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#because there are good books! good books all over! and it’s often times authors of colour that revolutionize genres or literature as a whole
vintagegeekculture · 2 days
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"The Ayla Descent Theory" of Mary Sues
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"Children of the Earth," Luis Royo.
After the success of Jean M. Auel's stone age novel Clan of the Cave Bear, there was a very lengthy trend in the publishing world of stone age adventure novels aimed at women that lasted for a decade and only really fizzled out in the early 2000s. After all, "Ayla," the name of the main character of these books, was one of the top baby names of 1987.
The target audience for these books were weird midwestern aunts....you know, the Mists of Avalon and the Mercedes Lackey/Valdemar audience. Therefore, the Clan of the Cave Bear imitators also featured things of interest to the weird aunt audience: Scotland, redhaired women with sharp tongues, commanding wolves, Ireland, Feminism, riding herds of wild horses bareback in scenic locations, Wicca, matriarchial religions, swimming with dolphins....but above all else, American Indians (a culture this audience finds interesting, as anyone who has seen the home decor of a typical weird midwestern aunt can attest), with many novels set in Ice Age America, like Children of the Dawn, Reindeer Moon and the First Americans. Decades later, this audience would form the core fandom for Game of Thrones, and the character of Khaleesi Targaryen in particular.
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These books almost assuredly still have a place of honor on the book shelf of the weirdest woman at your job.
Nearly all of these imitators have two of Clan of the Cave Bear's defining traits: 1) a supremely beautiful, usually blonde athletic and statuesque main character over 5'11" who does not realize that she is so beautiful and desirable, who is good at a variety of different skills and is friendly with animals like hawks, dolphins, or horses, and 2) a love triangle between this aforementioned blond but innocent Venus and two bodybuilder muscular he-men cave hunks, one of whom is a blonde guy with long rock star hair (it was the 80s), and the other being a buff black guy with dreadlocks (or otherwise ethnic in some way).
The heroine usually picks the blonde guy in the end, but the audience usually picks the ethnic guy.
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In the late 90s and early 2000s, in the broader culture of fandom, it was fashionable to dump on "Mary Sues" (indulgent wish-fulfillment author personas in fanfiction) and the people who wrote them. Accusations of creating a Mary Sue approached a kind of hysteria. Even at the time, when everyone else was getting swept up in this, I thought that getting mad about aunties writing fanfiction showed a loss of perspective, and was a bit silly. Thankfully, we've benefitted from moral evolution: the consensus in fandom now is that writing aspirational characters is a harmless activity that tests a young writer's creative muscles, like the half-Vulcan pretty new ensign on the Enterprise that Kirk and Spock both fall in love with, or a new archer girl who Legolas falls in love with joining the Fellowship. This hate walked hand in hand with insecurities, in the exact same way that people worried about their appearance or concerned with their weight are often cruel to fat people, and there were frequent tests if this or that character in your writing was a Mary Sue.
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There was a running joke in this 2000s culture of anti-self insertion called the "Ayla Descent Theory of Mary Sues." The joke was that Mary Sues came into existence because Ayla, the beautiful, athletic heroine of the Clan of the Cave Bear novels, was the ancestor of their entire lineage, as the first known Mary Sue to ever exist in the historical record, described as being a statuesque blonde who did everything right and was always at the center of love triangles, and who changed human history.
According to the running joke, Mary Sues everywhere were descended from Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear, and she was the first to exist, and Ayla was the explanation of where all the Enterprise's new ensigns main characters fall in love with come from.
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drchucktingle · 4 days
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autistic expression in a neurotypical art gallery
this morning i thought i would talk about AUTHOR VOICE specifically when it comes to AUTISM. as autistic author i have learned to turn the dial up and down when writing characters. rose from CAMP DAMASCUS is basically exactly where i rest on spectrum and this shows in a few ways
in roses internal monolog you will see that she uses phrases like ‘my friend’ to talk about folks where neurotypical buckaroos might just use first name. or with her parents she will think of them in FIRST NAME instead of ‘mom’ or 'dad’. this is way many autistic buds THINK
to explain this trot I will say it is not a way of disrespect or anything like that, it is simply that these terms are TECHNICALLY all correct and interchangeable. socially, autistic buds often learn to mask by pinpointing WHEN to use these words that logically the same to us.
in CAMP DAMASCUS i left these things in to create character, but if you go back in my writing you will see it. in TINGLERS this is because they are honest in PUNK ROCK way. unfiltered expressions. in earlier novels its admittedly just because i did not realize it was unusual yet
point is, ROSES internal dialog in camp damascus is neurodivergent and i CHOSE not to change her thought process in this way, because we are BOTH autistic. this can be a risk because some neurotypical buckaroos will read it and just think ‘what a strange way. this is bad writing’
camp damascus reviews are actually very good it is a very well received book by any measure, but you will see some folks kind of making fun of these traits (i do not think they would do this if they knew it was authentic autistic way BUT we cannot educate EVERYONE on this trot)
POINT IS i am now faced with an artistic choice in later books. do i write with my AUTISTIC voice even though some neurotypical readers find it awkward? in technical sense some readers WILL think each book is better if i eliminate my autistic tendencies in later edits
my advice is this: character voice IS SO IMPORTANT, but a big part of writing is finding the place between YOUR voice and your CHARACTER voice where both are authentically existing in some way. like acting, you are always bringing something of yourself even when you 'disappear'
when writing BURY YOUR GAYS i did not plan to make misha on the spectrum, but misha is part of me and i am on the spectrum. what i have realized over time is that ALL OF MY CHARACTERS will have these traits in some way because i wrote them, and i will never disappear completely
so when edits came for BURY YOUR GAYS and misha, i took that dial and i turned it farther towards neurotypical than i did with rose, BUT I DID NOT TURN IT OFF COMPLETELY. in literal sense, i left some of those ‘my friends’, because i will always bring MY VOICE to my art as well
i am proud of being on the spectrum. while my voice may not hit every convention of ‘good writing’ it is authentically ‘MY writing’ and i think that is more important than any outside checklist for ‘correct literary expression’. and guess what THE RESULTS ARE IN, MY BOOKS DO WELL
so if you are an artist getting feedback or reviews, consider which parts you can LEARN FROM and grow and change, and which parts are just AUTHENTICALLY YOU. because while your honesty may defy conventions and seem unusual to some folks, IT IS OFTEN WHAT MAKES YOUR ART SING
feel free to turn that dial marked 'YOUR TRUE VOICE' up and down when it makes sense. i do this all the time. but i have long since decided i will never turn that dial OFF completely. your voice is your POWER buckaroo, dont be afraid to sing with it
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3hks · 1 month
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How to Get Better at Writing Without Actually Writing
Are you looking to improve your writing without needing to write? I'll admit, I am definitely that kind of person--I have the hardest time even finding something interesting to write--despite that, I have noticed that my writing has vastly improved over the past year or two when it was hardly a hobby, and here's how I did it!
ANALYZE DIFFERENT WORKS
Yes yes, everyone tells you to READ, READ, and READ, even I will agree. However, unlike what some people tell you, you don't actually have to read all those classics like Heart of Darkness or The Hobbit. Of course, those books are very beneficial, but if you find no interest in those types of books (like me), then don't read them!
If you prefer reading casual stories posted by online authors, whether it be a fanfiction or their own, original story, it still qualifies as reading! As long as you are able to find a work that you particularly enjoy, that's all you need!
When reading, the key to improving at writing is to always study the story. Take a moment to look at certain words or phrases that stick out to you. How does the author use them? What do they mean? Keep track of the characters' development and how it affects them. Additionally, note things like powerful scenes, dialogue, and more to have an idea of how you can create something just as impactful. For example, if a text made you cry, think about how and why you reacted like that. This can actually help you re-create events that hold the same effectiveness, if not more!
To add on, if you really dislike reading just that much, then you can always analyze things like shows, movies, etc. However, this will prove to be less efficient because you often don't get access to the text behind the shows. Still, it's a good way to study the plot, characters, character developments, dialogue, and relationships!
2. PROOFREADING
No, I'm not saying that you should be an editor; this actually ties back to my first tip. Remember how I said that if you don't want to read classics, then don't? Well, this is because forcing yourself to read them is completely unnecessary (unless you like them or want to write like the author, of course). As a matter of fact, reading poorly written stories can be very helpful for improvement!
When we read books or novels that have obvious grammar errors, repetitive words, and choppy sentences, we will realize these mistakes and point them out to ourselves. Being able to scout out faults means that we are able to learn from them and grow! Noticing these things will also help prevent you from making the same or similar mistakes!
3. STUDY TIPS ONLINE
I used to go search up websites on Google whenever I wanted help with a certain topic. Of course, not all of the sites are reliable and/or helpful, but some point out good ideas that a couple of us just need! This can be especially useful regarding the things that we are unfamiliar with when writing. They can offer a base foundation and tips on how to start and finish!
They can also serve as a great inspiration for fresh ideas and new perspectives!
Yes, these three tips are pretty simple; however, I have found that they work very well for me! People vary from person-to-person, so it can't be guaranteed the same effect, but this is the best I got! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! <3
Happy writing~
3hks :)
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notanastrologer · 9 days
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Astrology Notes 26 ⛰️
Take what resonates.
All work of @notanastrologer.
Don't copy, steal or plagiarise.
Not my gifs, images.
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🪶 Saturn square Uranus synastry can create lack of understanding between the two partners, Saturn person may be annoyed by the Uranus' person's opinions or attitude and Uranus person may feels restricted or controlled by the Saturn person.
🪶 1st house lord in 10th house indicates that you might have to move wherever your job takes you, job takes priority over not changing locations, so if your preferred job asks you to relocate, chances are you will.
🪶 Similarly you will move around for your Spouse does if you have 1st house lord in 7th house. You may follow wherever they go.
🪶I have seen in most cases 1st lord in 4th house people likes staying in their home town or don't relocate often.
🪶I have also seen 8th house stellium can cause one to move and relocate about, they keep changing houses or locations.
🪶I have noticed this a lot but Capricorn rising tend to marry partners younger than them, it doesn't have to be a big difference.
🪶7th lord planet and 7th lord sign of natal chart, In my honest opinion tells you the most about your future spouse. Background, nature, qualities, it's a huge hint of what kind of partner you will have.
🪶Jupiter in 7th house is a strong indication of a spouse from foreign land or with different cultures.
🪶Jupiter in 7th can also strongly indicate marrying because of tradition. Or it is an arranged marriage.
🪶In western Astrology the mythology of Jupiter and Juno is well known and hence good aspects between the two can show the type of marriage you will have. Trine/sextile show harmony, while squares shows hard work is required. Opposition shows minor frictions.
🪶Harmonious aspects(trine/sextile) between Jupiter and Mars shows that you are attracted to people that are actually good for you and chances of marrying someone you are attracted to is high.
🪶Mars conjunct Venus indicates a bitter sweet separation from partner. If this conjunction happens in Cardinal houses 1st, 4th, 7th, or 10th , or their cusps this can happen to be a long lasting relationship that you end but will remain significant in your life. There will be a strong presence in your life of this partner or relationship.
🪶I think if you have your sun in Saturn or Jupiter degrees like 9°,10°,11°,12°,21°,22°,23°,24°, you may feel more like your sun sign once you are older or mature enough. It takes real wising up before you are embodying this energy or you just observe it more in you.
🪶Based on the above, I think it make sense when people say you embody moon sign when young and sun sign when older.
🪶Mercury and moon in 7th makes it very likely that the native will marry someone known, emphasis on someone from their childhood or younger days, possibly a friend or someone you have known for a long time.
🪶Mercury in 7th house people can be conscious of public speaking and overthink a lot in social situations, they might actively try to get out of social situations.
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🪶Taurus and piscean degrees in personal placements and are very likely to self indulge. This can be alcohol or illicit substances especially if in Pisces degrees (12°,24°). I would look for moon and mercury as they rules your emotions and mental state.
🪶Moon in 8th house/12th house /Scorpio or pisces can be secretive of things that make them happy. They also tend to gatekeep show, movies, books etc that bring them joy at the deepest level and doesnt share it with anyone except very few people who they really like. If someone with these placements tells you about it, they really like you.
🪶Mars in 3rd house/4th house shows being rebellious with authority figures and challenging them. Expect many arguments with father, bosses, grandfathers.
🪶Saturn in 2nd house/8th house gives good financial advice. On flip side, they may have superiority complex about these stuff, they will come to you and advice even without you asking.
🪶I have noticed that if Saturn is making aspects with Venus or moon in someone's chart they can be very awkward with affection, especially touching and hugging. I thought it would be more harsh aspects like opposition and squares but also softer ones. They don't hate it but if they are on receiving end they freeze up. I do believe they are bound to get comfortable over time with softer aspects and with right people.
🪶Moon in 12th house natives' mother's might have self victimising tendencies.
🪶Moon in 12th house natives might be scared of hospitals.
🪶Sun in 9th house/12th house or aspecting Jupiter in MC persona chart can show working overseas or international companies.
🪶Jupiter in 7th house of MC persona chart can show learning a lot on the job through networking and meeting people. If it makes a positive aspect with sun/moon like sextile or trine you will be charming by just being yourself.
🪶Moon/Venus/Sun in 6th natives may be the kind to shower their children with all the love and care. They are doting parents and I dont mean it like they are pushovers and will do anything for their child even if the child is undeserving, this can be the case depending on the aspects.
🪶Sun in 6th/10th house women can also meet their spouses or most fo their romantic partners at places of work. These women may work with someone or in close capacity to notice the work ethic, a man who had good work ethic and is responsible is really charming to them.
🪶6th/7th/9th/11th house stellium in a composite chart is a couple who will do charitable work together, there is a common theme of helping out others which the couple will do.
🪶Saturn ruled 5th/6th house would rather be rejected by lovers than job offers.
🪶Women with Mars is Martian Signs or aspect to Sun make like hearing their men moan. (18+)
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Vedic astrology
🪶Venus in water signs in navamsa can show a emotionally deep relationship in marriage, atleast that what you seek. There will be secrets revealing, sharing and a whole lot connecting.
🪶Rahu aspecting 7th house shows your married life might be affected by foreign influences, there can be a third party situation or just a lot of people give their opinions or advices to you about your marriage or partner.
🪶Venus in air signs in navamsa can show a very rational approach as a couple, you guys plan a lot about future . Discussing your childhood dreams and ambitions. This is where you spend time alone, thinking.
🪶Venus in Earth sign in navamsa can show monetary abundance after marriage, and lot of discussion about future and kids.
🪶Venus in cancer in navamsa can show a stable house. You guys may own a house, there is stability in that sense of housing, you won't keep moving changing places. May buy your own house very quickly into marriage or your spouse may have one already or you will already have one where you will stay after marriage.
🪶Venus in fire signs in navamsa can show very busy married life. There is a lot you can achieve after marriage, you will be thinking and taking action. This also shows a strong connection and intimacy.
🪶Saturn in 11th house people partners may shy with romance and has to practice a lot of self control around you.
🪶Jupiter in 11th house is a good indicator that you and your spouse will travel a lot after marriage, especially to foreign countries.
🪶Jupiter in 4th house can show relocation because your partner/spouse may work overseas.
🪶7th lord or 9th lord in 6th house natives might be involved in lot of court cases.
🪶Saturn/Sun/Mars/10th lord/Amatyakarka in 6th house indicates a profession in law or field of law, this can also mean working around them but maybe not as a lawyer.
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🪶Second house from your 7th lord can show why you will like your future spouse.
7th lord Jupiter in 4th house in Aquarius, so 5th in pisces is the second house from Jupiter. You may like them for their kind nature, proud nature and confidence, you may like how they are with children, how childlike they can be , their passionate nature, romantic nature etc.
🪶Contrary to general meaning, even though 6th house is seen as house of service, if the planet sitting there happens to be lord of 12th or 1st house, one of the ways you serve your purpose is by being selfish and being at your own service.
🪶If your rahu falls in someone's 5th house/8th house, there will great chemistry with hints of possessiveness and belonging. There will be jealousy.
🪶Darakaraka conjunct Jupiter is another strong indication of a foreign spouse. There will be some foreign element about them, maybe studied abroad, lives abroad same religion, diff religion etc.
🪶Rahu falling in someone's 7th house can make that person obsessed with putting a ring on 7th house person. They want to get married to you as quickly as possible.
🪶Ketu in 2nd/7th house I feel can hold back a lot, there is fear in progressing the relationship.
🪶Rahu in someone's 4th house makes the rahu person to be around the house person a lot, they cannot stay away from you and if they are they want to rush back to you as quickly as possible.
🪶Venus in vedic c synastry can show where partnership with another person can prove to be fruitful for you, not just romantic but business as well. If you want to start a business with someone check Venus, this can tell what business area will succeed if you partner together.
🪶Rahu in vedic syanstry can tell you where the rahu person is obsessed with the house person.
🪶Rahu aspecting 10th house can be an indication of you getting job through someone else.
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daycourtofficial · 6 months
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The Shadows Want You to be Happy
Summary: Azriel’s shadows overhear a conversation where you doubt Azriel’s true intentions, and they urge him to rectify the situation.
Author’s note: this is just pure fluff baby! Pure unadulterated fluff. Go to the dentist! Also I didn’t proofread this, so enjoy at your own caution!
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His shadows didn’t mean to spy on you, they promise. They just liked keeping an eye on you at all times.
Azriel had no idea why his shadows seemed to adore you so much - well, he could understand it, because he adored you just as much as his shadows did. But he can’t figure out why - they don’t like being around Elain, but most of the others the shadows just watch.
Not you, though. Whenever you two are in the same room his shadows roam over you, greeting an old friend. If he’s been away for a days on a mission, they spend several minutes swirling around you, seemingly doting on you, like they’re asking “are you okay? Did you eat while we were gone? Did you sleep?”
A few shadows have taken it upon themselves to stay stationed with you at all times. He thinks they have a schedule, out of jealousy and need to share their time with you, but they don’t really tell him too much about what they see. The most they’ll tell him is if you haven’t eaten in a while or that time they told him about you having a cold and not wanting anyone to find out. He spent three days in your apartment with you, feeding you soup and taking care of you.
His shadows absolutely do not tell him the things you say or how you’re feeling, or so he thought. Both of the shadows that were asking as your bodyguards came to him, like little kids with a story to tell.
-
You were laying on the couch in the library with Feyre, engrossed in your independent books. The two of you do this weekly, enjoying each other’s presence without much social obligation. Sometimes the two of you will talk, but it’s often followed by long, comfortable silences. Just when you thought the silence was going to stay for a while, Feyre spoke up.
“so, sweetie, how are things with you and Azriel?” She asks, closing her book to turn to you.
Your cheeks heat immediately. “Um,” you say, closing your book to turn to her, knowing that she won’t relent until she gets what she wants out of this conversation.
You had kept your feelings for him mostly to yourself, except one drunken night a few weeks ago you had told Feyre about how pretty he was. You thought she might have forgotten about it, but this conversation is telling you she wants more. Thank the mother it wasn’t Rhys or Cas you had told that to - they would have mocked your word choice of “devastatingly pretty” for years.
“Well, we have plans to go out tonight,” you reply, very nervous about opening up to Feyre. She looked at you, her face asking for you to continue. “We’re trying all of the bakeries in Velaris to see who has the best pastries and hot chocolate, so once a week we try a new one and gorge ourselves on baked goods and chocolate.”
Feyre smiled at how absolutely adorable that was. “Are these… dates?” she asks, smiling at how absolutely oblivious the two of you were.
“We call them dates,” you reply.
“Do you two do anything physical? You don’t have to be gratuitous with details, I’m not Mor.” Feyre says, shuddering thinking of Mor grilling you for details on if the two of you have had sex yet.
“Um well the bakeries are usually cozy so we usually are tucked away in a corner, pressed up together. In one of them we had to wait for a table, so he just wrapped his wings around me while we waited.” You told her, grinning at the memory of his body heat.
“Do you two ever kiss?”
You sink a little further into the couch, your cheeks blazing with heat now, your hands covering your face as you say, “yes”.
“Has there been more than kissing?”
Feyre watches the head hiding behind youe hands nod ever so slightly and squeals. She actually squeals.
The people of Velaris love to gossip with her, and when she heard rumors of two of her friends being spotted around town looking very coupley, she decided to investigate. It also doesn’t help that the Inner Circle has a betting pool on when you ans Azriel will get together. Her bet was this week, so she’s doing what she can to win. And because she wants the two of you to be happy. And because Cassian bet that you two would be together next week, and she can’t lose to him, his gloating is atrocious.
“So, you two are together?” She asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
“I’m not sure,” you say, “honestly I’m a little worried that this means more to me than it does to him.” You look down at your hands, “I don’t really do casual dating, and I’m a little worried that this is just a fling to him. It’s really incredible and hot and sweet and all but.” You look around to see if anyone is listening before you whisper, “honestly, it would break my heart if this was just casual for him.”
Feyre was shocked at how sad you looked at the idea of being something casual to Az. She knew the two of you were head over heels for each other, they all knew that, but you looked devastated.
“Sweetie,” she says, trying her best to console you, “there is no way that that male views you or anything to do with you as ‘casual’.“
“Are you sure?” You ask, hesitation lacing your every word.
“Absolutely. He lights up whenever you’re around and I’ve never seen him miss a function you’re at.”
You thank your friend for the reassurances and settle back into your respective books. You knew that Azriel’s shadows often followed you around, even without him being anywhere nearby. He once told you that they find you adorable. However, you didn’t realize that the two who were stationed with you left very quickly after your discussion with Feyre.
-
The shadows relayed the whole story to him, in part because they, like the inner circle, want the two of you together. But also because they understand that you were upset and Azriel could fix it.
Azriel was more shocked at the insistence from them to make you less upset - usually they are just uninvolved observers, simply passing along information to him, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. The way those shadows spoke to him you’d think that they were in charge of him.
He met you outside of your apartment later that night, dressed in an all black casual outfit. “Ready?” He asks, extending his arm out for you to take. You lock the door behind him, straightening your coat before taking his arm.
The two of you start these dates off by walking through Velaris. Winter has just begun and there’s a light falling of snow covering the two of you.
“What’d you get up to today? I haven’t seen you since breakfast,” he asks you, not-so-subtly reminding you that you were, in fact, his breakfast, before he left your apartment this morning.
“I spent most of the day in the library with Feyre, reading a few books, doing some research. I had to get out of there, the words were all starting to blend together,” you reply, nuzzling into his arm to retain some of his heat, despite his jacket covering his arms.
“Mm, well then I guess you could consider me you’re handsome knight, off to whisk you away for an evening of delicacies in your time of need,” he retorts.
You chuckle and begin to speak, not stopping yourself before blurting, “why are you only like this with me? Don’t get me wrong, I love this side of you, but you only show it to me. Why’s that?”
Azriel stops your walk to stand in front of you, “ignoring your recent declaration of love,” you huff, “I just.. feel different around you.”
The look he’s giving you makes your knees go weak. He’s looking into your eyes with deep, raw honesty, like he wants you to see inside his soul.
“I love my family, despite their best efforts to annoy me into murdering them,” he says. You giggle. “But you’re.. different. The way I feel about you is different. I thought I loved Mor, but I didn’t. I loved the idea of saving her, of being her knight.” He sighs, unbelieving that he’s spilling all of this to you out in public. Luckily the other pedestrians just ignore the two of you, out of kindness or fear of him, he’s not sure. He pulls you into a quiet little alley, in the hopes to retain some privacy.
“It was stupid, but I thought I could save the girl and we’d live happily ever after. Then I met you. When I was a kid, I always wanted someone to come rescue me, and I thought that that was how you fall in love. But it’s not. I didn’t need to save you to love you. After this big revelation about myself, I took some time to really think about what I want. It’s why a few weeks back everyone thought I went to check on the war camps. Well, I did check on them, but I spent most of the time thinking. And I want you, no rescuing required. Though if you’d have me, I’d rescue you from anything. A bad day, my annoying family, the flu, anything. I’m not sure how clear my intentions have been, I figured showing you off around Velaris was enough, but I guess not.”
He paused, a mixture of nerves and intense determination radiating off of him.
“I haven’t thought about another person since I met you. I haven’t even considered looking at anyone else. Rhys has started calling me a puppy, because I follow you around everywhere, and I don’t care. I’ve never been so public with anyone, not giving a damn who sees or what they think, because I want them to know that you’re with me. I want everything you’ll give me.”
You’re stunned. It’s so quiet, you can hear the snow falling. It’s as if the world has gone silent to hear what you’ll say.
“Anything I’ll give you?” You say, a smirk crossing your face, wanting to draw out his confession a bit more.
“Anything.”
“Even if I snore?” You ask.
He laughs, “you don’t snore. You’re actually quite adorable when you’re asleep, hate to break it to you.”
“Hmm,” you say, stroking your finger on your chin, looking quizzical. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to my adorable sleeping, because if you’re accepting it, I’m giving you everything.”
He leans down, capturing your laugh with his lips, his shadows dancing around the two of you in excitement.
He pulls away after several minutes, laughing at the groan coming from your lips, “did you know that the idiots have a bet about us?”
He begins again after seeing your confused face, “If we’re together this week, Feyre wins the betting pool. Next week is Cassian.”
“Oh!” You exclaim, “that’s why she wanted us to be together so badly! Hm, maybe we should let Feyre win, because Cassian would be-
“Unbearable.” You both say in unison.
“When should we tell them? And how?” You ask.
“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can just have sex on the dining room table, that’ll send the message loud and clear.” He says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
You swat his arm, “no, we’re better than Cassian and Nesta. Maybe we should have a banner made. It’ll say “we had sex!” And point down to us.”
He chuckles, grabbing your arm again and steering you towards the bakery, as the two of you contemplate how to tell your family the news that will make them all so incredibly happy.
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borninwinter81 · 3 months
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William Blake - an introduction for Good Omens fans
I have sent @neil-gaiman an ask regarding his feelings toward the poet/artist William Blake a couple of times, but no doubt due to the size of the poor man's inbox I haven't received a response. So I did a Google search to see if he's spoken about Blake before, and it did indeed come up with a fair few hits. I think you might enjoy seeing this Twitter post if you haven't already, the painting is from William Blake's illustrations to Paradise Lost.
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It's not surprising that an author like Neil Gaiman might have an interest in Blake. A visionary from a young age, his imagination was such that he was surrounded by angels made visible in his mind's eye, and he interpreted these visions through poetry, painting and engraving, and self-printed and published many of his own works. This gave him complete freedom to say exactly what he wanted.
Though he had a passionate faith in God, he also had a deep distrust of the church as an institution, and disliked the use of religion as a means of control. This poem from "Songs of Experience" perhaps summarises his feelings best:
"I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore. 
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires."
In his poetry there is often an incongruity with the generally accepted religious ideas of what is good and evil, Angel and Demon. In The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (there's a title that should make any GO fan sit up and pay attention) he tells us that "in the book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan", signifying that he feels it is Lucifer/the devil who is the true Messiah of Paradise Lost.
He gives us The Voice of the Devil and Proverbs of Hell, and has Angels being transformed into Demons through enlightenment. He tells us that Jesus broke all of the 10 commandments, yet was still virtuous because he acted according to his own morality rather than rules.
The god-figure of his later works, Urizen, generally comes across as malevolent, seeking to bind and control, whilst Los, the Satan/Messiah figure represents freedom, imagination and creativity.
"Restraining desire" and acting contrary to your own nature seem to be the only real evils for Blake.
He expressed his faith through a love of the world and the beauty in it, summed up in this quote:
"When the Sun rises do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea? O no no I see an innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty".
He saw "God" in everything, in all the wonders we have around us, and considered writers/poets and religious prophets as essentially the same, since they both have a connection to the divine, and express it through stories.
It's quite ironic that probably his most famous poem, Jerusalem (the one that starts "and did those feet in ancient times walk upon England's mountains green"), was made into a very popular church hymn, yet it is supposed to be satirical in nature. The poem recounts the myth that Jesus may have visited England in his boyhood, and Blake is expressing his disbelief at that notion and the unworthiness of England.
Did I have a point to all this? Mostly to show my hand as a massive Blake nerd, but also to hopefully demonstrate that there's a lot of common ground between his ideas and those expressed in a show/book like Good Omens, and hopefully to inspire some of you who may not be familiar with Blake to seek him out. In particular I'd recommend The Marriage of Heaven and Hell to any and all.
EDIT: I should have thought to include this, here's Michael Sheen reading a Blake poem. I have the CD this is from, he reads several by Blake, as well as other poets I love ❤️ 😍
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Advice for Creating a Magic System
As a fantasy author, I thought I'd share my 5 tips for creating a captivating magic system.
1. Are you writing low fantasy or high fantasy?
Firstly, it's good to know from the get-go whether you're creating a magic system for a low fantasy or high fantasy story.
Low fantasy doesn't necessarily mean there are less fantastical elements or that the story has to take place in a version of the real world. Low fantasy simply indicates that the fantasy elements/magic is not commonplace in that world. Magic and other fantasy elements exist, but only a privy few know about it.
Examples of low fantasy stories include Harry Potter by She Who Shall Not be Named, the Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and my book To Wear A Crown.
High fantasy, on the other hand, indicates that the fantastical elements and magic are known about and commonplace in that world. The people of the world know that magic exists, that there are fantastical beings, other races etc.
Examples of high fantasy stories include Eragon by Christopher Paolini, Crescent City by Sarah J Maas, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, and Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard.
2. Hard magic systems vs soft magic systems
The next thing that's vital to decide is whether you're creating a hard or soft magic system.
A hard magic system has built-in limitations. There are certain things that magic can do and that's it. Examples of stories with hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo.
A soft magic system doesn't have inherent limitations in relation to what it can achieve. Examples of soft magic systems include Eragon, Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings.
3. What can magic do?
Now that you know whether you're writing low or high fantasy, and whether you're working with a hard or soft magic system, it's time to create some magic!
This is the part where I can't give you too much guidance, because it's all about your creativity.
What do you want magic to look like in your story? What do you want magic to be able to achieve? How big of a role do you want magic to play in the story and your characters' lives?
Do you want different classes of magic wielders, each with mastery over their own element? Do you want magic to be a flexible tool that can be used to achieve almost anything? Do you want your magic to be limited to telepathic actions or creating portals? Do you want different people to have power over different aspects of nature or different magical disciplines?
Can wielders use magic without any tools, or do they need spells, runes or rituals?
The possibilities are endless, but it's important to establish exactly what magic is capable of in your world.
4. How does it work and where does it come from?
Now we know what the magic can do. Next up is why it can do those things. Where does the power of the magic come from and how do wielders command it?
Does the power/force of magic come from within the wielder? Does it draw from inner life force and energy? Does it draw on energy from another realm or dimension? Does it pull from the surrounding natural elements? Does the power come from a deity or from demonic forces?
Identify the source/origin of the magic.
From there, elaborate on how it works. How does a wielder access the source of the magic? Is it through strength of will, incantations, selling their soul etc.?
For example, let's say that the power of your world's magic comes from the cosmic energy of another dimension. In order for wielders to access that energy, they draw specific sigils on their skin and these sigils act as portals to that world. Once the sigil is complete, the cosmic power flows into the wielder and they can now command it.
5. The limitations
Very importantly, you have to be clear on the limitations of your magic system. Fantasy magic systems often fall flat because they don't have clear confines.
If you're writing a hard magic system, this step is a bit easier, since there are inherent restrictions on what magic can do. With soft magic systems, you have to decide just how much magic is capable of.
But whether you're writing a hard or soft magic system, you need to consider the cost of using magic.
Does the use of magic drain the wielder's energy? Does each instance of using magic darken the wielder's soul or deteriorate their body further? Does using magic damage the natural world around the wielder or drain others of their life force?
Magic without a cost, limitations or consequences just isn't as captivating.
Reblog if you liked these tips. Comment with your own advice. Follow me for similar content.
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macksting · 8 months
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I've met him in person btw and he's a fucking sweetheart
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[ID: Text-intensive Twitter thread from the Shapeshifters chest binders Twitter account in reply to a post by artist and author Ursula Vernon. Vernon says, A non-zero number of you apparently did not know that The Last Unicorn was a book before it was a movie. It is by Peter S. Beagle. It is made of spun glass and fairytales and iron knives and there are individual lines that I would give my lungs to have written. Shapechangers replies, I saw him every year at NYCC for several years straight, bought something at his table, asked him to sign it, and we spoke. He remembered me from year to year, no small feat at that con. He remembered which stories he'd told me. One year I came back with a different gender on. He squinted at me a bit and said thoughtfully, "I've seen you before in this place." All I had to say was, "last year you told me the story about the inoshishi." And his face cleared, and he leaned in with a grin and told me about a German guitarist who he traveled with, twice. Who transitioned between the first and second time, so he'd gotten to meet this person all over again on the second round. It was a wonderfully kind way to let me know that everything was fine. I was fresh out of the closet and I needed that, and maybe he could see it. The Last Unicorn is the best book in the world and I will defend it and its author til I die. the end. /end ID]
I don't usually talk about celebrities; artists, when I do, and I'm keenly aware that one needn't be a good person to be a hell of a heartwrenching artist. But Peter S. Beagle has written a few of my favorite things in the world, he's an excellent singer and filker, and this Twitter thread was dreadfully important to me. I don't want it going away as Twitter becomes Shitter, because it's so often bad news, isn't it? It's important to me to share trans joy.
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loveinhawkins · 1 year
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Eddie is writing new song lyrics. Dustin discovers them on a random Saturday when they’re having pizza at Steve’s; Eddie asks Dustin to get one of his old campaign notes, and Dustin reaches for the wrong journal.
“Oh, not that one,” Eddie says with a shrug, but his eyes go a little thoughtful at the sight of it in Dustin’s hands. For some reason he pauses, and then he says, “You can still read it if you want, man.”
And Dustin stares at him, certain it’s a trick, because Eddie is notorious for ensuring that any potential Hellfire spoilers are kept under lock and key. But then he opens the book and reads.
And he gets it.
The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies.
Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.
Eddie nods. “Yeah.”
“You make it sound a lot more poetic than it actually was,” Dustin says.
But Eddie doesn’t tease back, just gives a contemplative little smile and says, “Really? I don’t think so.”
And that’s as far as they get in talking about it, because Eddie suddenly glances away, and his smile changes ever so slightly, gets softer around the edges. He turns back to Dustin and mouths, Look.
Dustin does. Steve has fallen asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. His head is just barely resting in his hand, nodding forwards precariously every so often.
Dustin hears Eddie give an almost silent tsk, which is funny; he must have picked it up from Steve. He quietly goes over and moves Steve with a gentle touch until Steve’s head is resting comfortably against the cushions.
Steve murmurs wordlessly, eyes closed, then settles back into sleep.
Eddie catches Dustin’s eye; he mimes, Shh with a wink.
And something in the back of Dustin’s mind falls into place. …Huh.
There are days when Eddie has the journal and days when he doesn’t—he cycles through notebooks constantly, most of them having been started with a specific purpose before devolving into chaotic scribbles for anything and everything.
But this one stays consistent.
And whenever he does have the journal, he lets Dustin open it to any random page and read for as long as he likes.
It doesn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that a verse waxing lyrical about a protective soldier finally laying down his armour and resting is about… someone in particular.
And that makes Dustin wonder whether ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life’ isn’t just about a mechanical horse playing Daisy, Daisy. In fact, maybe it’s not about that at all.
He doesn’t mention anything, just says that Eddie’s writing is good when he hands the journal back over. It’s hardly a major compliment, except every time, Eddie says, “Thanks,” in an almost uncertain tone Dustin’s never heard before, like just hearing that’s really touched him.
And then one day Eddie loses the journal. Dustin doesn’t realise what’s wrong at first, just knows that Eddie is agitated, rooting around in the back of the van when Dustin sidles in for a ride home after school.
Dustin sees movement outside, and he looks up to see one of the substitute teachers who’s always got a stick up her ass standing at the school entrance. She’s holding Eddie’s journal.
“Uh, Eddie?”
“What?” Eddie snaps. Then he follows where Dustin is looking. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.”
But he doesn’t let any of his irritation show when he hops out of the van and heads for the teacher.
Dustin knows Eddie talks a good game when it comes to sticking it to authority, all I’ll flip him the bird and so on, but there’s none of that arrogance now. Dustin can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can read the body language, the teacher’s tight-lipped smile, the way Eddie has crossed an arm over his chest self-defensively; he looks suddenly very young and unsure of himself.
The confrontation ends with the teacher handing Eddie the journal—more shoving it at him, really. Eddie gives her a curt nod before he heads back to the van, slamming the door shut as he gets inside.
He throws the journal in the back, and Dustin, who has carelessly destroyed countless textbooks, somehow finds himself saying, “Watch it, dude! You’ll rip it.”
Eddie doesn’t reply. He reverses out the parking lot and makes a turning for Dustin’s house, grinding his teeth.
The silence goes on until it’s unbearable, and Dustin tentatively asks, “What did she want?”
Eddie laughs, a nasty, thoroughly unconvincing sound. “Oh, ya know. Just returning lost property. Good fucking Samaritan.”
When he gets home, Dustin finds a note from his mom, that she’s over at his aunt’s and there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. Dustin checks, and there’s easily enough for two.
He runs outside thankfully before Eddie has gone.
“You can’t expect me to be left in the kitchen unsupervised,” Dustin says. “I might burn it down.”
Eddie snorts. “From sticking pasta in the microwave?” Then he seems to hear himself and adds, “Yeah, somehow wouldn’t put it past you, Henderson.”
So they end up eating lasagne straight out of the dish together, playfully battling for the last slice like their forks are swords.
“What did she really want?” Dustin asks eventually. He can’t help but notice that Eddie had brought the journal in with him, keeps tapping his finger on the cover uneasily.
Eddie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. He nods down at the journal. “I’d left it in a classroom that some middle schoolers use for Drama Club. Apparently there’s some concerns about the appropriateness of—”
“That’s bullshit!” Dustin says. “Why would she even—”
“Dustin,” Eddie says very quietly. He closes his eyes. “You know why.”
And Dustin does. That’s why he’s so damn angry.
Because some of the lyrics (not all, but some), are love songs. And a good number of those are unambiguously from the point of view of a boy, speaking to another boy.
Eddie sighs again, presses a thumb into the inner corner of one eye. It looks like he’s warding off a headache. Dustin knows that he isn’t.
He could say I don’t care that you’re gay, but that doesn’t sound quite right; it isn’t about not caring, it’s about…
“You know I like you, right?” Dustin says.
Eddie gives a choked little laugh. He drops his hand, opens his eyes and says, with a faint smile, “No shit? I guessed you wouldn’t share lasagne with your mortal enemy.”
“True,” Dustin concedes. He presses on. “But I meant, like…” He bats Eddie’s hand away from the journal so he can tap it instead. “Like this. It’s all a part of you, and you’re really cool, so that means—like, it’s all cool. It makes you, you. You know?”
For a long moment, Eddie just stares at him. “You said you so many times, I don’t think it’s a word anymore,” he says, but he’s blinking a lot, and Dustin sees his lips quiver. “Um. Thanks.”
He still sounds sad which absolutely will not stand. Dustin gives him a few seconds of reprieve, before he launches at him with a karate style chopping motion.
Eddie chuckles. “You little shit!”
And they tussle until, breathlessly laughing, they’re both stretched out on the couch on their backs, side-by-side.
“You should let Steve read some,” Dustin suggests.
Eddie’s laughter trails off. “Mm,” he says, non-committal.
“I mean it!” Dustin recalls a verse he’d read only a couple of days ago, one that wasn’t dressed up in symbolism.
And you want to tell him you’re enough just like this darling, you always have been
“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “So far that stuff’s had an audience of one, and I think he might be a bit,” Eddie gestures with his thumb and forefinger, “biased. Being family and all.”
Dustin smiles, feels a proud little glow in his chest. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve seen Steve hiding love poetry books. Like he underlines that shit. It’s embarrassing.”
Eddie cackles. “Well. Some of my shit’s embarrassing so…”
Dustin claps his shoulder gravely. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say it.”
Eddie pushes him nearly right off the couch; he pulls him back before he can fall. “Oh, fuck you.”
They’re quiet for a bit, and then Dustin suggests a movie, and when he’s putting the VHS in, he catches Eddie watching him with shiny eyes.
“Hey,” Eddie says. He smiles. “I love you.”
And God, it’s so much better hearing those words like this, with Eddie in front of him, safe and whole.
And Dustin doesn’t need to rush his reply this time. He picks up the journal and passes it to Eddie, careful of the binding.
“I love you, too,” he says, and the proud glow in his chest feels even stronger. “Now get writing, Shakespeare.”
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rilakeila · 1 year
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cat's out of the bag, where reader is an animagus cat and gets embarrassed about it around mattheo
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word count 3.9k fandom harry potter pairing mattheo riddle x fem!animagus cat!reader warnings none(? lmk if u see any) author's note just hope it's good, changed it up a lil from the request
request a little cat has been crossing paths with him in the courtyard and he’s actually grown quite attached to it. one of their friends spot him scratching her head or smth on his way to class and makes a joke that mattheo doesn’t understand but the reader does and BOOKS it outta there. mattheo is lowkey a lil put out because he doesn’t see the cat for awhile after that, and the group starts making inside jokes abt it so the reader gets embarrassed and starts avoiding him in person too. mattheo decides he’s over it and gets her to finally spill the beans
STRETCHING your limbs before walking around the classroom, professor mcgonagall requested you to stay a couple of minutes after class to discuss your animagus progress. more so, she was just proud that you were able to complete the process. with mcgonagall and dumbledore’s help, you were typically excused from many days from hogwarts, travelling to uagadou, school of magic, in africa, accompanied by dumbledore to start the process of your animagus. certainly felt out of place with several students younger than you to be able to transform, but it was a great motivation through the help of your professors.
“nicely done, a lovely feline just as myself,” mcgonagall clasped her hands together, proudly, as she watched you jump from table to table in your animagus form.
reaching to the last one that was next to her, you transformed back into your human form, sitting with your hands folded on your lap, “thank you, professor. a big help from you and professor dumbledore, as well as the students at uagadou. though, i am glad that my incantations process did not take as long as i thought it would.”
“well, good that you were able to successfully do so, but i do have another class in a couple of moments, i will let you off now,” mcgonagall patted your shoulder before going to her desk, giving signal that you were free to go. bidding your farewell, she responded with a wave, not looking up from the paperwork. opening the door slightly, you transformed into your animagus form. you remembered that your daily tasks was to practice into your new form, as often as you could, but it was also requested to be kept on the low for your privacy. your classes were not going to resume until the following day, given that you recently had got back from uagadou, only needed to be up to date with all of the material given in your classes. 
taking an adventure around the castle was quite interesting in your new form. a new perspective of seeing it at a much lower angle, may even develop a fear of heights from the tallness of the walls. you tried to get use to climbing and hopping around high shelves in some of the corridors. many students noticed you as you walked around the hallways, only responding in hisses unless they were your friends such as hermione or luna. after roaming for quite some time and alternating within your forms, you settled on one of the open sills in the hallway. taking a laying position, your tail curling on top of your frame and getting comfortable to take a nap.
trying to calm your mind, you wished you could be a cat for the rest of time, not having to worry about school and be someone’s pet sounded like such an easy life. a long nap in the midst of day would have been great, only to be awoken the noisy echos of the halls from the students walking out of class or their breaks. you hear someone place their bag on the open minimal surface on the right of you. their once fast movements turned into quiet, assuming that they left. you peeked one of your eyes open, only to see the green of their school robe, moving carefully as they could next to you to sit cross legged. your eye shuts when he finally sits down, seeing a book in his hand, but being nosy, you tried to see who it was.
your eye opens once more, a scar on their nose, curly hair, and a green robe. well, also a familiar face. mattheo riddle. a mutual of luna’s boyfriend, to keep it simple. you have had your fair share of conversations with mattheo, some were just of commonality or had to do with one of your classes’ assignments. though, many of those shared conversations may have been rare but when initiated, they were quite long, often enjoying and longing that company. if there was anything about him, completely different from his father, he was not as interested in gaining power or any sorts, he just enjoyed a good game of quidditch and being in and out of class as soon as possible. 
you eyed the book in his hand, recognizing it was his little notebook that he used to jot down notes during class. 
“this is a new cat, it’s not filch’s cat,” was all he mumbled before you heard his quill starting writing away. you noticed you craned your neck a little too much to give him notice before dropping it down, closing your eyes to resume your nap. that was until you heard a paper tear out and placed in front of you, “since you’re not asleep, here, judge my drawing.”
caught. you looked at the quick doodle, it was a simple sketch of you curled up with small details from the background, sky, clouds, sunrays, and everything. he must have drawing as a hobby, you were sure it was no more than five minutes that he was able to conjure from the time he has sat down. stretching out your limbs, you grabbed the drawing with your mouth and turned to place it in his lap, a small nod of approval. honestly, you were unsure how to show your appreciation in this form without giving away that you were an animagus.
“well, i reckon that you like this picture. and i’m sure there’s no way that you have a place to keep it,” he raised his hand to pet you, but there was hesitation, probably unsure if you were to going to hiss, bite, or claw at him. mattheo held his palm out in front of you, showing some sort of consent. he seemed harmless, but would it be weird if he ever found out that you were just an animagus. you leaned closer, but that thought of the what if made you feel embarrassed, leading you to jump off the sill. 
“mmm, fine, i’ll see you around, little feline.”
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you never thought that the frequency of seeing mattheo around from once every two or so weeks would become an everyday occurrence, mostly in your animagus form. once, maybe around the morning, and a couple more times throughout the day. it was typically during your breaks, walking around the hallways as you usually did. he did a showcasing of his drawing of you whether it was in the usual spot of that sill where you first met in your animagus form or a candid, and those drawings were at a random. each and every single you had appreciated before he hides them into his notebook. outside of your feline moments, you were paired up with him in doing tasks for professors and the staff around the school, seeing as you two would be the common picks due to both of you regularly being in the hallway at the same time. getting to know each other on a different level, even noticing more habits and traits that he has had. though, it was awkward when the topic of your animagus had been brought up during a walk in the library, putting books up for some of the professors.
“anything new recently?” you questioned, placing back the introduction to water creatures into its vacant spot based on madam pince’s list of nonhelpful locations.
“studying and helping the quidditch team, nothing has been new with me,” he placed the book that you handed him on the top of the stack.
“what about any drawings?” you froze in your tracks, unsure if that hobby of his was even known to anyone.
“drawings? how did you know that i draw?” he also paused in his tracks.
“well, i taken up some doodling in my free time during classes and noticed that in charms, you like to doodle professor flitwick and the floating objects in the classroom pretty well,” you did take notice after finding this hobby of his that he continuously did draw at what you thought was him writing notes.
“not as secretive as i thought of that little thing of mine. well, actually, do you know that cat that will always hang around the hallways?” mattheo handed you another book to place within the shelves.
“filch’s cat?”
“no, not mrs. norris, it’s a much smaller cat. this feline has been the center of my art recently, maybe i’ll show you a new one in class next time. i see that cat pretty often, at least a couple of times a day, someone must have lost their pet and gave up,” he said with a chuckle.
“yeah, maybe,” you replied, not knowing what to say, “well, that’s the last book.”
“you said you doodled, right?” mattheo questioned, in which you hummed, agreeing to the statement. it was not a lie you did doodle. stick figures, that still counts. he continued, “do you want to come along with me in the morning before potions to draw this cat?”
no. i can’t, i am that cat. you turned to him, trying to figure out how to be there in two different forms, “maybe, we’ll see.”
“just say that you don’t want to hang out with the dark lord’s son, it’s alright,” mattheo playfully pouted. 
that was a characteristic that you have never seen before from him, and he was trying to persuade you, using his dad’s name. you scoffed, “there was not a no in my response.”
“but, i know that’s what you meant. please,” he drawn out the please, adding hints of sweet in it to essentially charm you.
“fine, but i never even seen this cat,” you said.
“you’ll see, i basically attract this cat. see you in central hallway,” he clasped your shoulder before exiting the library. now, you were left to discover some sort of spell to double your bodies and how you do agree that he does attract you.
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“it’s fine, i’ll just walk with him then leave then appear as a cat,” you flattened your robe, smoothing any crinkles out as you walked through the corridors to reach the destined hallway, seeing mattheo already walking towards you, backpack slung over his shoulder. a small smile appeared on his face, meeting your eye contact.
you waved before reaching to him, “so, where’s your little cat?”
“honestly, haven’t seen her around today. the one time i wanted to show her off, and she isn’t here,” he looked around the hall, trying to look around to spot the small feline, not knowing that she was right in front of me.
“aww, maybe, next time, how do you even know it’s a she,” you asked.
“just a wild guess, but if that she is actually a he, hopefully he’ll let me know,” he said, shoving down a piece of paper in his pocket. 
you only glanced before looking at him once more, “well, mcgonagall needed to see me before potions, so, save me a seat.”
he nodded as his way of a farewell before walking inside the classroom. watching him enter and up and down the hallways for lingering students, hoping that the area was student free, you almost started to transform until the conversation within the classroom became much more audible.
“come on, you don’t think it’s odd that the cat always happens to meet you and certain people at certain times. plus, some students just came back from other schools for special training, what if your little cat friend is an animagus?” that statement was followed with laughter, recognizing that the person who said that was lorenzo berkshire. head always full of thoughts and a motor for a mouth.
“a professor, perhaps, or a student much closer to her,” someone else commented, hinting that the only other known animagus with a feline form was mcgonagall. 
there was no way that he was not going to realize that you were an animagus and connect the points, he was aware that you were part of the groups that left hogwarts to study shortly at other schools. you did not want to share your face to him, mattheo may not be the greatest person in the bunch, coming to academics, but with enough effort, he was quite intelligent. you were sure most of the students connected the dots especially with your frequent visits with professor mcgonagall, always excelled at transfiguration and potions, gone to uagadou, there was not a doubt that even trying to keep it on the low, there were people that knew.
maybe walking in the classroom would combat the rumor of being an animagus. though, you already had told mattheo that you were going to be meeting with the professor that they had mentioned. you tried to convince yourself that him finding out was not all too bad, helps not trying to suppress the secret, but you enjoyed the attention that he had been giving you. 
you pinched the bridge of your nose, persuading yourself just enough to tip the iceberg of walking in. entering seeing that you were essentially the last student to walk in and many students faced the entrance, especially that set of certain students, their eyes were on you. not to mention, the widening smirk of lorenzo as he locked his eyes with yours, “you know, that was a purr-fectly timed appearance.”
feeling your cheeks heat up, the cat was quite literally out the bag between you and lorenzo. he definitely knew, he always had some sort of information on every single person you know. you wondered if he was also an animagus as a small fly for the way he always has the buzz on the hogwarts student body. he sent a wink with a sly grin, which ushered you quickly out of class. it was going to be impossible without him dropping hints around you and could not allow someone else to drop your secret. even with calls of your name, there was no way that you would turn back.
“professor, do you know how embarrassing it is if riddle finds out that i am the feline he has been drawing?” you paced around the classroom. with the amount of times that you had walked your pattern in front of your mentor, there would certainly be a dent within the ground.
“perhaps, perhaps not. mr. riddle will more than likely be unbothered by the fact that you are an animagus. he seems too unbothered by any topic for that matter, just as ms. everwood confessed her feelings for him and he had said thank you and walked off as if nothing had happened,” your professor was too focused on other matters around the classroom to be bothered by your issues, but you were sure that she was going to share the same details with professor snape. you were alright with him knowing, it was not like he was not going to be able to read your mind with him being a power legilimen.
“you’re right, thank you, professor. will keep that in mind, i figured out what to do,” you said, all you had to do was just ignore him for the rest of the term or until you graduate. it was going to be impossible for you to not change into your animagus form as mcgonagall required you to change a couple of times a day, and there was not a chance that you could avoid him which was through analyzing the frequency of seeing him everyday. there was a giant possibility that you were overthinking this, as it was true. you just wanted to save yourself from the embarrassment from the intimate moments you had shared despite them being in your cat form.
“please, do update me on your animagus progress, as well as your situation with mr. riddle. concluding with your heightened embarrassment of him knowing, it would seem to me that you may have a crush on him and or value your friendship, as well as him revealing that secret of yours will ruin everything.”
as always, spot on at everything.
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for the time being since your conversation with mcgonagall, your contact with mattheo had gone down drastically. attending potions much earlier to avoid having to sit next to him, though, lorenzo’s obvious cat jokes as he walked past you to go to the ingredients closet, it was something you wished to avoid. you were unsure if mattheo cared enough that you switched seats, using mcgonagall’s story regarding about evelyn everwood, he may have just moved on. additionally, you opted to stay in the astronomy tower now for a break when in your animagus form, despite enjoying the ground levels to stroll. you did remember a small exchange between lorenzo and mattheo during a potions practical;
“does mr. cat whisperer miss his feline friend?” there lorenzo goes again.
“and does the school's resident gossip hound miss wagging his tongue in everyone's business?” mattheo responded with the same tone.
“don’t be so grouchy, isn’t it a coincidence that someone stopped hanging out with you?” lorenzo had glanced at you when saying someone, knowing that you were listening. 
there were certain times where you had close encounters with him trying to talk to unless you decided to deviate your path, pretending that you were busy in your notes as you walked in the hallway. you had made a habit to just have your notebook open, just in case he was around.
“mr. berkshire always intends to irritate others quite easily, but i am certain it is his tactic of getting information out of most people,” mcgonagall waved her hand to have the chalk write against the board in preparation for her next class.
before being able to respond back to her, there was a knock at the door. your head turned to the sound, only sinking into your chair and raising your hood to hide your face. it was very unlikely for mattheo to even talk to mcgonagall, unless he was failing a class.
“hello professor, snape had sent me over here saying that you needed me to help a student in returning boxes of ingredients to his closet,” he began to come closer due to the proximity of his voice getting louder with every step he had taken. damn, professor snape. the two professors must be working together in cahoots for whatever the reason may be according to your problems.
“yes, please assist (y/n) with those boxes over there. i would have done a spell, but professor snape wanted to ensure that the number of ingredients were done by hand and everything was correct for storage. off you go, i need to prepare for the upcoming period,” she dismissed the both of you. you knew that she was not going to respond if you tried to convince her, but you did trust her judgment and may be the only way to jump over the obstacle.
“of course, professor,” you shoved your hood down, trying to not make eye contact.
the collection of the boxes was quiet, one for you and one for him. there was an understanding between the both of you in doing your task, more so you quickly grabbing your box and walking out of the classroom. mattheo did not do much but just follow your lead, similar to your library duties. the walk was fast-paced and still silent, typically you had started most of the conversations, always starting with how has your week been going.
“how has your week been going?” he initiated.
“busy, just studying, you?”
“the same thing as you.” 
“nic-“
“i am not one to beat around the bush, why have you been avoiding me?” he asked once more. straightforward. the synchronized clanking of the glass jars and footsteps was quieter, and it was just your own creating the sound. 
“what do you mean? i said i was busy,” you awkwardly chuckled. you stayed still, but you had not turned to face him.
“not busy enough for you to stay in professor mcgonagall’s office for a couple hours of the day, your studying sessions in the courtyard and library has whisked you away to a different location. mind you, you never came to potions early enough, but you recently had to change seats,” mattheo pointed out the changes in your daily routine. it did not seem like a big of a deal, but no one would typically pay attention to the specifics of the times that you did things.
“are you spying on me, now?” you finally turned around, wondering why.
“no, just things i’ve noticed. also, when someone mentions cats or just anything of the sort, for instance.. lorenzo, that day, when he was talking about an animagus being my feline friend, were you offended that he brought up mcgonagall? if it is, i have enough dirt on him to drag down his reputation,” he offered. for someone with decent intelligence, he was not displaying enough critical thinking.
“it’s not that, mattheo, you didn’t understand the joke that he had said when i walked in?” you raised an eyebrow, typically he understood the complex jokes you thrown at him when you placed books back in the library.
he seemed to be taken back, hesitating, one expression that he rarely had, “the purr-fectly timed appearance, he was..”
hesitation once again. the raised eyebrow also did not leave your face, watching his once sturdy eye contact to be broken as you waited for him to complete his statement. he cleared his throat, “he was alluding to something else that we were discussing in the group.”
“which was?”
“i asked first, so, why have you been avoiding me?” he quickly veered away from you prying his answer. you were so close to revealing the mystery, and you were able to imagine the disappointment from mcgonagall in not completing her goal of this task between you and mattheo with professor snape. there was no way he would mind.
“okay, fine, no, we say our answers at the same time. i’ll answer your question, and with my question for you to answer is what the something else of that discussion as it pertains to me and i am nosy,” you looked at him, hoping he would take your proposition. 
he walked closer to you, stopping with no space left between you two aside from the boxes that you both held in front of your torsos, “fine.”
“on three.”
“one.”
“two.”
“three.”
“i am the cat that you have been hanging around.”
“i have feelings for you.”
the surprised looks mirrored each other’s faces, only mattheo had his mouth agape which he closed. your embarrassment was overflowing your body, but the surprise of him confessing that he had liked you mixed in with the embarrassment. though, the combination just left your body heated. 
“i also like you, if that helps,” you broke the silence despite feeling the warmest you ever been.
“no wonder why you said that drawing bit in charms,” he grinned. mcgonagall was correct, yet again, he seemed to overlook your animagus side, not even slightly bothered.
“so, you don’t mind me being an animagus?” you needed to make sure that it was clear that he did not mind, in order for your embarrassment to be resolved,
he shook his head, “it’s okay to be an animagus, that’s bloody amazing, actually.. enzo is quite smart in dropping that hint, it was quite purrfectly executed.”
you snorted, as you watched him move to stand by your side. there was so many questions running through your mind that you were unsure which option to pick to start at. you were just satisfied at the fact that he did not mind. though, you two had a mutual understanding was to leave it be for now and enjoy the moment.
“and so, the cat’s out of the bag.”
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campgender · 14 days
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Whenever a player safewords, this is an occasion for mutual support. We understand that nobody safewords from a happy place, and that all of our egos feel frail and kind of runty when we need to back out of a scene. It is completely unethical to respond with scorn or ridicule to a person who has safeworded: S/M is not a competition, we are not playing against each other.
As tops, we have noticed that if we are having a good time and our bottom safewords, our initial feelings may not be happy. Whaddaya mean you don't like that? I do all this work and you don't appreciate it? I'm hot for being in control and you want me to stop? We have felt real anger and felt challenged in our top role... and, on a deeper level, we have felt put down, hurt and rejected. It is okay to have these feelings. It is not okay to act on them. Take three deep breaths and everybody start taking care of each other.
Sometimes bottoms get so deeply engaged in a scene that they fail to safeword, or forget, or so profoundly believe in the fantasy that it doesn't occur to them: many of the techniques we play with, like interrogation, function in the real world to undermine volition. Dossie remembers a scene in which a top offered her a choice of something or other: "I felt very confused. Some distant part of me vaguely remembered having made choices, but the response from my state of consciousness at that time was, Choose? I am not a thing that chooses." So then what is the top's responsibility?
If a bottom does not safeword and you don't pick up on what's going on, and this will happen if you play long enough and well enough, there is no blame. However, it is still your responsibility to monitor for physical safety as best you can. As ethical tops we make a commitment to never knowingly harm our bottoms. To this end we check in regularly to make sure that things are going the way we think they are, and we constantly monitor the physical and emotional safety of our bottoms. If a bottom is beyond safewording, and you as the top feel unsure about how far you should go, it is your responsibility to slow down or stop the scene and get into communication with the bottom to make sure you have informed consent. If you have to bring the bottom back into reality to do this, please remember that you helped get them into that altered state in the first place, so presumably you can help get them back there again as soon as you are sure of what's going on.
And just because someone safeworded doesn't mean that the scene has to be over. There may be times when the problem that brought either of you to safeword is so overwhelming that carrying on doesn't feel like the right thing right now - but most often we find that after we've dealt with whatever the difficulty is, we're still terrifically turned on, with the added bonus of a shared intimacy.
from The New Topping Book (2003) by Dossie Easton & Janet W. Hardy
(note: the authors use ‘top’ & ‘bottom’ in the historical S/M sense, meaning ‘person performing the act’ & ‘person receiving the act’; the act in question is not necessarily penetration.)
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januaryembrs · 6 days
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THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]
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Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)
word count: 7.9k
trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.
authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.
previous chpt | next chpt
'Doctor, look into my eyes.
I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'
The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.
Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.
Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 
Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  
Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 
They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 
Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 
Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 
Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 
But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 
He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 
So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 
Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 
“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 
“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.
“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”
“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 
“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 
He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 
Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 
She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 
“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 
She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 
“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”
“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”
Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 
“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”
He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 
The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 
“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 
A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 
“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 
She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 
The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 
“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 
Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 
The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 
“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 
She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 
But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 
He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 
And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 
Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.
It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 
It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 
JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 
Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.
So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 
JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 
So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 
So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 
It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 
“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 
She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 
“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 
“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.
“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 
She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 
She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 
So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.
JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 
Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 
Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 
Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 
He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 
Nothing. 
And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 
“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 
He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 
He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  
“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 
“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”
“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 
“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 
“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 
She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 
“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.
“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 
“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”
“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 
“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 
And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 
He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 
And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.
If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 
Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 
It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 
So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).
“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 
“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”
“Do you mean julienne?” 
“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 
“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 
“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”
David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 
Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 
“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”
David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 
“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”
“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"
“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 
She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 
Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 
“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 
She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 
“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 
“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 
“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 
And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 
While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.
She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 
It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 
He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 
“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 
“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 
She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 
But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 
Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 
It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 
But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 
“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 
She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 
It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 
“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 
“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 
Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 
“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 
“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”
“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”
They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 
Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 
This never happened. 
Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 
That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 
So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 
Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 
He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 
“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”
And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 
She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 
It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 
“Bug, I’m getting you-”
“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 
Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 
“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 
“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”
His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 
“Hm?” 
“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 
“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 
His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 
He felt like a fool. 
“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 
“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 
It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 
He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 
“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 
He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.
“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 
Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 
She kissed him. She had kissed him. 
And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.
“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 
Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 
But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 
He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 
taglist:
@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions@the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @sadbae-33
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gffa · 4 months
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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:
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Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:
MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)
STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin
BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)
MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".
TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)
CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.
MINOR FANDOMS: Ones that probably only have under 100 bookmarks (often around the 20-30 bookmarks range), but will at least give you a place to start! ANIME/MANGA: Bleach | Cardcaptor Sakura | Dragonball | Finder no Hyouteki/Viewfinder | Katekyou Hitman Reborn! | Kuroko no Basuke | One Piece | Sailor Moon | Madoka Magica | Naruto | Princess Tutu | Trigun | Weiss Kreuz | Yuri!!! on Ice
BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint
DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi
TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Community | Game of Thrones -OR- ASOIAF | Good Omens | Hannibal | Highlander | The Old Guard | Our Flag Means Death | Stranger Things
VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami
BANDS: Arashi
All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!
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ohtobeleah · 3 months
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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin
-> Chapter Nine: The Pomegranate Theory
Summary: Jakes still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening with your health. Doctor Ignatii oversteps? And you settle in while Jake helps you write some of your newest book.
Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.
Word Count: 4.3K
Author Note: My birthday present to you all is a new chapter of Was It Over. Once again I just wanted to say thank-you all so very much for all the love and support you have given me throughout this series. It truly means the world to me.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet, sweet flesh. 
When rushed, there is failure to collect all the seeds. Many men sacrifice the collection of its entirety for the sake of saving time. They'd rather risk the loss of a percentage of the fruit for immediate gratification. What we often fail to consider is that there may be a reason for the  dissimilarities between men and women. We tend to point out that the majority of men don't have the same attention to detail that women do instead of focusing on our individual strengths, and how they can balance and support each other. 
Instead, you chose, for the longest of times, to consider that your husband was willing to learn something that perhaps didn't come instinctively to him as it did to you. It's the energy you put into cutting and deseeding the metaphorical pomegranate that represented your marriage, but Jake never seemed to want to learn how to carefully harvest all those beautiful seeds. 
You and Jake both collectively brought so much to your marriage, you both had something to learn from one another in order to grow. But choosing resentment when you decided to step away from the man you loved more than life itself was never an option. 
Because resentment always leads to isolation: 
“Okay small steps for me Y/n.” Doctor Ignatii asked as he held your arms and stood before you. Everything hurt, everything felt wrong. Everything was stiff and out of place, but the sooner you were up and walking even if it was only a few steps here and there–the quicker your recovery would be. Having a stroke wasn't exactly defined as a step in your cancer treatment plan. No, it came right out of the left field and took you, your mother and your doctors by total surprise. “That's it, small steps.” 
“I don't think I should keep going, it feels wrong.” Your body didn't feel like your own, the ground underneath your no-slip socks felt uneven. Your feet felt like lead–heavy and weak at the same time. Your head had maintained a dull ache since you woke up post surgery that hadn’t gone away. Overall you just didn't feel like yourself and it showed. 
“Your neurological pathways need time to re-adjust to normal.” Doctor Ignatii was hopeful you'd have a pretty smooth recovery, his worry about any deficits post stroke was at a pretty low concern level just based on how quickly they were able to react to the stroke itself. “Give yourself some time, I'll touch base with the plastics department and oncology to discuss your pre-op notes prior to your mastectomy.” Doctor Ignatii explained as Jake watched with crossed arms off to the side as you took a few uneasy steps around the room littered with Christmas lights and decorations for the holiday seasons. “It's gonna be a slow but steady recovery, we just wanna make sure prior to your mastectomy that your body can handle the additional stress it's placed under while in surgery. The fact you're taking baby steps right now is a really good sign.” 
“Can I have a shower soon by any chance?” All you wanted was to not feel sticky and gross. “Is that in the realm of possibility any time soon?” 
“Only if you try to walk to the bathroom.” Doctor Ignittii replied with a quick wit you appreciated, he wasn't treating you like a sudden gust of a strong wind your be knocked on your sare and you truly appreciated the vote of confidence from your doctor. “But sure, I don't have any problem with you showering, maybe ask for some help?” Doctor Ignatii gestured over to where Jake stood just watching over you. He kept his respective distance but his eyes never left yours. He’s yet to leave your side for more than twenty minutes to grab something to eat, drink and take a deep breath. He was still trying to process how quickly things had changed. 
“Happy to help.” Jake teased as he sent you a wink, the half sided smirk was prevalent across his flustered but composed face. “Respectfully.” 
“Respectfully–” You replied as you stood on your own, Doctor Ignatti had stepped aside to let you take the lead. “You need to call our children and let them know you haven't abandoned them at their grandmother's house.”
“I should do that, shouldn't I?” Jake sighed, he'd been avoiding the call all together. With it being Christmas Eve Eve and your surgery still going ahead as planned, it was a call Jake wasn't looking forward to making. 
“I think it might be a good idea–” You slowly but surely sat down on the edge of your hospital bed, the IV poll you were gripping for dear life pumped against the side before Jake stepped a little closer to fix the tangled wires and cords. “Thanks.” You smiled softly as you watched him work.
“I'll let you know how our pre-op meeting goes, Mrs Seresin.” Doctor Ignatti interrupted with a quick tight lipped smile. “And–” Jake raised an eyebrow as your doctor paused in his tracks. “Although probably unsolicited, I've seen too many families come through these halls to know time is a fickle thing, if your kids aren't aware of your current situation, I favour the side of full transparency, no matter the age.” 
You didn't know how to respond so you said nothing and settled on a simple nod with kind eyes to match. Jake however, wasn't as graceful with his snarky growl. He was the very embodiment of a protective German Shepherd with his guard up.
“It's a good thing we didn't ask for your opinion then isn't it.” Jake snapped, he didn't mean to take his insecurities out on the man who had if nothing else saved your life.he was still trying to figure out who this Jensen guy was. But he did and it made you frown with shock horror that such a snarky comment would come from your husband's mouth.
“You’re right, I overstepped.” Doctor Ignatti held it hands up as if to say he was sorry. “I apologise, I'll be back later with an update for you.” You said nothing, you simply chose to remain silent until your doctor had left the room and silence had once again fallen over you and Jake. 
“I didn't mean–” Jake wanted to say he didn't mean to be so snappy. That he really didn't mean to bite the hand that saved his wife, But you 
“You meant it.” The tone you used broke right through the exterior of Jake's hardened shell. Despite his inability to make it known that all Jake was trying to do in that very moment was show a united front on your decision to keep your family, your husband and subsequently your children in the dark about your current situation—he still helped you back into bed, tucked your legs under the Blau and fixed your pillows. “And he’s right you know, whether we want to hear it or not the kids probably need to know why you left so abruptly.” Jake's phone had been ringing off the hook since he left his mother's house. Jasmine was persistent regardless if Jake was answering or not. Constant texts, missed calls, updates on the kids she knew he was thankful for despite his missing in action status. 
“You wanna tell the kids what’s going on?” You and Jake hadn’t really discussed it, he was following your lead on this one. Jake didn’t want to overstep any boundaries you’d set he wasn’t aware of, or had unintentionally forgotten about. He was holding off on everything, telling his sister what the hell was going on, telling his mother more than she ever deserved to know, telling the kids their mum was a little sick. 
“No—no, I wanna tell the kids, for now, that I’m just a little sick and that’s why I needed you here more than they needed you over the next few days.” You explained your view. “I don't want them panicking about me, they're young, too young to need to know the severity of the situation.” 
“Not telling them doesn't make the truth any less real, Honey–what if we tell them and–“ Jake never got a chance to finish his sentence, he never got a chance to say that if you didn’t want to tell your kids he’d support your decision regardless if he agreed or not before you interrupted to explain where you were coming from. 
“They don't need to know Jake, I can't tell them, I can't tell my children that I might be dying alright I just can't.” You were a little more harsh than need be, but the emotional weight of the situation was taking a toll on you. “But I wasn’t about to bite my brain surgeon's head off for offering a valid opinion on a rough situation.” 
“You know what?” Jake cooed as he reached out to touch your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your soft skin. The gentle touch brought you a solace you'd never truly understand as Jake's emerald eyes swirled with all the love and admiration in the world. “You’re right.” Jake didn't want to argue, not now, not when he could tell your emotions were running high and life seemed like it was against you. You needed him in your corner, for better or worse. “I’ll call Jas, I'll tell her what's going on, full God's honest truth and then we’ll tell the kids that you're just a little sick.” 
“Just a little–” You replied with tears in your eyes, they were pooling at your lower lash line, ready to spill and open the flood gates. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” Jake listened as the pad of his thumb worked to catch the falling tears that cascaded down your cheek. “I should have–you needed to know.”
“I understand why you didn't.” Jake sighed as he sat by your bed side. “I wasn't–” he began to explain but shortly after changed what he was about to say. “I put myself in a position where I could lose you, and I shouldn't have, you and me and whatever our marriage is right now isn't the priority so just know I'm not saying this to fix that.” Jake cooed as he felt his eyes watering. “Right now all that matters is that we focus on you and your health and making sure you are the only priority.” 
***~***~***~***~***~***~***
“I got you one of those pant by numbers kits and some lego flowers I thought you might be able to do to fill the time.” Your mother wore a fake smile so painfully obvious that it made your heart want to burst inside your chest. This wasn't and hadn't been easy on her, carrying the burden of being the only one who knew about your diagnosis. Now, as Jake sat by your bedside, your mother wanted nothing more than to tell him how thankful she was that she now had someone else to carry the weight with. 
But Mary wasn't about to do that, no. She wouldn't make the situation about her. But watching her little girl go through something she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy was brutal. 
“That's really nice of you mum, you didn't have to do that.” Jake frowned momentarily when he heard you say that go to line. ‘You didn't have to do that.’ It was a sentence he hadn’t heard in a long time. You always used to say it, Jake just wasn't sure when you had stopped saying it to him. There wasn’t an awful lot of things he was going out of his way to do that would earn him a bashful or somewhat self deprecating response like that. 
“I know, but I saw them at Target and thought they might keep you occupied.” Your mothers smile faded just slightly as she placed your presents under the small christmas tree that sat on the top of the small cupboard that could be used to house clothing and personal items patients brought with them. You hadn't paid much mind to unpacking, all you had managed was your toiletries. But your mother had gone above and beyond to make the space you were taking up residency in a little more homie. “How’re you feeling anyway?” 
“I'm alright, a little stiff but Doctor Ignatii said that's to be expected, he’ll be back soon to help with the first few steps.” You knew your mother wasn't really prying about a health update, but more about a romantic one. Her eyes quickly darted to where Jake still sat holding your hand in his. He was afraid that if he let go that you'd disappear. Or worse. “A little shocked to find out my children are still in Texas but I'm sure given the circumstances I'll manage.” 
“Well at least they're supervised and with family, that's all that matters.” Your mother replied as she pushed a little of your hair behind your ear. “Have you given any more thought about cutting your hair?” 
“You were thinking about cutting your hair?” Jake finally managed the courage to jump into the conversation, he still felt like an intruder of some sort. He was still trying to process everything, the very idea that you were battling an aggressive form of breast cancer along with the fact you'd suffered a very recent stroke was all too much for his brain to comprehend. 
“I'm gonna lose it all anyway.” You shrugged as you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “May as well get ahead of the curve and shave it all off before it falls out.” Hair holds memories, in some cultures it's even considered sacred. In some religions women cover their hair after marriage for only their husbands to see, others keep theirs pure and untreated by dyes. Some women of colour from countries across the world prefer to wear their hair in protective styles that give their hair longevity and life. 
But you? You were losing yours. The keratin in your follicles had stopped reproducing, your follicles were dying off and snapping. It was a hard pill to swallow if you were being completely honest, but if shaving your hair off before you were subjected to looking like your daughters weird barbie doll was something that could help you maintain whatever dignity you had left, you were going to do it, regardless if you were slightly worried about your head being an odd shape. It beats you know, dying after all. 
“Doctor Ignatii already took a pretty big chunk anyway from the surgery.” Your mother added. “Besides, it's a little more empowering to shave it yourself than losing it over time.” Jake understood, so he didn't argue. It was your choice at the end of the day. “Now, I'm not staying for too long, I thought I'd head back to yours, tidy up, make sure the house is in order for when you're able to go home.” Before you had a chance to argue or say she didn't have to, Jake was advocating on your behalf. 
“Thanks Maz, that's perfect.” He smiled softly as the pad of his thumb rubbed against your hand. All you did was nod along in agreement, it did sound nice. Unnecessary in your humble opinion, but nice. 
It wasn't long after that your mother was saying her goodbyes to the both of you for the day, being along with Jake wasn't awkward, but it did feel a little uneasy with so much still left to discuss. All the potential what if’s and could be’s. 
“Can you please pass me my laptop?” You were the first one to break the silence that had fallen between the two of you, only the steady threthem of monitors could be heard amongst the thick silence. 
“You still working on that book?” Jake asked rather tentatively, it was a touchy subject. If you said yes then that meant you hadn't had time to finish it before your due date. Jake knew he played more of a role in that then he’d like to admit, but the idea you were still working on the same book meant the separation truly hadnt boded well in your favour to focus on your career. For Jake however, it had opened up another career advancement. The Daggers. 
“Uh yeah actually I am.” You sat up a little straighter in your bed and fixed up the blanket covering your legs. “I shelved it there for a little while.” The explanation truly was just that, you hadn't really had all that much time to work on a new publication while trying to raise three children on your own. “I picked it up again around August, just haven't made much progress with it with everything that's been going on.��� 
“Do you feel like sharing some exclusive details with your number one fan?” Jake was almost unashamed in his attempt at breaking down your walls. “Who knows, I might be able to inspire some creativity.” 
“Oh you're my number one fan now are you?” You chuckled softly as you watched Jake reached into the drawer your mother had put your laptop and charger in. “And there isn't much creative freedom when it comes to writing a bibliography for true crime, unless you count ghoulish overkill and an absurd use of dark humour to cover up the truly graphic details of the world's most notorious crimes.” Jake smiled back at you as he held your laptop in one hand, the rose gold Mac with stickers randomly pleased all over the lid. 
“Don't be fooled by the good looks Honey, I can read a sentence or two without stuttering.” 
“Could've fooled me.” You fired back without hesitation as Jake faked a shot to the heart. “You really want me to read some to you?” Jake hadn't asked about your work in months. You'd stopped wondering if he cared about your career path before you decided to walk away from your marriage to focus on yourself. At the end of it all you left believing Jake had stopped caring about the things that made you simply you. 
“Yeah, of course, I mean–it would be nice to read some new material, after all–the copies I have back in North Island are pretty much falling apart from how much I tend to flick through them.” Jake had never been a big true crime fan, that was until you published your first book. 
“Wait, you have my books? Which ones?” The revelation made your heart skip a beat inside your chest, so much so that Jake saw it on the monitor. It made his cheeks flush a crimson red at the very thought he could still make you this flustered. 
“Uh–” Jake started as he came back down to sit beside you, opening up your laptop and placing it on the small but practical table that could go over your legs. “I have all five.” Jake would read the dedication every night before he went to bed and every morning before he went to work. They were all slightly different but the sentiment remained the same. His favourite one to read was:
“Dedicated to the man who loves me so, thank you for your service, I love you with all my heart.” 
Jake knew deep down, after all the two of you had gone through, after all the hurt he’d unintentionally caused with his emotional disconnect, that the dedication in your newest book wouldn't be for him. It would be for your children. 
“You've never told me this before?” Jake should have told you, he should have been more open, more honest about his feelings. He shouldn't have lost sight of what was truly important to him and it definitely shouldn't have taken losing you to realise how important you were. Jake had never known female rage until he dealt and fought with a woman who was feeling undervalued, unappreciated and unwanted. 
“I should have, I know that now.” It was only a small gesture at the bottom of Everest itself but Jake knew now was the time he had to really put the effort in, to show you he truly cared, that he really did love you in sickness and in health. “I'd really like to sit here and maybe I can read what you've written so far out loud so you can just rest–and if there's anything you wanna change, I can do it for you.” 
“Oh you don’t have to—“ Your sentence trailed off into nothing as you looked into your husband’s eyes, searching for an ounce of hesitation or burden in them. But all you saw were those emerald green eyes staring back at you with all the love and warmth in the world. Jake wanted to do this, truly. “Sure, yeah if uh—I’d really like that.” 
It felt nice to be taken care of, to be valued and loved. But it wasn’t enough to undo the damage that Jake had unintentionally caused. He was going to have to put the work in, fight for you as much as you had to fight for your life. 
“Okay.” Jake smiled as he cleared his throat and turned the laptop his way. “Alright Honey, let’s go from the top shall we?”
“Take it away Mr. Ghost Writer.” You cooed as you settled into your hospital bed and found a comfortable position, if anything you were feeling rather tired. Maybe you’d be able to get some more sleep soon—that wasn’t such a bad idea. 
“In the early hours of January 1996, after an evening spent celebrating at Club Bayview in the Perth suburb of Claremonth, 18-year-old Sarah Spiers called a taxi to nearby Mosman Park. But when the cab arrived, she’d already gone. Sarah was never seen again.” Jake read out loud as you listened and laid there wondering if this was all some Lavender Haze to mask the reality that your marriage was over: 
 Or really how Jake wanted the two of you to be. Together again, in sickness and in health. 
***~***~***~***~***~***~***
“Just tilt your head a little.” Jake was being as gentle as he ever could be. “Let me know if I'm hurtin’ you.” The steam from the shower filled the bathroom as you sat on the little shower stool. The hot water cascaded down your naked self taking all the grimy sticky remanence from surgery away with it. 
“Feels perfect.” You sighed in relief at the feeling of being clean once again, Jake stood behind you washing your body with a small lofa in soft circular motions. Under the water with you. It wasn't awkward to see each other so exposed, however, given the circumstances, you felt incredibly vulnerable. “Can you get my neck a little more?” Jake obliged to your request and moved the soap free suds around your next. It felt surreal, otherworldly even after the last few days. You let the silence fall around you as you reveled in the sensation of Jake's hands roaming your naked body in a not so sexual way. It felt nice to be touched in such a way that made you feel safe. 
“Jake–?” Your voice sounded softer than it did just a few moments ago, your eyes lingered over to the sink where in the corner of your eye, you could see the clippers you’d bought with you to the hospital in preparation for this very moment. Originally you were going to do it yourself, then, you thought perhaps you could ask your mother–but now, sitting under the stream of steady warm water with Jake helping to cleanse your weakened body post surgery– you knew you had to ask him. 
“Yeah Honey?” Jake cooed as he washed your body, being ever so careful to not knock and bump the cords and wires that were still attached to your arms. Doctor Ignatii had assured Jake they could get wet–but he was still sus.  
“Will–will you shave my head?” The silence that followed as deafening as you felt Jake's hands nearly came to a complete stop. “I just–I dont think I'm strong enough to do it myself.” Again, Jake's silence was all consuming. “You don't have to if you don't want to, I uh–i understand if it’s too big of an ask–I can always ask mu–” Before you could go off on a tangent, Jake was interrupting as he came around to kneel before you. 
“No, no Honey, of course I'll help you.” Jake made sure to clarify. “It's just–it's just no one ever prepares you for your wife to ask you to do something like this.” You saw the sadness in Jake's eyes, the understanding and compassion. “But of course, yes, I'll do whatever you need me to and if being your barber is something you need then consider me the best in the biz.” 
Your heart couldn't contain itself inside your chest as you reached out to caress Jake's scruffed cheek. For whatever reason, you couldn't stop the worlds from escaping your lips. 
“I love you–” The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet flesh. 
Jake knew it was the environment, the situation and the fear of being slowly taken by disease, but he couldn't help but to lean in, cup your face and kiss you like he’d missed you everyday since you left him back in January. The slow pull of desire ached in Jake's chest as your tongue danced with his: and as he pulled away to let his forehead rest against yours? He allowed himself just a single moment of reprieve: 
“I love you so much Honey–oh so much.” 
***~***~***~***~***~***~
Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb
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everparanoid · 4 months
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Headcanon: University student! Alhaitham
University student! Alhaitham x gn! reader
tags: fluff - word count: 1.9k
The Unrequited Academic Rival
Alhaitham, as a student, is a blunt, nonchalant overachiever. He hands in his essays the week after the questions drop and nearly always receives a first. He comes to lectures to consolidate the notes that he has already taken. He is the definition of working smarter, not harder. He refuses to tutor people as it would be a waste of his time. The last person who asked for his help was met with the most intricately worded insult, which was so soul-destroying that they dropped out of the university. Frankly, it is safe to say that Alhaitham is the antithesis of you. As a result, you don’t get along at all.
The first time you met Alhaitham, you found him cool and attractive. You had walked into the class to see him already seated, leaning back in his chair, with his legs crossed over the other and the book for that week in hand. You sat across from him, and opened your book, feeling the intimidation radiating off him. That feeling eventually faded when more people filtered into the seminar room and filled the silence with idle chitchat. You tried to remain quiet so as not to overrule the class with your incessant ideas when your professor asked a question about the set text. You, ever the overachiever, answered the posed question since it seemed no one else wanted to. Only for Alhaitham, who had been staring at his book with disinterest up until this point, to interject and counter your argument completely. You, upset and disgruntled, countered his counterargument and the bad blood started there.
Alhaitham seems out of reach to you and your peers. When Alhaitham is put in a study group together with you, the rest of your group refuses to communicate because they are terrified of the two of you and your very explicit distaste for each other—well, more so your very explicit distaste for him. Despite this, Alhaitham does not harbour the same feelings back. Alhaitham doesn’t treat you much differently from the others he has the displeasure of interacting with, the only thing that separates you is he puts a bit more effort into making your life as miserable as possible without doing much at all. Truly, Alhaitham only challenges you because he believes in your abilities and is intrigued with how far he can push you.
Alhaitham doesn’t give out his phone number easily nor does he use social media. Instead, he prefers to contact people via email, as it is easier and impersonal, and it separates university from private life. Your emails back and forth are as passive-aggressive and heated as your conversations in real life. It gets to the point where you both decide somewhere along the lines to aggressively email each other with your personal emails. You hadn’t thought anything of it, rather annoyed to be using your personal email to troll a troll. But for Alhaitham the concept of emailing you separately from everyone else like he does Kaveh, was different. It quickly turned from trolling each other, to asking questions about the module, to discussing mundane things like a shared journal between the two of you.
‘Alhaitham, (Please see attached) Saw that grumpy campus cat stuck in the trees this morning when Wriothesley was trying to help it down and thought of you. Worst, your worst nightmare.’ ‘Dear my worst nightmare, I’m flattered by the comparison to the grumpy campus cat. I must admit, there’s something appealing about the solitude of a good tree perch. Next time, I might just join the cat up there. Best, Your favourite tree-dweller. p.s. The library has got the latest novel by the author we were discussing, I thought you’d like to know.’
Alhaitham often and enthusiastically turns down all forms of leadership, wanting to stay as a simple student. He works part-time in the library as a librarian, but he doesn’t shush anyone making noise—not that people tend to when he is on shift, they mostly whisper and stare. He simply took it because it was a simple job, and he could earn ‘easy’ money doing absolutely nothing. This you found out against your will from Kaveh in one of his ‘Alhaitham is a shit housemate’ rants.
To your chagrin, he inexplicably has friends—each one, in your opinion, superior to him. Alhaitham is often seen strolling with his noise-cancelling headphones, seemingly oblivious to the world, while Kaveh (your mutual friend), Tighnari, and Cyno trail behind him, their words disappearing into the void. It irks you that Alhaitham’s presence seems to permeate every corner of your existence.
The campus bar, the usual venue for the TCG society’s socials, has become a battleground of sorts. Kaveh, the society’s vice-president, cunningly appointed Alhaitham as the treasurer. This means that every Wednesday, when you’re working your shift behind the bar, Alhaitham’s there too, smirking at you from behind his seventh glass. His arrogance is palpable, and you despise him for it. You’re certain he deliberately chooses the chair facing you, relishing the opportunity to bore into your soul whilst he thinks up the next email to pollute your inbox with.
Alhaitham is a frequent visitor to the campus gym, its convenience and proximity to his accommodation make it an ideal choice. Unfortunately for you, your residence is uncomfortably close to the gym, providing you with unwanted glimpses of Alhaitham’s comings and goings. Each sighting reveals him in varying stages of undress, each more tantalizing than the last. It’s infuriating that your academic adversary is also infuriatingly attractive. Alhaitham’s gym visits serve a dual purpose: they’re a means of maintaining his mental health, and they also provide him with amusement at your expense, as he’s noticed your scowls from your window.
Despite his aloofness and brutal rationality, Alhaitham is fiercely protective of the peculiar dynamic between you two. When Childe, the resident actual bad boy, tries to intervene in your ongoing feud, teaming up with him to undermine your argument, Alhaitham retaliates with a scathing insult. It’s so harsh that it prompts the professor to call an early break. Unfazed, Childe turns his attention to you, making yet another futile attempt at flirting. Ignoring him, you ask Alhaitham to step outside with you. He complies reluctantly, closing his book and following you out, aware of the curious classmates trying to eavesdrop. He is genuinely taken aback, though he hides it well, when you confront him directly for not allowing you to defend yourself.
Alhaitham is the type who doesn’t take it seriously when you start to actively ignore him. He thinks that you are just being immature and that it’s none of his business because he doesn’t care. However, he notices how you stop responding to him when he counters your points in class. He notices how you don’t respond to his random miscellaneous emails. He notices how you acknowledge Childe in the coming weeks. He notices that on Wednesdays, when the TCG society hosts events in the campus bar, you are no longer on shift. He notices how you seem to be studying with Kaveh, his housemate, late at night in the library when he is not on shift, something he overhears you saying to someone in class. He notices how your curtains are shut when he passes your window after and before a gym session. He doesn’t realise when it began to bother him, but when it does… it does.
Alhaitham is the type who doesn’t have a strict routine, but at least has one that is strict enough that people know when to avoid him on campus. So, when Alhaitham starts to go to the campus bar at random times during the week, it freaks out faculty and students. Alhaitham only starts to do this to test the theory that you are ignoring him. To which, he proves true when he finds you grinning and serving Childe, who looks too comfortable standing off to the side of where you are serving, watching you like you’re his latest conquest. Alhaitham places his laptop down on a spare table and joins the queue after a moment of lurking. When he reaches the front and orders a drink, your smile drops, and you make his drink coolly without the joyous energy you had for everyone else. Thus, continuing to prove his hypothesis correct. At first, Alhaitham is fine with it. He doesn’t care that you ignore him, but then he overhears you accept a date with Childe after class one day when he is leaving the classroom, and the thought of you, who he knew was disinterested in Childe, accepting the offer of a date, bothers something inside him. Even though he knows you’ll never date Childe.
Despite the palpable shift in your dynamic, Alhaitham conceals his disquiet, accepting the fleeting moments of attention you afford him during your forced collaborations on group projects. He persists in engaging you in class debates, a futile attempt to prove that nothing has changed, even when it’s Childe who responds instead of you. He feigns absorption in his book when he overhears Childe’s flirtatious overtures during seminar breaks. Yet, despite his outward nonchalance, his isolation intensifies until even you can’t ignore the change in Alhaitham.
The tension reaches a boiling point when Alhaitham intrudes on your study session with Kaveh in the library, much to your bewilderment and annoyance.
“What is he doing here?” you hiss at Kaveh, who dismissively gestures towards Alhaitham.
“I’ve had enough of walking on eggshells around both of you and your unresolved emotions. It’s time to behave like adults and move on, or express your concerns to each other directly, right here and now.” Kaveh retorts, mindful of the library’s quietude. You glance around the sparsely populated space and spot Wriothesley, the bad boy president of the boxing society, and his partner engrossed in their own world. You refocus your glare on Kaveh and Alhaitham.
“You’re acting as if we ever liked each other,” you counter.
Kaveh gives you a pointed look. “You do. Obviously.”
 “No, we don’t. Right, Alhaitham?” you turn to Alhaitham, expecting him to concur.
He sits with his arms crossed, the tips of his ears red.
“Told you,” Kaveh says triumphantly, jabbing his pen into the table. He rises, gathers the architecture books he’s been referencing, and prepares to depart. But not before he points aggressively between the two of you and says: “Sort this out before I get back.”
He exits before you can flip him off.
You turn to Alhaitham, perplexed. “You don’t like me, right?” you question.
“I never said I didn’t,” he replies calmly.
Despite the new budding romance between you two, you steadfastly refuse to go on a date with Alhaitham until your final exam results are released. Alhaitham, ever the enigma and your unrequited academic rival, continues to challenge you in class. His aversion to public displays of affection, both verbal and physical, keeps your newfound status discreet. You find yourself engaging in these intellectual duels with renewed vigor. The constant tension doesn’t escape your professors, who seem to have grown accustomed to your ongoing rivalry, likening it more to an old bickering married couple rather than enemies. When your final grades for the class are released, Alhaitham is quick to email you with a location and a table reservation for your date before you even have the chance to check your results. When you do, as everyone expects, both of you land on top.
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Assorted Batkid Headcanons
During the middle days of Damian being Dick’s Robin, he was still figuring out how to show affection in a nonviolent way, so he just kept getting Dick fish. His logic was ‘Grayson has issues taking care of himself, so I will get him a pet that even he will find easy to care for’.
As a result Dick has an entire tank of various fish, all named Jim after Jim Gordon.
Dick finds this hilarious. Babs finds this hilarious. She’ll casually mention something ‘Jim’ did in conversation with her dad and watch as he bluescreens.
Tim has the pallet of a five year old. All he likes are exceedingly sugary sweet foods everyone else wants to puke while eating.
As a result, all he drinks are those stupidly sugary energy drinks that leave you seeing god after a few minutes. Is this unhealthy? No, it’s a liquid, therefor water, therefor good - Tim Drake.
Duke has purposefully broken his wrist to see if he would light up like a glowstick before. It didn’t work.
Cass shows her affection through objects, so a Batkid will often walk into their residence to find something like a metal bottle cap or a feather neatly placed on their table, without any security triggered or any other indication anyone was ever here. They all know to treasure these, no matter what they are.
Jason, given he’s built like a tank, will often hold things out of reach from people just to Be An Asshole. He loves it.
Damian used the same method of affection on Steph when she was his Batgirl, but had a bit more faith in her ability to not let something die, so he kept getting her small rodents, like hamsters and rats. She named them all after characters from Supernatural.
Stephanie had a huge Supernatural phase when she was 13 and never really grew out of it. She’s tried out summoning rituals from the show before.
Every single Batkid had a Warriors phase. Every. Single. One.
Dick was SO FUCKING HAPPY when Duke showed up because he finally had a brother who would happily give him a hug without having a panic attack due to TouchFuckery.
Steph has referred to the Batfam as “Furry Touchfucked McNuggets” before. No one questions it because she’s right.
Babs has designated snacks for every occasion. Program Taking Too Long To Load is Cheetos. Bruce Being a Bitchass On the Comms is popcorn. Done With This Bullshit For Good, I Swear is Twix.
Tim’s Notes app on this phone is entirely filled with sleep deprived 4am rants about why Star Trek is the superior franchise. He’s very passionate about it.
One time Bart was bored so decided to raid the pantry and he found Damian crouched on one of the top shelves, hissing like a cat and clutching a box of Weetabix. He took a picture and now it’s the YJ discord group icon.
Not exactly Batfam but the YJ Core Four + Cissie have a discord group chat and Tim’s the mod.
Damian loves Weetabix. Idk if anyone else knows what that is but that shit was my fucking childhood so he loves it.
Duke has tried and is currently trying to unionize all the kid sidekicks. They’re getting there.
Jason’s favorite authors are Mary Shelley and Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice is his comfort book that he often reads after patrolling as way to wind down. He fucking hates Edgar Allan Poe with a passion for reasons he refuses to explain.
Cass will sometimes teach some dance moves to little kids while on patrol. Sure, she knows it’s not stopping violence, but when she sees another little girl with scars on her palms and wary eyes light up as she twirls in the air and laugh as she leaps, she thinks it’s worth it. More than worth it.
Jason’s found her doing this sometimes. Neither of them say anything.
The Batkids all love Jon. Yeah, move over Damian, don’t keep him all to yourself. They may have their own supers/alien besties, but Jon is just adorable, and they all want to smoosh the cheeks of a kid who won’t attempt to stab them for it. Look, he’s so cute. The day anyone bullies Jon beware, because the entirety of Gotham’s vigilante force will be there to wreak havoc upon you.
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