#this is vibes only i did not think about the backstory

[etapereine]

oh, we could've had that (and so much more)

tour de france fanwork classification, stage 17: au -> fake dating (178 words)

also on ao3.

the music at the after-party is loud, the kind of loud that thumps deep in jonas's chest and makes him wonder why he even agreed to come. tadej looking at him across the table, all pleading eyes and half-drunk smile, doesn't help matters.

last year this time it would have been different. last year this time, tadej's mere presence would have given jonas butterflies, back before they flew too close to the sun and broke each other's hearts. tadej inches his hand closer to jonas's on the table; he's never known how to give up a fight.

a body slides in next to jonas, surprising but no less comforting, one hand around his waist and the other pressing a glass of water toward him. jonas takes it gratefully, glad for something to do with his hands. tadej eyes the way matteo's fingers fit through jonas's belt loop.

"ready to head back to my place?" matteo asks, mostly to jonas but loud enough for tadej to hear. tadej blinks, and jonas leans into the wrong assumption.

"whenever you are."

[roots-symphony]

do you think the reason agatha’s trial felt weird is because she was the only one who did not actually buy into the mythos of the road since she knew the truth? like that was why no perspective change and all the other reasons why people thought it was a fake trial

[cherrreid]

YOU'RE MY CULT LEADER, I'M YOUR DISCIPLE ! m. grayson x writer!reader

✷ CATEGORY : HEADCANONS !

✷ headcanons of mark grayson dating a hopelessly romantic writer !

✷ TAGS: idiots in love. emotional intimacy. writer!reader. supportive bf!mark. mark is down so bad. mark doesn’t know jane austen but he tries. reader is dramatic & poetic & he loves it. inspired by every slowburn fic ever(they're already dating it doesn't make sense). some angst in between the fluff. mutual pining (but they’re already dating??). lowkey insecure mark. found family vibes. ooc if you squint (but in a good, soft way). “he’s a golden retriever, she’s a stormcloud” dynamic. mark thinks emotional foreplay is hot now. notebook snooping (loving, respectful kind). longing. so much longing. one (1) badly written love letter that makes you sob(in this work). reader writes like they’re in a period drama. mark suffers. reader is a jane austen fanatic. mark tries to match reader's freak.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 NOTES !

001. me & my cousin did NOT get any sleep because we yapped ab this alllllllll night💔 i mean, we don't rlly sleep. but still.

002. LITERARY WRITER READER BECAUSE MY COUSIN ORDERED ME A PRIDE & PREJUDICE BOOK😋😋 i love her. she's literally an angel(demon, but she's an angel for now)

003. im still practicing my format💔💔

004. idk how warnings work.

005. may the gods give me a man like him

006. sighhhhh SIGHHHHHH

the first time he hears you talk about jane austen, he nods as if he knows her. he does not.

"right, yeah. pride &…patience?"

"you mean pride & prejudice?"

"that's what i said."

he doesn't understand it at first, but he enjoys how you just,,,,, come alive when discussing it. he'd hear you ramble on about 19th-century slow burns for hours, even if he's still puzzled as to why darcy was being such a weirdo for the first half of the book.(forgive him)

you write. a lot. & mark is super supportive, even when your characters are brooding, emotionally constipated men.

"know this guy in your story sounds a lot like me, huh?"

you blink at him.

"he's a tortured soul who suppresses his feelings & vanishes for days."

"precisely."

"…i'll let it pass."

he lowkey enjoys that you're expressing your emotions about him through words. it makes him feel significant. immortalized, even.

when you read to him, he just gazes at you like you hung the moon & stars.

you're lying on his chest, reading your favorite lines to him, voice low & expressive, completely absorbed▰& mark just melts.

he spaces out sometimes, not because he's bored, but because your voice is so calming. it's radiating "you're the only peace i know" vibes.

he'll suddenly be like,

"sorry▰can you repeat that last bit? i was just…thinking about how much i love you."

fucking gods, you wanna jump on him.

he catches you muttering lines you're working on under your breath & genuinely thinks it’s hot.

like you’re just pacing around, whispering works like:

“he could not bear to look at her. her silence was a blade.”

& mark’s just standing there, fully forgetting whatever he was gonna say.

“babe, that was… insanely attractive.”

you roll your eyes.

“it’s a line about heartbreak.”

“........yeah. say it again.”

you leave notebooks wherever you go. he occasionally reads them. not to snoop in your life▰but because he misses you when you are not there.

he would never read your innermost,,,, writing without asking, but if there is a poem half-written on the couch? he's opening it up, reading your doodled metaphors with a smile.

once he read a line that had,

"his touch is lightning, brief but unforgettable."

he immediately texted you:

"was that about me be honest"

he gets lowkey jealous when you write super duper romantic, poetic love interests▰but he tries to be them too.

mark after reading your chapter:

"would it help your creative process if i, i don't know, leaned against a doorframe all brooding-like?"

"mark."

"no seriously, i can work on my tortured backstory if you want."

kiss.

he doesn't actually understand period dramas but he watches them in spite of that because they put you in a good mood.

he'll be there looking all grumpy like:

"why is everyone just… staring at each other for five minutes?"

& you're all swoony-eyed like:

"because feelings, mark."

he gets far too invested. screams when the characters eventually touch fingers.

"she TOUCHED HIS HAND. THAT'S LIKE▰EQUIVALENT TO THIRD BASE IN THE 1800s, RIGHT? RIGHT???"

he is utterly & completely fascinated with the way your mind works.

you launch into rants about yearning & longing, about tragedy & poetry & why the right comma can shatter someone's heart▰& he is in heaven. literally.

he doesn't always have a comeback, but he'll hold your face & tell you:

"you're like…genius. like, genius-genius.

make out with him this instant.

he adores kissing you in the middle of a rant.

you're pacing, all worked up over how your character is being emotionally stupid, & he just grabs you in the middle of a sentence like:

"okay, yeah, i get it▰but also i need to kiss you now."

it gets you flustered. he likes that even better.

when you're stuck & upset, he takes you tea, snacks, & kisses your forehead like:

"you've got this, genius."

occasionally you do have to be left alone with your own thoughts, & he knows that. but there are times that he will just snuggle up alongside you quietly while you get things done. head on your leg, fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin, no need for words.

you once wrote in your stories of a kiss as

"the kind that ruins a person for anyone else."

mark had read that passage.

now whenever he kisses you, it's with the very purpose of confirming that line true.

mark has read pride & prejudice now. yes. for you.

& he disliked darcy initially.

"dude is literally the human version of a traffic jam."

but towards the end?? he was like:

"okay wait. that confession letter?? FIRE."

you catch him reciting it just to impress you.

"'you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire & love you.'"

"markus▰"

"was it good? i rehearsed it in front of the mirror."

you write so sensually. ,,,, no smut, but the sort of tension that has people SCREAMING.

mark reads one of your stories & is just like,

"they didn't even kiss but i feel like i need a cold shower. how??"

you smile.

"that's the power of emotional foreplay."

he dies. just flatlines. legit. dies.

immediately tries to match that energy when he kisses you next▰slow, drawn-out, like a poem in motion.

mark is painfully WEEAAAKKK for when you're writing & you pull your hair up, squinting at your laptop, murmuring lines to yourself.

he’s supposed to be getting ready for,,, his,, well. invincible job.

but instead, he’s watching you like you’re the final girl in a love story.

if you so much as hum, he’s like:

“babe. you can’t do that. i’m gonna kiss you & then i’ll be late again.”

occasionally he gets the feeling that he doesn't belong in your world▰like your head is full of sonnets & he's just…a kid with super strength & bad luck.

he doesn't say it a lot.

but one evening, after patrol, when he's bloody & exhausted & you're cleaning his face, he says,

"do you ever think… you were meant to fall in love with someone better? like, you know... better written?"

you stare him straight in the eyes & tell him,

"no. you're my favorite plot twist."

he did NOT tear up. totally. he fucking wailed.

your writing is how you make sense of things. you don't always explain to mark what's wrong. you write it. & he learns to read between your lines.

he catches a sentence in your notebook:

"she kept pretending she wasn't waiting for him, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking."

he gently closes it, walks over, & holds you in his arms.

"i'm here now," he whispers.

you sob. he allows you.

mark attempts to write you a love letter once & it's…terrible. but so mark that it makes you sob.

it begins with:

"dear the smartest, prettiest person who somehow likes me"

& finishes with

"i don't know how to write pretty like you do but just imagine i said something like… your eyes are poetry or whatever. because they are."

you fold it up & keep it in your journal like a pinned flower.

he has this habit where he'll repeat lines you wrote back to you in the most unexpected times.

like,,, you're flossing.

he sneaks up behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, whispers in your neck:

"'her smile was the kind of thing you don't survive unchanged.'"

you stiffen. spew out toothpaste.

"mark that is PRIVATE—"

he simply smirks.

"it's literally about me, babe."

when you fight, he doesn't yell or shout. he goes quiet. & you begin to write letters to him because it's the only way you know how to say it.

you leave them under his door.

he reads them with shaking fingers.

responds on the same sheet, sloppy writing over your tidy handwriting:

"i'm sorry. i'm trying. don't give up on me."

you never do.

he once caught you crying while writing & freaked HARD.( heh... hard./j)

"babe?? are you okay?? who do i punch??"

"it's just…my main character lost her person."

he's so glad it's make-believe he laughs. then gets huffy.

"wait, that's ME, right? i'm her person. i'm always gonna be her person. well, I'M THE INSPIRATION."

the first time he told you "i love you," it wasn't dramatic. you were reading him a new chapter. your voice cracked a little.

he simply looked at you & said,

"i love you, you know. like, every version of you. even the sad ones."

you didn't say anything in return.

but you had written it out that evening:

he said it as though he'd been in love with all the words i'd ever put down.

he died. again. he has died multiple times. you're the cause.

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[hrrtshape]

PLEASE do more storytimes of ur 15 days in ur dr 😩😩 like literally talk about anything, what food did you munch on, outfits, small details of your life that anyone else would find mundane but were so important to you... yap your soul away I BEG 🙏

✶ the basics of my shift to my better cr.

◞ when i shifted : september 3rd to september 18th.

◞ my time ratio : i went to sleep in my cr at about 1 in the morning (oh, quiet !!!) and woke up around 12 am. so i'm not really sure about the time ratio. it has always been 1 hour = 1 week, but i suppose it was different. time is fake. calendars are a conspiracy. moving on.

◞ where i shifted : new york. more specifically my room !! more specifically...... my mom's penthouse in fifth ave which looked absolutely the same as my pinterest board !?!?! uh I DID check google maps to find my house, only to find out that in this reality, it's a hotel ?!?!?! so. yea. kewl.

◞ backstory stuff : so, in my better cr i am basically me. everything is the same except that like everything's amplified. like i am me, but on dolby atmos surround sound with a slight film grain, ykykykykyk? my mom has a billion dollar worth foods-company (which primarily specialised in sugar-free and sometimes gluten-free stuff). she’s like if gwyneth paltrow actually had taste, and her whole brand is “eat like a decadent queen but without the sugar crash.” my dad, who is divorced from my mom, is somehow involved in auction houses & art dealing. not in a shady way, just in a “I inherited this Monet and I suppose I should do something with it” way. he’s always at Sotheby’s, slightly overwhelmed, always one step away from getting scammed. his great-great-grandma was like...a duchess in russia, and then fled during the russian revolution. so...that's that. i live with my older brother, who is very much a VERY GOOD (and i mean very, very, very good) tech bro who parties way too much and my mom. my younger brother lives with my dad in the west village. the custody arrangement was quite literally dictated by vibe.

◞ some of my friends : as always, i scripted in lily rose depp (she isn't an actress, though). our moms were really good friends, and that's how we met. when i shifted, i did gain some memories (!!!! and they were all so kewt) that we shared. i think my favourite one was when we were 12 and walking around galeries lafayette and just trying on heels. in chanel. and dior. heels that cost more than a small car. we were 4’10 and wobbling around, but we swore we were women of the world.

oh, and the most unhinged friend situation?? blair waldorf and serena van der foocking woodsen. YEP. so my better cr WAS inspired by gossip girl, but obviously i didn't want to be stalked n all, so i didn't even bother scripting them in, but my brain did it anyways. SO. yea. i even went to blair's slumber party (but like earlier, not during this shift). it was absolutely perfect. silk sleep masks. monogrammed pajamas. a slight air of menace, because blair is blair. i respect it.

◞ about loml, coryo : soooo, i didn't get to talk to him much :( cause we were at the rivals stage of our whole....saga. but, like, flirty rivals. the type where he would look at me in class like he was plotting my downfall, and i would look back like i was considering letting him. a classic. we didn’t do much !!! sadly !!!! although he DIDDDDD put his arm around me once !!!! when i was walking to classsss.sss/s/s//!??!?!?!?!?? so. YEA. hehehehehehhehe. ALSO. watched him play basketball......which was..........definitely not an out of body experience.

more important things !!!!

◞ food : okay. very important. let’s talk snacks. the cafes in my better cr are like little jewel boxes, and they make the best hazelnut croissants known to mankind. flaky. golden. would cause riots if taken away. also, i drank so many iced matchas i swear my bloodstream was 50% soy milk. my favourite meal was this ridiculous dinner at le bernardin where my mom and i ordered like four courses and just gossiped the whole time. opulence and secrecy, baby.

talking about my mom !!! on day 7 ish we went to louis vuitton for no absolute reason, and i experienced euphoria when we walked out there with new LV handbags. no special occasion, no nothing !!! (i start rioting cause i want to be back in my dr)

◞ outfits : what i wore daily was basically........MMMM. my closet was so massive. so so so so massive. and everything, and i mean EVERYTHING from my pinterest board was there. YEA, YEA!!! cashmere cardigans, tiny skirts, knee-high socks, vintage designer. most of my weekend nights were just me changing outfits. cause. AAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!

◞ small details : the smell of my apartment in the morning was always coffee and expensive candles. i had a balcony, which is insane considering it’s new york, but we move. i spent most evenings perched there with a book, looking over the city like some sort of melancholic heiress.

◞ school : st. lazarus international college (i am gonna introduce this one because i swear there has never been a kewler sckewl). yeah. the most competitive, the most exclusive, the most "if you don't know someone, you simply won't get in" school in new york. my mom basically donated a library to make sure i never had to worry about a waitlist. the building looks like an old château got plucked from the french countryside and dropped onto the upper east side, except it has a state-of-the-art technology lab and a rooftop garden where people pretend to study. the halls ARE buzzing. the classrooms ARE ivy-league rigorous. the drama IS constant. the uniform IS exquisite. crisp white button-downs, navy skirts, custom blazers with embroidered crests, knee-high socks, and a distinct air of inherited wealth.

◞ classes : philosophy was my favorite. not because i actually cared about the syllabus, but because the professor was clearly going through something existential, and it was just funny to poke at his worldview with hypotheticals that made him question reality. history was a battlefield, literally, because coryo and i sat across from each other. french? easy. literature? divine. mathematics? completely unnecessary to my future, but tolerable because my notes were meticulously colour-coded.

◞ social scene : so you already know about my girl lily-rose, but there were so many more. the usual suspects: the impossibly rich, the impossibly gorgeous, and the impossibly charming. social hierarchy wasn't rigid, but it was understood. there were the future ceos, the legacy kids, the ones who summered in capri, the ones whose last names could buy small countries. my niche was effortlessly magnetic. somewhere between the literati and the scandal-makers, sipping matcha lattes while discussing nietzsche, only to abandon the conversation halfway through to plan a party. the sheer drama of it all. the only thing that mattered was that i was KEWL.

◞ parties : iconic. thrown in penthouses, brownstones, luxury hotel suites when someone’s parents were away. they started with sophisticated cocktail hours and always descended into beautifully controlled chaos. champagne in crystal coupes, whispered conversations on private terraces, someone always ending the night dramatically (usually not me, but i did have my moment.......we'll get to that later). i attended two, excluding day 12-13 when i went to athens with my friend to celebrate her birthday (it was.....very fun. believe me).

◞ moments that i'll never forget : buying my first designer bag (chloé tote), gave coryo a nosebleed (i talked about that already but you know......so...wow moment), discussed halloween with my friend group (and then shifted right before it UGH), overheard a woman complaining about the declining quality of caviar. felt like i was in a tv show. rich people are SO weird. i felt like i was in crazy rich asians.

◞ books i read during my shift (literature is important!!!) : bonjour tristesse andddddd started reading ulysses.

◞ random things that made my shift feel real : the specific way my balcony doors creaked when i opened them. the sound of a coffee being stirred at my favorite café. a pinch i gave my forearm everyday i woke up there !?!?!?

that’s the shift report, lovies. let me know what else you wanna hear, cause trust me, i could talk for hours. cause i remember EVERYTHING. not every second, but, like, every hour at least. mwah xxxxxxx and thank god for self made this method that helped me do this like yip yip hooray !?!?

[kyseya]

Backstory - farm brothers

So it’s fairly clear that Weston and Lucas are not normal people. Surprise, surprise they’re killers. I wanted to have a little Texas chainsaw massacre slasher vibe but don’t know if that worked very well.

Basically they lure(or people just end up there by themselves) folk to their farm and kill them. Though there are instances where they let some walk away without a scratch, but that’s only if they’re needed, will definitely be missed and could potentially be traced back there, and haven’t the slightest clue what’s truly going on at the farm. The Callaghan brothers can’t have anyone running their mouth, you know.

Their parents were pieces of shit and only had kids to lessen the work load. The farm belonged to their fathers side of the family. their mother had never planned to marry their father but an unexpected pregnancy and pressure from others made them stay together. The two of them were miserable with each other, always fighting and blaming the other partner. The mother was mostly mad about having to spend the rest of her days on a ‘dirty farm’ and work. The father hated being married to a vile, selfish woman who barely helped with anything. His own parents were old and his siblings had quickly moved far away to prevent having anything to do with the farm, which meant everything landed on him.

It was the mother who began using her son as a helping tool. Tasks like sweeping, feeding the animals, collecting the eggs and cooking simple meals were passed to him. At first, when Weston’s dad found out he was furious. But not because it came at Weston’s expense, no, it was because he saw it as a sign of ultimate laziness.

The earliest memories Weston has is of his parents fighting over him. He remembers when his father would reprimand his mother about using him to do her labour(he wanted her to suffer the same tiring days he does) while she screamed back. But then it stopped and his father would no longer complain. Nearly a year after that his little brother was born, and of course he became the one taking care of him after he didn’t have to nurse anymore.

Lucas followed his older brother everywhere. He was his second shadow when he went around and did his chores. It was fine with weston, he wouldn’t admit it but it became a comfort knowing he was a hero to someone. It made life easier. Unfortunately their parents wanted to put Lucas to work too, the moment they considered him old enough. That wasn’t the worst part though. Their mood soured significantly over the years and they verbally abused them on a daily basis, a couple shoves and blows were hard to avoid. You’d think they’d be happier with the easier load.

Weston would have been able to take it ifd only been him, but seeing his younger sibling being treated as dirt too, that wouldn’t fly. The hatred grew stronger each day. When it had boiled over the edge, the older one had decided on a plan. They would kill their parents. Sadly, they were too young at the moment, there was no way they’d be able to overpower two adults as they currently were. They would have to wait until they were older. And so they did. Years they waited for the right opportunity. The abuse and work never stopped, in fact, the older they got the more take they had to preform. Eventually everything was done by them and nothing was done by their parents. They finally got what they wanted, total freedom from the harsh farm life.

The day Weston told Lucas the plan to kill their parents, he had expected a little pushback from him, but he was surprised when Lucas was totally in on it. One might say he was even excited.

It was really easy to murder them. You just had to corner each one when they were alone and then slice their neck. The kids had far outgrown the adults, they were no match for them anymore.

After their mother and fathers death the brothers took over the farm. Despite all the bad memories they still liked it there. It was rather peaceful(especially when no one criticised you on how to feed the pigs), plus, they didn’t have much of an education beyond reading and writing. Where would they even go? At least on the farm they had food and shelter.

The killing didn’t stop though. It appeared the first murder had awakened something in the both of them. They both had found out they enjoyed it. The power and pleasure in seeing their parents fear stricken faces was too good of a high not to experience again.

Although, they might make one exception to the killing if you’re cute enough~

[revvethasmythh]

listen, now that everything is said and done i'm going to say something i've been thinking but not outright saying for the past nearly four years. frankly, imogen and laudna's relationship is a pale shadow of caleb and veth's and if you really sit and think about it, it's outright embarrassing for the former party. it's like if you saw a beautiful piece of art and tried to emulate it and then the only thing you managed to jot down that was the same was the basic shape and you never added any color when the color was the most important part. imogen and laudna's relationship is formed out of almost the exact same origins (troubled mage who needs to keep a distance from regular society joins up with monstrous misfit with a traumatic backstory and become each other's most important person while traveling place-to-place because they keep getting into trouble in cities). the difference is, genuinely, how much more colorful and lived in caleb and veth's story feels. they met in a podunk county jail and worked together to break out of the place, stayed together for practical reasons (straight-up survival) and then out of genuine friendship. they were hobos in the woods together. they cuddled on the side of the roads on cold nights together. they were genuinely each other's sole lifeline because they were the type of people no one in the world cared about in a very real, visceral way. they were also con artists, and sam and liam worked together to come up with an entire booklet of different cons they used to survive, which come into play surprisingly often during the campaign (Modern Literature, famously, but also Mother's Love and Money Pot featured).

comparatively, we know next to nothing about what imogen and laudna's lives looked like after leaving gelvaan, and the Incident™️ that sent them running in the first place remains amorphous and random no matter how many times the story is told or whatever extra details get added. the people of gelvaan found laudna to be a generically threatening presence (because of her fun-scary appearance and/or kooky-fun-scary behavior) and picked up their torches and pitchforks to run her out of town. imogen heard her thoughts and found them so beautiful she nearly killed two of the townspeople she grew up with the defend her and then they fled into the night together. and that's it. what did they do for two entire years after that? i don't know! neither do you. they don't appear to have struggled for money like caleb and veth did, there's no reference to hard-living, no real reference to what jobs they took to stay afloat, no mention of the practical realities of living as homeless nomads, no mention of towns and cities they'd visited and how those places impacted them. nothing. empty. no color. how did their relationship develop? also don't know! they seem to have slotted together perfectly as friends with no conflict for years before slotting together perfectly as lovers while batting aside all attempts at conflict later. done and dusted, that's the relationship, and people have the gall to call caleb and veth's successor relationship 'soulmatism' when it doesn't hold a candle to what the original offered.

which was, to be clear, endless complexity. i can't tell you how to define it, and i don't think the character's themselves could define it if they tried. sam went into the campaign intending to lean into a familial relationship and quickly realized that wasn't the vibe, course-corrected into veth having a crush on caleb--something sam has said developed fairly early in the campaign.* liam went into the relationship not intending to care about her nearly as much as he ended up doing, then spent the early campaign eps grappling with just how suddenly important she was to him, to the point that, in the face of her potentially dying in episode 20, liam says to sam, "do you want to make my character turn evil already?"** both were surprised at how tightly their characters clung to each other, and developed a deeply caring, highly insular dynamic where they were suspicious of outsiders and desperately guarded each other. with full retrospect, both went into the relationship intending to use each other (caleb for general usefulness/protection and veth, obviously, hoping caleb could change her back one day), then found such deep and tender care that they became each other's worlds. for a time. until nott became veth and veth had a husband and it sent their relationship into a tailspin because no matter how you frame the relationship, caleb clearly felt his feelings for her and the way they behaved together stepped over the line of how one should act with a married woman. after that, he is terrified of the idea that he might not have a place in her life and works so hard to create opportunities to insinuate himself into her present and future (teleportation spells so she can travel home quickly and still return to the group, making room for her family in the tower so she can stay with him, offering to tutor luc in magic to stay in her life, etc). veth gets her body and her life back but fears returning home will be lackluster compared to what she's experienced with the group, starts falling out of love with her husband, and has intense extra-martial feelings for caleb that are canonical. their relationship morphs and changes constantly throughout the campaign, and the one thing about their dynamic that never changes is how deeply and truly they love each other. you want to talk about soulmatism? them being the two party members with fake names who's real names share aspects of each other ("Bren" and "Brenatto") both from small-town dwendalian empire who's lives have been deeply impacted by meddling of the cerberus assembly (veth's in adulthood, caleb's in childhood) and who's deepest traumas are respectively fire and water does the trick for me.

so why is one so popular and the other, particularly as a romantic ship, very much is not? it would be obtuse of me not to immediately point to the fact that imogen and laudna are two pretty, skinny white women who claim to have deliciously little agency in their own stories and provide a blank enough canvas that the relationship can be whatever you want it to be. there's a reason there's so many AU fics for them, after all. caleb and veth on the other hand would center first a relationship between the handsome white fandom-popular sadboi and *checks notes* a self-described ugly, unfeminine goblin with deep neuroses and later a short, fat brown woman who also happens to be a young mother from a small country town. popular fandom, tragically, will almost always turn away from dealing with complexity of the latter for the empty calories of the former regardless of the quality gap between the two. if anything, watching the popularity of imogen and laudna's relationship has cemented my opinion that if veth had been different (either a man or a generically attractive white woman or someone more conventionally pretty just in general), widobrave would have been a massively popular ship, and i think it would have been regardless of veth's marriage. people can forgive a lot to write about their two generically attractive favorites getting together. they're a lot less forgiving for an ugly goblin or a fat, brown young mother, though.

tldr: reject modernity, embrace tradition. ship widobrave

*Talks Machina for C2E88, VOD no longer available, but a paraphrase of the quote can be found here **(2:09:30 on the YouTube VOD).

[hajihiko]

hi. i’ve seen from your art you liked akane!! (i think?) and wanted to ask if you have any headcanons 4 her :)

sure! I feel like I did one before...? But idr

also yknow warning for headcanon stuff. And it's sad. And it's Akane's fucked up backstory (that means hints to child sexual abuse)

My favorite thing is 'gymnast that always lands on her feet' hehe. She's the most resourceful, resilient person out of everyone, and I genuinely have a hard time thinking of how Junko got to her in the first place.

Her 'instincts' are actually hyper-intelligence when it comes to reading people and the environment. She doesn't know she's doing it, but she's always alert, and can tell when something tiny has changed or someone is acting just a bit off. She honed this skill trying to navigate her disaster life from age Way Too Young.

She seems ditsy because anything that isn't really life threatening just isn't that important and she doesn't bother with it. Again, because her life has been real rough.

She's super casual about nudity (this is canon) and spreads it to her classmates. Once you're used to her absolutely killer body in the nude in a totally casual nonsexual way, you just kinda get over it all.

After waking up, she isn't quite as wild and violent and active, and she takes Nidai's advice to work on her inner self too. Yoga, meditation, that kind of thing*

She loves dancing!

Any kind of physical activity, really. Hopscotch? Aces it. Jump-rope? Aces it. Surfing? Well she gets distracted and falls off a lot but she loves it anyway!

She enjoys sex but doesn't like, crave it. It's a sort of exercise that feels good, like yoga or Nidai's massages. She doesn't really see why it's such a huge deal to some people.

That said she's definitely picky about who she does it with. Don't make it weird, dude.

If you're gonna be weird about it, you don't have a chance, because she can tell.

Also if you're a man you have like a 10% chance. Women... may try

Sex is completely divorced from romance to her, though.

She thought the plan-B pill was like a tylenol. Everyone does it when the occasion calls for it, right? It's whatever, right?

Non-Despair AU, she doesn't really drink alcohol except very occasionally. You can count on her to let you crash at her place, no problem.

She actually has a sort of open door policy. One, because she is unfortunately used to having no privacy. Two, she is used to letting ppl stay if they need it- she'd rather sleep in the bathtub than let anyone sleep on the street. Three, she can kick anyone's ass, *try* and do anything untowards.... cmom try :)

Post-wakeup, one of her worst moments is when she realizes she just no longer likes food :( her body rejects it too hard and nothing tastes the same. She eventually develops a much different taste, but at least she can enjoy it sometimes.

Loves eating with nothing but her hands. Food tastes the most pure that way, no metallic taste or wood texture to interrupt her. Teruteru takes this to heart and starts planning his dishes with utensils in mind, too.

If she does a blind taste (or smell, or touch) test, she fucking kills it every time.

She can tell when Junko is around because of Junkos incredibly threatening presence.

i guess the only reason Junko got to Akane is because Junko was slightly better at manipulation and hiding herself. Akane has never forgotten and therefore Junkos presence is a permanent concern in Akanes psyche. Akane won't be fooled again.

Akane and Nekomaru never actually have a talk about their relationship or whatever. Akane just loves being around him, and feels safe, and they infect each other's mood, etc. He has never set off any of her alarm bells, so she trusts him with her whole self.

Fuyuhiko reminds her of one of her brothers, who was younger than her but not by much, and always tried to take care of her. Trying so hard to be the man he thinks he should be. Younger brother vibe.

Sonia reminds her of the pretty ladies in books, movies and ads. So put together and bright...blush. But she could stand to be more honest, and smile more genuinely.

Kaz reminds her of a girl (HMM) who wasn't quite family, but stayed with the Owari household for a while because of complications. Equals sort of?

Hajime is.... someone Akane is always on the brink of challenging or going up against, like something in her just wants to maul him. Not in a bad way tho (probably)! but he feels like a real challenge. But, of way more prevalence, she wants to be around him and work with him, and loves his presence. She's incredibly glad they ended up as friends instead. (Thats a reference to her being the villain in the drafts!)

Akane really likes being tucked in. She did it for her family all the time, but no one ever did it for her until post-wakeup.

She never actually comes to terms with all her abuse fully. Like she gets it, she knows objectively it was wrong, she has the right idea.... but there is just. Too much. She lives a good life and she functions great but she just doesn't revisit or confront those corners of her mind. People might think that's not right, but she has autonomy over herself and good luck trying to force her into it.

Some things just don't get resolved or accepted. Sometimes bad things just happen and you keep living. She's definitely not the only one who puts something unresolved behind her.

She used to be a city girl, but she loves the island and the nature, the close crowd of people and the total freedom. Her life at the end of the 'story' is the best she's ever had it.

*I'm gonna post a picture ok it's nudity it's boobs OK

Her peacefully meditating & connecting to her soul as well as her body :)

i love Nekomaru's line about how like..... idr like she's super strong but needs to work on herself spiritually too. I think it's nice that he considers her spirit as well as her body. Once she reaches Peace she's practically unstoppable

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hate You (Kidding)

Crowley & daughter!reader, Sam and Dean & witch!reader, a little Rowena & granddaughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: your dad abandoned you years ago, but what happens when he finds out you’re still alive?

A/N: just so no one gets confused about this, here’s the background—Crowley found out how powerful demon/human babies can be, so he tried to make one, only it didn’t go the way he planned—the baby (you) were born without powers, and so he abandoned you. (Just because I didn’t want to give this the exact same backstory as Crowley’s son)

The theft was not going well. Your grandmother had made it seem so easy—sneak into the bunker, grab the black spell book, and make it out fast.

She failed to mention the two professional hunters that lived there.

You hadn’t been dumb enough to assume it would be empty—there had to be a reason Rowena wasn’t going herself, after all; she was scared. But you weren’t ready for Sam and Dean Winchester.

They had you in their dungeon basement—which was super creepy—before you’d even managed to find the book, much less grab it.

“What were you looking for, kid? Who sent you here?” The shorter—but no less scary—one had his hands on the sides of your chair, and he was looming over you. You had no doubt that he was willing to hurt you—you did break into his very dangerous house, after all.

You kept quiet, still unsure what the best course of action was. If you told them about the book and Rowena, would they let you go and go after her?

Then again, you didn’t know anything about these guys—maybe once they got their information, they’d just kill you.

You decided to stay quiet.

“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand on the arm of your chair, and you flinched. “I said—“

The man stopped yelling when the lights went out. They flickered back on a moment later, only this time they were red.

“Someone’s here,” the tall one said.

“I’ll go check.” The man in front of you pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to leave, saying to the tall one “watch her.”

Then it was just you and the giant—who, surprisingly, seemed a little less scary. He was definitely intimidating, but he also had a sort of “I don’t hurt children” vibe about him.

“This will all be easier if you tell us what you were after,” he broke the silence.

“Right, because you’ll have a reason to keep me alive after I tell you everything,” you scoffed.

“We won’t have a reason to kill you, either,” Sam countered.

“And you need one?” You questioned.

“What makes you think we’d just kill you for no reason?” He asked.

“I mean I did break into your house, and you are hunters.” You shrugged as best you could with your hands cuffed behind you.

“I’m Sam,” the man said, crouching down so he was more on your level—he was trying to look less intimidating, which surprised you. “That other guy is my brother Dean. We are hunters, but we’re not gonna just kill you for no reason. We’re not like that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door opening cut you off.

“Look who came for a visit.” Dean stepped into the room with a man trailing behind him. As soon as the man stepped into the light, every bit of air left your lungs.

“Didn’t know you had a visi—“ Crowley’s sentence froze halfway out of his mouth when he laid eyes on you.

Dean’s suspicious gaze picked up on the awkwardness instantly.

“You two know each other?”

Crowley gained his voice back first. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You found the strength to speak after you heard Crowley’s words. “You still look just as pathetic to me, father.”

“Father?” Dean choked. “Wait, that’s not possible.”

“I thought you were dead.” Crowley was now completely ignoring the Winchesters. “After…after that incident I figured the demons would’ve—“

“Incident?!” You all but screamed. “Incident? Is that what you call you abandoning me? Leaving me for dead? An incident?”

“I had no choice,” Crowley argued. “When the other demons found out you were powerless—“

“The other demons? It wasn’t about the other demons, it was about you! You used my mother to make yourself a half demon, and when I didn’t turn out to have any powers you threw me away. You wanted your demon friends to kill me.”

“No.” Crowley was brushing past Sam and Dean now, coming to stand directly in front of you. You squirmed in your chair, but you couldn’t get further away from him. “No I didn’t. I thought if I got rid of you, they’d have no reason to kill you and—“

“Don’t lie to me!” You cried out. “I’m not stupid! You may not have wanted me dead, but you sure didn’t abandon me to try to save me. You did it because I was useless to you. Pretending otherwise is just…it’s just pathetic.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to say—he knew you were right.

“So you’re half demon with no powers?” Dean cut in. “Because I’ve met a half demon who could do anything he wanted just by thinking it.”

“Why do you think he wanted to make me?” You forced your gaze away from your father to look at Dean. “He wanted an all powerful being that was also fully dependent on him. Too bad for him, not all half demons are the same, and he got stuck with the powerless one.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” Sam cut in.

You bit your lip. You should’ve known it would circle back to this.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you if you tell us,” Sam promised.

“Fine.” A sly smirk lifted onto your face as your eyes went back to your father. “I’m here to get a book. For my grandmother.”

Crowley was still choking on air while Sam and Dean shared a meaningful glance before turning back to you.

“Rowena? You’re working for the witch?” Dean’s reaction told you that he both knew Rowena and probably hated her.

“She’s the only reason I’m still alive,” you said. “When he—“ you were inclined your head towards Crowley “—left me behind to get killed by demons, she saved my life.”

“My mother knows you’re still alive and she never told me?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s just like her.”

“She didn’t tell you because I told her how much I hated you.” You glared at Crowley as you spoke. “She understood the feeling, and we had a mutual understanding. Anyway, she told me she would teach me to take out demons the way she can—“

“But let me guess—only if you steal a spell book from us and bring it to her,” Dean interrupted.

“She said it was the only way she’d be able to teach me,” you defended yourself.

“She lied,” Crowley butted in. “She always lies—she was using you to get that book.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so trustworthy,” you shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that the first thing she does with you is send you to a place where you could get hurt, just to get something for her?” Sam argued. “You don’t think that that’s using you?”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again it was more subdued.

“I didn’t have any other choice. There are still demons out there who want me dead, and I’m totally and completely helpless.”

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Rowena may not be a saint, but I already know I can’t trust you,” you snapped. “I’m not looking to get abandoned again.”

“She had to know you’d get caught.” Sam seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. “So why…”

The Winchesters seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time, sharing a moment of telepathic connection before they turned and ran out the door.

“Do they do that a lot?” You wondered.

“You have no idea,” Crowley huffed. “I suppose I should find out what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The sudden smirk on your face made Crowley nervous. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you fell for that whole ‘totally and completely helpless” thing.” As you spoke, Crowley saw a faint glow coming from your hands, which were still handcuffed behind you. After a moment, he heard a snapping sound, and suddenly both of your hands were free and you were standing up. “Do you really think Rowena sent me here with no knowledge of magic?”

With a single wave of your hand, you sent Crowley flying against the wall. He landed with a thud, and you stepped over his frame on your way out the door.

“See you soon, father.”

…

Rowena had escaped with the book by the time Sam and Dean got to the library—she had waited until everyone was in the dungeon to make her move—and by the time the boys got back to the dungeon, Crowley was on the floor and you were gone.

“Great,” Dean growled. “She tricked us. I hate witches!”

“For once,” Crowley groaned as he slowly sat up. “I agree with you.”

…

“The Winchesters.” Your nervous gaze met your grandmother’s as you watched her flip through the spell book. “It’s them, they caught up. What now?”

“We need to distract them long enough for me to get through this spell,” Rowena insisted. “I won’t even need the book anymore as long as I can get this spell done.”

“I’ll distract them.” You were halfway to the door when Rowena stopped you.

“No, you’re not strong enough, not like this.” The way your grandmother was staring you down made you nervous.

“Like this?” You asked.

The door blasting open after a swift kick from Dean Winchester seemed to make up Rowena’s mind.

“I’m sorry, dear girl, but it’s the only way,” she said. “Impetus be—“

“Not so fast, mother.” You father appeared out of nowhere just behind Rowena, and he snatched up the spell book she was holding and swung it at her—she went down without another word. “I’m the only one that gets to hurt my brat.”

You didn’t say anything—you were still shaking. “Impetus beastiarum”—that’s what Rowena had been trying to say. Your own grandmother was going to turn you into a rabid monster—and ultimately kill you—just so that she could get away.

“The book.” You flinched out of your daze when Sam Winchester brushed past you and held his hand out to your father.

“Of course, moose,” he answered. “What would I need with a witches book?” He passed it over without argument.

“Why did you save me?” You demanded, sidestepping the taller Winchester to get a good look at your father, who merely shrugged.

“I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

…

The Winchesters, of course, wanted to grab you after the little incident, but you flung them against the wall with your powers—one of the few tricks your grandmother had managed to teach you, and currently your favorite—and left before they got the chance.

You didn’t see them or your father for several more months. When you saw Crowley again, you were running for your life.

Somehow word had gotten around that a great witch had a granddaughter; or maybe it was that the king of hell had a daughter—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that an archangel was after you because of it, and you had tried to cut a deal with him.

It hadn’t worked.

Lucifer had wanted you because he thought you’d be useful, and when he found out you weren’t, he of course decided that killing you was proper punishment for wasting his time.

You were in the midst of running for your life when you saw your father.

He was chained to the floor like a dog, watching your exchange with the archangel with peaked interest.

“Conteram hoc cincinno,” you yelled as you ran—it worked, and the chains at Crowley’s wrists snapped; they were warded against demons, not witches.

The freeing of his prisoner was enough of a distraction to get Lucifer off your tail. By the time he remembered you, you were out the door, and when he tried to turn his attention back to Crowley, the demon had already teleported.

…

“What was that?”

You jumped in surprise when your father appeared next to you.

“An escape,” you huffed out.

“You saved me back there.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you demanded. Crowley just grinned at you.

“Maybe witches aren’t so bad.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[hummingbird24220]

May I please request swordsman! Reader who can understand swords?

I've seen in a couple fics where swordsmen are able to talk to their swords after bonding with them but the idea of reader being able to with out a bond present would be so funny! Idk if it's a skill reader learned (like a special technique) or a devil fruit power but reader just absolutely clowning on the swordsmen in one piece as a whole. Idk if the swordsman themselves can talk to their swords but I feel like it's funnier if they can't. Reader learning all about Zoro as a kid from Wado and all the embarrassing things it's seen (its been with him so long)

The only other swordsmen I can think of are Law and Mihawk. Readers experience with their swords are a little different

I feel like Yoru(I think is the name) has to much respect for Mihawk to tell any embarrassing stories like Wado but would still be embarrassing with how much bragging it does. It's very proud to have Mihawk as it's owner (he's the best swordsmen afterall)

Law's sword, Kikoku is just as cautious as it's owner but can't help but to take this opportunity to tell reader to tell law to take better care of himself

(You don't have to write for law or Mihawk if you don't want to! I just wanted to add my thoughts on them! You could just do Zoro with his three swords or any other swordsmen- honestly I have lots of thoughts about this 'prompt' so sorry for rambling <3)

(I have more thoughts if you like this request enough if not no worries!)

This is a cool idea! Thank you for requesting <3 I havent met Law in the anime yet (still on baby episodes) but i did a smol google and stalk. Sorry if hes OOC! Kinda went into it with the mindset of 'if the sword vibes with the wielder, then the wielder can kinda understand the sword' - but thee reader is fluent in swordeneese ;)

I saw your other message about you wanting a Swordsmith reader - i wasn't too sure how to incorporate it to the story so its a bit of a doozy. I could do a part 2 - focusing more on the swords being cared/repaired if you like, maybe with some scenes with shanks and his sword (reader tries not to acknowledge his sword so he doesn't think shes nosy or something? big bad shank emperor vibes ((when really hes a softie)))

Let me know if you want part 2 ^^

Enjoy <3

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 2)

One piece x reader

You didn’t set out to be a menace. That just sort of... happened.

Your Devil Fruit—unofficially dubbed the Blade-Whisper Whisper Fruit by a very drunk shipwright—granted you the ability to hear and speak to swords. Not just your own. Not just special, bonded blades. All swords. All the time.

It was less of a superpower and more of a constantly running group chat in your head, filled with temperamental steel with centuries of backstories and too many opinions.

Zoro’s swords were loudest of all.

You had snuck into the Sunny’s training room while the crew was off eating. You were supposed to be sharpening some of the crew’s utility knives. Instead, you were crouched beside Zoro’s swords, whispering like you were conspiring with old friends.

"Alright, alright—Wado first," you muttered, eyeing the pristine katana resting in its scabbard.

Wado Ichimonji’s “voice” came through calm and noble, but with the weary sass of someone who’s seen too much.

“It’s about time you listened. Do you know how hard it is being the only reasonable one among these idiots?”

You snorted. "You're literally a sword."

“And yet more emotionally mature than your average swordsman.”

"Tell me something embarrassing."

There was a pause.

“…When he was ten, he practiced shirtless in front of a mirror because he thought he’d grow muscles faster that way.”

You had to cover your mouth to keep the laugh in.

Sandai Kitetsu gave off an unhinged energy, like a cursed blade that listened to heavy metal and screamed into the void for fun.

“I told him to stop juggling me. That was not a test of fate. That was plain stupidity.”

"How many times has he tried to use you while drunk?"

“Seven. Eight if you count the time he mistook a mop for me.”

Shusui (grumpy, old, and dramatic) immediately interjected.

“Hmph. That mop had better stance.”

You pressed your forehead to the wooden floor, wheezing with laughter.

"Wado, how do you deal with him?"

“Love, patience, and the ability to ignore shirtless mirror flexing.”

You wiped your eyes. "You're killing me."

A familiar voice suddenly barked from behind you.

“What the hell are you doing with my swords?”

You turned slowly to find Zoro in the doorway, brow furrowed, arms crossed.

Think fast. “...uh, bonding?”

He looked skeptical. You grinned.

“Wado says you used to practice shirtless for gains.”

Zoro’s face turned ten shades of red.

“WHAT?!”

From the sword rack, Wado Ichimonji whispered smugly: “He also cried after losing to a squirrel once.”

-

Dinner on the Sunny was loud, chaotic, and usually filled with the sounds of Luffy trying to steal food off every plate within reach.

Tonight, it was also filled with the sounds of you barely containing your laughter as you side-eyed Zoro across the table.

He was trying to act normal, gruffly chewing through his rice like it hadn’t been hours since you’d had a little... chat with his swords. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eye kept twitching every time you looked at him and smirked.

You were so going to milk this.

“So, Zoro…” you said casually, poking at your food. “Ever get into any fights with… squirrels?”

He froze mid-bite.

Luffy blinked. “Wait, what kind of squirrel? Like a big one?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes at you. “You said you weren’t gonna say anything!”

“I said nothing about dinner,” you replied, grinning. “Besides, Wado told me. I’m just the humble messenger.”

Sanji leaned over from across the table, intrigued. “Oi, moss-head, did you really lose to a squirrel?”

“It was strategic retreat,” Zoro grumbled.

Robin was sipping wine, completely unbothered. “How charming. Perhaps we can find you a rematch.”

“I’LL KILL THAT SWORD,” Zoro snapped.

You snorted into your drink. “I don’t think that’s how swords work, sweetie.”

Wado Ichimonji—propped up nearby in its sheath—was practically vibrating with smug energy in your head.

“Tell him I still have the scar. Right on the saya. From when he tripped into a tree trying to dodge it.”

You bit your tongue. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Okay, laugh later.

“Anyway,” you said, taking a bite, “the real scandal was the mirror thing.”

Zoro dropped his chopsticks.

Usopp looked between you and Zoro. “Wait—what mirror thing?”

Nami raised a brow. “Oh no.”

Brook’s skull tilted curiously. “Was it about his form?”

“Or lack of muscles?” Sanji added with a smirk.

“HE WAS TEN,” Zoro barked, face red. “DROP IT.”

You smiled sweetly. “But you believed it would work. That’s the cute part.”

Zoro shot to his feet. “I will personally throw all your tools into the sea.”

You shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll just ask Wado what your favorite shampoo is and swap it with mayonnaise.”

Wado, gleeful: “It’s lavender. He says it’s for 'clarity.'”

Zoro screamed into his hands.

Across the table, Luffy was just staring in awe. “Your swords talk back?! That’s so cool!”

Zoro glared at you. “They don’t talk.”

You leaned back in your chair, arms behind your head, grin wide as the ocean.

“No, Zoro. They don’t talk to you.”

-

The galley was quieter after dinner, lit only by warm lanterns and the soft clatter of dishes. Sanji was elbow-deep in soap suds, humming a soft tune as he washed. You were drying plates beside him, content for once to enjoy the stillness after a meal full of teasing and near sword-based homicide.

“You know,” Sanji said, glancing over, “for someone who spent dinner instigating Zoro into an aneurysm, you’re surprisingly helpful in the kitchen.”

“Gotta stay useful somehow,” you replied with a shrug. “Besides, I only poke the moss bear out of love.”

He snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

As he turned to scrub a pot, a glint from the knife rack caught your eye. A particular chef’s knife—slender, perfectly weighted, lovingly honed. It practically vibrated with attention as you passed.

“Hey,” it whispered, voice soft and precise, like a blade gliding through ripe tomato skin. “That man. The one with the cigarette and perfect fingers. He’s a good one.”

You blinked, surprised. Most blades didn’t care for conversation unless they had drama to spill or blood to remember. This one was… almost reverent.

“You want me to tell him something?” you murmured under your breath, pretending to clean the counter.

“Tell him I appreciate the oil he uses. The cloth. The sharpening stone. And the way he holds me—steady, confident. It’s rare to be treated with such respect.” A pause. “…His julienne game? Immaculate.”

You stifled a chuckle. “Right, I’ll let him know.”

“What was that?” Sanji asked, glancing over.

You hesitated. Normally, you’d play this kind of thing for laughs. But this blade wasn’t mocking. It was genuine. So you dried your hands, turned to him, and leaned against the counter.

“Your favorite knife just wanted to say you’ve got great technique,” you said casually. “Like, really appreciates how well you take care of it. The oiling, the sharpening, the… julienne game. All of it.”

Sanji paused mid-scrub, frowning. “You serious?”

You nodded. “Dead serious. It’s almost poetic about it. Kinda adorable, honestly.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the Sunny.

Then Sanji—cool, composed Sanji—turned pink at the ears.

“…Tch. Stupid knife,” he muttered, looking away. “Gonna make me emotional over a hunk of steel.”

You smiled. “Steel’s got feelings too, apparently.”

He shook his head, but there was a softness in his eyes as he went back to scrubbing.

“I always knew that one was special,” he murmured. “But... thanks for telling me.”

You gave the knife a quiet pat. It practically purred in your mind.

“Tell him he makes me feel like art.”

You looked over at Sanji, this man who danced around a kitchen like it was a ballroom, who wielded his tools with precision and pride.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “He really does.”

-

You hadn’t meant to end up at Mihawk’s castle. That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

A pitstop, a storm, a bit of misdirection from a smug talking dagger who told you “he’s got the best view in the East Blue,” and here you were—on Kuraigana Island, standing in front of the most intimidating sword you’d ever laid eyes on.

Yoru. Black blade. Supreme Grade. Taller than you. Probably older than everyone you’d ever met combined. It radiated authority.

You hadn’t even tried to speak to it yet.

It waited, mounted in quiet glory behind Mihawk, who was calmly sipping wine like you weren’t internally panicking about what this sword was going to say to you.

“I hear you speak to blades,” Mihawk said, not looking at you.

“I do.”

“I presume you’d like to speak to mine.”

“…A little.”

He finally glanced at you, gold eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t speak to just anyone.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “It doesn’t need to. I don’t ask to hear them. I just do.”

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “Then proceed.”

You turned to Yoru, stepping close.

The second you entered its aura—because yes, this sword had aura—you heard it.

Rich. Deep. Regal. Like a baritone dipped in ink and forged in centuries of ego.

“Finally. Someone with the taste to recognize me.”

“Oh boy,” you muttered under your breath.

“You may tell the boy—sorry, Dracule Mihawk, Wielder of the Blade Supreme, Greatest Swordsman of the Era—that he is… doing a satisfactory job.”

You blinked. “That’s it? You just want me to tell him he’s adequate?”

A pause. Then—

“…And that I am still undefeated. Still untouched. Still flawless. Unlike that moss-haired one. Wado said he once slipped in mud. Disgraceful.”

You held back a laugh. “You brag more than a sword with arms.”

“My existence is a brag.”

You turned back toward Mihawk, who was watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Well?” he asked.

You cleared your throat.

“Yoru says… you’re doing a satisfactory job.”

He blinked.

You smirked.

“And that it is still undefeated, untouched, and flawless.”

A long pause.

“…Of course it did,” Mihawk muttered.

You hesitated, then added, “Also it wanted me to let you know that Wado thinks Zoro once slipped in mud. So. Clearly, your sword is keeping up with the gossip.”

Mihawk took a very long sip of wine.

“I expect you to never repeat this,” he said flatly.

You gave Yoru a wink. “No promises.”

As you turned to leave, Yoru called out—low and proud:

“Tell me—did the chef’s knife like his compliment?”

You blinked.

“…How do you know about that?”

“We all talk, child. You think I don’t keep tabs on the competition?”

Oh. Oh no.

Even ancient blades were messy little gossip gremlins.

-

You weren’t supposed to be here overnight.

And yet, here you were: Mihawk’s castle guest for the evening, curled up in a surprisingly cozy chair by the fireplace with a cup of hot tea, while the man himself read quietly across from you.

You hadn’t spoken much. Mihawk wasn’t the chatty type. But the sword? Oh, Yoru had no such issue.

“You’re slouching.”

You frowned. “I’m not slouching.”

“Your spine is curved like an inferior blade.”

You glanced at Mihawk, whispering from behind your mug, “Yoru says I’m slouching.”

He didn’t look up from his book. “Yoru says that to everyone.”

You leaned closer to the sword, which rested behind Mihawk’s chair like a smug throne.

“You ever say anything nice?”

“I allowed you to address me directly. That’s the highest honor I offer.”

You stared. “That’s… genuinely the most pompous sentence I’ve heard from an inanimate object.”

“I’m not inanimate. I’m revered.”

Mihawk finally sighed, turning a page. “Yoru, must you?”

“He needs the practice. You’ve been brooding at the fireplace like an oil painting all day. I’m carrying this conversation.”

You snorted into your tea.

“Also, remind him,” Yoru added, voice dropping dramatically, “that it is time to oil my hilt. I detected dryness. This is unacceptable.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “You have dryness detection?”

“Superior craftsmanship has superior needs.”

Mihawk glanced up at you, then at the sword.

“…Did it say something ridiculous again?”

“Yes,” you said, barely holding it together. “It wants you to moisturize it.”

“I do oil it,” he muttered, clearly offended.

“Not last Tuesday. You skipped.”

You fell off the chair laughing.

Yoru, ever composed: “She is unworthy of my presence.”

You wiped your eyes. “Then why do you keep talking to me?”

“Because someone must appreciate my glory. And I’ve exhausted Mihawk’s capacity for flattery.”

“I never flattered you,” Mihawk said without looking up.

“You held me up to the moon once.”

“That was a duel. You were reflecting light.”

“It was symbolic.”

You choked.

Later, after Mihawk retreated to his room (muttering something about “blades with superiority complexes”), you sat beside Yoru again in the quiet dark.

“…You really love him, huh?” you asked softly.

There was a pause.

“He is a warrior worthy of me. A craftsman of battle. A bearer of precision, discipline, and solitude.”

You nodded.

“…Also, have you seen how well he grooms his beard? That is commitment.”

You grinned, whispering, “You’re kind of obsessed with him.”

“As he should be with me.”

You leaned back against the stone wall, letting the warmth of the fire and the low hum of Yoru’s self-importance lull you into calm.

Maybe you didn’t mean to stay here. But honestly? You could get used to this.

-

The first thing you noticed when you stepped onto the Polar Tang wasn’t the crew. Or the high-tech submarine layout. Or even Law himself, who was exactly as grumpy and sharp-featured as you expected.

It was the sword.

Kikoku.

You didn’t even have to look directly at it to feel it watching you. Not menacing. Not hostile.

Just… wary.

You’d felt cursed swords. Wild ones. Vengeful ones. But Kikoku wasn’t like them. It wasn’t cursed. It was careful.

You didn’t speak to it right away.

Law met you in the upper hall with a raised brow and crossed arms. “You’re the one who talks to swords?”

You nodded. “They talk to me, mostly.”

“Tch. Great,” he muttered. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“Don’t plan to,” you said, and then, softer, to Kikoku: “May I?”

There was a long pause. Then, softly—softer than any blade you'd ever heard—

“…You’re not with the Marines?”

Your breath caught. “No. Definitely not.”

“You're not with the World Government? Cipher Pol?”

“No.”

“You don't plan to experiment on anyone while you're here?”

“…Also no.”

Kikoku exhaled—if a sword could do that.

“Alright.” A pause. “You can talk to me. But keep your voice down. He's always listening.”

You glanced at Law, who was standing just far enough away to look disinterested.

Yeah, that tracks.

You stepped a little closer to Kikoku, careful not to make sudden moves. “You okay?”

“I am functional. I would be better if he got more than four hours of sleep a night and remembered to eat food that wasn’t coffee and spite.”

You smiled. “Should I tell him that?”

“…Yes. But phrase it gently. He pretends not to care, but he does.”

You turned to Law, who looked extremely done with your presence already.

“Kikoku says you should sleep more.”

Law blinked. “You asked it that?”

“Nope. It told me on its own.”

You paused, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Also said you live on coffee and spite.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“…Tch. It talks too much,” he muttered, brushing past you toward the bridge.

Kikoku, smug now: “He heard me. That’s what matters.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, grinning. “You’re a softie.”

“He won’t listen to anyone else. If I have to nag him myself, so be it.”

You liked this sword. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t gloat. It didn’t care about power or titles.

It cared. About its wielder. About his health. About keeping him safe.

It whispered like a quiet protector in the middle of a warzone.

You looked after Law as he stomped down the hall, coat flaring like always.

“Hey, Kikoku?”

“Yes?”

“…If he ever needs help, I’ll be around. Just whisper.”

“…Thank you.”

-

You weren’t technically snooping.

You just happened to be in the Polar Tang’s small medbay, tidying up after helping Bepo rewrap a sprained paw, when Kikoku—leaning quietly in the corner, within arm’s reach of Law’s desk—whispered to you again.

“He had another nightmare last night.”

You froze, hand still on the edge of the cabinet. “…About Flevance?”

“No. Corazon.”

That made your chest squeeze a little.

Kikoku wasn’t like the other swords. It didn’t speak unless it had to. And it never gossiped.

So if it brought something up… it mattered.

“Does he talk about him?” you asked quietly.

“Never. But sometimes he mutters his name in his sleep. Apologizes to him. Tells him it wasn’t supposed to go that way.”

You turned to the blade, frowning. “Why tell me this?”

“Because you’re the only one who listens. And he won’t say it himself.”

“…You want me to say something to him?”

“I want him to stop carrying everything alone. If that means you talk to him, fine. But don’t push.”

Just then, the door opened behind you.

“Talking to my sword again?” Law said flatly, stepping in with a clipboard.

You didn’t jump—barely.

“I was just…” You paused. “Yeah. I was.”

Law raised a brow. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I realize how ridiculous you sound, constantly pretending you don’t want people to care.”

His eyes narrowed.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Kikoku just… it worries about you. That’s all.”

Law scoffed, moving past you toward the desk. “Swords don’t worry.”

“Kikoku does.”

He set the clipboard down harder than necessary.

“…And what did it say this time?”

You hesitated. “That you had a nightmare.”

That stopped him cold.

You added, gently, “That you talked to Corazon.”

Silence. Heavy and tense.

You didn’t fill it. Not this time.

Law slowly turned, shoulders stiff. “I don’t talk about that.”

“I know. And you don’t have to. But you don’t have to carry it by yourself either.”

His jaw clenched.

“Look,” you said, stepping closer, “Kikoku isn’t trying to betray you. It’s worried. I’m not here to drag your past out of you. I’m just… here. If you want someone to talk to.”

Law looked at you for a long moment. Eyes searching. Calculating. Vulnerable, maybe—just a crack behind the walls.

Then he looked away.

“…Tch. Tell Kikoku to mind its own business.”

You smiled faintly. “It did. That’s why it told me.”

You turned to go, pausing at the door.

“Kikoku’s a good sword,” you said over your shoulder. “And you’re not alone, even if you keep pretending you are.”

You left the room in silence.

Behind you, Kikoku whispered, ever so softly: “…Thank you.”

-

It started out simple.

You were at a neutral dockside tavern with the Straw Hats and Law’s crew, sharing a temporary alliance and, supposedly, a peaceful meal.

You had barely touched your drink before Kikoku whispered in your head:

“They’re here.”

You looked up to see Zoro walking in, swords strapped across his hip, expression set to ‘grumpy and ready to duel.’

“Oh boy,” you muttered.

Then Wado Ichimonji chimed in—loud, dramatic, already fired up.

“I smell that blade. The smug one. The one with the silence complex.”

“Wado, please don’t start.”

“I never start. I finish. Tell the butter knife to sheath its judgment.”

Kikoku, cool and sharp: “Your wielder can’t even find the front door without walking into a tree.”

“Okay, that’s—”

Wado: “He’s got spirit.”

Kikoku: “He’s got concussions.”

You choked on your drink.

Zoro and Law sat down across from each other like two cats about to hiss. You sat between them like a hostage.

“I know you’re listening to them,” Zoro muttered to you.

“Don’t drag me into this,” you hissed. “They’re being ridiculous.”

Law looked equally annoyed. “Kikoku never talks like this.”

You turned to him. “Maybe because she’s never had to be in the same room as that one,” you said, gesturing to Sandai Kitetsu, who was screaming in the background.

“FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.”

“Not helping,” Kikoku snapped.

Zoro narrowed his eyes at Law. “Your sword thinks I’m stupid, doesn’t it?”

Law sipped his drink. “That’s because you are.”

You groaned and put your head on the table.

Meanwhile, Shusui had entered the chat like a war general summoned from retirement:

“We should settle this with an honorable duel.”

Kikoku: “You’ve been retired for five owners. Sit down.”

Sandai: “I will SETTLE THIS BY BITING THE OTHER SWORD’S HANDLE.”

Wado: “Tell the emo blade to respect its elders.”

Kikoku: “Tell the museum piece to update its technique.”

At that point, you stood up so fast your chair nearly fell backward.

“I am not facilitating a steel-themed group therapy session right now. You four can air your issues without me as the interpreter.”

Law: “You’re the only one who can understand them.”

You: “And I would like to not die of psychic sword-related migraines today, thanks!”

The entire table stared.

Then Brook leaned in, cheerful as ever. “Yohoho! So are the swords dating or fighting?”

“They’re doing both,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Kikoku and Wado: “We are not dating.” “I have standards.”

Sandai: “...I’m open to a polycule.”

Zoro stood. “I’m leaving before someone stabs someone, and it’s me.”

Law nodded. “I second that.”

You sighed, gathering your things. “Next time I’m bringing duct tape. For the scabbards. And my own ears.”

As they left, you heard the swords start back up again—Wado muttering insults, Kikoku returning fire with surgical precision.

And in the background:

“FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.”

-

You were finally back aboard the Sunny, the sun warming your shoulders as the sea stretched endlessly in every direction. Peaceful. Blissful.

Or at least, it was, until Luffy burst onto the deck holding a cutlass, a bread knife, and a rusty kitchen cleaver like a kid who just found treasure.

“DO THESE TALK?!” he shouted, shoving them toward you.

You blinked, gently pushing the bread knife away from your face. “Luffy, where did you get these?”

“Found them in a barrel! They were just sitting there! Like, waiting to be alive!”

You sighed. “Okay, but—wait. That cleaver is literally still covered in jam.”

“SO DOES IT TALK?”

You closed your eyes and concentrated.

The cutlass: “I was once wielded by a man named Jerry who only knew how to scream and swing. It was exhausting.”

The bread knife: “I'm not technically a weapon. I was forged for croissants. Please stop using me for melons.”

The cleaver: “…I yearn for peace. I miss the days of slicing fruit and feeling needed.”

You opened your eyes. “They’re tired.”

Luffy gasped. “THEY HAVE FEELINGS?!”

“Yes. Mostly exhaustion.”

Brook appeared beside you, gentle smile in place, holding his cane sword. “May I?”

You took it with care.

The second your hand touched the hilt, you felt it. Not just voice, but emotion. Waves of grief, laughter, music. The weight of time. Of silence. Of death and persistence.

And then—warmth.

“…He still plays for them. Every night, even if they can’t hear. I remember each note.”

You swallowed hard. “Your sword remembers your crew, Brook.”

Brook tilted his skull. “Oh?”

You nodded. “Every performance. Every time you stood beside them. Every time you wept while you played.”

A soft pause from the blade.

“He’s kind. Gentle. A little forgetful. He sometimes uses me to stir soup.”

Brook laughed. “Yohoho! I did do that once!”

“But… he remembers them. Always. Even when he forgets where he left me.”

You looked at Brook, voice quiet. “It says you’re the reason it never went dull. That your heart, even now, is sharp enough for both of you.”

Brook put a hand over his chest. “That is… deeply moving. Thank you, (Y/N).”

The blade hummed in your hand, full of music.

Later that night, you sat alone at the ship’s railing, feet dangling off the edge, gazing at the stars. You’d talked to so many swords—heard chaos, tragedy, bragging, battle cries, jokes. So many voices.

And for the first time… silence.

But not lonely silence.

Just… peace.

Your own blade rested beside you, quiet and still.

You smiled. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

It didn’t speak.

It didn’t need to.

You already knew.

[dykesynthezoid]

I do think we’re getting at least some escalation of devil’s minion in s3 btw. And I don’t think that’s even me being hopeful or optimistic I think it’s literally just logical.

I’ve seen people say oh, but devil’s minion happens in QOTD, and s3 is TVL; and firstly, they’ve definitely made it sound like some elements of queen of the damned are going to be present in s3. Secondly, I suspect season 3 is going to end with the lead up to Lestat’s San Francisco concert. So the whole season will be both Lestat backstory + the set up for the events of QOTD. And devil’s minion happens, guess what, before Lestat’s San Francisco concert. It would almost not make sense to not at least touch on it while the other story beats are culminating up to that moment. Like, Daniel and Armand are already present in the story (where they aren’t in the book in the modern day storyline), why would you not continue their storylines to the next logical step?

Also, I think you have to consider just how many new characters and storylines QOTD introduces and how daunting that can be to absorb if you’re unfamiliar. Waiting to do anything with devil’s minion until season 4 means that’s just one more new storyline to have to inject into a narrative already very crowded with exposition. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to do that, and I suspect the writers are pretty aware of that.

And frankly like. What other storylines would Daniel and Armand be getting? Like how are either of their stories supposed to move forward without, y’know, each other? Are we supposed to expect all of season 3 just to be one big pause button on both their larger narratives? That seems very silly. Daniel at least has the journey of adjusting to vampirism, but Armand especially is like. His semi-redemption and character evolution comes from devil’s minion. That’s the only real next step for him.

And I mean. Look at Assad and Eric. I don’t think Rolin Jones could convince them to wait a whole other season for something to happen if he tried. I know, I know it’s easy to be like “oh but maybe it’s just actors being silly” but compare how open they’re being about it now and how much more tight lipped they were in between seasons one and two. It’s night and day. It is a very very different vibe. And apparently, Assad has been plenty excited about it this entire time, so he was actually somehow managing to keep his mouth shut before. But now maybe he doesn’t need to, because he knows season 3 will at least offer something in the way of that development.

I think it’s entirely possible we won’t necessarily see the full “culmination” of their relationship until season 4, but I do think season 3 will at least have development and escalating tensions that are undeniable. I think it’ll likely start out slow and ramp up as the season continues. I’m not going to panic if we don’t get much in the first few episodes or if it takes until episode five to see Daniel’s turning. That might be needed, honestly, in terms of giving Lestat his necessary focus. But I think more small pieces will begin to accumulate, will escalate to a place of higher tension by the mid season, and then the finale will include some type of reveal or emotional climax, setting things up going into season 4.

And you know what, it’s worth mentioning: things have happened faster on this show than I expected before! I did not expect Daniel to be turned at the end of season 2. I thought we probably had a whole other season to go before that happened. “Well they were afraid of cancellation” / “well Eric just wanted to be a vampire so badly” and will these things also not apply to season 3/Eric and Assad wanting devil’s minion?? Idk babes. I’m doing the math and it doesn’t seem that crazy to me

[pacifymebby]

Johnny Comforts You After A Bad Dream

Self indulgent hurt/comfort. Complete fluff. Warnings: vague allusions to abuse/violence, reader has a scar. Also Johnny calls himself daddy.

Also this is the fic I drafted perfectly and then lost. This is not as good as that fic (rip) but it is longer, and actually here so... Also I might write more for this, I'm taken with her tragic backstory now.

"Johnny... Johnny!" In the dead of night you were all trembles and tears. Fragile and forlorn, growing more so with every second that went by without your Johnny waking up. "Johnny please wake up..." You whimpered, your heart stuck in your throat as you did your best to hold back the sobs choking you.

It had been another bad dream, you knew that but it didn't help ease the fear, the panic in your heart, the ringing sound in your ears. Nothing was going to stop the ache except your Johnny. But he was a heavy sleeper and by the time you had managed to stir him there were tears streaking your cheeks and you could hardly hold back the sobs.

"Hey honey..." he yawned, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pushed himself up to rest against the headboard.

He didn't need to ask what was wrong, you didn't need to tell him either. The moment he saw your wide eyes brimming with tears, the moment he saw the wrinkle of your nose as another tear rolled down your cheek and over your lips, he knew exactly what was wrong. Exactly what you needed.

He offered you a sympathetic pout, one which wrinkled his forehead and put a little smile on your lips as he opened his arms for you wordlessly and beckoned you to him with a nod.

"C'mere my honey," he cooed, "come to daddy..." his voice was still gruff and gritty but the way he spoke to you was so tender and sweet as he took your hand and lightly tugged you into his embrace. His arm came to wrap around you, his hand stroking through your hair and then down your back as he bundled you up in his lap. "S'okay my sweetheart, daddy's got you..." He hushed you as you nuzzled into him, his scruff tickling your cheek as you endeavoured to nestle in as close to him as you possibly could.

With one hand cradling your head to him, the other holding your waist, he rocked you gently, soothing you. He let a tender kiss linger in your hair as he continued to utter comforting sentiments to you.

"S'alright my honey you're safe, Johnny's here, nothins gonna happen to you baby, don't worry, Johnny won't let anything happen to you." He said, every word sincere. Every word a truth intended to comfort you, not just now but in the morning too and the next time you'd dream the same dream which had left you in tears tonight.

He didn't know much about your life pre, well, meeting him. What he did know however is that it was much darker than the life you led now, with him. You didn't talk about it, ever. Not even when you'd awoken in the middle of the night the way you had tonight. He'd tried to ask you before, what happened in the dream, why you were always so scared - not just scared but fuckin heartbroke - every time you awoke, but you'd always pouted and made one flippant comment to shake his questions off.

"What's wrong, you want me to start crying all over again?"

He knew why you did that too. Knew it was because whatever you didn't want to talk about was real bad, something that would curdle his blood, set of a rage in him he wouldn't want to control. He knew you were trying to keep your heartbroken history quiet because you didn't want him to think any less of you, didn't want him to think you were too melancholy, too much of a vibe kill. You were worried he'd leave of he found out all the trouble you'd seen and felt.

He only wished you would tell him so that he could prove you wrong. So that he could stay. Because he would. He'd stay with you through anything. He'd burn alive to stay by your side if he had to.

"S'okay my honey," he said, taking solace in the sensation of your nose nuzzling into his neck. It was comforting to hold you so close, to feel your breath on his skin.

You took comfort in that too.

In feeling your body rest so close against his, his heart beating against you so that you could feel yours slowing to meet his.

"S'jus me an you here angel, nothins gonna hurt you, you remember what I told you?" He asked waiting to feel you nod against him.

Instead you let out a timid "uhuh," that tugged on his heartstrings.

"So go on... You tell me what Johnny told you?" He said nudging your gaze up to his with his nose against your cheek.

You sat up a little then, a small smile tugging on your lips. Shy. You let him shift you in his lap so that you were straddling his waist, your knees sinking into the mattress. Him looking up at you, his hands on your waist to hold you steady.

"Always be safe with you," you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the still of the night. "Cause you'd kill anyone who ever wanted to hurt me..." You said, one hand holding his, the other holding your cheek, your thumb dangerously close to your mouth.

"That's right," he smiled, "and don't you ever forget it... You're my little angel and there ain't nothin I wouldn't do for my little angel..." He said, his hand catching yours, guiding your thumb away from your mouth so that he could hold your face in his two hands instead.

He stroked his thumbs over your cheeks slowly, brushing away the tears you'd long stopped crying. His eyes so full of the most determined kind of love as he let his fingers stray, knuckles brushing gently down your jaw, down your neck where he let them linger for a moment following the line of a telltale scar. One Cal had called gnarly the first time he'd seen it, his thoughtless comment meaning that for weeks after you'd tried your best to cover it with turtle necks and bandanas.

Johnny didn't know how you'd come to wear such a scar but he knew it bothered you. Knew it saddened you whenever you were reminded of it. Knew he hated to see you so sad when your fingers hovered over it and traced the line. Just as they were doing now.

So he sat up a little straighter and grazed your fingertips with his lips before chasing them away from your scar with his kisses. Until you giggled and your fingers curled into his shirt instead. When he kissed your scar he felt you tense a little, felt you relax in the next moment when he closed his eyes let his lips linger against your skin.

As he pulled away he held your gaze. His eyes pooling with tenderness, so quietly trying to communicate his adoration for you.

"Now," he said a little more firm that before, "now you c'mere angel, c'mere and let me hold you," he said guiding you down to lie against him, your body on top of his, your head to his chest which felt so comforting and sturdy beneath you. He stroked his hand through your hair as your eyes fluttered shut and tried not to lie awake wondering what had happened to you. Where his little angel had been before she'd stumbled into his bar one night and found him.

[tossawary]

I'm only on Episode 5 of "Teen Wolf" and it's hard not to think about Stiles/Derek due to the pairing's influence as a fandom juggernaut throughout the 2010s. It has, over the years, occasionally made me intensely curious as to what was actually in the source material to spark this, versus how much of it was the migratory slash fanfiction fandom stuff.

I don't have... super strong opinions of them from the source material yet? I don't really think they have positive or negative chemistry at the moment. Their interactions are hampered by the fact that I think Derek Hale is currently kind of incoherent as a character, apparently not allowed to actually talk to anyone due to contrived drama reasons, preventing him from connecting naturally on an informational or emotional level to Stiles or Scott. Derek's backstory is still murky and largely unknown. Derek's personal goals here are also a little unclear. Some of this will be cleared up as the season goes on.

I do think that I personally would enjoy Derek more if he had actually been only a few years older than Scott and Stiles, as Stiles says in the first episode, and actually looked it as well. I think that Derek being younger, being another "teen wolf" at 19, would have 1) put him on more even footing with Scott, and 2) made him come across as more of a scared, cornered animal, lashing out at the Argents and stumbling around lost without his family/pack. Like, the traumatized lone wolf thing is apparently what's happening with Derek anyway, but I do think all that would be better communicated to the audience if Derek looked younger and more pathetic and was allowed to snap at / talk to people more and with purpose.

If Derek was younger, I also think that he would function as a better mirror / foil to Scott. Here's this kid who was born a werewolf (unlike Scott), had a big and loving family (Scott has a single, loving mother and an apparently better-absent father), and is now orphaned and homeless and friendless (unlike Scott). It would also make Kate look even more vile and I'm good with that. I know the writers are going to absolutely miss the opportunity to have Scott and Derek's relationship have some more positive give-and-take. Scott has a lot to offer Derek! Scott's kind heart is one of my favorite things about him so far!

Anyway, back to the Stiles/Derek stuff. Yeah, I would also like Stiles/Derek or Scott/Derek more as concepts if Derek was younger. Right now, from the actual canon material I've seen, disregarding the knowledge I've picked up over the years regarding Derek's life, Derek is mostly giving me Angel from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" vibes. And I really did not like Angel and especially not Angel/Buffy.

One positive thing I will say for Stiles/Derek is that I can absolutely see where the ship originally came from. Stiles does have some very queerbait-y lines with the "am I attractive to gay guys" humor. Derek is conventionally attractive. Derek and Stiles are the only two people in on the "Scott is a werewolf" problem, helping him out, and there's maybe a dash of "pair the spares" to it, but these two people are actually interacting and cooperating to solve problems together. And "I got you arrested for a murder you didn't commit" / "you need to cut off my arm" is a hell of a starting point for a ship. That's honestly great stuff. That's a level of freak that might generally inspire me to invent chemistry for a pair of characters, just to figure out how to make that relationship work.

In conclusion, I don't personally ship it, but I get it. I totally see where it came from.

[physalian]

Beta Reader Checklist! (Suggestions)

Beta reading is highly, highly subjective, so take this whole post with a massive grain of salt. IMO, in short, more feedback is always safer than less feedback, unless the author states otherwise.

Like, if they ask you to do a final read through for any lingering issues, you can speed-read your way through the manuscript for general vibes and enjoyability. If this is the first round of edits and beta reads, the more you can give them, even if you think you're over-reaching, the better.

Thank you to all my betas thus far, absolutely no shade meant with this post. Everybody's got different expectations. This is meant to help anyone who's unsure about the task before them.

So I'm going to use some snippets from my seasoned beta reader's feedback from my upcoming novella for the variety of commentary you can give.

Positive vibes/reader reaction

Even if the manuscript is a hot mess, sending back a beta read with 0 good things to say is going to demoralize the author. Even if all you can say is "this is a cool concept that can benefit from a better execution," letting the author know that they've written something salvagable helps, especially if you can do it in the first few paragraphs.

Grammar and Syntax

You are not a line editor and should not be expected to line edit someone's first draft (and this beta got the ~7th draft). However, if you do see something while reading, there's no reason that you can't leave a suggestion.

Fun commentary

We authors like to know that the reader is connecting with the story. These comments tells me absolutely nothing helpful about bettering the manuscript, but they're human responses from a human reader and it's just nice to see. Beta readers are casual, you should be allowed to stay stuff like this.

Developmental edits

Beta readers generally come before the big expensive editor (if you ever hire one at all) which means the goal is more big picture, developmental commentary over splitting hairs about punctuation. This comment got me to add about half a paragraph's worth of extra narrative to expand upon, because I liked the suggestion.

Continuity and reader comprehension

This novella happens to be about a niche subject that not every layman reader will understand, so I have to find the line between overexplaining to those who know, and underexplaining to those who don't, without reading like a textbook. The top line I ended up leaving as I didn't think the risk of confusion was worth the added technical detail. The bottom line was a continuity error that I did have to fix.

Repetition and style

I'm an author who will always look for ways to lower my word count. Sometimes cutting a random line is better for the narrative than doubling down and trying to justify it with extra details. In this case, I over-used a motif, and happily saved myself 7 words.

Potential for extra detail

If you struggle with lengthening your word count, you can ask your betas to focus on where the narrative is thin and can benefit for more immersion and backstory. This beta leaves me comments everywhere suggesting places for extra sensory details, as I write very lean narratives with little fluff, and my consistency with sensory details varies widely.

All told, over 21k words of story, this beta left me exactly 100 comments, and a couple quick line edits within the text itself. It shows me, at the very least, that she was engaged with the story. The only time she doesn't leave me comments is when a scene is so intense that she forgets to make one.

The Reader Report

The reader report is a separate document from the manuscript copy that compiles and condenses the beta's thoughts into a much shorter format so the author doesn't have to scroll up and down constantly for a big picture takeaway. It also expands upon any commentary the beta had, but didn't want to put in a single tag within the narrative and is typically written after most of the manuscript has been read for overall thoughts.

This beta in particular knows what I like, which is breaking down the report by chapter (or parts in this case). The only thing missing from her delivery is a final conclusion that will answer the three big questions:

Did she like it?

Would she buy it?

Would she recommend it?

But it was also done in a rush and in her email she said I made her cry so I count that as a yes for all 3.

—

I did not implement every suggestion from her, but I did acknowledge where other readers might feel the same and weighed the pros of trying to satisfy everything vs maintaining my clear vision.

The benefit of the beta process, if you work with multiple betas, is having more than one reader's opinion, and why I don't think anyone should pay ridiculous fees for a developmental editor. My betas all had different opinions on this manuscript, and I can treat their feedback like a scatterplot, deciding on revisions with an average throughline.

At the end of the day, you write for yourself, not to please any one beta reader. They're suggestions, not rules, and even if your beta tells you they hate it, you at least learn who your target audience isn't, and what naysayers wouldn't like.

[dippedinmelancholy]

It's so horribly clear SJM was writing off of vibes for the backstory of Feyre for ACOTAR, specifically their downfall into being poor and how Feyre was the only victim, since she hunted. Her narrative is that Nesta is a bitch and Elain is too stupid to realize she should be helping. Oh, and her dad is just like, there I guess. As someone who really grew up poor, poor enough that my family used a washboard at one point to scrub our clothes, grew tomatoes and cucumbers just to have something to eat through the summer, went months in a row with no electricity and the smallest things in the world felt like actual miracles . . . It's such weak writing. You don't hit rock bottom immediately. Hunting alone simply isn't enough. No one can convince me they were just eating whatever meat Feyre brought home, that's not how making food last goes. You make stew (arguably a lot since it's what stretches the most).You don't buy new clothes all of the time, you mend them. You ration your flour, your milk, you trade what you can with neighbors. It's evidence that either Feyre or SJM just doesn't value feminine work, because when you're so poor you don't know if you can eat for the full week, it's the feminine work that keeps your house alive. Additionally, Elain is so clearly not stupid????? Feyre just imagines the worst of both of her sisters. She thinks Nesta is simply bitchy to be cruel to her specifically, rather than Idk, she's pissed at her worthless deadbeat dad and mourning that their mother is dead? It's Elain who buys Feyre the paints, so she knows enough to try and make Feyre happy. In ACOSF, it's CASSIAN who goes on this who tangent about "Nesta was wrong, Elain saw everything and knew exactly why she did it" in regards to Nesta's anger and the memory of Nesta stealing a Duke's heart at 14. So it's not a recent development thanks to being a seer/fae. She's always seen. She's always known. She just let others cater to her. Let others take on the social and physical burdens. Let her sisters put her own happiness and softness above her own. In a better world, all three sisters who be an exploration of trauma responses from the beginning. Instead, they were written to ensure you saw Feyre as the perfect victim, rather than a complex person who doesn't react well, because no one does.

[sepublic]

            I also wanted to discuss this as its own post because it’s the only question from the Gallery Nucleus Q&A I can find an actual video source on, but in regards to whether there would’ve been a Wittebane flashback in the show, had there been no shortening? None whatsoever, according to Dana herself; On account of A) Not wanting the audience to think Belos is in any way sympathetic, and B) Wanting to preserve the mystery of what exactly happened, because she thinks it plays into the horror vibes better. There definitely would’ve been more than what we got in canon, but not a full backstory.

            Can I say, what a relief to have actual confirmation, in one way or the other? With that in mind, I get Dana; That’s a pretty fair takeaway! Considering who Belos represents, it’s fine to not want viewers trying to think of him as understandable in any way, when we have sycophants in the media playing devil’s advocate for the current men in office; Sometimes ya gotta be firm, and if this is the writers’ way of conveying their point, so be it!

            Dana obviously didn’t want to portray Belos as evil since birth just from the memory portraits, and the overall themes of the story; But she didn’t want viewers to think Belos is sympathetic just because he wasn’t born evil, which is what you can say about every person in history, good and bad. And while I do consider that the writers made a mistake by including Hunter in the show at all, it seems Dana was at least wary about fans obsessing over those other white guys Belos and Caleb, which I’m really grateful for in hindsight; She didn’t want to feed the beast there.

            To go on a tangent, the second reason also makes me think of how the Star Wars films, which stand on their own, never really explained why Palpatine was like that, and they didn’t need to when the mechanics of the world and reality provided enough; And with Belos, we know a lot more about his background, AND he’s more humanized! The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise was all the story needed, and the mystery does add a layer of horror.

            Of course, certain people are freaking out over this revelation, so let me bring up this one popular Tumblr post going around, about how it’s important to humanize villains so the viewer can reflect on the capacity for evil of anyone, including themselves; With a very popular addition to that post being that humanizing a villain isn’t necessarily the same as sympathizing with them. The former is all Dana and the writers did, and frankly it’s all they needed to do.

            We’ve seen Luz and Lilith’s ability to fall for a cult under the promise of belonging, King feeling tough from destroying his enemies, the Collector’s possessive love. There’s plenty of good faith examples of hurting people because characters thought it was for the better, and Belos provides an example of bad faith, in addition to the show emphasizing character beats exclusive to him; The colonial white supremacist. The so-called critics aren’t really asking for what they say they are, because really, the complaints boil down not to the fact that Belos wasn’t humanized, it’s that the narrative didn’t sympathize with… a genocidal white supremacist?????

            I remember seeing Belos fans claim that the crew wrote him “differently” in S3, that they made him less sympathetic, which is silly to me not just because S3 Belos is the same guy as S2, but mask-off and in the midst of his villainous breakdown.

            But S3 was where the writers established that he was an orphan, that he wears his brother’s coat, that contrary to S2’s presentation, he DOES somehow feel guilt over the brother and Grimwalkers he murdered, and it’s an interesting contrast to his apparent apathy at the end of Hollow Mind!

            But it’s also not mutually exclusive from his prior-established enjoyment of hurting the Grimwalkers, because abusers can have mixed feelings about their abuse but still do it anyway because they ultimately still thrive on it. It doesn’t make Belos a good or tragic person, it just makes him human. The show doesn’t invite you to find him sympathetic for this, just condemn him more because of how pathetic it all is, it’s a realistic reaction based on how anyone would react to him IRL. There’s nothing different about Belos in the finale, it’s just a reminder of who he still is at his core, and being human doesn’t retroactively make committing genocide ‘complex’ because we’re all human, why does he get special credit for that?

            Again, I’ve seen some salty Belos stans claim that giving him a flashback was necessary to show how people can fall down that path, but again the show already did that. And amidst the discussion of good faith, the point with Belos specifically is that some people are just acting out of bad faith, and it’s why you can’t fix everyone, and that’s why we had the Collector’s hug fail. Because if you orchestrate genocide, then you’ve given up any claims of acting in good faith. Everyone has the capacity for evil, but realistically, it comes to some people a lot more easily than others; Even so, Boscha was a bully with no reason for it, but she still matured! And I see nothing wrong in this day and age of showing that a PoC has every right to kill a white supremacist who’d already murdered her. I swear it feels like people think belittling or hating on victims makes them subversive and not just stupid.

[lupinescribbler]

How to tell a story with your character’s outfit

1) think about the ‘why’ of their style

You might put them in a flannel shirt and boots because that fits the vibe you’re going for, but why do they wear it? Not everything has to be super intentional, sometimes people just wear what they like/was accessible to them, but it can be a good thing to consider. If they dress for a specific subculture (punk, goth, etc) why are they drawn to it? What aspect of it is appealing to them? Same with pretty much any other style of clothes. Sometimes it might be more due to location or context, do they live somewhere that’s hot/cold? Sunny/rainy? Are they financially well off? Did the styles of their family or friends rub off on them? Some of this might seem unnecessary or trite, but thinking of it through their eyes/experience instead of purely aesthetic or arbitrary choices can help ground it in a sense of realism and make it feel like an extension of who the character is.

2) diversify

A lot of the time I think writers will get caught giving characters variations of either what they themselves wear, or a handful of specific styles/clothes that they like. This can get redundant and limit how much you can express about a character through the outfit. If you struggle with ideas, pay attention to what people around you wear, people in shows, clothing isles in stores, etc.

3) add little details that tell us something about the character

Small details can help a story be immersive, and help with some more subtle storytelling. However, do note that a single detail on its own might not speak specifically to the trait you’re thinking of. Ill fitted clothes could indicate carelessness, frugality, hand-me-downs, obliviousness, etc. On its own it might be somewhat generic, but within the context of everything else about your character it can fit in nicely to paint a picture. Get creative with these little details, and really think of what they could help say about your character. Mismatched shoelaces, how exactly they wear different articles of clothing (buttoned up/not, wrinkled, etc), whether they wear their watch with the watch-face on the top or bottom of their wrist, whether the frames of their glasses are thin and light or thick and durable, whether their boots are clean and shined or dirty and scuffed, etc.

4) think of what vibe/image the overall outfit has

When you describe the character, a small handful of traits/things should pop out at them. I would advise against being too all over the place with it, if you’re trying to use the outfit to tell your reader twenty different things about your character through one outfit, most of them are going to be lost and the overall first impression of your character is going to be muddled. Figure out what you want to come across first and primarily for your character, other details will slowly come out over time. First impressions are important!

5) leave something for the imagination (or at least for later on in the story)

Mystery is alluring. A reader wants to be intrigued by a character, for details to unravel over time instead of being told everything from the beginning. Sometimes it can be useful to seed something to find out about the character later, or at least something that would only be given depth later. Maybe there is an element of their outfit that feels out of place with the rest, and the reader only finds out later in the story that it was a gift. Or a character who is always hauling around a backpack has a fear of being caught off-guard/underprepared which only slowly becomes evident as the story progresses.

This is something that can be done with a ton of different elements in a story, from characteristics, quirks, dialogue, reactions, etc, with attire just being an additional avenue.

6) parallel and contrast different character’s outfits

This one is pretty self evident, you can use it to demonstrate two characters have very different lifestyles, personality traits, backstory, etc, or to parallel where they are similar. Is one messy, another tidy? Two siblings have the same inclination towards frugality from their shared past? Bright and flashy versus dull tones? Practical versus stylish? Etc etc. I find it especially useful to compare very different characters, or to contrast more similar characters.

*

For final notes, take everything here with a grain of salt. This is what works for me and what I enjoy in reading. Pick and choose whatever you like, and discard anything if it doesn’t fit with your goal or writing style. Writing advice isn’t hard and fast rules, it’s a craft that everyone does in their own way. Happy writing!