#yes i study English lit can you tell??

[rosieswriting]

Closer than ever

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Summary: After years of friendship filled with banter, study sessions, and always having each other’s back, a certain Gryffindor victory shifts everything between them. The lines they’ve carefully walked for so long start to blur, sparking a new closeness neither can ignore.

Note: english is not my first languaje so it probably has some mistakes!

Words: 1,9K

It was a Sunday morning, and the first days of spring had brought a warm glow over Hogwarts. The Gryffindor team had been training all morning under their new, overly enthusiastic captain—your brother, James Potter—who was determined to crush Slytherin in the upcoming match.

“We’re telling you, Moony, he’s going to be the death of us!” Sirius groaned dramatically to Remus and Peter, clutching his chest with exaggerated despair. The table broke into chuckles, everyone except James.

“You’re exaggerating,” James said, taking a long sip of his orange juice, looking unimpressed.

“He’s really not, Jamie,” you interjected, giving him a pointed look. “It’s barely nine in the morning, and we’re here, fresh from a two-hour training session, just trying to enjoy breakfast,” you added, taking a bite of your toast.

James shrugged, grinning. “When we beat Slytherin, you’ll all be thanking me.”

You and Sirius shared an eye roll, and Peter and Remus gave a small laugh. Soon, the Marauders shifted the conversation to other things—something about their latest plan to prank the Ravenclaws—but you tuned them out, savoring the warmth of breakfast and the rare spring sun filtering through the Great Hall.

Beside you, Remus leaned in, speaking softly. “Are you still up for the study session with Lily later? Or do you want to take it easy after practice?”

Since your first year, Remus had always been the one to help you with studies when you needed it. Weekly study sessions had become a tradition, and once Remus and Lily had grown close, she’d started joining you too.

“I’m still up for it,” you replied, turning to smile at him. “I have an essay due on that Goblin War of 1882, or something like that.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that one from last year,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got you covered. Same time in the library?”

“Same time,” you confirmed.

Later that afternoon, you made your way to the library, books and notes in hand. As you entered, you spotted Remus already sitting at your usual table, a few books spread out in front of him. He looked up, giving you a warm smile as he waved you over.

“Hey! Ready to tackle the Goblin War of 1882?” he greeted with a grin, sliding a seat out for you.

“Not really, but I’ll try,” you replied with a laugh, settling down beside him.

As you set up your notes, you noticed that Lily was nowhere to be found. "Where’s Lily? Don’t tell me she bailed on us,” you joked, glancing around.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “She did, actually. But only for a good reason—your brother convinced her to go for a walk around the lake.”

“Of course he did,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling at the thought of James finally winning Lily over enough to steal her for a date. “Guess it’s just us, then.”

“Just us,” he repeated his tone light but with the slightest hint of something softer, and you couldn’t help but feel a warm flutter in your chest.

Remus pulled one of the books towards you, flipping to a section he’d marked. “So, for your essay, you’re supposed to cover the lead-up to the war, right? I found a few bits in here that might help.”

“Thank Merlin you’re here,” you sighed, leaning in to read over his shoulder. The proximity made your face warm, and you quickly turned your attention to the book to avoid giving yourself away.

He started explaining the notes he’d gathered, his voice soft and steady as he walked you through the political tensions and key events leading up to the conflict. You noticed how his hands moved as he spoke, gesturing in small, precise movements, and how his face lit up slightly as he explained things. There was something calming about the way he taught—like he wasn’t just helping you study but making it genuinely enjoyable.

After a while, he paused, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual. “You’re actually getting this down quicker than I thought.”

“Are you doubting my historical expertise, Lupin?” you teased, glancing up at him with a smirk.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not at all, but you did look a bit horrified earlier at breakfast when you mentioned the essay.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Alright, fair point.”

A comfortable silence settled over you both as you continued writing, only broken occasionally by quiet questions and shared glances that made your heart race more than you’d like to admit.

Eventually, your attention drifted back to Remus, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned through one of the history books. “You know, I never did get why you’re always so patient with me about this stuff.” You said softly “You know you don’t have to keep impressing James to be your friend, right?” you added playfully.

He looked up, surprised by the question but with a fond smile playing at his lips. “I know” he answered chuckling “I like spending time with you.” he replied simply, his voice barely above a whisper.

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, and the air between you grew warm. “Well… I like spending time with you too,” you murmured back, feeling bolder than usual.

For a moment, you just looked at each other, the silence now filled with unspoken words and the quiet buzz of the library around you. Neither of you moved, and neither did anything to break the spell. Instead, you just smiled, feeling flustered and shy, but somehow happier than you’d been all day.

Remus cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence but not the mood. “So… back to the Goblin War?”

You laughed, nodding. “Back to the Goblin War.”

And, as you returned to your notes, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, this little spark between you both was something he felt too.

A week after, the Gryffindor common room was a blur of red and gold, filled with cheers and music as everyone celebrated their win over Slytherin. As one of the Chasers, you’d played a crucial role, weaving through the Slytherin defense and scoring more than once, and your teammates and friends hadn’t stopped congratulating you since.

As you moved through the room, basking in the praise and warmth of your friends, Remus caught your eye from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, holding a cigarette and smiling softly as he watched you. You made your way over to him, dodging tipsy students and sidestepping Sirius, who was in the middle of a very dramatic retelling of the match to a group of fourth years.

“Hey,” he greeted, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You were incredible out there.”

“Thanks, Rem.” You grinned, taking a sip from your own drink. “I’d say I had to be. Slytherin was definitely out for blood.”

“Tell me about it,” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play like that.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It is Slytherin, after all.” You smirked. “You know, I wish you could come up there with me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d have to use a Sticking Charm to keep me on that broom, but... maybe someday.”

You grinned, holding out your pinky. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He hooked his pinky with yours, giving you a look that made your heart skip. “Fine. But only if you promise you won’t laugh when I fall off.”

“Deal” you whispered, still caught in his gaze.

“Although I’m not sure if I’ll be as good as you” he said softly.

The compliment caught you a bit off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm slightly, though you brushed it off with a laugh. “Flattery now, Lupin? I’m not that easy.”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Could’ve fooled me. You looked over the audience about five times during the game, couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

You laughed, nudging him. “Maybe you were distracting me.” You said playfully.

“Was I?” he asked, giving you that lazy, half-smile that made it impossible to tell if he was serious.

You smirked, folding your arms as you leaned in a little. “Yeah. You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

The words slipped out, and for a split second, you wondered if you’d gone too far. But instead of getting flustered, Remus just laughed, a deep, warm chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine.

He took a small step closer, his voice soft but playful. “So what if I do?”

Suddenly, you found yourself speechless, your usual confidence shaken by the way he was looking at you. Your heart raced, cheeks burning, and you tried to come up with a clever comeback but failed miserably.

Remus chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Didn’t expect that one, did you?” he teased gently, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken as you looked up at him. “Shut up” you mumbled.

His smile softened, and he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you wanted to. But of course, you didn’t. You closed the distance, meeting him halfway, and his lips were warm and soft against yours, filling you with a heady rush that made the whole world fade away.

His hands settled on your waist, fingers pressing gently as he pulled you closer, making your heart race. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, fingers finding their way into the soft strands of his hair, savoring the warmth radiating from him. The kiss was anything but rushed; it was slow, each movement filled with a quiet intensity that spoke volumes.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the world melt away, leaving only the feeling of his steady heartbeat against your chest, the gentle touch of his hands as he drew you impossibly closer, and the realization that you’d both been waiting, yearning, for this moment to unfold. When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispered, “You really are something, you know that?”

But just as you were about to say something, you heard someone clear their throat beside you.

You both turned to find James standing there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, well,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “about time, don’t you think?”

You felt your face go hot, scrambling to explain yourself, but James just rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Please, I’m just glad you finally got around to it. Just… no public displays around me, alright?” He winked and clapped Remus on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, Moony. But you better take care of her, or I’ll be hexing you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else, mate,” Remus replied, glancing at you with a smile that made your heart skip.

James gave you one last playful eye-roll before heading back into the crowd. And as you turned back to Remus, you felt that spark between you both grow even warmer, knowing that whatever this was, you weren’t the only one who wanted it.

“Again?” you ask him smiling widely, making him chuckle.

“Again” me muttered against your lips before kissing you.

[ssa-dado]

1 - Orchids & Knots

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: A young profiler, recently recruited by Jason Gideon, joins the BAU and works with experienced agents, including Hotch and Rossi, on a challenging case involving a methodical killer. Despite initial nervousness, you start to bond with Hotch through wit and shared work ethic, revealing unexpected personal sides along the intense investigation.

Warnings: Usual CM case described in detail, hideous use of one bedroom trope, Gissi implied as a joke

Word Count: 4.1k

Dado's Corner: first part of the upcoming series! Still have no clue of how many parts it could have, just expect a very slow burn. My other fic - Symposium (definitely not platonic love) - is part of the same universe, hence why reader is still a philosophy enthusiast. You can enjoy this pilot as its own or read it before or after Symposium. You do you. Again, I'm aware there might be some mistakes as English isn't my first language so bear with me.

part zero - reading optional, but strongly advised ; part two

Everyone who knew you had assumed you'd take an academic route in your professional life, perhaps becoming a professor or researcher, but something you couldn’t explain had always pulled you toward the darker corners of human behavior.

You weren't satisfied with just understanding the human mind, you wanted to see what happened when it broke.

Now, you were standing still on the elevator on your way to meet Jason Gideon, the legend who had recruited you after being impressed by your sharp mind during a lecture he held at the academy.

Maybe it was because of your passion to philosophy that made you a natural curious person, always asking – sometimes asking way too many – questions, never taking anything for granted.

After that lecture you understood that profiling was a subject that rewarded what many considered to be one of your most annoying flaws. Hence why another reason you probably decide to follow that specific path, out of all the others: you wanted to prove everyone wrong.

What many didn’t see though - and most of the times you didn’t even realise yourself - is that you questioned yourself and your decisions more than anything else. Although for once, trusting more your instincts rather than your reasoning to decide to work at the Bureau, somehow sweetly felt right.

“Y/N, right?” A deep voice cut through your thoughts. You turned to see Gideon standing beside a tall man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His expression appeared stoic, yet his eyes - sharp and calculated - were the most striking feature about him, even more than the smoke coming from his ears as he was focusing all of his energies on you to read through your façade.

As you entered the barely lit bullpen, the weight of the moment hit you. The room was filled with agents, all seasoned professionals busy with their work, pouring over case files, dissecting behavioral patterns, and speaking in hushed tones about suspects and profiles. Their years of experience were palpable, but instead of shrinking, you felt a quiet resolve. You were aware you had something unique to offer - not to be cocky about it - and Gideon clearly thought so too, otherwise you wouldn’t be there.

You were trying your best to be as neutral as possible but you couldn’t deny you immediately felt a wave of adrenaline coursing through you. Knowing you were standing before one most formidable profilers the FBI had ever known and next to him the one you hypothesised to be the Bureau’s next rising star. There wouldn’t be any other plausible reasons for him to stand so close to Gideon otherwise, you thought.

“Yes, sir,” you responded, willing yourself to keep calm. Gideon had introduced you to the mystery man next to him – SSA Aaron Hotchner – or you-can-call-me-Hotch; For a moment you felt so uncool for not having a nickname yourself.

Hotch studied you further for a moment, his face unreadable, but you could tell he was intrigued. His nod was brief, but it felt like a form of acknowledgment.

Gideon smiled warmly. “Good to see you again, Y/N. I’ve been just telling Hotch here about your academic work, very impressive stuff. I’m sure the mix of philosophy, linguistics and psychology will give you quite of a unique lens for profiling.”

“Welcome to the team,” Hotch said simply, though his tone carried weight. With just a sentence he made sure to remind you that you weren’t just another recruit, you were expected to contribute. You hoped his remark would just point out at the overall high expectations everyone had of you, instead of him questioning your presence here due to your young age, less than a week passed from your 21st birthday.

"Thank you," you said, trying to balance out with professionalism. "I’m eager to get started."

Gideon gestured for you to follow him. "Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet. David Rossi."

Your heart raced. David Rossi, the legend who had co-founded the BAU with the man standing next to you. The picture of you working with him felt surreal. As you, Hotch, and Gideon made your way to Rossi’s office, you could feel Hotch’s eyes still occasionally flicking toward you, still assessing, still quiet. His silence felt deliberate, as though he wanted to see how you carried yourself before making any judgments.

When you entered Rossi’s office, he looked up from his desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His presence was formidable, the kind of aura that came from decades of experience. For a brief moment, you felt like he was already profiling you, dissecting every nuance of your appearance and demeanor. Then, his face broke into a bright grin, and he stood, extending his hand.

"So, you’re the philosophy kid," Rossi said, his voice gruff but warm. "Gideon’s been talking your ear off about you."

Philosophy kid, as if you didn’t feel odd enough.

You shook his hand. "That’s me. Nice to meet you, Agent Rossi."

You smiled at that, already feeling some of the tension ebbing away in his presence. There was something about Rossi’s bluntness that was oddly reassuring. He was a man who spoke his mind, no pretense, no games.

"Dave," he corrected, flashing a grin. "‘Agent Rossi’ makes me sound like I could be your nonno. You can call me Dave."

"So, Gideon tells me you speak sixteen languages?" Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. "How come? Ever consider becoming a spy?"

"Bisnonno" He quickly grinned, you had just entered his office and already flexing your Italian, he teased you first though. "Got it, Dave.". If there would have been one thing you had learnt throughout the brief 2 minutes you’ve been working at the BAU, is that profilers were no joke about their nicknames.

You laughed softly. "I was raised in a bilingual household, I have a thing for languages"

Hotch, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "It’ll definitely come in handy in the field. We deal with a lot of international cases."

His voice was calm, measured. Although you had read his file; Hotch wasn’t just any profiler - he was methodical, relentless, and someone who had climbed the ranks through sheer dedication. His seriousness wasn’t arrogance, but a reflection of his deep commitment to the job.

Rossi leaned back slightly, his eyes now flicking over your outfit, your well-fitted total black three-piece suit. “I’ll say, I didn’t expect someone at 21 to show up looking more polished than half of the bureau. You sure you’re not here to give a lecture?”

You chuckled, feeling some of the tension melt away. "This is just my definition of business casual”

Gideon smiled but quickly shifted back to business. “I brought the two of you here in Dave’s office because we just got a tough case” He says gesturing towards you and Hotch “And I want all of us to be working together in on it”.

Rossi laughed, clearly enjoying your response. "Gideon, I think you found someone who might out-dress me."

Normally at the BAU they would either work solo or in pairs, sometimes they would even assest the case from the comfort of their own desk there in Quantico, if travelling was not deemed crucial to build the profile. Only when crime would be particularly complex, they would quicky assemble a team, a small task-force of sorts, take their go-bag with them and travel all across the country struggling more with the train connections rather than with the criminals themselves.

You ironically told yourself that there wouldn’t be a much better start on your new job, your heart raced with anticipation. "What’s the case?" You asked trying to mask the slight feeling of anxiety rushing through your veins.

In a matter of seconds, Gideon quicky exited the office and had already came back firmy holding a bunch of manila folders. He handed you a thick case file, and as you flipped through it, your stomach slightly churned, reminding you this wasn’t these weren’t just pictures on your textbooks.

The unsub had left seven bodies in three states, all bound with intricate knots, posed in ritualistic displays. Each victim had an orchid placed delicately on their chest, and despite the grotesque nature of the crimes, you found there was an eerie beauty in how the unsub treated his victims.

"The knots," Gideon explained, pointing to a photograph. "They’re not random. Each one is different, and each one requires a high level of skill. The unsub is precise, organized, and deliberate. He’s treating these murders like a performance."

These killings to you were manifest of the deeply rooted paradox in human experience - beauty and pain - where both often coexist or follow each other closely. You always found amusing how beauty, whether in art, nature, or human life, often emergeed through struggle or suffering.

You looked closely at the images, analyzing the intricacies of the knots, you feel the need to add something else. "It’s not just performance - it’s communication. The knots are sending a message. He’s not killing out of anger. There’s patience here. He wants control, and the orchids, those suggest he sees the victims as fragile, beautiful objects to be perfected, but ultimately destroyed."

Even historically, humankind tended to these opposites because they reflect the full range of life’s complexities, as joy often emerges from pain, and suffering can heighten the appreciation of beauty. You kept the philosophical monologue to yourself, you definitely didn’t want to reinforce even more the prejudice your teammates could already have on you, the lack of field expertise overly compensated by the knowledge of human nature.

Hotch leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "He’s someone with discipline, military or maybe maritime experience. The variety of knots points to a deeper knowledge of how they work. He’s not just tying them for show. He’s someone who understands the function of every twist and turn."

Rossi smiled at your analysis, clearly impressed. "Not bad. Not bad at all, philosopher. " You now started to suspect Gideon had overly gushed about this particular part of your background as it seemed to be the only thing your new co-workers remembered about you.

You nodded, your mind racing. "And the orchids, they aren’t just decorative. He’s choosing them for a reason. Orchids are notoriously difficult to grow. They’re delicate but require meticulous care, which suggests he sees himself as a cultivator. He picks his victims carefully, like someone choosing a rare flower, and when they don’t live up to his standards, he... prunes them."

The team continued to build the profile, each member adding layers of complexity. The unsub’s background became clearer: someone with a need for control, a perfectionist likely with some connection to floristry or horticulture. You felt a growing sense of camaraderie as you offered ideas and bounced theories off Hotch, who slowly began engaging with you more directly.

“They do act like an old married couple” Hotch hums in a low voice while pointing at Rossi and Gideon vividly arguing far away from the two of you about something you couldn’t grasp yet. You immediately chuckle at the sight, appreciating Hotch’s efforts to bond with you yet still being very reserved and shielding himself through his rare jokes.

A few days into the investigation, you found yourself paired with Hotch all the times, a tactic you knew Gideon pulled just to make you feel the most at ease, despite the overly reserved nature of your partner.

He continued, “See, they might made you think the fraternization rules exist because of Dave, what they didn’t tell you is that he’s probably secretly married with Gideon and apparently the latter today forgot about their anniversary”. You tried your best not to burst into laughing as the Italian man furiously walked towards the two of you, Gideon quick on his feet following him with an apologetic look on his face. Damn, Hotch might have been right, the similarities in the physical language to the scenario he previously mentioned was uncanny.

“The Bureau changed our accommodation, again.” Gideon sighed “They’ll soon send us the address, we have two rooms, two twin beds each, private bathroom” He ironically emphasised the last part, as if he was offering all of you the deal of your life.

“Budget cut again kiddos” Dave announced, oblivious of the reason why both of yours and Hotch's eyes were almost tearing up trying to hold in the laughters.

“Hood rats.” Rossi flamboyantly replied “So here’s another reason to end this case as soon as possible. Figli di puttana, There's no way I'm sleeping more with Jason rather than with my own wife”. Both you and Hotch gave each other a quick mischievous side-eye that could speak more than a thousand words. As the two of them moved away from you and Hotch enough so they wouldn’t hear your next words, you turned towards him. “Dave didn’t even offer us to sleep with him in his room, you actually might have been right all along”.

“I’m always right” He replied showing the dimples on his face.

“Typical lawyer behaviour, gaslighting their way just to be right in their own distorted reality.” You poke fun at him as you reminded he told you he used to work as a persecutor before landing into the Bureau.

Hotch definitely didn’t expect such a quick-witted comeback from you. “I wasn’t aware philosophers knew humor” he teased you.

“We patented it” you smirk.

You and Hotch later surveyed a potential crime scene—a floral shop the unsub had likely visited. As you both examined the area, you could feel Hotch's eyes on you, observing how you worked, how you processed information.

"You’re picking up on a lot for your first case," Hotch said, breaking the silence. "Most people miss the smaller details."

You looked over at him, surprised by the sudden compliment. "Thanks. I guess looking at things in an unorthodox way helps, all the hours spent on Plato apparently paid off"

Hotch nodded. "It shows. Keep it up."

Together, you reviewed the evidence, each of you adding to the emerging profile. You and Hotch began to form a pattern: he’d focus on the precision of the unsub’s actions, while you offered a more abstract perspective, thinking about the emotional motivations behind the crimes.

Later that evening, after a long day of chasing leads and trying to make sense of the tangled web the unsub had woven, you all finally were set into the new accommodation.

Despite Rossi’s earlier complaints about the budget cuts, the place wasn’t that bad - it was modest but clean, with enough space to spread out the case files and work. You and Hotch were indeed been paired up to share a room, as he previously predicted, with two twin beds crammed into a space that would feel much smaller once your notes and case materials were scattered all across the floor.

As soon as you entered the room, Hotch moved with military precision, setting down his go-bag and immediately pulling out a file. He glanced around briefly, as if taking in every detail of the room in a split second, then sat down at the small desk, already deep in thought.

You, on the other hand, sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, looking around and trying to shake off the fatigue that was creeping in. It was only your first case, and yet you felt the pressure building already - both from the weight of the crimes and from wanting to prove yourself in front of someone as formidable as Hotch. Despite the intensity of the case, you couldn’t help but be amused at the situation.

“So, do you believe their honeymoon suite is just as romantic as ours?” You asked with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.

Hotch didn’t look up immediately, as if puzzled on how to choose his next words, though you caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Yeah, nothing says romance like crime scene photos and case files scattered everywhere.”

You chuckled and tossed your jacket onto the back of a chair. “I always knew the FBI had a weird way of doing things, but I have to admit this is next level.”

As you pulled out the case file, flipping through the pages and studying the photos, you found it hard to concentrate, mostly because of how quiet the room turned out to become. Hotch was the kind of person whose silence seemed louder than most people’s conversations, and though you could tell he was intensely focused on the case, you sensed that he was also observing you – amazed at how it was the first time he ever saw someone overworking themselves as much as he did.

Breaking the silence, you threw a glance at him. “You ever wonder what makes someone do this? I mean, it’s one thing to read about it in a textbook, but seeing it in person…”

Hotch set his pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “Every time. You get used to it, but it never really stops affecting you.”

You nodded, taking that in. “It’s just so… deliberate. Every little detail, like the knots, the orchids, it’s like he’s creating something, not just destroying.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly impressed by your analysis. “That’s an interesting perspective. Most people would only see the destruction.”

“You know,” you said, leaning back on the bed, wanting to return the subtle compliment “when I first joined the academy, I never thought I’d end up here, sitting in a hotel room with one of the newest best profilers in the country.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Flattery, huh? Didn’t think philosophers believed in that.”

You grinned. “We don’t, but I make exceptions.”

He gave you another small smile, his guard dropping just a little. “Well, I didn’t expect to be working with a 21-year-old who can hold their own on a case like this.”

“I’ve got to keep up with all of you somehow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re doing more than keeping up, but I’ve already told you this.”

The next morning, while poring over the case, both you and Hotch hit on the idea that the unsub might escalate soon. "He’s been meticulous so far, but there’s a growing desperation in the pattern," you observed. "He’s becoming bolder with each kill, taking greater risks. If he feels like he’s not getting the recognition he craves, he might go after a more high-profile victim."

Hotch considered this, his brow furrowing. "Someone in the public eye. He’d want an audience for his ‘art.’ We should look into upcoming events where he might strike."

Later, Gideon walked into the room with a look that told you something big had just clicked into place. "We’ve got a break," he said, laying down a new set of photographs. They were taken at a local orchid show, a high-profile event that had been held recently. "We missed it before because the show was a private event, members only. But one of the attendees matched the profile. His name is Matthew Carson, a former Navy sailor turned horticulturist."

You leaned over the photos, seeing the man for the first time. Carson was in his mid-thirties, tall, with an air of quiet control about him. "That explains the knots," you said. "He would’ve learned that skill in the Navy. And the flowers - he’s obsessed with perfection, cultivating these delicate orchids. It fits with how he views his victims."

Hotch nodded, already processing the next steps. "We need to move fast. He’s going to escalate, and the orchid show gives him an audience: a high-profile victim pool. He’ll want to make his statement soon."

The team sprang into action, coordinating with local authorities to track Carson down. You, Hotch, Rossi, and Gideon prepared to approach his house, a sprawling property on the outskirts of town, where Carson ran his own private orchid nursery.

As the team closed in, your heart pounded with anticipation. Carson’s house was an eerie reflection of his mind: immaculate, but with an unsettling coldness, orchids lined the windowsills and filled every room with their fragile beauty. It was a place of quiet obsession.

Rossi was the first to spot Carson. The man was in the greenhouse, meticulously pruning an orchid, completely unaware of the FBI’s presence. Hotch signaled for you to stay back as he and Rossi approached cautiously.

"Matthew Carson," Hotch called, his voice steady but firm.

Carson didn’t flinch. He continued trimming the orchid as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "You don’t understand," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with underlying madness. "It’s about perfection. I’m creating something beautiful."

Hotch took a step closer. "You’re hurting people, Matthew. This isn’t beauty, it’s destruction."

Carson finally looked up, his eyes hollow yet intense. "They weren’t good enough. The flowers... they have to be perfect."

You could feel the tension in the air while Hotch was doing what he did best, calmly, methodically drawing Carson out, understanding his twisted mind.

"They’re not flowers, Matthew. They’re people," You said as Hotch took another step closer. You continued "You’re not creating beauty. You’re trying to control what you can’t, but perfection doesn’t exist."

Carson’s grip tightened on the shears in his hand, his knuckles turning white. "I can make it exist," he whispered.

Before he could act, Rossi moved swiftly, disarming Carson and pinning him to the ground, he struggled briefly but then went limp, as if the fight had left him entirely. The unsub’s calm shattered, and in that moment, you saw the deep fragility that had driven his madness.

"You think you understand, but you don’t," Carson muttered as he was handcuffed. "I was so close."

As Gideon secured Carson, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The case was over, but the weight of it still lingered but before you could start overthinking, you felt a hand on top of your left shoulder. Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn around to what revealed to be Hotch “Good job on the case, partner” You shyly smile “Not so bad as your first case at all”

“I could say the same about you, especially on the way you handled Carson, but I bet someone like you is used to the myriad of compliments at this point.”

He rolled his eyes, then quickly moved towards Rossi before you could notice the smile tugged on his face - too late – you could see his dimples still showing even when he was far away from you.

Later, on the train ride back to Quantico, you and Hotch found yourselves sitting across from each other. The case had drained everyone, you glanced at Hotch, who was staring out the window, lost in thought.

"So," you said, breaking the silence, curious to know something real about the man you shared a room with for the past two days "now that the case is over, are you going to admit that you do something other than work? Or is profiling literally your only hobby?"

Hotch turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," you said with a grin, "You must have to do something outside of this. You can't just spend all your downtime preparing for the next criminal mastermind, or developing conspiracy theories" His eyes went to his side, inviting you to glance at the older profilers. Rossi was conveniently standing up from his seat and leaning in front of Gideon, showing him something on a case file while simultaneously tracing small circles with the back of his pen on the papers the other was holding.

He gave you small smirk, his eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief, then out of the blue he blurts out “I play the guitar."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You play the guitar?! Seriously?"

Hotch nodded, his expression casual, though you could tell he was enjoying your surprise. "Yeah. It’s something I picked up in college. Helps me unwind."

"Wait, wait, wait," you said, holding up a hand. "Aaron Hotchner, stoic, no-nonsense FBI agent extraordinaire, plays the guitar? I need proof. This sounds like a bluff."

He chuckled, the sound rare but genuine. "I don’t think I need to prove anything to you."

You leaned back in your seat, resting one hand on your forehead. "Unbelievable. I was so sure you didn’t have a hobby. I mean, by the way you work, I was starting to think someone else in the Bureau was keeping another big secret from us, C3-PO"

The unexpected Star Wars reference earned you a genuine laugh from him, then shook his head, a small smile still playing on his lips. "Just because I’m focused on the job doesn’t mean I don’t have other interests."

"Okay, fair enough," you admitted. "But now I’m really curious. What kind of music do you play? Classical? Rock? Please tell me it’s something totally unexpected, like heavy metal."

He laughed again, a sound you were quickly becoming fond of. "Mostly blues, actually."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Blues? Wow, that’s... I don’t know, I guess I expected you to say something like jazz or folk, but blues? That’s kind of badass."

Hotch gave a modest shrug. "It’s calming. Helps me think."

"I’m still wrapping my head around this," you said with a smirk. "I’m going to need to hear you play one day. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’re secretly a robot who plays FBI agent."

He gave you a side-eye but couldn’t suppress his smile. "I’ll think about it, maybe after the next case if you’re still around"

You pretended to be offended by his words "Is this a threat?!”

“I was just trying to be encouraging”

Maybe working at the BAU wouldn’t be as intimidating as you first thought after all.

As the train rumbled on, you felt a sense of camaraderie with Hotch, a shared respect that had grown over the course of the case. You had proven yourself, and in return, he had let you see a side of him that few people probably ever did.

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

××《☆》××

A new task; Kidnap some frogs and a film to get an hour study session with the Annick Sabiani. Things are still unstable with Joseph. Maybe Callum could help. Your fear of hopping creatures makes a boy forget what went wrong.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warning: frogs (whoevers scared of them), swearing, boys being boys, angst

Also, yes, I do know harry potter, I was in both that and the marauders fandom (esp marauders)

===

===

Chapter six: Mischief Managed

===

"Sophia Loren is so beautiful." We look up at a movie poster, stating that only eighteen above can watch.

"What about Brigitte Bardot?"

"My mother says she's vulgar."

"Apparently, we can sneak in through the back door." Simone points towards the cinema.

"How do you know that?" I ask her, curious.

"A boy told me." It's definitely Jean Pierre.

"Is it Eugène?" Oh, Michèle.

"No, it wasn't." Simone shakes her head, and she's basically telling the truth.

We turn a corner. "You think I'll meet him someday?" Michèle asks Simone. I glance at the dark haired girl, worry spreading in me.

"Who?"

"Eugène."

"I don't know."

I stay quiet, a one-eyed boy in the back of my mind.

××《☆》××

Students enter through Voltaire High's gates and head inside the building.

I sit in the very front of my class, tapping a pencil against the table, anxiously waiting for my score.

"Pardine, 10." I sigh in relief, scanning the paper.

Frogs croak loudly throughout the room, making me shiver in fear. Small, slimy, hopping creatures were not my thing.

"And finally, Miss Sabiani, 12." Laubrac claps his hands, followed by the class. Annick has been glowing, much more social and vibrant. Good for her, comparing her old self to now.

I look back at my score, sighing. I could've done better. Could've gotten a twelve like Annick. I clench my jaw, disappointed.

Then, for the first time of many times today, a paper plane lands on my table. I furrow my brows, turning around to see who could've done it. None of them look suspicious, but Joseph looks nice. Too nice. And he's wearing green.

I turn back around, not knowing if I was flushed because of anger or because of him. Probably both. Annoyingly, both.

"Tomorrow, we'll all be dissecting frogs." My stomach reacts badly, making me gag silently.

Sure, frogs weren't my cup of tea, but dissecting them? I wouldn't even wish death on Joseph. Though, a part of me knows hatred isn't the reason for this.

I have noticed today that Joseph's been gloomy. He's off, and obviously not in a good way. His eyes that were once lit by its own sun dims down like when a storm approaches. And he's not smiling. I miss his smile.

No, I don't. I don't and won't miss anything. He hates me, and I guess I hate him, too. He decides to talk shit about me? The audacity of that man. I wish I could just grab his neck and strangle him and look at him and see his fucking pretty lips turn into a smile-

That god-awful smile. It ruined me. And I hate his smile. I hate it. I hate him.

××《☆》××

We're all gathered up in the courtyard, discussing our grades, when suddenly, boys started crowding near Annick. I overhear what they say.

"One hour with Annick!"

I furrow my eyebrows. One hour? That's what they're freaking out about? Well, it was Annick, and they were boys, so I guess I shouldn't be too confused.

"Hey, what's happening?" I walk up to Pichon, and he looks startled as he sees me.

"Annick is giving out an hour private lesson if someone steals the frogs and the film from English earlier for her." Pichon stutters out.

This morning, in English class, we watched a movie called "To Kill A Mockingbird", the film adaptation of the book. I guess Annick liked it so much that she wants someone to steal it for her.

In the corner of my eye, a tall blonde's wafting his arms in the air. I had a sudden question.

"Hey, do you have any idea why Applebaum stopped talking to me? I know it was from long ago, but I sometimes wonder what happened." Pichon pales, and my brows pinch together.

"You know how Applebaum's glasses went missing?"

I nod, remembering the day at the gym.

"Well, that was Descamps. After that, he came up to us and threatened Applebaum's eye if he went to talk to you again. Applebaum whined for hours to us after that. He said he lost his chance at the only girl who's ever given him one."

I chuckle absentmindedly, shocked at the new information. Then, I turn angry.

"Descamps, did that? Why? Why would he want Applebaum away from me?" Pichon scans my face, trying to see if I'm serious or not.

"You really don't know?" I shrug, suddenly embarrassed. Pichon scoffs. "He's in love with you, that's why. Even when he looked like he hated you, from how I saw it, he was so in love it turned him into a mad man. I always caught him looking at you or being near you, even if it was a hundred feet away. Wherever you were, he was, too." It's my turn to scoff.

"He doesn't love me. He hates me. I caught him in the halls, talking about me to his friends and saying I was too clingy." My heart shatters in my chest as I recall that moment.

"Wait. How could he say you were clingy?"

"We've hung out the past few days. He's stayed the night the day before I heard him call me that."

"What? You let him stay the night?"

"Yes? What's wrong with that? We're friends. Or atleast we were."

"Oh my god, no offence, but how could you be so daft? You love him, too!" Pichon says a little too loudly, making the courtyard glance at us before returning to their own conversations.

"I don't! Now keep your voice down, or I'll rip them off." I whisper-shout at him.

"You even talk like him." I roll my eyes at his conclusion.

"Anyways, don't be delusional. He doesn't love me, actually, quite the opposite, and I don't love him. That's that." There's a lace of disappointment in my voice, but I cover it up with a stiff face.

Pichon raises both his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you say." He walks away, a smile dancing on his lips. I scoff.

He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.

××《☆》××

I lean against the wall facing Michèle as we wait for Simone in the toilet.

"So?" Michèle calls out to the door.

"Yes, it's my period." The door opens, and Simone walks out. She closes the door.

"Is there a stain on your skirt?" Simone checks.

"No. But my underwear's ruined. The rest is fine. I put toilet paper" I notice how messy she looked. I comb her hair out with my fingers. She grabs her things from Michèle.

"You should go to the nurse, Simone." I tell her, worried.

"Yeah, my aunt will have pads." Michèle interjects.

"No, I'll be fine." I puff out my cheeks at her stubbornness, but dismiss it.

We start to walk, but after only a few steps, Simone clutches on her stomach.

"You definitely need to go to the nurse." She shakes her head.

"You poor thing." Michèle says as we continue to walk.

Once we make it out the door to the courtyard, Pichon pops out of nowhere. I squint at him, still pressed about earliers conversation. He just smiles at me.

"Michèle." He says. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure." Michèle responds, walking down the steps with us.

"Do you know where your uncle keeps his keys? There must be spares. Y/N needs them, too." I raise my eyebrows in surprise at the bold question. Then I remember the Annick situation. I nod along.

A voice butts in. "Hey, are you nuts?" It's Dupin. "Don't involve the dean's niece." He's leaning against the wall with his hand on it, legs crossed. "She's gonna snitch."

"What's he talking about?" Simone asks.

"Oh no, not again." Pichon looks between us and Dupin then walks away. I look at him confused.

Michèle walks down to Dupin. "You think I'm a suck up because I'm the dean's niece?"

"Yes." I know that voice all too well. I look at Joseph, and we lock eyes. I scan his face. Nothing's changed much, but it feels like something did. He glares at me then stares baack at Michèle.

"Let's go, guys." Simone says, walking down the steps. Michèle follows, but I stay.

"I heard about what you told Pichon and Applebaum." I walk the down the steps, looking up at his towering figure. He glances at Dupin and his friend, nodding them to go somewhere else. They follow.

"What about it?" He tilts his head at me, hand in his pockets.

"Why are you threatening Applebaum's eye if he looks at me?" His jaw clenches.

He pauses. "Why not?"

"Why not?" I chuckle half heartedly. "Why not?"

"Did I stutter?" Wow, since when did he have sass?

"You're an asshole, okay? First, you talk shit about me to your friends, talk shit about my friends, then I'm now just finding out you threatened Applebaum?" I raise my eyebrows at this, disappointment seething through my teeth.

"Well, that's just life, isn't it?" What the fuck is wrong with him?

"What the fuck do you even mean? We were so close, Jo- Descamps. We were friends, didn't you think?" I stutter at saying his name, embarrassment coating my cheeks.

"Back to last name basis?" There's disappointment in his tone, but I somehow catch his eye glancing down at my lips. I flush more.

"Yeah. Why not?" I mock his words, jutting my head forward.

"Alright, Pardine. If that's what you want." He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. He's starting to piss me off.

"I didn't fucking want us to stop being friends. We had to because, for some reason, it's only now that I remembered you're an asshole."

"Whatever." He scoffs out.

"Fine." I stepped closer. I already feel his warmth.

"Fine." He steps closer. He smells the same. I wish things were still the same.

"Fuck you." That's the last thing I say before walking away, feeling his stare on my back.

××《☆》××

"Stealing Herman's frogs and Couret's movie? Did Annick cast a spell on them?" I exclaim, raising my arms. Michèle and Simone follow behind me.

"And Dupin calling me a snitch. I may be the dean's niece, but I'm no rat." Michèle says over my shoulder. I nod in agreement.

I glance at Simone, seeing her clutching her stomach. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." She answers simply, face grimacing.

"You should I ask my aunt to write you a note and go home." Michèle says as she rubs Simone's arm.

"You think?" Me and Michèle nod.

"Okay. I have to go to the bathroom. It's soaked already." I nod again and lead Simone to the bathroom door.

"Michèle." I stop in my heels as Simone turns to Michèle. "You should steal the frogs. That'll shut them up." We continue to walk.

I lead Simone down the staircase, her one hand gripping mine and the other on the rails.

"Are you okay, Ms. Palladino?" Ms. Couret says, looking up at the both of us.

Simone talks to Ms. Couret and I excuse myself. Before I leave, Simone looks at me, glancing at Ms. Couret. I remember the film then nod at Simone. She nods back. I go all the way down the stairs, going out to the courtyard and on my way to the gate.

This morning, Callum called. He told me he had some news. When I asked why he chose lunch time to tell me, all he said was it was so important that he wanted to tell me face to face, and as soon as he was on his lunch break. So, naturally, I agreed.

I see the Thunderbird from a distance, its colour eye catching. A tall frame with messy brown curls exits the car, making his way to me, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Good afternoon, beautiful." I roll my eyes at the name, smiling. He simply chuckles. I walk out the gate. He hands me the bouquet.

"What is it?" I ask, implying the news he wanted to tell me.

"Not even a hello? I'm hurt." I stick my tongue out to him. "Anyways, how do you feel about Paris?" My ears perk up at the mention of the city.

"Paris? I miss the place. Why do you ask?" My heart beats in excitement, not knowing what to expect.

"Well, the people loved you so much. The company that released the magazine contacted me to get to you." I raise my eyebrows as he pauses. He furrows his.

"You don't get it? They want you in Paris by summer because they want you to model! Like, professionally." My eyes blow wide open and I gape in surprise. My mouth open and closes, not knowing what to say.

"Callum." I stutter out. "Please don't lie."

"I'm not." Tears rim my eyes, and I blink them away.

"I swear Callum if you're lying-"

"I'm not! I swear on my life." He laughs, his breath blowing on my face.

"Fuck, Callum." I give him a hug, wrapping my arms around his torso, gripping him to stay upright, my mind unable to grasp whether this was real or not.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, rubbing my back and kissing my hair. "You deserve this. I'm so proud of you."

I pull away from his chest, dried streams of quiet tears on my face. Callum still wipes them away.

"Let me take you out tonight." My heart sort of drops. I can't, I tell myself. Why can't I? Then, a one-eyed boy is in my mind again. Oh. I grip my bouquet.

"Sure." Joseph wouldn't care. I then realised that he probably never did. Whatever, it's fine. But really, it isn't. I shouldn't be thinking about him, I should be thinking about the fact people want me to model for real.

But I can't help it. There's a boy in front of me, a modelling opportunity, and a dinner to look out for tonight, but all I can think about is him.

Him and his ash coloured hair, eyes that change colour in the light, smile that makes my heart clentch in my chest, and his lips. His beautiful, plump, pink lips.

Then I look up at Callum, and he looks at me the way Joseph once did. And I crumble internally, realising how much this beautiful boy will break when he finds out how I feel about someone else.

Joseph never loved me. I don't think he did. I felt used, hurt, and betrayed after what I witnessed. And what's funny is the fact that after that incident, that's when I realised I loved him. I love him.

I love Callum, too. But the way I feel for Joseph, it's different. And it's too bad I realised I loved him and that he hated me too late. I can't help but love him anyway.

That's the thing with love, though. When you realise you feel it, you can't let go. The way it feels is so different, you're too scared to let it go because you don't know when or if you'll ever feel it again.

"I'll pick you up at 6?"

A pause.

"Sure."

××《☆》××

My footsteps echo through the halls, too loud, in my opinion. I follow Michèle, her eyes glancing at me from time to time. I guard the door as she walks in and grabs both of the needed keys.

She gives me my set, whispers good luck, and walks to her room. I part to mine.

I quickly unlock the room and close it behind me, a quiet click sounding around the empty class. The film was situated at the table, leaning against some books. It looked like it was meant to be stolen.

Then I hear footsteps shuffling outside. I get under the table, trying to figure out the noise. It was too flat to be heels, and it was too heavy to be a woman. It sounded like thudding than clicking. Then the door opens, and I see brown oxfords. I know those oxfords. They've been in my flat before.

I get up from my spot, accidentally hitting my head on the edge of the table. Hard.

"Shit, Y/N. Are you okay?" Descamps sprints over to me, hands cupping my head and inspecting the hit area.

"It's Pardine to you, Descamps. And no, do I look okay?" I push his hands away, fixing my hair and dress. I look up at him, and he's already looking at me.

"What now?" I groan, crossing my arms. Descamps raises his brows, crossing his arms, too.

"You think you're the only one who wants to get the film?" He bends down to reach my height. I flush at the proximity.

"I certainly was here first."

"Well, too fucking bad, because I have it now." He snatches the film of the table. I grunt, trying to grab it. He lifts it over his head, stretching his arm. He's smiling. How much I hate that smile.

"Fuck you, Descamps." I push him off, making my way to the door. There's footsteps outside again. I stumble backwards.

"Go, go, go!" I nudge Descamps to the table, planning to get under it again. Our knees push against each other as we try to fit in the small area. A couple of swears and names were silently thrown around but were silenced when the door opened slowly.

I held my breath as Descamps did. I absentmindedly grip his calf, and his hand was gripping mine. In other circumstances, he'd be whispering reassurances in my ear, holding me close with his arms, and kissing my head 'till I calmed down.

This wasn't one of those circumstances.

After a while, there was a snore. I furrow my eyebrows. Snoring? I slowly come out of the nook, not before Descamps pulls me back down and asks me what I'm doing. I shush him, going back up slowly. His hand is still gripping mine. It feels the same as it did all those other times.

I make it to the edge of the table, and across the room, one of the janitors was sitting on a class chair, snoring the afternoon away.

I sigh in relief, coming back down to Descamps. He raises his brows at me.

"So?"

"He's dead asleep."

"Do we stay here 'till he leaves?" I think about it for a moment.

"I guess. It'd be too risky to leave. The door's too loud."

"Fuck. I guess I'm stuck here with you." He rolls his eye. The audacity.

"Hey, I'm not the one talking shit about my friend." He scowls at me.

"Well, I'm not the one who's fucking assuming."

We argue whisper shouting.

"I saw you! And I heard you!"

"You don't know why I was saying that!"

"I know exactly why! You hate me!" That makes him shut up.

"What?"

"You hate me, Descamps."

"Why would you even think that?" There's a tone I can't tell. Like he's hurt, or in disbelief, or in denial.

"Because you're-" He cuts me off.

"Why would I ever hate you?" He squints at me a bit, voice wavering.

"You-" He cuts me off again.

"I could never hate you." Tears brim my eyes at his words. I look at him quietly.

"Stop lying, Descamps." My voice breaks.

"I-" He sighs, looking down at his lap.

I sniffle, wiping my nose. I turn around, back against his clamped legs. And he stays still. We've done this before. Except my back was against his chest, and he was combing my hair with his fingers.

"And Annick." I feel him tense.

"What about her?" I scoff in disbelief.

"You're doing this for her, right?" I turn my head, not really looking at him.

"What? Oh, no, of course not. I was here because Pichon told me, or really I made him tell me that you-" His voice gets cut off and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

"That I what?" I urge him to continue. Incoherent noises come from the back of his throat, stuttering against his teeth. He sighs, wiping his palms on the cloth of his knees.

"That you were coming here." It comes out as a mumble, and I almost didn't hear it from the way my heart was thumping and blocking my hearing.

"Why would you care?" There's a pause again, and it's suffocating.

"So that I'll know how easy it'll be to get it before you do." I snap my head forward, looking at the blank wood of the table.

A few seconds pass by. I hear his voice again.

"What about you? Why do you want an hour with Annick?" I keep my head straight this time while talking.

"I need to keep up with her." I shrug simply.

"Why? You're already doing so well in class." I flush at the compliment, but shake my head.

"Well, I could do better." I sigh deeply, seemingly annoyed at the question. I still want him talking to me, though.

"I mean, sure, but isn't it draining?" My hearing blurs for a second at the question.

"Of course it is." I keep my answer plain, but my voice breaks. I hear his heavy breathing.

"You know that I know how much you study. Even if we're... not so close as we were before, I still think you should take a break."

A memory comes to mind. I lean over my books on my bed, writing notes on the pages. Feet thumping against wood floors doesn't break my focus, but a hand caressing my back does. I still remembered the way he whispered against my ear, telling me to take a break. The way he cupped my hand to stop it from writing. The way that the bed dipped as he sat down and wrapped his arms around my waist. How much I missed those nights.

"You know, I used to fake studying so you could come close." I blurt out, not caring what I say anymore.

He doesn't respond immediately. "Yeah?" I hum in response.

"I used to make every excuse to come close." I shiver at the confession, wishing I could turn back time to every moment he came close and held me.

"It's too bad you're an asshole." He chuckles.

"Really is too bad."

I guess that was where the conversation ended, though I'm not sure, but after a while, we hear the janitor get up and leave. I slowly come out of the hiding spot, dusting my dress again.

Before I leave the room, a hand grabs my wrist. I don't turn around, but suddenly, my hands clasp a rectangular object. Descamps drops my hand and leaves.

When the door closes, I just stare at it. Then, I raise my hand. The film was in it.

××《☆》××

I walk with Pichon to the alley, watching familiar faces look at us. I avoid Descamps' gaze, focusing on Michèle and smiling at her.

"There they are!" One of them calls out.

"So?"

"We've got them." Pichon answers, dropping the bag. I hand the film to Annick, leaning into her ear.

"Descamps did it. Give him the hour." I purse my lips, then walk away from her. She turns her head to Descamps, and I'm too scared to see if she looks at him the way I used to. Well, really, I still do.

I walk to Michèle, smiling at her. Then I look at Applebaum.

He hasn't changed much, and when he catches me staring, he turns as red as his name and looks away. I laugh a little, then start to feel bad about the fact that Descamps had threatened him. I'll talk to him about it later.

We all lean and look at Pichon as he opens the pouch, frogs hopping out of it. I yelp, trying to get away from them.

"It only took five minutes?" Dupin asks.

"He's smarter than all of you." Laubrac answers.

"Can't wait to see Herman's face."

They start to grab the frogs and chase each other with it. Dupin lifts it up to my face, and I yelp, running away.

Strong arms lift me off the ground, the familiar scent of cigarettes and expensive cologne fill my senses.

"Come on, go chase Felbec or something. Not her." Dupin nods and runs elsewhere.

He gently places me on the ground again, cupping my face.

"You okay?" He whispers. I nod.

"Don't talk to Applebaum. I saw you looking at him. I know you know that I threatened him, it's only because he's a fucking weirdo and you know it. Please." He reads me too well. I nod again.

"Thanks. Now go home." He pulls his hands away, grabbing another cigarette.

I stumble backwards, walking away fully.

Almost halfway home, I remember leaving something. It was a tie I accidentally dropped when Descamps lifted me off the ground. It was pretty special, so I went back for it.

Turning to the now golden lit alley, my feet stutter to a stop when I see Descamps against the wall, some girl from school splayed over him, her hand on his chest and lips close to his.

The garbage rattles and their heads turn to me. I make a run for it, leaving the tie to be forgotten.

I should've known. He never loved me. He always hated me. Since when were they even hanging out? What if they were together the whole time? I gag at the thought.

I hate him. I hate him so much. But I don't.

Fuck, this hurts.

××《☆》××

End- Chapter six: Mischief Managed

Next- Chapter seven: Salvatore

××《☆》××

So that took SUCH A LONG TIME. Um very angsty good or very angsty bad? Idk if I spell checked or grammar checked this well, so if u see smth, dm me PLS

Also for the F1 fans, ik im late w news, but 1-2 ferrari, carlos pole after appendix got removed, ferrari and mclaren top 4 domination, hamilton and verstappen dnf, george flipping over on the middle of the track, and fernando alonso getting p1 for a few minutes. Austrailia GP will always be wild.

HAPPY READING!!! 6/10 CHAPTERS DONE

[deathbyathousandspiders]

omggggg can i request billingual reader and maybe peter finds it cute that when shes explaining stuff she has a thinking face of what to say next cos she wants to be sure of how to say it in english 🥹 or maybe hearing her speak in her mother tongue/native language does he find it cute or smn :(((((((

as a white english–speaking woman, i only feel comfortable writing for a bilingual reader with a language/culture that i’m relatively familiar with and could properly represent, which isn’t many :,)

so i will write an imagine for a bilingual reader with a language i’m going to school for: ✨sign language✨

i hope that’s okay :)

a/n — i am still a student and i’m constantly learning, so if there’s a detail or some information that i’m incorrect about, please tell me asap !!!

✨masterlist✨.

2.5k.

Sitting alone at cafes was a custom for you. People watching, spectating murmurs and laughter but never quite grasping it. You lacked the understanding of how the sound captured their conversing, but you weren’t missing anything. Your focus was mainly set on finishing your chemistry homework, anyways.

Midway through an equation, the light shifted over your table. You felt the dip in the booth on your left and looked up to see who sat beside you. Your eyes met the deepest brown pair you swore you’d ever seen. It was almost like the rest of the room lit up with color after you first caught a glimpse.

You certainly recognized the boy. He went to school with you, but you’d barely crossed paths other than having a class or two together. And from the way he glanced at your paperwork, you assumed that chemistry was on his schedule too.

His lips moved, and your eyes studied their shapes as best as they could. Perhaps he was nervous, or overly caffeinated, but the movement was too swift to distinguish.

Slowly, you shook your head at him, right index finger pointing to your ear. Apology and disappointment weighted your eyelids. You really did want to see what he wanted to ask you, but your expectation was for him to up and leave.

Instead, sudden understanding washed over him; a look of epiphany. Quickly after, patience overtook the presence beside you. You were shocked. He tried to slow his words of choice down, using his hands to illustrate but not really communicate. You could tell he was trying, so you didn’t want to make fun of his efforts. The smallest fit of laughter threatened to slip from your lips as you gestured at him to stop.

From the table, you grabbed your notebook and flipped to an empty page. Your pencil flew over the page to jot down a question:

‘Do you know any sign?’

You figured that was a start.

Watching the way he smiled, you nearly forgot to hand him your pencil to reply. Your eyes followed his hand as it met the parchment and scribbled so gently, it surprised you to see writing even stuck. He pushed it over to you. ‘Yes, I know one’

Your eyes met, and you studied him patiently. His right hand sat atop of his left elbow, holding a fist that excluded his pinky and index fingers; a rockstar skull. His left hand rested beneath his right elbow, opening and closing a fist with a flicking motion. It was a sign you knew all too well. ‘Bullshit,’ you watched him mouth.

The giggle bubbles through your throat with physical feeling, and your hands gently pressed his arms to make it stop. You shook your head, smiling as you corrected him.

Your dominant hand met your chin with an open hand, lightly touching the tips of your fingers to your face. As you moved your hand to the space in front of you, you closed your hand into a fist.

‘Bullshit,’ you mouthed back at him. The crinkle in the boy’s brow marked his confusion.

Pen met paper again as you wrote out the explanation. ‘Hearing people came up with a fake sign to act like they knew shit.’

He looked up at you with some disgust to his expression, and you simply shrugged at him.

Politely, he held his hand out for the pen, and you gave it to him with the trust that he’d return it soon after.

‘Then maybe you could teach me some instead?’

The grin on your lips was unbreakable, and only seemed to grow the more you kept up the conversation. You nodded your head, writing a simple ‘sure:)’ beside his note. You met his eyes again, pointing to your chest before swiftly fingerspelling your name. The boy marveled at your hand, equally lost and mesmerized.

His pointer finger rapidly twirled the air, circling near his face four or five times; you assumed that meant he wanted you to repeat yourself. So, you agreed.

Slowly, you held out each hand shape of your name a little longer, waiting til the twinkle in his eyes indicated that the letter was registering for him. It was fairly entertaining to watch.

He wrote it on the notebook once he got it just to clarify with you. ‘Y/N?’ He seemed nervous for your reply.

You signed yes, then gestured for him to do the same. You wanted to see what his name was.

Hesitantly, the boy tried his best, bouncing each hand shape to the letters of his name. It made you happy to see his attempt, and you were fond of his efforts.

Pulling the notebook closer, you jot down his name. ‘Peter?’

You’d never forget the way he smiled at you afterwards. ‘Yes:)’ He wrote back. ‘You want help with chemistry?’

And that’s how you met Peter Parker.

You were an unlikely duo at Midtown. It was nice to have somebody in the classroom to have secret conversations with, and to teach sign to. Peter picked most things up pretty quickly, especially because he had an excellent teacher. Plus, little did you know that he watched ASL courses off YouTube in his free time.

That is, his freetime when he wasn’t being Spider–Man.

He never told you that he was Spider–Man. In fact, you didn’t find out he was until a few months into your friendship. After months of study hours and movie nights, you watched Spider–Man signing to a Deaf kid on the news; the web–slinging superhero signed what like salad.

That was a classic Peter Parker mistake.

So, when were you planning to tell me you’re Spider–Man? You asked him, signing nonchalantly. You’d waited all week until you two were alone, studying like you normally did on the weekends. You sat back on his desk chair, raising a brow, calm and collected.

It took everything in him not to forget how to respond. Peter had been practicing sign, but he still wasn’t nearly as versed as you were. What? He started. Poor way to respond on his part. You pointed at his hands, trying to call him out.

That! You were so determined to catch him in his coverup, opening your laptop.

His hands flailed to try and capture your attention. However, your laser focus was something he couldn’t cut.

Having the clip ready, you played it, turning the screen towards him and showing him the fluke in his signs.

Peter facepalmed when he noticed, face red as a tomato but you couldn’t care less. You felt more than accomplished to have deciphered his secret. You owe me!

Signing, Peter got over himself a little, rolling his eyes playfully at you. Whatever, fine!

To help Peter practice his signing, you’d dismissed your in–class interpreters the second the bell rang and had Peter translate your questions to your teachers. Perhaps it was selfish to put him on the spot, but when you’d asked him about it later, he said he was more than happy to help you out.

He enjoyed learning sign, almost as much as he enjoyed his time with you. Peter had never met anyone as amazing as you; nobody that he’d met before watched the world with your eyes, or lit up a room so vibrantly. You always asked the right questions, saw straight through people’s bullshit, and put others’ needs far before your own. Don’t even get him started on the fact that you’d never even heard your own laugh before.

Peter couldn’t wrap his head around all the things he thought you were missing out on. That was how he saw it, at least, til you changed his mind. He was grateful to know how your fit of giggles sang to him, but there was more things to life than that. Sound was only one way to see the world; if you choose to act like it’s a principle more than a privilege, you’ll get nowhere. He knew he’d waste time dwelling on things you weren’t even sad over.

Instead, Peter would marvel at how fluently and beautifully you’d sign when you were passionate about something. The choreographed tangents that you’d go on absolutely mesmerized him, even though he could only pick up one or two things you were saying.

Your hands moved so fast, he second guessed whether you were actually communicating or just painting a masterpiece with the shapes of your hand.

That blissful, ecstatic look in your eyes told Peter everything he needed to know. He was the luckiest boy in the world to know you.

You were the most joyous person he knew.

That joy was a strength that you’d gained overtime, though.

Rushing down the school halls, you had memorized the rhythm underneath your feet as you pattered down the tile. You always pictured the sound like something fragile, or feathered, especially seeing as your shoes had rubber soles. Sometimes, when you walked slow enough, you could feel the rattling steps of other students around you.

Today, specifically, the rumbled pattern beneath you threw you off your rocker.

Especially as the charging steps behind you tread right in your direction.

A hefty pair of hands shoved your shoulder blades, pushing you toppling into the floor beneath you. The sound of chatter couldn’t be heard, but you certainly felt the energy in the hallway shift. Pressing off the floor with your hands, you noticed the eyes now mindful to your presence. You had an audience.

You flipped yourself around to look at the shadow towering over you. Some flimsy–looking, curly haired, short classmate of yours stood above you. His hands perched on his hips as he spewed words at you, mouth moving far too quickly to lip read. You stayed there, staring up at him with a glare, merely making out the words ‘stupid’ and ‘Parker’ from his muted speech.

You were used to bullies, but you couldn’t sit while this dickhead kept Peter Parker’s name disrespectfully in his mouth.

Just as you pressed up to rise to your feet, this bitchass shoved the toe of his shoe right in the center of your chest, pushing you back into the ground and leaving dirt all over your favorite top. You felt the gasp leave your throat, trying to fight against it.

That’s when Peter Parker swooped in and forced the boy away from you. Anger wasn’t an expression you’d seen on Peter’s face, and you couldn’t tell whether it was something to awe at or fear.

Their echoed shouts and feuds and insults bounced from the floor and into your fingertips. You could tell the words they exchanged were ugly, considering that the two were face to face and both had such crease to their eyebrows. Fists clenched, shoulders squared, you could tell they were about to brawl.

Peter threw the first punch, taking you by surprise but still sending a smile to your lips. The two boys had a displeasing fight to the eye, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

A girl to your left offered a hand to help you off the floor, to which you signed a quick thank you before both of you saw the boys getting caught by a set of teachers. All it took was a second before the two boys froze dead in their stances and peacefully walked with the teachers down the hall to the principal’s office.

In an instant, all eyes found their way to you and your dirt–stained top. Before you let them react to the heat growing on your cheeks, you rushed off, going to the one place you knew you wouldn’t be disturbed in.

Two and a half hours passed before Peter walked through the open door of his bedroom, a small smile on his lips as he greeted you. Are you okay? He signed quickly, soon shutting the door.

Are you okay? You signed right back, swift to press off your spot on his bed and walk over to him. Peter was the one with the blackened eye and busted lip. Clearly he should be the one to worry about. Your hands found his cheeks and gently cupped his face as you looked at his injuries. The sight broke your heart.

Although, you weren’t expecting to see his pale cheeks brighten with red in your grasp. You could feel the second when his breath stopped fanning your face, and that’s when you realized that his breath had been fanning your face; you were inches away from him. The atmosphere of the room changed.

‘What?’ You mouthed, brows creasing together with concern. You weren’t stupid, but you were definitely choosing to ignore the obvious. There was no way that Peter Parker was flustered by you, right? That was preposterous.

His eyes threatened a glance at your lips before you felt his fingers curl around your wrist. Peter moved your left hand to his chest, pressing against his heart. The skin beneath his shirt pulsed against you, and quickened by the second. Things felt very intimate, things felt very thick and hot and heavy. You didn’t notice it til right then that the room was getting hotter.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of his lips and you hadn’t noticed that you were staring at them. Peter’s face moved closer to your’s and that’s when you decided to be bold. You captured his lips with yours, kissing him tenderly, careful. The caress of his hands down your sides and grasp he held around your waist told you that you didn’t have to tread as cautiously.

Peter kissed you and every inch of you felt warm. You swore you’d lifted off the ground when his hands held your back, your hips, your waist. His lips against yours truly felt something like magic and you never wanted to leave this moment. A moment where his hair was silk between your fingers and his body became one with your’s.

Pulling back, Peter kept his arms around you, now taking the time and the close proximity to study you and your injuries; you learned to recognize the protective look in his eyes. His stare stopped and stuck itself to the dirt smudged between your breasts. He moved his right hand from your waist. Your shirt.. Peter couldn’t help but stare at the stain.

You couldn’t care less about it. What? You want it off? You joked, watching the immediate shift in his expression, and feeling the laughter he admitted through the tips of your fingers on his torso. Peter pulled you back into a kiss and you knew right then and there that things would be different.

Never in your life did you think you’d get so lucky as to meet Peter Parker, but now that you had him, you knew you’d never let him go.

[fluenzed]

AFTER OBX - PART 5

fanfiction | jj maybank | alternative ending | obx

warning: mention of sex, violence, drugs and alcohol

This is the first story I've written, so please be kind and understanding! English isn't my first language, so feel free to let me know if there are any mistakes or if something is unclear.

The living room was dimly lit, the warm glow from a single lamp casting elongated shadows on the walls. Outside, the faint sound of waves lapping against the dock played like background music, but inside, the silence was sharp, almost suffocating. The television, once the source of flickering light and shared distraction, was now off, leaving only the faint hum of the power box behind. JJ remained on the couch, his shoulders stiff, his gaze fixed on the blank, reflective surface of the TV.

Alex sat a few feet away, her arms crossed as she studied him. His mood had shifted halfway through the movie, and though he’d tried to play it off, she wasn’t fooled. The easy energy they’d shared earlier in the evening was gone, replaced by a tension so thick it felt like it was choking the room.

“You didn’t enjoy even a tiny bit of the movie,” Alex said, breaking the silence, her voice both curious and cautious.

JJ’s lips twitched, a tiny smile appearing for the briefest moment before vanishing like it had never been there. “I’m tired, that’s all,” he said, his tone colder than usual, distant in a way that set Alex on edge.

She frowned, leaning slightly forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

JJ turned his head slightly, giving her a look like he didn’t understand the question. “What’s what supposed to mean?”

“This mood,” Alex said, her voice firm, but her brow creased with concern. “What’s up with you?”

JJ dropped his gaze to the floor, his jaw tightening. “Nothing.”

“You’re lying,” Alex said, her tone sharpening.

“I’m not,” he snapped, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Yes, you are,” she said, standing now, her frustration bubbling over.

JJ stood up abruptly, towering over her but refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m not. Now don’t make me regret offering you a place to stay.” His words were low and deliberate, but the sting in them cut deep.

Alex felt her chest tighten, her hurt quickly morphing into anger. “What the fuck is going on with you?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You wait for me to stay at your place and then talk to me like this? Seriously?”

JJ’s expression hardened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he walked over to the chair near the window, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He slipped one between his lips, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical, as though he was trying to keep his hands busy to avoid saying something he couldn’t take back.

Alex marched over and yanked the cigarette from his lips before he could light it, holding it tightly in her fist. “No. You don’t get to ignore me like that. Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong with you.” Her voice cracked slightly, the frustration giving way to something deeper—hurt.

JJ clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

“I do,” Alex shot back, standing her ground. “Do you think you’re the only one with scars? Do you think you can just keep everyone out forever? Live your life alone, pushing people away every chance you get?” Her voice rose with each word, anger and desperation lacing her tone.

“Alex, stop,” JJ warned, his voice rough, his shoulders tensing visibly.

“No,” she said, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I’m not stopping, JJ. You’re pissing me off, and I’m done tiptoeing around you.”

JJ stood abruptly, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. His large hand wrapped around her wrist as he yanked her closer. His blue eyes were burning, his face just inches from hers. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he said, his voice low but laced with a raw edge.

Alex didn’t flinch. She met his glare head-on, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “Don’t treat me like this,” she shot back, her voice steady despite the fire behind it.

His grip on her wrist tightened slightly before he let go, but instead of stepping back, he pushed her against the wall, his hands planted firmly on either side of her head.

“Be honest with me,” Alex said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she paused, her gaze locking onto his, challenging him. “No. Be honest with yourself.”

JJ’s breathing grew heavier, his eyes darting across her face, searching for something—anything—that might make sense of the chaos inside him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the room shrinking around them until it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Fuck this,” JJ muttered, his voice rough with frustration and something deeper—something raw and vulnerable.

Before Alex could respond, JJ grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer. His lips crashed against hers, urgent and unrelenting. She gasped against his mouth, the sound muffled as he pressed her harder against the wall.

The kiss was wild, messy, and full of everything they hadn’t said. His hands slid down to her hips, gripping them tightly as if he was afraid she might disappear. Alex’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and she let out a tiny moan when he nipped at her bottom lip.

JJ growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against hers, hot and desperate, and she felt her knees weaken.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he said, his voice rough and barely audible.

Alex looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips swollen from the kiss. “Good,” she whispered, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

JJ groaned, his hands slipping lower to grab her thighs. In one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground, and Alex instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed her harder against the wall, his lips finding her neck.

His kisses were rough, his teeth grazing her skin as he sucked and nipped, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Alex’s hands tightened in his hair, a soft moan escaping her lips as he found a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear.

“JJ,” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whimper.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “You don’t get it, Alex,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You make me want things I can’t have.”

“Then stop pushing me away,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

JJ didn’t respond. Instead, he kissed her again, slower this time, but no less intense. His lips moved against hers with a deliberate kind of desperation, as if he was trying to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she fit perfectly against him.

The world outside the window disappeared, the sound of the waves fading into nothingness. All that existed was the two of them, tangled in a moment that neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to end.

The morning light seeped gently through the thin curtains of the small bedroom, casting a soft glow across the room. JJ stirred first, his eyes fluttering open as he felt the familiar ache of an uneasy sleep. The weight of the previous night pressed down on him immediately. Slowly, he pushed the blanket aside, careful not to disturb Alex, whose soft breathing filled the quiet space.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands dragging down his face in frustration. What the hell had he done?

His mind raced, replaying every moment, every word, and every look that had led to him losing control. Since Alex had stumbled into his life, she’d been an irritant, a puzzle, and somehow, an anchor. She made him feel things he’d buried long ago, things he thought were dead and gone.

He glanced back at her, still asleep, her hair splayed across the pillow in a messy halo. The sight of her, so peaceful, so vulnerable, made something in his chest tighten. She looked like she belonged there, in that bed, in his life, but JJ quickly shoved that thought away.

Why did I do it? he thought bitterly. Since she had come closer, it was like his brain stopped functioning correctly. She had a way of burrowing into his mind, stirring up emotions he had no right feeling. She was kind, yes—perhaps too kind for her own good—and she had this way of looking at him, like she could see past the walls he’d carefully built. It pissed him off because she made him want to trust her.

And trust was something he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not ever.

JJ sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. If this were another world, another life, maybe—just maybe—he could’ve given her what she wanted. What they both wanted. But life wasn’t some perfect fantasy. It was hard, cruel, and he’d seen enough to know how dangerous it could be.

He glanced at her again, his jaw tightening. Why the hell did I kiss her like that? The memory of her lips on his, the way she had melted into him, sent a jolt through him. He had acted on pure impulse, and though it felt right in the moment, the consequences were gnawing at him now.

It had been so long since he’d kissed anyone, let alone felt something real for someone. Maybe that’s why it hit him so hard—why his feelings had felt so intense, almost uncontrollable. It was like opening a floodgate that had been sealed for years.

JJ stood abruptly, trying to shake off the heaviness in his chest. He looked at Alex for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on her peaceful expression. She deserved better—better than him, better than the chaos that followed him like a shadow.

His steps were quiet as he left the bedroom and walked into the small adjoining bathroom. The pipes groaned softly as he turned on the shower, stepping under the stream of lukewarm water. It was a small comfort, but the noise and the steady rhythm of the water helped clear his head, if only slightly.

As he stood under the spray, he thought about the life he’d chosen and the life he’d left behind. Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He had learned that the hard way. Everyone he’d ever let in—everyone he’d ever cared about—had either left, betrayed him, or been taken from him. He couldn’t let that happen again.

By the time JJ stepped out of the shower, his mind was made up. He couldn’t let last night happen again. It was a mistake—a moment of weakness—and he needed to put distance between them before it spiraled out of control.

He dressed quickly, throwing on his usual work clothes: a dark shirt, jeans, and boots. His movements were methodical, almost robotic, as he slipped into his routine. With a glance at the clock, he realized he still had time to grab something to eat before heading to work, but he wasn’t hungry.

JJ hesitated at the bedroom door, his hand on the frame as he glanced back one last time. Alex had shifted slightly in her sleep, curling into the space where he had been lying. She looked so small, so out of place in his harsh world, and for a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to let her stay, to let her in.

But that thought vanished as quickly as it came. With a resigned sigh, JJ turned and left the room, grabbing his jacket before heading out the door.

The air outside was crisp, the faint smell of salt from the nearby docks mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the café down the street. JJ stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked, his boots crunching against the gravel.

When he reached the small workshop where he spent most of his days, he slipped into his usual rhythm, tinkering with tools and repairing engines. The familiar clink of metal and the hum of machinery filled the air, but his mind kept drifting back to Alex.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Every time he focused too long on a task, he heard her voice. And every time he paused, he felt the ghost of her lips on his.

JJ groaned inwardly, shaking his head. Focus, idiot. But no matter how hard he tried, she was there, haunting him like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

He worked harder, longer, until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. It wasn’t enough to make him forget, but at least it kept him busy. At least it gave him something else to think about, even if it was only temporary.

________________________________________________________________

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, painting the city of Porto in a warm golden glow. Alex stood by the small window in JJ’s apartment, her arms crossed as she gazed out at the street below. She had stayed half the day, hoping JJ would return or at least message her, but her phone remained silent. His absence gnawed at her—a quiet but persistent ache. Why hadn’t he said anything? Not even a text?

Earlier that morning, she had received a message from the police, informing her that Afurada had been cleared and residents could now return to their homes. The thought of going back was comforting in a way—her space, her things—but she had hoped JJ would be here when she left. That hope now felt foolish.

With a sigh, Alex moved to gather her things. She pulled on her clothes from the day before and tidied up the small space. The scent of him lingered in the air—something warm and subtly musky, like sea salt and wood. It made her pause for a moment, her fingers brushing over the blanket they had shared the night before. She shook her head and forced herself to continue.

She washed the borrowed clothes in the small sink, wringing them out and hanging them to dry. The act was simple, methodical, and it helped her focus. Finally, she folded the blanket neatly on the couch and took one last look around the apartment before locking the door behind her.

The keys felt heavy in her hand as she walked down to the bait shop to return them. JJ’s boss, José, greeted her with a kind smile as she entered.

“Hey there, Alex. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied, offering a small smile in return. “I just wanted to drop these off. Could you give them to JJ for me?”

José raised an eyebrow, taking the keys from her. “Sure, but… why don’t you give him? He’s just here”

Alex hesitated, unsure how much to say. “Oh, he’s busy, I don’t want to bother him,” she lied. “Thanks, José.”

The older man nodded, concern flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t press her further.

With the keys returned, Alex found herself wandering through Porto. She stopped at a nearby coffee shop, the familiar warmth of the space offering a small reprieve from her swirling thoughts. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the soft chatter of patrons and the hum of Christmas music playing in the background.

She ordered a hot coffee and sat by the window, cradling the cup in her hands as she watched the world outside. The streets were beginning to take on a magical quality, with Christmas decorations appearing on every corner. Twinkling lights wrapped around lampposts, garlands hung from shopfronts, and the faint sound of carolers echoed down the cobblestone alleys.

For a moment, Alex allowed herself to smile. She loved Porto—its charm, its history, the way it seemed to wrap around her like a warm hug. It was her city, her home.

After finishing her coffee, she slipped her AirPods into her ears and started walking again. Music filled the silence, offering a comforting rhythm to her steps. She followed the familiar path toward the Douro River, her breath hitching slightly as she neared the water.

The river was alive with activity. Boats glided across its surface, some returning home after a long day, while others carried tourists on a tour of the Seven Bridges. The reflection of the golden sun danced on the water, creating ripples of light that seemed almost magical. Alex paused for a moment, leaning on the railing as she watched the scene unfold.

The walk to Afurada was peaceful, but as she approached her neighborhood, the presence of police officers brought a stark reminder of the recent events. The officers stood at key points, their sharp gazes scanning the area. Though the scene felt secure, it also added a weight to Alex’s chest. The fact that they were still here meant this was serious—more serious than she had allowed herself to consider.

As she approached the checkpoint, one of the officers stepped forward.

“Good evening, miss. Can I see your ID?”

Alex nodded, pulling her card from her pocket. The officer studied it briefly before glancing at the list in his hand. His eyes flicked back to her, and he nodded.

“You’re clear. Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” she replied softly, tucking her ID away and stepping past him.

The neighborhood was quiet, save for the occasional sound of footsteps or a distant car horn. Alex felt a strange mix of emotions—comfort in the familiarity of home but unease at the lingering police presence.

When she finally reached her door, she hesitated for a moment before unlocking it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and closed it behind her, locking it out of habit. She dropped her keys onto the small table near the entryway and slipped off her shoes, relishing the warmth of her home.

But when she turned toward the living room, she froze.

Her mouth fell open, forming a soft “o,” and her eyes sparkled with disbelief. “Dad?”

The man standing by the window turned immediately at the sound of her voice, his face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and joy.

“Oh no,” he said, chuckling softly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Before he could say anything else, Alex launched herself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’m here,” he replied, holding her just as tightly. “I missed you, kiddo.”

Tears pricked at Alex’s eyes as she pulled back slightly to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said with a grin. “But I guess I underestimated your sharp instincts.”

Alex laughed softly. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, Alex felt a sense of peace wash over her. Her father was home, and for a brief moment, everything felt right in the world.

The living room was warm and filled with the comforting hum of conversation. Alex and her father, Luis, sat close together on the couch, sharing stories and laughter as the late afternoon sun painted the walls in golden hues. The scent of salt still clung faintly to Luis’s clothes, a testament to his time spent at sea. His voice carried the cadence of someone who had lived through stories too vivid to forget but too complex to explain in one sitting.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Luis said, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Out in the Atlantic, near the Azores, we came across this massive pod of dolphins. They surrounded the boat, just gliding through the water like they were guiding us somewhere.”

Alex smiled, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. “That sounds amazing. Did you follow them?”

“We didn’t have much choice,” Luis admitted, his grin widening. “They stayed with us for hours, playful and curious. Honestly, it was one of the most peaceful moments of the entire trip. Out there, in the middle of the ocean, everything else just fades away.”

She listened intently, imagining the vast expanse of water and the pod of dolphins weaving effortlessly through the waves. It sounded magical, almost unreal.

“What about you?” he asked, leaning back slightly. “What’s been going on here while I was gone?”

Alex hesitated for a moment, her mind flicking to JJ. She decided against mentioning him and focused instead on safer topics. “Well, Uni’s been keeping me busy as always,” she began. “And there’s been this whole thing with the neighborhood. You know, with the police and everything.”

Luis’s brow furrowed slightly. “Yeah, I noticed that. What exactly happened?”

“There was some kind of shooting,” Alex explained, her tone cautious. “No one really knows much, or at least they’re not saying. The police have been swarming the area ever since. It’s unsettling, to be honest.”

Luis nodded, his expression darkening. “It’s strange. Afurada’s always been quiet—at least quieter than the city. I don’t like the idea of violence coming so close to home.”

“Me neither,” Alex agreed, her voice soft. She reached out and touched his arm. “But I’m glad you’re back. It feels safer with you here.”

Luis placed his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m here now, and with the police around, we’ll be fine.”

The late afternoon  transitioned into evening, and the two decided to head to the Bolhão Market. The market was alive with activity, a bustling hub of sounds, scents, and colors. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices mingling with the chatter of customers and the occasional laughter of children.

Luis and Alex wandered through the aisles, selecting ingredients for dinner. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread, spices, and cured meats filled the air, making Alex’s stomach growl. They stopped at a stall selling wine, and Luis carefully chose a bottle, examining the label with the precision of someone who took pride in his cooking.

“I’ve missed this,” Luis said, holding up the bottle and grinning. “Good wine, good food, and good company. What more could a man ask for?”

Alex chuckled, grabbing a block of cheese from another vendor. “I’ve missed it too. It’s been too quiet without you around.”

They left the market with a bag full of ingredients—wine, cheese, olives, chorizo, and a fresh batch of codfish rissois. As they walked home, the streets of Porto began to transform under the glow of Christmas lights. Strings of twinkling bulbs crisscrossed above them, and garlands adorned the lampposts. The city felt alive with warmth and joy, a stark contrast to the tension of recent days.

Back at home, the kitchen was filled with the comforting clatter of cooking. Luis moved with ease, chopping and seasoning, while Alex worked on slicing the cheese and chorizo. She placed them neatly on a plate alongside a small bowl of olives and another of tremoços.

The scent of the rissois frying filled the kitchen, warm and savory, mingling with the aroma of the wine Luis had just uncorked. Alex set the table, arranging the small plates and glasses with care, while Luis poured the rich, ruby-red port into their glasses.

“Dinner is served,” Luis declared, carrying the plate of rissois to the table.

They sat down together, raising their glasses in a toast. “To family,” Luis said, his voice tinged with emotion.

“To family,” Alex echoed, her smile soft and genuine.

As they ate, the conversation continued, flowing easily between lighthearted stories and more serious topics.

“I missed you,” Alex said, her voice warm but tinged with a hint of sadness. “And these rissois.”

Luis laughed, the sound hearty and full. “Me too. It’s been too long since we’ve done this.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before Luis broke it. “Have you heard anything new about the shooting?”

Alex shook her head. “No, I haven’t. But it must be serious, considering the police are still here, checking the area.”

Luis nodded thoughtfully, his gaze distant. “It’s worrying, but I’m glad they’re taking it seriously. And I’m here now, so you don’t have to worry as much.”

Alex offered a small smile, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to have you here.”

Luis reached over and ruffled her hair affectionately. “Don’t mention it. Now, let’s finish up. You have Uni tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.”

After dinner, Luis took the empty plates and carried them to the sink. He leaned down to kiss Alex’s forehead before nudging her gently. “Go on, kiddo. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

Alex hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Thanks, Dad.”

She climbed the stairs to her room, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor. Once inside, she took a long shower, letting the warm water wash away the tension of the day. She changed into her pajamas, the soft fabric comforting against her skin, and climbed into bed.

As she lay there, her thoughts drifted to JJ. His absence still gnawed at her, but the warmth of her father’s presence made it easier to push those thoughts aside. For now, she let herself focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing and the faint sounds of the city outside her window, finally allowing herself to relax.

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing 8— “Anyone can write a book”

Yes. But actually no. I say “writing is easy” in that it doesn’t take a degree and textbook learning to understand. You can get an English or lit degree if you want, but writing is incredibly subjective. It’s not even like an art degree that has you study different mediums and historical styles. “Writing is easy” in that it’s about feeling, and instinct, and a little bit of common sense. Anyone can do it in that it doesn’t take financial investment to start. Steal a tchotchke pen and paper from a hotel room—you’ve got all the tools you need. I have a communications degree and 9 years of experience, and I'm about to publish my first supernatural fantasy novel.

Writing is not easy, however, if any of the following applies to you:

You want to make enough money to do this full time

You want to appeal to mass audiences

You want to be a NYT bestseller**** or get an adaptation

You want to be regarded as the best of your generation and fill bookstore shelves

1. It takes a healthy dose of self-awareness and a reality check

 I beta’d for an author who thought that he was comparable to GRRM, the author of A Song of Ice and Fire, because both have adult themes in their book and if GRRM can do it, why can’t he? The sheer vastness of the divide between ASOIAF and this awful, awful manuscript wasn’t worth putting into words for the amount I was being paid, though I tried.

Yes, you can write whatever you want. Yes, you can write to please yourself and stroke your ego. You can write the hammiest wish-fulfillment author insert that you desire. But you can’t expect anyone else to want to read or pay money for it. It’s great to have confidence as an author and envision your success, but starting right off the bat with “everyone will love this book because I’m really smart and I love this book” is only going to leave you bitter and penniless.

2. You might be an expert in your given field, doesn’t automatically make you an expert at storycrafting

I really, truly want the above godawful toe wart of a human (who tried to justify pedophilia in his book with the Israel-Palestine conflict) to stop featuring in my writing advice, but I know he’s not the only person out there who thinks like this. You might have a doctorate in engineering, medicine, political science, chemistry, physics, history, paleontology—any field you want. That does not mean you can successfully translate your expertise into a well-crafted and compelling narrative. It means you can write a college textbook lecturing your readers for 300 pages. Heck, if you can't explain what you do like I'm 5 years old, then you're not an expert in your field.

Elements of good storytelling include well-rounded characters, solid pacing, compelling themes and motifs, an engaging main conflict and character arcs and edge-of-your-seat action, romance, debates, and arguments. It’s so much more than “I’m going to write a textbook, but have my character tell it to you, and everyone will love it”.

They won’t.

3. “I’m gonna be a millionaire like JKR”

The frustrating thing about making money writing is that at the end of the day, you are still selling a product. Which means that it doesn’t matter how amazing you think it is, if it’s not what sells. The Fifty Shades series is hardly a poetic epic with deep, meaningful characters and themes, but it sold. It got adaptations. Why? Because it was a product people wanted and its writing style appeals to mass audiences who aren’t entertained by fluffy, antiquated prose. I hated the Divergent books. They soullessly and shamelessly fed off the success of Hunger Games. But they sold because “teen dystopia HP houses” was what audiences craved and what Hollywood was pushing to make movies out of.

Personally I don’t have any nostalgia for Harry Potter and I both wish I did so I could have one more beloved series and fandom to participate in, but also am glad I don’t because of JKR. HP is chock full of plot holes and “fuck it we’ll do it live” worldbuilding and so many concepts that look cool on paper until you really start thinking about it.

JKR didn’t make a million dollars because she wrote the greatest fantasy series. JKR made a million dollars because she wrote a book that sells every goddamn piece of lore for $15.99 or more and collects on all those sweet, sweet royalties. She understood that she’s selling a product, not just a story, selling everything from Slytherin ties and wizarding robes to golden snitches, sorting hats, wands, chocolate frogs, and every other prop seen in the movies.

You sure can chase trends and I’m sure Divergent is somebody’s favorite book and you can hock chocolate frogs. Everyone’s writing goals are different.

4. “But GRRM did it” (or, adhering to genre expectations)

Circling back to this one. Once again, you can write whatever you want, no one is stopping you. However, books are products and if what’s in the summary and on the cover isn’t what’s on the pages, you’re going to upset and annoy your readers. For example, if I slap a chiseled six-pack of man meat on my book cover with flowy calligraphy for the title that reads something like Sex and Pink Champagne and my summary is all about how protagonist girl gets the adonis of her dreams, you’re not going to be happy if, 200 pages in, the plot detours and Mr. Sexy fucks off to sell NFTs.

It doesn’t meet genre expectations.

GoT kicks off with incest and child defenestration. It tells you *exactly* what you’re getting into immediately. You can subvert plot expectations all you want. You can subvert tropes and archetypes and throw in all kinds of twists and turns. But if you’re writing a YA novel and 100 pages in after campfire songs and the power of friendship, Protagonist gets assaulted in a 7-11 parking lot because you wanted to be ~edgy~ you’re going to piss off your readers.

Take Mulan for example. It has a dramatic tonal shift so powerful, the musical stops being a musical because it’s traumatized. Mulan doesn’t drop in the grizzled and horrifying wasteland of a battlefield with thousands of dead soldiers in an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. It’s already a war movie, the possibility is already there.

If you want to write adult content, then write a book for audiences who are prepared for and want to read adult content. Otherwise you’re setting yourself up for failure.

5. “Okay but it’s not entertaining”

Your first job as an author is to entertain (your second is to do it responsibly imo). There’s millions of books out there—why should someone read yours? Whether that’s entertainment through a feel-good romance or a gut-wrenching tragedy, you need to keep convincing your readers to stay invested in the story, otherwise they can and will put it down to read something else. No one is obligated to read your book to the end.

So, yeah your protagonist might have all the elements of your own personal tragedies and it sure is meaningful to you, but the way you wrote it is incredibly boring and no one will care. It might be the most brilliant heist plot ever conceived, but you focused on all the wrong elements, the pacing is whack, and your protagonist is annoying, so no one will read it.

Very few individual elements can be good enough to carry the entire manuscript and the likelihood of an author being really good at one thing and awful at the rest is slim. Readers can quit a book over the most arbitrary reasons. Do you want to die on a hill of “I’m not changing my annoying protagonist, I’m right and they will see”? They won’t. The arguments authors get into with me over how I hated their protagonist or I told them which parts were boring and dragged because I “didn’t understand the story” are pointless. If it’s boring or confusing or annoying, no one will read it.

6. First Drafts are drafts for a reason

Actually writing is less than half the time and effort spent on getting a book to publication. Probably less than a quarter. The rest of that time is spent editing and rewriting. Some first drafts will be better than others, not arguing that, but your first run through your story has a non-zero chance of needing revisions, even for something as small as typos and punctuation.

You have to edit for pacing and tonal shifts, erroneous details and entire scenes, character inconsistencies and goals. You have to make sure your conversations flow believably, that you hit every talking point that scene requires. You have to make sure your character’s motivations don’t create plot holes and that they’re always on track like a real person and not a creation of your imagination. You have to make sure your action scenes and sex scenes are legible and as thrilling for a reader as they are for you. You have to make sure your worldbuilding is consistent and logical and easy to understand.

Some people outline heavily before starting page one. Some people have a sticky note of “beginning middle end” and run off that. Some have whole folders of different documents to keep track of all their elements. Everyone’s writing process is different, but it is a process, not a one-and-done. It requires revisions, seeking feedback, implementing that feedback, and more revisions until it’s as good as it can be.

Yes, you need to edit. No, you’re not the writing god who penned perfection on your first try. Maybe a piece of your story is perfect on the first draft, but not the whole thing from start to finish. It’s okay that your story isn’t what you thought it would be when you started, and it’s no failing of you as a writer to need edits or even massive changes. It happens to everyone.

7. “Writing is easy, thus it’s not a real job”

Really the notion that creatives are lesser than corporate business people solving problems that their business created. But specifically for writing, the idea that it’s just putting words on a page, thus it’s easy and anyone can do it, so it’s not impressive or deserving of praise and you really need a real job (you probably will because writing doesn’t make much money for most people, but that’s just how it shakes out).

I know ENNS won’t appeal to everyone. I know there will be people who hate my characters, who don’t understand them or don’t agree with their philosophies or find my writing trite and too lean and not ~immersive~. I know there’ll be homophobes out there who won’t even read it but hear about it and make assumptions and will leave me crap reviews. I know it’s not the greatest supernatural fantasy novel ever written.

I’m not in it to make money or get a movie deal and see my merch all over the shelves and get my own theme park. I write so that even one reader might see themselves in my characters and know they’re not alone. So that even one reader has one of my characters as their favorite and that character motivates them to do the Thing or keep moving forward or be brave enough to finally do whatever they’ve been too afraid to attempt before. I want to help people, even if at the end of the day, my writing only helps myself.

Yes I need supplemental income (who doesn’t these days). It’s the way of the world. But I’m doing what I love in my free time and it is a real job because it takes work, and it might not have monetary value but its value to me is priceless.

[periwinkla]

AAI 1-3 dialogue comparison

Disclaimer : I only studied Japanese for a little while. AA dialogue is pretty simple though. Also English isn't my native language either. Feel free to correct me on anything wrong here. Also note that I'm not trying to make the translations sound natural, I'm mostly trying to explain what the words are saying, sometimes I'll be more literal than others. Translation =/= localization. Paups そうね。ヒメコったら‥‥テヘッ☆ Sou ne. Himekotara... tehe☆ I suppose… If they were me, then… blush

Edgeworth キミはヒカルくんの ガールフレンドだと聞いているが。 Kimi wa Hikaru-kun no gaarufurendo da to kiite iru ga. I believe you said that you are Lance's girlfriend when we first met, correct?

Paups ええ。そうですけど‥‥。あの！ けっして恋人同士ってワケじゃ！ Ee. Sou desu kedo... Ano! Kesshite koibito doushi tte wake ja! Yes, I am, but… Oh! It's not like we both think of each other as lovers! でも、この指輪のブレゼントは、 ただのトモダチじゃないから‥‥？ Demo, kono yubiwa no purezento wa, tada no tomodachi ja nai kara...? But he DID give me this ring, so I guess we're not just "friends" either…?

だって、これ！ ただの指輪じゃないの！ Datte, kore! Tada no yubiwa ja nai no! I mean, because! This isn't just any ordinary ring!

なめるとアマいんです！ ああ！　なんてステキなの！ Nameru to amain desu! Aa! Nante suteki na no! It tastes so sweet when you lick it! Ah! It's so wonderful!

Edgeworth （それは、宝石ではなく 　キャンディーなのでは？） (Sore wa, houseki dewa naku kyandii na no dewa?) (You mean to tell me that he gave you a lollypop ring…?) That, that is not a jewel it's candy isn't it?

Kay 片思いなのか恋人同士なのか、 設定がハッキリしませんねー。 Kataomoi na no ka koibito doushi na no ka, settei ga hakkiri shimasen nee. So which is it!? Have you guys not decided if you're going out, or is it just one-sided?

Lit: Unrequired love, lovers, you haven't made an establishment clearly uh. Comprehensible: (whether it's) Unrequired love, (or whether you're) lovers, you haven't established it clearly uh. Edgeworth 設定‥‥？ Settei...? "Decided"…? Shouldn't the parties involved naturally just know…? Established...? (lt: Establishment...?) A lot is added in the ENG. Quite honestly, the first time I experienced this dialogue (in English), I didn't think much of it. I saw it as Edgeworth thinking something like 'How in tarnation don't you know whether you're together ot not?' Shouldn't you know?' That was my own reaction in the first place. I thought it was saying more about Paups' lovesick character than anything else. But the JP with its brevity made me question if that was the original meaning. He sounds confused. Still, I'm not quite sure. I would say in general though, it makes sense that in his mind, you don't have to actually communicate by talking about your feelings. He is pretty bad at it in the first place... communicating what he feels, I mean. He tends to talk around things, he's a bit roundabout. He tries to say 'thank you' to express his gratefulness, doesn't really work, and is far more successful at showing appreciation when he says stuff like 'A man appeared and stood fast against that selfish me' (ending of 2-4), such a thing just works better for him. He's stating the facts, but not his feelings themselves. That man appeared and stood fast -> it's a simple fact. He doesn't say anything about how that made him feel. When he tries, he feels awkward, foolish. Something that doesn't suit him.

Paups お父さんが、天野河さんの 会社で働いていたから‥‥ Otousan ga, Amanogawa-san no kaisha de hatte ita kara... My father used to work for Mr. Amano.

ヒカルくんとは、幼なじみなんです。 ‥‥キャッ！　言っちゃった！ Hikaru-kun to wa, osananajimi nan desu. ...Kyaa! Icchatta! And so, Lance and I grew up together. …gasp! I said it out loud! Lance and I, we were childhood friends. ....Ahhh! I said it! Note that 'osananajimi', 'childhood friends', is the term used for Edgeworth and Phoenix's relationship in the JP version.

Edgeworth （そんなに、 　恥ずかしがることだろうか？） (Sonna ni, hazukashigaru koto darou ka?) (I don't see how that's anything to be embarrassed about…) Such a thing, is it something to be embarassed about? 'Darou ka' can be translated in many ways. 'I wonder if...' 'is it so', for example. Basically it expresses something akin to uncertainty. EDIT - a correction: 'sonna ni' actually means 'like that, to that extent, so much, to that point, to such a degree' So it can be translated in many ways: (To that point), is it something to be (so) embarassed about? Is it something to be embarassed about to that extent? Is it something to be so embarassed about? This last part is the most hilarious to me. He doesn't think it's something someone should be embarassed about, but he's also kind of uncertain. 'Wait, is it? Is it though? Am I missing something?' Kinda seems like Edgeworth is very confused. 'Should you be embarassed for such a thing? Is it supposed to be embarassing? I wonder if it's an embarassing thing?' And the maybe inner : 'Should I be embarassed about such a thing?' It's probably insignificant beyond showing Edgeworth's apparent obliviousness to other people's feelings and general misunderstanding of how some people perceive and experience romantic relationships, but it did earn a chuckle from me. So I thought I'd share.

[dkniade]

What does albedo's title actually means,"Kreideprinz" in German it translates to chalk prince,but i tried to translate the Chinese one and it said "son of the chalk" what is the difference,can you tell me??

Kreideprinz, Albedo’s Chinese Title, and Albedo and Rhinedottir’s Relationship 

(Albedo Character Stories, 1.2 The Chalk Prince and the Dragon: Act IV, 2.3 Shadows Amidst Snowstorms: Act I, 3.5 Windblume’s Breath: Act III)

-

Hello! Thank you for the question.

(This was actually one of the first Genshin things I tried to translate back in late 2021 but I couldn’t explain it very well so here’s an encore.)

Okay so Genshin Impact’s English localization does this thing sometimes where they’ll take the Chinese name of a noteworthy group, building, or other special item/concept, and localize it into the language(s) from the culture(s) the region is based on. (E.g. In the English version, Fischl’s speech is often localized with German terms but she’s just using lots of purple prose in Chinese.)

With that being said, Albedo’s title in Chinese is 白垩之子 (baie zhi zi). 白垩 means “chalk”, as in limestone (compare with 白垩纪 (baie ji, Cretaceous Period). I don’t know much German if at all, but to my knowledge, the “kreide” part of “Kreideprinz” also means “chalk”, and “prinz” means “prince”, meaning “Kreideprinz” is “Chalk Prince”.

子 however feels a bit ambiguous in this context… It could mean “son” (e.g. 儿子 / erzi), or “person” (e.g. 男子 / nanzi = man, 女子 / nüzi =  woman), and 子 doesn’t necessarily mean “prince” by itself, however 王子 / wangzi (lit. king’s child) does mean “prince”. (Compare to 公子 / gonzi = “young master”, aka childe. Yes, that Childe.) Also, 弟子 / dizi means “follower”, or “disciple”, be it in a Daoist context or a scholarly context. 

All in all, 白垩之子’s meaning depends on the context a lot, specifically in terms of how Rhinedottir and Albedo see their relationship. Perhaps HoYoverse is intentionally being ambiguous. 

In order to know the nature of Albedo and Rhinedottir’s relationship from both their perspectives, we need to examine Chinese terminologies used to describe their relationship. (And even then, it varies a bit over time…)

------

Character Story 3

In Albedo’s Character Story 3, Rhinedottir is described as both 师父 (shifu, master/mentor) and Albedo’s only 亲人 (qinren, family member). HoYoverse translates this second term to “kin” (one’s family and relations).

Original CN: “师父的地位显然最为特殊。对阿贝多来说，她是唯一的亲人”

My EN TL: “It’s obvious that his master’s position [in relation to him] is the most special. To Albedo, she’s his only family member.”

Official EN TL: “And yet his master is unquestionably the most special to him. For Albedo, she is his only kin.”

Here, from Albedo’s perspective, Rhinedottir is his master and only family member.

-----

Character Story 4

But we know from Albedo’s Story 4 that 白垩之子 is a title Rhinedottir gave him when he finished his studies under her, so it’d be helpful to know what the title 白垩之子 meant to Rhinedottir, and whether in that moment she saw him as her son (儿子, erzi), or apprentice (弟子, dizi), or creation…

Here, 出师 (chushi) is “to serve out one’s apprenticeship”, and Rhinedottir is again referred to as 师父 (shifu, master/mentor). The official English localization does not specify these two concepts.

Original CN: “此外，还有一件较为特殊的礼物：师父对阿贝多出师一事给予书面认可，并授予他「白垩之子」的称号。”

My EN TL: “Aside from this, there was another relatively special gift: his master left him a written acknowledgement that he’s served out his apprenticeship, and gave him the title of [Chinese equivalent of Kreideprinz].” 

Official EN TL: “If one were to push the definition a little, she had left him another gift — the title of Kreideprinz, and with it, a written acknowledgment that she had nothing further to teach him.” 

Here, Rhinedottir and Albedo are explicitly described as having a master/apprentice relationship. 

----

Character Story 5

And in Albedo’s Story 5, his nature as a homunculus is strongly implied. Rhinedottir is described as, again, 师父 (shifu, master/mentor), but also that she is 有别于父母 (youbie yu fumu, different from a parent) yet it’s also explicitly stated that “Albedo’s life comes from her”. 

Note that 父母 (fumu) is (technically) “father and mother”, but it can refer to both birth parents or adoptive parents because the nature is not specified. The English localization doesn’t go into detail here and Rhinedottir is simply stated as “not his birth mother”.

Original CN: “师父固然有别于父母，可毫无疑问，阿贝多的生命来自于她。”

My EN TL: “His master is of course different from a parent, but there’s no doubt that Albedo’s life comes from her.” 

Official EN TL: “She was not his birth mother, but there is no doubt that his life stems from her.”

Applied to Rhinedottir though, parent is used as a counterexample here in Chinese. Sounds like some sort of experiment with dubious morals (confirmed in 2.3). 

So how would a master who’s not a parent see a living creation such as Albedo…?

----

1.2 The Chalk Prince and the Dragon: Afterword (Act V)

Albedo again refers to Rhinedottir as his 师父 (shifu, master/mentor) in his soliloquy at the end of 1.2 The Chalk Prince and the Dragon, when he talks about Durin.

Original CN: 莱茵多特…师父…这就是你曾经创造的巨龙「杜林」吗？

My EN TL: Rhinedottir… Master… So this is Durin, the great dragon that you created back then?”

Official EN TL: “Rhinedottir… Master… Is this your creation, the giant dragon Durin?”

And yet—

----

2.3 Shadows Amidst Snowstorms: The Snowy Past (Act I)

We also get confirmation in 2.3 Shadows Amidst Snowstorms that Albedo is a synthetic human (“artificial human” also works) created by Rhinedottir, who, according to him this time, is his mother and teacher.

(Though, Shadows Amidst Snowstorms happens in Mondstadt, meaning he’s known Klee and Alice for quite some time now, so perhaps Alice taught him the meaning of “mother”.)

Original CN: “我是一个人造人。将我创造出来的，正是我的母亲和老师——坎瑞亚学者，「黄金」莱茵多特。”

My EN TL: “I am a synthetic human. The one who created me is none other than my mother and teacher—the Khaenri’ahn researcher, “Gold” Rhinedottir.”

Official EN TL: “I am a synthetic human being... a human forged by human hand. The one who created me, my mother and teacher, her name is Rhinedottir — a researcher from Khaenri’ah, also known as "Gold."”

BUT WAIT, WE’RE NOT DONE YET. ‘CAUSE WE STILL NEED TO CONSIDER, OF COURSE—

---

3.5 Windblume’s Breath: Joy Above the Clouds (Act III)

…which changes everything, so much that I was quite frustrated when I first watched it, but let’s look at this again from a more rational perspective.

Rhinedottir says, in a casual tone as the animation shows flasks and test tubes—

Original CN: “我养了一个儿子呢。许多个孩子，最终只剩他一人。也算是当了母亲吧？” 

My EN TL: “I’m raising a son, you know. Of the many children I have, only he remained in the end. Guess that would still make me a mother?” 

Official EN TL: “I'm raising a son. Of all the children I had, he's the only one left. But I suppose that still makes me a mother?”

Okay, so in the 3.5 cutscene, Rhinedottir sees her relationship with Albedo as a mother/son relationship.

----

Interpretations?

So where does that leave us, with Albedo’s title 白垩之子？

…

Remember how I said 子 (zi) depends on the context?

Some interpretations:

Albedo Story 4, Albedo’s POV: Rhinedottir is the master; Albedo is the graduated apprentice — 白垩之子 could mean “Disciple of Chalk”

Albedo Story 3 and 5, Albedo’s POV: Rhinedottir is the master, family member, and not-really-parent figure; Albedo is the apprentice — 白垩之子 could mean “Son of Chalk”

1.2 Dragonspine Act IV, Albedo’s POV: Rhinedotir is the master — 白垩之子 could mean “Disciple of Chalk”

2.3 Dragonspine Act I, Albedo’s POV: Rhinedottir is the mother and teacher; Albedo is her creation and homunculus. — 白垩之子 could mean both “Son of Chalk” and “Prince of Chalk” (Kreideprinz)

(Prince in a metaphoric “fancy title” way, like how Childe is not actually a nobleman despite his title…)

3.5 Windblume Act III, Rhinedottir’s POV: Rhinedottir is the mother, Albedo is the son — 白垩之子 could mean “Son of Chalk”

----------

…Albedo can’t seem to define clearly his relationship with Rhinedottir, even though Rhinedottir seems to consider him her son, at least in the cutscene.

*like it’s a dramatic monologue*

What is “mother”? What is “ master”? “Son”? “Apprentice”? What is… 白垩之子?

The truth of this title, does “Kreideprinz” encompass all this…?

I don’t know.

Or in other words, maybe he’s whatever you want him to be, based on the context.

…Thank you for reading! ^^

[plaquerat]

okay, yes, hi, hello. I am currently trying to finish my English BA and was wondering if you could tell me the overall vibe of an Engl MA? (I also know that different countries have different requirements etc) but from your experience, do you get to study more specific areas of Engl lit? Things considered "niche" ?

It seems like the English honours students at my Uni get the privilege of studying their general interests.

Hmmm i am only a couple classes in but yeah I think there's some specificity. The class I'm currently taking (I only do one per term haha) is over how English works on writing, structure, how specific authors use the language (I'm writing about Hemingway, other people are doing Wilde, Achebe, Hurston...). I've got classes coming up on Medieval and Romantic literature. It probably depends on country and school, but I'd say where I am, yeah I can study more specific areas. I'm also planning on going into editing, though, so I'm also studying some for that, haha.

[nikethestatue]

I find it so amusing that all of a sudden an English literature undergraduate degree is to be a revered and esteemed point of view in the interpretation of the ACOTAR series. All the while there have episodically been those in the fandom with PhDs and MDs (psychologists discussing trauma, mental health professionals who have been consultants on screenwriting and writing projects, OBs explaining how having pliable bones doesn’t change the soft tissue of a woman’s reproductive system, etc etc) explaining a particular subject matter expertise being met with severe harassment, accusations of lies about their degrees, doxxing threats to expose them to licensure boards, and all out attacks and assault. You’re telling me that, now, an English lit degree is an authority on interpreting subjective fiction novels and that’s just supposed to be taken as a word of deference?

I mean absolutely no hate towards anybody with an arts degree when I say this (I, too, have one)- but literature is not a science. There is no exact, reliable way to interpret literature. Scholars still debate great literary works throughout history. Lit is not a science. Do some people have a higher level of education that enables them to detect certain literary devices? Sure. But I think the point being missed here is that literature is not a science. It cannot be reliably interpreted outside of any one person’s individual bias. Culture, socioeconomic status, race, life experience all factor into how one interprets art. That’s fine and good. You don’t need a degree in lit to understand ACOTAR and pick up on foreshadowing. Education does not mean you can interpret subjective material without bias. That is the point of the scientific method in interpreting objective data.

One would argue that advanced degrees in most fields, particularly science driven studies where research is conducted in some capacity, are extremely equipped to think critically and analytically about what they read.

Seeing this all explode has really made me flashback to how actual licensed professionals in this fandom have been treated for attaching their credentials to their commentary or blog on a subject matter they have actual expertise and advanced training/experience in. Seeing the same people who attacked others with so much vitriol have this defensive energy is truly full circle. I can’t help but think how some of those in this fandom might be sitting back watching the hypocrisy. Where was this energy when actual experts with doctoral degrees and licenses were being attacked? Just wow.

Like you said, Anon, what's amusing to me is that some of these 'degreed' people seem to be under the impression that there is one answer to a written piece of literature. That there is something 'definitive' about their own personal interpretation. Where in reality, indeed, things are being debated for hundreds, and sometimes thousands of years. Everything from the Bible, to Plato, to Shakespeare, to Jane Austen, to Kafka, to Tolstoy, to Tolkien.

There might be some consensus on interpretation of texts, but at the same time, that's all it will ever be--interpretation.

Anna Karenina throwing herself under a train: the number of interpretations of why she did it is as vast as the number of people reading the book. Did she do it out of guilt and shame? Sure. Did she do it out of a sense of despair over her future? Absolutely. Was she a product of her time, where women had no freedoms? Yes. Was she a rebel? Sure. Was she amoral? Certainly. Did she deserve her fate? Yes. Did she not deserve her fate? Also yes.

People just need to calm the hell down and stop acting crazy. Nobody cares if you have a degree. ALso, if you have a degree and you are WRONG In the end, that's just going to be embarrassing. So just be and let others be as well.

[neko-chan-01]

Sharing is caring

Summary: Reader “borrows” some stuff aka character finding reader with their belongings.

Note: It’s pure fluff and can be read as platonic or romantic. English isn’t my first language and this ist my fist post, so pls be patcient with me. <3

This will be just the first part for Mondstadt. I will do a second part soon :D

Pairing: Albedo x gn!reader, Amber x gn!reader, Diluc x gn!reader

Albedo - his drawing utensils It was another cold day at Dragonspine for Albedo in his lab, the only difference being that you and Klee had come to pay him a visit this morning. "Big brother Albedo, what are you doing?" asked Klee, who could barely see what was going on on the table. "I'm doing an experiment. So you better be careful not to get hurt by the reaction," he explained calmly. You laugh at them both "Maybe if you ask nicely, Albedo will give you some new bombs for your birthday, Klee." "You'd really do that, Albedo?" "No way, don't give her false hope Y/N!" "Sorry," you chuckled to yourself "Come on Klee, we'll give Albedo some rest so he can finish his studies. He'll have lunch with us later. And maybe he'll join us on the way back to Mondstadt?" the last part was not so much addressed to KLee as to Albedo, while you gave him a questioning look. With a smile, Albedo glanced at you, "Yes, of course. I have to take someone on a promised date." You blushed a little, but Klee interrupted, "Big brother! You are only allowed to go on a date with Y/N! Otherwise, I'll tell Jean about it and she'll put you in time out!" "I'm sure she will." Albedo laughed and you went to the other end of the lab to entertain Klee for a bit. "Klee, do you want to tell me about King Dodoco and his island again? You promised to show it to me one day," you asked the energetic girl and immediately her eyes lit up. "Klee can draw you a map of the island! Then we'd know all the fun places we have to visit!" she began, looking for something in her bag, probably her crayons, but then she suddenly gave you a sad look that almost broke your heart. "Klee left her crayons in her room. Now I can't draw you the map." Her eyes almost started to water, but you quickly reacted and gave her a hug. "Don't worry Klee. I'm sure Albedo won't mind if we use his pencils this one time. I'll get them for you." You stood up and tiptoed, to not disturbe the alchemist, over to where Albedo kept all his drawing utensils. A few moments later you returned to Klee and handed her the pencils and your own notebook, and the little girl began happily drawing the Dodoco Island while telling you all about it. Some time later, Albedo finally got up and wanted to join you two in whatever you were doing. But he was surprised to find Klee asleep on your lap while you drew something in your notebook. "Are those my pencils you're using?" he asked, half-amused, and you looked up at him. "Oh yeah, sorry I borrowed them, but Klee was so excited to draw a map of King Dodocos Island for me that I couldn't resist," you apologize to him. "That's okay, I see you even sacrificed your notebook for your research for her." "Oh that's okay, now I'll always have something to remind me of this bundle of joy whenever I go through it." You smile at the sleeping Klee. "Then maybe I should draw something in the book too, so you won't forget her brother when you're on your research trips." You couldn't help but smile at this comment "I'd love to have a personal artwork of the famous artist as chief alchemist in my notes."

Amber - her glider Amber stormed into Favounius' headquarters, and the guards were sure they had never seen the usually enthusiastic outrider so angry. "I'm going to kill Kaeya! I will push him off starsnash cliff. Or I will ask Master Diluc to ban him from ever visiting Angles Share again. That's what he gets for messing with me." She stormed into Kaeya's office without knocking, even though she knew that was rude. But at the moment, she didn't care. "WHERE DID YOU PUT MY GLIDER?" Kaeya looked up from his paperwork and just smiled at her, "Good morning to you too. Unfortunately, I don't know what you're talking about, Amber." "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I left my glider with the rest of my equipment at headquarters yesterday and now it's gone! And no, I didn't take it home with me! I already checked!" Kaeya couldn't help but be amused by Amber's reaction. He knew that her glider was one of the most precious things she owned, so even he wouldn't dare to even touch it. But he knew who would be brave enough to do it. "I don't know why you always think I'm responsible for everything bad that happens to the knights, but I might be able to give you a hint about who got to headquarters before you did. An adventurer who might have been a little upset that they only won second place in the Mondstadt Gliding Championship again, to be specific." That was the only thing Kaeya said before turning back to his paperwork and Amber froze. "Do you know where they went?" she asked. "If I were you, I'd look near Stormterror's lair." Amber stormed out of his office and made her way to the mentioned location as fast as she could. After some searching, he finally saw a familiar figure and walked towards it. "Y/N!" the outrider called out and at the sound of her voice you turned around. "Hey Amber, what are you doing here?" "The better question is, what are you doing here with my glider?" she crossed her arms and looked at you disapprovingly. "You know, I trained for a whole year to finally beat you as a glider champion, and again, for the third year in a row, I only came in second. So I borrowed yours to prove you modified it." Even though you seemed serious, Amber knew you were joking. She knew you way too well to think you were just jealous, so she started laughing. "You may have trained for a whole year, but you still can't get your landing right," she laughed, and you just looked at her in shock. "It's called a 'special effect landing'! I'm sorry the Jugdes don't appreciate how hard I've worked to perfect this art." "I'm not sure Barbara would call it a 'special effects landing' after having to treat your sprained ankle." You both had to laugh as you remembered Barbara's disappointed expression. It was your third sprained ankle in a month, and you were pretty sure you were about to be banned from the cathedral. You handed Amber back her glider. "I have to admit, you didn't modify your glider, so you can have it back. But I'll beat you next time!" "Sure you will, but for now you should accompany me to headquarters to apologize to Kaeya," Amber said, turning around. "Why is that?" you asked, surprised. "Because I accused him of stealing my glider, and I'm not going to apologize myself. So come on now."

Diluc - his coat

It was another evening in Angelshare and Diluc was fully devoted to his bartending duties while giving Venti and Kaeya a disapproving look now and then. He had the feeling that the two of them alone made up half of his profits. After the last of the adventurers had finally left the tavern and he was able to convince Venti and Kaeya to go home (he had threatened them that otherwise they would have to pay their full bill), Diluc was about to head home when the front door opened again. "We're already closed," he said in a monotone voice without looking up. "Can't I have a glass of apple juice after walking all the way here?" He finally looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. You stood on the doorstep and gave him a smile. The two had been close friends since childhood. You even had been to the Dawn Winery so often as a child that the people of Mondstadt already thought you must be living in the manor as well. "I think I can make an exception for you. But only because you don't order wine, unlike the other guests," grumbled Diluc. "I think you're in the wrong business, Diluc," you chuckled. When he had poured her an apple juice, he finally had time to devote himself fully to you and to ask you about the cause of your visit. But before that was the case, something else caught his eye. "Y/N what are you wearing?" he asked with raised eyebrows. You looked down at yourself before you began to smile brightly, "I borrowed one of your old coats from Adeline and modified it a bit. She said you wouldn't wear it anymore anyway," your voice, euphoric at the beginning, became quieter and quieter towards the end, because you were suddenly afraid that Diluc wouldn't like it that you had remade his coat. He went around the bar counter and sat down on the chair next to you. "Y/N look at me. I think it's wonderful what you've done with the coat. It looks perfect on you. But if you want a new coat I can buy you a new one. Even his from Fontaine like you always wanted or the extra warm ones from Sneznaya or..." "No, I want this one!" you said quickly and took his hands. "I don't need the expensive stuff. You know that. Besides, this coat is much more comfortable than the fancy ones from Fontaine." "And you look a lot better in it," Diluc added, and your cheeks flushed a little. "Stop flirting, that's Kaeya's thing" you said and stood up "I don't want to hold you up too long either. Actually, I'm just here to walk home with you. I couldn't sleep." Diluc gave you a smile and nodded "Let me just lock the door and I'll be with you in a minute."

[bombshellsandbluebells]

there's a really fun intersection of ideas coming together to affect how people engage with fiction and stories right now and all of them are bad

any story that contains harmful/problematic subject matter supports and condones it, therefore it is always bad to have any kind of problematic or harmful subject matter in any story. also, the author probably does those things themselves if they're writing about it. so they must be an evil person

any story that has conflict is bad because conflict and bad things happening is upsetting and that means it's harmful and I can't handle that and so no story should ever have conflict or sad endings or upsetting things. yes, even when I'm going to genres that literally promise those kind of things happening. what do you mean people died in this post-apocalyptic show? what do you mean upsetting thing happened in this horror novel? inexcusable

every single story must cater to Me and My Wants and what the creator intended or even what other people can get out of it doesn't matter. it didn't give me what I wanted and therefore it is Bad

canon = only what is directly stated in a story, unusually only through dialogue. therefore if a character doesn't say something, it's not true. or if a theme or message or idea is not directly stated, it's not there. the only thing that matters in a work is easily stated plot points, the summary of events. and also the ship, of course. (subtext only really matters when it's about proving a ship is canon)

and it's leading to a point where the only kind of story some people can engage with are conflict-free, sanitized, shippy, fandom-style romances where everything is filled with cute tropes and nothing bad really happens and the couple gets together in the end and it's not interested in looking into any kind of deeper or more complex themes or questions

there's a serious problem with media/literature literacy right now - the ability to analyze a work for deeper meanings and draw conclusions not directly stated in the text or engage with it beyond shipping two characters together (and that's not solely the fault of fandom and shipping/fanfic culture) but then that is intersecting with this rising purity culture that wants to scrub any mention of something "impure" or "problematic" (defined, of course, subjectively) from art

so we have audiences who can't engage with dark subject matter and actually look at how the text uses them or what it's saying or why it's there (sometimes just because fiction is a reflection of the actual world we live in and those things happen) and instead just labels anything with dark subject matter "evil/problematic", anything that is sad or upsetting (to them personally) "bad writing", and wholeheartedly makes statements like "this horror novel is bad because it has dark subject matter" or "tv shows are supposed to always be happy, so it's bad that you the author wrote something sad"

and I don't know where I'm going with this other than being frustrated. I know that I'm in a different position when it comes to media than a lot of people in fandom spaces; I was an English Literature major with a minor in Film Studies and I work in film - I'm literally more trained to be able to analyze literature and media and I genuinely think there is a huge problem with how media/lit analysis is taught right now that leads to a lot of people having a warped understanding of it (my god, I have Thoughts on the whole "the curtains are blue" or "red = passion" type analysis)

but it is extremely frustrating as someone who doesn't even particularly like fluffy, happy, no conflict stories to see people argue that those are the only acceptable stories, or to see people be bold and entitled enough to tell creators what/how they should write (and I critique what I find bad writing all the time, I recognize that, but the criteria for bad writing should not be "made me sad" or "i didn't like it personally")

or to see people harassing horror authors for putting upsetting subject matter in their horror stories or going on moral crusades because a story had problematic things in it without even stopping to look at HOW those things existed in the work (like is it actually a work steeped in hateful rhetoric reflecting the author's harmful views or is the bad thing literally portrayed as a bad thing that happened in the work)

and that's not even stepping into the whole media/lit literacy issue of every single idea being spoon-fed to audiences now, of 50 "(Blank) Ending Explained" videos the minute any new show/movie comes out, regardless of whether those works are incredibly straightforward and you only need to watch the media to understand the ending (Ted Lasso Ending Explained?? Really?? not a subtle show) OR if those works are a lot more metaphorical/abstract and there actually ISN'T any direct explanation for what happened / what it means (discussing the ending of Annihilation should be a lot more about what the work is saying, what thought it leaves you with and why it ends there, not some kind of plot breakdown - a discussion, not a summary)

and perhaps this is a message to myself as well. a reminder to go back to engaging with deeper films and new novels and analyzing what I take from the work and a little less time just pulling ship/character details that would make for a good Tumblr post out of a story with a fandom following.

but it's also me going, please, please, please. for the love of god. accept that stories that have bad, upsetting things in them, that have sad or bittersweet endings, are valid and good and ok to have. we have had them since the start of humanity, because stories give us a way to explore those things.

and sometimes, stories also just give us a chance to go "wouldn't it be fucked up if" and that's okay too.

[cyberdragoninfinity]

I'd love to know what the other Barians are up to in the college AU!

YESSS like i said when i was talkin about Vector, I rly wanna properly draw all these guys sometime this year, theyve been bumping around my brain for Months now. some tidbits about the other guys:

Shark/Nasch: MISTAH TRANS MASC HE/THEY OF ALL TIME. Has a really dense Carrd covered in sea predator gifs and dA stamps. I thiiink I assigned him Pursuing a Marine Biology degree, naturally--he spends a lot of time at the aquarium wishing he worked there (he works at a country club currently. he drives golf carts to go pick up errant golf balls. his little nametag says 'Reginald'.) Does really well in his classes but is becoming. a Little Bit Burned Out trying to deal with them And work And whatever bullshit his current and ex-roommates are entangling him in. Vector stole his Ikea blahaj plush and tied it to a ceiling fan. Frequents Not-Lawrence State University's esteemed Smogon Club (usually because Yuma begs and begs for him to come,) and runs a nasty Walking Wake led Monotype team.

Rio: I NEED TO DECIDE ON HER MAJOR WAHHH Atmospheric Science would be kind of insane... invested interest in meteorology and winter events. I know she's dabbled in a bunch of campus sports and ice skates at a very skilled level, probably is banking on maybe doing that professionally if she can qualify. She's also buddies with Alexis! :3 Works at a bougie gelato place not far from the country club Shark works at so sometimes she will come bother him on her break. Has a modest interest in birding and sometimes meets up with the town Birding Group. All in all just likes being active and stylish and is closing in on a date with Miss Anna Kaboom~ lord dont get me started on butchfemme annario i aint got no brakes

Girag and Alito: THE BESTIES. THE ROOMIES OF ALL TIME. They actually live in the same apartment complex as Primo and Claus so they hang out and shoot the shit sometimes. Alito I feel is majoring in something like English, he's not super attached to it, what he really is banking on is a boxing career (whether or not that pans out for him remains to be seen.) He goes and spars at a local gym frequently! Girag is a history major with a focus on feudal Japan and he's also a furry. The boys' r/malelivingspaces ass apartment is a haven for the other Emperors if they dont want to be in the Nightmare House for a hot minute. Don't mind the giant knockoff red panda squishmallow taking up half their couch. Also Ponta is still there he's still a little spirit guy that Girag is nebulously aware of but Alito isn't.

Mizar: OH MIZAR..... one of my favorite zexals in the College AUverse tbh. my failwoman. Tentatively out transfem overdramatic fake blond trying out she/they pronouns for the first time. Has a big expensive gaming desktop that lights up (it looks vaguely like Tachyon Dragon lol) and uses it primarily to get into heated furry drama online and write extensive papers and lab reports for her Physics degree, usually while under some degree of white knuckle meltdown stress. She and Dumon were dating for a while but broke up and truth be told Mizar's still got a couple hangups about it. Gets into a LONG, STUPID beef with Kite over their fursona designs "being too similar" that culminates in them having a brawl on the roof of a hotel mid furry-convention. Yes they were both in fursuits. No you can't tell anyone you saw Kite in a fursuit keep you voice down shh!!!!!!! They end up having some kind of t4t qpr-ish situationship i think. not avoiding the mizakai allegations i fear HDFHSFGF

Dumon: WHO UP STUDYING THEY MEDIEVAL TEXTS. god. I love college AU Dumon. little library dyke. dweeb he/him butch kind of sort of dating clark's Paula From Earthbound and they are having In Depth discussions about a podcast they just listened to. Medieval lit major who knows more about knights than you ever will in your entire life. He was born in Utah. Organizes the finances of the Barian Rental House and takes it all dead seriously and Vector still owes like three months of back rent and he kind of wants to strangle him over it. Type of guy who spends all day at the campus coffee shop nursing the same matcha latte for five hours. Mizar is his best friend and they still hang out post-break up and they're both just kind of constantly putting up with Vector's bullshit. i mean all the Barians are but STILL.

Shark, Rio, Dumon, and Vector also all have the distinction of having known each other when they were kids, before they all moved off on their separate ways (until reconnecting in college) As you can imagine, Vector and Shark's playground wars would get. Violent. 🥴 Dumon has had a bit of a crush on Shark since they met but has absolutely never disclosed this. Because I think it is funny.

The funniest detail about them as a whole in college AU to me is theyre all transfer students from NLSU's sister-campus in Barian, Indiana. WOE! Midwestern be upon ye! And also the previously mentioned nightmare queer housing situation they live in under Don Thousand The Dogshit Landlord (or, well, at this point it's just Mizar, Dumon, and the Kastle twins living there. The situation has improved Somewhat after Vector got kicked out HHDFDF he still loves fucking with all of them though in true 🥕 fashion)

[faerieprincessfemme]

bg3 modern au: liberal arts college edition!

ft. my bard tav abrielle! bc it’s just funnier that way.

okay so like imagine they all go to a small like 1500 person liberal arts college and they’re kinda this insufferable little friend group. something in me has called me to make all the clerics gender studies majors so take that how you will. also there are no tadpoles and everyone is happy mostly and has no problems whatsoever

companions:

- my tav abrielle is the worlds most annoying girl and she’s a theatre major. so insufferable, but unfortunately she’s talented and people like her bc of that. or at least her friends like her. she’s dating astarion and they are the worst most awful to catch in public bisexual/pansexual he/they she/they couple bc they are both so annoying about eachother (lovingly)

- astarion is the most pretentious asshole in the english department. he’s a classic lit major and he is such a stickler for what actually counts as “literature” everyone in the theatre dept knows him though bc he’s always at their rehearsals. he and abrielle recite horrible shakespeare quotes at eachother and no one can tell if it’s ironic or not.

- shadowheart is a sexuality womens and gender (SWAG) studies major! (bc gay) she’s roommates with abrielle and then also had a queer fictions class with astarion and they became sassy besties after being horrible to eachother in the seminars for that class.

- karlach is the number one star of the women’s rugby team, she’s buff she’s hot and every sapphic at the school knows her and wants her. she’s sexy yes but she’s also such a sweetheart and she also volunteers to do stage building for the theatre dept from time to time bc she’s just that sweet and wants to put her strength to good use.

- laezel is on some sports team like lacrosse that isn’t one of the colleges big ones but that woman is a D3 WARRIOR. she is COMMITTED. she and shadowheart hooked up first week of freshman year and now it’s just kind of… a situation… they kinda avoided eachother for a little bit at first after hooking up but then they became buddies but also are secretly in love with eachother homoeroticisim etc etc.

- wyll is a political science major and also participates in the plays outside of the classroom! big romeo vibes! his dad is also the school president and people like kinda know that but don’t really bring it up bc everyone knows they have a weird relationship.

- gale is a physics major who had the unfortunate outcome of being astarions randomly assigned freshman year roommate. they have been good buddies ever since even if they pretend they aren’t! he and wyll have this weird flirtationship thing going on and that influences gale to come see the theatre shows so he can support wyll and see him be handsome on stage. also gale has an extremely ambitious thesis idea that he works really hard on and never shuts up about to everyone’s dismay

extras!

- dame aylin is the captain of the rugby team that karlach is on and everyone knows her bc she’s always talking about her girlfriend and they are just the lesbian it couple of the school. isobel is a gender studies major who loves her big buff athlete girlfriend and they are happy and in love and will be gay married.

i may add more to this as i keep coming up with things but that’s it for now!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hi anon !! ofc u can ask !! <33 i study literature in uni, but not specifically english lit… sadly most of my assigned reading is western though :’3

Ah, I see! I could tell! 😀

Unfortunately, I don't study literature as my degree, but I could perhaps suggest some stuff I've enjoyed that maybe you might enjoy?

English Language Works:

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Toni Morrison, Beloved.

Nella Larsen, Passing.

Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room.

Anything by Rabindranath Tagore.

Non-English Language Works:

Cao Xue Qin (曹雪芹), Dream of the Red Chamber. (A classic, yes, but a goodie.)

Shota Rustaveli, The Knight in the Panther's Skin.

Yasunari Kawabata, The Master of Go.

Han Kang, The Vegetarian.

José Saramago, Blindness.

Anton Chekhov, The Lady with the Dog.

Eileen Chang (short stories, especially).

Haruki Murakami, The Elephant Vanishes.

If you're up for it, personally, I think Plato's quite fun.

Oh, and I feel like you might enjoy this, too:

Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture.

These are just some things off the top of my head. Please don't feel obliged to read any of this ahaha

AAAAAA ANON…….. TYSM FOR TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE THIS OUT i’m getting so tempted to just buy a ton of these 😭😭😭 i recognize a lot of them too!! dream of the red chamber has been on my tbr for a while now, i’m just a lil intimidated by the lenght :’3 but i’d loveee to get into chinese lit eventually!!

i looked up some summaries and all of these sound so interesting …. i’m supposed to read a morrison book next week for uni hehe!! and i’ve read a bit by woolf & murakami too…. but most of these are new to me and that’s getting me so excited!!!

will def go back to this list whenever i decide to go on a book shopping spree >:33 tysm again anon!! i can already tell your taste is amazing hehe

[trashbag-baby666]

Diner Date-Croz/Bubbles

Summary: Bubbles and Croz fluff on a study date.

WC: 780

C/W: none.

MOTA Masterlist

Both of them had their favorite things they did together. But both could consciously decide that their little diner dates were near the top of their list.

They always went to the same one, ‘Debies on Main’ and that’s where they were again today.

“Hey boys, the usual booth in the corner?” Sheryl, an older lady who worked there greeted them from the counter.

“Yes,” Bubbles nodded, grabbing Croz's hand blindly, pulling the shorter boy behind him. Croz felt the tips of his ears go bright red, anytime Bubbles touches him it’s like the first time all over again. Bubbles tossed his backpack into the corner of the booth sitting on the opposite side of Croz, “Did you have a good day?”

“Yep, Buck and I got our presentation done for AP world. I just have to catch up on my calc assignments.” Croz dug through his sage green backpack pulling out his textbook and folder, “What about you?”

“Eh, alright I guess. Curt and Bucky started another food fight at lunch and I had to help clean up. If I’m late for lit one more time Mr. Clark is gonna ring my neck.”

Croz hated not having lunch with Bubbles, he knew Bubbles felt the same way. So this was their time together, “it’s your turn to keep those buffoons in check. Doesn’t Rosie have lunch with you?”

“He’s been eating his lunch in the library.”

That’s all Bubbles had to say for Croz to know. Rosie had his own problems going on and the loud lunchroom with the obnoxious side of the friend group isn’t where he wanted to be.

“I can’t wait for the year to be over, I can’t go another semester without having lunch with you.” Croz reached over the table taking Bubbles hand, “I feel like this is my purgatory.”

“Sitting alone in the auditorium?” Bubbles perked up one of his eyebrows.

“Yes, exactly. It’s so quiet I feel as if I have to do homework during lunch.”

“Well at least you’re staying on top of it…?”

“I’d rather eat my lunch with my boyfriend in comfortable silence.” Croz patted Bubbles' hand. He was never going to get over that word, boyfriend. Bubbles is his boyfriend. He is Bubbles' boyfriend. The two had spent literal years dancing around the other and casually cuddling at sleepovers. Now it all somehow paid off? Although, Croz wished one of them would have spoken up earlier about their feelings. Because, good lord have mercy he loved the feeling of Bubbles soft lips against his. He always smelled so warm and comforting, Croz was absolutely obsessed with him.

“Next year, we both tell our counselors we have to have lunch together or we will start a French revolution.”

“Sounds perfect, but I don’t want to be Napoleon.”

Sheryl buzzed back over with their milkshake, with two straws and the basket of fries. They always ordered the same thing and always shared. “Enjoy and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” The two boys said at the same time. Croz reached for the ketchup bottle, giving it a good shake, “What’re you working on today?”

“Book report for lit,”Bubbles took the copy of Frankenstein out of his bag holding it up for Croz to see.

“Oh I really liked Frankenstein,” Croz took the book flipping through some of Bubbles sticky notes.

“Well, I am certainly not enjoying it, I can tell you that much.” Bubbles reached across the table, snatching it back from Croz, “It doesn’t make sense…like it's not written in old English but it's so confusing…but then it just shifts between The Creature and Doctor Frankenstein's point of views with no warning.”

“You just don’t get it.” Croz shook his finger at Bubbles handing the book back over to him.

“I’m just glad I’m almost done with it,” Bubbles snatched the book back.

The two worked quietly, the sounds of peoples laughter and conversations around them, covering up the clicking of Croz’s graphing calculator and the scratch of Bubbles pen on his notebook. Croz reached blindly for the fries in the basket, his hand unexpectedly running into Bubbles.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Croz snickered looking up at the handsome, red head.

“Didn’t expect to see you here?” Bubbles let a toothy grin spread on his face holding Croz’s hand. The two went back to silently working, but Croz stretched out his leg, accidentally nudging Bubbles' foot. Bubbles continued nudging Croz's foot until the other began playing footsie with him under the table.

The two continued on at their assignments finding a happy blend of comfortable silence and spending time together outside of school.