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writtentragedies · 7 months ago

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INDIE, SELECTIVE / PRIVATE (MUTUALS ONLY) MULTIMUSE BLOG FOR CHARACTERS FROM SUPERNATURAL, RESIDENT EVIL, THE WALKING DEAD & MORE. Low activity / Slow replies. Written by Bibis, 26, she/her. Minors DNI.

GUIDELINES / HEADCANONS / MEMES.

Muse List:

Supernatural: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester // Resident Evil: Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong & Jill Valentine // The Walking Dead: Carl Grimes & Beth Greene // Game of Thrones - asoiaf: Robb Stark // MCU's Iron man: Tony Stark // Prison Break: Michael Scofield

Affiliated with: @lockedtowers / @cautionsissued

Credit / Mobile friendly guidelines & stuff under the cut.

Hey! You can call me Bibis or Bibi, I’m 26 and roleplaying has been a hobby of mine for over ten years now. You might’ve stumbled upon of of my blogs in the past, I used to write Tony Stark under the url heroofiron & Robb Stark under the urls direwolfofwinter, wintersking & unbeatenwclf. Currently I only have one other rp blog (orangeshinigami) and that’s where you can find me when I’m not on here.

So let’s get the fun started–

DISCLAIMER

I do not own any of the characters portrayed here or anything on this blog other than my writing.

CREDIT

icons - lanadelrph, baseicons, huntforgifs-blog, luluxaj, aerialdive, thehollowedartists, avasgraphics - icon border: fleursourceold // icons + background images used on the theme + pinned image & divider: lockedtowers (pngs used on said images: cavalierfou ); icon border: b1gtimerush

character banners: lockedtowers - vines used on the banners: Ladesire on deviantart

Header / promo template / dash icon: poohsources

DO NOT:

Pester me for replies. I am slow, very much so, I have chores & other hobbies + I’m going through some pretty rough stuff irl now so I may be offline for days upon days sometimes. If we’re mutuals, feel free to ask for my discord though, I’m willing to rp over there too!

Force a ship on me. That’s happened before and it was an extremely unpleasant situation. I like writing intricate stories, exploring many kinds of relationships and not just romantic ones so if shipping is all you care about, I’m not the right blog for you. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever write shippy things, I just like to do some plotting first, work on building the bond between our muses, that’s much better than just instashipping.

Follow me or approach me to write with you if you’re under the age of 18. Most muses on this blog are from horror franchises so mature themes will be present here almost on a daily basis and interacting with minors when I write this type of characters would make me uncomfortable.

Godmod. Some mild stuff is fine but if we’re writing a scene where a fight is taking place or something, don’t severely hurt or kill my character without plotting that with me first, that would be just rude.

Send me memes! It’s the best way to start interacting with me since I don’t post starter calls that often. And even if I haven’t reblogged any prompts, you can still send me things. I love getting random asks! Just always remember to specify which of the muses I play you’d like a response from. :)

Plot with me! I consider myself to be pretty creative and I just love coming up with a bunch of AU’s!! Crossovers are also something I adore, so please don’t be afraid to message me to plot.

Send me asks about my portrayal + personal headcanons. I do intend to post character bios, headcanons soon but like I said before I’m slow, so that might take a while. If you have any questions about anything regarding any of the muses I play on here, feel free to ask though! I’ll be more than happy to reply.

Interact with me ooc! ooc interactions are just as important as ic ones to me, I like befriending my rp partners as that gives me so much motivation to reply to threads and such! I promise I’m super friendly. <3

ADDITIONAL INFO:

So this is sort of a horror-themed blog so things like blood and violence won’t be tagged, if things do get a little too explicit however, I will be tagging the posts as “[insert trigger here] cw”, smut and the like will be tagged as nsfw and put under a read more. Let me know if you ever need anything specific to be tagged & I’ll do my best to have everything tagged accordingly.

I do some formatting and usually add icons to my replies. But if you don’t do that, it’s fine, I don’t really care about that and I will still write with you so no worries!

I write some characters from video games here and I know some people prefer to use rl faceclaims for those while others just use screencaps from the games to make icons. I'm okay with either, really and will adapt to my rp partner's choice regarding that when we're writing together.

My Resident Evil muses are heavily affiliated with my friend's ( cautionsissued ), since we've done lots of plotting together for them. So her muses Chris, Claire, Carlos, Mia, Rose and Sherry are my mains. But if you write one of those characters too, don't worry, I still will rp with you, it just won't be set in my main/default verse but in a different one. I'm always open to plotting and starting new au's as stated above, that being said-- never let me having a main for a certain character discourage you from writing with me!

I tend to get a little carried away while writing replies sometimes, but never feel like you have to match the length of said replies! Quality over quantity always. :’)

That’s about it, thank you so much for reading these!

#( ☠ ) pinned.

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skyloftian-nutcase · 9 months ago

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Hey, I have my first MRI on Friday, it’s going to need dye so I’m going to get an IV, and getting vials drawn at the same time. I do have a phobia of needles, is there anything I should expect or tips or something.

I apologize if this is hard to understand or anything.

What to expect:

MRIs are very powerful magnets. The providers are going to ask you a lot of questions about if you have this condition or that device implanted in you or if this has happened to you or whatnot. Basically what they’re trying to do is make sure you don’t have hardware in your body that the magnet will mess with. You’ll have to take off all your jewelry, so I don’t recommend wearing any, and you’ll have to put on a hospital gown (they give you a private room to do this with a locker to place your things).

For the IV, they’re gonna put a tourniquet on your arm. It’s tight and uncomfortable, but they do it so it creates some resistance to blood flow in your veins. Think of it as making a little beaver dam in the stream, this helps pool blood in the veins so they bulge or puff up so we can see them better and get the job done more easily. Sometimes balling your hand in a fist helps, though I personally find it doesn’t make a huge difference.

Veins have personalities! Some are extroverts, some are shy, but they all love getting massages. If your nurse/tech is having trouble finding a vein, they might tap your arm/hand or rub the area gently to help convince the little guys to peek out. Heat does the trick nicely too. I highly recommend hydrating as much as possible so your veins have fluid volume to help you out. ;) But cut off the water shortly before you get there and/or pee just before you have to go back so you’re not sitting in the scanner with a full bladder!

The worst part obviously is the little poke, but once they actually get in the vein the needle comes out super quick, and all that’s sitting in there then is basically a straw so the dye can go through. I find that I can start all the IVs in the world but I’m not the biggest fan of watching someone start one on me, so what I usually do is look somewhere else and focus on something that can distract me. Take deep breaths and don’t think about the poke, the more you brace against it, the harder it’s gonna be for the nurse/tech to get it. Stay still and think about blorbos! :) It’ll be over soon, it’ll be ok. ❤️

Once the vein is accessed, the next step is a little flush of saline to make sure they’re in the right spot. It might feel cold and you might taste salt, and that’s all totally normal! It means you’re all done with the IV establishment. :) They’ll just tape it in place so nothing gets pulled by accident. Then it’s in to the scan!

MRIs are very noisy. Ask them to give you headphones. It’s standard practice for them to give you some, but my first MRI was emergent and so I didn’t get any and boy was that unpleasant, so I always tell people to ask. They usually have options for the kind of music you can listen to as well! :)

MRIs are shaped like a long donut. You lay down in the hole of the donut. The table you’re on will do all the moving for you, so you can just lay there and chill. Idk if they do this for everyone, but sometimes they put kind of like a football helmet on you to try and help keep your head still. Movement during the scan messes the imaging up, so my best advice is close your eyes, listen to the music, and imagine you’re lounging on a beach. Slow, easy breaths and just relax. The scan won’t hurt you, it’s just noisy! ;)

The dye, once they infuse it in through the IV, may feel hot or cold, depending on what they’re using. It also may make you feel like you need to pee. That’s all totally normal and it doesn’t last more than a few seconds.

After everything’s done, they’ll remove the IV, which is a piece of cake, and then you can get dressed and go get some ice cream!

#you ask skye answers #lovely anon #Skye talks medical stuff

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polskasroka · 3 months ago

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A Whole Other Kind of Curse

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Hades (Supergiant Games Video Games)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Melinoë/Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Melinoë & Odysseus (Hades Video Game)

Characters: Melinoë (Hades Video Game), Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Moros (Hades Video Game), Hades (Hades Video Game), Chronos (Hades Video Game)

Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Psychological Torture, Unrequited Love, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warnings May Change

Summary:

Odysseus has been absent from the Crossroads long enough for Melinoë to start worrying. As it later turns out, he happened to have an awfully unlucky time in Erebus, after which he ended up at an exceptionally unpleasant audience with the Titan of Time himself.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or below (4,378 words)!

Melinoë’s been fazed since the very moment she returned from shadow.

Once more, before she came back to the reality in the Crossroads, Chronos had drilled himself into her head and taunted her with his twisted words that should’ve meant nothing to her. Melinoë has heard him say far worse and more nonsensical things already and she really shouldn’t let him affect her as much as he did tonight.

You shall pay for all that you’re so desperately trying to achieve. Soon, my girl, you shall discover it yourself.

The goddess shakes her head as the words ring in her ears, although she’s already wide awake. Apart from the Titan’s message being annoying to the core, there is also something to it that sends a chill down Melinoë’s spine. There is something highly ominous about the delivery and Melinoë doesn’t think it can foretell anything good.

What is she supposed to do about that, though? Ignore it and kill Chronos again and again, until the day of a miracle and his ultimate demise comes?

The coward, he always manages to flee right before Melinoë’s about to cut him into pieces and shove him to the deepest pits of the entire creation. She’s never even managed to catch the tip of his pretentiously named scythe. This has to change. She knows it but when will it happen? That she can’t know.

Moros doesn’t know when asked about it, either.

“I certainly can sense it when the Titan is near his final moment and I’m always prepared to show him what inevitable doom means, but alas… he seems to evade me more often than not, which I regrettably have to admit.”

“It reminds me of the trouble that Odysseus would cause you, back when he was alive,” Melinoë says in a lighter tone, trying to cheer herself up. “You could never quite catch him, correct?”

“That’s right, Princess. However, I wouldn’t make that kind of a parallel myself. Chronos will never impress me enough to compare him to Master Odysseus.”

The admiration in Moros’ words warms Melinoë’s heart.

“It’s always good to hear that you have so much regard for him, my Lord. And Speaking of the Great Tactician – have you seen him recently?”

“No, I haven’t. He left his post two nights ago, saying he had to scout some area and assess the situation in person. If I may, why are you asking?” Moros says, curious and a tad worried.

“I’ve got a weird feeling about his absence, Lord Moros,” Melinoë admits, her voice shaky near the end of her utterance. “Anyway.” She rubs her arm with her hand. “I’ll be off. I have to collect Moon Dust from the cauldron and pick my plants… Could I ask you for a favour, my Lord?”

“Always, Princess.”

“Please, inform me when Odysseus returns to the Crossroads, if that’s possible?”

“I would love to but I’m afraid it’s not easy for me to find you if you’re not on the verge of dying.”

The spirits briefly abandon Melinoë but then Moros speaks up, piquing the goddess’ interest again.

“But if you take my pin with you, I shall find you with much more ease as soon as Master Odysseus is back here with new plans and strategies.”

“I’ll do that, then. Thank you, Lord Moros. Moonlight guide you.”

“And Night protect us.”

It’s not reasonable to speculate about Odysseus’ whereabouts, so Melinoë does it as little as she can. Not that it’s an easy task – her mind keeps getting clouded by that inkling at the back of her head, the one that has her wonder if the tactician isn’t in danger by any chance.

She hesitates before she ventures out into Erebus. It’s as if she’s afraid of what she may discover if she delves deeper into the woods. At the same time, it could be that Melinoë will find nothing of any matter there, in the forest, but does she really want to find out if that’s true? The seemingly safer option of going up to the Surface suddenly seems much more convenient than it used to a couple of nights ago.

Maybe that’s what Melinoë will do. Maybe getting away from the Underworld at least once in a while will cleanse her troubled soul. It might be that the fight with Eris will be less of a nuisance than it usually is.

So the Surface it is. In an instant, it feels as if the problem were gone, even though it isn’t gone at all. The goddess is more than aware of it but she pushes through the hordes of Lost Shades as if there were no tomorrow. It does help let some steam off. The thought that with each swing of Melinoë’s Axe Chronos’ armies are depleting in numbers also brightens up the goddess’ mood.

The victory against Polyphemus is exceptionally satisfying. This satisfaction quickly turns into the feeling of shame and guilt, though, for it’s not that Melinoë has just avenged somebody. Nobody’s dead yet after all.

Now that’s an exaggeration to be thinking in such categories so soon!

Melinoë halts her unleashed thoughts and leaves the area with an exhale of disbelief.

With yet another ship devoid of wretched souls, the boon from Hermes that Melinoë purchased on the previous vessel is finally delivered to her. The message that she receives from the God of Swiftness is surely something she wasn’t expecting.

“Hey there, M! Although you and the Goddess of Wisdom haven’t met yet, she’s sending you the following message: Let us take care of the Surface for now, Cousin. You must return to the Underworld as soon as you can. I don’t know what she means by that but I hope you do!”

Having chosen the blessing from Hermes, Melinoë briefly wonders what Athena might be trying to convey. After all, everyone is aware of the fact that Chronos is hiding there, in the House of Hades. The coward won’t even go up to the Surface to raise the spirits among his armies! So what could it be that Athena, out of all the other Olympians, thinks requires immediate attention?

Everything soon falls into place.

“No…!” Melinoë gasps, having put two and two together.

But she’s not going to give up or let some undead creatures just kill her. She’s only even more motivated to storm through the remaining decks, grab the supplies from Charon’s shop and face Eris at the beach.

Melinoë is determined to finish this run as quickly as she can, so she totally ignores Strife’s taunting. She’s not careless, though. She wants to spare herself Eris’ babbling that would continue if Melinoë allowed her to best her. No, this doesn’t happen. Not when Melinoë has other places to be. Not when the stakes have just risen even higher.

The flaps of her tent flutter when she rushes past them, drawing Moros’ attention.

“Princess!”

“Lord Moros,” Melinoë says quickly, stopping to a halt, “I apologise, but I have to go.”

“May I be of help?” he asks, always polite and ready to support the Princess.

“No, not really. I have to go alone. I think I know where Odysseus is.”

Doom’s eyes widen and he nods. Melinoë nods too.

“Proceed with care,” he adds.

“I will.”

Melinoë does proceed with care. Equipping only her most trusted weapon and the most useful keepsake, she begins her journey down to the Underworld. This time, slaying the Titan isn’t the only task that she has to fulfil. This time, she has to find Odysseus somewhere there, in the ever-changing chambers of her father’s realm. She’ll manage, she has no other choice. After all, this is also her realm.

The first boon being from Hestia only adds to the Princess’ motivation. It makes her believe that her newest endeavour may actually end successfully.

No other outcome is allowed.

The young goddess can’t be reckless now. Thus, despite being in a rush, Melinoë’s attacks are calculated and she succeeds at avoiding the majority of her opponents’ strikes. This kind of fervour doesn’t go unnoticed by Hecate. Melinoë really doesn’t want to be explaining everything to her now and, luckily, she doesn’t have to – the Witch only praises the goddess for her visible power and determination.

Melinoë switches the keepsakes between the regions quickly, knowing exactly which gift to choose for which area. Maximum efficacy is highly required during this run.

So far, everything has been going well. Beating Scylla and the Sirens wasn’t too big of a problem and releasing Cerberus from the miasma filth is always relieving for the soul.

“Go find your master now,” Melinoë tells him when he’s about to return back to the Underworld, to his home. Before that happens, however, he turns his three heads and looks at her. She stares back into the three pairs of eyes, one pair after another, and thinks that there is some kind of empathy and trust glittering in them. A split-second sparkle of anticipation also flickers in his soul-piercing gaze and it clutches Melinoë’s heart.

Her chest tightens too. It’s almost as if she couldn’t breathe, and the sensation only gets worse the closer she is to the drop to Tartarus. She even hesitates before jumping down onto the floor below.

Melinoë takes a deep breath, drinks from the fountain and grabs the Knuckle Bones from the display case. Her fist clenches around them and then she releases them into her purse.

As always, satyrs, crawlers and goldwraiths swarm around her and she yells in fury while killing them one by one. Heat rises onto her cheeks and her soul suddenly feels so heavy. She’s three chambers away from Charon’s shop and thus, Chronos, and she hasn’t found any signs of Odysseus being around here yet.

Melinoë doesn’t allow herself to believe that the Titan is smart enough to purposefully hide Odysseus from her. Quite the contrary – knowing him, he’d boast about having captured a Shade like him, the Great Tactician himself (provided that Chronos is at least partially aware of Odysseus’ great deeds).

It frustrates her to the core and she moves on to clear another chamber. The hope of reaching the tactician in this maze of rooms is decreasing rapidly. If that’s any consolation, Melinoë wills herself to believe that, in the end, Chronos will brag about his latest catch once she enters the House of Hades.

Another consolation is that she’s about to enter the chamber where her father is held. The sight of him always manages to put a smile on her face, no matter how small said smile is. They both wish they had met in other circumstances but they have to live with what they have. Both of them always cherish these elusive minutes of their short conversations.

“Father…!” she says, sprinting into the chamber.

“Cerberus, look who it is…”

The three-headed dog woofs quietly and Melinoë can swear that she’s just seen the beast wag his tail. She still won’t dare to pet him but she’s happy that he doesn’t see her as an enemy.

“Whenever you return… so does a portion of my strength,” Hades continues, his voice hushed as always. As if he were afraid to disturb the current Lord of the House.

“I’m glad to hear that, Father. Before I go, I need you to help me with something else.”

“I’m afraid that my blessings are all I can do for you in this situation.”

“It’s not about the blessings. Tell me, have you seen–”

“Goddess?” goes a faint and raspy voice from somewhere behind Melinoë.

Her heart stops and air gets stuck in her lungs. She whips around and can’t believe how she hasn’t noticed that her father isn’t alone in this chamber (excluding Cerberus and the big boulder).

Melinoë freezes for a moment there, absolutely stricken with the fact that Odysseus is right there, held in Chronos’ captivity just like her father. Indeed, she suspected she’d stumble across the Shade somewhere in Tartarus or the House of Hades itself but… not here.

“Odysseus!”

Having snapped out of the initial shock, Melinoë casts an apologetic look at her father and then crosses the distance to kneel next to her missing tactician and help him sit up as she notices him struggling to do it by himself. She apologises to him at least ten times when she hears him hiss in pain.

When Odysseus’ back is safely propped against a wall, Melinoë sees how roughly and cruelly he must’ve been treated. Any faint colour leaves her features upon the sight of the Shade’s torn garments, dust and bruises on his skin and an ugly cut across his cheek. Apart from that, it takes him a moment to collect himself and recognise the surroundings and when he does so, a shroud of sorrow falls onto him. Only a little spark of joy remains in his eye, one evoked by Melinoë being there in one piece.

“You know this Shade, Daughter?” Hades’ voice booms from behind Melinoë.

“Of course, I do. Odysseus and Hecate… they brought me up and have been preparing me for the clash with Chronos my whole life,” she speaks in a soft manner.

“I can attest to that,” the tactician says, his own voice still hoarse but clearer than a while ago. “I’d love to introduce myself properly and show you my respect in a more appropriate way, my Lord, alas…” The sentence ends with a pained grunt, one that shatters Melinoë’s heart.

“There shall be time for that later, Odysseus.”

Melinoë grants her father a grateful look and then turns her attention back to the man in question.

“What happened, Od? How did you end up… here?” she asks, carefully removing grains of golden sand from his cheek there where the cut is. It doesn’t look good to start with, so the goddess doesn’t want its state to worsen. “Did Chronos do all this to you?”

“Aye. But fret not, Goddess, for you know that I’ve been through worse.”

“Nonsense.” Melinoë shakes her head and then notices the shackles around the Shade’s wrists. “Let me get rid of these.”

Try as she might, the chains won’t even budge.

“Why… Why isn’t it working?” she wonders, annoyed and hopeless. “Can it be that they’re like yours, Father?”

“Yes. Unfortunately,” Hades says. “Only the Titan can take them off. Or they’ll break on their own once the one who’s put them on the other, is dead.”

“I’ll make sure of that!” Melinoë controls her incoming rage and calms the storm down before it even arrives. Thankfulness present in Odysseus’ gaze has the goddess’ lips curl into a brief, little smile. “But I won’t leave until you tell me everything. I need to keep the Crossroads safe. And I need to get you out of here too.”

“It may take a while.”

“I’m all ears. Time can wait, whether he wants it or not.”

“Well, in this case…” Odysseus coughs and clears his throat. “I happened to have an awfully unlucky time in Erebus, after which I ended up at an exceptionally unpleasant audience with the Titan of Time himself…”

‐---------------------------

Recently, Odysseus has been hearing a lot about the enemy’s armies drawing closer and closer to the Crossroads. Concerning, to say the least. All reports that the tactician receives mention that information, so there’s nothing else left for Odysseus but to go and see what is really going on out there.

And he thought he’d never ever go to a war again.

Of course, Hecate did give him a choice. He didn’t have to join her and help her raise Melinoë. Yet, the Witch has always claimed that, in her eyes, the young goddess is simply a weapon against Chronos. Odysseus has always regarded Melinoë as someone much more than just a weapon.

Melinoë has her ways around Erebus and Odysseus has his. They sometimes overlap with Artemis’ ones but he’d actually love to come across Melinoë once in a while. Still, he never purposefully looks for any traces that she leaves. She’s got a different task and shouldn’t be distracted while trying to fulfil it.

Even though the tactician has his paths, he alters them quite often, so that he doesn’t risk getting caught while traversing the dense forest. Despite the proximity of the Crossroads, Chronos’ bolder servants tend to reach the boundaries of Hecate’s safe haven. Not that they’d be able to enter it but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. After all, Odysseus can’t know what kind of spell is protecting the Crossroads and whether the Titan’s armies can eventually work their way around it or not.

Odysseus’ vantage points are either located on small hills or rock formations, or trees (which are his least favourite ones).

The best spot overlooks a valley and is hidden among Erebus’ thicket, so it can’t be reached too easily. That’s where Odysseus is heading. From there, he’ll be able to assess the situation himself. While he knows that his scouts are shades of other warriors or strategists, they’re never going to be him. They’re not as whole as he is or seems to be.

Guided by Selene’s silver light that makes its way through to Erebus, Odysseus finds his way out of the underbrush and lands on the most convenient rock, his usual spot there. Now, he can observe and think.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t immediately see anything that could be considered high danger to the Crossroads. It’s true that Chronos’ legions have moved forward in a certain area in comparison to how it was the last time Odysseus saw it with his own eyes. But the Crossroads’ forces have advanced in a different spot, which more or less evens the score.

Not that it’s something that one shouldn’t worry about. It’s just… less exciting or dire than Odysseus expected it to be.

The fact that he doesn’t make it back to the Crossroads safely is not exciting at all, though.

He leaves the spot crouching, so as to avoid being noticed but it fails him anyway. A thick branch falls onto him and darkness shrouds his vision. Maybe he’d free himself in the few moments of drowsy consciousness if it weren’t for the satyrs constantly keeping an eye on him and making sure he blacks out sooner than he comes to.

A hard floor is what Odysseus wakes up on, which doesn’t help his rather disoriented state. His head hurts from the hit and his bones ache from being dragged all the way to here. Wherever here is.

He thought that injuries would hurt less when he’s dead but apparently, that’s not the case. Even the grains of sand that dig into the palms of his hands when he tries to lift himself up leave stinging indents in his skin. He brushes the specks off but, as it happens with sand, it takes a long while to go off completely, so the annoying itch remains.

As soon as his vision starts working properly, unblurred and focused, Odysseus raises his aching head and the ridiculous grandiosity of the place makes him dizzy. The obnoxiously shiny golden adornments that he spots all over the room increase the throbbing in his cranium and he has to squint if he wants to keep scanning his surroundings.

The sand that sticks to his hands and knees is all over the floor. Odysseus follows the bigger mounds of it with his half-closed eyes until a pool filled with golden sand comes into his view. That surely won’t be an escape route.

The tactician looks forward again. He also accidentally glances beneath and what he sees makes him freeze. Pushing some sand to the side, Odysseus reveals more of the floor, which is not tile – it’s glass. And underneath that glass, there are mechanisms, clockworks. Then, in an instant, he shoots his gaze back up and acknowledges all the statues and portraits on and against the walls. He acknowledges the tiles behind a throne that depict a certain figure. A child would fathom who it is.

Just as he thinks that the headache’s ebbing away, the sudden sizzling that resounds in the room makes it worse anew. Blinding whiteness erupts inside and causes Odysseus to squeeze his eyes shut. He needs it to go away, he needs the piercing white behind his eyelids to stop. He does his best to stay silent but he soon can’t help but yelp pitifully, earning himself a mean chuckle that worms its way into his head. It’s haunting and Odysseus sits back on his haunches to hold his head in his hands, gritting his teeth, inwardly convincing himself that it’s all going to pass in a moment.

Much to his surprise, it does. It’s as if a gust of fresh air is breathed into his soul.

Odysseus runs his hand down his face and blinks a couple of times, cleaning his vision of any remaining white spots, refocusing on what he can see. On who he can see right in front of him, when he dares to lift his gaze up a little bit.

The Shade lets out a long exhale, concentrated on composing himself. His hands, clenched into fists, are now resting atop his thighs. With his head still bowed, the tactician’s putting all of his effort into staying calm and collected for as long as he’s able. After all, he’s in no position to be grumbling or shouting, not when it’s the Titan of Time sat upon the throne, right there before him. Before the mere Shade that Odysseus is.

He's aware of how much of a lost cause he is. He is Chronos’ foe and the Titan has to know this. But no matter how dreadful this whole situation is, in his heart, Odysseus will never respect him. He may be forced onto his knees for the rest of eternity, but in no timeline will he honour the one who’s done so much harm and caused so much pain to the goddess Odysseus cherishes the most. The goddess he’s ready to worship more zealously than anyone else.

“Bringing a king down on his knees could never fail to satisfy me,” the Titan finally announces, proud and malicious. “The king of all gods shall too kneel before me sooner than he thinks. So shall my granddaughter.”

Odysseus’ eyes are sharp and fiery when he lifts his head up and locks his look with Chronos’ one. His throat grows dry in an instant, which he promptly ignores along with the dread creeping into his mind and reason. He still says nothing, even though the Titan sends him the most infuriating smirk known to man.

“My loyal informants have not failed me, it seems. You know who she is. Thus, you have confirmed my suspicions as to who you are, Shade. The so-called Great Tactician, former mortal king, Odysseus, who could neither predict nor evade a trap set for him in a place he should know best.”

The words are spewed out in a very dignified manner. Unnervingly serene. Almost lazy.

They’re to make Odysseus give in and break the eye contact but this is the last thing he’s willing to do. He’s horrified, yes, for he knows what it means to be dealing with an angry god – and now he’s facing a titan, his luck! But he won’t let the fear overbear him. He’ll get through this, he has to. For Melinoë.

“Nothing to say?” Chronos prompts, faking concern.

“Ah, quite the contrary, milord! In all my respect towards you,” of which I have none, Odysseus thinks, “I simply couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you. But now that I’m permitted to speak, I must apologise, for I’m about to rain on your parade, as we, mortals, say.”

Chronos’ eyelid twitches. Odysseus’ parched throat burns as he swallows.

“How can you, milord, be certain that my being here or not having evaded the trap you’ve mentioned isn’t a part of a greater scheme of mine? An opportunity for the Nightmare Goddess and the whole Olympus to strike while your attention is directed elsewhere?”

The bottom end of the Titan’s scythe smashes against the floor, the sound echoing in the whole room. Odysseus’ eyes flicker to the staff for a split second as Chronos rises from his throne. He chuckles lowly, menacingly, as he slowly approaches the Shade who’s feeling smaller and smaller the closer the Titan is getting.

Odysseus is shuddering, his clenched fists feel sweaty. A cold shiver runs down his spine and there’s no air left in his lungs. Or there is a sensation that is akin to being completely breathless. All of the tactician’s senses are telling him to run but where is he supposed to run to? He’s not going to beat Chronos in a house that belongs to him now.

“I will not play games with a Shade like you,” Chronos announces, his voice dropping and ringing in Odysseus’ ears near the end of the utterance. “Do you think I’m gullible enough to believe you, oh Great Tactician?”

Said tactician’s guts twist and a wave of horrid anxiety makes him sick and close to fainting. Then, he lets out an alarmed gasp when, all of a sudden, the Titan’s scythe’s pressed against his neck, right underneath his chin. Chronos pushes it even farther, making Odysseus’ chest heave, making him back away from the pressure as he’s now forced to keep looking upwards, straight at the Titan.

“I have not been analysing the timeline of the former king of Ithaca, son of Laërtes, to fall for his wily tricks and grand words at a moment such as this. Do not expect me to be misled. I have learnt about everything you’ve done and said.” The Titan stands tall, his glare full of contempt. “To grieve over 20 years… Certainly, you have not yet comprehended the true might of Time.”

There’s a sick tilt to Chronos’ lips as he elicits a cough from Odysseus. He may be dead but the sensation of being choked still produces a reflexive response.

“However, I can be merciful, unlike some of my children. You must know who I’m talking about.”

“How could I not?” Odysseus seethes.

“Good. Now, if you’re willing to cooperate…”

#hades 2 fanfic #hades 2 #melinoe #odysseus #hades 2 melinoe #hades 2 odysseus

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mari-lair · 2 years ago

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is it okay if you tell more about the mood swings au? i really like it and i’m dying to hear more about it ahahsjfhjsj

Sure! I love writing for this AU!!

For context: Mood Swing is an AU where Aoi, Akane, and Teru swap bodies (Aoi in Teru’s body, Akane in Aoi’s, and Teru in Akane’s. )

Aoi doesn’t feel comfortable exposing Teru’s scars when he makes an effort to hide them, so even though she dislikes his clothes, she wears his long-sleeved uniform. When she gets too overwhelmed by being in a different class with strangers, she styles his tie into a bow, wanting to feel at least a bit feminine, which gets a bit of confusion, but overall a very positive reaction from Teru's classmates, so she kept doing it.

When Teru, in Akane’s body, catches on to why she does it, he gives her some of his sister's hairpins to make her feel better. It’s too childish for Aoi’s taste, but she does put on the big stars and hello kitty hairclips to feel cute, embarrassed but happy about it.

The people that overhear this chat get confused. They thought Akane was an only child? And why did Akane put his mysterious sister's hairpins on Teru’s bag?? Akane suddenly feels very polite too?? When asked about it, Aoi isn’t sure what to say but Teru laughs it off, claiming Akane is so close to Tiara that he considers her his sister.

Teru wears Akane’s glasses sometimes, liking to not see supernaturals. He doesn’t do Akane’s ‘clock keeper duties’ but he uses this strange situation to his advantage, and learns where the clock keeper's boundary is.

He will shove Mirai off him if she tries to get on his shoulder and he won't hurt the clock keeper but he will be overall very unpleasant if they try to make him take on Akane's duties.

Kako and Mirai aren’t happy about this body-swap nonsense and they think about using Akane, but this incident happened before the severance, so Akane in Aoi's body can't see supernaturals, he walks right through Mirai when she tries. Aoi in Teru's body is the only option they have left, but the girl is both not very into doing favors and extremely suspicious. So they just have to accept they have lost their errant boy/maid/babysitter for the time being. Teru still has Akane's time-stopping powers though.

Akane is determined to not do any changes and mess up Aoi-chan life, so he wears a girl's school uniform and does the same complicated hairstyle as Aoi, which is near impossible considering he is used to have no hair to style. He needs Aoi's help, which is far harder than it normally would be to ask for, since she’s in Teru’s body. It takes a bit to get used to the idea that this is indeed Aoi, it looks and sounds like Teru but if he focus only on her little quirks, it will be fine-

He soon start to light up when he sees Aoi and rolls his eyes when he sees Teru. Everyone can tell 'Aoi-chan' have a crush on 'Minamoto senpai' so is weird to have her very loudly say she does NOT, and she hates him more than anyone, after witnessing her trail after Teru like a little puppy.

Aoi doesn't let Teru's fans be passive-aggressive with Akane. She can recognize this time she is the one with power to protect him, so she tries to come off as neutral but everyone can tell she is overprotective. Soon everyone is sure the prince and princess of school are in love.

Akane really thought he could pretend to be Aoi and not cause her trouble, he is very determined too! but he ‘breaks character’ on the very first day. His tolerance for confessions is zero. And he cannot completely follow the passive-aggressive talk of any fake girl that tries to talk with Aoi now that "Akane isn't around to be overprotective".

Akane sees someone struggling and he have the class rep instinct to help, but no, he can’t! He is Aoi-chan now, so he'll follow her routine! He sticks to this mentality for a while, but after he sees Teru not accepting to help half as many people as Akane usually does, Akane start to feel a bit stressed, finally breaking out of ‘character’ and starting to help the people in need when he saw Teru offer to help with the oven in home ec class.

The number of people that got weirded out by Aoi’s sudden rude attitude and the number of people that fell in love with how dedicated and 'brutal’ she has gotten are similar. Akane isn’t sure if he is glad or not that the confessions now ‘fit’ him more, able to feel like his classmates are confessing to him instead of Aoi when they say “You’re so determined and hard-working, your honesty is refreshing! You still look so cute! Cuter even! I feel like I too can change when I see you Aoi-chan, please go out with me!”

He tries to be blunt but still polite with these people, claiming his heart, er, her heart, belongs to another. But when is someone creepy or overly forward he just does his best to hit them with a bat, which is hard when he got Aoi’s delicate arms and not that much physical strength. He reluctantly accepts Teru's help with these kind of confessions.

#toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk #terukaneaoi #aoikane #teruaoi #(?)#the more i think about this au the more silly it gets #EVERYONE is so confused #mood swings au

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scorpiongrassfield · 1 year ago

Text

It's Time To Drop The Subject

Start | Prev

Pat’s warning to be gentle is starting to make more sense. You’d had an inkling about Theo’s role in all this, but you didn’t think that just talking about it would hurt him.

You don’t want to do that to him, he’s been hurt enough.

The crackling sound has become a roar, which doesn’t make you feel any less panicked.

“No, no, Theo it’s okay. Let’s think about something else now, okay?” you say, trying to steer away from the disaster unfolding.

You aren’t sure Theo hears you. He doesn’t indicate that he has, but he’s also busy coughing up creek water.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you say. Mostly for your own peace of mind.

“Theo, Theo look at me. You aren’t in the water anymore. You’re in your house. You’ve got a mug of hot tea on the table and a friend with you. It’s gonna be okay, nothing bad is going to happen here,” you say.

Theo finally manages to gasp in some air again. One breath, then another. You think he’s going to be okay.

The crackling sound begins to subside.

“We’re all safe here. You’re safe, Concrete is safe, I’m safe, we’ll be okay,” you say.

Then you put your hand on his arm. Try to offer some grounding contact, some comfort.

You regret it when the world shifts sideways. There’s an impact, like you’re being shoved sideways. Your head makes contact with something hard. Then, nothing.

You wake up disoriented and coughing. Creek water is gross to have in your mouth, and unpleasant to cough up. Your lungs and throat hurt like hell. But you aren’t dying.

You’re pretty sure you aren’t anyway. What was that, anyway?

Pat’s notes on ghosts didn’t mention anything like this. You’ll have to ask them about it later.

Once you can finally breathe without coughing again, you survey the area outside of the field.

The forest is looking quite robust. You can hardly tell that a fire even happened.

You can’t say the same thing for the cabin.

It’s in worse shape than the first time you saw it, the top floor completely burned up. And there are still some flames visible.

Shit.

Vaulting yourself up, you hurry over to the cabin as fast as you can while feeling as rough as you do.

You make it as far as the front walk before the shadow appears out of nowhere, right in front of you.

It seems… upset. It makes a shooing motion, like it wants you to go away.

You shake your head. “I need to make sure Theo and Concrete are okay.”

The shadow presses a finger to where its lips would be, signaling for you to be quiet.

You don’t have time for this, you try to go around the shadow.

It moves to block your path again.

“Hey, come on, this is important,” you say, trying to shove past it.

“Oh, did I just hear something? I must be looking in the wrong place,” you hear someone call from inside the cabin.

It sounds like Ametrine.

That’s… very bad.

You’re pretty sure you don’t want an exorcist anywhere near Theo.

The shadow blocks your next attempt to run inside.

It grabs you by the shoulders, uncharacteristically not hesistant to touch you.

“I can’t protect you and deal with her at the same time, especially after what you just did. Go back to Pat and leave us alone for a while,” the voice you’ve come to associate with the shadow says, sounding kind of pissed off.

The shadow shoves you hard.

So hard you’re shunted right out of the woods and into Pat’s car.

It’s still parked in Theo’s driveway.

Looking through the windshield, you can see that the cabin is still in one piece, no sign of fire.

Still, you can’t help but be worried.

You get out of the car, and head back up to the cabin.

There’s no answer when you knock, which isn’t surprising.

The door is unlocked when you check it though.

“Theo? Are you still around?” you call out.

No response.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I won’t pry into your business anymore, I promise. But I’m kind of worried about you,” you explain.

Nothing.

You sigh and resign yourself to searching the cabin.

He’s not in the kitchen, it’s empty except for the tea you made growing cold on the table.

He wasn’t in the living room when you passed through it, either. He’s not anywhere on the first floor, and there’s no sign of Concrete either.

The basement is equally devoid of inhabitants.

Theo is probably at the diner now. He said he needed to go there next. You wonder if the rigid schedule following a ghost thing, or a Theo thing. Or both.

Still, you want to be sure.

As you walk up to the second floor, you hear a crash from the direction of the game room.

You rush in to see that Concrete has knocked over the stack of game boxes that Theo had amassed while trying to figure out what to play earlier.

“Hi, Concrete,” you greet the cat as you get a little closer.

Concrete doesn’t seem to want to give you the time of day, and saunters away without acknowledging you.

Well, at least it seems like the cat is alright.

You put the games back on the shelf, then canvass the rest of the second floor.

Concrete is curled up on the bed when you check the bedroom, but you leave it be.

Theo doesn’t seem to be home anymore.

That’s probably for the best, if Ametrine is hanging around the Cabin. But you’d still like to warn him.

You almost consider driving over to the diner when you remember you have his phone number now.

You shoot off a series of texts.

[I’m really sorry about earlier and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me for a while]

[But I need you to know that I saw the exorcist near your house]

You consider leaving it at that, but then you remember that Theo might not register why an exorcist would be a danger to him.

[I don’t know if you remember any of our conversation but she’s really dangerous]

[She’s violent to everyone, ghosts and living people]

[If you see a blond woman in a dress that looks like it's modeled after a black dahlia please run]

[And I’m sorry again]

[Be safe]

With that, you put your phone back in your pocket. Whether or not Theo responds, you did your best to warn him.

Pat is probably starting to worry about you considering how long you’ve been gone.

You wave goodbye to Concrete and show yourself out of the house.

#interactive fiction #choose your own adventure #writeblr #original writing

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gunchamber · 2 years ago

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&.(Caroline).

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘'𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 / * @multi-royalty

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 in the midst of krissy being deep into her research hole . they’d been in krissy’s living room for majority of the afternoon , lounging on her lumpy couch while they just lived silently�� alongside each other . doing their own things mostly , which krissy appreciated a lot . they didn’t have to always be conversing or engaging each other constantly , being in the same room together was always more than enough . even though sometimes krissy did get fidgety when she needed more of care’s attention . yet this day all of krissy’s focus had been on her computer screen as she read over emails from several of her fellow hunters that kept in touch , she’d barely consider them friends , probably just the classic colleague title . but they explained that the news of mystic fall’s growing numbers in mysterious deaths was spreading , & despite already knowing krissy was in place here undercover . the threat still loomed that more hunters could very well be on their way . if that were true , it’d be a shitshow . & possibly , a blood bath . a tickling sensation on her calf has her brows furrowing , pursing a pout on pink tiers as she shifts her laptop from her lap to her coffee table , pulling her torso off the cushions to investigate the perpetrator . on the other end she catches caroline , delicate digits running along the flesh of her leg just above her ankle . memories rush to the forefront of krissy’s mind in an instant , unpleasant ones that have her teeth clenching tightly . but she doesn’t yank away from caroline’s touch , actually has to force herself not too , knowing the affection wasn’t from ill intent . it wasn’t abnormal for the pair , but she nearly asks caroline to stop , & she knows that would’ve made the other ask questions she’d rather not answer . not today . maybe not ever . krissy swallows harshly when finally , light hues flicker to land on her visage , calculating quickly as she skims gaze over the huntress’ features before a frown tugs edges of lips down . krissy sometimes hated how observant caroline is . the dreaded question is whispered , what happened ? & that’s when krissy pulls her legs away & pulls knees towards her chest . doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes across her friends expression . ❛ dog attack . was the neighbors & it got off its leash . ❜ the explanation is coated in a sternness that asks without anymore words needing to be said , to just leave it at that . krissy would rather not say it was a starved vampire that got the jump on her , it’d been so hungry it didn’t even wait to bite a chunk of her muscle straight off her body once it’d tripped her . it’d been one of her first vampire nests , & nearly was her last .

#❛ ic. ask ┊╳ answered ask .#❛ v2. 001 ┊╳ partners in crime ( caroline forbes ) .#( crumpet chaos. )#multi royalty #( multi royalty. )#/ IM SO SORRY THIS GOT ANGTSY

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jaymber · 2 years ago

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Hi! Here some questions for your babies:

Vaea: Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Silver: How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Linda: What memory do they revisit the most often?

Flavio: How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Amy: What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Gabby: Who do they most regret meeting?

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? For all of them

Vaea

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Honestly? Vaea’d rather be lied to. By 2079, he’s found what he sees as true happiness and doesn’t want anything to go wrong ever again in his life.

He knows Johnny, Kerry, hell, even Misty well enough to know when they’re lying, and he knows they’re not telling him everything about what happened around the time Johnny had Vaea’s body all for himself. He believes their blatant lies, not to face the truth his time stuck beyond the Blackwall has hurt the ones he loved more than he thought it would.

Silver

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

They get very defensive about their flaws. They wouldn’t call themself perfect, but they truly believe their assets are more important. They hate being called cold, calculating, or uncommunicative, and will blame it on their upbringing or their years working for Netwatch. They’re not the most forgiven of people, and will resent anyone who criticizes them.

Linda

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Right before he joined the military, Flavio, her older brother, got incredibly affective towards her. Maybe he knew Linda would be hurt to see him leave the house, maybe he just wanted to spend as much time with her as he could before leaving for God knows how long. It was a warm summer night, so hot Linda couldn’t sleep. She heard a ruckus above her head, and knew Flavio was climbing up the roof again to catch a glimpse of a star through the polluted sky of Night City. She called for him, and asked to join him since she was too small to climb herself. Usually, Flavio would nag her, but that time, he actually agreed. They spent the night drinking soda out of a cooler and looked at the sky until morning came.

Flavio

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Flavio is cool-headed and pragmatic. If a friend is too excited to make sense, he’ll puff and ask them to calm down before telling him what happened. He’ll listen to them with a critical ear, and will only be supportive if what they say aligns with his idea of what constitutes a good thing. If not, he’ll more often than not end up arguing with them that it’s not worth their excitement, or that they’re too excited to see the situation clearly.

Amy

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

With Amy’s erratic behavior, it’s really hard to tell. Sometimes, she can’t stay still and needs to move around constantly. What for? She doesn’t even know herself, but being still feels wrong, like her body will stop working forever if it’s not in perpetual motion. Other times, when she’s “in the zone”, she can stay unmoving for hours, though, for her, barely a few seconds have gone by. She just stares at the walls, the ground, a stain on her clothes that is probably blood, but she doesn’t quite remember how it got there in the first place. Sometimes, a whole movie’s happening in her head. Sometimes, it’s silent and just as still as she is. Not even white noise, just a void overtaking her mind for hours on end.

Gabby

Who do they most regret meeting?

Can you regret meeting your own family? Gabby does. Xe has often dreamt about a scenario in which xe had been abandoned, a lost heir to the throne who would come back and inherit Militech without having to ever put with the rest of the Luccessi. Most of his heartbreaks, failures, and other deceptions in life came from his family. His exigent father, his competitive siblings, his absent mother, … The only person that was pleasant with xem was xyr twin… who xe cannot help but dislike since she’s so much more talented than xe’ll ever be.

Bonus

What do you feel when you think of your OC?

Vaea - bittersweet. I love my “first born” so fucking much, but I seriously fucked up some aspect of his life (like his childhood) and I made him sacrifice something that deeply mattered to him, his netrunning ability, in order to find happiness. He’s fulfilled in his life, but omg baby I’m so sorry 😭

Silver - pride. Fuck, have you looked at them?! They’re so fucking badass! They were supposed to be nothing but Vaea’s ex but look at them go! Also, I mostly based them around the rep I want as a nonbinary person: a well-rounded character that is more than their gender. Powerful, but too ambitious for their own good. Intimidating, but awkward when they have to interact with people in a pleasant manner. They lack empathy, yet actually crave human connections. I just love them so much!

Linda - amused. She’s a hot mess, a pathetic self-centered girl who’s bound to lose everything she cares about in the most ironic way. Linda’s a fun character to think about. She’s witty and rude. She’s a bartender that only serves the clients she likes, and isn’t above kicking the ones she dislikes. She’s always broke, and totally oblivious about her own feelings for her best friend, 8ug. Yeah, her personality’s basically “what if Johnny SIlverhand had massive dohoonkabhankoloos”, but I think that's really funny!

Flavio - comfort. Flavio’s a chill, calm, composed character. He’s like latte or hazelnut ice cream. I think about him and I’m at peace. From the way he acts, to his identity in itself: a late egg to crack and someone who’ll never truly try to figure out their attraction. Don’t worry about it, dude, just vibe.

Amy - sadness, but pensive. God, I put her through so much. She died, came back to life, was tortured so bad her mind broke. Talk about beating a dead horse… I wanted her to be a “came back, but shouldn’t have” type of story, culminating in her meeting her adopted brother, Vaea again, before being killed before she could harm him. Simple story, simple character, simple ending. Something that felt like Cyberpunk, like Edgerunners. But I got attached, and I’m thinking more and more : “Screw what canon says about cyberpsychosis, Amy can heal, damnit!”

Gabby - creative. Uno, Gabby’s a libidinous character and I’m a smut writer. Dos, Gabby stars in fucked-up XBDs and I admit, I’m sometimes plagued with gruesome intrusive thoughts. I see Gabby as an OC I can have fun with, though I keep what I post tame cause I do feel self-conscious about the things I made xem do in my head. I think about Gabby and I’m like: “Fuck, the possibilities are endless!”

#thanks for the ask!!!!!#oc: vaea temarii #oc: silver #oc: linda llorente #oc: flavio llorente #oc: amy withers #oc: gabby luccessi

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fozmeadows · 4 years ago

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race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

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writinglizards · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Spool and Thread

Prompt: Giving gifts, mending clothing

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Minor Injury

Read on Ao3

Jaskier never means to start mending Geralt's clothing, it just...kind of happens.

Geralt rips his last good shirt on a hunt. The shoulder is torn and so is his actual shoulder.

In the heat of the moment, the wound gets the most attention. But after--

"You can't wear that," Jaskier gasps, tugging it out of Geralt's hands before he can pull it back on, bloody tear and all, "give that here."

He fixes it with the same neat stitches he'd used in Geralt's skin.

They don't talk about it, after, but Jaskier buys Geralt more of his awful, boring shirts at the next town large enough to have a tailor.

After that it just...becomes routine.

Geralt will never give Jaskier his ruined shirts but he starts...leaving them out. Especially after Jaskier digs one out of his bag that Geralt tries to hide, tries to make out as fine.

It's not fine. Jaskier will not be seen with a witcher who looks like he can barely feed and clothe himself.

Even if it is a little true.

Jaskier's still working on it, okay.

So Geralt doesn't give Jaskier his clothes to mend and Jaskier doesn't mend them for Geralt so much as he mends them so that he's not an embarrassment to be seen with. It's all...very intricate.

Mostly, he does it for the way Geralt's eyes go soft at the corners when he sees the patched shirt, though.

No one has to know that but him.

Jaskier mends Geralt's clothing and buys him replacements and they just...don't discuss it. Geralt doesn't do anything as nice for him but he also keeps him fed and alive out on the path which...it counts, okay? It counts.

It counts, especially when Jaskier's being hauled back into camp, Geralt's arm tight around his waist as he supports the bulk of his weight.

"Don't close your eyes, Jask," Geralt rasps as he lowers him to the ground, back pressed to Roach's saddle where it rests on the ground to help keep him more upright, "just don't close your eyes, I'll be, fuck, just a minute."

He's...bleeding pretty decently from a slice just above his breastbone. Any deeper and they'd be having a very different conversation. Right now it's shallow it just...hurts.

"Geralt," he starts when Geralt shuffles off to dump his potion back upside down, "Geralt, please--"

He's back in less than a minute, alcohol and a needle and thread in hand. Jaskier gulps.

He's patched Geralt up plenty of times but he's...he's only sat for a needle once, back at the very beginning when he'd just started following Geralt and he'd torn the soft tissue between thumb and forefinger. It had been...unpleasant.

This is going to be worse.

"Here," he says, handing Jaskier the alcohol, and he takes a deep pull before handing it back. It's not enough, he knows. Still, when Geralt removes his ruined doublet and chemise and asks him if he's ready, he nods.

He faints by the third stitch. It's...better that way.

-----

He comes to feeling stiff and achy, and when he goes to lift his left arm, the stitches pull and he freezes.

Oh that's going to be a bitch.

"Geralt?" he asks roughly, pressing himself up to a sitting position with his good arm, "Geralt?"

Geralt's at his side in a moment, easing him backward.

"Rest, Jaskier, you're fine. We're okay, just rest."

-----

It hurts like a bitch, but he gets over it, mostly. He mourns for his ruined doublet and chemise, but it's mostly for the sake of being dramatic--he can buy a new doublet when he's back in Oxenfurt this winter, twice as nice. And the wound is awful but it will make the most lovely scar to serenade lovers with the tale.

Geralt does not find that last point near as funny as he should, considering.

It's nearly healed, the stitches have come out (Geralt did it, carefully, and Jaskier had almost fainted again but it had been...fine...) and he's digging through his pack, rubbing uselessly at the itching, healing scar tissue when he comes across a familiar doublet that makes him pause.

It's...it's the doublet he'd been wearing when he'd gotten the injury, the one with the gash.

The one he's pretty sure he threw out.

He's alone in the inn room they've rented, Geralt downstairs interviewing some local about the contract he's working tomorrow. He sucks in a deep breath and pulls the doublet out of his pack.

The gash is large and the stitching is awkward and cramped, but there's been an effort to fix it. It's even the right color thread which is just...

The chemise is below the doublet, equally poorly mended. Despite himself, Jaskier feels tears well up in his eyes.

Behind him, the door creaks, heavy boots entering the room.

"Jask?"

He wants to say...something. He wants to but his throat has closed and he's afraid opening his mouth will only let out a sob and he's not...he's not sad it's just--

Geralt settles on his knees beside him, pulling Jaskier around slowly, but he stops when he sees the clothes.

"Oh." He looks...he looks uncomfortable, "sorry, I...I know it's a shit job and I had to wait to get the right thread and I..."

"Geralt," he finally chokes out, pitching forward to wrap his arms around his middle, bury his face against his chest. Tentatively, Geralt returns the embrace, palm smoothing up and down Jaskier's back as he fights back sobbing like a child.

"I'm--" he's about to apologize and Jaskier doesn't want him to get the wrong impression.

"Love, you didn't have to. Thank you."

"It's a shit job," Geralt repeats, sounding lost. Jaskier chokes on a laugh.

"You fixed it for me, though, darling. That's what matters."

"I just...you always..." he seems to be out of words though, and he just hmms softly.

"I know, darling. I appreciate it, I do." He's smiling just a little watery still when he pulls back, but he's...fuck he's so touched.

"Hm," Geralt repeats, then, "so it's okay?"

"It's more than okay," he says, smiling.

-----

The next morning Jaskier wears the repaired doublet and chemise. It truly is an awful job and he'll have to see what he can do about it later, but it's worth it for the way Geralt's eyes catch and hold, the tentative, tiny smile that tips up the corners of his mouth.

It will always be worth it.

#watb #what about the bard #wuv the bard #witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #i did not get around to enough of these BUT here yall go

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago

Text

Small Bits of Memory

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: None

Premise: Little moments between Scaramouche and the reader.

Author’s Note: Warning, I’m not caught up on the archon quest. I did skim the wiki (which made me kinda sad ngl), but if there are inaccuracies, that’s why. I also may have made Scaramouche a bit sappy because of this.

I took “comfort” to mean “hurt/comfort” so if some of these are a bit melancholic it’s because angst brain does not turn off.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is well familiar with nightmares. He knows the feeling of opening yours eyes in the dark, not moving, not crying out or sitting up; simply opening your eyes as the latent fear of your dreams finally catch up with you and finally your breathing starts to speed in your chest, as your finally realize how afraid you were. Thus on the first night he wakes to you staring intently at the darkness around you, still to the point of stiffness, he automatically understands what’s going on.

At first he’s too scared to wrap his arms around you, afraid that you’ll find the action frightening, or that you’ll instinctively reject him. He only reaches out his hand, secretly relieved when you entwined your fingers within his. Feeling vaguely sentimental in his tired state he whispers: “I’ll protect you from the dark, so stop staring and go back to sleep.” He hopes that you won’t tease him about it tomorrow, as some small part of him knows that it was a very silly thing to say.

Afterwards he grows a little bolder, inching closer to you, then letting one arm rest on your shoulder, fingers featherlight on your skin. Thankfully your penchant for nightmares isn’t too great, so it’s about two months before he wakes up the next day to his arms wrapped around you, you nestled within his sleepy embrace. Seeing you sleeping peacefully after the look of uncomprehending panic plastered across your features the night before calms him like few other things, and he sighs peacefully, letting his eyes flit closed once more. The two of you sleep in that day.

Scaramouche always panics slightly whenever you get hurt. It could be a paper cut, it could be a bruise, it could be a battle injury, his response is relatively similar each time. You might squirm as he cleans your cut off for the third time in ten minutes, assuring him that you aren’t going to die, but he isn’t truly listening to you. There’s a glazed look in his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to register that you’re calling his name. You worry about it sometimes, you wonder what might happen if you were to truly injure yourself. You hope he wouldn’t blame himself too much. Scaramouche has a surprising penchant towards self-flagellation, when he’s not telling himself that he’s superior to everyone around him.

Scaramouche has never horsed around in a river, never experienced a snowball fight, never watched a sunrise for the sake of it. He was not created for such things after all. It’s hard for him to imagine enjoyment in the little pieces of universal humanity, perhaps because he feels somehow separated from such a privilege. You start keeping a list of these sorts of things, small moments to enjoy. He finds the idea silly at first, but gradually grows to like the experience. Perhaps not the individual activities, but the experience as a whole. He might not understand the “universal human experience” as you call it, but the snow against his skin is cold and clear, and the sun looks like fire in the sky, and you’re smiling next to him, and all is well in the world.

Scaramouche doesn’t have much attachment to Inazuma, considering it a desolate land where the people survive despite, not because of, the land. He has no love for the plains, or the skinny forests, or the craggy rocks and hills. The flowers glow preternaturally, and the electricity that fills the air makes unpleasant crackling noises. Nevertheless he has to admit a fondness for the cherry blossoms that bloom on Narukami Islands. It’s as if a small sliver of beauty managed to scrape its way into the world. He’ll take you to see them sometimes, regardless of his status as a Harbinger and a general menace. Perched amidst the falling petals you remind him of some sort of spirit from folklore. If he could draw well at all he thinks he would make a portrait of you surrounded by those blossoms. Certainly there’d be nothing else worth painting.

The two of you like to read together, Scaramouche going over whatever plans he’s currently focusing on, you curled up with a book. If you find a passage or a quote you particularly like you’ll tap him on the shoulder, and Scaramouche will duly listen to you read it aloud. He likes the sound of your reading voice, the way it varies slightly from when you talk. Unfortunately he made the mistake of telling you that once, and you began to insist that he read for you. Though he secretly enjoys doing so, he still grumbles about it out of habit. The both of you know he’s only doing it for show.

Scaramouche once caught you using a broom like a sword. Though you looked very drunk he secretly found it endlessly endearing. He offered to teach you some basic sword forms (despite his weapon knowing swordplay is a basic requirement for all Fatui soldiers). You accepted eagerly at the time, unaware of how much you’d underestimated Scarmouche’s fervor when it came to training. It took a wooden sword snapped in half for him to lay off a little bit, but at least his troops started dropping hints at you that they no longer feared for their lives. Though you think they were joking, you were still glad for the learning experience. You two still spar every once in a while though.

Living up to his title of “Balladeer” Scaramouche has quite the haunting voice. Not particularly high, his range still has a natural warmth to it that belies his cold exterior. You almost never catch him actually singing. The first time it happened was when you had a migraine. Refusing to leave your tent – you hadn’t actually convinced him you weren’t dying – he seemed torn between boredom and worry. At first it was a mere hum, but soon enough it morphed into a captivating song. He refused to tell you the name of it, claiming he’d forgotten, and refused to bring it up the next morning. Still sometimes you’ll catch him now and then humming out a tune, usually when he’s reading or if you’re sick or upset. His singing is something you associate with comfort.

Scaramouche is a terrible letter writer. If you send him ten letters while he’s away he’ll send you three. Still what he lacks in quantity he makes up for in word count. Curt in his official reports, his letters to you are pure stream-of-consciousness, captivating whatever he’s thinking about at the time. Usually the letters are somewhat sappy (or surprisingly bold) missives on how much he loves you and misses you, somehow more honest than when he speaks to you face-to-face. Still you’ve also gotten quite used to a thousand words on how much he hates his fellow Harbingers. You don’t mind, keeping all his letters to you in a box. Though he claims to burn yours, he does the same.

Scaramouche always tell you the days he’s leaving and the days he’s returning. Sometimes he’ll have it down to an estimated hour. Though he appreciates the pomp and spectacle of appearing around others unannounced – something he does quite a bit when working – he refuses to keep you in a limbo of waiting. Secretly he’s also always afraid you might not show up on the docks one day, and every time he sees your face after a long time away a weight lifts in his chest, the pressure on his soul just a little easier to bear every time.

Scaramouche has always felt most comfortable at night. When the world sleeps, when he has the advantage of being awake, being alert, being more powerful. When there are fewer eyes on him, and he can even tell himself that he is the only one awake in the world, can indulge in those moments of wondering, wondering whether he has ever felt something, whether he is missing a crucial piece. Whether he has ever been happy, whether he wants to be so. He can be vulnerable at night, and thus is the reason it appealed to him so much.

Now the night is his favorite time of day because he can always be near you at that time. If you two are in the same land, then you will spend the night in the same room, the same tent, the same bed. Listening to the sound of your breathing, letting himself revel in your closeness, your arms wrapped around his waist, or his wrapped around you, Scaramouche feels truly content. Perhaps he is even happy, perhaps this is what happiness is, what love is. Perhaps it is something more than that, something undefinable, something too abstract to put into words. He loves you, he realizes to himself, he loves you so much. It is overwhelming, like a tidal wave, yet it does not frighten him. He could be struck by lightning and it would not frighten him. It will in the daytime, but now is the night, and now he can marvel peacefully at the fact that he truly loves you.

#made myself emotional with this #genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #headcanons #requested #my writing

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years ago

Text

As promised: let's talk Hades, and how acts of abuse can create toxic environments for everyone around them, and also how people react to those environments--and to them being disrupted.

(For reference, I have just kicked Theseus's ass for the first time, it was exactly as satisfying as it was intended to be, and then I got predictably slaughtered a couple of chambers into Styx. Spoilers for everything through that point, but please no spoilers in reblogs/comments for anything after that!) Also, TW for a whole lot of discussion of abuse, particularly verbal and emotional abuse, and abusive familyworkplace dynamics.

Okay, so. To start out with, Hades is an abusive parent. He engages in innumerable acts of verbal and emotional abuse towards his son, because yep, that's what you call it when a parent constantly berates and belittles their kid for every perceived failure, including the ones the parent themselves could have prevented. Sometimes especially the ones the parent could have prevented. Zagreus failed at his office clerk job because Hades refused to teach him how to do it and then blamed him for not already knowing how. Cerberus tore up the lounge because Hades, who was actually there, chose not to stop him. Hades created, possibly deliberately, and then took full advantage of every opportunity he saw to insult and demean his kid, and the clerk job flashback shows us that he was doing so even before the escape attempts started. I'm pretty sure we're all on the same page here, but: yep, that all constitutes abuse, even if they're gods. Even if Hades has reasons for Being Like That. Even if you think Zagreus seems okay and unharmed by it (which: repeatedly throwing yourself into a gauntlet of violence that inevitably ends in your own pain and death because you're so desperate to escape home, not actually an indicator of someone who's okay). We all good on that?

Cool. Because I'm not really here to talk about how Hades' abuse directly impacts Zagreus right now (although there's for sure an essay in that too). I'm thinking about how it impacts everybody else.

Hades isn't as obviously unreasonable with anybody else in his kingdom the way he is with his kid. When we see him lecture somebody else, it's usually for an actual failure to do their job: Hypnos for literally falling asleep on the job and not doing anything that was assigned to him, Megaera for letting us past her so many time, Orpheus for being a court bard who refuses to sing. His attitude is super confrontational and unpleasant, but on the surface it doesn't necessarily look as fucked-up. Thing is, though, whether any individual act of aggression towards an employee/family member is justified or not (I would generally argue 'not', because aggression towards employees/family members is, y'know, not justifiable)--it's not about the individual acts. It's about the entire cultivated atmosphere of toxicity and abuse.

One of the very first things Meg ever says to us is, "I'd rather be on your bad side than his." Up until that point, we've got no reason to believe Meg has any history whatsoever of fucking up at her job. In fact, we've got plenty of reason to believe she's good at it. She's fiercely proud of it, she's frequently Employee Of The [Time Period], and we've apparently never even met her sisters because she handles her shit herself. But she's still scared of Hades. Dusa, who is an anxious wreck at all times because oh god what if she gets fired what if she gets fired what if she gets fired, in spite of apparently being absolutely exemplary at her job, is scared of Hades. Every single shade in the Hall is clearly terrified of Hades, and it's not because of what he's done to each of them. It's what they've seen him do to other people.

Which is how toxic environments work, whether they're work environments or families. The Court of Hades is of course both, always, with the bonus hell layer of you can't quit even if you DIE. An abuser in authority doesn't have to target you in order to make you feel scared, cowed, and desperate to please them. Humans (and gods who are basically extra-powerful humans) are good at learning by example. The residents of the Court get the picture.

So this Court is a minefield--and everyone except Zagreus is very good at tiptoeing around mines. We see it in Meg, so desperate to do her job well. We see that Hypnos very clearly does not give a shit about anything, but he still makes sure to have a list of excuses ready if/when Hades ever confronts him about failure to do his job, just in case. We see it when Achilles tells us that my ability to help you is constrained by the authority your father gives me, or whatever the line was sixty runs ago when he couldn't let me into locked chambers. The system, such as it is, works, and if Nyx talks to Hades as little as possible, if Thanatos avoids the Court entirely, if Achilles treads very carefully and knows how to keep his head down--well that's just the system, right? That's just how things are.

Even Zagreus seems to have had a role in that system as the court fuckup. He's the kid who didn't have a real job or purpose. He could take the focus of Hades' generalized, day-to-day ire off of everyone else, without triggering some of the more direct and violent ire because the work he was doing didn't really matter (a LOT of Hades' rage-triggers seem to be related to job performance, which means that the people with real jobs are of course the most at risk). And he could do so "safely" (big emphasis on the quotation marks there) because he alone of the court is Hades' actual kid, who's Prince of the Underworld no matter how much he fucks up. If one of Nyx's other kids gets something really really wrong, she might be able to protect them from some consequences, but Hades doesn't have any layer of supposed parental affection holding him back from getting violently furious about it. Zagreus gets a nice bedroom and the abuse is limited to words rather than divine power, and Hades is a dick to everyone but he only occasionally condemns people to eternities of torture, and only for good reasons like refusing to sing when your job is to be court bard, so it's fine, everybody's fine, everything's totally fine, right?

Except it's not fine when everybody is so clearly worried about anything going wrong. And it's especially not fine for Zagreus, who's the person to finally say no. He's leaving, for his own sake, because he deserves better and he's finally convinced he can have it. And that turns the whole system into disarray.

I am endlessly fascinated by the ways this game portrays different characters reacting to this upheaval in their carefully-mapped minefield. It's different for authority figures and peers and servants, different based on how people are positioned in the house under Hades' rule, and it's so spot-on and I love it.

Nyx, for instance, is absolutely calm about the whole thing, because Nyx has power. Hades can't hurt her. Hades can't even really do much against her children, not when Hypnos and Thanatos are gods in their own right. Yes, Hades rules the kingdom, but Nyx owns the land, and she gives no shits about his rages. And it's interesting, too, to see the lines she doesn't draw. The deal seems to be that Hades doesn't fuck with her, and doesn't outright threaten her kids (because Hypnos is bad at his job, demonstrably so, and Hades hasn't ruined him yet), and she doesn't interfere with the way he treats the people around him. She gives Zagreus advice and support and the mirror, but she also doesn't take a direct stand against Hades. He can't hurt her, but he could make life...difficult. She's protected, her position in the minefield is more of a safe viewing platform than slogging through the middle of it, but the mines are still there.

And then we have Achilles, who is one of my favorite characters in the whole game because of how he reacts to this whole situation. Achilles, like Nyx, is so supportive. Every single time you see him he has something encouraging to say. He gives us his Codex, secretly finds us weapons, trained us for years, clearly wants us to succeed. And still he's limited, not necessarily out of fear for himself (though he has to be scared for himself, he knows what Hades does to people who anger him), but out of concern that if he gives Zagreus too much help in one way, he won't be able to provide help at all later. He's still so careful.

Achilles and Nyx are so fucking important to this story because they're the only authority figures Zagreus really has in his life except for his father, and they are so supportive. They're what keep this story from being a nightmare of psychological horror and depression. They can't stop the pressure from Hades and this life in his house being miserable for Zag, but they can give us hope, remind us that Zagreus is still loved. And they have such an incredibly important role when it comes to guilt, which is one of the biggest ways toxic systems maintain themselves.

If Zagreus leaves, what happens to everybody else? Who takes Hades' wrath then? Who becomes court scapegoat if he's not there, and also, who gets punished for his escape? These questions matter, and we see him worry about it! He asks Nyx and Achilles both, is it going to be okay that you're helping me, are you going to be alright, will my father hurt you for this? And they are both so firm about telling him no. No, I will be fine. See, here's the list of reasons about why I'm going to be fine, why my position in this minefield is secure. They make a point of telling us that it's fine, that we do not need to hold ourself back from getting out of this abusive situation for their sake. That is instrumental in Zagreus's ability to keep making these escape attempts without feeling too guilty and worried and selfish to go on. (Another thing that's actually really important in setting up that dynamic--we see that Hades cares about Cerberus, even if he's using him as a pawn against us, and Cerberus seems to be the one figure in court who Hades doesn't get mad at. The dog isn't at risk, and that is really essential in keeping the story from getting too grim.) These people who we care about refuse to let themselves be held hostage to secure our good behavior.

It's also really useful for raising the stakes later in the story--we see Hades arguing with Nyx once or twice, and we see Zagreus feeling guilty about it, but it's also a sign that we're making enough progress to piss him off. After I finally made it out of Elysium on my last run, I came home to find him furious with Achilles in a way that actually makes me nervous, because Achilles does not have nearly as much security in his position as he says he does. (Achilles is such a good teacher/authority figure, because he knows goddamn well what Hades could do to him, and still refuses to let fear for his own situation stop him from helping the abused kid under his care escape his. And no, not everybody has the capacity to do that, but it matters so much coming from the guy who helped raise us. It matters so much. I do not even have the words for how much.)

It's also no mistake that many of the people we find supporting us along our journey are either the people with the most power in their immediate environment, or the least. Sisyphus helps us because what more could they do to me than this? Orpheus is a little wild around the eyes and somewhat disconnected from reality, and he wishes us the best because someone should get what they want and also he no longer gives a single fuck what happens to him. Eurydice has her own cozy little corner of Asphodel, as safe from Hades' rage as anybody anywhere in his realm because she's tucked in such an out-of-the-way middle place she's outside his notice. Dusa is so scared of everything anyway that, crush aside, she isn't any more threatened by us escaping than she is just by her everyday life here. Charon is unfathomable and unstoppable; Skelly literally exists to be a punching bag, and yet he also seems basically immune to pain, no matter what we do to him. There's no threat from Hades there.

So the people most at risk when I flip the world on its ear are the ones who have so much standing that they have something to lose, but not enough to protect them from losing it. Which of course brings us to Than and Meg--who are, of course, the two people who also seem by far the most upset by my attempts to leave.

As authority figures, Nyx and Achilles are constantly reinforcing the message that it's Hades' fault, not ours, if they or anybody else get caught in the crossfire of his wrath. I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and it's not my guilt to bear. From Megaera and Thanatos, we get the opposite message--I am fucking with things, I am hurting people, and I need to stop. Zagreus isn't just abandoning them, as a friend or brother or lover or all of the above they're Greek gods who even knows. He's betraying them. They were in this together, as friends or lovers or whatever, but now Zagreus is sending earthquakes through the minefield they both still have to stand in. He is about to capsize this boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, he is fucking with the system, and they're the ones who are going to get most hurt.

I'm so curious how this is going to work for Than, who out of everyone we meet holds the closest role to Nyx's in terms of being sheltered from Hades' wrath. He's the guy who gets to leave, after all, even though he always has to come back. I've seen the least of him out of anybody so far because it took forever for me to get to Elysium, but two things really stand out and I'm so interested to see where they go. One, he really genuinely does care about Zagreus. He wants us safe, he wants us unhurt, the accessory he gives us only grants its bonus if we clear a room without taking injury, he keeps showing up to help. And two, he wants us to give up and go back and recognize how good we had it. Which is SO fucking interesting, considering how miserable Zagreus so clearly was, and how legitimate his reasons for being miserable were.

It makes me wonder so much about Than's standards for comparison. Does he know something we don't about what's waiting for us on the surface, something that might theoretically hurt Zagreus even more than staying down below? Has his life, which apparently allows him more freedom than anybody else in the Court, sucked horribly in ways we haven't seen, and that's why he spends so little time there in the first place? Either of those things is plausible, both of those things are plausible, and yet either one leads to this sense of patronizing, because he refuses to simply tell us. If something terrible is awaiting us, don't give us vague warnings, tell us what it is and let us decide for ourself! If you're fucking jealous because we might get out entirely and you're still stuck coming back here, say so. If you're worried about your mom--and he does bring her up, how could Zagreus turn his back on her like that, does seem to worry for her--then let's have an actual conversation about how many times she has insisted I do this and also how much I love her.

And, right, it's clear that a lot of Thanatos being upset is simply, you were going to leave me without even saying goodbye, you want to leave ME, which is understandable! But, like, he is demonstrably the one god who gets to visit the surface. He's the one person we actually COULD expect to see again. And he is absolutely also upset because there's an Order To Things, and we're fucking it up. We used to be his careless callow reckless friend who could talk back to Hades and get away with it, and now we're not, and everything is changing and we might leave him altogether, and we might leave him alone in that court without us, and he hates it.

Is it a short-sighted, selfish fear on his part? Yes, absolutely. Even if he's not scared of Hades on his own behalf, he is still frightened by what happens if we upset this system--and maybe it's the sanctity of a much bigger system than the Underworld that he's worried about! Maybe it's the whole divine and cosmic order. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect is enabling the abuse Zagreus has been dealing with for however-long he's been alive. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect OUGHT to be overturned, or at least shaken up. But this is what toxic systems DO. They convince the people within them that they have to be maintained, that a broken system that hurts the people within it is far better than no system at all, that changing the world is too scary and too dangerous. And Thanatos wants his whatever-Zagreus-is-to-him to be there, because he loves him and also because that's how the world works, and those things are all tangled up in one another, and that is how relationships are in a messed-up family like this so therefore I love it.

And Meg. Meg, the best for last, my dear, beautiful, furious, bitter, scared angry tired girl. I adore her. I am absolutely never going to date her, because the thing Zagreus needs most in his life hurts her, more directly than anybody else in the story, and that sucks, and it's not Zag's fault but they still shouldn't be together. Meg has taken more injury from this situation than anyone, quite literally as well as metaphorically, and it's not her fault any more than it's ours, but oh boy it has made her lash out and it's awful and it's perfect.

Meg's place in the Court of Hades is unique because she's not dead, not a mortal, not anything other than a god--but she's also not family. Nyx is not her mother. She's very much part of this system, she and her two sisters belong to Hades-the-realm and therefore also Hades-the-king, she can't leave, but she also doesn't have that protection of Nyx watching out for her in the same way. She's not royalty. She and her sisters (if you ask Hesiod instead of Virgil, which seems to be the interpretation the game's going with here) sprang from the blood of maimed Uranus at the same time as Aphrodite, but fuck knows Aphrodite isn't claiming them as siblings. And she can't be fired, exactly, but she sure can be demoted, and she sure can be made miserable in her job. Meg is vulnerable in a way very few people in Hades' employ are. She's a lot harder to do away with than any one random shade, but she's also a lot harder to miss blending in with a crowd.

What's more, she's the one person in this whole mess who is specifically tasked with stopping us from leaving. Hypnos isn't ordered to put us to sleep and keep us in our room. Thanatos can't be compelled or punished if he doesn't hunt us down. Achilles isn't told to lock us up and keep the keys. Meg is the one stationed at the doorway to Tartarus to keep us in. Meg is the one who gets in trouble when we leave. Meg (who Hades knows goddamn well Zagreus cares for, or cared for, who he absolutely knows we used to date) is the one who has to fight us again and again and again. And she's the one who keeps dying.

Again, it's this incredibly fucked-up guilt/hostage situation deliberately designed to keep people from fleeing abusive situations. Meg's insistence on fighting us now puts Zagreus in the position of having to hurt her himself again and again. Now suddenly we're the ones sticking a sword in our ex-girlfriend. Now suddenly someone can point to our desire to leave, to flee, to escape, and say, how selfish. How cruel. How terrible of us to want to go, when we're even willing to hurt the people we love to do it.

Except, right: Hades is the one who demands Meg stand there and stop us. Hades is the one who puts both of us in that position. Meg is also in an abusive situation, and she's willing to hurt us to protect herself. "I'd rather be on your bad side than your father's." It's easy to blame her at the start for being complicit, for being a tool of our father's abuse, for being on his side. It gets harder as the game goes on. I've killed her so many times. There's no way for her to beat me. She knows at this point that she can't beat me. She still fights, every single time, still throws herself upon that spike, not because she thinks she has any chance of stopping me but because she is so damn scared of what will happen if she doesn't try.

In fact, Meg's the one person we have actually seen face consequences for our actions so far, instead of just facing the threat of them. Her sisters are here. Her sisters, who she clearly does not want here, who are wild and violent and who she does not want in her life or anywhere near her, let alone near the job she takes so much pride in. She gets to deal with them now. (Hades doesn't have to deal with them. They're still not allowed in his court. But Meg does.) She gets stabbed, and bludgeoned, and shot, and lightning-struck, and poisoned, and every other thing we do to her. Thanatos doesn't. Nyx and Achilles and Hypnos don't. Bug Meg? Oh yes. Meg pays.

And yes, ok, she is complicit in this system. Everybody is complicit in this system. Zagreus who's trying to escape on his own behalf instead of overthrowing his father for the sake of everyone he'd otherwise be leaving behind is complicit in this system. Pointing fingers and pulling strings of who's more at fault? and who do we blame for this? is exactly how this sort of system perpetuates itself. Your sister always talked back at the dinner table and put everyone in an even worse and more violent mood. Your coworker refuses to work more than forty hours a week so now you have to take overtime to pick up their slack. You're enabling your dad by asking your sister to shut up, you're enabling your employer by working as hard as you do so you don't get fired, everyone's at fault, everyone's to blame, everyone is--

It's not everyone. It's Hades. It's Hades at the root of everything, and probably something big and institutional and fucked-up even beyond him. But even if everyone down in this Underworld does have to be trapped here forever, even if he's trapped here forever, Hades is neither challenging the system that put them here nor trying to make that fate better for anyone else stuck with him. He's just created an entire kingdom of backbiting and misery and people who can either go along with his whims or suffer the consequences.

At this point in the game, Meg is so fucking tired. Every time we run into her in the lounge, hunched over a table, the venom in her voice when she tells us "Do I look like I have anything to say to you?" is so bitter and so exhausted. There was a system, and she knew her place in the system, and it was a system divinely ordered by the gods themselves, and sure it was cruel but that's the literal will of the universe as far as she knows it. She had a role, and her role was vengeance and punishment and violence against those who'd committed the most egregious of sins in life, and there was a point to it, she was the divine deterrent to convince people not to do those things, and that was just, and that was right. The GODS THEMSELVES said so. How do you argue with that? You can't possibly argue with that!

And Zagreus is arguing with that. In trying to leave, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that nothing in the Underworld ever gets to leave it. In disobeying his father to do so, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that what the gods say is LAW. He's breaking everything.

And of course he's not trying to do any of that. He's not trying to destabilize the system at all. He's just trying to get himself out of it, to a place where he feels like he belongs and maybe a parent who's slightly nicer to him than this one. But toxic systems like this one break when the people within them have access to another option. When the kids find a way to actually leave, and not answer the phone, and not come home for holidays, and not deal with it any more. When the employees have the economic freedom to quit. When opportunities granted by education, money, social support, etc etc etc, show up and give people a choice. Even if the option is only ever for Zagreus--he's demonstrating that an option exists. Which is, of course, the one thing the system cannot ever allow.

I really like this game.

#hades game #hades spoilers #C plays stuff #driveby meta attack

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alberivh · 3 years ago

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VEILLE CONGRATULATIONS FOR YOUR MILESTONE YOU DESERVE IT MY LOVE >_< !!!

can i request for first and last letter with childe? T^T childe has so much potential for angst,, thank you for this!! <3

The first and Last

summaries : where childe open his ‘safebox’ after a long time ever since your last appearence in his dream. and because of his undelightful sight of numbness and vulnerable feeling, he decided to read the first and the last letter from you, his dead fiancé.

character : childe x GN! Reader

contains : sickness (implementations of bronchitis), major character death, heavy angst, slight comfort/hurt, over all pure angst, mentions of losing weight.

A/N : hELLO AERI! Thank you very much for requesting this, i hope this suits your liking! (( also please do check aeri’s page @dilucbar for more interesting genshin fic and writing hehe ))

as childe breaks onto the ground of his empty mansion, his numbness began to drown him onto an exhaustion. An empty exhaustion to be exact. A simple pushed-over of his feelings are now an inexistent memory of his, he used to be so bright, but now, What happened to those charming smiles of his? Could it be burned by your ashes? Or did he just simply forgot how to provide his mistakes to love you? He doesn’t know either, All he could felt are just a simple empty tears, scrolling down through his cheekbones. making it seems like he still hide an emotions underneath the crack of his facades.

he drags his body into his bedroom. It’s heavy feelings occurs his way onto his side of the bed, drowning it scents onto his nose. It was pretty messy, full of untidied shirt, fragrance of a dandelion parfume, and most of all, which has always been in a perfect shape and form, covered by a red ribbon, a small box has been in ‘that’ bedside for about 237th days now. The box was an unpleasant sight for him, it was a remembrance for him to realize you were gone and you couldn’t be back. After all death have always craved those who loved him forever and after.

so tonight he decided to open this box. To bring back his vulnerable emotions back. to bring back those glazing eyes of his when he saw you buried underneath the rock of your tombstone. Numb and sorrow are all he could felt, excitement while opening this treasure of his lover pieces are nothing more than a natural hunch of his nature.

The box are full of your handwritten letters you’ve left for him. You’ve always collected the copied of your letter into this old wooden-tile box incase if anything happens to you, he could recollect his memory to remembered you again. ‘In the old days, if you lost your track, find me again through this box darling, sincerely, (name).’ Written in the top of the box instruction. He opens through the first letter of the stockpiles , it was one of your first letter for him. The most memorable one in fact. Written in the most familiar and comforting handwriting he has missed for ages.

to my dearest, ajax.

I haven’t seen you in ages, where have you been? Have you had a good time with the new recruits? Are you feeling well? Do you have any new interest while exploring the inner city of fontaine? AHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTION FOR YOU, YOU SHOULD JUST BE BACK SO I COULD INTEROGATE YOU MOREE,, I was about to surprised you back then with a classic snzehnayan dish you’ve always craved for, but you know.. you just disappeared to a dust and it make me thinks you are a hallucination of mine, but now i’ve heard you have an amazing time in fontaine, i couldn’t help but smile and feel relieved. i’m glad you had a great time darling, Really glad in fact!

So please do bring me some souvenir as a return of your..compensation for keeping me waiting hehe, i’ll see you soon then!

from, your lover, (name)

It was your last letter you’ve sent to your lover, before childe came screaming on your name at the emergency room, searching for your figure to be embrace in his arm. To comfort you he said, despite the worries and sweats he witness while in his way to check your structure, you’re his fiance after all, He couldn’t lose you for everything, childe is too selfish to expect the best of you.

He remembers when he was feeding you, taking care of you like another baby-sibling of his and still loves you nonetheless. Maybe only childe could do it, he prepared everything for you, leading you with the wheelchair or even hand carry you in one arm if your condition lead you to be more clingy to him. He does it all for you, for you to be happy and stay a little bit more longer than he expected to be. Just for you to be more selfish, so death could wait longer for your arrival.

Bronchitis is the name of the disease, a deadly one in fact. If it were not taken care of, maybe you were already dead by now. Maybe it would be pointless for childe to scream your name in the emergency room, searching for you, anyone but you.

as you were coughing in his arms ; making many form of mucus in your lungs, while he carries you in his shoulder, patting your back so you could feel much more in ease. You feel so light now and you’ve lost so many weight, it worries him to the edge. Though your tenderness have always lingers onto his body, it still stressed him, you’re not supposed to be gone this fast, you’re supposed to be alive and well. Let him die, he is a murderer of the innocence yet he still live long and well. How ironic it is for the sinner to always stand as the first and the last?

“ajax..i’ve prepared so many things for you, these past days..though i would say i’m still scared of letting you go..”

“Hmm..and why is it my love?” , curious and in interest of knowing much more of your recent condition, he asked you straightforwardly. Voice gone anxious and body became colder than before, you find it precious how he always prioritize you over everything.

“i just don’t want to die..i don’t want to..this breathing ventilator sucks..i really want to be with you ajax, i really want to..” you were sobbing in his jacket, hiding your face in his embrace, not wanting him to see the awful side of you for being too egoistic for your own stability.

“just, ajax..if i left you..please take that box i’ve always brought..read the last letter if you’re ready..i loved you…so much..”

you’re lost in the snow, starting your new ways in heaven. Leaving him behind ; alone. even after encouraging you to stay longer than he will, though if he think it again, it was all a bullshit for you to stay. now, he is ready to witness the pieces of you he always wanted to knew, a new pieces of you to be loved again by him. Just please let it be a decent farewell, he didn’t ask for more, but just a decent love and farewell are all he could ask for.

opening in terror of expectation. he found himself to be quite charmed by the appearence of this letter. Sniffs and sobs crawling down to his cheeksbone, making it seems like he was finally reaching his emotions after the emptiness he felt these past seconds.

to, my dearest, ajax.

Ajax, You probably read this when i’m already gone. It might be hard to move on and live another life, still I hope your managing well in your current life, i’ll always look upon you my love. Just please do not harm yourself, i’ve always been worried about you since i lay in this painfully awful bed. So please, would you keep it mind..? i loved you so much that i have no hesitation to continue to love you more in the afterlife. I’m just too selfish for you, for you to withess nor to love.

I don’t think i’ll be able to send you all of my letters for you in this box i’ve always treasured. Though i have certain thoughts to be filled when i wrote this letter. I know i haven’t been a good lover for you, you’ve always taken care of me and i could only nod in gratitude. I really wish the god’s gave me two chance to live with you again, just for myself to stay even if it pains me. I don’t want to die, i don’t want to. I hope i could live another day everytime i sleep in your arms, i don’t want to lose another person because my time has losen up. I regretted this, everything.

And if in another life i could called you by your name again. Please do recognize me as your old lover. Thoug if it meant for me to forget about you, at least those deja vu from our past could bring you back to me. I do not beg for more sympathy from you, you’re too precious for me. You shouldn’t have suffer this much because of me. I loved you ajax. even if it were only the last chance for you to met me again in your dream or hallucination. I wish you a farewell, a pleasing farewell. I couldn’t bare someone to hurt because of their lost, just because i’m not strong enough to stay with you and outlived you.

Ah and remember the souvenir you gave to me from fontaine? i’ve always used it ever since you gave it to me. I don’t know if you realized it or not, but this gift from you have always been one of my comfort, it was the only pieces of you that i could remember when you were not here with me. I have no regrets that i still could hold into it until my death. So take it, it could be the only remembrance of me till the end of the 100 years of your life.

So ajax, know your worth. You are far from perfect yet the sight of you have always been one of the reason i’m alive. Don’t be too selfish to give someone a chance to survive, live well and die well. You’ve always have been my last memory of the lover i clearly love wholeheartedly. Love yourself for me, for you, and for the others who listen to your pleas. Found me again in the afterlife won’t you? I love you.

from, your old lover, (name).

he was crying in tears of hopeless numbness and sorrow. How many times has he been cussing a ‘fuck’ out of his mouth? He doesn’t even know, He lost count. He was crying in the ground, leaving puffy cheeks and eyes behind. your words are too much for him to bare. You are too kind for him, too much for him. The grief of losing you are already too much for him to bare. He doesn’t want to remember you are dead, he just wants to remember how much you loved him. It comforted him, always have been. But now you’re gone, he could only hold into the tiny box of his lovers oath. It’s a curse to be loved by you.

#ajax #tartaglia #childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact childe #childe angst #tartaglia angst #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact fanfic #childe fanfic #childe headcannons #childe x reader angst #tartaglia x reader angst

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