#the reconciliation talk is REALLY good

[laxmiree]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 24 - Lucien’s part Translation (Part 1)

⚠️  SPOILER ALERT  ⚠️

This post contains a VERY HEAVY SPOILER for the chapter that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if  there are any mistakes in the translation~

IMPORTANT!!!  to fully understand the story, prior knowledge of previous S2 chapters are needed. Before, I made a short summary that explain those chapters. I hope this can help :D

Before we start, this chapter referenced S2 chapter 20 so you might want to check them out first :D.

Also, I’m going to call 502 ‘residual intelligence’ just like the official translation hopefully i’m not remembering wrong

[Chapter 24-1]

MC received an invitation from BS to attend a meeting. When she attended the meeting, Victor wasn’t not here and instead she met with Dionysus and Poseidon. MC was arguing with Dionysus before Poseidon ‘interrupted’ them. The meeting didn’t proceed very smoothly.

After leaving BS Tower, MC drove down the road by the sea. But a hand suddenly appeared and controlled her car. Not only that, her car also accelerating slowly, as if a foot was on the accelerator. She ended up plummeting into the sea.

[Chapter 24-2]

At the bottom of the sea, MC spot a familiar stone tablet with thistles and thorns over it. She successfully entered the Lighthouse. A silver light suddenly appeared out of thin air; Joker, his lackey (a teenager named Yi), and Lucien stepped out from that silver arc and entered the same Lighthouse. MC was on stairs above them.

??: If it's just you who make a fuss, then I'll throw you into the ocean!

The innocent and cruel voice kept echoing in the lighthouse. Following the voice, the teenager came running out with a clatter, and an indifferent Joker followed him.

But the silver light didn't end there, a pair of white leather shoes stepped in with it, the hem of his coat gently raised behind him.

My eyes slowly widened as I stared intently at that figure.

Why is… Lucien here?

Why is he working together with Joker?!

Lucien glanced at the patterned wall, a layer of interest and questions appearing in his eyes.

His gaze was cast aside on the glowing stairs, and then his eyes gradually went up-

Before he raised his head, I hurriedly withdrew my peeking head.

Teenager: Even if we let you come here, it doesn't mean we trust you.

The teenager's disgruntled voice was heard, wrapped in a strong sense of hostility.

Lucien: I don't need your trust. As long as we can maintain cooperation and figure out the trade-offs, it doesn't matter if there is no trust.

Teenager: You…

I quietly peeked out again and saw the teenager reaching out to point a finger at Lucien, while Joker, who seemed not to care about any of it, was facing the wall alone and contemplating something.

Teenager: You obviously haven't done anything, and you still have the nerve to share our information!

Lucien stopped saying anything, as if he was just facing a child's rascality, and turned to look at the wall.

Teenager: You…!

Joker: Yi, you talk a bit too much.

Without averting his gaze, Joker directly stopped the teenager's next sentence.

Joker: It's convenient to be friends with smart people, and the shared information and answers make the calculations easier. Don't you think so, Professor Lucien?

Lucien lowered his eyes, not answering his question, only touching to the spot where the fluorescent light had flowed.

Lucien: The interior of the building is indeed different from what we have seen before, and what we have just seen.

Joker: Professor Lucien, what do you think?

Lucien: Each building has the same symbol, but the textures of the words are different. After the starlight appeared, all the stone slabs glowed with a flickering light, and from the theory maybe it was those unknown light trails that affected it.

Lucien: According to your previous description, after someone took you into the lighthouse, the same phenomenon as the walls lighting up at this moment occurred. Then, there is only one answer.

He looked towards Joker, who had been waiting for a long time, and arrogantly raised an icy smile.

Lucien: Someone turned it on, and that person is here now.

Lucien's words, one by one, pressed down on my heart and kept on sinking down.

Teenager: Really? Wow, it's getting fun! But it's so big here, how can we find it?!

I slowly retreated and moved towards the upper stairs.

But I knew I was heading towards a dead end, and as long as they walked up the mysteriously fluorescent stairs… they would definitely discover my presence.

But as they say, there's plenty of room here, so maybe they will overlook this staircase too.

Teenager: Hell! Then let's find a way up on this strange stair!

…What a bad luck.

[Chapter 24-3]

As the sounds footsteps keep approaching her. MC tried to find another way to hide. She remembered ‘19’, a lighthouse she met before. Trying her luck, she tried to talk to the residual intelligence inside that lighthouse.

MC: Hello, are you also the same being as 19?

I tried to keep my voice soft and pressed my fingertips against the rough wall as my last desperate attempt.

??: Yes, my baby. After analyzing the data, this era seems to use this title to address someone who is dear to their heart.

??: Baby, just call me 502. We've been waiting for you for a long time. Welcome to the lighthouse.

Just as expected!

An electronic voice with a different tone but similar sound style to the last one came from the empty lighthouse.

Compared to the strange title, I was so pleasantly surprised that I almost shed tears.

Teenager: What? What is this? A lighthouse?

The clattering footsteps got farther and farther away and returned to the lowest part of the open space, where they looked around.

I poked my head down the steps slightly, the glowing lines lighting up the stone floor and illuminating Lucien's rare expression of surprise.

Joker's pupils dilated slightly, and while he raised a smile, his eyebrows were tightly knitted together again.

It was like disbelief and surprise.

Joker: Lighthouse… are you called a lighthouse?

The only response to Joker was silence.

Lucien rested his hand against his chin, his eyes narrowing as he swept his eyes over the glowing words.

Lucien: Hello, 502.

502: …

There was no change in the lines, Lucien's face remains expressionless and didn’t look discouraged.

Lucien: We're here with the person that you' re waiting for, and I think we all should have space and room to talk together.

502: …

As soon as Lucien spoke, the lines began to move with a certain pattern.

It was the same as I remembered, but it didn't take the shape of the "figure" I had seen, as if judging or examining.

502: Baby, are they your friends?

Lucien: Of course.

Although Lucien said so, the lighthouse didn’t respond to him, just quietly waiting, probably waiting for my answer.

I looked at the figure below, pulled my head back, leaned against the wall in thought, and opened my mouth softly.

MC: The one standing at the very back, wearing white and saying hello to you is. The rest are not.

502: Okay, baby.

The people down below evidently didn't hear my reply, and Lucien cautiously swept over the rapidly surging golden light on the wall, his demeanour still calm.

Lucien: It seems you already have an answer, and hopefully it will be something we can both agree on.

502: Let's hope so, clever outsider.

As soon as the words were spoken, I felt the wall that I was leaning on and the stairs below slowly begin to vibrate, with sand and dust slowly dropping from above my head.

The whole place shook and reconstructed itself. The dust made MC closed her eyes and coughed. When she opened her eyes, she saw Lucien using his barrier to shield away all the dust.

I slowly opened my eyes, the dust in the air made me cough, so I waved my hand to lift the dust in front of me.

A transparent barrier was shielding away all the dust.

??(Lucien): …

There was a soft inhalation in my ears, I followed the sound and also froze in place.

This appears to be a reconstructed stone room, and…

Lucien that was standing right in front of me.

The moment he saw me he also seemed to be caught in a brief moment of surprise, his eyes confined to my body, but he hesitated to speak.

I tried to open my mouth to say something, but with my lips opening and closing, I ended up not knowing what to say.

The pain and grief are still fresh in my mind, and those impulsive questions and harsh words will never be dismissed by either me or Lucien as if they had never happened.

And Lucien, who is so clever, surely knows that the person talking to 502 is me.

The footsteps moved over, Lucien approached me and squatted down, his slightly cold fingertips brushed my forehead, causing me to feel a momentary twinge of pain.

I subconsciously winced, and realized that my forehead had been injured at some point.

I was confused and tried to touch it with my hand, but he held it.

Lucien: Don't touch it, it can get infected.

His voice was soft, like a falling leaf on the water, causing my heart to ripple.

It was just a simple sentence, but it made me want to cry.

Lucien: Your body is all bruised and wet. How did you get yourself into so much mess again…

A somewhat helpless sigh fell on my ears, and the raging tide that nearly drowned me just now seemed to remain inside me at the moment.

It screamed and want to burst out of my eyes.

I bit my lips hard, unable to say anything, and just shook my head gently.

I don't know what Lucien's expression is like now. He seems to just sigh and is just about to say something when the whole room is instantly lit up by a sudden surge of light.

The silhouette of shadows and sliding lines merged together, and the shadow appeared on the stone wall to my side and waved its "body" cheerfully.

502: How's that, my baby? Now that you and your friend are safe, am I much more awesome than 19?

I felt the palm holding my wrist tighten for a moment. I stole a glance to see Lucien's sharp jawline, and a slightly tense and wary expression on his face.

He looked at the wall and let out a soft, slow, and slightly sneering laugh.

Lucien: “Baby”?

Then, the pair of cold eyes turned to my face, a smiling but cold expression, and slowly let go of my hand.

Lucien: “Friend”?

[Chapter 24-5]

The air seemed to stand still.

I looked Lucien right in the eye as he gazed at me, and all kinds of words rushed to my heart.

My heart, which wanted to rely on him, to be close to him, to confide in him all my grievances and fears, kept beating.

I used all my strength but could only stand still to suppress all my impulses.

Not now.

After taking a deep breath, I tried to put away those complicated and fluctuating emotions, stroking the dust that had fallen on my face, and raised a smile.

MC: Hello, Professor Lucien.

Lucien closed his eyes slightly as he heard me, and those cold eyes blinked slowly, I don't know what he was thinking.

Lucien: I thought… we were enemies?

He looked down at me and said each word especially gently, yet with an imposing and oppressive tone.

Just before I answered, the shadow of 502 wavered and instantly stuck over.

502: Enemy?

Not good.

The electrical current beeped without any warmth, as if it was the only verdict after hitting the enter key.

I instantly took a step forward and, regardless of my completely soaked clothes, grabbed Lucien's arm very "affectionately" and pinched him on the inside of his arm.

MC: He's joking. 502, you won't get it. But friends like to joke with each other! Haha!

My face was full of smiles as I looked at the shadow that was close by, my heart hovered.

Although 19 did not show any malice towards me, and 502 just saved me and solved the crisis for me.

They are still something left behind by a mysterious civilization, perhaps also related to the starlight that brings radiation from the sky, and I can't let my guard down.

More importantly, I don't want anything to happen to Lucien while he's here either.

MC: Lucien, I don't think you need to say more.

I tugged on Lucien's arm and pulled it down, standing on my tiptoes to reach his ear.

MC: None of us knows what will happen here, and although that 502 is very kind to me, it is still unknown.

MC: It's safer for us to be friends here, Professor Lucien is clever, so he should understand this.

Lucien just turned sideways, his eyes lifted from my clenched fingers to my face, and his Adam's apple sliding a little.

Lucien: It seems that it doesn't quite understand human jokes.

Lucien raised the corners of his mouth, did not break my "restraint" and looked at the wriggling line.

MC: Y-Yes!

502: It is great if it's just a misunderstanding!

It seemed happy; the surging golden light looked like flower petals flying in the sun. The twisted lines circled the stone wall several times and finally made their way to my side.

502: But baby, I thought you'd pay us a visit as soon as you got away from 19! I've been waiting for you for a long time!

MC: …because a lot has happened.

I was a little overwhelmed by the somewhat enthusiastic residual intelligence in front of me, and Lucien stood by without saying anything, seemingly still surmising all this.

MC: You don’t have to call me ‘baby’…

502: But my data tells me that this is what you guys are saying to express affection, I don't want you to be afraid!

Lucien: If we want to express affection, we usually use 'comrade'.

Lucien's voice softly rang yet it was like a sharp blade pinning the lines that kept on surging.

Lucien: The term 'baby' tends to sound harsh and insulting to the ear.

502: Is that so?!

Lucien: Yes, it appears that your machine is a bit old and seems to be providing you with the wrong data.

I quietly looked over at Lucien, his face was full of sincerity and his voice sounded honest and kind.

Seeing his serious look, I almost laughed at the rare sight, but looked at the lines that were flustered and warped because of Lucien’s ‘correction’ I decided that it was better to keep quiet.

Finally, the shadow stood in front of me again.

502: Your friend is so great. I'm really sorry about what just happened, comrade.

MC: …

I felt a soft chuckle coming from overhead, hiding a few hints of smugness and triumph.

It's just such a small moment, but it made me a bit dazed.

MC: It's okay, uh… comrade 502.

502: How kind of you to accept my apology!

It seemed to be about to say something, but there was a rumbling sound nearby, as if it was hitting the stone wall with some force.

502: Let's go, I'll take you somewhere else first.

Hearing 502 say so, I thought of the scene 19 took me to see before, thought for a moment and followed.

Unexpectedly, the person whose arm I was holding stood still, making me stop in my tracks as well.

Lucien's gaze lifted from my soaked shoes, passing over scuffed pants, bruises on my arms, tight-fitting clothes, and finally landing on the cut on my forehead.

Lucien: This path is not the only option. You can choose to leave, and I can help you.

I froze for a moment, his gaze looked a little complicated, and yet there was a rare frankness.

The damp clothing made me uncomfortable, and the pain that I had ignored earlier because of the nervousness slowly came through.

Lucien turned his arm over, with his palm up.

I examined his palm, I wonder when the coldness from the first time I saw it was dispersed, and now was covered with a faint warmth.

In a flash, some distant scenes came to mind.

I didn't shake it, I just spread both of my hands.

MC: Lucien, the left hand is for you to stay and be friends with me, and the right hand is for you to get out of here first.

MC: Which one do you choose?

His eyes widened slightly and turned narrow.

He reached forward with his palm and took my left hand in his.

[Chapter 24-6]

The swaying shadows walk down the narrow passageway, and the entire corridor seems crowded because of the reconstruction of the structure.

The grains of dust that occasionally fall down are a constant reminder of the somewhat crumbling building.

Lucien: I thought you would recognize it.

His voice was soft, and his close breath puffed lightly on my ear.

MC: I've only been in one other lighthouse, with a different number and character, so I can't make a generalization.

Lucien: A careful choice.

Lucien glanced at the shifting shadows walking in front of him, curiosity gradually diffused his eyes, and he seemed to even breathe a little lighter.

He seemed to want to ask something, but his slightly opened lips ended up pursed together, as if stifled by something.

Somehow, it was as if I could guess what he wanted to ask.

MC: If it's anything like the lighthouse I've been in before, it's actually a residual intelligence.

Lucien's slightly astonished pupils were more surprised by the fact that I had opened my mouth than by what I had said.

MC: Although I don't quite understand this residual intelligence, it should be like some kind of data? The last lighthouse was numbered 19, and it said it came from a previous civilization, before our world came.

Lucien: Residual intelligence, lighthouse, last civilization. No matter which term, that sounds like a lot of information.

MC: …Indeed. 19 says that they are not the first and will not be the last civilization to disappear in this world. Lucien, do you know what this means?

Lucien: I wish there was a deeper meaning to that statement. If it only had a surface meaning, it might have erased all judgment in the moment.

His face became a little serious, as if covered with a thick layer of night.

I remembered the world where the dawn was always absent when the comets came, and my heart seemed to be slowly tightened.

The world is constantly experiencing trials and tribulations, like a cruel and malicious curse, as if only endless darkness is the only end and answer.

Lucien: So, you came here like this, after all the difficulties, in pursuit of answers?

Lucien's words interrupted my thoughts and I could hear the implication in his tone, but if I told him I was almost killed and fell into the ocean…

I feel that it will destroy the rare and stable atmosphere of the moment.

MC: … Because of some reason, I guess.

Lucien: …Some reason?

MC: Well, …for some reasons.

My gaze shifted to the side, but I knew Lucien's eyes had been resting on my back.

I just turned my head to the side and walked forward without looking at him.

I don't know how long we followed 502, the path twisted and turned, and finally after stepping over a rocky staircase, the whole view opened up.

This appears to be a larger space with flatter walls and floor.

502: Welcome, two comrades, to our cockpit!

MC: Cockpit…?

In that cheerful tone, I looked around the walls, but did not feel anything related to the "cockpit".

Did it also turn into ashes under the erosion of time, like what 19 showed us before?

502 seemed to catch surprise, the shadow raised a line from the left side, like an arm to display something

With the raised arm, all the lines in the entire stone wall lit up, and the lines of light converged as they did on that real stage.

Numerous lights scanning the air from top to bottom, faintly revealing the metallic and technological walls.

The intricate console, the bright blue-white screen floating in the air, resembles a futuristic cockpit.

Lucien: Is this… a projection?

Lucien's fingertips touched the walls, delicately caressing the lines of the constructions.

MC: Is it not real? When I first saw it, I thought for a split second that it was all real.

I came to his side and followed to touch it, once again amazed at this precise and amazing performance.

Lucien narrowed his eyes and stood up to look at the shadow.

Lucien: It doesn't seem to be a technology that would be available in this era.

502: Is that so? It seems like we're way more developed than you guys. How can people in this era not be able to do such things?

It looked a little smug, but somehow, I felt a certain anxiety and disbelief.

MC: 502, when I met 19, it told me a lot… about your civilization.

502: I know, we have a shared terminal.

It stands in the center of the entire cockpit, like an officer ready to take off with the ship.

It was just a line completely devoid of any emotion, and somehow, I felt as if it was looking through the simulated cockpit glass, into the distant sky.

Lucien: Could this be your Noah's Ark?

502: Well… how can I put it? To be precise, it should just be our fantasy.

It hooked up its lines, like two hands folded together, and somehow, I always felt it was more like a human than 19.

502: Before we disappear, we confirm the possibility that there were once numerous civilizations that also existed. The world can never completely eliminate everything, and it doesn't seem to want to hide everything so badly. Sometimes it's more like it's deliberately telling us that something is out there. It seems like…

Its lines poked through and came up against us, obviously only a shadow, yet it was full of oppressiveness.

502: It’s leaving beacons of light just for you.

MC: But 19 says that the lighthouses are just traces of the struggle you are trying to leave behind...

502: That's why I said that grandfather was stupid.

He slowly wiggled the lines as if a man was tsking his tongue and wiggling his fingertips.

502: This is what the world has chosen to leave behind, and even if tens of thousands or hundreds of millions of years pass, I still believe so strongly.

Lucien's gaze flashed a subtle light and he took a step forward, almost passing through the shadow.

Lucien: Were you… once a 'human' as well?

[Chapter 24-8]

I looked over at Lucien in shock as he stretched his hands and gently asked a question that was extremely difficult to understand.

MC: Lucien, is it supposed to be a residual intelligent-?

Lucien: Perhaps, sufficiently advanced and developed technology could enable such sophisticated intelligent analysis, but I don't think it would be enough to cross the destruction and birth of a civilization.

Lucien: 502, you and 19 exist in this world now as data. But is this true in your world as well?

Rather than asking a question, Lucien simply put his thought process into words, frowning lightly.

502 was somewhat silent and surprisingly laughed at the end. The shadow crossed Lucien and fled to my back, with some kind of line reached out and touched my shoulder.

502: As expected of your friend, it's impressive!

I didn't feel any malice from that light electronic sound, more like pride and complacency.

502: That's right, we were all human before we became lighthouses!

Lucien: Has your brain science developed so powerfully?

502: Hmph, that's for sure, although it has absolutely nothing to do with me!

Lucien: Did you directly use brain waves... no, should the entire brain be used in this technology?

Lucien was answered by the various obscure icons and data that lit up on the screens throughout the cockpit.

The unknown characters kept pulsating, and they probably crossed countless failed checks and retakes, before finally converging into the shape of a brain in a tiny machine.

I froze in place, my brain was a little sluggish for a moment, a certain harsh and painful speculation hanging over my mouth, but I could not bear to say it.

Lucien: You guys turned your brains into this machine directly before you died, didn't you? This lighthouse kept your brains and consciousness behind, allowing you to 'live' until now.

502: The right answer! How about that, we're awesome, right! Although our civilization annihilated and disappeared from this world, we're pretty impressive! More powerful than you guys!

I subconsciously inhaled lightly, these people who left their consciousness… were always locked up in one of these hidden lighthouses.

Always resting here since tens of thousands of years ago in the past.

MC: Then, 19 is also…

502: That dead-brained old grandpa was cute, wasn't he! I can still remember how he used to listen to songs while strolling through the corridors of the institute every day.

It sounded a little nostalgic, it was a memory that belonged to it, not to this mission, and made my heart tremble lightly.

MC: So, you too…

502: Me? Hello, dear comrade~ I am the youngest genius researcher of the Lighthouse Project Team, I’m only 21 years old!

It smugly shook its head, proud and boastful, as if it were glowing.

I felt like my whole body was nailed to the ground, shocked and bewildered, not knowing what to use to be able to express my feelings and… sadness.

This 21-year-old, no, not just this teenager, but the old man, and all those other people in the lighthouse that I have yet to reach.

How do they spend these long, dark nights?

And how they endure these endless silences, quietly waiting for answers that may never come.

What are they in it for?

Blinking blankly, I passed over the shadow of 502 and I saw Lucien standing there, a light shining in his eyes.

In an instant, I knew the answer.

In that world, there is no calculation, no matter the price, no fear of sacrifice.

Lucien: 502, it's nice to meet you.

Lucien didn't say anything, just slightly bowed his head.

502: I'm also very happy to meet you guys, especially you.

MC: Why me?

502: Because you are special, and we have been waiting for you. This lighthouse project was born for you.

I frowned, in confusion and disbelief.

MC: I don't understand…

I don't know why I was able to open the stone slab to get here, why these people across time would choose me.

Is it because I am the QUEEN of the past? Or am I the only one who has come back in this world with memories and time?

A voice just broke in before 502's answer.

??: Because you are CORE

[Chapter 24-9]

The silver light is like a sneaky signal, and from the first time it was introduced into the hunter's game, all that accompanied it was danger.

The teenager stepped forward first, and Joker's face peeked through the other side of the light curtain as he gazed at 502's shadow with a deadly stare.

Immediately afterwards, he moved his eyes away in fascination, absorbed in the cockpit projected on the stone wall.

The projection light fell in his eyes, constantly flowing and shimmering.

Looking at this kind of Joker, I couldn't help but take a few steps back.

This man was so dangerous and bizarre that I had no idea what he was up to or what he would do next.

And Lucien… my eyes peeked over the white figure, he appeared with Joker, will he help me? Or will he…

I don't want to think about it anymore, it would only complicate everything.

Whether Lucien will help me or not, I have to figure it out on my own first, I can't just rely on him-

I had to walk up to him on my own and prove myself strong enough to be his strength.

MC: What are you talking about? CORE? I think you got the wrong person.

Lucien proved experimentally that I had nothing to do with CORE, that was the answer he gave me and that was what he wanted me to believe in NW.

Based on this answer, it must be some factor unknown to Joker that influences the opening of the lighthouse.

Whether this answer is true or not is a question that Lucien and I will have to work out later.

And in the presence of Joker, I was not going to show any little doubt about what Lucien had proved, and perhaps this doubt would have some fatal consequences in the future.

I stood up straight and watched as Joker's eyes moved reluctantly to my face.

Joker: The opening of the lighthouse requires the use of a large amount of Evol energy fluctuations, and you are no longer carrying Evol.

Joker: …How do you think you got in? If I’m thinking correctly, you and we came in with a completely different entrance.

I froze for a moment, wondering how Joker knew about my loss of Evol.

Apparently, this matter surprised Lucien a bit as well, and I felt a slightly deeper glance rest on me.

Joker: The lighthouse only responds to you.

Lucien: But that doesn't mean she is CORE.

The strong words interjected, clear and calm, but wrapped in an imposing manner that could not be refuted.

Lucien: This girl is not a CORE, that is the conclusion of the experiment.

Lucien withdrew his gaze and took two steps forward, subtly positioned himself in front of me.

Joker: That doesn't matter, to me CORE is just one of the keys. As long as she can open the lighthouse, she's special.

502: CORE? I know what it is, so that's what you call it now!

Lucien: Now is not the time for you to talk.

Lucien’s eyes did not move, and the cold fluorescent light made the entire person cold and sharp.

Joker: Professor Lucien, I thought the duration of our cooperation could have been longer.

Joker: I don't understand why you're standing across from me when we haven't gotten any of the answers we wanted.

Joker: Isn't that the case?

I looked at the half-covered side of Lucien's face, and without blinking an eye, a slow, disdainful smile rose on his face.

Joker: Professor Lucien, don't you want to see the truth of the world as it opens up to us?

I froze for a moment, not expecting Joker to ask this question.

Lucien: I don't need it to be opened to me.

Lucien raised his face ever so slightly, looking arrogant and ruthless.

It was an extremely powerful and stubborn force, like a raging wave in a thunderstorm, rolled in his indifferent eyes.

Lucien: I will find it.

Those eyes stunned me in place, making me hold my breath for a moment.

In this moment I felt so weak and it had nothing to do with strength.

Rather, it is my heart, which is so weak.

It is always hesitating, constantly wandering, incessantly only saying beautiful words, and continuously sailing on the sea without direction.

Always know where the final destination is, but can't even find the route.

I took a step forward and stood next to Lucien, staring at Joker.

He didn't know what I was going to do, but he probably didn't care.

MC: Stop moving forward, Joker.

Teenager: Who are you ordering around!

I ignored the teenager and just looked at Joker with a deadly grasp on my hand.

What makes a powerful person? And how does a person become powerful, powerful enough to protect themselves and the people they want to protect?

MC: Lucien, do you need to continue your cooperation with Joker?

Lucien's gaze was cast with a slightly deeper interest in his eyes.

Lucien: What if I say I need it?

MC: Then I can surrender for now, after all, there is no way for me to deal with you two, and I can think of other ways later.

As I replied, the corners of Lucien's mouth slowly rose.

A silver line suddenly lit up beneath my feet, just moments before I nearly fell, a transparent barrier stood between me and the silver light surface –

(T/N: !!Lucien copied Yi’s transportation evol, you can read more about it on this R&S )

I stood in the middle of the barrier and saw Lucien's answer.

Lucien: Unfortunately, this cooperation may require some consideration.

MC: Then, please help me out for a while.

Lucien stepped away and stood behind me, a clenched fist extended on each side of my body.

Lucien: The left side is to leave; the right side is to struggle. No matter what you choose, no one will blame you.

I looked at his hands and grabbed his right hand.

I don't want to run away yet, I want to struggle a little more.

Ice crystals fell on my palm and they condensed together into a tiny gun, glowing with a faint coldness –

Almost identical to the tranquilizer pistol I commonly use.

I raised that gun and pointed it at Joker, feeling a surge of courage raging through my entire body.

Joker: Do you think that will work?

Lucien: She probably has a friend as well.

Countless ice crystals gathered in Lucien's palm; the frost covered the entire perimeter of the wall in an instant.

The icicles hanging in the air emitted a scintillating cold light, refracted in the eyes of their owners, which could not hide their coldness and wrath.

Teenager: You…

Before he could speak, with a lift of Lucien's fingertips, a hard block of ice chained the teenager instantly to the side of the ice wall.

The moment the silver light appeared, another side of the more rigid and massive ice plate has waited for the silver light to shine again.

At the same time, the previously hanging icicles has been placed in front of Joker, bursting with an aggressive force.

Joker didn't frown, he didn't even look at the teenager, but simply raised his hand and with a wave, those icicles in front of him dissipated like smoke.

Joker: Useless…

In the next second, a sharp and tiny ice blade cut through the side of Joker's face, leaving a small blood mark on the always unperturbed face.

I held up the ice gun, my palms were already numb from the cold, but my heart surged with a feeling I had never felt before.

MC: Your opponent is not just one person.

[Chapter 24-11]

Joker's hand slowly rubbed his face for a moment, his overall expression unperturbed, but there was some puzzlement.

However, the raging icicles were not going to give him any chance to catch his breath and kept coming at him.

Lucien is aware that these icicles can't really hurt Joker, so his attacks are geared more towards blocking his path of movement.

No one refused to give up, as if it would never end.

I knew I needed a gap at this point, a gap that would be big enough to grab Joker's attention.

I ran, raised my ice gun, and shot at Joker.

MC: Joker! There were many civilizations before this one!

Joker: …!

He froze, his gaze turned to me, and there seemed to be countless questions in his eyes, but the next instant a thin icicle went through his shoulder.

Joker still didn't frown, raising his hand to resist the ice picks that kept stabbing over.

Finally, he became a little impatient, and with a single swing of his figure, he instantly appeared in front of Lucien.

The ice barrier that appeared in a flash was broken by Joker's slap, and the shattered ice shards cut across Lucien's face.

MC: I have also seen a backwards world!

That moment of pause was enough for Lucien.

A huge ice hammer swung from the side and sent Joker's figure flying into the wall.

(T/N: istg he could make any kind of weapons from his ice evol)

Teenager: Joker!!

In response he was hit by a silver metal instrument, and suddenly Lucien appeared in front of him and snapped it around his neck.

Lucien: Much like the collars in your hunter games, right?

Teenager: You…!

His body was encased in ice against the wall, clenching his fists but seemingly unable to exert any strength.

Teenager: Why can't I use Evol…

Lucien: You mean this ability?

Lucien waved his fingertips and a familiar silver arc appeared behind the teenager.

In the midst of the teenager's frightened and frantic gaze, Lucien's fingers gently pressed against him, pushing him into the darkness.

With the sound of crisp ice crystals hitting the ground, Joker got up from the shattered ice with a bloodstained body, he glanced over the location where the teenager had just disappeared and looked indifferent.

Joker: Professor Lucien, you took my tools while they were in my hand.

Lucien: You are indeed an excellent explorer. Unfortunately, you see too little in your eyes that you are able to be influenced by her.

Joker did not speak, he trembled and took a step forward, silver light appeared under his feet.

He just glanced at it and then turned his head to look up at Lucien.

Joker: Professor Lucien, this is not the end by any means.

Joker's body slowly disappears in the light, his eyes are not even half disappointed, faintly turned his head, looked at me, and then looked at the simulated cockpit display.

Joker: Who are you really?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Long after Joker's figure disappeared, neither Lucien nor I moved.

The frost slowly faded throughout the entire room and I slowly slid to sit on the floor.

My fingers seemed to be tensely locked into the posture of holding the ice gun because of the extra force.

I made a little effort to lift my fingers, and breathed heavily into the air because of the momentary relaxation.

Suddenly, a pair of equally cold fingers covered it, he gently spread my fingers and held onto my hand little by little.

The faint warmth passed between these two hands to each other, as if it was the only warmth among the entire frost.

Lucien: MC, when did your Evol disappear?

Lucien softly asks, we solved Joker, but there are too many things that are still unresolved.

A problem that belongs to only the two of us.

MC: Is it okay for you to have a conflict with Joker like this?

I kept my head down and didn't answer his question, just looked at our clasped palms.

Lucien: What brought you to this lighthouse?

MC: Joker said I was CORE, is he telling the truth?

It was as if we were having a conversation, yet it was as if we weren't.

The secrets are like a thin barrier, which makes people different and distant.

Lucien: From the beginning to the end, I don't want to make decisions for you.

Lucien: The choice is always yours, no matter when.

As though there was a silent soft sigh, those cold fingers slowly lifted, only to be held by my hand in the opposite direction.

MC: Lucien, are you afraid?

I looked up, and Lucien narrowed his eyes just slightly when he heard it.

Lucien: What am I afraid of?

MC: Afraid of losing your control over something, like…

MC: …yourself.

Under my palm, those cold fingers trembled slightly and imperceptibly.

MC: I came to this lighthouse by accident, as you can see, in a sort of messy way.

MC: Lucien, I can answer all the questions you want to know. Because you are Lucien, I can tell you anything.

MC: But will you be as honest with me?

I thought I would have a hard time saying these words, but unexpectedly, it was easier than I thought.

I was used to him reaching out to me and took it for granted that he had to be as unreserved as I was.

But I had vaguely overlooked the fact that in this restarting world, our relationship was also being re-established.

Perhaps I was too eager and greedy.

MC: I am greedy, because I want you to trust me in exactly the same way that I trust you.

MC: I have a 'Lucien' in my heart who will talk to me about anything, whether I will be helpful to his plans or not.

MC: Whether… I'm involved in every piece of what he has to deal with or not.

Lucien's expression tightened a bit, he just pursed his lips and eventually said nothing, his Adam’s apple slid a little.

MC: So, I feel sad when you aren't like that.

MC: Maybe I should be apologizing to you, because I was just framing you the way I wanted to be framed. But it hurts too much for me.

I grabbed those hands as if I had some kind of courage.

Running away will not solve the problem. If I want to walk towards him, I have to express my heart in its entirety.

MC: If, at the time, you had been willing to tell me why, I wouldn't have hurt so much. But you didn't.

Lucien: Because I didn't think that you were strong enough to protect yourself.

Lucien finally opened his mouth slowly, as if it were an order, and spat out those few words.

Lucien: You're right. To some extent, I didn't trust you enough. At least under that circumstance, I don't think you could have made the absolutely right move if I had been honest and told you the original story.

Lucien: It was a way to both protect yourself and not compromise my plans.

MC: …

Although I could probably have guessed that answer, it still sounded a little hard to listen at this moment.

(T/N: The POV switched to Lucien’s until the end of this part)

Lucien: Because you would suddenly appear in my mind, in all the inexplicable images.

MC: …?

Lucien: Because from the second time you appeared in front of me, you’ve said something different from the ordinary people.

Lucien: Because of the backwards world in your dreams.

Lucien: Because you always manage to act and behave in ways that are beyond my expectations.

Yet I take them all for granted.

Because my heart always aches when I meet you.

Because all my will is breaking out of my control, screaming for me to come closer to you, to walk beside you.

This girl has unspeakable secrets and is carrying a huge pressure that she is not familiar with.

Her death opened the door, which had never been opened, for a moment.

She's too dangerous.

So, he couldn't trust her, even if it was sort of a betrayal of some instinct.

MC: That’s it huh…

He heard the girl softly sigh in such a way, trying hard to hide her sadness, but soon, she raised a stronger smile.

MC: I'm happy to hear your sincere words. Lucien, when you doubted someone before, would you tell them so directly?

He froze for a moment, not knowing what to answer for a second.

MC: Thank you, Lucien. I know what to do next.

Lucien: What are you going to do?

He saw the girl slowly stand up, but still holding his hand.

MC: It's okay, just go ahead and doubt me.

MC: Lucien, as your 'enemy', let me secretly whisper a secret to you.

MC: I know many, many secrets about the world that you don’t know.

The simulated screen of the cockpit that reflected the sea draped behind the girl, the faint light falling in fragments behind her, as if illuminating everything together.

MC: If you don't want to be surpassed by me and find the answer faster, then come to me.

MC: I give you this right as a reason for you to seek me out.

Inconceivably, he seemed to see a thin thread, firmly tied around their wrists.

It's called involvement.

Not letting him to hide, and let them have countless encounters in the future.

Next part-> [Here]

[serpentinegraphite]

...re: your tags on the WFA Jason crowbar incident -- might one be directed to your referenced essay?

Since it's been a min, here's the DC meta post this ask is referencing.

I thought it was on my blog, but I haven't been able to find the essay in the weeks since this ask came in? It might have been a tag rant more than the proper essay I thought I had posted. Or I might have been thinking of a broader and more general essay on the current trauma in fanfic portrayal, which I have definitely posted on this blog somewhere and in several friends' inboxes.

The gist of the essay is that a) fandom as a whole has a tendency to treat panic attacks/flashbacks as the Only and Right Way to experience trauma, even though that's by far not universal and b) will apply this even to characters who have canon trauma and show specific trauma reactions!

With Jason Todd in WFA having a Crowbar Sound Flashback, it's a perfect microcosm of both! The problem, therefore, isn't necessarily WFA being Uniquely Terrible and Inaccurate; WFA just exclusively plays with a lot of softball, fandom-popular tropes, so it remains popular even and especially with people who aren't super familiar with the canon. And because WFA thrives on softball, popular tropes, of course it's going to pick up on the Best Way To Write Trauma.

The essence of the problem is actually the way trauma symptoms in fanfic are homogenized to the most palatable, most sympathetic reaction guaranteed to woobify even the most hardened crime lords and war criminals: a panic attack. But not ANY panic attack! Specifically the hyperventilating on the floor, curled up in a ball kind of panic attacks! (Characters who lash out in anger when they're scared? Characters who shout mean things? Not anymore! Now they're hyperventilating on the floor and they need tender care and possibly a hug.) The momentary full helplessness is integral to creating a miniature h/c journey for the characters (panic –> helplessness –> rescue –> bonding).

Panic attacks actually have a pretty wide range of symptoms! Sometimes they're focused more on derealization reactions or heart racing (loads of people irl end up in the ER thinking they're having a heart attack, when it's actually a panic attack).

This specific portrayal of trauma as panic attacks is, I think, most egregious with characters who would actually fucking die if they had this exact trauma response. E.g., Jason Todd, who infamously both commits crimes and fights them. If he has a panic attack at every scum bag who waves a crow bar at him, he's probably getting beaten to death with a crowbar again. If even one of his regular criminal contacts or enemies catches wind that he has a crowbar panic attack weakness, he's dead! And this could be played for drama in this kind of fanfic, but it never is. (Because drama isn't the point, quick and dirty h/c is.)

Distilling his trauma about dying into panic attacks dismisses his entire history and canon trauma response (rage and vengeance and trying a completely different tactic from Batman to better the city of Gotham when the Red Hood is being a good guy and not just being a crime lord for profit). Here is a solid discussion on how Jason reacts to his own death (I'm new here and this essay is already long lol, I'm not citing whole comics runs or anything myself), with a great addendum from Ragnarok-hound in the tags on the Doylist reasons for why the canon goes over Jason's death again and again anyway.

The problem further stems from everyone learning panic attack symptoms from a combination of personal experience (which for the AO3 crowd in the shippy tags does not as often include people with uh combat or crime experience) and actual mental health web resources, so any panic attack scene reads like it was written by someone between high school and college age checking off a list of psych textbook panic attack symptoms. So it makes sense why they would go with the thing that is easiest to write for them and stick with the approved symptoms they know will garner the most sympathy from the audience and, importantly, other characters in the scene. E.g., to return to bullying WFA's portrayal, having Bruce arrive to tell Jason everything will be okay and fix everything.

(I think ymmv more on Bruce portrayals, depending on Your Preferred Batman, whether that's the corresponding era of comics with Red Hood, the animated series, or some campy/classic live action Batman portrayal, but one thing that is pretty consistent in every Batman media is that he's not fucking great at feelings, so even with a generous reading, WFA simplifies a lot of fraught history between Jason and Bruce here. Further, I could write an entire second essay on how bystanders in fanfic always have the perfect response, to either use the right therapy speak and handle a panic attack perfectly or hug the person to help them calm down or what have you, but this is long enough as it is. To be brief, though: sometimes, especially in a situation like Jason and Bruce's, it's perfectly normal to see someone panicking and then also panic and fuck things up even worse! It's also common to feel frustrated or tired of seeing someone panic over the same thing! Like I know fanfic and WFA are wish fulfillment, but like. There's a lot of nuance and basic trauma understanding missing here.)

And that brings us to another point, which is that PTSD triggers don't necessarily manifest as anxiety disorders and textbook panic attacks. I mean, this feels obvious, but there are a lot of ways to experience PTSD! and that's the thing about Jason Todd! He has trauma, not an anxiety disorder! While panic attacks as the default and most common trauma reaction are very common in fanfic, it's not like even the top most common trauma trigger reaction? And it's weird that it's everywhere like this. Trigger responses have a wiiiiide range, e.g., nightmares, lashing out (the Netflix Jessica Jones show was especially good at this actually! Billy Hargrove on Stranger Things is a fucking perfect example too), dissociation (The Raven Cycle books do a great job with this, and then the fanfic forgets that it happened entirely), or simply activating one's fight or flight instinct (and we've seen with Jason, it's often a fight instinct!). There are probably also loads of Batman comics exemplifying each of these variations, but a) as stated I'm new here, I don't have comprehensive citations for every character (yet) and b) I really want to illustrate how fanfic specifically keeps sticking to one particular portrayal in a way that most canons don't.

Jason Todd can be easily written as having a Specific Traumatic Incident (dying hideously via crowbar) or having complex PTSD (little daily bullshit! you can do an entire deep dive on complex PTSD resulting from poverty, homelessness, and regular repeated exposure to violence as a child e.g. by being Robin, which is not even getting into the stuff you can gather from popular hc/later retcons about his mom's drug use or how his dad's working for Two Face and getting sent to prison might have affected him; another example it's a common hc that he's straight edge because of what drugs may or may not have done to his mom depending on the canon you're working with, but I don't see a lot of people writing him with the corresponding control issues that often pair with that). There are a lot of options is what I'm saying.

WFA choosing to double down on the sound of a crowbar scraping (when also like he's the one using a crowbar for actual mechanic things in this scene, he's probably used to a variety of metal scraping sounds, okay I'm nitpicking here again) over any of the more complex trauma under his belt is very lazy writing. They're distilling his entire history to one specific sound that causes a very targeted panic response, which I know. Is the format. That's how WFA works, it's not supposed to be deep, but this is again, a pattern I keep seeing again and again in fanfiction (to bully another fandom: Stranger Things fans insisting that Steve Harrington is afraid of his own swimming pool when the canon strongly contradicts that; he's swim team captain for 3 years running after this AND that's actually Nancy's trauma reaction, not Steve's).

Again, the problem isn't necessarily specifically with WFA or people who enjoy it or with h/c. But, yeah, the crowbar scraping sounds panic attack is a huge disservice to Jason's character, and it's like a ubiquitous pattern of writing trauma in recent years.

[worstloki]

mu qing you deserve so much better

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also if only the physical copy of how to disappear completely & never be found i first encountered & read a few years ago (sort of [roughly avg age ten] reader book, not any similarly titled How To) hadn't disappeared completely & not been found since, probably b/c i put it somewhere i intended to be For Safekeeping, which is also how my binder vanished....b/c it's one of those like. those book for late elementary/middle school readers when they just weave in this unrealism which makes for a delightful range & unpredicability? and with a cynical protagonist girl like off to the races like wow her mom is depressed asf & smoking? and it's about A Family History Secrets Mystery so blatantly a haunting that the inciting incident is basically introducing a haunted [family history secrets mystery] house. and spoilers don't matter like it's stemming from there being this missing uncle who grew up so in contrast to the Winsome Winning Sibling Who Does It All Right while seeing his own affiliation with rats that he tried to disappear completely & never be found which led to this Tragedy which led to this more unintended disappearance of his & he haunts this house & wants to be left alone & only goes out at night with this [ambiguous Is That A Giant Rat Or Weird Small Dog (protagonist affected by these family situations who expresses her preoccupation with an awareness of how fate can Strike and Get you with this interest with roving packs of killer chihuahuas. people think she's weird though she spontaneously befriends this other girl struck with this bolt from the blue & a bit weird / outcast & then Insightful who i wish was in it more)] & plays into the hauntedness danger like playing into the [something's Wrong with you then] until having to take yet more action where the urge to express the truth comes out more both b/c living that hidden is more threatened but also b/c now the niece children are more threatened as well. ft. a sort of preternatural blurring of time b/c of only being communicated with through this uncle via his comic pages (that he paints?) of dubiously accurate translations of irl events that are created so quickly it seems to verge on foresight, imagine like "hmm what's this painting. it's me standing in this room looking at this painting??? as someone ominous lurks in the shadows right behind me?" in both [now how could you know this & paint it really fast ahead of time] and [horror]

[spaceratprodigy]

one day I'll finally talk/write abt what happens between them on scylla but I think nonstop abt what his vision mom says

[ragsy]

MOTW NPC Rach Lombardi, Mark's toxic ex who got ripped to shreds by dogman and then whose revenant ghost latched onto someone else who was on their own dogman revenge quest (player character Tatara)

she's fun.

[dyketubbo]

sorry to like. any of my followers who followed for qsmp just to see me be abnormal about doomsday . ive got like issues

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[atlabeth]

family line

pt 2

pairing: spencer reid x gideon!reader

a/n: pardon the end where i just go into endless conversation for no reason but i cannot control myself. anyways thank you sosososo much for all the love on the last part and gideon!reader as a whole it makes me so happy!! enjoy some dad-daughter-spence car convos(arguing) and some elle time

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): the usual! r and gideon argue, gideon is not a good dad(but theres some reconciliation), angst, hurt/comfort, but some fluff between r and gideon & spence. more of a set-up chapter

The drive over to the safe house is a long one, and unfortunately, not a quiet one. 

Spencer takes the back seat, leaving shotgun for you with your dad. He spends the entirety of the drive briefing you on what living in a safe house will entail, all the things you can and can’t do. 

You can’t use your phone because it could be tracked. You can’t leave the place without Spencer because you are, in fact, being stalked. You’re not to reveal anything about your location to anyone—you’re basically shut off from the world until the unsub is behind bars. 

And once he’s done briefing you, he basically starts interrogating you. 

“Have you been contacted like this before in any way?” 

You huff a laugh. “What, with creepy pictures of myself? No.” 

“Anything unsettling,” he clarifies. “A text message, a call, an email— anything that rubbed you the wrong way that you might’ve just passed off as a joke or spam.” 

“No,” you repeat. 

“You’re sure?” 

“How many times do I have to say no?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and stare at your dad. “Go through it if you want. You won’t find anything.” 

He pauses, then he nods. “Reid.” 

You shake your head with a slight laugh, then turn it over as Spencer extends a hand. He flips it open and starts to go through it, and you just cross your arms and stare out the windshield. 

“We should really hand this over to Garcia,” he says. “She’ll be able to do a lot more than I can. I don’t really—”

“Like technology, I know,” your dad finished. “We will. Just trying to get all the leads we can upfront.” 

You sigh, but you keep quiet. You guess you can’t really consider it an invasion of privacy when there’s a stalker after you. 

“We typically talk to stalking victims for a while to figure out their lifestyle and possible suspects, as well as the type of stalker we’re dealing with,” Spencer says. “We don’t exactly have the time for that here.” 

“This unsub has already been watching you for a month, maybe more,” your dad says. “He’s made his first move by reaching out to me—that means he wants us to know about him, wants you to know about him.” He glances over at you. “He wants to scare you. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction.” 

“You’re jetting me off to a safehouse before you’ve even gotten the chance to look into any leads,” you say. “It looks like we’re pretty scared, Dad.” 

“It’s preparation,” he says. “The unsub has made his first move—I’m not going to wait around for him to make another and compromise your safety.” 

“This could also be a lot more dangerous than we think,” Spencer says. You still hear him clicking through your messages, and you’re beginning to regret your decision to turn it over to him. “Our unsub could be someone after Gideon using you as collateral.” 

Your heart stops for a split second and your attention snaps to your father. “What?”

“…It is a likely option,” he says. “Very few people know you as my daughter. Someone who wants to hurt me could try to use you to do it.”

“So I was right,” you say. “This is only happening because I’m your daughter.”

“Do you want me to say yes?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes— I want you to admit that I’ve missed out on all the positives of you being my dad and gotten stuck with all the negatives!”

“This is not the time,” he says. 

“How is it not the time?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ve said it yourself several times— my life is in danger. There’s someone out there that might kill me to get back at you. What is a better time than this to talk about how shitty of a dad you’ve been?”

“A better time would be when we aren’t this high strung,” he says evenly. “Neither of us are thinking as properly as we should be. We don’t want to say anything we’ll regret.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll regret any of this,” you say. “After all, I could be dead soon, right? I should get all those regrets out of the way.”

“Please stop arguing,” Spencer interrupts hastily. “This— this is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff. The flames burn just as bright, but for some reason, you decide to hold them back a bit. 

“I’m sure it’s real hard for you, boy genius.”

The silence lingers. You can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Your dad, to his credit, doesn’t stoke the fire.

It looks like you’re all capable of restraint today. 

“I— I went through all her messages,” Spencer continues. It irks you that he talks like you’re not here. “There’s nothing suspicious there, at least.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’ll hand it over to Garcia after I drop you both off.”

“We’re not gonna have a car?” you ask.

“You’ll have this one,” he says. “That’s why Agent Greenaway is following us.”

“Elle’s coming?” Spencer asks, and you see him perk up. You belatedly wonder what that deal is. 

“Just so she can drive me back to the office,” your dad says. “She offered.”

“What’s everyone else doing?” 

“Garcia is digging through some of your personal records for the team,” he says, glancing at you. “JJ is in contact with the local police stations so they’re ready once we have a profile. Morgan and Hotch should be looking through every case I’ve closed to get a running list of suspects.”

“Great,” you say as you lean back in your seat. “Nothing like getting my whole life aired out and put under a microscope.”

“It already is,” Spencer says. “You’ve got a stalker.”

“Thanks, Spencer,” you mutter. “I forgot.” 

-

The rest of the drive goes by with ease—at least, relative to how difficult you’ve made everything else. 

You’re already sick of Spencer Reid by the time you get out of the car. You don’t know how you’re going to survive such close quarters under these kinds of circumstances. 

Another car parks next to you as the three of you get out, and your eyes are drawn to the woman that steps out. 

“Easy drive?” your dad asks. 

“I was right behind you,” Agent Greenaway says. “You drive like an old man.” 

Your dad just barely smiles. “Stay with her, Elle. Reid and I are going to check the perimeter.” 

“You can’t be serious,” you cut in. 

“I already told you I’m not taking chances with this,” he says, and he takes his gun out. “This won’t take long.” 

Spencer takes his out as well—he carries it with both hands, like it’s actually weighing him down, and it’s a bit ridiculous—and they split to cover both sides of the house and the surrounding area. You sigh and shake your head as you cross your arms. 

“He’s certainly spirited,” Agent Greenaway says. 

You huff a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” 

“I’m Elle, by the way,” she says. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced.” 

You nod your acknowledgment and say your name. “Nice to meet you.” 

She turns to fully face you. “Do you mind if I say a few things?” 

“If it’s about my dad—”

“It’s not,” she interrupts with a wry smile, “I promise.” 

You shrug. “Then sure.” 

“First, I just want to ask if you’re doing alright,” she says. “You’ve gotten a lot dropped on you all at once.”

“I’m as good as I can be,” you say. 

Elle nods, and her eyes soften. “I’m not gonna tell you to take it easy on Gideon. He’s an incredible agent, but that makes it hard to be a good dad.”

You don’t say anything, and she continues. 

“My dad was on the force too. I resented him for a lot of my childhood because he was gone so often, but… then he was killed in the line of duty.”

You frown. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Elle nods in thanks. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I’m just saying I know what it’s like.”

You shift your balance and sigh, glancing away momentarily. “Everyone here sees him as a hero, and— and he is. He started this whole thing and you all save lives every day, but it feels like he’s missed my entire life because of it.” You huff a bitter laugh. “I think you all know him better than I do.”

“I think you’re probably right,” she admits. “You deserve to be angry. And honestly, I think you deserve to hate him some for it.” 

You huff a slight laugh. “You’re the one person who hasn’t tried to make me feel bad for it.”

She shrugs. “You’re in an awful situation and it might be because of him. You don’t have to have endless grace.”

“Any chance I can get you to stay in here with me instead of Spencer?” you ask.

She smiles. “I don’t think Gideon wants to stick the two of us in a house together. But I am gonna make sure we catch this guy.”

“These kinds of assholes go after vulnerable women because it gives them the attention they crave,” she continues. “They worm themselves into their lives and disrupt it all and it makes them feel powerful—you have to play to their whims.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with this,” you murmur.

“I have a lot of experience putting away sick men,” Elle says. 

“Do you have any advice, then?” you ask weakly. 

“I’ve only been around you for a few hours, but I already know you’re better and stronger than whatever bastard is after you,” she says. “He wants to control your life. Don’t let him.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I’m… really glad you’re on my side.”

She smiles again. “Just doing my job.”

Your eyes latch onto your dad as he and Spencer come back around the front, and they both tuck their guns back into their holsters. 

“It’s all clear,” your dad says. 

“And I’m not dead,” you say. “Looks like we’re all doing good.”

He chooses to ignore you, instead looking at Elle. “Did you go over anything with her?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Just gave some advice.”

“Great,” Spencer says. “Just what I need.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Reid,” Elle says. “You’ll be fine.” 

You don’t miss the look he gives her, and your dad clears his throat. “Can you take her inside and check everything? Reid and I need to talk.” 

He frowns. “We do?” 

“Sure,” she nods. 

You stare at your dad this time, and he doesn’t entertain your annoyance with some of his own. “We’ll be in soon.” 

“Sure,” you repeat. 

You follow Elle in—you don’t feel like getting a lecture on safety just yet—and when you pass a glance over your shoulder, you meet Spencer’s eyes. He was watching you. 

His eyes dart away just as quickly, and you huff the slightest laugh. You don’t know if he’s scared of you or just tired of you already, but whichever one, you don’t really care. If you have to be stuck in this house with him, he has to be stuck in there with you too.

Elle shows you around the place, and it’s nothing special—a one story house with two bedrooms and a noticeable lack of windows, furnished plainly with a couch and a few chairs, a small kitchen table, a television. You’re honestly surprised at how nice it all is. 

But as she takes you on the impromptu tour, you can’t stop thinking about her words. You can’t stop thinking about all of it, honestly. 

A month ago, you were driving home in silence after your dad forgot about the plans you made. A week ago, you were out for drinks with friends. 

Today, you’re hunkering down in a safe house because there’s a stalker after you, and you have to do it with your dad’s stand-in kid. 

That’s what gets you, you think. That you know more about Spencer Reid than anyone at his job knows about you—that your dad ignores you in favor of his work, and instead of trying to fit you into his life, he finds an FBI replacement.

Your jaw clenches. It takes a few seconds for you to realize you’ve completely tuned out Elle, only really coming out of it when she says your name.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was distracted.” 

“I don’t blame you,” she says wryly. 

You’re about to respond when Spencer walks in with your dad. His face is slightly flushed and, as opposed to all the other times, he won’t make eye contact with you. You can only imagine what your dad decided to talk to him about. 

“You showed her around?” your dad asks. 

Elle nods. “The basics. She and Reid can figure out the rest.” 

“Thank you,” he says. He looks at Spencer, who has his hands stuffed in his pockets and is very intently focused on the wall behind you. “Help Elle get the rest of the things out of her car.”

He frowns. “Elle doesn’t need my help.”

“Come on, Reid,” she says as she starts to walk. 

He blinks and nods. “Oh. Uh— yeah.” 

You feel his eyes on you as he goes, but you don’t meet them. You just stare at your father.

“Is it my turn for a lecture?”

His eyes soften as he says your name. “This isn’t how I want things to be between us.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “it takes a decade or two of neglect to get here.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me. But I’m going to get you out of it.”

“I hope so,” you say. “Because I don’t really know how Doctor Reid is going to help.”

“Don’t take it out on Reid,” your dad says. “Hate me all you want, but leave him out of it.”

“You’re the one that pulled him into it,” you retort. “He’s more your kid than I am.”

“And I regret it,” he says. Your eyes widen a bit, and it actually gets you to shut up. “I regret that it took something like this for me to be a part of your life again. But I don’t want our last interaction before you’re sequestered for the indefinite future to be a fight.”

“That’s all I’m good at when it comes to you,” you mumble. The wind has been taken out of your sails considerably. 

“And I want to change that,” he says. “But first, we have to get through this. And we’re going to get through it together, sweetheart.” 

The term of affection feels strange coming from him. Ever since your teenage years, he’s felt less like your dad and more like some estranged cousin. You hate it. You hate how unfamiliar everything feels with him. Jason Gideon has been a profiler longer than he’s been a dad and it shows in your every interaction with him. 

But still, your heart aches. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“You promise?” you ask. You feel like a kid again. 

“I promise,” he says. 

Then your dad pulls you into a hug, and for a moment, you freeze. You can’t remember the last time he hugged you. 

Despite the anger inside of you, the bitterness built in your bones, you can’t help it—you hug him back. You practically melt into his arms as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the sudden threat of tears. 

Because deep down beneath it all, you’re scared. You’re fucking terrified, actually, and right now you’re just a girl who wants comfort from her dad. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“…I love you too,” you mumble.

Neither of you pull away for a good thirty seconds. When you do, you turn around to wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see. You hear the door open and start, but it’s just Spencer and Elle with some bags and boxes. 

“Elle’s got some groceries,” your dad says, clearing his throat. “We’ll deliver more if necessary, but you’ve got the basics for a couple weeks, at least.” 

“And a whole lot of books and movies,” Spencer says, hefting the box in his hands. “Did you know that there have been approximately 122 million unique titles published since the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press in 1440?” 

“That’s less specific than usual,” Elle says. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

He frowns. “I couldn’t find statistics on the exact number.” 

“Why were you even looking at those statistics?” 

“I get bored sometimes.” 

Elle just laughs as they continue into the living room. You feel your dad’s eyes on you, and you sigh. 

“I’ll take it easy on him,” you say. “Mostly. Maybe.” 

And he actually smiles. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say offhandedly, but you find the slightest smile creeping on your lips as well. You kind of hate it. 

Everything else goes by relatively quickly now that you’re not arguing every single thing—you have to fight your instincts not to, but you manage—and eventually, after another lingering hug and some promises to be safe (and one from Spencer to your dad to keep you safe)—you’re alone in the house with him. 

“So,” you say as you settle on the couch, “this is what the indefinite future is going to be like.” 

“If it makes you feel better, last time we dealt with a stalker we caught them in a few days,” Spencer says. “She watched her for a good while, though.” 

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” you say. “Thanks.” 

“...Sorry.” 

You shrug your indifference and Spencer walks past you, focusing in on some of the paintings hanging on the wall. You’re sure he knows the artist, title, and meaning behind every single one, so you speak up before he can start.  

“What did you and Elle talk about?” 

“How this place doesn’t have a pool,” he says.  

You frown. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “What’d you and Gideon talk about?”

“We fought then made up,” you say. “It was… weird.” 

Spencer looks at you. “How?” 

You shrug again as you cross your arms. “You’ve seen how we are. We don’t exactly get along.” 

“Has he really been that bad of a dad?”

“It’s none of your business,” you say. “But… yes. He’s barely been a dad at all.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t get that. He’s so different in the field.” 

“That’s why he’s barely been a dad—because he’s so busy here.” You tilt your head. “Don’t you have some facts or whatever on the percentage of fathers that are workaholics?” 

“Well, 89% of dads work full time,” Spencer says. “And fathers typically work around 47 hours a week. But I don’t have anything on workaholics specifically.” 

“Great.” You stand up and walk over to the box of DVDs Spencer set down on the table, and you start rifling through them. “So, what’d my dad tell you about me?” 

Spencer blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“When I came in here with Elle and he kept you out there,” you say. “Did he give you the run-down? Warn you on how difficult I am to be around? Tell you that I hate you?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Uh— no. He just… talked to me. Gave the rundown on everything.”

You hum. “You can tell the truth.” 

“I— I am,” he says. He’s clearly not. “He didn’t say anything bad about you. Promise.” 

“Whatever you say.” You land on a DVD and glance over at him. “How do you feel about Groundhog Day?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t like Bill Murray.” 

You frown. “That’s ridiculous. How can you not like Ghostbusters?” 

“I love Ghostbusters.” 

“How can you like Ghostbusters but not Bill Murray?” 

“Because I like the concept more than I like him,” he says. “I love Halloween.” 

You shake your head and move on. “Who put these together?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Gideon? Or maybe some random BAU office worker.” 

“It’s an interesting compilation.” You look up at him again. “How about Dirty Dancing?” 

“No.” 

“No reasoning?”

“I don’t feel like dealing with a musical right now,” he says. 

“So you choose to deprive me of Patrick Swayze,” you tut. You grab one movie out of the back and hold it up. “If I put on Goodfellas, will you interrupt every five seconds with facts?”

“...I can push it back to every thirty seconds,” he says. 

“Five minutes,” you say. 

“One minute.” 

“Two.” 

“One forty-five?” 

“Two—take it or leave it.” 

“Technically I have all the power here,” Spencer says. “I can talk nonstop about anything. Putting down a movie narrows that down.” 

“...One fifty.” 

He nods, and you huff a disbelieving laugh as you put the DVD in the player. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?” 

“A lot,” he says as he sits down on the couch. “I usually get insufferable or weird or annoying, though. So ridiculous isn’t too bad.” 

“Well, you’re certainly something.” 

“That’s also not too bad,” he says. “I could even take it as a compliment.”

You sigh and pick up the remote before you sit back down. You look up at the clock on the wall and bite back a curse. 

“It’s only been ten minutes,” you mutter. 

“Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, actually,” Spencer says. “Did you know that Scorsese actually cast real mobsters as extras? The cast members were told ahead of time so they could show the necessary respect to them while they were on set. There’s a whole mafia hierarchy, and only full-blooded Italians—”

“I haven’t even gotten to the start screen,” you interrupt in disbelief. 

Spencer shrugs. “You said every minute and fifty seconds. Not how long I could go on for.” 

You let out another sigh as he continues on. You bet Spencer could probably recite the whole movie from memory if you asked, but you honestly don’t know if you could take that. 

There’s one plus, at least. When you’ve got a human encyclopedia next to you that can spout off whatever information he wants any time he wants, you think you’re gonna have a hard time thinking too much about your stalker. 

You look over at Spencer when you finally make it to the opening scene, still talking but now about the different crime families in the United States. His eyebrows are surprisingly animated when he talks, going up and down depending on his inflection, and you find yourself thinking that it’s charming. 

It’s annoying how pretty he is, and it’s annoying how annoying he is. 

You look away. 

This is going to be a very long lockdown.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

An idea I have that’s itching my brain. Ex-husband!price, second chance trope? Strangely into this recently

Ex-husband!price who can’t help but call you every time he gets back from a mission and you who can’t help but pick up.

You’ve been divorced for a little over a year now. It wasn’t necessarily on bad terms but the relationship just couldn’t work anymore; with him constantly gone it felt as though he was more of a roommate, a stranger, than the man you loved.

You couldn’t take the loneliness and Price only ever wanted to make you happy, so he agreed to the divorce with the same amount of courage he had going into a mission.

“John?” You asked, answering the call after the third to make it seem like you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey,” Price smiled immediately when he heard your voice. “I made it home.”

“Good. You’re not hurt are you?”

Price could feel the ache and throb on his body from the mission, especially on his side where he had hit the ground hard because of an explosion. A large bruise had already formed but he ignored it like every problem he had concerning himself.

Just like he had ignored you.

“I’m alright.” He sucked in his lips and cleared his throat. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

You really shouldn’t. It’s not like you ended on bad terms necessarily, but you had never known someone to stay friends with their ex-husband before. You knew that these kind of talks might send the wrong message.

It might make one of you believe that there was hope for reconciliation.

“Oh…nothing much.” You kept it vague to deter further conversation and you hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.

Price didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself even though he felt a pang in his chest while his throat tightened.

He shouldn’t call you anymore even if he missed your voice. Every call was like he was torturing himself, making himself remember what he lost because he couldn’t get his own head out of his ass.

He would’ve stopped after the first call if you hadn’t picked up.

“I just wanted to let you I was home.” He mumbled and you felt incredibly grateful that he wanted to do that.

You may be divorced but you still feared the day one of his men would come to tell you he was no longer alive.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

It slipped out but neither of you said anything. You both sat in silence, drinking up the presence of each other from the other side of the phone, across cities.

There were so many mixed feelings, all of which neither of you had the words to describe them.

“Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye.”

When you were gone Price sat in the edge of his bed in the dark. The bed he once shared with you often went untouched, even by him as he couldn’t stand to lay in it alone, even if the mattress was better for his body.

His fingers played with the golden band chained around his neck subconsciously since he was unable to get rid of it.

A/n: take whatever this is lol won’t be a series but might have like a couple other little pieces

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[jiarkives]

julia’s favorites ! (vi)

♡ - fluff ; ♤ - angst ; ☆ - series

a court of thorns and roses

☆ never been good enough - azriel

↳ @lure-of-writing

☆ the things we do for love - platonic!helion, platonic!inner circle

↳ @really-fanny-longbottom

☆ pushed to the edge - azriel

♡♤ i’m yours - azriel

↳ @stormhearty

☆ overwritten - azriel

↳ @illyrian-dreamer

☆ cold hearts - azriel

↳ @azrielsdove

♤ these hallowed halls - cassian

♤ the girl who cheated death - azriel

♤♡ sweet creature - azriel

↳ @utterlyotterlyx

♡ apple pies and family ties - azriel

↳ @writingcroissant

♤♡ hidden away - rhysand

♡ teaching trails - azriel

♡♤ beneath the healer’s touch - azriel

↳ @thewulf

♡ umbrella - rhysand

♤ house of memories - azriel

↳ @sarawritestories

♡ you’re mine - azriel

↳ @remember-that-one-blog

♡ i want you to rest - azriel

♤ restless dreams - azriel

↳ @azrielhours

♡ the family we choose - azriel

↳ @moonlightazriel

♡ my angel - azriel

↳ @starlightandsouls

♡♤ head held high - dad!rhysand ft. brother!nyx, uncle!azriel

↳ @readychilledwine

♡♤ blood tether - azriel

↳ @acotar-writing

♤ poison - azriel

♡ awake - azriel

↳ @hattiewritesalot

♡ surprise - cassian

↳ @writingsbychlo

♤ no going back (i) - azriel

♤♡ now that we don’t talk (ii) - azriel

♡ arcane - azriel

↳ @serpentandlily

♡♤ baby, mine - azriel ft. platonic!rhysand

↳ @thisblogisaboutabook

♡ “what are you doing?” “i… was told there was an emergency...” - azriel

↳ @sillymercury

♤♡ i love you, it’s ruining my life - azriel

↳ @flickering-chandelier

♡♤ bad dreams - azriel

↳ @tadpolesonalgae

~

criminal minds

☆ galileo - spencer reid

↳ @write-orflight

♡ hotch’s sister - spencer reid

↳ @luveline

♤♡ a father’s daughter - spencer reid ft. dad!aaron hotchner

♤♡ epiphany - spencer reid, bau!reader

↳ @pathologicalreid

♡ drabble - spencer reid, bau!reader

↳ @moonstruckme

♡ drabble - aaron hotchner, bau!reader

↳ @ddejavvu

♤ how do we carry on? (i) - aaron hotchner, bau!reader ft. emily prentiss

♤♡ reconciliation (ii) - aaron hotchner, bau!reader ft. emily prentiss, elle greenaway

↳ @hotchnisslvr

♡ falling for you - spencer reid

↳ @boldlyvoid

~

marvel

♤ curiosity killed the cat - bucky barnes

↳ @queers-gambit

♤ where would we be without all the distance? - steve rogers

↳ @nightowlwriting

♡♤ who the hell is daryl? - bucky barnes

↳ @lostgirlmuseum

♤ listen to your gut - bucky barnes

↳ @marvelstoriesepic

♕ divider — @bunnysrph

[starcurtain]

Hey! I apologize if this question has been asked before since it seems like a pretty obvious one, but where do you think the idea of Aventurine being a sex slave came from? Other than the obvious factor of it being something fun for the fandom to mess around with, I mean.

It's something I kind of took for granted as being true before playing his quest, but after finishing it I realized there wasn't really any indication. The only thing I can really think of is his master's comments about him having a good body. Is there anything in his behavior you can think of that would lead to this conclusion if it wasn't a popular fan interpretation already/kind of just an easy conclusion to reach with a slave character?

(also kind of related but what do you think of the idea that he sleeps around/with his clients to make deals? he's obviously willing to sexualize himself with the boob window, but that doesn't necessarily mean he goes further.)

As far as I can tell, the idea that Aventurine was involved in sexual slavery comes from three (maybe four) places:

First, the comment from the master about Aventurine's appearance. People were holding this comment up as refutable proof that Aventurine was used in sexual slavery on top of being tossed into the Hunger Games; however, the response from other players on this interpretation, especially the Chinese side of the fandom, was very mixed, with a lot of people pointing out that the context in the game probably meant the slave master was talking about Aventurine's ability to attract attention from fans watching the literal Sigonian Hunger Games, rather than having a direct sexual-slavery connotation.

Second, the comment from Sparkle about stripping naked and getting on his knees for Sunday. This one has way more implication in English than I think it might for an Eastern audience, actually. In English, this pretty much sounds like Sparkle saying Aventurine trades sexual favors for success in his gambles. However, I suspect the original intention in Chinese was more about humiliation. Western audiences don't have as much history with honor-based prostration, i.e. accepting corporal humiliation as a form of reconciliation that Eastern audiences might be more familiar with. And in any case, Sparkle is Sparkle. She probably just went for the lowest blow she could think of here.

Third, the general assumption that if Sigonian slaves were being chained, branded, beaten, sent to death matches, etc., it seems logical that they would also be taken advantage of in other ways. I honestly think this is probably the fairest take--many, many real slaves around the world faced (and still face!) sexual abuse, so if slaves from Sigonia were treated so poorly you could make them fight to the death for entertainment, it stands to reason they were probably also not safe from other forms of assault. We also have no idea what happened to Kakavasha in any of the years between his being a tiny child fleeing the massacre and then being purchased as a slave as a late-teens-early-twenties person. That's a very long time for a child to have to survive on their own on an extremely hostile planet and not face risks of all kinds or end up needing to do unspeakable things to survive. So I think this is at least not that far-fetched, although it's important to say there's nothing in the game that directly confirms this.

And fourth: I read a tweet semi-recently that stated that one of the Chinese (or maybe it was Japanese) names for a quest Aventurine was involved in was actually a reference to a book about a teenage sexual assault survivor. However, when I tried to verify this myself, I couldn't find any quest Aventurine was in that was based on a book about sexual assault in either English, Chinese, or Japanese. It's possible I just missed something, but I'm taking this one with a bit of a grain of salt currently, since I can't confirm it personally.

Regarding your other question, about whether I think Aventurine sleeps around to make deals...

I definitely think he does not, for one major reason.

First, I will admit that Aventurine is definitely willing to use his appearance to his advantage. This is pretty obvious. He wears incredibly flashy clothes, baths himself in cologne, overloads on glittering golden jewels, and absolutely calls attention to his appearance when working with clients.

We see him actively doing this in his Moment Among the Stars video, where he is clearly using his looks as an equal tool (to his wealth), to daze his target.

It's not an accident that he says things like "Use me as you wish," with all the explicit connotations preserved. The implication is there. However, unless he was absolutely backed into a corner, I think that implication is all it will ever be.

The reason I think this is that the devs go out of their way to give Aventurine three fairly noticeable physical behaviors in his in-game scenes:

For one, he has some of the most closed off body language of any character in the game.

Aventurine's default conversation pose is arms crossed directly and tightly in front of himself. This is like "Defensive Body Language 101." By crossing your arms, you put a symbolic barrier between yourself and the person you're speaking to, and also ensure that your hands are up and available in case you actually need to physically defend yourself.

Virtually all of Aventurine's conversations take place from this stance, no matter who he is speaking to (from the Trailblazer all the way to Topaz). He deliberately closes his pose off and tightens up his silhouette, which just sends a glaring "Don't touch me" message.

This closing off is also blatantly apparent when you compare it to the deliberately open poses he strikes while trying to make himself seem accessible to others (like tempting clients) or seem powerful (to intimidate):

Complementing this habit of closing himself off is a second noticeable aspect of his body language: He frequently avoids eye contact to the point that he even holds conversations while entirely facing away from the person he's speaking to.

I might be a bit lenient and say maybe he's doing this to on purpose to be mysterious, whoo~~ But... in all honestly, he just does this with everyone, even with Ratio while trying to talk about an actual important issue (wanting to look into Acheron's real identity). Hell, even the fake Aventurine does it to himself!

We can even say that wearing the rose-tinted glasses in the first place is another intentional barrier, one Aventurine deliberately removes in specific moments to give people the (false) impression that he's "letting them in" to his circle:

Now, this might be a bit more complicated in Aventurine's case, because eye contact has a whole extra meaning when eyes are the defining trait of your species and come with particularly challenging racial stereotypes. So it may be that Aventurine is simply used to conducting conversation while looking away to minimize racial prejudice against his eyes' unique appearance.

However, I'd also argue that the devs deliberately turned his entire model away in cutscene after cutscene to create a clear sense of being inaccessible, unapproachable, and unwilling to engage in the physical intimacy of standing closely, directly facing, and staring at his conversation partners.

While he faces away, he controls both the figurative and the literal direction of conversation, forcing people to keep their eyes on him while he is free to move as he pleases. Over and over again, it just says "I want to be the one in control. I'm not afraid to show my back to you, but you are not welcome to come near me."

And, in fact, that's a third aspect of his character's body language that I am sure the devs did not include accidentally: More so than other characters, many of Aventurine's conversations are conducted from weirdly far distances. Like, half the time he's talking, he's standing all the way on the opposite side of the room!

This habit of speaking from a-larger-than-normal distance is apparent in the first scene with Himeko...

And then in just about every other conversation too:

The bubble is twenty feet in every direction.

Like yes, he does approach and have conversations like a normal person... sometimes... But it is significantly more noticeable with Aventurine than with other characters that he often conducts whole conversations--even with his allies--from a distance. Just genuinely weirdly far apart.

Leaving space for Gaiathra, I guess.

And it's because these significant decisions were made with Aventurine's in-game body language that, when he deliberately alters his own behavior, it is instantaneously noticeable.

In 2.0, he closes the distance, the glasses come off, and he gets directly up in the Trailblazer's face.

It's uncomfortable not just because the player is suddenly being loomed over, but because this behavior has already been subconsciously established for the player as out of character for Aventurine.

The barriers the character himself was putting up are deliberately stripped away so that he can use physicality and demanding eye contact to intimidate his target. He has to reverse his own normal body language in order to come across as domineering (and, I guess if you're into that, appealing in a domineering manner).

And ummmm, just a tiny aside here because I can't resist:

This does mean that when the game goes out of its way to demonstrate Aventurine altering his own normal habit of distant and defensive body language, it is absolutely intentional.

Yes, this is a Ratiorine post in disguise. There literally isn't any other character in the game that Aventurine is shown being comfortable standing so close to and interacting with in this manner. This doesn't occur in every one of their scenes, but Ratio is the only character that this happens with repeatedly. It's not an accident that the devs literally added "They were walking side-by-side" as flavor text.

But look, I'll be fair: There's a great example of this in Aventurine's scene with Acheron too, where he closes the distance and attempts to make eye contact with her--seeking her guidance and closeness--and she is actually the one stepping away, speaking with her back turned, demonstrating her power and control (and issues with connection!) in that scene.

Anyway, this was a whole longggg tangent into analyzing Aventurine's body language, but my point is that, overall, the devs deliberately adjusted his model's actions in-game to give the impression of a person who clearly wants to be in control of every interaction he has with other people, who insists on distance over intimacy, and whose stances and habits suggest that he is significantly less accessible and open than his "Use me as you wish" motto might suggest.

Long story longer, I think that there is almost zero chance Aventurine is willingly ceding control over himself or the actions expected of him to anyone he isn't 100% comfortable with, and I think that using physical intimacy of any kind would be an absolute last resort for him. Frankly, he comes across as more likely to shoot himself in the foot than let someone he doesn't trust lay hands on him.

To me, he reads very much as "You may look, but you may not touch."

[writingwithcolor]

Sri Lankan Fairies and Senegalese Goddesses: Mixing Mythology as a Mixed Creator

[Note: this archive ask was submitted before the Masterpost rules took effect in 2023. The ask has been abridged for clarity.]

@reydjarinkenobi asked:

Hi, I’m half Sri Lankan/half white Australian, second gen immigrant though my mum moved when she was a kid. My main character for my story is a mixed demigod/fae. [...] Her bio mum is essentially a Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy and her other bio mum (goddess) is a goddess of my own creation, Nettamaar, who’s name is derived from [...] Wolof words [...]. The community of mages that she presided over is from the South Eastern region of Senegal [...] In the beginning years of European imperialism, the goddess basically protected them through magic and by blessing a set of triplets effectively cutting them off from the outside world for a few centuries [...] I was unable to find a goddess that fit the story I wanted to tell [...] and also couldn’t find much information on the internet for local gods, which is why I have created my own. I know that the gods in Hinduism do sort of fit into [the story] but my Sri Lankan side is Christian and I don’t feel comfortable representing the Hindu gods in the way that I will be this goddess [...]. I wanted to know if any aspect of the community’s history is problematic as well as if I should continue looking further to try and find an African deity that matched my narrative needs? I was also worried that having a mixed main character who’s specifically half black would present problems as I can’t truly understand the black experience. I plan on getting mixed and black sensitivity readers once I finish my drafts [...] I do take jabs at white supremacy and imperialism and I I am planning to reflect my feelings of growing up not immersed in your own culture and feeling overwhelmed with what you don’t know when you get older [...]. I’m sorry for the long ask but I don’t really have anyone to talk to about writing and I’m quite worried about my story coming across as insensitive or problematic because of cultural history that I am not educated enough in.

Reconciliation Requires Research

First off: how close is this world’s history to our own, omitting the magic? If you’re aiming for it to be essentially parallel, I would keep in mind that Senegal was affected by the spread of Islam before the Europeans arrived, and most people there are Muslim, albeit with Wolof and other influences. 

About your Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy character: I’ll point you to this previous post on Magical humanoid worldbuilding, Desi fairies as well as this previous post on Characterization for South Asian-coded characters for some of our commentary on South Asian ‘fae’. Since she is also Scottish, the concept can tie back to the Celtic ideas of the fae.

However, reconciliation of both sides of her background can be tricky. Do you plan on including specific Sri Lankan mythos into her heritage? I would tread carefully with it, if you plan to do so. Not every polytheistic culture will have similar analogues that you can pull from.

To put it plainly, if you’re worried about not knowing enough of the cultural histories, seek out people who have those backgrounds and talk to them about it. Do your research thoroughly: find resources that come from those cultures and read carefully about the mythos that you plan to incorporate. Look for specificity when you reach out to sensitivity readers and try to find sources that go beyond a surface-level analysis of the cultures you’re looking to portray. 

~ Abhaya

I see you are drawing on Gaelic lore for your storytelling. Abhaya has given you good links to discussions we’ve had at WWC and the potential blindspots in assuming, relative to monotheistic religions like Christianity, that all polytheistic and pluralistic lore is similar to Gaelic folklore. Fae are one kind of folklore. There are many others. Consider:

Is it compatible? Are Fae compatible with the Senegalese folklore you are utilizing? 

Is it specific? What ethnic/religious groups in Senegal are you drawing from? 

Is it suitable? Are there more appropriate cultures for the type of lore you wish to create?

Remember, Senegalese is a national designation, not an ethnic one, and certainly not a designation that will inform you with respect to religious traditions. But more importantly:

...Research Requires Reconciliation

My question is why choose Senegal when your own heritage offers so much room for exploration? This isn’t to say I believe a half Sri-Lankan person shouldn’t utilize Senegalese folklore in their coding or vice-versa, but, to put it bluntly, you don’t seem very comfortable with your heritage. Religions can change, but not everything cultural changes when this happens. I think your relationship with your mother’s side’s culture offers valuable insight to how to tackle the above, and I’ll explain why.  

I myself am biracial and bicultural, and I had to know a lot about my own background before I was confident using other cultures in my writing. I had to understand my own identity—what elements from my background I wished to prioritize and what I wished to jettison. Only then was I able to think about how my work would resonate with a person from the relevant background, what to be mindful of, and where my blindspots would interfere. 

I echo Abhaya’s recommendation for much, much more research, but also include my own personal recommendation for greater self-exploration. I strongly believe the better one knows oneself, the better they can create. It is presumptuous for me to assume, but your ask’s phrasing, the outlined plot and its themes all convey a lack of confidence in your mixed identity that may interfere with confidence when researching and world-building. I’m not saying give up on this story, but if anxiety on respectful representation is a large barrier for you at the moment, this story may be a good candidate for a personal project to keep to yourself until you feel more ready.

(See similar asker concerns here: Running Commentary: What is “ok to do” in Mixed-Culture Supernatural Fiction, here: Representing Biracial Black South American Experiences and here: Am I fetishizing my Japanese character?)

- Marika.

Start More Freely with Easy Mode

Question: Why not make a complete high-fantasy universe, with no need of establishing clear real-world parallels in the text? It gives you plenty of leg room to incorporate pluralistic, multicultural mythos + folklore into the same story without excessive sweating about historically accurate worldbuilding.

It's not a *foolproof* method; even subtly coded multicultural fantasy societies like Avatar or the Grishaverse exhibit certain harmful tropes. I also don't know if you are aiming for low vs high fantasy, or the degree of your reliance on real world culture / religion / identity cues.

But don't you think it's far easier for this fantasy project to not have the additional burden of historical accuracy in the worldbuilding? Not only because I agree with Mod Marika that perhaps you seem hesitant about the identity aspect, but because your WIP idea can include themes of othering and cultural belonging (and yes, even jabs at supremacist institutions) in an original fantasy universe too. I don't think I would mind if I saw a couple of cultural markers of a Mughal Era India-inspired society without getting a full rundown of their agricultural practices, social conventions and tax systems, lol.

Mod Abhaya has provided a few good resources about what *not* to do when drawing heavily from cultural coding. With that at hand, I don't think your project should be a problem if you simply make it an alternate universe like Etheria (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power), Inys (The Priory of the Orange Tree) or Earthsea (the Earthsea series, Ursula K. Le Guin). Mind you, we can trace the analogues to each universe, but there is a lot of freedom to maneuver as you wish when incorporating identities in original fantasy. And of course, multiple sensitivity readers are a must! Wishing you the best for the project.

- Mod Mimi

[artinvain]

abby is terrible and toxic and really good at gaslighting apologising and so sexy and oops - dacryphilia

• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ Abby had called you sixteen times. you huff as your phone rings, make that seventeen. your scalding shower cleared your mind for it’s duration but as soon as you stepped out you were bombarded with thoughts about abby.

was she okay? why should it matter to you, because she does stupid things when she’s upset. you chastise yourself for even defending her — you were the one that caught her sharing air with ellie. with her fucking hands on ellie’s hips, your best friend, the thought made you sick.

abby: please talk to me

you ignore the message, pulling clothes on while it continues to buzz incessantly. abby: I’m so sorry you saw that, I can explain

abby: I won’t stop I need you to talk to me

you sighed exasperated as you sat on your couch and started to type, redacting words and switching things around until your eyes hurt and you can’t see from the tears. you wanted to reply to abby, you wanted to give her a piece of your mind but why should you? she’d done this before, she promised —

you promised abby, you promised it wouldn’t happen again.

you bit your fist while waiting for her reply. more tears as you thought about your first reconciliation, when she’d finally earned your trust. and now you couldn’t even trust your best friend. abby stops typing and your heart drops, until she’s banging on your door and calling your name.

“baby, please, please open up for me,” she whimpers, “just wanna talk,” you hate yourself for it but open the door and abby sighs relived. you glare at her as she steps closer, “honey you know this happened last time too,” abby sighs stepping closer when you cross you arms and look away, “that was different-“ but abby shushes you and tips your chin up with her finger tip, looking down on you with big watery eyes.

“no it wasn’t -“ she whispered “you were wasted you thought you saw me kissing someone but I wasn’t,” she said softly, following your eyes, “but you and ellie -“ you sighed.

“we didn’t kiss, she wanted me to,” she hummed, “I would never, she was all over me,” a hand coming to sit gingerly on your hip. “I promise you baby, I’m all yours,” you lean slowly into her touch and -

god yes — she knows she’s getting you and almost feels bad, she didn’t like doing this but she couldn’t lose you, she would go on a killing rampage. she needed you. but abby also couldn’t seem to stop herself from making mistakes again and again.

“you didn’t kiss her?” you ask, you sort of felt bad for doubting her, abby took care of you, she protected you. you knew she had bad dealings but she kept it all away from you. “no love I didn’t,” she hums her hand cupping your cheek as your eyes start to leak.

“I’m sorry,” abby says, looking into your eyes and kissing your forehead, “I love you okay, and I wouldn’t - I can’t lose you,” she whines as your arms engulf her and she pulls you close her warm arms caging you. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, kissing your temple, your cheek again and again until you’re desperately clawing at her vest, rugged her impossibly closer and tasting her lips, your mouth on hers -tongue licking into her mouth for a taste. her tongue lapped over yours, her arms pulling you in tight, her whole body apologising.

“let’s-“ you say inbetween kisses, “bedroom,” you stumble back through the hallway into your bedroom, as she removes your top and you run your hands over her sensitive tits until you fall into your bed. “m’gonna prove it,” abby says with ragged breath. “prove you’re mine, that I’m just for you,” she leans over you sucking your bottom lip and kissing you pressing her mouth to yours I need you is what she’s saying.

you grip her head as abby kisses down your chest, taking your bra off and gently squeezing your tits and then “fuck,” you moan as you tangle your hand in her hair as abby sucks on your nipples, lightly grazing them with her teeth, groaning as she mouths at and kisses all over your chest leaving marks glittering your torso. abby licked her lips as she lay between your legs, “i’m yours baby, jus for you,”

she slurs as she sniffs you mouthing your pussy through your panties, tasting your wetness and sucking on your clit, “ungh-abby,” you gasp, bucking your hips as she tears the fabric down your legs. she’s fucking drooling at the sight of you, humping the bed huffing like she was in heat. there was no one like you. she marvelled for a second how you pulsed as she gently touches your folds and spread you wide, her breath making you jump. “please! fuck abby please,” you didn’t realise you were crying but abby could hear it in your voice and she clenched her jaw, trying to stop herself from cumming, but when she tasted you she groaned loudly, her hips jerking as she explodes, she can feel her clit rubbing on her strap. gripping your thighs tight and laying your legs over her shoulders abby licks her thick tongue through you and suckles at your clit all the while, the tip of her tongue breaching your hole.

“jesus! fuck, abby!” you near yell as she devours you, her head shaking from side to side, her tongue constantly softly sucking and then her finger is curling gently into you, pressing in and out, “mhyour cunt is so fucking good baby,” abby words slur as she goes back to kissing and licking you. you moan loudly your thighs going to tighten around her head and she lets you muffle her ears, pulling you close and exploring your body with her free hand.

when she looks up at you, you’re glorious, skin dewey as you writhe and your nipples so tight, god she wants to suck on them again. and your face is beautifully contorted, your mouth open in a constant series of grunts and moans and callings of her name and god. “abby, shit, i’m - fucking ahh—“ you yelp as Abby stretches you, her fingers fitting you to the hilt and curling. your back arches and your brain melts as you shake, “fuck!” abby hears you, sees the tears on your pretty face and goes cross eyed. “abs- baby, abby! god that’s so good,” you grunt out your body still jerking and grinding up against her as she works albeit gently on you.

abby slowly releases you, her chin and cheeks covered in your sweet stickiness, she licks handfuls as she comes to kiss you, removing her pants and you don’t even question why she’s wearing a strap but you know it’s your favourite and you were too stuck dumb by pleasure to care.

“I’m yours, you hear me?” she moans as she slicks herself up with your cum and her spit, she eases you in, watches your face as you close your eyes up tight. “say I’m yours,” she tells you, gripping your cheeks and kissing your pouting mouth. “you’re mine, you’re fucking mine,” you scratch your nails down her back as she eases in to the hilt.

“mine abby, you’re mine,” and there are those pretty fucking tears again, “so pretty fuck,” she moans holding you tight and snapping her hips into you. “abby—“ you gasp “I can’t hold - I’m gonna cum,”

“cum f’me baby,” abby whispers, “it’s okay, please baby you can cum, please for me,”

You can barely breathe with the way your body constricts and then releases as she moan scratching Abby’s back and arm as she fucks you through your orgasm, until you’re yelling from oversensitivity, “okay baby, okay,” she cooes removing herself and kicking her strap off, pulling you in close and gathering a blanket to cover you. abby kisses your forehead and you lay on her chest. and you wonder if this cycle will ever end.

• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ jesus please don’t be like this in real life. this is deranged behaviour please please it’s just fantasy to test waters and get my emotional experiences out safely thanks bye 😘

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”