ceramic mug. The concentrated, bitter liquid had reminded her more of Garlean espresso than anything else. She had a few ideas to improve it, though. “If you’re going to let get my rugs wet, the least you could do is help me with my Vrandtic.”

“You have the Echo, haven’t you?” Ardberta looked over. “We’ve always been able to understand each other.”

“Yes, because we both have it.” Tamsyn poured cream and sour yogurt into a bowl, dashed in a spoonful of beet sugar, and began whisking it up. “The Echo’s only ever let me understand languages. Do you know how difficult it is to have a conversation when I can hear what everyone is saying, but my own contributions are limited to stoic nodding and the occasional glare?”

“Alright, point taken.” The ghost turned her back to the night. She looked much the same as when they had fought, back in Eorzea—same black and red leather armor, messy hair still pulled back in the same high tail, the same bloodstains on her great bearded axe. Only now Tamsyn was the Warrior of Darkness, and Ardberta was the dead girl walking. “Though I’ve never been much of a teacher, I’m afraid. Nyelbert was always the first to explain something the rest of us didn’t understand. Not that we’d get it then, mind. Lamitt was better at putting things into words people could use.”

Stiff peaks in the bowl. Tamsyn set it down and began portioning coffee and hot water. She grated cinnamon bark into the grounds before locking all the various pieces into the device. “Always the magic-users, isn’t it?” she tried in Vrandtic. “I suppose adventurers don’t change much across…pieces? Shards.”

“Shards.” Ardberta's eyes drifted away from the room around them. “It was just a way to get by, at first. A way to get away. From home, from the expectations. To see what lay over the next hill. To seek the horizon.”

Tamsyn pulled the lever, and thick, brown espresso bubbled out. Working quickly, she split it between two small cups, then scooped a generous dollop of whipped cream onto both. She placed them both on the table with a twirl. “Aha!”

Ardberta looked down at the coffee, then back up. Her expression was guarded, hard. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Tamsyn blinked, then looked at what she’d done. Two identical portions. “…Shit.”

“Did it on instinct, did you?” Ardberta smirked, sadly. “Is it that woman? The one you’re always asking after.”

“Caswyn.” She sat down and sipped some espresso. The sour-sweet tang of the cream complimented the bitter brew suprisingly well. The cinnamon was a nice touch, too. She would’ve liked it.

“You must have been together for a long time.”

Had they? “It feels longer than its been, I think. We took our time admitting what was happening between us.” She looked over the top of her mug at Ardberta. “Did you ever have someone like that?”

The ghost shrugged. “Nothing too serious. I knew I’d never be able to be with another woman at home—it’s one reason why I left.”

“I can relate to that.”

“But adventuring doesn’t exactly lend itself to stable relationships.”

Tamsyn took another sip. “Your group seemed pretty stable.”

Ardberta looked away, uncomfortable. “Well, romance never really entered the picture. Renda-Rae had her own pursuits she enjoyed between work. And Lamitt…” She shifted. “Lamitt valued her Dwarven traditions. I’m sure her preferences didn’t go that way.”

“Mhm.” Tamsyn took a long, noisy sip of espresso.

“Don’t give me that.” Ardberta motioned at Caswyn’s cup. “Tell me about her, then. In Vrandtic.”

“Alright, alright.” Tamsyn couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “There was this one fight we had together, with a primal named Susano…”