#too many pronouns/name repetitions

[compacflt]

okay here to pick ur mind…i know you’ve alluded to it throughout WWGTTAI and debriefing but do u think bottoming is something that i’ve struggled with throughout his relationship with mav-especially if he enjoyed it-bc it may have been “more gay” in his mind and therefore harder to excuse due to the inherent misogyny wrapped up in men’s homophobia? it’s something we’ve talked abt in my gender studies classes so i just wanted to know how you think your ice may have approached that due to the repression of his sexuality so throughly and for so long!

as always with questions like this there’s a diegetic (in-universe) answer and a non-diegetic (writing theory) answer so I’ll start with the diegetic answer (not tagging this as nsfw but obv refer to the subject matter & discretion advised):

he isn’t thinking about it. I mean, he has to think about the mechanics of it, because sure there’s a lot of prep work involved, but he’s not really thinking about what it means, because no one’s telling him to. He knows it’s “wrong” —but the whole thing is “wrong,” anyway! The fact that he’s doing anything with Maverick is already wrong... I think he categorizes things as “not-fucked-up” and “yes-fucked-up” in his head, and any form of non-societally-approved contact with another man is “yes-fucked-up,” and there’s not really a sliding scale. Which is why Maverick’s weird extended hug thing right when Ice leaves TOPGUN (ch.4? I forget) is like literally the biggest deal in the world to him. I think Maverick could’ve actually groped him and he would’ve responded the same way. It’s all fucked-up, in his head. No difference between hugging/kissing/fucking/being fucked; it's all the same. There are the rules, and then there’s breaking the rules—no gray area in Ice’s mind (though note, in turn, Maverick’s analysis of Ice bending the rules—there is a gray area, just an unacknowledged one). 

So, yeah, he isn’t really thinking about the implications of the specific act. Maybe he knows that he enjoys it, and that thinking about what it means that he enjoys it would ruin it, so he doesn’t think about it. Also, he’s operating under the unspoken assumption that there’s something “wrong” with Maverick and not with him, because remember that Maverick already confessed to engaging in same-sex acts in ch. 4. There’s something fundamentally “wrong” with Maverick, so anything Ice does automatically looks better in comparison, because (he thinks) his transgressions are isolated incidents, whereas Maverick’s are a known pattern—even if Ice’s “transgressions” amount to literally being fucked by another guy. Hey, well, at least I’m not as bad as rule-breaker Maverick, who does this all the time, apparently! 

In Ch. 8 I was kind of trying to harp on that fact with the use of the word “resentment” during Ice’s discussion of choice/free will—there is kind of a sense that Maverick did this to him against his will, as in, he wasn’t “yes-fucked-up” until he met Maverick/this whole FWB-situation started, and maybe there is some deep-seated resentment about the fact that he might have been “normal” if it weren’t for Maverick (he wouldn’t have been, but he doesn’t realize that). I was close to having him just say this outright in Ch. 8, but as I’ll talk about below, their relationship is already pretty toxic, and there were some lines of toxicity I didn’t want to cross explicitly.

As for the non-diegetic answer, AKA the reason I wrote it this way: I’m kind of hesitant to politicize sociosexual (esp. “hierarchical”) roles in fiction, because I feel like it’s an easy way to betray your own political biases (as a writer) towards male sexual roles—it’s just too slippery of a slope IMO. Especially once you introduce ranks and professional/financial power dynamic differences, I feel like it’s all-too easy to portray the relationship as incredibly and toxically sociopolitically unequal. Yeah, I guess it would make more sense for very-closeted Ice to top 100% of the time, but he’s already “hierarchically” above Maverick 100% of the time anyway—politically, professionally, financially, in terms of social respect, etc. I didn’t want their dynamic to be skewed all the way towards one character having all the social/external/traditionally masculine power, so I didn’t write it like that. That in and of itself is a political decision that betrays my beliefs about male sexuality, and might not make sense in-universe, with characters this repressed, but…I personally felt uncomfortable with the alternative.

I think I’ve explained this a couple times elsewhere, but I wanted Ice & Mav to be true equals in this fic, because it reflects the equality they achieve in canon— “You can be my wingman anytime” vs. “Bullshit, you can be mine.” They are canonically equals. And, yes, of course in a sexual relationship you can be “giver” or “taker” and still be “equal” with the other person, but—like, you see how it would be different, right? If you’re only ever the “giver,” in our society’s traditional understanding of gender roles, you have an insane amount of power over the other person, and I wanted Ice & Mav to be equals when they’re with each other. It’s why I was hesitant having like an actual D/S dynamic with them as well—and the lack of that dynamic is itself a plot point. Ice in ch. 8 rebels against what he thinks their dynamic is—namely, that Maverick always leads/gives the orders, and Ice always follows. He portrays himself as submissive in that moment (“I’ve never had a choice”), but in reality he has just as much control over this relationship as Maverick does—i.e. he is just as “dominant,” and wants it just as bad, he just can’t articulate that. Which is the point of his whole character arc. Their equality is the point, not the transgressiveness of the act itself.

Also related to his character arc is the passivity of the act of bottoming as well, which is maybe why it's "overrepresented" in the story (sorry coming back to add this graf after doing the tags already &then Having A Thought). Like if Ice's whole thing is following orders/not having a choice, which makes him a great naval officer but a deeply flawed and confused person, then it makes sense that his narrative focuses most on the following/passive act of "taking," not necessarily the more leading/active role of "giving." These are simplistic terms obv but hopefully you can see what I'm getting at.

[https-chaos]

One of the hardest parts of writing gay anything is that they (often) use the same pronouns. Balancing names and pronouns so that I'm not overusing either of them is maybe THE hardest part of writing for me, because if you use 'he' too many times in a row you'll lose track of who's doing what, but too many names is repetitive and awkward to read!

[carpentvrs]

VICIOUS – Theodore Nott

pairing :: theodore nott x f!reader (implied Gryffindor!reader but never mentioned)

summary :: (enemies to lovers). when you and theo get paired up for the nightly prefect-patrols, the yearlong hatred between the two of you may come to an end. or not.

based on the song vicious by sabrina carpenter

warnings :: angst!! she/her pronouns, use of y/n & y/l/n (only a few times), lots of cursing, british, mentions of killing someone (not serious), smoking, drinking, typos probably, 4.1k words

a/n :: english isn’t my native language so please don’t mind any mistakes and feel free to correct me! this is my first story published on tumblr so i’m a bit nervous. my requests are open, feel free to share your ideas and I’ll come up with something!!

„As a result of the ongoing danger in and outside of Hogwarts, the prefects will now walk around in pairs during their nightly patrols after curfew. And to show that Hogwarts and the witches and wizards attending this school stick together in such times, we have decided to pair up prefects from different houses.“

Harry, Ron, Hermione and you sat on your usual seats in the great hall as Professor McGonagall made the announcement. The boys and Mione didn’t really care about the announcement, considering none of them are prefects. Hermione at least listened to what the professor was saying, sometimes poking Ron in his arm to make him stop bickering and start listening, too.

You however, you didn’t take the news as easily as your friends.

Once you realized that being friends with Harry had its downsides, you started to appreciate the everyday repetitiveness. The homey things.

Ignoring the strength of the dark side in the wizarding world, you found comfort in the mornings at Hogwarts that were always the same. The fun you had at lunch with the boys and Hermione and the quidditch trainings and matches you could always look forward to.

It gave you a sense of normality in an abnormal world, just like your nightly patrols did.

Whatever may have happened during the day, you could overthink it during those few hours you had for yourself as you walked through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, occasionally greeting and having small talk with the other prefects or scolding the little amount of students you would catch sneaking around from time to time.

Those patrols were your way of coping with stress, wherever it may have come from. Usually school, or the cognition that Voldemort won’t be scared to lift his wand against you and your friends the next chance he gets, whenever that might be. Not very soon, you hoped.

𖤓 𖤓 𖤓

„They’ve got to be kidding! There’s no bloody way I can go on those patrols with this assholes every damn night.“

You were furious. Taking away your alone time was one thing, but pairing you with none other than Theodore Nott, the biggest dickhead to ever walk the corridors of Hogwarts, that just had to be a sick joke.

You hated his guts. You hated his manwhore-behavior and his obnoxious superior complex. He thinks he’s too good to attend any of his classes and simply uses his prefect-advantages to take points from Gryffindor students for fun. You doubted he knew what playing fair even meant.

Every damn house party, he somehow felt the need to judge either you outfit, you hair, your makeup or just anything else he can find to complain about. And as if that wasn’t enough, he loved taking advantage of your resentment towards hookup culture, never failing to somehow end up right next to you while one of the many girls who seem to be kissing the ground he walks on was hanging on his lips as if he’d remember her name tomorrow.

And don’t get started on quidditch. the amount of times you leave the pitch with at least a dozen new bruises just because of him almost makes it seem like having pushed him off his broom that one time wasn’t enough yet.

In comparison to you and Theo, Harry and Draco were just two puppies occasionally fighting over who gets to play with the stuffed animal first.

“Look- maybe it won’t be that bad, maybe you’ll even, I don’t know, start getting along?” Hermione tried to cheer you up, already knowing that “possibility” isn’t that probable.

“Oh come on Mione, Nott just has to look at Y/N and she basically explodes with anger. We have to be careful she doesn’t accidentally kill him one night.”

“Shut it, Weasley, this isn’t helping. I have to go and talk to professor McGonagall. Mione, come with me?” you asked.

“I’d love to, but curfew is about to start. I don’t wa-“

curfew only meant one thing: the nightly patrol

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

He was different than you thought. He wasn’t that bad. Not when you two were alone. A few months had gone by and, even though the first nights were a bit rough, you both managed to get along well. Really well, actually.

It became a wordless understanding that in the depths of the night, in the comfort of the quietness, when the only source of light in the castle were your wands and the lumos spell, you two weren’t hateful classmates. You were friends. Good friends even.

“I’m so tired, and why is this damn school still freezing cold at night? Bloody hell it’s june” you yawned. It was almost midnight and you and Theo had decided to sit down on one of the stairs. It’s been a long day and night, the younger students seemingly wanting to be outside during the warm summer nights. Understandibly so, you thought.

“You’re shivering, want my jumper?”

He handed it over to you after pulling it off of his body, accidentally showing a tiny bit of his toned stomach. You couldn’t help but look, slightly biting your lip to hide your smile.

You happily accepted the offer and slowly pulled the jumper over your head, your stomach suddenly feeling warm and fuzzy when you smelt his cologne. You breathed in and mumbled a small “thanks” to be boy next to you.

It wasn’t the first time he had given you his jumper. And it also wasn’t the first time you’ve felt this fuzziness in your stomach because of him, and you knew what it meant.

And he felt it too.

Theo never liked you either. He hated your goody two-shoes behavior in front of the professors and the way you would scrunch your nose in disgust whenever you saw him smoking. Sometimes he lit his cigarettes near you just to annoy you.

It all started when in fourth year, you accidentally kicked him off his broom during a friendly quidditch match. He didn’t get seriously hurt, he just felt humiliated. Even worse, by you, a girl he had been convinced to dislike ever since you befriended Theo’s best friend’s sworn enemy, Harry.

You wanted to say sorry the next morning during breakfast, but he strutted away right after seeing you on your way over to him. He was mad at you for embarrassing him, and you found his behavior childish. You both would’ve sworn that this hatred was going to be endless. Until now.

And that scared him.

He couldn’t possibly fall for the girl he had despised all these years. It wouldn’t work anyway. Their houses, their families and their friends just wouldn’t allow it. And their egos wouldn’t either.

Who was Y/N to fall for someone who treated other girls so poorly? Someone who dared to call her best friend worthless and walk around in school he as if he was just better than her and her friends.

But in intimate moments like these, with your head gently placed on his shoulder and his warm jumper wrapped around your body, you both forgot. You forgot about you’re prejudices, about your friends and your families. It was just you two.

Sometimes you wondered if he felt the same way. You doubted it.

As soon as the sun rises, the birds start singing and the castle starts awaking from its tranquil sleep, the peace between you two stopped. His smoking annoyed you. At parties he’d still sneak around with girls. After quidditch matches you’d be still fuming with anger.

Therefore you wished you could stay like this forever. You felt safe in moments like these. Perfectly at peace.

Even though the feeling in your stomach when he looked at you or when you smelt his cologne was the same as always, tonight felt different. The usual comforting silence felt awkward and tense, like something that was yet to be said already made things harder.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Theo sighed.

“My friends would kill both of us if they saw us like this.”

“So what? I don’t care about you friends.” You scoffed. “I mean, they can’t know.” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Know what?” you asked as you slowly lifted your head from his shoulder and your eyes locked together. His gaze drifted from your eyes to your delicate lips and the air surrounding you was suddenly filled with a heavy tension and desire.

Your breath hitched and your whole body felt like it was on fire as he carefully started to caress your cheek. He leaned in and finally, his lips touched yours. The feeling of your soft lips on his slightly chapped ones was intoxicatin. The kiss was gentle yet passionate and in that exact moment, nothing else mattered.

All doubts you had suddenly left your mind, the only things you could think about being the feeling of his lips on yours, and the fact that you never want this to stop.

You wrapped your hand around his neck as the kiss deepened and it went on like this until you both pulled away to catch your breaths.

And ater that kiss, everything changed.

For the worse

His gaze landed on your eyes once again. And as your expression softened, his became harder. And darker. And the eyes you found yourself lost in just seconds ago suddenly turned cold.

“Did I do so-“

“Give me my jumper. I want to go to bed.”

“What?” You huffed. He can’t be serious right now, right?

“Give it to me, Y/L/N. Our job here is done and I’m tired.”

You scoffed and quickly pulled the emerald green piece of clothing over your head, breathing in his scent for the last time that night. He snatched it out of your hands and left without another word, leaving you alone on the huge staircase, confused and upset.

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

The next morning was even weirder. Your friends had to basically drag you out of bed and once you were seated in your usual seat in the great hall, you just couldn’t stop trying to catch his eyes.

But he seemed rather…. busy. Either you were imagining things or Pansy Parkinson was currently seated on his lap. At breakfast. You frowned and slowly picked at your food with your fork, never taking a single bite.

“Y/N, I think that’s your owl!” Hermione said, the daily prophet in one hand, a teaspoon in the other to stirr her tea. Once the letter dropped onto your lap, you swiftly opened it before quickly patting the owl on its head as a goodbye.

“It’s from professor McGonagall”

“What does it say?” Harry asked, seemingly interested.

You squinted your eyes and Hermione immediately went to look over your shoulder, reading it too as you turned the letter to show her.

“It says that she took notice of my complaints about the pairing and that changes will follow quickly. But I never went to complain about it. And we also never talked about it in class.” You scoffed. The letter was clearly directed at you, and professor McGonagall wasn’t exactly known for making mistakes like sending letters to the wrong person.

Meaning, someone else must’ve told her.

“At least you don’t have to spend any more time with that snob.” Ron chimed in, chewing on his breakfast. You just nodded.

You stopped listening to the conversation as Hermione started to complain about Ron’s table manners and you let your mind wander back to Theo. It must’ve been him who somehow told McGonagall about your complaints. It wasn’t that hard to believe him, considering the professors already knew about the hateful relationship you and Theo had going on.

“I’m gonna go tell Alex, maybe I’ll get paired with her.” You said, getting up from your seat. The trio hummend and waved at you, already being used this.

It wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, if Theo wanted to be a bitch then you definitely wanted to be paired with Alex instead of anyone else. But she also was the only one who knew about you and Theo, and you definitely needed to update her on what’s going on currently. You didn’t dare to tell the Gryffindors, afraid of how they might react. Maybe cutting off contact with you wasn’t so stupid of him. But it was so vicious.

Alex and you have already been friends before you even received your Hogwarts letters. You confided in her with everything, hence she also knew what had been going on between you and Theo these past few months.

She waved you over when she saw you walking towards the Hufflepuff table, letter still in hand. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to sit down. You exchanged quick hellos, and then you began talking, sharing every so tiny detail about last night. And the letter. And the still ongoing situation he had with Pansy Parkinson on his lap, giggling about something he said. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And he didn’t spare you a single look.

“That fucking twat! He can’t just kiss you and then pull shit like this! You should beet him up, honestly. Even better, kick him off his broom again.” Alex suggested, maybe a bit too loudly, as you were on you way towards potions. Breakfast had already ended and because you didn’t want to keep sitting where everybody could hear you, you decided to leave a bit earlier and take the longer way to the classroom.

“Yeah- I don’t know Lex, this is so weird. I used to hate him all this time and now- now I’m crying after him? This is so stupid”, you murmured, “maybe it’s better this way. Everything will go back to the way it was before and I’ll just- forget.”

But it didn’t go back to how it was before. He didn’t go back to calling you names. And whenever he saw you in hogsmead, he didn’t wait for you to cross paths to light his cigarette anymore like he usually did to annoy you. He just ignored you. And that frustrated you even more. Why couldn’t he just act normal? Why did he have to suddenly act as if you died? As if you just didn’t exist anymore? Why did he have to constantly remind you that something between you did change? How were you supposed to forget it about it like this?

Even in classes, when you dropped something, when you gave the wrong answer or when your potions turned into nothing more than a weird bubbling brown liquid and Snape scolded you for it, even when you embarrassed yourself in front of everyone, he wouldn’t comment it. Draco would mock you. And Mattheo would laugh. Occasionally, if he saw you on your way out, Blaize would annoyingly remind you of whatever had happened in class. But Theo? He wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t care.

But, to your luck, every last Saturday of the month, the students threw a party with all students from every house invited. Only if they were of age. The houses always took turns on whose common room the party will be held in, and July was Slytherin’s turn. Meaning Theo would definitely be there.

Originally, you didn’t want to act so petty. But you felt used after all these months of him pretending. So, there was only one thing you had to keep in mind for a few more weeks;

revenge is a dish best served cold.

And you managed. By now, you had already told Hermione about Theo and even though she didn’t like the thought of you and him at first, considering you spent lots of time together, it made sense. After all, she said it herself when you first got the message of having to go patrolling with him. Maybe you’d start getting along.

So, for the next party, Alex, Mione, and you came up with a tiny, harmless plan. You didn’t know if it would work because his ignorance towards you was still going strong, but it was worth a shot. And a little jealousy never hurt anyone anyway, right?

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

You dressed up. You needed to break his façade one way or another. A tight-fitting, almost-too-short red dress and your favorite jewellery delicately hanging around your neck and wrists with a few rings around your fingers.

You weren’t overdressed, but you didn’t usually go to parties like this. You just went there to have fun with your friends, get drunk and take your mind off of things, never to catch anybody’s attention. You were beautiful dressed up or not, boys always tried to ask you out at those parties no matter what you were wearing, but you always nicely rejected.

Today, you wouldn’t.

After you finished off you makeup with mascara and lipgloss, you put on your heels and finally made your way over to the dungeons, Hermione and Alex right next to you. The boys went first, you assumed they’ve already had some drinks, so hopefully the vibe wouldn’t be too bad.

“This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not.”

“He probably won’t even look at me, just like he did the whole past month” you sighed, suddenly not feeling as confident anymore.

“If you won’t catch his attention, then surely someone else’s.” Hermione tried to cheer you up once again. “And it’ll at least help you take your mind off of him.” Alex added.

They are right, you told yourself. Just go inside, drink something to calm your nerves, and don’t focus on him.

Easier said than done. The moment you stepped a foot inside the common room, decorated with green lamps and lights, dark leather sofas and with loud music beaming through your ears, your eyes immediately searched for him. He was sitting there, hidden in a dark corner with a ravenclaw girl all over him, but his eyes focused on you.

You locked eyes.

Your breath hitched.

Goosebumps formed all over your body.

You looked away.

Your eyes settled on Harry who was calling you over, a drink for you in his hand. You took it from him, ready to just enjoy yourself and have a good time. For now.

You were more than just tipsy, stumbling over your words and your own feet. Your feet started to hurt in your heels and the guy you’ve been flirting with started to annoy you. His hand was steady on your hip and his lips grazed your neck as he whispered things into your ear you couldn’t comprehend, mind way too hazed.

Meanwhile, Theo felt as though he was going fucking crazy. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He tried so hard not to think about you. He tried so hard to finally get you off his mind. To finally make these feelings for you disappear.

He was supposed to enjoy himself tonight. Make out with yet another girl and then forget about you completely. Some alcohol would help, wouldn’t it? But no, you just had to show up in that tiny fucking dress, showing off your legs for everyone to see. And as if that wasn’t enough, you let that guy’s hands and lips wander over your body as if you belonged to him. You’ve never done anything like this before. You never dressed up like this, and every bloke who ever came too close to you would be hushed away in a second and now you basically bathed in those boys’ attention.

He knew he wasn’t one to judge. Not when he acted the same exact way every single party he went to. But the way you wouldn’t react to his smoke, the fact your nose didn’t scrunch up like it usually would, the way all of your attention was on that guy and not on him, it made him fucking feral.

“Uhhhm you know, you- you look good and all, and we should reaaaaallyyyy continue this another time, but I need some fresh- fresh air right now, so I’ll go.” You hickupped, actually feeling like his weird perfume would suffocate you if you didn’t leave right fucking now.

“I’ll go with y-“

“Nono, don’t worry, I’ll- I’ll go alone.”

You hurried away, not wanting him to follow you. You needed to get out of this huge castle, go somewhere you could actually relax, because the alcohol, in fact, did not help and finally come to terms with the truth; Theo never once left your mind. And your plan sucked too, having achieved absolutely nothing.

You felt way too hot, the smell of that horrible perfume mixed with smoke and alcohol overstimulating your senses. Plus, your mind was racing. Why couldn’t he just talk to you? Tell you what he was thinking that night, tell you what made him lie to your professors about “your complaints”, tell you what fucking made him run away after such an intimate moment.

“Fuckfuckfuck these shoes are fucking killing me!” you whined once you reached the exit.

“Then take ‘em off”

Your eyes opened wide and the cold rain drops falling onto your skin one after one made you shiver.

And so did his voice.

You knew he was standing behind you, but you didn’t dare to turn around. You stared ahead into the nothingness until you felt his presence next to you, arms brushing against each other. His cologne and the fresh air cleared your mind, sobering you up slightly.

“What do you want, Nott?”

“We need to talk.”

“Finally grew a pair or what took you so long?”

Theo exhaled. He turned around to stand face-to-face with you, his blue eyes piercing into yours. And finally that night, you held his gaze. The tension was palpable and you couldn’t help but fiddle with your bracelets and necklace, feeling overwhelmed with the sudden change of atmosphere.

“Listen, I- I know what I did was stupid. And absolutely, in no way, was what I did okay. I just- I’ve kissed a lot of girls before, we both know that, but that kiss between us- it felt so different and t-“

“So you left? And ignored me? And lied to McGonagall? And proceeded to let a girl sit on your lap during fucking breakfast the next fucking morning? That’s a low bow even for you, Nott. Stop behaving like a slut and then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Oh and how did you behave tonight? You’re allowed and I’m not?” His voice was low, his head bending teasingly low towards yours, eyebrows raised, awaiting your reaction.

You scoffed and dodged his gaze. Guess your plan did work out. “Complaining, Nott? One bloke I flirt with and suddenly you’re after me again? Well maybe next time you should think before leaving me! Because, believe it or not, to one of us that kiss actually fucking meant somethi-“

“You seriously think it meant nothing to me?” He yelled, frustration growing in his eyes. “I left because I was scared of what our friends would think if they saw us together! I- I know it was stupid and I got unnecessarily rude after but I’ve never felt anything like that before and that,” he huffed, “I guess that scared me.”

“So when it’s me you care about others opinions, but when it’s that Ravenclaw, or Parkinson, or just any other girl, then you don’t?” You asked, acting as confident in front him as you could.

“For fucks sake, it’s because I like you Y/N, don’t you get it? I genuinely like you! I left ‘cause you’re not like those girls. ‘Cause you’re actually important to me!”

You pondered for a second, lowering your eyes to look at your heels instead of his face. Your heart thumped loudly inside your chest.

You looked up again.

Took a step forward.

And smashed your lips against his.

Your eyes closed as he didn’t waste any more to kiss you back and finally, you felt safe again. With that fuzzy and warm feeling in your stomach and his lips against yours.

“This dress looks so perfect on you.” His hands steadied on your waist, pushing you lightly against the wall. He kissed down your neck, your skin feeling hot. You began playing with his hair as your body relaxed under his touch. You didn’t care about the rain wiping off your makeup. Or about you clothes being absolutely drenched. Nothing mattered other than having him close to you.

“I like you too, Theo.”

His lips parted from your neck, instead he gave you a small peck on your lips, before embracing you in a tight hug, smiling into your hair.

And neither of you let go.

“You’re shivering, want my jumper?”

“Red doesn’t go well with green.”

“Nah, I think it does.”

last part makes more sense as gryffindor!reader but whatever, I hope you liked it!

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, I really love your writing. It’s actually incredible how you can write people of the same pronoun and still make it easy to discern the two characters. I was wondering if you have any tips on how to do that without using phrases like “the short one” or anything like that.

1. Use the character's names

I often use 'the protagonist ', 'the antagonist', 'the hero', 'the villain' on tumblr. However, functionally, I use these like names and/or titles.

Using a character name allows you to periodically clarify who is talking or doing something when the reader would otherwise get confused. I know some people take this a step further by actually using 'Hero' 'Villain' as names more literally/directly, but I don't personally like doing that. It jars my brain.

I think 'the hero' etc works as an indicator where 'the short one' doesn't because it's neutral/not providing new info. Traditionally, we often only use physical descriptors when we don't know who a character is, so it creates distance/can jar when used in the middle of a scene. If you are in first person or limited third, there's just not necessarily a reason why your narrator would think of the other character in that way, which is another reason it can feel odd.

Basically, it's a bit like how we don't notice 'said', but would really notice if someone was uttering/shouting/mumbling in every dialogue tag.

2. Use proper paragraphing.

New character doing something, new line. New person talking, new line. New idea/point, new line. Shift in time or setting, new line.

3. Don't be afraid of easy beats

What are easy beats, you say? They are the moments of action or thinking in between dialogue. Body language. Whatever. Even if you don't use 'he/they/she said', because that can get repetitive. They are a way of providing context and variety to your writing, that can often do double work making it clear who is doing or saying something.

Example:

''So this is dialogue," they said.

"Right."

"And you didn't need to say you were talking next, because it was obviously someone else because it was on the next line. And now it's obviously me again. Hi!"

"All well and good until we've been chatting like this forever."

"Well." They stretched out, lazily. "That's what the easy beat that just happened was for. Did you catch me stretching in the middle?"

"But now I'd need a name or some kind of indicator," Character B replied. "Or it feels odd. Too many theys"

"It's all about balance, my friend. The instinct comes with practice."

Character B wrinkled their nose. "But what if I want to talk for a really long time?"

"Well," they said. "Then you can often start with a pronoun use or a character name to establish. Then you make your next point. Try and keep it relatively easy to follow. After that, try to have some kind of easy beat or action happen so the whole thing isn't talking heads." Character A rose towering to their feet, waggling their fingers in another hello. "And, if we're lucky, we never need to say 'the short one said' again, because we can flow our descriptions more naturally into the action.' Now." They sauntered closer, stopping in front of Character A with the worst smirk that B had ever seen. "Shall we ask the audience which of us is taller?"

[stitchau]

————————《《FAQ》》————————

This post will be updated over time.

Main artist account: @centfornothing (both tumblr and twitter)

— Usage of Stitch/Fanart

1. Q: Can I create fanart of Stitch?

A: Yes, I'd be more than happy if you do! ^^

Also, do not be shy to tag me! I will, from time to time, check if i was tagged somewhere.

2. Q: Can I use your character in my comic/animation/fanfiction?

A: Yep! I don't see why not.

3. Q: Can I ship *insert character name here* with Stitch?

A: Sure, have fun! But I sure do hope that the character in question is not a child. I am strongly against it.

4. Q: Can I create NSFW🔞 content of Stitch?

A: Yes, unless it involves children/incest. Do not draw stuff like that.

— NOT ALLOWED

I'm being repetitive here, but whatever. These are the only things I don't want people to do with my character, and I hope you understand why.

DO NOT create content depicting Stitch engaging with children in sexual manner.

DO NOT create content depicting Stitch endorsing incest/racism/f*cism/n*zism or anything similar to that.

As advice, I'd kindly ask you not to create stuff like this at all. Please be a better person and be responsible with what you create and put out there on the internet.

— About asks

Questions that I have already answered won't get a reply.

Not all the questions will get their answers. Either because it's not the time for the answer yet or because it's irrelevant/not a question at all.

If there's too many questions, yours might be missed/might get a late reply(currently i have 70+ questions, no joke, and i just cant answer all of them, especially when there's more of them every day). But don't be shy asking questions anyway!

Other reasons for your questions not getting an answer:

I might be busy because I also have to live a life.

If your question is something like "I love your au sm," then thank you. I really appreciate your kind words, you are making my day💞

I might not want to answer your question for reasons. (Provocative questions, personal questions, etc)

If you are asking something related to YOUR OWN mental health. Please, PLEASE, if you have real problems, do not try to find a solution for them from internet strangers, go and talk to a real, qualified professional.

Please do not vent to me, I am not qualified to offer you help. I wish you the best, please stay safe.

And just a separate point about roleplays. Sorry, but I don't really do them. I can play along to something unserious and small, but whole roleplays are not for me.

— About Stitch

Stitch uses any pronouns, but they/them is a preferred one.

They are aroace.

The place they live in is called "Treatment space"(the info on what it is will be elaborated on sometime later). It is accessible for anyone in Omega Timeline at any given point through a door. But it can also be accessed from anywhere if you have one of 2 special keys: small red key that will create a door for 1 person leading to the Treatment Space or the bigger dark red key that will create a much bigger door, also leading to the Treatment Space(backyard). Keys can be mostly found in Omega Timeline, but some are scattered throughout the Multiverse.

They mimic the voice according to the form they have at the moment. So Sans' voice for a form of Sans, etc.

For all the different parts of plush bodies and clothes, there is a separate big room in Treatment Space.

Stitch doesn't need to sleep, eat, or drink.

Their most preferred forms are Toriel(convenience) and Sans(frequency of use).

The forms they don't like to use the most are the ones that are small(like Temmie, annoying dog, Flowey, etc.)

— The Lore(WIP)

Prologue

Chapter 1: Lucky streak — part 1

More info will be added

[kaeyas-beloved]

spider lily

Character: Kaeya

— the gods really do scorn his existence

CWs: gn!reader (no pronouns), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, you and Kaeya have a kid but it could be biological or adopted, death (reader + child), blood

val's no sympathy november masterlist

haha... happy (very belated) birthday Kaeya <3

Kaeya vividly remembers how he felt the first time you asked him on a date. It was like he was on top of the world, the broadest smile on his face as he agreed to meet you for dinner later, all while having his heart and throat squeeze itself of life. Like the organ that was responsible for keeping him on Teyvat was trying to sabotage him tying a weight to itself and tugging painfully. Tread carefully Kaeya Alberich, remember your place.

Of course, things couldn't be this easy, not when everything good resulted in a double-edged sword stabbing him in the back. There had to be a catch - were you pitying him? Mondstadt knew the bits and pieces of his history with the Ragnvindrs, you easily could too. No, maybe you, the one that captured his attention after many run-ins around the city of wind, had your eye on him too, but for all the wrong reasons.

If he was honest, he almost didn't go. He was a man of his word, yes, but right before the time Kaeya was supposed to meet you, he felt more like he was a ten-year-old boy again, scared and unsure of what the future held. Would you even actually be there? Maybe he just should go home... but what if you're waiting for him? He can't just embarrass you by leaving you there...

Just one peek, he told himself, rounding the building until he stood at the back entrance and sticking his head in. Every day after that one he thanked the Archons that he did, because after pssting Diluc over and inquiring if you were in the building, to which the redhead sighed and nodded, Kaeya steeled himself and sat down with you, offering a small lie that work kept him and that he was terribly sorry. That one decision let a relationship like no other that he's experienced blossom, and his days went from the monotonous curse to slightly better moments to repetition he was comfortable and content with. He even managed by some miracle to get to raise a kid with you, vowing to love both of you with all his heart. To provide for you both the best he can.

So where did he go wrong? Why did he come home to the door rammed through, swinging in the gentle wind? What about the sight of the home the three of you built together over the years destroyed, furniture toppled over and drawers obviously rummaged through?

For the first time in a while Kaeya felt fear strike his body, blood running cold as he called out your name and your kid’s name, begging for a response. Each second that ticked by worsened that chilling feeling as he checked room after room, finding each one turned upside down and void of life.

When the ground floor showed no luck the male climbed the stairs, tripping over in his haste as he disregarded all the other rooms and made a beeline for the bedroom. Out of all the rooms, that one was more likely where he’d find you.

And find you he did… but he wished it wasn’t dead in a pool of your own blood, eyes lifelessly stuck open. What was worse was the body of his kid not too far away from you, curled on their side. From the scene alone, it seems as if you were crawling towards them to protect them, even in your last breath.

Evidence be damned, as the tears fall down his face Kaeya collects the broken forms of you and your kid into his arms. He doesn't care for the blood staining his clothes or how loud his sobs are or how awkward the position is because all that matters is getting to hold his spouse and child for the last time.

At least he was allowed to hold them in peace, his final goodbye. That was the only thing he was granted amidst the pain.

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @x-zho // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx // @leemidnightmoon

+

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere

[writingquestionsanswered]

what is better to use when addressing the characters instead of *he/she*, their name or nickname? sometimes there's just too many mentions and all I know is that under no circumstances should I ever use their haircolour

Too Many Pronouns

When you feel like you're overusing pronouns, the solution isn't to alternate with their name or nickname... the solution is to cut down on the need for pronouns. Because that's ultimately the problem. You're saying things like, "He did this..." "She did that..." "He said..." "...she said," too much.

Read my post Avoiding Repetition with Dialogue Tags for help, as dialogue tags are the biggest offender.

Also, make sure you're not relying on a list of actions in your exposition... He stood up. He walked to the window. He lifted the curtain. He looked out. That can be reworded to, "Henry went to the window and looked out." If Henry was previously sitting, the reader understands that in order to "went" to the window, Henry needs to stand up and walk there. And if the window was previously described as being covered with a curtain, the reader can guess Henry isn't trying to stare through thick velvet to look out the window.

And yes... once in a while you can substitute a pronoun with a character's name, primarily when it would otherwise be unclear who is speaking/acting with just a pronoun. Nicknames should only be used in that case when the POV character (the person who is hearing or viewing the dialogue/action) knows/thinks of the character primarily by that nickname.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[domainedewinter]

A night to learn - Part 1/2

Summary: Aemond woke up in the middle of the night to hear his brother running from the house, again. He found him and decided to give him what he needed to keep him with him.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, , fingering, oral m receiving, toxic behaviour, SoftDom!Aemond, MxM, begging, nsfw.

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Like many nights, Aemond had heard the front door close, trying to be discreet, and while it worked with their parents, it didn’t with him. 

Their mother, Alicent, must have been in a deep sleep after drinking several glasses of wine to help down the sleeping pill—the only source of sleep—she took every night, and as for their father, he was too sick to notice anything, delirious in the medical room allotted to him on the other side of the enormous Targaryen estate.

Aemond hated knowing his brother had gone out again, ready to mess around; he would drink too much, sleep with anyone, and be rude to far too many people. 

Aemond stared at the ceiling for a moment before sighing and extricating himself from the welcoming warmth of his duvet. If no one else could keep his brother on the straight and narrow, he had to do it. It wasn’t his role as the younger brother, it wasn’t his role at all. But the jealousy and hatred he felt at the mere thought of foreign hands on Aegon’s body were enough to make him get up.

He dressed quickly, all in black—as almost always—pulled on his boots, and started their father’s car, driving to the city center. Finding Aegon wasn’t difficult since he had recently installed a small, invisible, yet effective piece of software that gave him his brother’s precise location at any time of the day or night.

A nightclub- Of course-, built on two floors. That’s where Aegon had been for almost an hour now, and even in such a short time, Aemond was convinced he’d had enough time to drink or consume some substances capable of altering his faculties and his already poorly sharpened reasoning. 

He entered the establishment without any problems, the bouncers stepping aside when they saw him arrive; if his appearance wasn’t enough to get him in, his name was. 

Targaryen was a name as feared as it was respected, and Aemond had no qualms about using it, mainly to fetch his brother.

After wandering through several rooms—the GPS location was precise but not to the point of indicating which floor he was on—Aemond finally saw him; he was dancing among other people, his skin glistening with sweat and his eyes closed as his body swayed to the repetitive rhythm of the entrancing music. Aemond should have gone down, cut through the crowd, and taken him away in a minute, but he found himself momentarily paralyzed, hypnotized by what he saw. His elder brother danced with disconcerting ease, moving to the notes as if they were part of him, something Aemond was utterly incapable of doing.

But seeing the many other pairs of eyes fixed on his brother, he frowned and approached. Another was quicker, and before he could grab Aegon, a boy with brown hair was dancing with him, his body pressed against his brother’s. 

His brother. 

Anger electrified his being, setting his blood on fire and burning his whole body. 

Without warning, Aemond seized the other boy and punched him in the face. A fight broke out, and Aegon stepped back, watching the scene as a confused and almost amused spectator.

When the other stopped getting up, simply raising a hand in a sign of surrender, Aemond looked up at his elder brother, his gaze on fire.

“Fuck, Aem, you should relax and... what are you doing here?”

“Shut up and follow me. We’re going home.”

“Home? You must be kidding, I just got here! You don’t like this kind of place, fine, go home and read and forget about me, I won’t be bored here, someone else will take care of me...”

The insinuation behind his words only sent Aemond to another level of anger, and this time he grabbed his brother with force, by the too-large and open collar of his T-shirt, pulling him violently against him. He could smell the vodka and peach, the syrup Aegon preferred with alcohol, he was so close to him, and it made him want to taste his lips. 

Not now, he reprimanded himself mentally, not here.

“If you think I’m going to let the first jerk who comes along put their hands on you, you’re delusional. So now you’re going to do what I say and follow me.”

Even if Aegon had wanted to argue and refuse, he had no choice, dragged by force into the cool air that hit him. He was thrown by Aemond onto the back seat before shivering, looking up at him. But the little pill he had taken and the alcohol didn’t allow him to be lucid, not even conscious during the long minutes the return journey lasted.

“Get up. Follow me.”

The voice of his brother pulled him from the thick, cottony sleep he had sunk into. Blinking several times, his bewildered gaze landed on Aemond, who lost patience and grabbed his wrist. He pulled him out of the car, and Aegon, nearly falling, caught himself as best he could, almost ending up in Aemond’s arms.

“Take it easy, I didn’t do anything, no need to be mad...” he mumbled before meeting Aemond's single, furious eye, so angry it made him look away. 

He didn't like how his younger brother managed to make him feel so vulnerable, inferior, and powerless. He had been the one to frighten him when they were children and now felt that the tables had turned; Aemond no longer feared him in the least, and worse, Aegon now felt a certain fear in return.

The younger's hand grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him.

“I am the only one to decide if I’m angry about having to search the whole city for my idiot brother who doesn’t have enough sense to take care of himself,” he began, whispering menacingly, pinning him against the car. “I get to decide if waking up in the middle of the night to babysit your sorry ass is a valid reason to be pissed.”

Faced with Aegon's feeble, uncertain growl, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“So now you're going to follow me, and we’re going to settle this once and for all.”

Aegon didn’t know what his brother meant by that and could only nod painfully before being roughly released. He did as he was told, following Aemond with minimal stumbling, guessing it would only anger his brother further. Once at his bedroom door, he reached for the handle, but Aemond was quicker. He grabbed his hand.

“Tsk tsk,” Aemond hissed, tilting his head to the side. “In mine.”

It wasn’t the first time Aegon had gone into his room—he would even come directly to Aemond's bed when too drunk after a night out—but the tone with which he ordered it sparked a strange feeling of unease.

“Listen, Aem, it’s fine, we’re home, you don’t need to take care of me and—”

This time, Aemond’s patience seemed to evaporate; his long, slender fingers tangled in Aegon’s messy hair and dragged him to his room. He threw him onto the floor, starting to remove his leather jacket, smiling slightly at seeing him on the ground, a flash of fear crossing his eyes.

“What’s the matter, brother, is something scaring you?” Aemond knelt to his level and placed two fingers under his chin. “Is it me you’re afraid of?”

“Wh- Don’t be stupid, I have no reason to be afraid of you,” Aegon replied, lifting his head as much as he could but still trying to back away as much as his uncomfortable position allowed.

“I’ve been taking care of you in many ways for a long time, my dear brother, but it seems I’ve missed the best way to do it. Because that’s what you’re looking for every night, isn’t it?”

Not understanding where Aemond was going with this, Aegon furrowed his brows, unable to tear his eyes away from his brother’s too-bright eye, hanging on his words, what he thought he knew about him, understood about him. 

Because usually, no one understood him. Why would it be different coming from his younger brother? 

How could this calm, composed, attentive, and studious young man, loved by their mother in a way Aegon could only envy from a distance, even begin to imagine what Aegon felt and desired?

Kneeling between his older brother’s legs, one hand firmly gripping Aegon’s tousled hair and the other sliding down his back, Aemond leaned in until their lips barely touched, then slowly let them glide to his ear.

“Attention. You waste your nights roaming these empty, meaningless places, hoping someone will give you that; attention, the very thing you can’t find here. And you hope one of those beings will take an interest in you, see you, maybe even understand you, but I think that desire is a bit too utopian—even for you.”

A shiver ran down Aegon's spine, momentarily stealing his breath, only to return in rapid, jagged gasps. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he feared Aemond might hear it, and if not already, the sound it made against his chest would betray him.

Aemond's sharp and angular face reappeared before his eyes, sharper than ever, more alive and burning than anything Aegon could recall. “You know I’m right, and it’s such a shame. None of them deserve your nights, your time, your energy, and... your body.”

As he said this, he pressed Aegon closer, causing Aegon's cock to harden involuntarily as Aemond's body nestled between his legs. “But don’t worry, I’ve found the solution. You won’t have to desperately seek attention from strangers anymore. You won’t have to because all my attention will be on you.”

Usually so eloquent and talkative, always ready with a stupid or hurtful remark, Aegon found himself speechless. His lips were parted, his eyes darting between Aemond’s single eye and his thin, moving lips. But before he could make a move, the pale pink lips he was staring at pressed against his. 

The kiss was wild but not clumsy; Aemond knew exactly what he was doing, devouring him and claiming his mouth as if it was his due—which he probably thought it was.

Initially letting Aemond lead, Aegon eventually clung to the back of Aemond’s neck and his long, silky hair, groaning and moaning against his lips, letting his tongue dance with his.

He lost all sense of time when Aemond pulled back, his breath also a little short, his features adorned with a more serious expression than ever, like a predator. 

Aegon had never seen him like this; he hadn’t realized his brother had grown so much, had changed, gained confidence and maturity, become so attractive and more self-assured than he had ever been. It unsettled him, but he didn’t have time to say anything as he was violently flipped over, ending up still on his knees but bent over the bed, his face on the soft sheets smelling of linden and mint.

In less than a second, Aemond was behind him, his own hardness rubbing against Aegon’s ass, making Aegon bite his lip to stifle a moan. Aemond's mouth attacked his neck, probably leaving purple marks, maybe even bloody ones at times, but Aegon didn’t care; his mind was lost somewhere between desire and shock, still not over what was happening.

“Since you often tell me about your nights of debauchery, I know exactly what you do to others, but, Aegon, I have a question that’s been bouncing around my head for a while.”

While one of his hands was on Aegon’s, the other began its descent along his ribs to gently but possessively caress his stomach under his T-shirt. Aemond felt a distinct shiver on Aegon's soft skin and smiled against his neck, biting again. The moan it elicited from his brother was his reward, prompting him to repeat the action several times.

His wandering hand brushed against Aegon's needy cock but denied him that pleasure, opting instead to grab his ass with force.

“Are you a virgin... here?” he asked, running his fingers along his brother’s ass, leaving no doubt about what he wanted to know. “Has anyone ever taken you? Has anyone ever claimed you? Tell me, Aegon, have you given your pretty little ass to a man?”

At first, Aegon refused to answer, biting his lip harder, but when Aemond's hand caressed him more intimately before moving to his belt, Aegon tried to stand, only to be pinned back against the bed.

“Answer me.”

Aemond's voice was cold and authoritative—just like him—but his body was so warm and desirous, the contrast nearly made Aegon tremble.

“Why do you want to know? It’s none of your business, I—”

Aemond bit him again, all the while stroking his brother's hard cock after unzipping his pants and slipping his hand inside; of course, Aegon hadn’t bothered with underwear, and Aemond found his warmth unexpectedly, to his delight.

“It is my business. You are my brother. So if someone has defiled you, I want to know.”

His strokes quickened, but when Aegon's pleasure was about to burst in his hand, Aemond stopped all movement, smiling sadistically against his ear.

“Answer me.”

Aegon groaned, collapsing helplessly against the bed as he tried to move his hips for any contact with Aemond's hand.

“No.”

“You’re being very stubborn for someone in your position.”

“No, I mean... no, no one has ever fucked me.”

“Oh.”

This revelation stirred a strange sensation in Aemond’s lower abdomen; he had never been harder than at this moment, thinking of his brother's virginity.

“Well, that’s very good. Something in you remains pure and untouched... and since nothing seems to calm or reason you, nothing is ever enough for you, it’s my turn to try and channel that overly fiery spirit in you.”

Aegon was about to turn his head to respond, to try to understand, mostly to try not to understand the implication, but two fingers entered his mouth before he could do so, moving in and out against his tongue. Docilely, he began to suck them, Aemond's other hand resuming its gentle, languorous rhythm on his painfully aroused cock.

His younger brother knew exactly how to play with him to silence him and bend him to his will, and even though the alcohol had numbed his thoughts earlier in the evening, Aegon now found himself sober from any substance since Aemond had started tending to him, and worse still, he felt he was becoming drunk on his brother’s ministrations.

[flusteredmoonn]

long live; remus lupin

summary: "long live all the mountains we moved," in which they build walls around their relationship as the world caves in around them.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble, mentions of war, post-hogwarts remus and y/n, fast paced, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 500+

speak now tracklist. request.

the noise of the wind chimes ricocheted throughout the kitchen as the wind made them dance outside. she watched the sea, as the waves came and went, the almost methodic movement becoming entrancing. her eyes moved toward the whistle kettle sitting on the stove top and then to her mug which was readied with a teabag. quietly, the boy entered the room, passing by his girlfriend and squeezing her hip before reaching into a high cupboard for a glass.

"g'morning," he greeted as he ran the sink and filled the glass, moving to turn the dial on the radio, adjusting it as it bounced from several muggle radio stations, until the persistent repetition of the order's mission call; detailing their main agenda using an obscure code.

"morning," she smiled brightly at him, bringing her now poured and steeped mug of tea to her lips. remus moved next to her, leaning against the countertop as he watched her continue to watch the ambience of the early morning. the noise of the radio filled the comfortable silence between them for a while,

"do you think that all of this will be over soon?" she quietly uttered, not looking toward him, but rather at the contents of her mug. the rest of the house remained stagnate, still yet to wake for the day. uneasiness radiated between both remus and y/n, the boy searching for an answer.

"i hope so," his tone became melancholic, flashing the girl a small smile, "the end seems to be in sight, i think," he concluded, placing his glass on the side behind him.

waves lapsed the sand outside the window, as a flock of birds flew overhead, capturing the girl's attention momentarily. headquarters had never been a stable place to be, constantly on the move and constantly under threat, making the tranquility of the house a scarce comfort. remus followed her line of sight, also watching the seafront.

he knew he was lying to her, he knew that this war was far from over, but everyone was in need of comfort most recently. his was reassured of this as the radio began to list the known death tolls both for muggle and magical folk all around england. his heart sank as he turned, moving his hand to rest on her lower back. both remus and y/n sharply inhaled as many names of their former classmates were read out.

"i don't know how much more of this i can take," she cut the tension the radio emitted with a sigh, leaning into her boyfriend, who rubbed his hand up and down her arm comfortingly.

"i know," his voice equally as small as hers, "me too," he kissed the top of her head, before pulling away, hearing some of the headquarters other occupants descending the stairs.

[uzuuumaki]

” With love, Junji Ito “

” ..Who am i? ”

“ If you truly wish to know, then.. I am Junji Ito of the Port Mafia. pleased to meet you.. “

[ UPDATED :: 8/29 ]

[Hihi!! BSD OC of Junji Ito :]

All relevant info is in the image, but in the event you happen to use a screen reader or the image won’t load, then here is a recap!

NAME :: Junji Ito

SKILL :: Uzumaki

Able to summon spirals that hypnotize those who look into them. Over time if the ability is not nullified those affected will go mad, becoming obsessed with spirals until their deaths. Deaths typically happen as the affected contort their bodies into a spiral structure of their own accord, crushing their bones and organs in the process and resulting in death.

AGE :: 28

BIRTH DATE :: July 31

HEIGHT :: 5’5’’

BLOOD TYPE :: AB

LIKES :: Repetitive structures, Cake, Balloons, Cats, Beetles, Staying at home

DISLIKES :: Sharks, Overbearing People, Itchy Clothes, Things he Can’t Prepare For

UNLISTED INFO ::

PRONOUNS :: He/him

LINKS ::

[ *> BACKSTORY ]

[ *> FACT SHEET ]

[ *> JOB LIST ]

BOUNDARIES ::

— No NSFW directed towards me or Ito.

— Flirtatious jokes are a case-by-case basis, and you do run the chance of the ask being deleted. Also in general, Ito won’t react very well to things of the sort.

— I will participate in angst, as long as it’s not heavy. I classify heavy as the following :: self harm, character death, etc cetera.

— Otherwise, i’m not sensitive to very many things. Send in asks/interactions, joke with Ito [or me, as mod :3], throw things at him if you really want, et cetera! :]

RELEVANT WARNINGS ::

— Themes of depression, and paranoia will be frequent.

— occasional mention/implication of Ito being passively suicidal.

— Generally he has a few mental health issues, though they are light as of right now just since i havent exactly had time to thoroughly research and decide how i want to portray them yet.

— [ TO BE UPDATED ]

MOD :: @caffeiiine

hi hi! you may refer to me as ‘Soda’ or Mod, or whatever silly nickname you’ve decided to give me :]

She/her is fine as far as i’m concerned.

PERSONALITY ::

I’d describe him as sharing a personality mostly with Lovecraft, his speech is slow and languid to reflect that.

Hes not hugely emotional either, typically preferring to mask over his emotions with a thick layer of indifference.

Hes not too concerned with many things, he mostly spends his days wandering the Port Mafia after hes done what is asked of him. Hes not too keen on using his ability either, usually only using it if he has to as in, theres no other way to fix the issue. At the same time, he doesnt care too much about being used for his ability.

Socially, I’d describe him as largely asocial also sees his relationships as more a means to an end with little to no real meaning other than what the opposite party assigns.

[ This will be updated as I come up with it. ]

OTHERWISE IMPORTANT INFORMATION ::

— There are several things wrong with him that only i know :3 have fun figuring them out <3

— ^ i am severely anxious about my portrayal of certain mental disorders, so as a result hopefully he will be accurately coded as the one im trying to get at :]

— To be updated later!

Silly Doodles of Ito ::

Songs I associate with Ito :: [ swaps out periodically]

TAG EXPLANATION ::

— [ *> RAMBLES … ] -> IC posts

— [ *> ITO RAMBLES ] -> OOC Ito-related posts

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[railingsofsorrow]

Colorless Mountains

[BAU team x reader]

request: “Hello, hope you're having a good day/night. I was wondering if I could request BAU Team x GN reader who has Marie Antoinette syndrome?

[...] maybe reader has a dark past and that's when it first started but what if it got worst after being kidnapped and tortured by an unsub?”

A/N: based on some research, I'm using the assumption that the marie antoniette syndrome is not permanent, meaning that reader suffered from hair-whitening after something traumatic that happened and then her hair became colored again. just keep that in mind so it doesn't get confusing, okay? that's all. thank you for the request and good reading!

summary: during a case in New York, you come in contact with an unsub whose backstory hits too close to home.

pairing: platonic!BAU team x gn!reader

w.c: 6.2K

warnings/content: case related violence; explicit discussions of past trauma; mentions of sexual abuse and PTSD and being taken advantage of; the alternation in the use of pronouns to refer to the unknown subject is intended (hate that they only use He to refer to a suspect, completely ruling out women, who are just as capable of committing crimes); mention of scars and substance abuse; hurt/comfort; reader is mean at some point; recovery is not a linear path; smoking; platonic relationships are the main focus; grammar mistakes probably; for the love of god do not take!! the profile!! seriously!! I am not an expert; nerds geeking about scouting knots; friendly banter.

navi

masterpost

requested by @xweirdo101x

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ some memories never

leave your bones.

like salt in the sea; they

become part of you

— and you carry them. ❞

[ paper wings ]

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION — BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS UNIT DEPARTMENT

Getting back to work after a traumatic event can be unnerving.

It's actually the hardest part of a recovery process; turning back on your fears — or rather facing them face to face without running to hide in a corner straight away.

You've done that a few times in your life. Running away, hiding. Although, back then, you didn't have anyone to catch you if you were falling. So why shouldn't you hide? Why shouldn't you run? It wouldn't have made a difference. Leaving the past behind is the best alternative you've got. It's not cowardice, it is a matter of protection.

That's what it was for you, anyway.

The scars don't disappear when you leave the place that broke you, they decorate your arms and scrape the skin that once was clean. They stay as a reminder. And looking yourself in the mirror becomes a rare occurrence because you fear what you're going to see is merely a shattered reflection. Which is true.

In your case — besides the white lines across your body — there is your hair.

The Marie Antoinette Syndrome is not very well-known. Despite your skepticism, you couldn't simply deny the fact that it was very much real after your hair turned sheer white overnight when you were seventeen.

The syndrome is caused by high levels of emotional stress on one's body. Surprisingly, age is not a determining factor in this case, people of all ages can be affected by this hair-whitening process.

You spent four days in the hospital, three of those had doctors coming in and out of your room, doing blood tests, repetitive questions, throwing you into MRI's and whatnot so they could attempt to figure out why your hair lost all its color.

Attempt failed. If they had done some reading, maybe, they could have spared you from being poked and prodded and exposed so much. It was a psychiatrist who cracked your case. She gave you one of many explanations, of course, and that's when you remembered reading about the condition but never giving it much thought — until it happened to you.

The Marie Antoinette syndrome, also knowns as Canities Subita, was named after Queen Marie Antoinette. According to historical facts — which Spencer rambled on and on about when you first entered the BAU — the queen's natural hair turned white the night before her execution in 1793. She was only 35 years old.

What happens is that the amount of hardships and distress a person goes through can cause the production of melanin in the color of one's hair to be compromised.

Nine years ago, in the first night you spent on the hospital after the worst day of your life, your hair had lost all the darkness it always carried. Besides the innocence that was striped from you that night, every time you looked in the mirror you saw a stranger staring back. A ghost, if you will.

Nothing had been the same.

It's a common thing to happen to a human being: you never believe something awful is going to happen to you, until it does.

And then, you end up in the hospital again. Usual hair color gone and a new trauma to add to the list. That's the nicest way to put it.

“I told you I am fine.”

You said to Penelope for the third time that morning. She had cornered you as you poured coffee in your mug in the kitchenette area.

“You weren't supposed to be back yet,” she hissed, poking your shoulder. “Hotch gave you a week off. More if needed, may I add — don't look at me like that, yes, I overheard.” She interrupts before you even said anything. “Why are you back after three days?” You ignore the way her voice softens at the last part, admitting the tone of pity. You didn't need anyone pitying you, especially people from your team.

“I'm fine,” you shrug, lifting the mug to your lips. “My leg is perfect, I'm sleeping like a princess and I'm ready to work.” You're also very good at lying but that was not your best act.

Before the blonde could call you out on your bullshit, her phone chimes with a text.

“We have a case.”

Saved by the bell.

The surprised looks you receive when you enter the conference room are enough to increase your annoyance, but you mask it. It's fine, that's expected. You'd be surprised if any of them had returned to work three days after being abducted. That's not enough time to recover, but you couldn't stay at home with the presence of intrusive thoughts looming over your brain.

You needed to do something other than laying down in fetal position on your bedroom. Anything to make your mind occupied, and working helps with that.

“Three bodies were found in Forest Park, New York. Lewis Jenkins, Mason Reeves and Caleb Marshall. And before you ask, crime fighters, yes, they did have a connection. All three went to the same university, St. John's. They even attended most of their classes together and formed a fraternity house of some sorts.” Garcia couldn't stop her disgusted expression. “I honestly think these should be extinguished.”

“Fraternity houses?” Derek chuckled softly, clicking on another page of the casefile on the tablet. “They are not that bad, sweets.”

“I can say that sorority houses can be a nightmare,” Emily mumbles under her breath. “Were all of them found in that same position? And tied up?”

“Yes,” Penelope zooms in on one of the photos that displayed one of the men's bodies with his arms tied up behind their back, as well as their feet, with a rope. “However, Lewis Jenkins...” the slide switched to a body with a slight difference in the M.O. The man's hands were tied up in front of his body and his legs were untied unlike the other two.

“What if he was the first victim?” JJ chimes in.

Rossi nods, “Jenkins could have been a trial run and then he evolved.”

“The other two clearly have a pattern.” Emily says. “Both are positioned in the same way with almost the same lacerations.”

“They used the double overhand knot.”

Spencer's head snaps into your direction. “I was about to say that.”

You clear your throat, noticing every pair of eyes fall on you. “That's one of the knots you learn when you're in scout camp. They have categories like boating and climbing...” You examine the picture more carefully, studying the threading with familiarity. At least those three summers you were forced to be on scout camp were worth something now. “The double overhand knot can be used on both situations.”

“It's also a stopper knot,” Spencer's voiced as his eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. “That's an... interesting choice.” You stare at him with amusement after hearing the slight judgy tone he let slip. He clearly did not approve the use of such knot.

When Hotch checks his wristwatch, you know it's time to head out. The discussion is interrupted and continued on the jet as you flew to New York.

QUEENS, NYC — FOREST PARK

As you arrive at the disposal site, that you, Derek and JJ were responsible to check, the heat immediately made you wish you had bring a bottle of water. When you saw the warning about a heatwave you didn't expect it to be that bad.

“This is just a dump site.” JJ observes the surroundings as the CSI professionals collected physical evidence. You quietly analyze the location of each body while pulling your strands up into a bun so your hair would stop sticking to your neck.

“The unsub may come out here to relive his work.”

“They obviously has a vehicle, most likely a truck or a van.” You agreed with Derek, not seeing any possibility of the crime actually happening there. Not the entire thing, at least.

JJ brushes a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, “Still...” she drawls, “there are no tire marks close by. And the road is at least thirteen thousand feet far from here.”

“Maybe he had help?” Derek seems doubtful of his opinion.

“Or we could be close to where they keep the victims hostage.”

“Either that or there's something significant to him about this place. But what?”

Both JJ and Derek share hums, exhibiting they were on-board with your idea.

INTERROGATION ROOM 3 — 112th POLICE PRECINCT, NYC

Four out of the seven FBI agents watched the interrogation happen through the one-way mirror. Inside the room, Spencer and JJ conducted the interview side by side as the witness, Felicity Lance, sat in front of them. Her arms folded across her chest as she stared holes at the grey table.

She was nervous, that much was clear. What was left for you to know was the reason for her uneasiness.

Last night, Garcia gave you some interesting information on a few of St. John's students.

“So she was the last person to see Mason alive?” Emily asked.

Garcia hummed in agreement. Then a gasp echoed through the audio. “You won't believe what I just found.”

“I would be great if you shared, baby girl.”

“Okay, so remember that I told you all three belonged to the same crowd in college?” A collective yes echoed through the room. “Guess what: Caleb Marshall's brother, Riley Marshall, and Patrick Moore were also part of that disgusting crew. And why disgusting, you may ask? Because both faced harassment charges filed by Riley's ex-girlfriend, Felicity Lance.”

Thus, the witness you were currently questioning right now wasn't only the last person to see one of the victims, but also someone who had motive to hurt Lewis, Caleb and Mason. After building up the profile, she was also a suspect.

“You keep saying he but what if it's a woman?” You muttered with annoyance at their choice of words.

Derek had given you a skeptical look. “She'd have to have a lot of strength to carry out all of this herself.”

“She doesn't necessarily has to be working alone.” Emily catches your point. “What if her best friend is just as mad as she is by Riley Marshall and his friends that they decided to take justice into their own hands?”

You had stopped focusing on the interview half an hour ago. The main reason was the incessant pounding in your head that got in the way of your thinking. You didn't have the best sleep last night, tossing and turning the entire time, besides your leg, where you had been shot four days ago, was giving you trouble.

You missed the time when painkillers used to be magical. Ever since you started working in the BAU no amount of pills would diminish your migraines.

“She kept the same story she told the police,” JJ informs as they strode back into the room you were gathered in.

“She's consistent.” Spencer adds, walking forward. “But any time we mention Sylvia she gets defensive. It could be a coping mechanism for her death.”

Leaning back on the wall, you press your thumb against your forehead, taking a deep breath in for two seconds and exhaling for three.

“Does the last name Marshall carry any relevance in New York?” You blurt out, forcing the discussion in the room to halt immediately.

Deputy Ray is the one who speaks up, “Gary Marshall.” He pauses. And you don't need to have your eye on him to realize the way he's cautious about his next words. “He's a politician that has a strong influence in the city. Also part of the city council.”

You let out a scoff and the room becomes silent. Of course he's part of the city council. This is how the charges were dropped. Why wouldn't Gary Marshall fix his son's problems if he has money to spare? And you have the assumption that this wasn't Felicity's idea.

You know you should avoid reacting like this, but your body seems to be having a mind of its own and your mood is getting sour by the minute. You just really needed to lay down.

The voices again felt like far away waves in your ears and you suspect part of the dizziness in your vision is due to the lack of water in your system. There's a heatwave happening and when was the last time you hydrated yourself?

Derek's voice nagging you to drink water echoes through your mind. Okay, you would admit that he was right after you followed your gut.

“Hotch, can I try something?” You prompt, eyes glued to Felicity's fidgety frame.

You realize that the Deputy was gone and the only ones left in the room are you, Derek and your boss. The rest was probably in the other interrogation room to question Riley and Patrick.

Your eyes snap to him. Stern gaze studying you thoroughly, scrutinizing every twitch he could find in your expression. He's caught your attention drifting somewhere else. You bet he even knew where your mind wandered a minute ago, you just hoped he didn't catch the wave in your step.

“Are you alright, Y/L/N?”

Derek was about to ask the exact same question when you cut him off.

“Yes. Can I try something with her?” You bring back the focus on the real matter. You had lies to dig around here, lives at stake, certainly your well being wasn't more important than that in the moment?

Hotch seems to internally struggle but he settled for accepting your request. You ignore the look of disbelief Derek offers him before you enter the interrogation room, where Felicity is.

You introduce yourself and offer her some water. She looks hesitant but she takes a sip of the plastic cup.

Felicity has kind eyes — it's the first thing you observe when you enter the room. Her make-up is smudged and that's not the only thing that reveals she has been crying, another indication of that are the bloodshot eyes that you weren't able to see through the one-way mirror.

“So you think Felicity Lance and Sylvia Kosorog did this?”

“I think it's a way too personal and specific M.O to be ruled out.” You sigh.

“The bodies didn't have any sign of sexual assault, did they?” You ask Spencer and Rossi, who were responsible to check the coroner's reports.

“No,” Spencer said. “And the ligature marks were made post mortem. However, when the garrote was used, they were still alive.”

The wall between the two of you bothered you. But now you could analyse from the tone of her voice to every movement she makes without mistaking it for your declining senses. The fact that you were no longer standing helped on stabilizing your breathing for the moment. You feel fine.

“Am I a suspect?” Felicity gulps down the water fast. “Is that why you haven't let me go yet? Cause I was in my dormroom the entire night Caleb was killed.”

You brows raise in faux surprise. “Oh, no. Don't worry, this is just protocol. We don't think you lied in your statement.”

Her shoulders slump as she leans back, visibly relieved.

“I do have something that made me curious though,” you pull up the file that had been laying on your lap ever since you sat down. Felicity's eyes narrow at the manila folder. “was it you that filed a harassment charge against Caleb two years ago?”

She looked back up at you, frowning. “Caleb? No. I didn't file anything against him though he certainly deserved it.”

Tilting your head, your eyes scan over Felicity's statement in front of you. The silence was too much for her as you expect it would be, so she gave you the starting point you needed.

“You took what back?” You ask, folding your arms. “The charges? The ones that claimed he sexually harassed you along with Patrick Moore?”

“I used to date Riley Marshall. He's, uh, he's one of the last people that saw Caleb alive. They're friends so I'm sure he'll be here anytime now too...” She was picking at her cuticles. “We had a fight, I was mad and I wanted to get back at him. That's why I took it back.”

“He didn't do it.” You watch the clench in her jaw and how she struggle to swallow the lie she is about to say. It sounds rehearsed as if she has been repeating that out loud for a long time. “I told you, I was mad and I wanted to—”

“—get back at him. Yes, you mentioned that.” You push the crime photos towards her. It took a whole minute for Felicity to absorb what are in those images and even when her eyebrow twitches, her expression remains almost emotionless. Not looking away. “Have you seen these before?” You know she has. JJ and Reid had brought it up when they were interviewing her. She had the exact same reaction. There is hatred underneath that mask she worked hard to keep impassive. It was hard to remain numb over crime scene pictures, or feel something other than disgust for the people who have hurt you. Physically or emotionally. You could say that for sure.

Felicity gives you an unimpressed look. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Well, I mean. If someone that hurt me had ended up like that... I wouldn't be sad either.”

“He deserved it.”

You give her a careful look, she pushes all of the pictures back to you harshly.

“Felicity, why do you keep saying that? You dropped the charges, right? I don't see any reason why boys like that would deserve such an awful death.”

She scoff, eyes glazing with fury. Bingo. “Boys like that. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that? How brilliant they are. How lucky I was to be dating Riley Marshall – He is not the prince charming people claim he is! None of them are. You think my charges were dropped out of nowhere? How many girls do you think didn't do the same thing just so they could have a peace of mind? Sylvia got the worst of it!”

“Sylvia, your best friend?” You ask, offering some tissues. You have dropped the act now. There was no point in playing devil's advocate now that you got what you wanted.

Spencer tapped his pen against his knuckles. “Felicity didn't express any other emotion beside forced indifference while seeing the crime scene photos.” He paused. “Beneath the mask there was anger. More than that, rage.”

“As if she wanted to be relieved but their death brought only the despair of injustice.” You completed his train of thought.

She was seventeen. First year in college with the major that she chose and work her ass of for. Then, in a random night five assholes ruin her life because they simply wanted to have fun. Death is the least they could suffer. Hell, it's too easy. How can people escape unscathed as they destroy you?

Long story short, your theory was right. Sylvia Kosorog was responsible for the murders and Felicity Lance knew about it, but she was not involved in Sylvia's plan, which consisted on murdering Riley Marshall, the man who had raped her during a party back in her first year of college, and the rest of his friends and brother, Mason Reeves, Patrick Moore and Caleb Marshall, who had covered for him and lied when she tried to get the justice he needed.

Felicity nods, sniffling. “She... She was never the same after what happened.”

And well, Gary Marshall tried paying her off as well as he did with Felicity Lance.

Lewis Jenkins was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Sylvia never planned on hurting him because he was not involved, although he was friends with Riley's crew.

“We're going to follow a lead,” JJ approaches you as she readjusted her bulletproof vest. Her meticulous gaze laid heavily upon you and you had a suspicion it was about the cigarette dangling from your lips.

You acknowledge her with a nod, “I know, I was in the room when Garcia found the location.” And when Hotch ordered me to stay back.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” You slowly let out the smoke, turning to her.

JJ sighs, her frustration is very much explicit but that doesn't phase you.

“You're compartmentalizing.” She firmly stated, diverting her attention from your cigarette to you. “Ever since you came back, it's like you're not here. Your mind is always elsewhere—”

“I'm doing my job just like you are, JJ.” You snap, throwing the cigarette in the nearby trash can. She had hit a nerve.

“I'm not talking about your professional skills. But this is not how you heal, you avoid talking about it all together and...” Her hands clasp on both of your shoulders, bringing you closer. “I'm worried. You're not being you, Y/N.”

“What is there to talk about?” You step out of her reach, earning a hurtful look. “I was kept hostage and tortured for a day and a half, almost killed a man, I can't take off this fucking sweater or else all of the barely healed wounds on my arms will be on display and just as I was getting used to the normal color of my hair, this happens.” You pulled some of your white strands irritably. “Is that what you need me to say? Do you need be to scream it from the rooftops, JJ?”

And I can't get over my past. It follows me and it buries me beneath the earth of my sorrows. I can't crawl out of that endless mountain.

She's taken aback by your response, you can tell when she almost flinches at your jab.

“And who are you to tell me I'm compartmentalizing?” You run a hand through your face as a humourless laugh escapes you. “You were back to work not even two days after being held captive and tortured as well. You couldn't stop looking over your shoulder for more than ten minutes and your trust on anyone was definitely compromised—not that you trusted people completely before either. Don't point my flaws at me when you have no idea how to deal with your own issues too, Jennifer.”

That was a low blow and you're plenty aware of that. But you are tired of your friends trying to fix your problems. You are an adult and you've been dealing with the same things your whole life, by yourself, it is none of their concern.

MOTEL — ROOM 72, NYC

“Okay,” she says shortly, shoulders tense. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.” She walks away when Hotch announces they are leaving.

The jet wouldn't be ready until the morning, so you were stuck in New York for one more night. Granting you one sleepless night in an itchy mattress of an old motel room. If you were at home, at least you could stare at your blue ceiling.

The case didn't end well.

They were able to find Sylvia, who had Riley Marshall as hostage. He was her endgame, had been all along. Riley Marshall was the one who took advantage of her as she was drunk. He was the one who spiked her drink as all of his friends watched the scene happened like it was a TV show on display.

Riley lured Sylvia out to the beach, tied up her arms and legs with a rope and raped her. A couple of pictures from the incident were found in his dorm room and he was finally arrested. Along with Patrick Moore. Nothing much Gary Marshall could accomplish with his strong influence now. Thankfully.

Sylvia killed herself.

You kept wondering that if you had been there, you could've talk her out of it. But ever since the beginning, her mind was set. Still, the what if's haunt you.

They have haunted you for nine years. You are aware you can't go back in time and make different choices; the only choices that matter are the ones you make in the present. But what if you had accepted your friend invitation to go to the party instead of choosing to stay reading in your college bedroom? What if you had chose to lock your room instead of leaving it unlocked for your roommate? What if you hadn't fallen asleep so quick? What if you hadn't trust him enough to let him come to your room as he pleased in the middle of the night? What if you hadn't accepted that joint?

What if...

From the moment you left your apartment, three days ago, your skin had been on fire, your brain replaying memories you didn't want to relive ever again. That night. That person who you used to call your best friend. The unsub who burned scars into your arm a few days back.

Why can't your brain repress those things as it did to childhood? Why can't it feel like a fuzzy flashback which you wonder if it is true or if you made it up? Those memories, you know they happened. You know for a fact because you can feel them everywhere.

Maybe getting back to work right away wasn't the best option. But deep down, you chose gruesome pictures and murder facts over the horrifying silence of your apartment for a reason you didn't want to admit.

Recovery is hard. But does it ever get easier?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You flinch at the sudden disruption of silence in the room. Your breath hitches before Derek's frame cleared up for you.

“Sorry,” he says softly, inching closer to sit at the edge of his bed. The old wood creaking loudly. Right, you were divided into pairs because of the budget. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's fine, I just didn't even remember we would share a room.” Your stance relaxes bit by bit. It's been a while since your trust issues bothered on sharing a bedroom with another person. Thanks to therapy. You needed to get back to that.

You can feel his stare burning on your cheek and you request him to spit it out.

“You can talk to me, you know that, right?”

Annoyance wash over you. “Did JJ put you up to this?”

Derek furrows his eyebrows, “No?” He scans you for a brief second then sighed. “I just want you to know that you can. If you want.”

“I would appreciate if you all just stop babying me.”

“We're not babying you and you know that.”

“Feels a lot like it,” you say through gritted-teeth, searching for your nightwear.

Derek leans back on the headboard, eyes slipping shut. “I'll be here when you stop being a brat about it.” He let out in a whisper, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

He probably does. He most certainly does.

Derek Morgan is the person who you are the closest to in the team. Penelope coming right after him.

At first, you had warmed up to Spencer due to you being close in age, though your interests weren't that similar. Derek had this whole flirty persona going on that intimidated you at first but you quickly became attached to each other. He understood your silence and you understood his. He didn't force you to speak up, he just reminded you that he was there, like tonight.

Sometimes, it is nice to have that reminder.

“I can't stop thinking that that could have been me.”

You don't meet his gaze, knowing for a fact he is listening because he had only one of his headphones on before you got into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

“It's not you,” the bed creaks under his shifting. “It will never be you.”

When you finally turn your attention to him, he's patiently waiting for you to carry on with a reassuring smile.

“Y/N, you're not a bad person.”

“It could have been.” You push, pulling your knees to your chest. It's such a vulnerable topic; your past. It never gets easier talking about it. It's never something you cherish in remembering. “There was a point in my life were all I could think of was revenge. Even if he went to jail. Even if he was rotting in there. I wanted him to suffer the same way that I suffered. But it still wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.”

“I wanted to kill him.”

“Well, when you told me what happened, I wanted to kill him too.” Your best friend admits, causing your brows to shot up. He offers you a look that silently asks what? “And let me tell you something,” he pauses, completely taking off his headphones and moving to a sitting position. “If I had found the bastard, I would've ended him right there.”

Your lips twitch slightly, “You would've kicked a door in his face?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He points at you as you laugh, a grin stretching up on his face. “Keep giggling, Snow White. But I'm not joking around.”

You turn your body on the side, bringing the comforter to your torso. You take a long breath before speaking. “You know, what happened that night... What he did, doesn't bother me as much as what I could have done.” And you keep going, interrupting his protest. “I could have fought harder. I could have screamed louder. I could have— I could have— kicked or grabbed the pocket knife in my bag that was so close... but I didn't. I didn't do any of that. I couldn't move, Derek. I was— I was useless. When I look in the mirror, all I remember is how I woke up in the next morning.” The white in my strands make sure of that. It takes me back to the worst day of my life every time.

“You were seventeen, Y/N.” You shook your head, groaning. He wasn't having any of that though. “You're telling me you should have been prepared for something terrible to happen to you? For someone you trust your life with to just break you into pieces?”

“I was a coward,” you say shakily.

“Don't you ever say that. Hey, look at me. Y/N,” he calls out sternly. When you glance up at him, he's giving you a serious look. “Don't ever say that again. You are one of the bravest people I have met. And despite of everything you went through, you are nothing but kind and loveable. If you tell me that's cowardice, then I'm sorry but you're very wrong.”

“What happened that night,” he adds with caution, “it was not your fault. The only person to blame is him and him only, do you hear me? And he will rot in jail because of that. He doesn't deserve anything but that.”

His words sit in your head for a while and he allows you to bask in the comforting quietness.

“Thank you.” You whisper to the darkness after you both have turned your bedside lamp off. “You're one of the bravest people I've met too.”

“No need to thank me, Snow White.” You can hear his smile. He throws you one of his pillows and you shriek, dumbfounded. “And you're beautiful. Colorless hair or not.”

You stay quiet, smiling softly.

“Call me Snow White one more time and I'll rip the hair you don't have in your head off.” You say after a while and the sound of his chuckles is the last thing you hear before you fall into a deep slumber.

That's the first time in a long time that you sleep through the whole night.

BAU PRIVATE JET

JJ is pouring coffee in seven mugs when you approach her. You can't help thinking she should throw one of those mug at you, it's what you deserve.

“Need help with that?”

Her smile is tight and she doesn't look at you.

“That's okay, I got this.”

You bite your cheek, “JJ.” She halts as she's grabbing the tray, you take that as your cue to continue. “I'm sorry for the way I treated you, it wasn't fair. You were just trying to help and I was too in over my head to notice it. I am truly sorry.”

You feel as if you can finally breathe when your friend looks at you. “I get it, it's... it's okay. I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about it either.”

“What I said, it was way out of line.” You insist. “You're my friend and it wasn't right to throw that at your face. I know how much you struggled getting back to work, I— I was just angry. Not at you, at myself.”

JJ nods understandingly, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “I know, Y/N. And I get it, really. If anything, I should apologize too, it wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I'll forgive you if you forgive me.” You give her a cheeky smile that she replies with an eye roll and promptly orders you to take everyone's coffee to them. That's when you're sure the two of you are okay.

You feel a soft squeeze in your shoulder, when you turn around you see Aaron walking past you to sit down in his seat beside Rossi. Earlier this morning, he had praised the way you conducted the interview with Felicity Lance. Then, proceeded to lecture you about your interrupted recovery process while giving a pointed look at your still unhealed leg.

You have the next few days off. And Penelope is already sending never-ending lists of options to make you busy. Your phone is blowing up.

Your head snaps up mid-typing as you feel eyes glued to you. Spencer is leaning on his hand, head tilted to the side as he lazily blinks up at you and downwards. Confused, you follow his gaze and immediately understood what he meant.

The chess board stared at you and a black piece had already moved forward.

“You know,” you turn your phone off after sending a quick reply to Penelope. “it's not fair. You already had a wide angle of the game.”

Spencer shrugged, unbothered. “You took too long to make your move.”

“I need a verbal warning, Reid. Surprisingly, I still can't use telepathy.”

“Telepathy is overestimated. The most unique and not very well-known supernatural ability is chi manipulation.” You watched amusedly as he happily gesticulates his hands to ramble about the topic. “It consists of the fortification of the mind, body and soul in order to acquire bodily functions like self-healing, pain resistance and superhuman strength. This kind of ability actually gained more recognition in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, through Doctor Strange's character.”

You gaped at him, letting the chess piece slip from your hand. “You watched the film!”

He paused, lowering his hands to his lap. “You recommended it.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Yeah, but it's Marvel. I didn't thought you'd actually watch it. What did you think? Who did you love? Who did you hate?”

“And... There we go.” Rossi mumbles a few seats back with a soft sigh.

Emily snickers. Her eyes were shut but she could hear the conversation in the seat beside hers. She stole a look at yours and Spencer's animated comments and hand gestures.

“Kids, hush!” Emily exclaims, throwing a paper ball at them. She hit Spencer's forehead and a laugh bubbles out of her. Ouch.

Their paper ball rustle made everyone let out a collective groan as you watch everything silently, your face slowly breaking into a grin.

Recovery is hard. But you haven't been the only one that went through it. And if you have these people by your side, your team, you believe you can do anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ I can't abandon the person

I used to be,

so I carry her. ❞

[ unknown ]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

sources: [1] [2]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: sorry for taking so long to post, I hope it was worth it <3

[mauesartetc]

What is your opinion on Winx Club and it's art direction?

Honestly I never watched Winx Club growing up, so my frame of reference for it isn't particularly intimate. But just looking at the characters, it's clear there's a bit of Sameface and Samebody Syndrome going on.

The art style's certainly unique for a Western kids' show, and there's a nice variety of bright colors. But man, I hate to think what kinds of messages the show's young target audience took away from these designs. If all kids see in their media are tall, impossibly skinny bodies portrayed as desirable, they'll wonder why their own bodies don't match. And creators should be especially sensitive to this when they're making shows for girls, since media bombards them with a host of beauty standards to measure up to (and it's not like I'm any kind of expert in child psychology, but I'd wager the advent of social media hasn't helped matters). So it frankly didn't surprise me to learn that this show was created by a dude.

Look, I'm not saying men can't be mindful of the effects media can have on girls, nor am I saying men and boys never deal with their own body image issues. But if you're making a show with a majority-female cast, maybe consult some women about their designs-? In the credits of the first episode there are two feminine names listed as character designers (Michele Lilli and Andrea Pulito), but they appear to be outnumbered by twice as many men. (Though apparently those names can be masculine in Italian, so it's possible Michele and Andrea are men as well. Too bad their IMDB pages don't list pronouns for them.)

And according to Winx Club's Wikipedia page, after a pilot that was unsatisfying to the creator, the team hired fashion designers to revamp the characters. At first I thought this would explain the girls' proportions (it's common practice in fashion design to draw slim, taller-than-average figures with elongated legs), but the concept art from the pilot tells a different story. Even before the fashion designers came aboard, all the girls had the same tall, skinny physique.

Not that there's anything wrong with being tall and skinny- hell, I'm a beanpole myself! But when all your characters have the exact same body type, whatever that may be, it leaves out so much human variety and just looks repetitive as a result. It's boring. And on top of that, it creates a visual impression that these characters are interchangeable with little to no individuality. The girls do have their own distinct personalities in the show (I ended up watching the entirety of Season 1 for this post), but those personalities don't come across well in still images.

It'd help if they were posed in ways that showcased their individual traits rather than just... "feminine and vaguely playful" across the board. Where's Stella's cockiness, Flora's kindness, Musa's sarcasm, Techna's logic? I'm wondering if the fashion designers sketched out these poses as well, because they seem much better suited to displaying clothes than demonstrating character.

(To make matters worse, there's a point in the show where the girls look like literal clones. This screenshot where they're all wearing the same outfit really highlights just how little body diversity they have.)

And what's bonkers about the faces looking so extremely similar is that creator Iginio Straffi based these characters on real women-? Namely Britney Spears for Bloom, Cameron Diaz for Stella, Jennifer Lopez for Flora, Pink for Techna, Lucy Liu for Musa, and Beyonce for Aisha. Here's how they all looked around the time of Winx Club's development:

And here's how I'd use the photos as a starting point to make each character's face stand out more.

They seriously couldn't have just leaned in to what made each face unique rather than painting them all with the same brush?

I get it, drawing all the characters with the same base makes it easier to keep them on model (and I imagine it keeps things cost-effective when making toys of them). But good god, you couldn't have treated them as actual characters rather than paper dolls for the fashion of the week?

From what I saw of the show, it's fine. It's passable. I fully accept that I'm not the target audience for it, but it's not bad for what it is. Could use a ton more character development, though, both in the designs and the writing. In any case, I'm glad that present-day animated shows seem to be evolving past cookie-cutter character design.

To close this out, here's something that I absolutely should not be able to get away with:

Recognizing these poses from the DVD cover is a sign of knowledge.

Realizing I switched them around is a sign of wisdom.

[wander-wren]

small things to stop doing in your fics

(or any kind of writing, but i live on ao3. we begin with flat-out crimes and then slowly start moving into things that just bug me personally but aren’t wrong)

epithets. if i’ve said it once, i’ve said it a thousand times. you should only be using epithets for characters whose names we do not know. they can also be used VERY rarely to break up the repetition of names/pronouns or to emphasize characters’ relationships/viewpoints, ie “his boyfriend” or “the asshole.”

writing out accents. please stop. you can include a couple of small things, like “somethin’” or “ya” (for “you”), but even keep that to a minimum. specific turns of phrase/references go way farther imo to establish a character’s culture/background/etc. a little goes a long way, and doing it repeatedly can make sentences hard to parse. this also! applies! to children and babytalk! have you ever listened to a child speak? toddlers can enunciate pretty well!

not enough commas. put commas before names and titles. it’s not “Hey John” or “I’m on it captain,” it’s “Hey, John” and “I’m on it, captain.” also, put them after discourse markers/interjections such as “well,” “so,” and “now.” you should be writing “So, how are the kids?” not “So how are the kids?” even if your character is speaking quickly, you still want the commas because of grammar. it can occasionally be acceptable to omit them if you want to indicate extreme excitement/panic/anger/etc, but use it sparingly.

too many commas. i’m a comma fiend like the rest of you so i’m guilty here too, but we gotta at least stop with the comma splices. commas split and independent and dependent clause, meaning that one part of the sentence cannot grammatically stand alone. if all parts are complete sentences on their own, that’s a comma splice. try splitting it into two sentences, using a semicolon, or rewriting. this is usually fine in dialogue, though, that’s just how people talk.

also, using a lot of commas to denote panic is something i used to be HUGELY guilty of and now i hate it. instead of, “I, I, I don’t, I don’t know,” you can try, “I-I…I don’t—I don’t know!” probably not that much punctuation that close together, but for the sake of example. emdashes and ellipses, my beloveds 🫶

roleplay speak. i don’t know what else to succinctly call this? i’m referring to the tendency to be redundant and over-explain, especially in dialogue. it’s a phenomenon i see constantly in rp circles, usually because of post length requirements (and i have little issue with it there, it’s just the culture). things like:

“Surprise!” Adam shouted, popping out from behind the door.

“Oh my god!” Scott screamed, having been completely startled and not expecting Adam to be home yet.

yeah, we can guess that Scott is startled, right? because of the screaming? and clearly if Adam is surprising Scott it stands to reason his presence is unexpected? why are we stating this twice?

i believe this also comes from the mistaken idea that every line of dialogue needs a tag attached, which is….horrible. you can let the dialogue exist on its own sometimes, friends. you can also include an action beat without a tag. like above, i could have just said “Adam popped out from behind the door” and omitted the shouting altogether. we can assume he is being loud because that’s usually how people do surprises. anyway. moving on.

condescending to readers. this isn’t so much about writing as it is author’s notes and the like, and “condescending” may be a strong word, but i’m trying to be succinct. at any rate, please stop telling your audience to not read your fic? “do not read if sensitive to [blank]” or “if you have [disorder] skip this fic!” is a horrible way to trigger warn. people know their own boundaries. tell them what the work actually contains and let them self-select.

i also find “rest stop/check-in” type notes condescending, like “if you are reading this between the hours of 10pm-4am, go to sleep” and “STOP! have you eaten/drank/walked around in the past few hours? go do that!” again, we know ourselves. i’m not your kid, don’t tell me what to do. i don’t mind a polite, casual little “thanks for reading, remember to drink water and take your meds, bye” note, though.

the others in this category? i will straight up not read the fic over that on some days. ESPECIALLY because, in my experience, the people who are most intense about warning for every little thing are the ones with the mildest fics, and that’s not what i’m here for.

complaining about your own wrong tags. this is, admittedly, such a nitpick, and it definitely is more common in certain communities than others. but as longtime followers may know, i’m a bit obsessed with ao3’s tagging system and it drives me BONKERS when people use the wrong tags and follow it with “not actually but there’s no tag for xyz.” here’s the thing: you can still look at all the works that have ANY tag, just the non-canonized ones can’t be filtered on. and the best way to get a tag canonized is, guess what, to USE it! imagine that. also, if you’re using the wrong tag, you’re just going to clog the filter results and get people who don’t actually want to read your fic. just stop.

[stray-syst3m]

Developed a nasty habit recently of scrolling through fake claiming subreddits (y'all know the ones) and I've noticed quite a bit of bullshit. So here's a list of things that apparently mean you're faking, but are actually just regular activities you might do and correlate or relate to your experience as a system or autistic. I'm also going to give my argument against them in the bullet points. (These are mostly about traumagenic systems but I also mention autism)

1- using dancing as stimming. My reasoning this is wrong is that stims are "repetitive body movements or repetitive movements of objects" and people stim for different reasons. Even neurotypical folk stim. Reasons folk may stim include, but are not limited to sensory reinforcement or stimulation, to regulate sensory input by increasing or decreasing sensory overload, etc. Dancing is a good example of this. It is a repetitive body movement often used to reinforce sensory input or, in my personal situation, increase sensory input when I feel like I need more stimulation. Let me guess, it only counts as stimming when it's violently flapping your arms and fitting into an ableist stereotype, huh?

2- "strange" names. Why should I even argue here? This is just transphobia rewrapped as "calling out fakers." My name is Richie. That is not a strange name, is it? Would I be fake claimed for being an alter? (Probably but not for this.) If my name were Arson, if course I would. However, I chose my name. Many alters/ headmates do. We are individuals and we are allowed to change things about ourselves as we please and this does not suddenly make us fake systems.

3- using neopronouns or multiple pronouns. Same as above. I'm not re-explaining that part. Also plays into ableism. This is why I'd be fakeclaimed. I use he/wolf pronouns (and some others). I'm a man and I highly identify with wolves due to my innerworld self. We are autistic as well and many of us have cat neopronouns due to our special interest in felines and warrior cats. Our brain is wired differently than neurotypical folks in multiple ways and the way we connect to gender and the world is perceived by us in a way different to others, hence us being transgender. Due to our high interest in cats and the fact it ties into most aspects of our life, we ended up identifying with them on a gender level as well.

4- having animal alters. This is a noted thing in DID systems. Do your research before fakeclaiming, jeez. Or just don't fakeclaim.

5- Being alterhuman in any way. Alterhumanity is a thing. Some people are alterhuman. Some people are also systems. There is going to be overlap.

6- Having any fictives from "recent" media. The definition on recent is loose to them. Is Bambi recent? We have a Bambi fictive. Is he too recent for you? Or maybe our fictives from warrior cats are too recent. Fictives exist sometimes, especially in autistic and ADHD systems.

7- having factives. At all. Even though factives are a noted thing in psychology? My therapist has brought up factives (not by that term) without me bringing them up.

8- having littles. Or not having littles. This is confusing to me. I see them mock littles for being too adult but also for being childish! How do you want them to act, then? And when a system doesn't have any littles, somehow this means they are lying about having trauma in childhood.

9- Experiencing a headspace in any capacity. Yes, even just daydreaming one. This is a therapy technique actually taught to systems to help us communicate internally. It's a thing many of us build on our own, in order to communicate. This is normal. It is a noted thing in DID research.

10- you have a singletsona. DID is a covert disorder. It is a common thing to have a single being the whole system masks as. This is normal and cited in research on DID.

11- you don't have a singletsona. Some people want to exist as themselves. This is also normal in DID, especially in those who are aware of their system and are working on communication and healing.

12- you have any online presence. Disabled people exist. Get over it.

13- you talk openly about being a system. Ever. Apparently being open about this part of our life is bad.

14- you haven't been diagnosed. This one pisses me off a lot. Was my mom's cancer not cancer before she was diagnosed with it?

[writingquestionsanswered]

i’m sure you’ve answered this before, but do you have advice for starting sentences other than with “she did this” “they walked over there” “then she did that”

Avoiding Overuse of "Pronoun Start" Sentences

I'm sure I've answered it too, but I can't find it anywhere, so here goes! :)

The number one reason you have too many sentences beginning with pronouns is you're writing a "laundry list" of actions rather than a balance of action (things happening), exposition (explanation and description), and dialogue (conversation.)

Mary parked the car. She scanned the football field to look for the boys. They were still in the middle of practice. The coach looked up and waved at Mary. She waved back.

There are actions but not much in the way of movement. There's no description, no explanation, and no dialogue. So it's not so much story as it is a chronological list of things happening.

So, the first thing you need to do is rewrite the sentence and add more description in where possible. So, something like:

It was well after four when Mary slid her Volkswagen into one of the empty spaces in the school's overflow lot. The kids were still on the field, in the middle of practice, but she spotted both of the boys playing their usual positions. Most of the other parents were in the bleachers, though a few had set up folding chairs on the sidelines. She didn't feel much like joining them, so she got out of her car and sat on the hood. Coach Martin happened to notice her and wave, so she waved back.

Even though there was no opportunity for dialogue in that particular paragraph, see how much more interesting it is when you include description, explanation, and actual movement?

It allows so many more opportunities to start sentences with something other than a name or pronoun. And those are still there, just not every single sentence.

***Edited to add: you can diversify your beginnings further once you've moved away from the list of things happening:

After four in the afternoon, Mary slid her Volkswagen into one of the empty spaces in the school's overflow lot. Kids were still on the field, in the middle of practice, but she spotted both her boys playing their usual positions. Most of the other parents were in the bleachers, though a few had set up folding chairs on the sidelines. She didn't feel much like joining them. Instead, she sat on the hood of her car, catching the eye of Coach Martin, who waved, so she waved back.

If you still find yourself using the same words over and over to begin your sentences, even after you've added in exposition, dialogue, and action, you may just need to try rewording your sentences, which I cover in my post How to Avoid Repetition with Sentence Beginnings.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[serabellyms]

GETTING TO KNOW YOU.

respond to the following prompts out of character. then, tag others that you'd like to get to know a little bit better!

ROLEPLAYER NAME: serabellym (sera is fine!)

ROLEPLAYER PRONOUNS: she/her

MUSE NAME: multi-muse, so too many to list.

PREFERRED COMMUNICATION: discord if you have it, IMs if not. I tend to answer Discord more regularly & IMs I sometimes leave the notification until I have the mental capacity to respond as it's usually about plotting, so I have to be in the right mindset!

EXPERIENCE: on tumblr, about 2 years now? In general, well over 10 years.

PREFERRED ROLEPLAY TYPE: some angst or a dab of hurt/comfort is always a soft spot for me. I don't mind fluff once in a while, but it does become dry and repetitive after a while. Realistically, what I want is plots/threads that are dynamic and have a flow; maybe it starts off hurt-comfort, and as replies go on (and we're talking 10, 20, 30 replies in, so long-standing threads) it turns to fluff. Maybe there's a dabble of smut somewhere in there. Either way, dynamic threads is what I crave.

PET PEEVES & DEALBREAKERS:

If you constantly drop threads/forget about threads/threads never go past 1 or 2 replies & we never plot, I'm less likely to interact, period. Taking your time is a very different thing; having multiple threads that are 2-3 replies that constantly get dropped are a motivation killer for me.

If you remake your blog more than once every 6-8 months, I get exhausted. For context, in 2 years I've moved blogs only 3 times. The first was to move from a side blog to a main blog (so it wasn't like I could clean up my blog and make it a main blog); the second was to move from multiple single-muse blogs to one multi-muse blog (I had a lot of content across 4 blogs, it was easier to combine it into one fresh/new blog).

PEOPLE WHO REFUSE TO TAG FOR EYESTRAIN. It aggravates me to no end when asking for a tag is a problem. I often get the impression that people don't take the request for eyestrain to be tagged seriously, not realizing that the things I ask to be tagged trigger chronic headaches when it's missed.

Not filling out my interest tracker. I'm very clear why this is a requirement. It's actually detailed & coded on my end to organize it for my own sake well beyond what's asked for in the tracker. It makes it easier for me as someone with a disability to keep track of things, & it alleviates my anxiety to have those tools at my disposal, tools that I've taken the time to create for myself to make my life easier.

PLOTS OR MEMES: both! Generally, memes are good icebreakers, but I'm of the opinion that memes and plots go hand-in-hand. Memes are a great way to trigger a starter for something you've been plotting with a writing partner; conversely, memes can also serve to open the door for plot ideas to form when you discuss with people. I operate on the basis that memes are a way to start threads, and are generally not treated as one-off interactions on my blog. If you send a meme, it's going to be answered in a way that it can serve as a starter. In this case, anyone is welcome to continue memes that I sent if they'd like. I will not be upset.

LONG REPLIES OR SHORT REPLIES: Long replies. Shorter replies are more difficult for me to write and work with in most cases. I can rip through a long reply faster than I can a short reply, because with long replies there's enough content that it gets the creative juices going, and it's a matter of just letting the flow roll. If you give me a short reply, you'll probably be waiting 2-3 times as long for a response than a long reply. (& for those of you thinking "but a long reply is more words to write"--I type around 100-120 words per minute. It's not about the word count or typing speed. It's about my ability to think of a response. Longer replies come easier from a creative standpoint for me.)

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Late at night for me, usually. I need to get more into daytime writing, but it's hard. I'm the kind of person who throws together half a reply while I'm laying in bed about to crash, lol.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSES: As a whole? No. There are likely reasons I'm drawn to certain characters because I relate to them or empathize with them/what they've been through, but I am not like my muses. Often, my own experience influences how I interpret the muse's experience.

tagged by: stolen lmao

tagging: @inufangs @smokedanced @hopegained @missallanea @stardustedstories @tenebriism @talesofourworlds @sailingtempest @primitiveside @bloodiedbiotic @altosk & anyone who'd like to steal!