#TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE WORKING ON

[epersonae]

Ask game! Ask game! I'd love to read your thoughts on 17, 31, & 56.

17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Sort of depends why? Sometimes I have to just admit that the spoons are just not available (which is what happened last night and is happening again tonight), brain and body have just done too much for right now. Leg Broke, is the right now, but I've had that before, too.

Sometimes I need to think out loud to someone, if what I'm stuck on is "what should happen?" in a story I'm working on. Rubber ducking is such a helpful term that's jumped over from programming; if I can talk through what's not working or what I want to happen and can't figure out, then I can either solve it myself, or one of my smart thoughtful friends will have an idea. (the number of times I've rambled on and then gotten "ok, pitch" from @emi--rose...)

I feel like "going for a walk" is sort of the solitary version of that, which is partially about physical activity being good for the brain and partially about thinking time; same with taking a shower.

Sometimes I just need the peer pressure and time pressure of sitting down for writing sprints. If you know pomodoro method, it's kind of similar; most of the discord servers I'm in have a sprint bot that will set a timer, keep track of word counts, do leaderboards, etc. When I have some idea but the executives are not quite lined up, sometimes it's simply a matter of putting the damn fingers on the keyboard. (This goes well with "freewriting", where if I'm sort of stuck I will just write whatever garbage until it kicks loose into the actual writing. Also recommended: yelling out loud MAKE BAD ART while writing words that are not quite there.)

And then, finally, like low spoons, acknowledging that sometimes it's just not happening, and giving grace to rebuild the creative energy. Do some other creative activity, read or watch something, edit someone else's work, etc etc etc. Trust that it'll come back given a little space.

31. Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

Yes? No? A secret third thing? Character, I think, mostly, because I feel like that drives the plot. What I actually start with, though, is almost always a snippet of narration or dialogue. I can have lots of ideas, but I need an entry point.

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

This is not a general thing about my writing, but it is possibly my greatest achievement as a writer to date, so I kinda have to: that I wrote 62k with a protagonist who never gets named (and in close third person TAKE THAT DAPHNE DU MAURIER) (I guess technically, oh god, almost 100k????? with the other two after that. jfc.)

[get to know your fic writer!]

[persona-brainrot-real]

Sae Niijima is such a good character it drives me insane a little. She's not a mother nor a maternal or doting older sister but instead a twenty four year old who was thrown into a position of responsibility that she never asked for. She loves Makoto just as much as she resents her and its so apparent every time they talk up until November. "Are you studying?" (I want you to do well) (I need you to get a job and stop making my life harder) "I'll use any method necessary to get this promotion" (Life will be easier for us) (So stop distracting me with your problems) "Focus on your future" (I know that you're capable) (I can't afford to waste my time on you, so stop wasting time on others)

Makoto is not only the sole reason she pushes as hard as she does for a promotion, for success, and the reason that she loses herself in her animosity over her fathers death, but also someone she can't stand for so long. Makoto was 14-15 when their father died. Sae was 21. As soon as she got the career she wanted and things started to look up, her stability was robbed from her and she was disillusioned with the system that her father had taught her to rely on and completely adhere to. How do you manage, the daughter of a cop, following his footsteps towards law enforcement, when you're suddenly reminded of how unfair it is? You can't quit, your little sister relies on you and she's so young and struggling just as badly with this grief. So you pick yourself up and you get moving again. You push harder, press further. You abandon your morals and your ethics because punishing criminals (guilty or not) is almost like punishing the man who killed your father.

And the whole time she's fighting for promotions, going for drinks with the SIU Director to make herself more favourable for promotions, trying to navigate being a woman in a competitive, suffocating, male-dominated field, falling behind despite doing so much where others are promoted for doing so little - all the while your little sister comes back from school and her biggest issues are so small compared to yours.

Persona 5 revolves so heavily around grief and loss and change and Sae embodies all of that so well, all of the sharp and unpleasant and jagged parts of grief.

[trensu]

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants. 

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration. 

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

--

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

--

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

--

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me. 

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it. 

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond. 

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.” 

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[civetside]

me and my endless lesbian yearning

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

I'd like to congratulate you on getting your CPR certification.

Now remember, when you’re going in for compressions, it should sound like somebody is standing behind you with the worlds largest Dorito and cracking it open!

Go in firm and hard and snap as many ribs as you can on the way down, that means you’re doing it right.

You save that life. Good luck.

Or... Or... Or kill them, I don’t fucking care.

Audio source

[bakudekublogblog]

talking to normal people about mha is always so enlightening because someone told me they didn't like season six and i was like???? THE BIBLE??????? YOU DONT LIKE THE BIBLE??? BAKUGOU KATSUKI RISING?? THE APOLOGY??? THE CHASING AFTER HIM TO FIGHT SHIGARAKI, THE REVEAL KATSUKI HAS BEEN WORRIED ABOUT IZUKU, IZUKU'S FERAL RAGE WHEN KATSUKI IS STABBED, KATSUKI BEING THE ONE TO FIND IZUKU AND THEN THE ONE TO BRING HIM HOME??? YOU DONT ENJOY THE SACRED TEXTS?? and then i'm like oh right not everyone is a fujoshi high on that sweet, sweet bkdk yaoi

[mixmangosmangoverse]

So when a celebrity says something pro Palestine or even pro Hamas everyone goes "yeah woo celebrities should always use their platform to talk about issues"

But when a celebrity says "actually killing Israelis is bad" suddenly celebrities shouldn't get involved in conflicts and shouldn't use their platform to talk about issues

It's so blatant that people just mean "celebrities should only boost the opinions we deem correct and should never ever express sympathy for Jews, that's so lame"

I'm so done

[iamnmbr3]

So you know the scene at the end of The Taming of The Shrew where they have that stupid competition to see whose wife is most obedient? Can you imagine if other Shakespeare characters were there?

Ophelia: You called, My Lord?

Hamlet: No I didn’t. Why are you here when nobody likes you? Go away!

Petruchio: Even I think that’s mean.

Romeo: Go find Juliet and ask her if she would come here and tell her she has the most beautiful eyes, that make the very sun seem dull, and the loveliest hair and a face that puts to shame Aphrodite herself...oh and bring her this sonnet I wrote her...and actually I’ll go find her myself for I can’t bear to be apart from her another moment!

Petruchio: …

Petruchio: … Yeah he’s not coming back. Next!

Coriolanus: Go find my wife and ask her to come here and also ask her if she's seen Aufidius. Actually, have you seen Aufidius...or heard any news of him?

Servant: No I haven't… Is there a name or a description I could use to find your wife?

Coriolanus: Hold on. I know this one.

Petruchio: Wow... We’ll come back to you. Next!

Orlando: I refuse to participate in this farce. It’s demeaning to women.

“Ganymede”: Nonsense! Any real man (which I totally am) wants women to obey him without question!

Orlando: That’s wrong! That’s not being a “real man”; that’s just being a bully. I would never treat Rosalind that way and I hope no one else would either!

“Ganymede”: … You pass the test.

Orlando: What?

"Ganymede": What?

Benedick: HEY BEATRICE!

Beatrice from 3 rooms away: WHAT?

Benedick: CAN YOU COME HERE A SECOND?

Beatrice: WHY?

Benedick: SOME MAN HERE WANTS TO SEE IF YOU’RE OBEDIENT.

Beatrice: WHY ARE YOU PERPETUATING THE OBJECTIFICATION OF WOMEN INSTEAD OF PUNCHING HIM IN THE FACE?

Benedick: YOU MEAN YOU DON’T WANT TO COME HERE AND SHOW OFF YOUR OBEDIENCE? I AM SHOCKED AND HEARTBROKEN!

Beatrice: HA. HA. SO HILARIOUS.

Beatrice: … HE STILL DOESN’T SOUND VERY PUNCHED IN THE FACE. I SUGGEST YOU FIX THAT UNLESS YOU WANT TO SLEEP ON THE COUCH FOREVER!

Benedick: ON IT!

Benedick *rolling up his sleeves*: Isn’t she great?

[cordeliawhohung]

anyway violent reminder that i'm going to be blocking anyone who doesn't even bother to say anything about my works but "part 2?"

because honestly, why would i put in effort to feed an insatiable beast? if you read a 100k+ word story and all you have to say about it is asking when the next part is coming out, or part 2? or demanding what i need to put in the next part, then you don't even fucking deserve to read the story anymore. i'm done being nice about it and i'm not sorry either. some of you guys literally make me want to stop posting my shit like grow up and learn to actually interact with people.

[chronicowboy]

manifesting a s7 bi buck confirmation where the 118 are on a call and the victim/their friend/Random Civilian is getting annoyed makes a comment aimed at buck & eddie about "straight white men" and they both look offended then eddie says "do I look white???" and buck's like "do I look straight???"

how the others react (if at all) is tbc at this stage

i'm a sucker for inappropriate whisper arguments in the Absolute Worst of Situations so now all i'm seeing is eddie whipping around to buck when he says it with the widest doe eyes any human being has ever achieved and oblivious little buck waving the vic/friend/civilian off like "it's fine, could happen to anyone, you know" and then eddie's like "uh, yeah, it did, you're not straight?" and then it's like for the GA oh no are they going to do a kind of internalised homophobia arc for eddie where he re-examines his entire friendship with buck after finding out he likes men and yes he is going to re-examine his entire friendship with buck after finding out he likes men but it'll be the opposite of internalised homophobia (externalised homoeroticism)

[valeechtine]

I am going to be so fr I hate that certain sects of tumblr act as if like. Basic dietary facts are ableist. Like I understand sensory issues and samefoods bc I also have them but at the same time its an objective fact that like. You need your vitamins and nutrients. You need a vegetable or at least a multivitamin or something now and then and it isn't a personal attack for someone to tell you this. Like gout and scurvy and anemia are all very real

[hajihiko]

Are trans women real women?

As opposed to what. Fictional? A mannequin? Unreal in the sense that it's unreal how bomb she is?

(tags V relevant)

[aroaceleovaldez]

actually in hindsight why did Rick repeatedly have Piper solve all the ghost problems on the Argo II when. Hazel was right there. A daughter of Pluto. who by all logic should be able to control ghosts even a little bit. like, we know she has at least some of those types of powers. she just never gets to actually practically use them. ever. and then when there are zombies Hazel once again. does not get to use her powers about it. what.

[st-el-la-luna]

Thinking about König

Mainly, thinking about his anxiety being like my anxiety. It's social anxiety but more than the "oh no, people, scary!" That people tend to generalize it as.

That's not to say that it isn't like that. Yes, people are intimidating, especially large groups of them. Or if you're being put in a command position. Or if you're in a position to be judged... Which is most situations. (Public speaking, especially for school projects is especially bad).

But it's not just shyness. It's also the aversion.

Walking through the halls, with a dead sort of stare. Not intentionally intimidating, but it's very much a resting bitch face, look at me and I'll kill you sort of expression.

Saying as little as possible to people he's not comfortable with.

"yes."

"no."

"I don't like that."

"I don't want to."

"we are not friends."

Staring so intently at people that it unsettles them.

"-and that's why I think... Why... It's... Is everything okay, Colonel?"

"Ja, why?"

"You're, uh... You're looking very intently."

"This is just how I look. Eye contact is important."

"uhh... Right, it's just... I haven't seen you blink?"

"I blink when you blink."

Like, yes, of course there are situations where he gets mousy voiced or sweaty palms. But not at work, no. At work he's able to conjure up, maybe not confidence, but something.

At a restaurant though? Speaking softly, making himself small, saying please and thank you after every sentence. It doesn't matter what the server does, he's always soft spoken and polite, nervous. If he asks for no pickles and they bring him his dish with pickles, he'll eat it. If he orders a chicken sandwich and they bring him a burger, he'll eat it. If he tells them that he has a deadly peanut allergy and they bring him a tub of peanut butter... He'll send that back, but he'll be polite about it.

"Oh, ja, I'm sorry, I... This isn't what I ordered. Oh, no, no, it's okay, don't apologize. I'm sorry. You're busy. It's fine, I understand."

Sometimes during mission briefs he will randomly growl and smack his fist on the table. People think he's mad at them and straighten up, stop sipping so loud, on their best behaviour. He actually just got mad at himself, remembered something embarrassing from his past.

He almost acts like a narcissist. Passes by a mirror, winks at his reflection: "How's it going, good looking?"

Makes jokes about being the pretty one. People think he's full of himself.

He actually hates himself but has replaced negative self talk with show boating. He doesn't hate himself any less, but he tells himself to kill himself way less often!

Always has some sort of plan. An escape route, a plan of attack. Watching the people around him nervously.

Sits in the back of the room so he can watch everybody. Sits with his chair pushed far back so he can stand quicker.

Glares at people who walk by. Gives their dogs heart eyes. Prays that the owners realize and ask him if he wants to say hello. He's too awkward to ask permission. And he's too angry looking for people to offer.

Represses lots of anger from incidents he feels he can't lash out in, goes batshit in training or on missions. (I used to do kick boxing, the gym people had to keep coming up to me and moving my punching bag back because I was hitting it too hard).

The kind of person to, when going to someone's house, immediately look for signs of a pet. If he finds it. The animal is now his best friend. Goes to a party hangs with the dog type of beat.

Thinks smoking pot would help him. But the idea makes him nervous. Which he thinks, smoking pot would help... But the idea of smoking pot makes him nervous. But he–

Will just lie to get out of shit.

"Hey, we're going to get drinks tonight, do you want to come?"

"ah, I can't... I promised to get dinner with a friend."

Goes home and enjoys a night alone.

Avoidant. Will just not do things that cause him stress. Hasn't been to the dentist in years because talking to the lady at reception makes him nervous. What if the phone signal is bad? What if it just keeps breaking up? What if she can't understand his accent? What if when he gets to the dentist they hate him for the state of his teeth? What if he goes to the dentist and they steal his teeth?! It's happened before! He's seen articles!

Gets adopted by extroverts by being unhinged.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Horangi asks.

"I heard that human meat tastes like pork... The best pork, actually." König says absently.

"Huh... And you know this why?"

"I was curious."

"okay... Let's go to dinner."

"Ja, let's."

A sort of dry air about him that comes off as a lack of empathy. But he's just got so much going on in his brain that he can't focus on emoting anything but augghskft.

Will stare off into space with a blend of the hundred yard stare and the most murderous expression known to man. He's not mad. He's just thinking.

Undiagnosed autism

Forgets people's names, gets to nervous to ask again. So he just calls everyone "you".

Acts cold and indifferent. He just really hates small talk, doesn't understand it. Why say something if it's not important? He doesn't care about your grandchildren. Or your wife. Or your morning.

Is the world's best host mainly out of fear. Asking if you need food or a drink or a blanket or if–

König who after confrontations, has to take a step back, hands shaking slightly. But who's also still super pissed and ready to throw punches at the drop of a hat

König who worries so much about physical affection that it just becomes too much. Hugs are suffocating, hands are held too tight, cuddling is like being smothers. But it takes him a long time to initiate anything. God forbid you initiate anything. Hug the man and he bluescreens

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Masterlist

[reinedeslys-central]

more!! again!! for the nico after blood of olympus fic!! actually I thought of this while writing the last one but I just finished it.

His elbows buckle and he lets himself fall into Will, snorting at his theatrical groan under the weight. They lay there for a second until Will shoves him gently, and Nico lets him manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position.

"Hi," he whispers, moving a curl away from his cheek. The greenish tint of the loft window casts a weird shadow over Will's face.

"Hey yourself," Will murmurs back, winking.

Nico rolls his eyes. "You look like Apollo when you do that. Please stop." Will squawks in protest.

"I do not! Also, since when do you remember what Apollo looks like? Actually, no, don't answer that, you can't bring up my dad while we're in bed, Nico, why would you do this to me?"

Now it's Nico's turn to sputter and whack Will in the chest - getting another dramatic oof and a laugh in return - before turning around to face Hazel's bed. He's not sure when he'll ever be able to sleep facing the wall. Will can't do it either.

As Will's arms curl around his waist and draw him back against him, just like they did back in the infirmary that one day, he thinks maybe he'd be okay trying that with him sometime. One day, in a house with gates, no longer wary of monsters.

Will noses the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. "What is it?"

Will's answering smile presses through the rough cotton of his t-shirt. "Nothing, sunshine."

Nico frowns under the covers. "Hey, what do you think of houses with gates?" He whispers.

"Gates? Well, it'd be safer, I guess, but we'd lose the neighbours coming over -"

"As if you want to see random people at the door anyway. What if they're monsters?"

"Oh, come on, darlin', I'm from Austin. Of course I gotta keep space for the neighbours to come knocking."

"…Fences? Actually, hey, why'd you assume I was talking about us? Obviously - Obviously I was talking about random. Random houses. For architecture reasons."

Will muffles his laugh into the back of his neck, again. "Oh, my bad. And I'm only here because you ripped a stitch on the lava wall yesterday."

Nico feels his ears warm.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"..Still."

Will reels him in closer until his back hits his chest and he can press a soft peck to Nico's still-red ears. "I think a fence is a great idea, by the way. We could ask Hazel for help with some ward stones too, like you have in the cabin. Gotta make sure we've got at least one window and standing space in every direction, though, or at least in the east, because you know my dad would sulk if he didn't get to scream me awake in the morning."

Nico's blush gets worse.

"Now who's talking about your dad in bed?" He gives up on pretending. Will sees him through every time, anyway. "Also, shrines, obviously, and we need a spot to stargaze."

"Yeah, shrines, obviously. Maybe just yours, mine, and Lady Hestia's though, or else everyone else is gonna get pissy."

Nico barks out a laugh like it's shocked out of him. "Pissy? Don't let them hear you say that."

Will holds him tighter and settles against the pillows. "Sure thing, sunshine. Now can we sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not long after that that Will's breath evens out behind him, his muscles untensing. Nico knows he's got a few minutes yet, so he thinks.

Today was…. good.

Today was nice. Normal, even. Just a day of camp schedules, working in the infirmary, an admittedly short campfire, and this. No monsters, and no mistakes. No deaths, but..

Unbidden, the moments in the infirmary come to mind. He thinks of helping Will scrub in for his one surgery of the day, a kid that had gotten parts of an arrow stuck in their leg a week ago and hadn't noticed til yesterday. He thinks of yesterday during capture-the-flag, stepping in and desperately trying to copy what he'd watched Will do, because Lydia was hanging crooked from a tree and there was no one else around but him-

He thinks of Patroclus tying the straps of Achilles' armour, watching his lover sleep peacefully. He thinks of what Connor had told him about at the campfire weeks ago, of Silena Beauregard taking on a drakon when Clarisse declared the Ares Cabin wouldn't be fighting.

He thinks he might understand.

Lydia wasn't the same (thank the gods), but if there was something to be done that only Will could do right, yet couldn't, and the only way Nico could take up his mantle would be to die trying - then, yeah. He'd do whatever it would take for these kids. To do what Will would do. He's gone to Tartarus already, hasn't he? At worst, he'd try his best and greet his father early if he failed to survive. Nico could even give Charon a tip on the way in for the hell of it, why not?

If there is a luxury that comes from being a child of Hades, after all, it is that dying is not the thing that scares him.

There's a brazier still lit outside the window. Its glow falls in slits across their bed.

Will grumbles, pushing his feet forward until their ankles are wound together. The sheets shift.

Nico smiles into the dark, into the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the fireflies out the window, and falls asleep.

more for this fic:

scene 0 - prologue-ish scene 1 - the library of social awkwardness or here (or in my heart, 'kidney function is not a right, it's a privilege' lol)

general writing directory

also lmk if you want more lore. I am so down to talk about this fic + the worldbuilding ideas I have for it in the notes it is unreal

[wellfine]

Hey I found ur art uncredited on tik Tok

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMreQSnaw/

They said they "found it on Reddit" so they just decided to steal it and post it ig?? Ugh!!

Wow, that's a whole other repost to the one I thought it was going to be, lol. It's been reposted to TikTok once before, and I'm also not surprised this person got it from Reddit, where I doubt I was credited either.

At the end of the day I appreciate the heads up but there's nothing I can really do about it. The most helpful thing anyone can do is to leave comments on the reposts to provide credit,* because if artists ever try and comment then we pretty invariably get attacked. Don't be mean or aggressive, that just builds their animosity towards the artists, but I do think people respond positively to outside pressure to do the right thing 🤷

*Remember to make sure there's enough context - eg. something like "art by @ landegart on Twitter" is more searchable/useful than "artist is Landeg" to someone on TikTok who has no idea who I am haha