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seungminsleftear · 1 month

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Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 5470

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years,, Reader is referred to as female and wife,

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal, Emotional and Psychological Trauma, Unresolved Grief and Loss, Intimacy and Relationship Issues, Family Conflict, Self-Worth and Identity Crisis, Anger and Violence, Emotional Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts or Self-Harm, Intimate Relationship Details

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and yet I know about Five x Lila… Kms

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 2

Click here for part Two!

I MOVED ACCOUNTS THE REST OF THIS FIC WILL BE PUBLSIHED ON @seungminsbaldspot !!

They had been missing for a few hours now, and the anxiety was beginning to gnaw at your insides. You could only guess that Five and Lila had gotten caught up in a different timeline—something your husband was well-acquainted with doing. You tried not to think the worst. After all, Five was skilled, perhaps the most skilled among you, but the worry persisted like a shadow clinging to your every thought.

He had told you stories about when he was young, disobeying his father, and jumping through time. He saw the apocalypse, lived through it, unable to return to his original time. He would speak of the chaos and destruction, the sense of being unmoored in a fractured world. Then he told you about the moment the Handler found him, plucked him from that desolation, and invited him to join the Commission. And that's when he met you.

And oh, how he hated you.

You were, and still are, the complete opposite of that grumpy old man. You were always precise, a stickler for the rules, never one to color outside the lines. The Handler loved you for it—your discipline, your meticulous attention to detail, your unwavering commitment to the Commission's goals. You were reliable, the perfect agent, the kind who made her job easier.

He, on the other hand, was a wildcard. Reckless and unpredictable, he saw rules as suggestions rather than absolutes. He didn't care about the consequences, not when there were bigger things at stake—things only he could see in the chaos of time. He was a man who thrived in the midst of uncertainty, a constant challenge to your carefully ordered world.

But that was part of what drew you to him, wasn’t it? That contrast. The way he lived life like he was on borrowed time, like every moment was his to seize. You hated how he would disregard protocol, how he’d show up late to missions or disappear altogether, chasing his own ghosts through the folds of history. And yet, there was something about that fearlessness that fascinated you. Something about the way he could stare into the abyss of time and laugh, as if daring it to swallow him whole.

The Handler loved assigning the two of you missions together. You were the perfect team, each of you balancing out the other's weaknesses. She liked to say you were two sides of the same coin—your precision and his improvisation, your strategy and his audacity. Together, you were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

It wasn't always smooth, of course. He had a way of getting under your skin, pushing your buttons in ways no one else could. He loved to rile you up, to watch that carefully maintained calm of yours crack, just a little. He’d tease you mercilessly, call you names, question your every move. But you never let it show, not in front of the Handler. You knew she was watching, always assessing, always deciding where her next move would take her. And despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he had a knack for getting results.

And you hated that. Hated that he could bend the rules, defy protocol, and still come out on top. But the more time you spent together, the more you began to understand him, to see the method in his madness. He wasn’t just a reckless fool; he was smart, sharp, and had an uncanny ability to read a situation and turn it to his advantage. There was a reason the Handler kept pairing the two of you up, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed watching the sparks fly.

You had never thought Five had cared so much about you—not until that one particular mission.

It had been a long day, the kind where the hours blurred together, each minute weighed down with tension and danger. You were both exhausted, having fought your way through the tangled threads of time, dealing with threats at every turn. Endless close calls, contact after contact, each encounter more chaotic and draining than the last. You were used to this kind of work, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the mission, or maybe it was something else—a premonition, a sense that something was off.

You and Five had been tracking a target across multiple timelines, chasing down a loose end that the Commission desperately needed tied up. The mission had seemed straightforward enough at first, but complications arose as they often did, turning what should have been a simple extraction into a drawn-out battle. After hours of fighting—ducking bullets, dodging blows, and navigating through the chaotic flow of time—you were growing weary. You prided yourself on your precision, your ability to remain sharp under pressure, but even you had your limits.

You weren’t thinking straight. The fatigue was getting to you, and in a moment of distraction, you let your guard down. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. A sharp pain tore through your side, and when you looked down, you saw the knife buried deep in your abdomen. The world seemed to slow around you, a haze of shock and disbelief clouding your vision.

You staggered, clutching the wound, trying to maintain your balance, but the pain was overwhelming. You heard Five shout your name, his voice cutting through the fog of agony. There had been a strange edge to it, a raw urgency that you hadn’t heard before. You had always thought of him as the consummate professional—gruff, detached, always in control. But now, there was something different in his tone—something almost frantic.

He was at your side in an instant, his figure blurring with the speed of his movements as he dispatched the remaining threats with a brutal efficiency that was startling even to you. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that were usually so unreadable—were filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Fear, maybe? Or was it… concern?

“Stay with me,” he had commanded, dropping to his knees beside you. His hands moved quickly, one pressing against your wound to staunch the bleeding, the other rummaging through his coat pocket for something—bandages, maybe, or some kind of first aid. He was muttering under his breath, a stream of curses and commands, as if he could will you back to health with words alone.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were fine, but your voice came out in a weak, strangled gasp. The pain was spreading, a hot, searing sensation radiating from your abdomen and up through your chest. You could feel yourself slipping, the world around you growing dim and distant. But even through the haze, you could still hear his voice, sharp and insistent, pulling you back.

“Look at me,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your eyes open, focusing on his face—his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. “You’re not dying here, got it?”

There had been a fierceness in his voice that surprised you, a kind of raw intensity that you hadn’t heard before. You’d seen him angry, sure, and you’d seen him frustrated plenty of times, but this was different. This was personal. And it was then that you realized: he wasn’t just afraid of losing a colleague. He was afraid of losing you.

“Five,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. You wanted to say something comforting, to let him know you’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, of his fear, of his care.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his gaze locked onto yours. “I’m not losing you,” he said again, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve lost too many people already. Not you. Never you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos around you fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in this strange, suspended moment, connected in a way that was deeper than words, deeper than time.

He worked quickly, efficiently, binding your wound with a piece of his own shirt, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension radiating from him. You could feel the energy building around you, the familiar sensation of time beginning to warp as he prepared to jump you both back to the Commission. His hands were steady, but there was a tremor in them that betrayed his calm façade.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just hang on a little longer.”

And then, with a blinding flash of light, the world around you shifted, the familiar pull of the time jump tugging at your very being. The pain in your side flared, a sharp spike of agony that ripped through your consciousness, but you held onto his hand, your grip tightening as you were pulled through the fabric of time.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the Commission’s infirmary, the sterile white walls and the faint hum of machinery a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind. Five was still there, his hand still holding yours, his face pale but relieved. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his eyes never leaving your face, as if making sure you were really, truly okay.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he muttered after a moment, his voice rough, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.” Despite the pain, you managed a small smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much,” you replied, your voice weak but teasing.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in his gaze, a kind of tenderness you’d never seen before. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” he said gruffly, but you could hear the relief in his voice, the unspoken gratitude that you were still here, still alive.

And in that moment, you knew that things had changed. You’d always been a perfect team, but now, you were something more. You had seen a side of Five you’d never seen before, a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone. And you knew, without a doubt, that he cared about you—deeply, fiercely, in a way that went far beyond mere partnership.

As you lay there, your hand still entwined with his, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet understanding passing between you. Whatever happened next, whatever dangers awaited in the tangled web of time, you knew one thing for certain: you wouldn’t face them alone. Not as long as Five was by your side.

Since that day, he had been inseparable from you. At first, you found it strange—his constant presence, the way he seemed to hover just a little too close, always watching, always ready. Five had never been the type to show affection, to offer comfort. He was all sharp edges and quick wit, a perpetual storm in human form. But now, there was a softness to him, a quiet protectiveness that he tried, and mostly failed, to hide. And you no longer minded. In fact, you found it endearing. You came to cherish his closeness, his silent support.

You liked the constant teasing and the bickering that filled your days, a steady rhythm of banter and back-and-forth that felt more like home than any place you had ever been. It was comforting to have someone with whom you felt so... normal, someone who could keep up with you, match your pace, challenge you in ways that no one else could. The loneliness you’d once felt in the vast corridors of the Commission faded away with him by your side, replaced by something you never thought you’d have—companionship. Friendship. Love.

Many years later, during a quiet moment in the middle of another mission, Five finally confessed that he loved you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, nothing like the romantic stories you’d heard growing up. It was simple, almost matter-of-fact, the way he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had been stitching up a wound on his arm, your fingers deft and practiced, when he suddenly blurted it out.

“I love you,” he had said, his voice gruff but sincere, his eyes not meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you had misheard him. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, his expression more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, softer this time, as if testing the words.

Your heart had skipped a beat, and you found yourself smiling, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t felt in years. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was the truth, the simplest and most profound truth you had ever known.

Not long after, he asked you to marry him. It was as unceremonious as his confession of love, almost awkward in its delivery. You were in the middle of cleaning your weapons, preparing for yet another jump, when he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in that familiar way of his. “We should get married,” he said, as if he was suggesting you grab a cup of coffee.

You blinked, taken aback by his suddenness, but then you laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that felt good, felt right. “Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Of course, yes.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. The life you’d built together, the bond you shared—it was more than enough.

The two of you quietly eloped, keeping your marriage a secret from the Commission. It wasn’t their business, after all. They didn’t need to know about the life you were building together, the small moments of happiness you stole between missions, the way you found comfort in each other’s presence amid the chaos of time. You had your little secrets, your private world carved out of the madness, and you intended to keep it that way.

And when Five decided he needed to go back to his family, “The Umbrella Academy,” you didn’t hesitate. You went right along with him, standing by his side as you always had. You knew how much he had sacrificed, how much he still carried with him—the weight of his past, the ghosts of his mistakes. But you also knew that he had found a new purpose, a reason to keep fighting, to keep moving forward. And wherever he went, you would follow.

And with that, you find yourself back into the present. You’re pacing around the room. Every minute feels like an hour, and every second that ticks by without a word from Five or Lila makes your heart pound harder in your chest. The silence is broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation or the soft shuffling of footsteps.

Then, suddenly, the air around you seems to shift. A low hum fills the room, and the familiar tingling sensation of a temporal disturbance ripples through you. Everyone turns toward the source, eyes wide with a mix of hope and apprehension.

A flash of blue light erupts in the center of the room, and for a moment, it’s blinding. You shield your eyes, your heart leaping into your throat. When the light fades, you blink, trying to clear your vision, and then you see them—Five and Lila—standing there, slightly disheveled but very much alive.

The two of them share small, strained smiles, a strange new tension between them that wasn't there before. Diego rushes at Lila, hugging her tightly, his strong arms pulling her close. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers, his voice breaking, betraying the tough exterior he usually maintains. Lila laughs softly, but it sounds different—almost forced—as she returns the embrace, her eyes darting briefly to Five.

Five stands apart, his expression carefully neutral, he struggles to make eye contact with anyone — especially you. He scans the room as if searching for a distraction, his posture stiff, his hands clenched at his sides. "Good to see you're all still in one piece," he mutters, his tone flat. When his gaze accidentally meets Lila's, he quickly looks away, as if the sight of her is too much to bear.

You smile at Five, offering a small nod. You both aren’t much for public attention, and you hoped a subtle acknowledgment would be enough to connect, to let him know you’re there. But Five never meets your eyes. His gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrowed brow. What’s your deal, Five?

You feel a knot of worry tighten in your stomach. Something is off with Five, more than usual. You’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s hiding something, but this is different. It’s like he’s shut down entirely, locking everyone out—including you.

The others, caught up in their own reunions, don’t seem to notice the tension radiating from Five and Lila. Diego pulls back from Lila, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. “What happened to you two?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the subtle changes in their appearances—the slightly haunted look in their eyes, the way they seem older somehow. “You’ve only been gone for like 4 hours”

Lila’s smile is tight, almost brittle. “Feels like a lifetime,” she says with a small, hollow laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifts back to Five, and for a moment, there's something almost like longing—or maybe regret.

Five flinches at her words, just barely, but enough that you notice. He looks down, his jaw clenching. “Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, cutting off any further questions. “We’re back now. That’s all that matters.” But his voice wavers slightly, betraying a crack in his composure.

You step forward, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Five…what happened?” you ask softly, hoping to reach him, to break through whatever wall he’s put up.

He finally looks at you, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that makes your heart sink. “Drop it,” he snaps, a sharp edge to his tone that makes everyone else in the room go quiet. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable, the unspoken tension between him and Lila now impossible to ignore.

Lila clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe we should all just… take a breather,” she suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a nervousness in her voice that makes it clear she’s not as relaxed as she’s pretending to be. She glances at Five again, and you see it now—how her eyes linger on him just a moment too long, and how his jaw tightens in response, his expression guarded.

Diego, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not fully understanding it, frowns. “Did something happen between you two?” he presses, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Five and Lila. His gaze drops to Lila’s wrist, and his eyes widen slightly. “You hate wearing bracelets,” he points out, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lila instinctively pulls her wrist closer to her side, but not before Diego catches sight of the handmade leather bracelet. “No, I like them,,” she says but her voice lacks conviction. Diego shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you do. You traded the one I gave you for a vacuum, remember?” His voice is heavy with accusation, his eyes now fixed on the bracelet. “Where’d you get that one?”

Diego’s eyes narrow even more, his gaze shifting to Five. "Did you make that?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. The question hangs heavy in the air, charged with accusation and disbelief.

Five’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he glances at Lila, then back at Diego. His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “I sure as hell didn’t make that bracelet for you,” he replies coldly, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There’s a finality in his tone, a hint of something unresolved but unapologetic.

Your breath catches in your chest, a painful tightness forming there. He made it… For her…? The thought is like a dagger, twisting in your gut. You blink, trying to process the revelation, the reality of it sinking in like a stone. A handmade bracelet—something so personal, so intimate.

You glance at Five, but he’s not looking at you. His gaze remains locked on Diego, unwavering, as if bracing for whatever comes next. A storm of emotions swirls inside you—betrayal, hurt, confusion. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in, the air thick and suffocating.

Diego’s gaze shifts from Lila to Five, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place for him. His face hardens with a mix of realization and fury. “Did you screw my wife?” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The words explode into the room like a bomb, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Five’s eyes remain steady on Diego, his face an unreadable mask. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but Diego’s not interested in hearing it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his entire body radiating a barely restrained fury.

“You did, didn’t you?” Diego’s voice rises, each word heavy with the weight of betrayal. "All this time, and you—you were cheating on me?” His accusation shifts to Lila, his eyes burning with hurt and anger.

Lila quickly steps between them, placing a hand on each of their chests as if trying to physically push them apart. “Guys, let’s not do this right now,” she urges, her voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You stand frozen, disbelief washing over you. Your mind reels at the weight of Diego’s words. Cheating? The idea feels like a punch to the gut. You’ve spent countless years with Five, fought battles by his side, faced the end of the world more than once. And he gives it all up—for what? For his brother’s wife, over the course of seven years in another timeline?

Your breath catches, a sharp pain blooming in your chest. You try to swallow it down, but it’s too much, too fast. The reality of what you’re hearing—of what Five has done—feels like a betrayal deeper than anything you’ve faced together. The walls seem to close in around you, the weight of the revelation pressing down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You look at Five, searching his face for some sign of denial, of regret—anything that might soften the blow of this new reality. But he’s still staring at Diego, his expression unyielding, almost defiant. His jaw is set, his eyes cold and distant. There’s no apology there, no remorse—just a cold, hard acceptance of what’s been done, of what can’t be undone. The sight of his indifference twists the knife deeper into your heart.

You feel your chest tighten, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Your hands are trembling, fingers curling into fists at your sides as you fight to keep yourself together. You want to scream, to cry, to lash out and demand answers. But you know it won’t change anything. The damage is done, and the betrayal runs too deep. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

You shake your head, unable to look at Five any longer. The pain is too raw, too intense, and being in the same room with him feels unbearable. You can’t handle this—not now, not like this. The walls are closing in, the air thick and suffocating. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what’s been shattered between you.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and leave the room, your steps quick and unsteady. You feel the eyes of the others on you as you push past them, but you don’t care. You can’t stay here—not in this room, not with them. Not with him. The hallway stretches out before you like a lifeline, and you move toward it, your movements frantic and desperate, as if putting distance between you and Five might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

You stumble into the hallway, your vision blurred by unshed tears. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Your feet carry you down the corridor, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fight to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

You finally reach an empty room, but as you reach for the door, you realize with a jolt that it's the one you and Five share. The one where you slept beside him last night, completely unaware of the storm that was about to hit. The memories of your shared moments—whispered conversations, late-night confessions, stolen kisses—flood back, now tainted with a sense of betrayal and loss. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob, but then you push it open and slip inside, closing it behind you.

The moment the door clicks shut, you collapse against it, your legs giving out beneath you. You sink to the floor, your back pressed against the wood, and the tears finally come. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks, and a broken sob escapes your lips. The room is quiet, painfully so, and the sound of your cries seems to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls and echoing back to you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, but it’s no use. The dam has broken, and the flood of emotion is too strong to contain. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You cry for the loss of trust, for the betrayal, for the love you thought was unbreakable. You cry for everything you’ve lost and everything you can never get back.

The bed looms in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of the intimacy you once shared with Five. It’s still unmade from this morning, the sheets tangled from where you both slept. You remember the warmth of his body beside you, the way his hand would always find yours in the dark. The way he would hold you when you were scared, whispering promises of forever. Promises that now feel like lies.

You lift your head, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You look around the room, and all you can see are the remnants of a life that no longer feels like yours. The books on the nightstand that you read together, the photos on the wall of happier times—all of it feels like a cruel joke, mocking the trust you placed in him. The room, once a sanctuary, now feels like a prison, filled with ghosts of a past that will never return.

As the tears flow, you realize something with a cold, hard clarity that cuts through the haze of your grief—nothing will ever be the same again. Not between you and Five, not between any of you. The damage is done, and there’s no going back. You feel a hollowness settle in your chest, a void where your love for him once lived. You wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again, or if this betrayal has shattered you beyond repair.

It’s been a few days since the cheaters blinked back to your timeline. Each day has dragged on, an endless cycle of numbness and pain. The initial wave of tears has subsided, replaced by a slow-burning anger that simmers just below the surface. How could he? How could she? The questions run through your mind on a loop, feeding the fire that burns inside you.

You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off, wrong. The house feels different—colder, emptier. The others tiptoe around you, unsure of what to say, how to act. They’ve seen the hurt in your eyes, the way you flinch whenever Five enters the room. They’ve heard the way your voice trembles when you speak, how your words are laced with a bitterness you can’t seem to shake.

And then there’s Five. He moves around the house like a ghost, his presence a constant reminder of the betrayal. He tries to talk to you, but you can’t bear to look at him, let alone hear what he has to say. His words mean nothing now; they’re empty, hollow, like the promises he once made. You’ve built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable, to keep him out—to protect what little remains of your heart.

Your anger grows each day, festering like an open wound. It fuels you, giving you strength when the pain becomes too much to bear. It’s the only thing that keeps you going, that stops you from collapsing under the weight of it all. You cling to it, because without it, all you’re left with is the emptiness, the loss, the heartbreak.

We have been married for years, you think bitterly, and yet we never even once slept together, let alone him see me naked. How in the hell could he have fucked Lila over the span of seven years? The thought is a searing ache, cutting through the numbness that has settled over you. He always said we were too busy for such nonsense.

The double standard gnaws at you, a relentless, cruel irony. All those times he claimed there was no time for intimacy, no room for such personal moments because of their dangerous, high-stakes missions. And now you have to grapple with the fact that he found time for Lila—time to build a relationship, to share moments that were supposed to be sacred between the two of you. It feels like a betrayal of not just your love but the very essence of your marriage.

You remember the conversations where he would dismiss your need for closeness, brushing it aside with promises of better times to come. “We’re too busy,” he’d said, “We have a world to save.” Yet here was the proof that when it came to Lila, the rules were different. The lies, the excuses, all of it crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath.

The anger is raw, a jagged edge that you can’t seem to smooth over. It’s not just about what Five did; it’s about the betrayal of trust, the violation of promises made. The fact that he could share himself so completely with someone else, while withholding even the smallest gestures of intimacy from you, cuts deeper than any physical wound could.

You pace the empty room, the anger simmering, demanding an outlet. It’s a fire that consumes everything in its path, burning through your hope, your trust, your love. And it leaves behind a desolate landscape, a place where you’re forced to confront the stark reality of what’s been done.

How could he justify this? you wonder. How could he reconcile the intimacy he shared with Lila while claiming there was no time for us?

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 2 months

Note

hey! I'm pretty new to your stories: currently reading curse words and loving it! (I started the first book with the mindset that I wouldn't be caught enough to miss some real life stuff because of reading... guess what, I missed some real life stuff reading.)

but now I have a question: the books have a pretty intricate plot with a lot of good payoffs for small things. which is very cool from a reader's point of view, but from the writer's one— can you maybe share some stuff about your process? especially in the early stages, how do you go from the initial spark of an idea and what this is about to a fully formed plot? would be cool if you're willing to share

anyway have a great day I'm off to start the third book hehe!

One thing to know about me is that I have just the worst possible imagination. Absolute pisspoor garbage imagination, nothing going on up there. When I want to plot, my process is simple:

Find a problem, then solve it.

Curse Words was born of several disparate story ideas coming together, but mostly I wanted to play with the magic system -- I wanted to write a story where spells were metaphysical parasites that possessed mages, and each mage could only cast their unique spell. The whole thing came about when reading The Princess Bride, specifically the chapter where Buttercup dreams of being a perfect baby and the doctor looking her over and regretfully informing her parents that she was born with mo heart -- I was possessed with this powerful impression of a slightly wacky doctor peering over the top of his rose tinted glasses to inform a pair of parents that their baby had a curse trapped in her heart. From there, it's find the problem, solve the problem.

I wanted to separate Kayden from his family and put him in an unfamiliar environment for the story so that he and the audience would be on a pretty similar level re: world information; isolated magic and a magic school is the easy way to do that. Okay, so why is this school isolated? Why is the curse thing not common knowledge? Why do the public fear curses and have such limited access to magic that it's not a part of Kayden's day-to-day, if it's so useful? Solve the problem; look at the economy. The unique nature of spells makes them difficult to scale up, and the unpredictable nature makes them inferior to technological solutions to problems in most large-scale issues. What does this say about how the Industrial Revolution would've affected the usefulness, and therefore the public perception, of magic? The logical conclusion is the Purity Revolution.

This school is gathering and teaching all these students; why? I wanted a clear division between witches like Kayden and a privileged elite that formed most of the school body; why are they different, how are the elite kids here, why are witches accepted and integrated into the student body? Solve the problem; look at the economy, the politics. Where are these rich kids getting their magic? Why pull in witches? One question answers the other. Why didn't Kayden and Kylie know that curses were spells in advance? Seems something that should be common knowledge. Look at the politics; tie that in. Logical conclusion: magic trap. We have this magic lake with a monster in it that we introduced super early for dramatic purposes and haven't explained yet. What can we do with that? Let's invent empowered water. Let's look at what that means for the creation of potions worldwide. Let's tie in the management of unmanageable spells. Let's elaborate on the structure our magic trap.

Now we have a channel of power. Curses parasitise witches; some are blessings, some are more trouble than they're worth. The school collects curses, domesticates them, makes them more useful, locks away or renders harmless that which it cannot make use of. More curses are collected over time, the school grows and grows and Refujeyo becomes stronger and stronger as they control more of the world's magic supply, but every system has a capacity. What's the effect of this infinite growth? Here we have a clear and unavoidable economic metaphor, so obvious that not centreing the story on this concept would basically be dishonest. Who's managing this collection, what does it say about the power of the school within mage society? How would such a school relate to the rest of Refujeyo; how would Refujeyo, collecting power like this, relate to and be viewed by other magical traditions, and by nonmagical society? Run through the reasoning, solve the problem.

Why would the school only approach Kayden as a teenager, after his curse caused problems? Surely the school would want to collect as many curses as if could as early as possible. There has to be a reason why they waited. This is a good one because it flows directly from the complex political relationships between Refujeyo and commonfolk politics that have to exist, AND ties neatly into critical character motivations that have to exist for book 1's main twist to function (notably, Malas Aksoy's actions). Sort this out for book 1 and accidentally create a critical political point for the rest of the entire series.

I started writing book 1 with the idea of the court case and subsequent twist about Kayden's curse being the big mystery, but Kayden still needs something to actually do at school. We have this mage who we threw in to rescue Kayden and Kylie from the lake, and had Max hero worship her for flavour; she seems to be becoming central to a lot of interactions for some reason. A lot of dramatic stuff is therefore automatically happening in her presence, but why is this incredibly accomplished and intelligent mage fucking up so much? We've established her as careful and thorough. We need a reason for all these accidents beyond random chance. Someone's sabotaging her -- why? Let's look at our established characters and figure out who has means and motive, and who the most fun red herrings would be.

How could a place like Refujeyo, such a complex and time-consuming project that would have to involve the cooperation of so very many mages, even get built? How would it survive long enough to be powerful? When and where did this happen? We've already established the Purity Revolution; maybe there was something more coordinated than just random undirected economic forces. We've established some incredibly powerful mage families and the old system of apprenticeship and inheritance; we know that the most powerful family in Refujeyo used to have a prophecy and owned a very powerful place that helps prophecies specifically. They could coordinate something, given enough motivation and the help of enough other powerful mages. What kind of motivation? Let's go back to the Purity Revolution. If tech develops alongside magic without central oversight of some kind, what could magic enhance? What problems could be foreseen that would make this kind of investment worth it? How does Refujeyo save the world?

Tie this into our power channel. Refujeyo's attempt to save the world endangers the world due to infinite growth and power being passively collected by those who benefit from the dangerous status quo. It fits our economy metaphor, because they're essentially the same thing, just putting in magic instead of money as a means of power.

Find a problem, then solve it.

The important thing with this method is to keep your solutions cohesive. If you come up with a new different reason for every thing, your plot will look scattered and disorganised. We don't want to look like we're just pulling the story out of our arse. I mean, we are pulling the story out of our arse, that's what writing fiction is, but it's a big part of our job to help our audience suspend their disbelief on that. Whenever possible, you should look for answers that solve multiple things and weave disparate parts of the story together; this is especially true when they relate to the core plot or central theme of your story.

Also, leave gaps for reader inference. You don't have to answer every single question, you just need to make sure that some plausible answer exists for every single question. Sometimes this involves saying less, not more, and letting the audience figure it out.

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sepublic · 2 years

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I love ragging on Belos but also DAMN he’s fiendishly clever. Like let’s analyze his ‘reunion’ with the Collector;

Gets caught, Collector is suspicious and scared? Belos immediately calms him down by making the Collector feel in control over his own spell he openly doubted, pointing to the moon symbol on Raine’s forehead; Telling this kid not to worry about his most immediate question! And then Belos justifies the anomaly by playing along with the wishful fantasy rules of a kid who believes in the magic of friendship! Anything can happen, so no need to question any further, he flatters the child.

Then there’s his next line, in which Belos warns the Collector that he’s in danger, which is incredibly vague and could mean anything; And in the couple of seconds it takes the Collector to react in derision, Belos figures out he needs to be more specific and how to elaborate on this, claiming someone is going to betray the Collector.

Note that he never name-drops anyone on his own, because Belos doesn’t really know who’s around the Collector, other than Odalia. But just in case, he keeps it vague so the Collector can provide an answer for him, the first person he’d assume, and thus the one whose betrayal he fears the most: King!

Belos latches onto that. He sees King isn’t here, so he asks where is he? Note he doesn’t give an answer, doesn’t make any claims because he doesn’t KNOW anything. Belos is trying to avoid saying something that can be contradicted later on, so he keeps it vague by throwing a very simple, ‘safe’ question that nevertheless makes the kid doubt.

The Collector watches, is reassured, looks back to Belos to brag! Then he checks again, sees what King said, and looks away. The kid is concerned, but he’s not jumping to any conclusions, and you may think, oh! This is where he checks again, just to be sure.

And that’s when Belos drops the bombshell; Luz is here. And as he so cleverly plans, this revelation shocks the Collector, distracting them from checking on King again to hear what he ACTUALLY meant. Because Belos doesn’t know for sure how genuine King is or not, but either way, the less this kid is actually in touch with the outside world, the easier it is for Belos to control the narrative and filter all information through himself. The kid has seen enough to doubt, no need for him to find out more and potentially clarify.

Likewise, Belos has been manipulating this kid for hundreds of years; Like it or not, the Collector is the longest relationship he’s ever had in his life, by a long shot. He knows the kid’s psychology in and out, he knows exactly which buttons to press, and he guesses at how jealous the Collector can get. If he’s friends with King and holds him in high regard, then King has probably told him about Luz during the time they’ve been hanging out.

And that Collector is an insecure kid… So Belos creates an Us VS Them scenario, plays into the Collector’s worst fears of King replacing him for Luz (gee, it’s like Philip speaks these insecurities from experience). The fact that Belos himself contributed deeply to the Collector’s trust issues, and is now using them is just. Ugh.

Now Luz is something Belos DOES know about, having inhabited Hunter, knowing she followed right behind him and does plan to change things, and herself doesn’t know any more than he does; If anything, she knows less! So Belos is a lot more free to make claims about Luz’s motives and goals here, because he actually knows them for the most part. Luz is something Belos can guarantee and thus reliably interpret for the Collector to support his claim.

That creates an unpredictable element that unsettles the kid, pair that up with the ambiguity of what King said (never checked back on, due to Belos diverting the Collector’s attention) and you’ve got the perfect recipe to manipulate this child all over again… An empty sandbox the Collector can’t verify from which Belos can craft a new narrative with, and anytime something comes along that can be interpreted in its favor, like the ending of the episode? You betcha.

God he’s so smart, so confident that you might not even notice at first how baseless Belos’ claims are. You’d understandably think he actually DID somehow know, and wasn’t just adapting and having good luck in guessing! Imagine society if Belos weaponized his autism for actual good.

#the owl house #emperor belos #philip wittebane #the owl house collector #analysis

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toffeebrew · 2 months

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Killer is literally a cat! REAL!

purely stereotypes here of course

- Obvious one first, cats tend to be written off as villians inherently. They're more complicated than that but because how they behave and what is said about them people are scared of them. Although, it can be matter of approach... (this sounds like im excusing killer I'M NOT TRUST!! I promiseeeee I know he's done bad things i promise don't jump me.)

- The other obvious one, he owns cats therefore is a cat person. Therefore therefore, he must be cat- coded.

- He has the whole "don't love me too close, I'll hurt you" sorta thing going on.

- Explicit boundaries, when pushed, he'll bite and claw and scratch his way outta there. I guess in his case stab or punch, etc a lot! excessively! seriously my guy! calm down!

- He cause trouble but on purpose! He seems like the type of guy to stare directly at you and knock something off the counter just to spite you or to get a reaction.

- There is a stereotype that cats can switch from being affectionate to biting you. I think this can fit into Killer's unpredictable behavior.

- Cats play with their food :) They enjoy the thrill of the chase, it's a game. Until they get bored and play with something else. Apparently cats also do this to tire out the prey, so do with that info that you will.

- Cats tend to hide when they're sick as a survival instinct.

- Cats tend to show affection in ways that's not understood by others.

- HC'ed with attachment issues, cause like, yeah. Cats with separation anxiety will become destructive if left alone to long.

- Love bites.... that is it.

- They're loyal to their master of sorts but not necessarily out of trust but instead of a resources given.

- In media, cats tend to be snarky, manipulative and observant. Now who does that sound like...

- Cats are typically seen as tricksters, Killer is bit a trickster himself? no?

- Sorta a stretch, but the phrase "cats have nine lives" reminds me of him. This ties into his whole reload thing except he has way more than nine!

My favorite thing is when people add on so please feel welcome to!!!!

#killer sans #killer!sans #something new

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snk-smartpass · 28 days

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TEXT Vol. 05 Jean’s Textbook

He’d gotten rid of as many of his belongings as possible when he joined the Survey Corps. There was no point in bringing anything like his jumbled collection of notes, and anything he did need he could buy or be issued. There was one item, however, that he kept in his bags because he’d need them to review the basics when understanding an operation.

“…My textbooks, huh. I guess I did leave them here.”

It had been some time since Jean last returned to his quarters. When he opened his bags in the personal space he’d been assigned, something moved him to pull the books out.

••••••

Around the time the old regime had been overthrown and Jean had met up with the main unit of the army…

Jean had been acting separately from the rest of the Survey Corps as a member of the “new Team Levi,” keeping him away from the main unit for some time. His bags had been haphazardly tidied up, just like those belonging to the rest of his squad. Now that much had been settled and he had returned, he needed to prepare next for the new operation to retake Wall Maria. When he unfastened his bag, he found a number of textbooks he’d used during his time in the Training Corps.

“I can’t believe I kept these …”

Even though he’d joined the Survey Corps and found himself in an ever-changing situation, he couldn’t allow himself to be negligent when it came to reviewing his fundamentals… And so he’d brought these books upon someone’s recommendation.

“A Guide to Marching Drills… What does this say about nighttime movement on horseback, again?”

One of these volumes seemed to be exactly the reference material he needed for the upcoming operation, and he casually began flipping through its pages.

••••••

[Seems like this appears on exams a lot.]

“…What’s this?”

The first handwritten words to jump out at him were not his own. These were marks left behind during a group study session for a written exam in his Training Corps days. Jean remembered sitting in the center of everyone, having placed his own textbook in the middle of the desk for them all to see and at times write in as they discussed this and that.

Jean couldn’t remember who the rushed cursive belonged to at first, but his memories of that day gradually began to return to him.

(Armin? No… If it was the person right next to me… I guess it’d be Marco.)

The words were written right-side-up on one side of the book. They’d been penned by someone reaching in from the side.

He shook his head at the memory of his close and now departed friend as he turned the page to find other writings.

••••••

“What’s this one say…?”

Jean couldn’t read the upside-down letters at first. He turned the book around, then gasped.

[Horses can move in other unpredictable ways. Be careful]

[—>Finger whistling, page 54]

The thick and powerful words of caution belonged to Reiner.

The thin and weak words that pinpointed Jean’s weaknesses and noted where he needed to read belonged to Bertolt.

Back then… they were comrades he learned alongside. In fact, it had been Reiner who suggested that he hold onto his textbooks. He had said that while Jean was talented, he had a tendency to rely on the fact. That’s why he needed to hold onto books that would let him go back to basics.

“…He really could see what’s most important.”

The contents of this textbook would have to be solidly in the minds of the two who were now on the “other side.” They would also know how the Corps would move by horseback according to it, too.

In other words… such was the opponent that now awaited them.

“The last ones I wanted to have to face went and became our enemies.”

…So this is what they meant when they said the world is a cruel place.

Jean quietly closed the book and placed it deep within his bags, as if to seal away the memories of the time he spent with the two.

••••••

SOURCE: Attack on Titan: Short Stories 3

TRANSLATION: Ko Ransom

#attack on titan short stories #shingeki no kyojin short stories #aot short stories #snk short stories #shingeki no kyojin au smartpass #attack on titan au smartpass #snk au smartpass #aot au smartpass #jean kirstein #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #bertolt hoover

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thenewausten · 7 months

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Quackity Imagine: Seven minutes in Hell [Enemies to Lovers] Part 1.

If there's someone you hate with all your forces, it's Alexis. He's an asshole, such a stupid, full of confidence, hot, idiot, smart, handsome, gentleman, asshole.

"Looking for me, princesa?" He asks into your ear as you turn around to see him. God, you hated him."Of course not, dumbass." You answer as he smiles to your anger."You're terrible with that dress, you know?" He says as he gives you a good look, his eyes almost locked on your thighs and boobs as he looks to your face again."How can you be so ugly?" He asks to you as you roll your eyes."You're such a son of a bitch." You say and he laughs."Just like you, corazón."

Yes, Alex hates you. So much. He doesn't understand how can you be such a bitch sometimes. God, you're so 'fuckin idiot and smart at the same time, and of course, you're so unpredictable. And beautiful. So. Fucking. Beautiful. Alex sometimes wants to forget your stupid fight just so he can bend you over and...

"You should kill yourself, you know?! Everyone at the University would be so happy." The boy hears your voice and laughs to your audacity."Want me to die just because that little brain of yours can't accept I'm the best student of the class, don't you?!"

"Shut up, Alex. I'm the best. Everyone knows that." You say as he smiles to you. "Sure, my love." He's ironic in his words and you roll your eyes for the second time in less than two minutes.

Let me explain, Alex and you studied Law at the University, and since the first day, you and him fought about who was the best student of the class. You were losing for one point. One. Fucking. Point. And the boy thought that, because of that, he was better than you.

"With that arrogance, you'll be a terrible lawyer." You say to him as he opens a beer."Yeah?" He asks, drinking the beer and smiling at you."Do you remember what Mr. Howard said?! We're very similar, so..." He shrugs."Oh, fuck you! I'm not like you, Alex." You approach him and he studies your face. Your lips, to be more specifically.

The man is so embarrassed, only a beer and he's thinking you're so gorgeous. He grabs another one and opens it, still looking at your lips."What are you looking at, Alex?" You ask, confused."There's lettuce in your tooth." He says and you grab your cell phone to look at it."There's nothing here, stupid." You say as he laughs and drinks his beer."God, I hate you so 'fuckin much." You whisper and grab a beer, deciding to leave the kitchen, sick of the black haired boy.

One of your best friends appears in front of you and grabs your hand."C'mon, it's time for Seven minutes in Hell." It's a game based on Seven minutes in Paradise, but it's in Hell because everyone in the class has problems to solve with everyone. Every damn party you play it and you get out with a solution to a problem or someone apologising for calling you a bitch. Yeah, it's like that.

"'Lexie, let's plaaaay!" The girl you hated so much calls the boy you hated so much. She's so pick me girl with him that every time you see their interactions, you want to die. You roll your eyes as the boy appears with a smile on his face and a beer in his hands. How can someone be so fucking hot and stupid at the same time?! I guess we'll never know.

He sits next to the girl and she smiles to him, he smiles back and you roll your eyes. You and her went to the Seven minutes in Hell at the last party. She passed seven minutes talking about Alex, his hands, and threatened you not to be nice to him of become friends with him."He can't like you in anyway." Yeah, she's a bit crazy, uh?

After almost forty minutes, what you most fear happens: you and Alex, locked in a pantry, for seven minutes. The girl next to him gives you a bad look as he gets up with a victorious smile on his face. God, you hated him. He helps you to get up and you both start to walk to the pantry."You guys knows the rules: seven minutes of talking, resolving issues or doing whatever you want to." Your best friend gives you a pity smile and then closes the door behind you, locking it. Locking you with Alex. Your enemy."God, I hope I don't have to get into this pantry with your little girlfriend tonight." You whisper and he looks at you, confused."What do you mean?" He was about to drink the beer, but you take it away from his hand and drink it."Is it too late to tell you I have herpes and it's very contagious?" He asks and you roll your eyes."You don't have herpes, I can see your lips from here, idiot." He laughs."So, your little girlfriend threatened me at the last party." You say, for some reason you want to fuck her up tonight."Why?" He asks, very interested."Are you secretly in love with me and she found out?"

"Only in your dreams, Alex." He does a sad grimace as you answer him."She said I couldn't be nice with you or become friends with you." He laughs."Oh, such a hard thing, right?" He's ironic in his words and you laugh and roll your eyes. "She's not my girlfriend, she's just... Obsessed with me." He answers and you drink the rest of his beer, nodding."What she sees in you?!" You ask and it's your turn to give the boy a good look. God, he's so hot."Yeah, there's nothing good."

"Don't be such a proud person, Y/N, even I can admit you're hot as fuck." He whispers and you look at him. What. Did. He. Just. Say?

"What? I'm not blind and much less an idiot, amor." He says as he approaches you. Man, you're speechless."Sometimes, I just..." His eyes on your lips as he starts to whisper."I just want to admit that we're..." He puts his hands on your waist. "Losing time, you know?" Alex squeezes your flesh and pulls you closer."Losing time?!" You ask, hypnotized by his proximity, feeling your body burn just from his hands on your waist. He nods and one of his hands grabs your face, so gently it doesn't look like the Alex you know."Don't you think?! Eres tan inteligente, princesa. I guess you'll agree with me." He whispers and his fingers caresses your cheeks."I... I do, actually." You whisper to him."Yeah? I knew you'd agree with me, amor." The boy leans in to kiss your neck and you whimper with the feeling."Already, hermosa?" He whispers in your ear, his lips on your collarbone."Fuck you, Alex." You whisper."Uh, I want you to fuck me, Y/N." He whispers and kisses your lips, Alex pushes you against the wall, putting his body against yours as you grab his hair, deepening the kiss and fighting for control. He groans against your lips and puts his hand on your throat, the other one in your ass as he tries to pull you even closer. You moan between the kiss when the boy starts to grind on you.

"Shit, Alex." You whisper as you both pull out to breathe. "You drive me insane. Fuck, Y/N." He whispers and whimpers against your lips."We should stop." You whisper. "Just so we can recover from..." He nods and kisses your lips."One more, mi vida, please." He asks, between the kiss, and you nod, Alex can't help but moan into your lips as he slowly stops to grind his hardened cock against you. "Mierda, I need to cum. Fuck, I hate you so much, Y/N." He whispers and you smile to him, one of your hands roam through his chest to his dick."Is it good?" You ask him as your hand stroke his dick over his pants."Shit." He moans against your neck and sucks your skin."So good." He whimpers."So fucking..."

"Your Seven minutes in Hell is over." You hear your best friend's voice and stop what you were doing. "Shit." Alex whispers and takes off his jacket, tying it around his waist as your best friend opens the door. The boy gives you a look."I hate you, Y/N."

"I hate you too, Alex." You whisper with a smile on your face, the boy leaves to the upstairs and you and your best friend are back in the living room."Where's 'Lexie?" The pick me girl asks to you."He's in the bathroom, with diarrhea." You answer her and she makes a grimace."Poor boy."

You'd probably receive a message of Alex, he'd send you a pic of his hardened cock or even a short vid of him as he strokes his dick and moans your name.

Ten minutes later, he'd appear in the living room and sits next to the pick me girl, looking at you intensely as the girl besides him puts a hand on his thigh."Are you okay, 'Lexie?" She asks him, God, you hated her."Uh, yeah..?!" He asks, confused."It's okay, man. I had diarrhea last week. Drink more water and it's gone." A colleague of yours say and you laugh, Alex looks at you and you smile to him. God, he hated you so much.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the writing! :)

Requests are open!

#quackity #qsmp #qsmp brazil #quackity imagines #quackity x reader #alex quackity #qsmp brasil #quackity imagine #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity qsmp #quackity fanfic #quackityhq #quackity fluff #quackity smut #quackity headcannons #quackity scenario

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horizon-verizon · 2 months

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Not people jumping to blame DAEMON'S influence for Jace calling bastards "mongrels." When has Daemon EVER been bastardphobic? His attitudes towards Jace's parentage include some possible jealousy while he and Laena were both being good natured about it, seeming kind of proud of Rhaenyra when she admitted it, seeming pretty enthusiastic about wedding his daughters to "bastards", and literally killing a man for insulting Rhaenyra and her boys. I just simply don't get where this "Daemon is a blood supremacist" (more than any other noble is) comes from when he gives no fuck aside from jealousy about Rhaenyra "sullying" their Valyrian blood with Strong blood and putting her bastards on their precious dragons. Alicent is the most likely source of Jace's internalized insecurities (because that's what that was) so why do people keep pretending otherwise? Am I missing something?

I think that it's an opportunity to slam Targs, use the less-than-great reputation Daemon has amongst some fans--which includes his supposed "special" pride, and finally to incorporate Jacaerys into that to "prove" Targ-evil and unique amorality. That is pretty much all, aside from how Condal & co have written their version of a Jace to be less secure in himself and have less...I guess "family" as its truest phenomenon. Again, Daemon lived w/Rhaenyra her her co on Dragonstone for abt 1o or a little more with both Baela & Rhaena. Before that, it had been Harwin with occasional & then more frequent visits from Laenor. He more or less grew up away from the court Alicent presided even as he experienced some of the stigma of being even suspected as a bastard, esp from Alicent's supporters, here & there. But more so from his uncles: Aegon, Aemond, perhaps Daeron, too who'd follow his older brothers.

I also think it's bc Daemon has a lot of pride in his house that they are bound to think are white supremacists/colonizers and has disliked Rhea Royce from the beginning while being more amenable to Laena and Rhaenyra, who are both much more Valyrian-by-lineage than Rhea, who has none. Nobles are engrossed in making sure their marriages afford them the best possible access to resources and the prestige associated to whatever house so that they may have issue who can brings usch things into the "home" house or out to the house(s) chosen and favored. It's a way to organize wealth and power. Targs on Valyria and the rest of Valyria saw strength in their dragons, the pinnacle of such power matter of fact. So--as they too, maybe, didn't have that much knowledge about genetics work outside of the magic that in Planetos is more unpredictable than other magical systems--they decided that to preserve their power/dragon bonds, they must do as many other aristocracies did--marry closely and keep that line towards power amongst themselves. I said all of this before, but it bears repeating. Daemon & the Westerosi ruling Targs , however, has never gone out of their way to create a racist system except maybe Daeron I with Dorne if he had ever succeeded in conquering it (in which case, the Dornish are not nonwhite in GRRM's lore, so that racial system would not really mirror out own very well and be its own thing entirely).

Daemon has never even displayed true blood purity the way Alicent was closer to in 1x06 when she commented on how she called them "plain-featured" and groused abt how she couldn't understand how they could have hatched their dragons...while 3 of her kids had to wait till they were much older to bond with one. Daemon never called anyone anything that espoused he thought them as lesser in the exact degree or way that Lord Celtigar does in I think 2x06? 7? (I recently ___ epi 7 and watched w/ a few friends) when he protested against Alyn getting a dragon and even called it "theft". And we see in how he interacts with Alys how he was never actually blood purist with her...an actual unrelated bastard. Daemon just cares about whether you can be trusted to not supplant family, and the Targtowers are too mired in Seven/Faith influence to be "trustworthy".

It also stems from people not truly understanding what blood purity is & its elements or what it looks like when practiced and in the open, active. You hear people make the mistake of assuming the Targs are all blood purists bc they dislike how "keeping the blood pure" thru sibling marriage for dragonriding sounds to them like the Valyrians were ready for phrenology and eugenics and all that...If this were true, however, every single society (or at least most)--and that includes many non-white societies like the Egyptians, some Polynesians, East Asians, etc. as that particular kind of "blood purists". I list of these out bc you will find such "keeping blood pure" practices in nonwhite ancient societies as well. Often. Class=/= race, though it definitely laid the frames for race as we know it; racial systems have inherited ideas of racial difference from class assumptions of difference b/t aristocratic classes and the have-nots. To put it oversimply.

Still, they are not the same. Or we wouldn't have "white" people of real life AND Westeros also hate or abuse the other in their systems. If the Westerosi ruling Targs were that sort of "blood purists", they would have never allowed themselves to marry outside of their own family for fear of "dirtying" their "blood", or lineage. And they, more than the Starks, have had quite a diverse set of outer marriages through their entire dynasty.

I think Daemon just has a lot more expressed pride and arrogance that puts people off and leads them to make wrong, well-meaning conclusions. Oh, & of course HotD hasn't helped, with how they reduced his character at every turn possible.

#asoiaf asks to me #jacaerys velaryon #hotd season 2 #westerosi bastards #daemon targaryen #daemon's characterization #jacaerys' characterization #asoiaf race #asoiaf class #classism #racism

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1schadenfreude1 · 7 months

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Rewriting Cain Boyfriend to Death 2 Love how the BTD fandom just collectively agreed to adopt EP's characters as our own I am absolutely tormented by the fact that Cain had so much potential but just. does not have the best writing ugh he's too similar to Rire and it kills me SO I am rewriting the fallen angel, lots of headcanons below the cut

Cain's number one motivation for why he does what he does is BOREDOM He's been torturing people in hell for centuries and it's become BORING. He wants something new, something interesting. He wants to see live humans and savor their emotions. Cain misses being human He'd never admit it out loud of course, but he does miss having real human emotions and enjoying human pleasures. Of course he can't be on earth too long while angels are hunting him, but maybe, spending time with humans will help him regain some of that human feeling?

Cain is chaotic evil incarnate LISTEN everyone in btd2 is a silly dork and Cain should be one too. He should have the most unpredictable and immature chaotic energy. Do you trust this face??? You shouldn't

I think he just. does shit without thinking. Like he's been away from real humans for so long that he's sort of forgotten how fragile they can be.

"Oh c'mon little toy you can handle a little boiling water, right? Hello? Human? Fuck. Guess I need a new one." Yeah he's incredibly overpowered but that doesn't mean he knows how to USE that power lmao. He doesn't know how to interact with people anymore. he wants to be human again, but all he really knows how to do is…torture people. he's so dumb.

Straight up contradicting canon here but-- Cain feels bad for killing Abel Asking about Abel makes Cain get SUPER uncomfortable and shut down. He doesn't wanna talk about it. He definitely doesn't feel remorse about it. Nope. No remorse here. Abel is DEAD and GONE and good riddance and he DEFINITELY doesn't have lingering issues about it. Fuck you. Rips you apart with chains.

He loves bullying Damien though They have each other's phone numbers for god's sake. Cain sends Damien gore porn of the people he's killed. Those two try to kill each other on a weekly basis. It's normal for them. Yes that is Damien's severed arm on the living room wall. It brings Cain joy. Don't worry about it. Totally normal thing to say to your sibling

Cain and Rire are rivals I think this is basically canon (based on Darqx's gorgeous art and animatics) but I wanna delve into it a bit! They're both incredibly powerful supernatural monsters, but their main difference comes down to this: Rire is lawful evil Cain is chaotic evil Cain kills people for purely selfish reasons: he wants to see human reactions and feel their emotions again. He thinks that causing pain will help him feel human. Rire kills people because its his job to collect souls. He loves his job and has a lot of fun with it, but in the end its still his job.

Cain is much, much older but Rire is way more mature

Cain is more powerful, but can't do much when he's stuck in Tartarus Rire is less powerful but has much more freedom of movement

Cain likes to play the long game, seducing victims with romance before going sadistic on them Rire is a busy demon; he likes to have fun but needs that soul sooner rather than later

Cain plans long elaborate dates because he's bored and reads too many romance novels Rire's plans are short and brutal, he does what he wants and that's it

Cain loves humans and wants to savor their reactions and emotions Rire hates humans and treats them like disposable toys

Cain is more interested in pain than sex, he won't rape a victim unless he really likes them Rire likes sex lmao. its a power rush for him and it feels good I hope my ramblings make sense lol

#boyfriend to death #boyfriendtodeath #btd cain #cain zeitgeist #character analysis #btd rire #lucien rire #headcanons #btd headcanons

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unyandere · 2 months

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Yandere wizard x gen Z reader who is a bit too much into zodiac signs

From some ideas I had back in may

Tw: well ya know how it is, yanderish behaviour, magic I guess?, mention of zodiac signs, gen z behaviour, bad English

Master post

He had been using hundreds and hundreds of spells just to spy on you and it had revealed to be useless: all you ever did was look at cards, listen to ten different horoscopes every day, look at shiny (fake) crystals and taking tests on the internet.

It almost looked as if you didn’t have anything better to do.

Still, even while doing nothing you were more beautiful than any painting from the Renessaince.

And, you believing in zodiac signs, would have made it a lot easier for him to convince you to leave your normal life and run away with him.

Maybe, by showing you he was magic, you would instantly fall for him and beg him to take you with him and marry you.

And he wouldn’t even have to kidnap you!

He grinned at this, it would be perfect.

And so one day he just appeared at your door, holding a shiny stone (like the one you liked so much) and hoping you’d open him the door.

He awaited.

And awaited.

Then he remembered he didn’t ring.

Rang.

You opened the door and got face to face to a guy who looked just a bit older than you, holding a beautiful amethyst.

You took the amethyst from him (thinking he was a postman) and closed the door in front of him.

He knocked on the door.

You opened again.

He looked at you.

You looked at him, he didn’t emanate good vibes… he kinda looked like a Gemini.

And you, obviously, despised Geminis.

They were the worsts, your ex was a Gemini, that was why the relationship had ended between you two… he was just soooo impulsive.

He took a long breath “Y/N, i am here-“

The fact that he knew your name gave you the ick, like totally.

But he made you rethink on your assumptions, maybe he was a Scorpio, Scorpio were sooo toxic.

“So, when were you born?” You asked looking at your nails, in total Aries behaviour.

He looked at you, puzzled.

“Why would that matter?” He asked.

Trust issues, you thought.

He must be a Capricorn.

“Were you born between the last days of December and the first days of January?” You asked taking a notebook out of nowhere.

He shook his head.

So he was not a Capricorn… maybe he was an Aries?

“Between March and April?” You asked again.

He stared at you “look, kiddo, that’s not import-“

You shut him up by putting your index on his mouth and Sssh-ing him.

“It’s a matter of utmost importance! I need to understand if I can trust you!” You yelled at him.

“I can tel-“ he started suggesting.

“Shut up! I need to guess it, duh! Were you born between November and December?” You questioned

He shook his head defeated.

But then a thought popped in his head.

He could show you some magic! That would make you shut up about that zodiac signs rubbish.

And so he conjured some energy in his hands and he created around him a sort of pyrotechnic colourful show so good that some of your neighbours noticed you and the wizard and took out their phones to take a video.

You stared at him.

That was such Gemini behaviour, so unpredictable.

He was surely a Gemini.

“You’re, like, a Gemini aren’t you?” You asked convinced to have gotten it right.

But he shook his head, again, while continuing the show with almost nonchalance, sad that you didn’t seem impressed.

So he stepped up his game, creating bigger, more colourful flames, creating animal shapes and beautiful stories.

That would surely amaze you!

But you were too focused thinking from what sign he could be from.

“YOU ARE A VIRGO!” you shouted.

He shook his head.

“A… Scorpio?” You asked.

He looked at you, puzzled, shook his head.

“TAURUS!” You yelled

He shook his head, almost feeling sad on how you were ignoring all he was doing.

Maybe he should have just kidnapped you, it wouldn’t have hurt his feelings so much.

But nooo… you had to continue asking.

“Erm… Cancer?” You asked, uncertain.

He didn’t look like someone from cancer.

And he shook his head, again.

“Then you must be a libra” you said.

He shook his head again.

“What?! Than… Aquarius?” You questioned, unconvinced.

Today really wasn’t your day.

He shook his head annoyed.

“I’M A LEO!” He shouted, annoyed.

You looked at him.

Disgusted.

“Oh, I see” you said forcing a smile as you closed the door in front of him.

You were incompatible with Leos, or at least, that’s what the horoscope said.

#male yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #parody #yandere #yandere x darling #zodiac signs #i write #bad english

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xxavengingangelxx · 3 months

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Graves Defragged 2/?

Part two, y'all! Prepare to have your mind blown. Mine was. That is all :) Also keep in mind that this is how I see Graves based on my psych and criminology degree. You all might see and likely see him differently and that's okay! I'm guessing here. I'm not sure if what I'm speculating about Graves is correct.

Here we go! Not proofread :( I'm really, really tired tonight. Triggers for mentions of non-con and torture.

Item 11: Promiscuous sexual behavior = 1

C’mon, Graves is full of himself and narcissistic. He can have anyone he wants. I am hesitant to even give this a 1 given we have no idea what his sex life is like but I’m familiar with men who have similar personalities and they definitely bed whoever they want. Now, I happen to write Graves as heterosexual because that’s just how my mind created him (a lot of the story in Long Way from Home and Somewhere Only We Know were taken from some old stories I wrote where Warren Kole played a sheriff who was also a serial killer). But I sure as hell love reading him in all types of relationships!! 😉

Look at that man and tell me he and his men don’t get around they can’t get who they want. Sexy af.

Image credit: Call of Duty Wiki

There is a good (but dark) fic written on Ao3 that involves Graves non-conning a female citizen who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Given the picture I have of Graves in my mind (he’s a monster!) I wouldn’t put it past him. But that's my point of view. Remember my version of Graves is dark, hence the warnings on my darker fics!

And KEEP…IN…MIND…his Shadows or most of his Shadows have no issues with war crimes. There’s NO TELLING what his Shadows did to female citizens in the homes they invaded. ☹ They’re nameless and faceless which is part of what makes them so terrifying (they’re also huge, okay? Maybe in more ways than one).

Item 12: Early behavior problems = 1

This is another tough one. We don’t really know anything about his childhood. But based on what we have seen with Graves I wouldn’t doubt he at least had issues managing his anger when he was a child/teen. His lack of morality might suggest that it’s something he’s had his whole life. A lack of fear, common in psychopaths, can also lead to early behavior problems because a psychopath’s limbic system is malfunctioning. It’s not built right. This in turn causes a lot of psychopaths to have no fear. No fear or acknowledgement of danger and certainly no fear of punishments.

This is similar to what we talked about above in the sections about lack of remorse and empathy. It’s NOT that Graves feels fear and ignores it. He cannot feel fear. His brain is not wired for it.

So let’s say you’re captive with Graves. Swinging at him doesn’t work, threatening doesn’t work, and actually hitting him only gets him to hit you back hard enough for you to at least lose partial consiousness or balance. If Graves is not afraid of you, not afraid of the repercusions of taking you, what the hell can you do to at least somewhat control his behavior so he at least shows more stable mood and hurts you less?

Positive reinforcement. Rewards. Psychopaths respond to rewards. Positive reinforcement means adding a desired stimulus. OC figured this out in one of my longer fics (although subconsciously) and gave in to sleeping with Graves. As OC became more and more compliant, Graves’s behavior became less unpredictable and less violent. If she were to act out again in the future, however, he wouldn't hesitate to at least smack OC maybe even in front of their son.

Positive reinforcement, guys and gals! Give Graves little tidbits of obedience and information. You’ll be playing him and he won’t even know it. But Graves is hella good at figuring out hidden agendas/intentions. So when he does (no, not if, when) find out, he’s gonna hurt you.

Negative reinforcement is the removal of an undesirable stimulus. This works with psychopaths but not in the way positive reinforcement does. So you can stop hitting him and calling him names but it won’t work as good as you providing Graves with positive reinforcement.

Remember Graves responds to money! That is a positive reinforcer.

Item 13: Lack of realistic, long-term goals = 0

Here we have another one that does not apply to Graves. Graves shed his Marine skin with a goal in mind. It might have sounded unrealistic but Graves pulled it off. He’s a billionaire with a PMC staffed with some of the most dangerous men on Earth.

Item 14: Impulsivity = 0

We touched in this earlier when we talked about behavior controls. Graves is meticulous, thorough, detailed, and precise. The big decisions are made with painstaking order/detail. We have talked about (and we can see) that Graves might have issues controlling his actions when he is angry. Piss him off enough and he’ll smack you (Whether you are male or female! Remember he was almost giddy when he was about to torture Valeria, a woman), I can almost guarantee it. At the very least. Piss him off enough enough and he’ll put you on the floor. Piss him off beyond that, you might have to spend a few nights in a hospital.

But Graves is certainly not impulsive when it comes to big decisions. He didn’t get to be a billionaire in charge of his own PMC with contracts left and right by making a habit of being impulsive with important decisions.

Item 15: Irresponsbility = 0

At least in my eyes! You don’t get to be where Graves is, as successful as he is being irresponsible. A business as successful as his is not one built on impulsivity nor irresponsibility.

In relation to this, I’m willing to be a whole paycheck of mine that Graves vets his men better than the FBI.

Image credit: Call of Duty Wiki

These men are so loyal they died for Graves without so much as a second thought while in Las Almas. Remember that I also touched on the fact that their loyalty for Graves goes past humanity and morality. I tried to illustrate this in a fic where Graves’s men have no issue torturing a female POW.

Look at that they did in Las Almas! They murdered citizens to include women and children. And like I mentioned before, there’s no telling what those men did when they invaded those homes before they killed their victims.

Graves didn’t like the limitations of the Marines. So why would he pick men with those moral limitations? Answer is he wouldn’t. He’d pick men who would do whatever he ordered them to do to whomever he wanted it done to. The only way I could see Graves maybe having some men with some morality is for SAR or search and rescue missions. He certainly does not want his ethically untoward men rescuing someone only to victmize said rescue subject on the ride back to the US.

Yikes.

Item 16: Failure to accept responsibility for own actions = 2

Graves is a pro at this, ain’t he? Remember the missle crisis he was indirectly responsible for? Instead of admitting it a whole clusterfuck of consequences cascaded because Graves and Shepherd tried to cover up what they’d done wrong.

Remember Congress? When Graves said he did not put 141 in danger? But you did, Graves (don’t tell him that…he might try to swing at you)! Your men shot first. Now, yes, Alejandro lunged at Graves. But nonlethal force should be met with nonlethal force. Graves’s men are loyal to a fault. When someone so much as steps too close to their commander, they shoot to kill.

And of course Las Almas! Those were hardcore war crimes being committed. And like I’ve mentioned before, I wouldn’t doubt that Graves’s men took a few liberties with individuals they found attractive in the homes they invaded. Not everyone might see it like that but remember the actions in Las Almas were meant to intimidate.

Image credit: Dan Allen Gaming on YouTube

And in some of the fics I’ve written where Graves victimizes OC, Graves blames OC for the torture she suffered, telling her that if she had just given him what he wanted to begin with (homing beacon codes to find 141) she wouldn’t have suffered at all. That’d she’d have no scars on her body and no mental trauma from what was done to her. He ordered his men to carry all that out and he watched it happen but OC, the victim, is responsible. According to Graves.

I think a lot of people really underestimate how dangerous and cruel Graves’s men can be. And yet, we Graves/Shadow Company fans have a certain affection for them 😉 Because to be honest, with all the shady stuff they do, who knows how many times they’ve saved the world. All without getting thanked for it.

Image credit: Shadow Siege Limited on Blizzard Entertainment

Item 17: Many short-term marital relationships = 0

We have no proof Graves has ever been married. It would be somewhat reasonable to conclude that Graves could be involved with quite a few sexual partners. But for marriage…we have absolutely no idea!

Item 18: Juvenile delinquency = 0

And let me tell you why. Graves was in the Marines and some positions in the Marines require a top secret security clearance. Graves’s involvement in military contracts certainly requires a top secret clearance and perhaps maybe a SCIF clearance. You cannot have any significant juvenile delinquency and be trusted with one of these.

Item 19: Revocation of conditional release = 0

None. He hasn’t been arrested (see above for my reasoning for no juvenile arrests). And if he was, I’d be willing to bet some highups in the military, CIA, and NSA would make his charges disappear.

Item 20: Criminal versitality = 2

Oh boy, if there was one item that described Graves it would be this one! This refers to the variety of criminal activity Graves is involved in. Well, we know he’s involved in some shady contracts that involve taking lives. He’s a mercenary after all. Technically, what Graves is doing, killing people for money, is illegal. Essentially invading another country and wiping a town off the map is highly illegal. Shooting to kill at 141/SAS is illegal! So not only is he involved in several types of crime but he is involved in crimes across countries, across the world.

With the money he makes, he hires nameless, faceless men with no moral compass who will then do whatever twisted deeds he tells them to and more. He also buys weapons intended to take lives for money, which is, of course, illegal.

Phew! So what does Graves score on the Psychopath Checklist?

A mere 20! The requirement for psychopathy in the US is 30 and in the UK 25.

According to Canadian psychologist Robert Hare’s research (and he’s done a lot) Graves does not quite rise to the level of psychopath. However, remember that we have very limited information. We essentially have no information about Graves’s childhood or early adulthood other than he enlisted in the Marines. With more information, his score could have gone up, remained the same, but it would not have gone down.

You’re probably like: ummmm…WTF?

And I’m with you! :D I fully expected for him to at least meet the cutoff! These posts I make are discoveries I’m making with you. I had no idea he would score so low!

Is Graves a questionable human being? You bet! Would you jump for joy if he showed interest in you (we all would haha)? But for real, he’s dangerous, he’s callous, and he can be really cruel. Just because he does not rise to the level of psychopathy does not mean he lacks remorse or lacks empathy. Those are still very real things that are part of who Graves is. This applies also to his lack of fear and his responsiveness to positive reinforcement.

Graves’s brain might look a little something like this:

Image credit: Quora (functional MRI or fMRI that takes images as the brain is working and seeing what lights up)

There is a lack of activity in the prefrontal cortex but that activity is not totally absent. Graves might let his emotions get the better of him when he’s one-on-one but overall he’s not impulsive. I'd expect to see a little more activity in his PFC actually. You’ll also see a lack of activity in a part of the brain called the amygdala. That is part of the limbic system, a more primal part of the brain. The amygdala processes negative emotions, which explains while men like Graves do not fear punishment or danger. He will, however, respond to positive reinforcement which increase endorphins, dopamine, and other feel-good neurotransmitters.

You can also see it below! There is high activity in the frontal lobe of the control as well as reasonably high activity in the limbic system. Jim's brain shows a lack of PFC activity as well as a lack of activity deeper in the brain in the limbic system.

Image credit: Rice University, Inside the Brains of Psychopaths

ONE FINAL BUT VERY IMPORTANT NOTE:

Psychopathy DOES NOT equal psychotic. They don’t mean close to the same thing. Psychopathy is mainly dictated by a lack of remorse, empathy, and fear. Psychotic means someone who is out of touch with reality. Think hallucinations, delusions, and so on. Psychotic people do not make good criminals. They’re sloppy and tend to get caught fairly quickly. A psychopath is super in touch with reality! The pick up on details and cues we do not. They do not feel fear and don’t care who they hurt, allowing them to move on with their lives. So if someone says: Graves is psychotic! You can say: ah-ah! Psychopathic :D

Y'all I'm very tired lol I hope you enjoyed. I FUCKIN LOVE talking about this stuff and I can talk about it forever! I can post soooo much more on Graves if y'all are interested :)

#graves x reader #phillip graves #cod mw2 #phillip graves x reader #cod mwii #cod mw3 #mw2 141 #psychopathy #criminology #forensic psychology #neurology

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