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0-amateur-writer-0 · 6 months

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Characters: Stan Pines, Ford pines.

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Character study.

Wordcount: 1,810

Summary:

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

He’s home. He’s actually home. Back in his Earth—in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Hard to believe that a few days ago, he was at the precipice of life and death. About to end things once, and for all with Bill. That’s how it was supposed to be. One way or another, everything was supposed end that day. But now he’s honest to God walking through his house. Opening cupboards, and drawers. Studying every nook, and cranny. Observing how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

The house definitely had seen better days. Everything was aged, and weathered. You could even spot some awkward patch jobs here, and there. The ones you do on your own to save money, instead of by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Indeed, Stan must’ve been a stingy on the upkeep. He could hear a lot of new creaks, and sounds now. But…the house is somewhat neat, and tidy at least.

He supposes he should be thankful if for that. That his home is still here after all this time. Still standing. Still livable. When he already made peace long ago, that his house would be left to rot—reduced to a pile of would-be firewood.

Ford rounded a corner, and stops in his tracks. Any feelings of gratitude he had had quickly went down the drain.

Now this is a change he could really do without.

The house doubles as a hokey tourist trap now. One that’s entire gimmick was based on showcasing a variety of very made-up anomalies.

Being in this room is already starting to royally piss him off. Though for some reason that escapes him, he decided to stay and look around. Making his way the first exhibit that caught his eye.

Ford glares at the taxidermized monstrosity before him. It was obviously meant to resemble sasquatch, or even bigfoot. Brown fur, big feet, and ape-like features, though a striking difference could be seen on how it’s…wearing an underwear.

(Why even? What evolutionary need could it possibly fulfill by wearing one?)

“Sascrotch,” He sneers. “I can’t believe people actually—"

“Yeah, ya don’t like the Shack. We get it. Keep steppin’, and move on already.” A gruff voice piped up from his left.

Ford turns his head to the source of said voice, to find Stan leaning against the counter—counting the money he made off from the last group of tourists.

(Has he always been there?)

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He challenges.

Stan muttered something under his breath, but otherwise did nothing but continue to count the money in his hands. The sound of paper bills being shuffled seemed to fill the empty gift shop. It grated on his nerves. Then again, everything that Stan does seem to grate on his nerves these days.

Ford made his way to the next set of exhibits. The Six Pack O’ Lope. The Cornicorn. He swears some of them looked more like one of Mabel’s arts and crafts projects.

“I have spent most of my life studying the weird. Trying to make sense of the nonsense. Trying to prove their existence to the scientific community.”

“I had to take on twelve PhDs to get people to take me seriously. Twelve. And that wasn’t even accounting the number of favors, and good standing I had to build up just so I could get my grant approved by the committee.”

Of course, I could’ve avoided all that if I had gone to West Coast Tech instead. He almost wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue.

“Well, that’s kinda’ dumb.” Stan comments.

(If his ears weren’t mistaken, Ford could’ve sworn there was a note of genuine sympathy in Stan’s voice.)

Ford just shook his head. “The committee didn’t see my want to research anomalies as top priority. Especially when compared to things like researching the cure for cancer, or alternative energy, or artificial intelligence and whatnot.”

“But one way, or another. I managed to show them my worth. I gave them reason, after reason as to how my research could be beneficial. And eventually, they decided to give me a chance.”

Ford wrinkled his nose when he passes by some shelves filled with tacky souvenirs. One lined with snow globes, another with Mr. Mystery bobbleheads, and another filled with…ugh, those horrific Burpin’ Stanford Pines figurines. Though he stops when he comes across a nearly empty shelf lined with empty glass jars. A sign nearby tells him that these are ‘invisible fairy companions! Only $35!’.

His attention wasn’t on the obvious scam in front of him. Instead, Ford watches his face being reflected on the glass jars.

“I thought,” he says. “If I did all of that, then…maybe I could finally change the way people view them.”

“I wasn’t hoping to change everyone’s minds, but if I could get a few people to stop looking at them like something to be afraid of. Like something to be pointed, and gawked at…” He pauses, and then turns to look at Stan. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Stan just stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

(Dear Tesla, does he really have to spell this out?)

Ford took a deep calming breath, before saying: “What you’re doing here with the Mystery Shack. Not only is it a mockery of my life’s work, it’s a mockery of me.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ford could feel the threads of his self-control being cut. “Do you really not realize what you’re doing here!? You’re bringing all sorts of people in here, and teaching them it’s okay to point, and laugh at things they don’t understand. You’re teaching them to point, and laugh at things like me!”

Ford clicked his tongue. Whether Stan’s earlier confusion was genuine, or an act mattered little to him at the moment. The damage was done. To his house. To his reputation. To his life’s work.

--You’re a six-fingered freak!

And they would be right. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

He’d lost the chance to ever prove them wrong.

“Be honest,” Ford demanded. “All those times you told me that I wasn’t a freak was a lie, wasn’t it?” He gestures towards the various exhibits in the Shack. “This is how you actually feel about me.”

“Do you also have stuffed six-fingered hand lying around? I’m surprised I haven’t seen it yet. An exhibit like that will surely—"

“You think I’d do that?” Stan asks.

Ford pauses, and then turns to Stan. And once his eyes landed on his brother, the red mist that clouded his vision seemed to dissipate at that moment.

Stan was staring at him, and though his expression was blank—there was a gamut of emotions swirling in the depths of his brother’s eyes. Raw and honest emotions that Ford didn’t want to look too closely into.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” Stan asks again. His voice quiet.

Ford opens his mouth, but he quickly finds that no words could come out. Something in Stan’s eyes. Something in the way his brother spoke, seemed to sap all the remaining fight and anger in him.

“I used to beat up every single punk who bad-mouthed you when we were kids. And ya really think that I’m gonna’ turn around, and start doin’ all that crap they did to you?” A pause. “You really think that I’m no better than guys like Crampelter?”

Ford’s looks down—suddenly finding it hard to look Stan in the eyes. “That isn’t what I…”

He tries to find something to defend himself with, but nothing kept coming up. After all, that was essentially what he had just implied wasn’t it?

The silence hung between them until Stan took several steps forward, only stopping when he’s at an arms-length in front of Ford.

“…Y’know,” Stan says. “I got a lotta reasons for starting the Mystery Shack. And that thing you just said… You think that folks come through here to point and laugh at all these arts and crafts rejects. But the only thing being pointed and laughed at in here…is me.”

“Cause you wanna’ know something?” He jabbed a finger onto Ford’s chest. “Just because you got no problems callin’ me worthless, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ stoop to your level and start callin’ you a…”

It took everything in him to not look away—to return Stan’s glare head on. On the outside, one might mistake him for being the picture of indifference. The only thing anyone could see was a mask of cold, hard disapproval plastered on his face

But on the inside, in the deepest parts of him where no one was privy to—part of him dreaded of what’s to come. The part of him that used to go on adventures with Stan on the beach. The part of him that used to spend whatever free time available, to work on an old derelict sailboat. The part of him that used stay up to the late hours of the night talking, and planning about the places they’d sail away to one day.

That part of him was terrified of his twin brother calling him that word.

But he knew it was coming. It’s only a matter of time. He braces himself and…

…nothing happened.

Stan just looks down, his hand falling limply back to his side. And Ford found himself letting out a breath he didn’t even knew he was holding.

Both men stood at the middle of the empty gift shop. Stan kept looking down at the floor, and Ford couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from his brother—at how tired, and defeated he looked. His right-hand twitches, and then starts to lift and inch itself closer towards Stan.

He didn’t really know what he was trying to do. He just…has a sudden urge to reach out. But before he could make any contact, Stan took a step back from him.

“Believe it or not, I actually got lines I ain’t never gonna’ cross.” Was all Stan said to him, before he made his way outside.

The front door slammed shut.

Ford watches the door for a moment. Before his gaze, inexplicably, wanders back to the shelf lined with those Burpin’ Stanford Pines toys. It was an insult. It was his name being printed on those boxes, but looking at those figurines again—at how it was wearing a bright red fez, and a black tuxedo…the similarities that he somehow hadn’t seen before became so clear.

It was Stan.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #angst #stangst #fanfic #a character study I wanted to do for a while

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softevnstan · 1 year

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³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 - PART II.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

summary. you couldn't believe the name that graced the file on your desk for your new patient. james 'bucky' barnes. you'd heard of him - even studied some of his history during college for psychology classes. never would you have imagined he'd be sent to your office, looking for help.

a.n. you guys responded really well for part one so i wanted to work on part two. no beta, we die like men. i have no fully formed plan with this so i apologize if i got anyone's hopes up. see part one here (make sure you read that first, otherwise, parts of this won't make sense). i also hate using 'y/n', but i don't know how not to, so i heavily recommend the 'InteractiveFics' chrome extension - it'll automatically correct 'Y/N' to the name of your choosing (and can replace other terms)

w.c. 3.6k

tags. depression mention, suicide mention, ptsd mention, therapy, recovering!bucky barnes, patient x therapist (as a whole for the series), not 100% accurate therapy - based on my own perspective and experiences.

‘What am I doing here?’ Bucky's mind played like a broken record, brain scouring for any reason to excuse himself from this appointment altogether.

Was it too late to slip out of the room? Surely not - the secretary was one of the four people (including himself) that sat in the same gray room, and she didn't seem to be paying too much mind hunched over her desk in a seek-and-find book.

The waiting room was dark - lacking any real windows in the area given it was part of a larger building that housed the offices. Bucky had taken the stairs up to the second floor after stepping into the building and searched the stretched hall for your office number and silver nameplate on the walls. Upon finally finding it, Bucky couldn't help but see it as a blessing and a curse. No more wandering aimlessly with the inkling of tension that'd begun to grow with the anxiety of someone approaching him to potentially redirect him. But it also meant he was now another excuse short for skipping this referral appointment entirely.

When stepping in, the atmosphere wasn't near as comforting as he'd been hoping. The space was dark and dimly lit by the glow of orange lamps; chairs sat neatly along the wall with a coffee table, scattered with magazines that had been flipped through countlessly since they'd been there. There was a rounded desk to the left of entering the room where an older woman sat, glasses sitting on the end of her nose and the signs of aging prevalent in her graying hair. Along the back wall, there are several doors; Individual offices, Bucky's brain supplied.

There were shelves of books and an overwhelming amount of fake plants in the room. The closest window that Bucky could scour out immediately was a narrow, rectangular one. Lone by itself given the layout of the office building not allowing for it. Hardly any natural light seeped into the room. If the actual offices with the therapists were as gloomy as this, Bucky would have better luck abandoning all hope right then and excusing himself. Save him another uncomfortable experience in the mental health field.

Working with Raynor wasn't exactly what Bucky needed as a first experience in therapy. Before the 70 years that he'd spent under HYDRA's thumb, there were no resources like this at home. Mental Health hardly existed as a concept - no awareness of the rippling effects of war or aid for the soldiers that would return traumatized and self-loathing. Hell, men beat their wives back then like property. That was even without the PSTD and fragile masculinity slammed on top.

Not his father, thank a god that Bucky isn't sure he even believes in anymore.

Christina was rough around the edges. A former officer in the military, one would think she may be perfect for the job in regard to Bucky's emotional baggage and the weight he carries. She wasn't. That was something Bucky only began to learn months later with Sam's help; That while Dr. Raynor was not a bad woman, she was not what Bucky had needed to begin opening up to people. The clipped energy that filled a room when sharing a space with Christina made it near impossible to relax fully; When Bucky was being a little difficult on his bad days (yes, he can admit he's difficult), instead of approaching him with patience, Raynor would combat his comments with her own condescending ones. It felt more like a weekly brawl where he had something to prove rather than a safe space to begin the healing process.

It was like ripping open a healing wound, wondering why it wouldn't improve, and being confused when it worsens under brutal treatment.

Dr. Raynor was not what Bucky needed, simply put.

But the one that woman did right with all certainty was to at least aid in redirecting Bucky to someone that can help him produce better results.

That's what landed him there. In the waiting room of your office with an appointment at 3:15 p.m.

Your praise was sung of being someone who was more approachable and positive, albeit not naively so. When Bucky was peering at reviews and your background check - comforting his own paranoia - he'd seen nothing but kind things said. How patient you were. How compassionate; How you make your patients feel heard and understood. How you provide the tools to create a proper support system and show people how to live again. Bucky tries not to get his hopes up for things, but he was certainly beginning to spark hope when he was able to look more into your reviews. It made him want to try again rather than give up.

But sitting in that dim-lit office, he's not sure how confident he is in that statement anymore. Bucky's left leg bounces in an anxious fidget. His shoulders are tight, arms folded over his chest in a closed-off stance while he sits back in one of the empty chairs of the waiting room. To anyone else, Bucky probably looks angry at the world - it's just him hiding his nerves. Never an intentional expression worn, it's simply become a default to wrinkle his forehead and wear a tired face.

Bucky could still leave. The heavy door that he'd pushed open to get in taunts him from where he sits.

And it's right as he's weighing out the consequences of bailing on this idea altogether that the sound of a door opening grabs his attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, tired eyes squinting slightly for a brief moment when light pours into the room. A woman in roughly her thirties steps out of the first door lining the back wall, followed by you. Bucky is only certain of that fact because he recognizes your face from the LinkedIn profile you have.

"Thank you again for coming in, Greta, I'm looking forward to hearing about your daughter's Bat Mitzvah; tell her happy birthday for me." you tell the woman that's begun her leave.

"Of course, I hope your next session goes well," beams a woman, assumedly 'Greta'.

Bucky sucks his bottom lip in, worrying the skin between his teeth before sighing out through his nose. Attempting to take a steadying breath to appease his nerves when--

"Mr. Barnes?" your voice prompts.

Running away isn't a choice anymore. Not realistically.

So Bucky drops his arms and feels the taut muscles in his shoulders before trying to force them to settle. Rolling broad muscle under his leather coat before pressing off the armrests of the wooden chair with gloved hands to get up. His eyes remain averted from your face, but he crosses the room to you nevertheless.

"It's nice to meet you, James, if you'd please step in here with me," you hold the door open for Bucky; Allowing him to step into the relatively small space.

But it's not suffocating, he notices.

It's actually a stark contrast to the heavy waiting room he'd just been sitting in for the past 10 minutes or so. The light of day pours in from the tall, wide window on the back wall of the room. In the brief space where the window doesn't occupy the wall, there's a bookcase sat with countless psychology books. A soft-looking loveseat is pressed against the wall to Bucky's right, and across from that is a matching single chair with an end table. On the table sits a lamp, a box of tissues, and what appears to be a selection of colorful fidget toys. The walls are hogged by large framed photos; some of paintings, some of hyper-realistic photos or art. The floor is a deep gray-brown carpet, the walls painted a soft eggshell. Plants sit on the shelf in front of the window, drinking in the sun; He spots a Wandering Jew, two cactuses (both different breeds), and a succulent perched comfortably.

"Have a seat," your voice interrupts the way Bucky studies the room, and promptly he moves to the loveseat. Lowering himself into it, it's significantly more comfortable than the chair he was just sitting in. Still, Bucky sits stiffly. Uncomfortable; refraining from letting his back touch the couch and posture coming across as closed up without him even realizing it.

Like a mantra, belittling thoughts play on a broken loop through his head.

This isn't going to work. It's going to end badly. I'm going to be seen as a monster all the same. I'm a bad person, I don't deserve this. Other people deserve it more. I'm wasting everyone's time.

The thoughts spiral heavier and heavier for Bucky, even as you close the door; successfully sectioning him and you off from the rest of the world. His jaw sets as you move to sit across from him.

Bucky silently wishes the moment would end before it's even begun.

He wants to go back to his apartment, even if it makes him just as miserable.

“So, Mr. Barnes, from what I’m understanding, you'd like to make me your primary therapist and discontinue working with Doctor Raynor?”

Bucky wants to heal. You see it in him. The first step is admitting you have an issue; that there is something wrong. Not that Bucky is wrong, but his headspace surely is a defunct mess; The task ahead of you in untangling said mess is daunting, but Bucky is worthy of it. He deserves it. Even if he doesn't realize that yet.

He deserves to have someone who's willing to help him understand and put the pieces back together. Not simply throw their hands up the first time that Bucky struggles and leave him to fend for himself - this man was done far too much fending by himself.

It's clear by the silence followed by the words, 'That’s all I’ll ever ask of you', that Bucky isn't sure what to say. Rather than allowing the quiet to eat at him, you continue the conversation. Save him from the anxiety he might be feeling in being unable to muster a reply.

"So, Bucky - Can I call you 'Bucky'?" You ask, sure to keep a warm and approachable composure. Bucky's comfort is your priority; If he feels unwelcomed, he won't come back.

A stiff nod comes from the man across you. He still struggles to meet your gaze; Eventually, you'll both work on that, but for now, you don't mind. Let him take things at his own pace.

"So, Bucky," you reiterate, leaning back in your armchair and crossing your legs at the ankle. Your shoulders ease and you relax into your seat. "How about we start by getting to know you a little bit; Where you'd like to work first and what some of your immediate issues are, in your opinion."

Bucky's teeth clench - you can tell because his jaw flexes and it pulls on your heartstrings for a moment. His shoulders look so tight, his body so stiff. Chiseled features are hard, and his face doesn't seem nearly as full as you'd seen in museums and textbooks while growing up and learning American History. Dare you even say he almost looks sunken in, with dark rings around his eyes and sadness in gray hues.

You wonder how he sleeps at night - if he even does. If he eats the way he should. It's heartbreaking to see a man carved into such a husk.

"Raynor was working with me to make amends," Bucky starts, and surely that doesn't mean what you think it does-- "To make things right for what I did as the Winter Soldier, as a condition of my pardon."

"There's nothing to make right, Bucky." You answer almost immediately; your blood feeling hot for half a moment. You saw history unfold right before you, living in New York. Hearing the chaos of HYDRA overtaking SHIELD in 2014, that Boy Wonder 'Bucky Barnes' was still alive. Many things were kept from the public, as much as they could be, but one thing was for certain. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see that Bucky was another victim of HYDRA's. Not the catalyst for the carnage. An unwilling piece of the puzzle.

You have to stop yourself from becoming too expressive, though. Despite the quickness of your words, you maintain an evenness to them. "Now, I won't pretend to know what's happened with it all; That's something for us to talk about with time. But I can promise you right now, Bucky, that I am not Dr. Raynor. And while we can revise the conditions of your pardon, you won't be trying to fix mistakes you didn't make. We're here to help you."

Another break of silence, and Bucky has begun to fidget with his hands. Kneading them together in his lap; your own gaze flickering briefly to watch the leather rub on leather.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bucky speaks, his voice soft and timid. Unmatching the hardness of his face.

A small crease forms between his brows, eyes downcast but briefly lifting to peer at you.

"You don't have to know what to say right now," you gently tell him. "I know you may not agree with my perspective on things right now, but please hear me when I tell you that I'm not here to judge you. You're a survivor, Bucky."

A soft huff comes from him - lip curling into a crooked grin that's humorless. Bucky shakes his head right after, and the expression falls. You watch curiously.

"I'm sorry, it's... Everyone seems to either look at me like the pariah or like a victim." Bucky explains, and for a moment, your lips form a soft smile. You lean forward, shifting your position once more to lean in a little closer to Bucky's space without outright intruding on it.

"You're a survivor," you reiterate. Making sure he hears it. "And there is no shame in being a survivor - I'm a survivor and don't consider it derogatory, it's exactly what I am."

Bucky's brow knits up slightly and his attention is on you fully. Arguably the longest so far since he's been in this room with you. He looks as though he's searching for something and the answer is somehow embedded in you, and deep down, you want to give him whatever it is he's searching for.

You're a survivor, too. It's what made you good at your job. Being able to empathize to a degree with the individuals that come to you; To be able to share your own experiences and show the person sitting in front of you that they are not alone. People like to feel heard and understood. And sometimes the best way to for that is to sit with someone who's been through something similar.

Though you certainly didn't have experience as a prisoner of war who was genetically engineered...

His pink lips part as though he wants to speak, but whatever words were that die on Bucky's tongue when his mouth clamps shut and he finally averts his attention. You follow his gaze briefly to find him looking out the window parallel to him on his right. The light peeked in through the sheer curtains and lit the side of his face partially. You wonder if the sunlight makes him warm at all.

"Do you want me to draw the curtains for you, Bucky?" You offer, wondering if perhaps it's distracting to him.

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm not used to this." "Can you explain what 'this' is?" You ask, gently prompting him in hopes he keeps talking. "I, uhm..." His voice trails - clearly searching for the words. "You're... Calm. I don't entirely know how to explain it. We haven't been talking that long but I was, uh, intimidated to meet you. My precious therapy experiences haven't been the best..." It's the most he's said in a single sitting, you're impressed.

"And that's alright - sometimes not every therapist works out. Many people struggle to understand that therapy is not a 'one size fits all' matter. Sometimes we have to feel out situations and feel out people. If you decide at any point you're no longer comfortable speaking with me, I understand and will be more than happy to help you find another therapist that can specialize in your concerns." Always deliberate as to not call Bucky's situation 'problems' or 'what's wrong'. The last thing you'd want is for him to feel as though he is the root problem in his life. He's not.

"Thank you," the man murmurs softly, and you can tell it's another moment he's unsure what to say. Even the words feel as though it took quite a deal of effort to muster from Bucky. That's okay - sometimes people need to warm up. You're not surprised in the least that Bucky isn't an open book, you wouldn't be if you went through even half of what he did.

"...I'll tell you what," You begin, Bucky's attention drawing right back to you rather than the world outside the glass. "How about we start small, you and I, okay? We don't have to touch anything heavy yet, we can start simple."

"Simple?" Bucky echoes.

"Mhm," a confident nod from you, "I hope I don't sound rude at all, but I can tell you're someone who's carrying a whole lot more than they let on."

That earns a skeptical look from Bucky. You wonder in a brief moment where you potentially lost him when he answers that question for you:

"I'm sure you can." The response comes out almost irritated. No elaboration.

For a moment your mind scrambles, wondering, before it clicks. Still, you encourage Bucky to use his words. "What do you mean?"

A long sigh comes through his nose. "Oh, c'mon," he tries, but you simply look expectantly. Bucky needs to communicate, if they have no form of communication, they have nothing. "Y'know, everyone seems to know about me. Everything with HYDRA..." His expression is progressively hardening; He's lumping you with everyone else. You see it. Even if Bucky doesn't realize what he's doing, he's trying to build that wall again. Brick himself out and separate himself.

"No," You reply, "I only know what you want to share with me, Bucky. I didn't follow your story as it was happening - though I'd be lying if I said I was entirely clueless. Whatever I knew prior to meeting you today, though, doesn't matter. I want to know you. Not what everyone else's perception of you, is. Consider us strangers."

Then, as if to prove your point, you shift forward even more in your seat. Uncrossing your legs and sitting them flat on the floor as you offer your right hand out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucky, I'm Dr. Y/N." Maybe the notion seems silly - and it is, honestly. You've both been talking this long.

Bucky is a little taken aback by the gesture; Blinking at you cluelessly for a moment before he huffs again. This time, his half-hearted grin doesn't look so bitter when he offers his right hand out tentatively. A ginger shake, as though he's scared he's going to break you, and the leather of his glove is warm against your palm.

While he doesn't verbally reciprocate the gesture, his expression speaks for him. A conversation without words.

It's clear that it's a bit more comforting to Bucky. For a brief moment he seemed as though he was ready to leave without coming back, but with quick thinking, you're relieved to have reeled him in once more.

"Anything about you outside of this room means nothing to me," you promise. "It's up to you how much you share. No one else."

Bucky's smile pulls just a tad bit wider, and you consider it a victory.

"We'll start simple," You repeat, pulling your hand from his to pick up the notepad on the table beside you. Flipping to a clean page and clicking your pen - you don't miss the way Bucky looks at you almost worriedly. As if you've picked up a weapon when in reality it's a pen and paper.

"I'd like you to find a nice journal that you like. One that you won't be afraid to write in, and one that you'll feel comfortable using. Next week when we see each other, I'd like you to bring it with you." You effortlessly speak while your pen scrawls away on the small lines sheet in front of you - your handwriting reads out on the paper, 'BRING A NOTEBOOK THAT YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH USING :)'

You tear the paper from the metal rings that bind it and pass it over to Bucky. He takes it wordlessly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands.

"That's it...?" Bucky ponders aloud. "That's it." Another gentle smile you wear. "Journaling is an extremely useful tool for going through our feelings and helping us take a step back and breathe. It can help us avoid dramatizing situations unintentionally, and it can help us develop a sense of mindfulness and gratitude. You don't need to write anything in it just yet, but if you'd like to decorate it, I won't stop you. Whatever makes you feel comfortable to begin writing in it."

"...Dr. Raynor didn't have me keep a journal," the soldier murmurs. "I'm not Dr. Raynor." you answer simply.

Your first session with Bucky seems to go well on all accounts. Sure there were a few brief tense moments, but you like to hope he'll return. At the end of the day, that's Bucky's decision. If he chooses to continue with you as his therapist, though, you want to help him in any way he can.

He doesn't know it yet, but you're determined. By the end of your time together, you want to have helped Bucky obtain a new perspective and help him live. Not simply survive.

After he leaves your office, you make sure to fill your schedule in for the same time next week.

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sophiainspace · 15 days

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Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

I was tagged by @kitkatt0430 and @joanthangroff - thanks!

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I was writing absolutely terrible Star Trek and Buffy fic in the 90s/2000s. I never put any of it online, and that is a very good thing. Then I decided I was "too old" for fandom for over a decade (which is funny because I was a tiny tiny child). About 7 years ago I came back via the Arrowverse fandom which is still my mainstay. (I'm a 'slow fandom' type, not a 'fast fandom' cycler. Based on the length time I've been in the Buffy fandom, the Arrowverse fans are going to be stuck with me till about the 2040s. Oh god, I just added up the years and that actually might be accurate.)

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

I think I'm up to 6 now, if you differentiate the Star Trek series. I have fic on my AO3 for 4 of those. But some of those I've just written one drive-by fic for, like The Good Place.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Sharing it publicly? About 7. Writing? *counts on fingers again* I don't want to play this game anymore 😂

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

These days I write more than read, as I'm really short of (useful) time and I can usually focus more on creating when I do get time off. I still read when I can, especially fic by friends.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I find it really hard to be objective about this. I can see how my style has changed over the past 7-ish years - it used to be really bare and simple, and now it's more focused on characters' interior lives - but I'm not sure if that counts as improvement (although I do like getting into characters' heads). I can see the problems in both my styles, but in some ways I like my past style better. I need to write a short, poetic, minimalist fic again soon...

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Mostly just stuff relating to the criminal habits of fictional supervillains (I've read a bit about safe-cracking and handcuff-breaking but no more than your average coldwave shipper). Most of my 'research' barely counts as such. There's only so much you can find out about the top speed of the Flash and exactly how strong Buffy Summers is, before you give up and accept that you're going to write no more nonsense than the canon writers did, so it's fine.

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

The ones where people quote long bits and yell one or two capitalised words after each quotation. Beautiful.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Not quite sure what counts here, but I've written a few QPR stories and they were a lot of fun (and don't often get read, of course, but still totally worth writing).

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Smut. I went through a period of attempting it, but I'm done. I'm just too demi/grey-ace for that shit. The 'M' rating is my limit!

10. What is the easiest type?

I have a lot of fun with OT3s. But generally, familiar ships are the way to go when I'm tired or busy. They write themselves. Mick Rory also writes himself - I should write a Mickfic again soon...

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Google Docs (these days). Published to AO3 and linked on tumblr. Mostly on weekend afternoons, as long as I haven't had to write anything for work that day - otherwise writing brain will not play ball.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

There are a bunch of other fandoms I'd like to write for, but the onboarding process is hardcore and I don't have the time anymore to write 6-8 fics just to build up my familiarity with characters and canon stories, before I really get into the fandom and start writing stuff I enjoy writing. I wouldn't mind attempting The Magnus Archives, but I'm not really into the big ship... but if I could sit down for a while and get obsessed with a rarepair or a minor character, maybe. But, see what I mean? Onboarding!

13. What made you choose your username?

Almost all my fandoms are science fiction or SF-adjacent. When I was first on AO3 I was using the more feminine version of my username (out of habit by that point, but so it goes). I would change it to something with just Soph, but I'm kind of used to it by now.

Not sure who to tag as I think Yas and kitkatt have tagged a lot of the writers I know around here, but here are a few people who might want to attempt this (or not): @habibialkaysani @purpleyin @silas-lehnsherr @tobyaudax @stungunmilly2

#(non-weekend) fic meme #my fic

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crime-wives · 1 month

Text

thank you so so much to @thecasualqueer for the tag :DD

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

i have 8 works on ao3 currently and many more in the works :)

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

15,579

3. what fandoms do you write for?

i write mostly for swan queen (emma swan/regina mills), meddison (meredith grey/addison montgomery), and supercorp (lena luthor/kara danvers), but i also have a bunch on rairpair fics in the works :)

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

nobody warns you before the fall - 219 kudos (i was so surprised at the amount of reception this fic got, i really didn't think anyone would read it lol)

nothing worsens, nothing grows - 156 kudos

so you were never a saint, and i loved in shades of wrong - 106 kudos

this house may be haunted (but not ours) - 68 kudos

probably running away (from the feeling i get) - 50 kudos

5. do you respond to comments?

yes, i always respond, although it usually takes me awhile. i love every single person who has ever commented on my fics :)

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

my fic do you think i have forgotten (about you) is probably my angstiest ending. for context, the fic is about addison montgomery and derek shepherd and the breakdown of their marriage so. (the fact that i wrote a het fic is shocking even to me)

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this year, to save me from tears, i'll give it to someone special is probably the most optimistic ending for one of my fics.

8. do you get hate on fics?

i haven't so far, i assume i will at some point, but for now everyone has been really positive and encouraging towards me and my writing :)

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

at the moment i don't write smut, but eventually maybe.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

i haven't yet, but i did have an idea for a swan queen and supercorp crossover so maybe

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, i don't believe so.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

no but i would be honored if anyone ever wanted to translate a fic.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

no i haven't, but my friend @emily-prentits and i have been working on an idea for a rairpair :D

14. what's your all time favourite ship?

probably swan queen. they never fail to get me in the feels, something about family, and belonging, and finding a place for yourself. also enemies, to reluctant co-parents, to friends, to lovers am i right? they make me so feral (i'm so normal i swear)

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

my only published wip is so you were never a saint, and i loved in shades of wrong but i sincerely doubt i will ever finish that (it was meant to be a oneshot but i added another chapter and i kinda hate it so)

but because i am actually insane, (i went through my docs and counted for this) i have a grand total of 57 wips, most of which will never be finished, or compounded into other fics.

16. what are your writing strengths?

i think i'm good at characterization, i like to spend a lot of time analysing the characters, and it's very important to me that the characters feel like themselves.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

one of my weaknesses is description. i am definitely working on it tho. in addition, the amount of time it takes for me to write anything substantial.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i'm not sure, i think maybe if it was extremely necessary, but otherwise i'm not sure.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

meddison - meredith grey/addison montgomery from grey's anatomy.

20. favorite fic you've written?

oh god wow i'm not sure. i think i'd have to say either do you think i have forgotten (about you) or probably running away (from the feelings i get) are probably my best fics.

no pressure tags :) @emily-prentits @flyingpotstickers @peridotglimmer @horsetailcurlers2 @hummingbirdswords @nostradamus0

#tag game #my wips #my fics #swan queen #supercorp #meddison #this was so so fun!!#thank you for tagging me :)#fic writing #fanfic questions #writing questions

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blaisenova · 9 months

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how not to talk someone off of a ledge

Miguel O'Hara likes to go up to the roof of Spider-Society to think. What about? That's no one's business but his own. Though, unfortunately, Peter doesn't seem to agree.

or:

Peter B. Parker REALLY doesn't know how to talk someone off of a ledge.

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my first TRUE atsv work on here!

it's a bit of an exploration into miguel and the way that he reacts to things in atsv because i think it's really interesting. angry man? aggressive man? no, just stressed and afraid. plus can you really blame a guy for having a bit of a breakdown when everyone keeps pushing all of his buttons and doesn't stop even when he makes it VERY clear that they should?? he needs to learn how to handle his feelings better (read: learn to TALK ABOUT THEM AT ALL) and everyone else needs to learn when to BACK OFF. i'm looking at you peter. i love you so so much but you know how to push miguel's buttons and you USE THAT KNOWLEDGE.

you also get a bit of a parental miguel moment because he is soft for children and i will not be told otherwise. idiot parents or not, miguel would do anything for little mayday. apologies again for if any of my spanish is off at all. i'm fairly advanced but there's still some stuff i struggle with. if you speak spanish, please feel free to correct me! i am always always open and willing to learn!

i should warn you that there's some very brief religious exploration at the very beginning of the work, but it's not the main focus by far so i haven't tagged it. there is, however, a deep exploration of miguel's suicidal thoughts, so please watch out for that!

as always, the link to this work on ao3 is in the reblogs if you prefer to read there like i do, and thank you so much for reading!! <3

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

A peculiar fact of life, as undeniable as the sky being blue or the sun being a star, was that the wind rushed with more and more desperate urgency the higher up into the atmosphere you got.

Of course, Miguel knew, logically, why that was – there was less friction at higher altitudes, so the air was able to travel more freely – and he knew, even more logically, that it was stupid to try and find some sort of bigger meaning in something; that it only ever made him feel even more small. But, sometimes, despite knowing it was stupid and that he was indescribably tired of trying to find meaning in the meaningless or humanity in the inhuman, Miguel would get caught up in his own head, and he would begin to wonder if, maybe, the wind at the top of Babylon Towers pulled at him so desperately because it was trying to bring him over the edge. As if it knew that, even though he could catch himself, he wouldn’t. As if it knew that, if he just got one sign that he was meant to fall, he’d let himself.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, that the earth was functioning the way that it was meant to, especially since Miguel was the furthest thing from a spiritual person, but it wasn’t as easy as he’d like to pretend to forget the way that he’d been raised.

Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

Maybe it would have been easier to blame all of his woes on some higher power that had written his suffering into the stars millenia before he was born, but it felt like a shitty excuse for all of the things that he’d done to himself. It was supposed to make him feel better, to know that it wasn’t his fault that everything he touched fell apart, but all it did was make him feel trapped; suffocated. Who would want to be written into a destiny like this?

No, Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

His mother had raised him to be Catholic; fearing of a God with a capital g that had the power to save and destroy him all at once, but Miguel had always thought that his father had possessed that same exact ability and there was nothing all too godly about him. Having power didn’t make you a god, he’d decided, and the sentiment had only been made to feel more and more true as time went on. After all, he had power, and he was even further from god than his dad had been.

Miguel didn’t believe in a god.

But he would be a liar if he said that there weren’t still times that he wanted to break down and pray to a higher power – that either didn’t exist or loathed him completely – to make his pain stop. It was stupid, and childish, and Miguel thought he’d grown out of the urge the first time he realised that he had the power to stop the pain. Miguel was no god, though his life was in his own hands, for better or for worse, so he’d stopped praying. Even when he could think of nothing else to do but plead, Miguel did not pray.

Nevertheless, as his legs hung off of the edge of the roof of Babylon Tower’s – Spider Society’s carefully built and refurbished headquarters and, also, the location of what used to feel like home – Miguel could only silently ask of the wind to do what he was too afraid to.

There was no afterlife. That’s what he was counting on.

Each inhale burned his lungs, and he couldn’t be sure if it was because of all of the pollution in Nueva York’s atmosphere or if it was just because he was trying so hard not to burst into tears. Daring to take a breath would be to invite a sob, and Miguel was far too tired to cry any more tears, so, instead, he stilled his chest until he could no longer, then sucked in as quick of an inhale as he could before stilling once more.

There weren’t even stars anymore. The lights of the city were so blindingly bright that they drowned out the entire sky. Before figuring out how to jump universes, Miguel had never seen a star except for in pictures. Before he knew how beautiful they really were, it hadn’t really bothered him; he couldn’t have known what he was missing without having seen it for himself.

Even the most high definition of screens couldn’t capture the way that a million stars dappled the sky like freckles, twinkling and dancing; unmoving yet ever-changing.

The first time Miguel had seen the stars – really looked at them – on Earth 47219 (he could never forget), he’d been frozen in place. It felt as if he was being gazed upon by the universe itself, and he was staring right back; unabashedly marvelling at them. He remembered feeling small, and that was hardly a new feeling to him but he’d never felt it quite like he had in that moment. It wasn’t something he was being made to feel by another person, and, somehow, that had made it okay. He was small, but small in the way that he never got to be; small in the way a child was, or should have been.

And, really, stars shouldn’t have been the thing to wow him; after all, there was an entire, infinite multiverse with billions of versions of himself and every other person. The scope of the infinity of a single universe shouldn’t have compared to the scope of the infinity of the multiverse that contained it, but they were both infinities, weren’t they? So, in the end, they were the same, right?

Nevertheless, there was something about being faced with the natural vision of space’s endlessness that didn’t compare to computer generated strands of code that simply painted a picture of what infinity might look like. Nothing could be such a wholly genuine picture of boundlessness other than the real thing.

As Miguel looked up at the sky now, though, and was met with nothing but a blank grey-blue, he almost felt even smaller than he did when looking up at the stars. Small, but in the way that he was used to feeling; small, but in the way that made him afraid.

There were more Spider-People resting within the confines of the building beneath him than he would ever bother to count, so why did he still feel so alone? Infinite universes, infinite people, infinite opportunities, and, yet, Miguel had never felt so lonely. He’d searched for a solution to the hollowness once before, and he’d only found great loss – a loss he shouldn’t get to grieve when he was the one who’d caused it. Why weren’t the people he had here enough for him? Why couldn’t he just believe that Gabriel loved him, and that Xina no longer loathed him for how he’d hurt her?

None of it was ever enough, and, at a certain point, Miguel had to admit that it wasn’t something lacking in anyone else that left him so empty; it was the fact that he tore himself open further and further each day in search of anything to fix him and was bled out in the process.

Infinity really was an unfathomably large concept. How could anyone be expected to stop the bleeding of a wound that was ever-expanding?

The wind whistled loudly in his ears, almost deafening. It urged him ever closer to the edge and the great fall that could swallow him up if he’d let it. It felt like a comfort; an assurance that maybe everything could be okay, even if only in those brief moments before it stopped, though that was a bit of a comforting promise, too.

The wind, thousands of feet in the air on top of Babylon Towers, was so loud, in fact, that Miguel missed the sound of footsteps approaching the door until it had already swung open and it was too late.

“Miguel?!” a voice shouted over the whipping air current.

Miguel’s shoulders grew even more tense, if possible. He peered over his shoulder, scowling at a certain Spider in a fluffy pink robe before he turned his attention back to the cityscape before him. If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that the passing headlights of cars and the faraway lit up windows of apartments were a starscape; one that didn’t inspire such unfathomable fear.

“Hey, man, what are you doing up here?” came the call once more, and Miguel tucked his head down as he hunched over.

“Avoiding you,” he shouted back, voice whisked away by the wind, but Peter seemed to hear him anyway.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it!” he said, and Miguel was sure he could almost hear a laugh.

He grumbled, twisting his body just enough so that he could glare at the intruder without breaking his neck in the process. “I was.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” Peter called, stumbling forward against the wind to unceremoniously plop himself down next to Miguel with a huff of exhaustion. He scooted himself over, pressing his shoulder against Miguel’s – which Miguel narrowed his eyes at and leaned, ever so slightly, away – and swung his feet in the open air with an almost irreverent glee. “Spidey-sense takes me all sorts of places that I’m not invited.”

As Miguel opened his mouth to tell Peter off, he felt a small hand press against his arm, and he looked down in horror at the bright eyes and wild red hair of Mayday parker. With one hand, he took her hand into his own, then gently brought up his other to cover her eyes. His gaze immediately darted back up to her father, who he flashed his fangs at unabashedly in a snarl.

“Peter, did you bring your sho- Did you bring your baby up here?” he seethed.

And Peter, in all of his carefree naivete – which Miguel knew wasn’t fair to think when he was well aware of all the hurt the other Spider had gone through to get here – had the gall to shrug. “She needed the fresh air!” Then, after a sniff, he corrected, “air.” Then, another sniff, and his face screwed up into one of disgust. “Actually, I’m not even sure I can call this air. What do they do in your dimension, man?”

Having enough, Miguel hissed out, “Ay, pendejo, ¡cállate!” and he carefully removed his hand from May’s face to give her a fangless smile. “Hola, criatura pequeña,” he cooed, and her hand wrapped around his finger even tighter as she beamed back up at him. “Está bien. Tu papá es un idiota. ¡Sí! ¡Sí! No tiene ningún cerebro. No. Es muy tonto, yo sé. Yo sé.”

She babbled up at him in glee, and Miguel couldn’t help but to laugh, rubbing his thumb over her little hand as he babbled back.

Apparently deciding that he’d had his fill of being left out, Peter joined in on the laugh a bit awkwardly. “Hey, Miguel, I-”

“¡Cállate!” Miguel hissed again, shooting the other man a glare once more, though far more muted now that Mayday could see. “We’re having a conversation.”

And, seamlessly, he shot back into a stream of lovingly spoken Spanish. “Sí, me entiendes, arañita, yo sé. ¿Puedes decir ‘¡qué lástima!’? ‘¡Es una pena que mi papá sea tan estúpido!’” He hissed the last word with a pointed glare at Peter, knowing the man would know what the word meant, and, sure enough, he frowned. Then, Miguel immediately turned his attention back to Mayday, voice sweet once more. “Está bien, criaturita. No permitiré que nada te pase a ti. Lo prometo.”

“Miguel, please,” Peter interrupted again, tone desperate. “Don’t teach my daughter how to trash talk me in Spanish. I don’t know what I’ll do if I accidentally upset her one day and she starts prattling off fluent Spanish insults that I only half-understand. Or, god forbid, if it happened to M.J. instead. She took French in school, Miguel.”

More than happy to oblige, Miguel sat up, looking Peter straight in the face, and, in the same sweet tone as he’d used with Mayday, deadpanned, “You’re a moron.”

May blew a raspberry up at her father, giggling delightedly.

To his credit, Peter did manage to laugh, albeit a bit breathlessly, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, alright, I guess I did kind of ask for that.”

“Do you ever think?” Miguel shot back, voice finally falling back into frustration, though only enough for Peter to pick up on.

“Well, I do have a degree-” he began only to cut himself at the look he was receiving. “Look, she’s fine!” he insisted, gesturing down to Mayday who was pulling at the yarn ends of her Spider-Man hat as they were whisked in every which way by the wind, secure in her carrier. Peter moved his hand to lay on Miguel’s shoulder, and Miguel immediately batted him away, which earned a frown but, fortunately, a bit of distance. “It’s you that I’m worried about, Mig.”

At that, Miguel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

A finger pointing to his own skull, Peter smiled a bit grimly. “The Spider-Sense never lies.”

“Right,” Miguel drawled, rolling his eyes and biting down the rising sense of dread in his stomach. “Let’s put complete trust in your magic psychic abilities you got from a Spider over two decades ago. What could go wrong?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” Peter hummed. Out of the corner of his eye, Miguel could see the way his hand gripped onto Mayday’s when a particularly strong gust of wind hit their backs and minutely pushed them forward. It was a small comfort. Then, “You never answered my question. What’re you doing on the roof, man?”

Questioning why all of the people he associated himself with now were insufferably stubborn – and, more importantly, what that said about him – Miguel leaned forward, elbow on his knee and head resting on his hand. His other hand was still occupied by a little Mayday hand, and he wouldn’t dare let go until she decided she wanted to. His eyes peered over the edge of the roof, at the staggeringly long way down – so high that it almost gave him vertigo – then shifted slightly up to focus on the buildings that littered the view beneath them.

“Thinking,” he finally replied after a long pause. “I came up here because nobody bothers me.” The words were punctuated with another glare, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

Smiling a bit sheepishly, Peter leaned back onto his free hand. “Well, you can’t win ‘em all.”

“You make it very difficult to win any,” Miguel grumbled.

“Hey, I have my moments,” came the retort, backed by a snort. Then, “y’know, if you really wanted to be alone, you could’ve just locked yourself in your room, angsty teen style.”

Unamused, Miguel didn’t grace the suggestion with any more than a scoff. His eyes were once again drawn downward, fingers curling upwards around his jaw to dig into his cheek minutely, and he hummed in thought, the sound barely inaudible over the rushing air. The sheer wind cut right through Miguel’s suit, and he shivered as a chill ran over his skin, though the feeling wasn’t entirely unwelcome; a reminder that its silent urges hadn’t given up on him just yet. Unfortunately, though, neither had Peter, who leaned over to briefly brush his shoulder with his own, brows furrowed.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at that drop, Mig,” he said. Then, with a bit of a nervous laugh, “I mean, I’ve looked at drops plenty of times, but in a ‘I think that’d be fun to skydive off of’ sorta way, not… whatever this is.”

“I’m not talking about this in front of a child, Peter,” came the immediate retort.

“Miguel, she’s a baby,” Peter insisted. “She can’t understand anything that’s going on.”

“You don’t know that,” Miguel insisted in turn, his brows furrowing. He tore his eyes from the ground below to peer at May with thinly veiled concern.

“You can’t keep cutting everyone off, Mig,” he tried again. If Peter was trying to meet Miguel’s eyes, he wouldn’t let him, keeping his full attention on Mayday instead. “You keep finding excuses to not talk about things, and I-”

“It’s not an excuse,” he interrupted, a bit too quickly.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t make me argue with you in front of Mayday,” Miguel practically demanded, finally meeting Peter’s gaze with a vulnerability neither of them were prepared for. “Please.”

Startled, Peter’s eyes went wide, and he immediately went silent, mouth, mercifully, snapping shut. Miguel heaved in a breath and forced himself to look back out at the city. He steeled himself, forcing the weakness back out of his mind, but wasn’t quite prepared for the gentle way that Mayday squeezed his finger. The feeling made Miguel perk up a bit, and he snapped his attention right back onto the baby, on unreasonably high alert. May’s big blue eyes shifted from their hands to Miguel’s face, and she babbled at him, a strange worry in her gaze, too.

“Is- Is she okay?” Miguel asked, hating the way that he stuttered without meaning to.

With a hum, Peter glanced down at the baby, shifting her hat so he could see her face. She glanced up at her father, making more nonsensical sounds that somehow still resounded as urgent in Miguel’s ears, but Peter just smiled at her softly, petting her head. “Seems like she’s worried about you, too, big guy.”

“Wha- Worried about me?” he echoed, voice strained. “Peter, she’s a baby. She can’t understand anything that’s going on.”

“You don’t know that,” Peter countered, giving him such a stupid grin that Miguel couldn’t help but to frown.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Use my words against me,” Miguel hissed. “That’s not funny.”

Holding back a smile, Peter raised a hand and tilted it from side to side. “It’s a little funny.”

“You brought your baby onto a roof, Peter,” he reminded almost exasperatedly. “Don’t try to act smart now.”

“I have a degree-”

“In what? Incompetency?”

Giving an irritated laugh, Peter shook a finger in Miguel’s direction. “You know, you are a very difficult man to talk off a ledge.”

“I’d say you’re doing a fantastic job,” Miguel said with false sweetness, then pointed towards the ground thousands of feet below, “if that’s the direction you want me to go.”

“Okay. Alright. I’ll give you that one because it was actually kind of funny-”

Miguel scoffed, letting his head fall back onto his hand. “How kind of you.”

“-but I’m being serious here.”

“Wow,” he deadpanned. “First time?”

Seemingly not as amused now, Peter frowned, and his hand gently fell back onto Mayday’s head, who squealed delightedly despite the confrontation. “Alright, you’re pushing your luck now.”

“I am?”

“How is it even possible for one guy to be in this bad of a mood?!” Peter half-shouted, throwing his head back in frustration.

Again, Miguel scoffed, and his head fell to one side to stare at the other man, unimpressed. “Would you like your answer in the form of a list or an essay?”

“I’d like an answer at all, actually,” he said desperately.

“Ah, now that’s asking too much of me,” came the response, and Miguel turned his gaze away once more.

Gawking, Peter sputtered for words for a moment before pausing, falling silent, then trying again. “Are you impossible to talk to on purpose? Jess says it’s on purpose, but Ben… Well, actually, I don’t remember what Ben said.” He laughed awkwardly, waving a hand. “It’s kinda hard to focus on the words coming out of his mouth when he’s basically a clone of me. Or- Or literally a clone of me, actually. Isn’t that freaky? Poor guy. But the point is that it was probably the same answer. Everyone thinks that-”

“Are you done?” Miguel finally interjected, glaring with every bit of vitriol he could muster, but Peter wasn’t impressed.

“I could be,” he hummed, “or I could keep going. I didn’t think you were going to answer the question, and someone’s got to fill the silence.”

Now it was Miguel’s turn to gawk, and it took a few blinks for him to muster up the wherewithal to actually answer. “You are so childish.”

“Sticks and stones, Mig,” Peter mused. “I haven’t even gotten started. I could talk for days, if you let me. Next topic?”

Still holding onto both of their hands, Mayday squealed and bounced a bit in her carrier with a spitty razzberry, and Peter immediately smiled, drawing a preemptive groan from the man by his side. “Mayday!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I could write a book about Mayday. She’s only a baby, but she really is sophisticated, you know. She’s a baby with layers! With complexities! I know I’ve already shown you all of her pictures, but-”

“Ay, Dios, enough!” Miguel hissed, his free hand running through his hair and his eyes wide with exasperation. “Yes, it’s on purpose. Because I want to avoid this!” He gestured between Peter and himself vigorously. “This drives me nuts, get it? You drive me nuts. I don’t want to talk, and everyone seems to get that but you.”

An exasperated laugh fell from him, though he gently squeezed Mayday’s hand to assure her that everything was okay. “I came up here because I didn’t want to talk to anyone, Peter. Do you not get that? Do you not understand that I don’t want you here?” He pointed a clawed finger in Peter’s face, mouth open in a snarl. “Listen to me closely because I need you to understand this before you get hurt. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

“If you want to talk to me about work,” Miguel continued, “or if you want to talk to me about Mayday, or M.J., or anything other than this when I’m not trying to be alone, then, please, be my guest. But I am not talking about this.” He pulled his hand to his chest roughly, the fabric of his suit getting caught on the talon he pointed directly at himself. “I will not talk about this. Leave me alone.” Then, more insistently, “leave me alone.”

For a moment, then, there was silence, only filled by the whistling rush of the wind around them and Miguel’s heaving breaths. His nostrils were flared in rage, hand hanging in the air, but his anger faltered when he finally caught sight of the look on the other man’s face; a chill ran over him that was almost worse than the one caused by the roaring wind. Beside him, Peter wore the most impassive expression Miguel had ever seen on him, and the look, admittedly, scared him a bit. His hand fell back to his side, and his brows quirked upward in quiet unease as his eyes darted between Peter and literally anything else.

“Miguel,” Peter finally said, and his tone matched his face, “I’m not just going to leave you to kill yourself on a roof.”

And, all at once, with a startled and impossibly frustrated bark of laughter, the fury returned to Miguel’s chest, chasing away the chill of fear and concern that had previously gripped him. Gently, Miguel slid his hand out of Mayday’s grasp and, less so, stood to his feet.

Immediately, Peter’s eyes widened, and he half-shuffled to get up himself, stumbling onto one knee. “Wait. What are you-”

Without a word, Miguel stepped off the edge and into the open air, a strangled screech following him.

“Miguel!”

A horrified face popped over the edge of the building, where Miguel’s talons dug into the metal plated siding, and he couldn’t help the bitter sort of amusement he found in the reaction. Served him right. The thought was chased away as the wind continued to pull at him, beckoning him downward, but Miguel didn’t give in to its pleas. There was a strange sort of satisfaction to defying what was asked of him both by Peter and by the very world, though such nauseating satisfaction was probably what had kept him around for so long in the first place; whenever the promise to himself to be useful in his wretched existence managed to fail him. Maybe, for now, bitter contentment could be enough.

He snarled up at the other man, pointing at him with his free hand. “I’m not riding the elevator down with you.”

And, with that, he loosed his grip on the building a bit, allowing himself to slide down the side, followed by a half-enraged, half-relieved shout of, “yeah, fuck you, too!” and an even quieter, “don’t repeat that, Mayday.”

#blaise writes #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #mayday parker #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 comics #spider man 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv fanfiction #fanfiction #cw: suicide #i do love peter so so much but also i think sometimes he pushes miguel's buttons a bit too much #like i know he means well and that miguel can see and appreciate that but also goddamn he doesn't know when to stop sometimes

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mathiwrites · 1 month

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20 Fic Questions

This seems fun. Thanks to @angelosearch for tagging me in this one. Tagging some usual suspects and anyone else who wants to give it a go - @achaotichuman @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @songofthesibyl

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 8!

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 165,248

3. What fandoms do you write for? DC Comics & ACOTAR, currently.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Justice League's Moms' Book Club's Guide to Vampire Slaying (DC Comics)

Wildflowers (ACOTAR)

The Lighthouse (DC Comics)

Anthophile (ACOTAR)

Five Years (DC Comics)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I always respond to comments. I appreciate them so much and I want to show how much I value comments by always answering them as much as possible.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? It's a toss up between Wildflowers since it's part 1 of 2, but I have a Jason/Kori oneshot that is just angst all the way through.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? It's not complete yet, but in terms of vibes, it's probably gonna be the Moms fic (bc I can't hurt our moms!!) or the lighthouse. It was meant to be slice of life/happy.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not yet, and fingers crossed not ever. I just want people to enjoy what I've written and if it's not for them, that they do find a fic that is up their alley! Positivity all around.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? So far, only angsty smut has been posted, but kinky smut is coming right up 👌

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I do, but it isn't posted. It's a private work. It's a Diablo 4, Witcher and JJK crossover with a dash of Star Wars and Tokyo Ghoul LMAOOOO

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? God, I hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope, but I have considered translating it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! Five years is co-written. I have an Erwin x Levi fic that's co-written but I need to edit.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? It's a toss up between Orm x Clark, Superbats (and/or Superwetbats) and Barry x Hal x Kom.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I like to hope that all my WIPs will be finished one day.

16. What are your writing strengths? Based on what I've been told, imagery is my strength and tying visual with sensations. Sometimes, I drop BOMB ASS lines that I forgot I wrote until my betas tell me that the sentence gave them shivers.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Currently, I've got major pacing issues for some fics I'm posting as the muse comes a long. I do think my smut needs improvement, but you know, I should actually go practice instead of wishing I was good.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? It irks me when writers use google translate, so I wouldn't do it myself. I am bilingual in English and French, with some very formal Spanish, so those would be the only three you'll catch me writing. Otherwise, I'll just use italics and say it's in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for? ✨Neopets✨

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? I'm so, so soft for anything that involves the supermoms. I'm on an Atlanna kick right now, so definitely The Lighthouse or JL's Mom's BC's Guide to Vampire Slaying. Ugh, wait I also love writing kid versions of characters so maybe Wildflowers too AHHHHH

#writing #ao3 #dc comics #fanfiction #dc fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #about me #tag games

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abysskeeper · 9 days

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Tagged by the lovely @keldae. Thanks friend! <3

3 ships

The ones always at the top of this list, my Trick and @gothamcityneedsme's Tavon. The ship that started as a high school joke of "what if we put the rebel and the loyalist together?" and has developed into 13 years (and counting) of the most wonderful stories of two, incredibly broken people slowly befriending each other and putting each other back together against all odds. Trick is the OC for me and these two own my heart. If I ever try to say otherwise, I'm lying.

As of late, coming up right behind the ship of ships for me, is--unsurprisingly--Gale/Nox. I'm just really excited to finally be writing my first DnD PC (ok...technically second, but not really. It's complicated) consistently, and I'm finding the outcast wizard/outcast wizard pairing is lending itself really well to my usual brand of drama, angst, and pretentiousness in writing. They should make each other worse, and the only reason they don't is because they're on opposite ends of the 'Do you want to become a god?' spectrum, where Gale is a resounding yes and Nox only moves slightly away from 'would kill a god if given the opportunity' because they do, actually, kill a god. In short, I'm having a blast writing them.

Not OCs, but third place gets to be Rosegarden, or Oscar/Ruby from RWBY. While we're waiting in v10 limbo, these two live in the back of my mind, and every so often come out to demand some attention. Without getting too much into it, something about destined, Chosen One kids and rhetorical/thematic parallels makes my brain go brrr.

First Ship

Hmmm. I think I usually answer Kataang for these but if I'm really thinking about it, I remember being super invested in Leo and Piper from Charmed, when my mom let me watch it. I couldn't really tell you what it was about them because I was about 6-8...but I was in it with them. They were the only ones I really cared about knowing what happened to them when the show ended.

Currently Reading

I currently have @/aevallare's Ao3 page up, and have for weeks because I'm notoriously awful with reading and then even worse about reading fanfic. I don't have the time and energy to start up Kindred right now (soon...vacation...hopefully), but I've been poking at Alex's one-shots. tailwind is delightful for those of you stuck in Gale/Tav hell like I am, and Wisp is jam-packed with character in such a succinct manner that I'm in love.

Last Song

I'm actively listening to Campus by Bastille right now. Great work-vent song for me. Immediately made its way onto Nox's playlist too.

Last Film

Also Argylle! I went in completely blind to it and then it gave me everything I didn't know I wanted. It was a fun romp, and the fact that it was incredibly Trick/Tav coded was an added benefit.

Currently Craving

Sleep, money, time. I'd like to say that once the paper crunch at work is over with the first submission it'll get better...buuuuut I know that's not true. I just want to have enough energy to write again. Also what I'm always craving, strawberry lemonade.

I'll actively tag @dr-demi-bee and...anyone who wants to do this lol (steal from me, please. I know not who wants these and who doesn't).

#don't mind me #long post #tag game

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booburry · 4 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY

@fangbangerghoul Ty for the tag. Don't have any WIP's for fanfiction. Feeling a bit delirious from overworking but thought to try posting some original work for a story I am working on for anyone who wishes to read or see 🙃🥰

Mira had awoken outside of the glade a few days past, yet her memories were no less fragmented, her head no less clear, the fog left unlifted. The Arch Druid, Kaelan Thornheart, shared her frustrations, even if he did not share her empathy, as to why she could not recollect being here, where she had been before this or what she had even been trying to do. She recalled her name and...that was about it.

Today’s examination left them feeling no differently.

With the heaviest sigh Mira had seen the Arch Druid take since her arrival, he beckoned one of the many members of the Verdant Enclave who waited to be called upon to assist. “Get the Wizard.” He instructed with a sense of defeat. “It’s time we bring him in to try and understand what we are dealing with.”

He turned away, referring back to his notes while Mira sat on top of the stone exam ‘bed’—more of a surface if Mira was the one to name the thing, but the Druids insisted this was the exam ‘bed’, and it was not a point to argue on.

Especially when they were exhausting so many resources to help her understand something that had absolutely nothing to do with them. Especially because the Enclave tended to keep to their own; as the Arch Druid seemingly enjoyed reminding Mira of at every morning and evening check-up. This line of thinking did, naturally, have her question a single thing about their impending visitor.

“Do Druids teach the workings of wizardry and their spells? I…” Mira wanted to say that she thought differently, but she didn’t think, only felt, that this was not the case. If someone were to ask what spells a wizard could cast, or what the differences were between a druid’s magic and a wizard’s magic, Mira would not be able to articulate a response. Hells, she wasn’t even sure she could assuredly win a debate that magic even existed.

“No,” Kaelan advised before she could ask any further questions that would leave his tone dripping with more disdain. The Arch Druid was a kind and wise man, Mira would not say otherwise, but he was impatient and definitely not one meant to be tutoring but telling. Still, it was hard to tell someone what they needed to do when they, frustratingly so, had no understanding or recollection of the world around them.

It was a position Mira could tell he hated finding himself in yet he continued to subject himself to the task of healing her ailments and all Mira could do was thank whatever god or goddess compelled him to do so—for no person would commit themselves to such misery for anything less than absolute devotion.

Another thing to be grateful for, she reminded herself silently. Mira was about to ask another question, despite knowing how much he hated them, as she found her curiosity overpowering her other senses when the subject of said intended question walked into view of the Arch Druid’s glade.

“Finally decided to accept my help, hmm, Kaelan?” The man asked the Arch Druid with a small glint in his eye and a quick flash of a grin. The grumpy elf just grunted in response causing the chestnut-haired wizard to boom a sharp laugh from his soft belly before clapping Kaelan on the shoulder. “Come now, Thornheart…no need to be prickly about it.”

Mira failed to stifle her laugh this time, her small noise immediately catching the man’s attention. He turned to look at her, the grin he had previously flashed now permanently nestled within his trimmed and well-groomed beard. There was something in that moment, his broad frame draped in red plum robes squared to her, his eyes showing more than his outward confidence and boisterous aura, that had Mira catch her breath and feel her mouth go dry.

“Oh, where are my manners?” He softly asked before gracefully swooping into a deep and dramatic bow. “The great Caladhris, at your service!” He announced with a confident smile as he rose, yet it took seconds before his expression flicked and faltered at the lack of Mira’s reaction. “Then again…I have been informed your mind has been a bit fuddled, so perhaps you will be more impressed once you remember who I am.” He flashed another charming smile, Mira lightly laughing with a small shake of her head.

“It sure will be a shame if I still don’t know once my mind becomes clear again.”

“I don’t think my ego would ever recover,” Caladhris gravely informed her as he closed the gap between them, his intelligent brown eyes already scanning over her, “do do me a favour and lie if you don’t, alright?” He asked of her, his hands reaching out and hovering at the sides of her head, small purple spectral glyphs forming within his palms.

“Fix me first and we’ll talk.” He chuckled as his eyes lingered on her for a moment, his expression painted with soft amusement.

#wip wednesday #original content #booburry writes #writing #original story #original work #my content

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doodlemunster · 2 months

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List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ♡

I'm SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG

and thank you to @yesitsloulou because I saw you sent me this too and y'all are so so sweet for it. Seriously. I LOVE YOU GUYS SO FREAKING MUCH

Top 5 things that make me happy, let's goooo (strap in this is a long one)

Friends & Family

I'm putting them together cuz technically friends ARE family to me. More and more do I realize just how stinkin important they are and how much they make my day/month/year.

My friends sending me tiktoks/memes they think I'll love or remind them of me, who love me for me and I can be my goofy self with them

my parents being endlessly supportive and hear me out, who sometimes pick me up coffee or snacks simply because they are thinking of me. My mom, who used to take my brother and I to anime cons and would patiently listen to us rant about our latest obsession and STILL does it till this day even though she has no interest in any of it because she loves us that much. Or my dad who will be a big ol' goof and won't stop till he's cracked a smile out of me.

2. Mutuals

I would put mutuals in the friends and family category, but y'all deserve your own spot because otherwise I'd go on forever lmao (also I see mutuals as friends but I know some people might find that TOO familiar and I'm not trying to weird ya out or nothin)

mutuals who leave tags on reblogs, letting me know their thoughts or little comments to me. Or the reblogs on my art and letting me know if you love it or not?? like 'IM OVER THE MOON'. Know that I'm squeeing and kickin my feet and twirling my hair. All of it. Also, seeing how excited y'all are about a certain show, books, fandom etc Even those posts that are like 'reblog if you would gently headbutt with the person you reblogged this from if y'all were cats'. I love that. I mean it when I say that all of this makes my entiiirrree day. I love it and I love y'all!!

3. My Pets

Seeing their cute little faces gets me through so much. They let me hug and kiss them a whole bunch and it fills me with so much seratonin, holy hell. They have helped me on lonely nights, being little supportive spirits when I'm in my head too much or going through a bad break up. If y'all want some cuteness too, heres a pic of the two of them. I lost my sweet Gir last year and it still gets to me. It's also the anniversary of her passing, but she was an amazing dog.

4. CBD gummies

okay so this is left field and sounds goofy, but I struggle with sleep pretty badly. I'm a night owl through and through, so it makes settling down super hard. My brain just won't shut the fuck up. It's caused my anxiety to spike enough to get medicated for it. However, with these gummies I can FINALLY bank on a good night's sleep and for that I am forever thankful. It also makes me feel so damn good too, so it even calms my anxious nerves. It's made me happy to tears, let me tell ya.

5. Baking

Been finding a lot of happiness in trying new recipes. Some of my favorite nights are getting tipsy/high, baking, and watching horror movies. I've mad pie dough, mini pumpkin pies, brownies, no bakes, caramels, truffles, muffins and god its been such a TREAT. I made my friends and family baked goods and it filled me with so much joy.

Thank you so so much for the sweet ask!! <3 I'm so happy to have y'all as mutuals. Seriously, you make the weeks that much sweeter. I hope you are doing great. Sending you lots of love! ❤️❤️❤️

#<3 <3 <3

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hirukochan · 7 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Thanks for the tag, @loneamaryllis

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

12!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

874,060 - When did that get so much??? I've only picked writing back up in January!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mainly Harry Potter and I have one Rings of Power fanfic on hiatus (for now). I used to write for all sorts of fandoms though! Pirates of the Caribbean, The Hobbit, Percy Jackson, Marvel, Vampire Diaries, Naruto - to name a few.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"Your tears are of no relevance to me", my dark Snape/reader fic

2. Cigarette smoke, Profanities and Stolen Kisses, Snape/reader smut

3. A Servant of Death, my Snape/OC longfic, my baby, my beloved

4. Carrying Atlas, Deeply traumatised, sarcastic Snape/broken Harrie ddlg/pet play fic with much hurt and even more comfort

5. Stood-up, my three-part Snape/former student!reader oneshot/mini-fic

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to reply to each one! I love to hear what people think and interact with readers!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't actually have that many fics finished 😅

I love long fics, I love reading them and I love writing them so most of my works are still ongoing (and seem to be staying ongoing for a while to come 😅)

I'd say Petrichor. It's a Voldemort-wins AU so things are bound to look hopeless and dark.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Severus and his Sunshine!!!! A very fluffy, hopful ending 🥰

8. Do you get hate on fics?

After initially posting A Servant of Death II quite a few readers were angry the story would not be moving into a direction they wanted. Haven't gotten any since.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes 😃

I write Dom/sub mostly! Proper D/s (apart from my dark!fics) with safewords and boundaries and aftercare! I love including kink-wear and collars and other fun toys! All sorts of kinks, lighter and a few darker, more taboo kinks. Lots of bondage!!

Also dub-con and dark smut and I'm venturing into poly and threesome territory lately.

Basically anything I find interesting or worth exploring!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. I had a rather ambitious crossover idea when I was a teen about a group of people chosen by the gods I had created to protect the universes of the world with every book/show/movie in existance being a universe that had been locked away by some evil supernatural beings. Each of the four people in the group could travel between the universes and had to fix the timelines if things went wrong. Basically all the misery happening in the stories was the supernatural beings messing with the universes. I wrote the first part that played in The Hobbit and started the second part that would take place in Naruto but I never continued the project.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of but I do know that after I published my first HP fic on Wattpad back when I was...uff idk 13?? suddenly everybody in the german marauders fandom was writing Voldemort's daughter fics. I thought that was interesting since I wrote mine because I couldn't find any Voldemort's child fics in german (my english was shit at the time, I'm sure otherwise I would have found plenty to read! 😂)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! But someone once made a podfic of my Adventcalender one-shot collection (with my permission). I don't think it's still online though. (god I hope not, those were terrible 😬)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No and I don't think I ever will. My mind is a strange and cluttered space and teamwork has never been a strong suit. I've been asked though, but that was more of a 'I have x-idea, will you write it for me?' then an actual inquiry.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Ummmmm....OCs. Everybody/OC. I love OC's. I love reading them, creating them, I love that I can have a person whose weaknesses and strength and personality fit my fav characters perfectly, especially since my fav characters tend to be unsocial loners with terrible trauma.

Apart from that I'm not much of a shipper...Snarriet probaly (thanks to @loneamaryllis - you know what you did 😑, jokes aside I've been thoroughly enjoying this ship and the community is so sweet!)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I sure hope I'll finish them all! Strawberries and Sin is being neglected right now 😅 but I love the characters and I'm certainly not planing on abandoning the story!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I'm good at worldbuilding, I certainly enjoy expanding existing universes with my own ideas! Whether it's by adding an entire Vampire monarchy including an origin story of how vampires came to exist or World Duelling Championships for my heir of a rich pureblood family to power herself out at.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I never know if I describe things enough, surroundings, emotions, etc. I think I tend to fixate on what a character is doing with their hands 😂

Also I can get lost in developing the relationship between two characters and forget to advance the plot just to then focus on the plot and neglect the characters 😅 still trying to find a balance there.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Been there, done that! I think it can be fun.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Written? Naruto! I was nine I think and I had no idea that fanfiction even exists or that other people were writing them! I just wrote down a truly terrible story on an old notepad I had.

The first fandom I created stories for in my mind was Harry Potter at around nine!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

A fic that is currently not on the internet anymore that I want to rework and publish once I've worked through some WIPs. It's about Snape and his best friend from an opressed people who both ended up joining Voldemort for good intentions and end up in his bed (two Death Eaters eagerly serving their new master 😏) but quickly realise he is not what he promised to be.

From my published fics it's a draw between A Servant of Death and 'Your tears are of no relevance to me'!

Tagging anyone who wants to do it 🫶🏻💖

#tag game #writing

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reeshyz · 1 year

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Title: 24 Reasons Pairing: Richard Z. Kruspe / Till Lindemann Presentee: @kitthefox Prompt: Advent Calendar Warnings/Tags: Mutter Era | Drug mention | Angst & Hurt / Comfort Word Count: 2.374 Summary: Richard wants to leave the band. He feels like he needs something else. Something new. Till shows him that there is a reason to stay. Read on AO3: here ♪

The pre-production for their new album was almost done, but the band was still kinda restless. Richard feels mostly angry these days, but he still tries to hold himself back. He doesn’t like any of the shit they have managed to record so far.

“I’m just saying, we could look over the songs again. I think there is something missing,” Richard says quietly. Paul who sits opposite him sighs very loudly and puts his guitar away. Thank god, the thrumming had been giving Richard a headache anyway.

“Look, we get that most of the songs aren’t your typical style, but we all decided that we wanted to try something new,” Schneider says and he takes another sip of his coffee. Richard looks down to his own mug for a second.

Tomorrow they would all leave Heiligendamm and settle down before Christmas. December is so close now, Richard feels like he can already smell the snow that would soon settle over the landscape. Only a few more days, but Richard knows that he doesn’t want to record their album like this.

His hands are shaking.

“I don’t want my name on a record like this,” Richard answers. He tries to keep his voice light and playful, but it doesn’t work out. He can see how Ollie closes his eyes and looks away. Paul sighs.

“I mean you’re also free to just leave the band,” Schneider says now and Richard bites down on his lower lip. They really had fought a lot the last few days and Richard knows he said some very bad things too.

Richard knows he has hurt his friends and yet he feels so unsatisfied with their new music, that he just can’t shut up. He doesn’t understand how they can not see it? They have much more potential than that.

“If it means that I don’t have to see your face again, sure,” Richard replies, the anger taking over again and there is nothing he can do about it. This time Schneider gets slowly up, Richard happily looks up at him, not backing away at all.

“Guys…,” Flake whispers behind them, but they ignore it.

“You don’t mean that. You’re too cowardly,” Schneider says and there is a nasty grin on his face. Richard wonders sometimes what happened between them all. There are so many rifts between them now.

His drugs caused most of them, but not everything. It’s not his fault that they can’t see his vision.

“Watch me,” Richard says slowly and with that he turns around and walks out of the room.

“Oh we will be glad that you’re gone!” Schneider yells after him.

Richard doesn’t answer. Instead he goes upstairs first and walks into his own room. There he takes a deep breath and then slowly packs his personal stuff back into his suitcase and puts his favorite guitar on top of it.

He would ask someone else to get the rest of his stuff. Right now he doesn’t care too much about this. He doesn’t care too much about any of this. Richard opens his nightdrawer and takes out a small bag.

Only to find it empty. He slams it against the wall.

Richard’s fingers are shaking even more now and so he walks outside on his balcony for a second. At least he still has some cigarettes left, so he carefully lightens one and blows the smoke out into the cold night.

Here it’s so quiet. Richard ignores that he’s shaking a bit already, because he’s just wearing his soft jumper. Instead he looks down to the small town they’re staying in. It looks so peaceful. So schön.

There’s a knock on his door.

Richard huffs, but stays silent otherwise. The door opens anyway and Richard knows it’s Till because nobody else would dare to do that. Richard slowly turns around and there he is. The singer looks sad, Richard’s heart out of stone, squeezes painfully in his chest.

He’s not even sure when he turned into this version of himself. Normally Richard loves to show his affection or gets bathed in it, but lately…

Till looks so broken, when he comes outside on the balcony as well, surely he had seen the suitcase.

“Will you really leave?”

“Yes.”

Richard can see how much that hurts Till. He doesn’t take it back though. He knows that he has to leave right now. Otherwise he would just end up hurting himself and the others even more.

He just never wanted to hurt Till.

“When?”

“Probably tomorrow, before anyone wakes up. I wrote Joey already,” Richard says and Till nods slowly. Richard takes another drag from his cigarette, he slowly feels himself calm down. Till always had that energy on him, even without doing anything.

“Is there… any way I can make you stay?” Till asks so softly. So hurt. Richard swallows his own feelings down. He had always been rather good at that.

“I don’t think so,” Richard admits. There is of course a way, but Richard would never tell him about that. He’s not stupid or particular has a death wish. He kinda needs his best friend in the way he has him now.

“And how long will you be gone?” Till dares to ask. Richard looks at him now. There are still some street lights on behind them, but the moon is already up as well and Till looks so beautiful like this.

As if someone can read his thoughts, it slowly starts to snow. Richard looks into the sky for a moment.

“I’m not sure yet,” Richard whispers back. He doesn’t want to leave the band forever… at least he thinks so, even now. But maybe the others wouldn’t want him back after he leaves. Richard sighs.

“I hate this,” Till mutters almost too quietly for him to hear. Richard nods.

“I’m sorry,” Richard offers and Till steps even closer to him. When he holds his arms out, Richard playfully rolls his eyes, but lets himself be hugged anyway. It feels good and he flicks his cigarette away, so he can cuddle against Till’s chest.

“Do you know where you will go?” Till asks and there is so much hope in his voice. Maybe he thinks that Richard would just leave Heiligendamm. Richard knows the next sentence will hurt him as well.

“New York,” Richard answers and Till breaks the hug. His green eyes are so wide and so full of pain. Richard presses a cold hand to Till’s cheek and he tries to smile.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I thought for a while about this. Joey offered to help me settle down there,” Richard says and both sentences are the truth. He had been thinking for weeks about this and yes he feels bad, but he knows this will be better for all of them.

It’s what he tells himself at night, when he wakes up crying.

“This band needs you,” Till says and Richard squeezes his eyes shut, when Till’s voice breaks. That’s why he wanted to leave overnight. He didn’t want to say goodbye to Till, he had known how much this would hurt him.

“I don’t think so anymore,” Richard admits, his own voice shaking and he hastily wipes over his eyes, before he’d start to cry like an idiot in front of Till. Sure he had cried in front of him before, Till is the only who had ever seen him cry besides his parents maybe, but he has to stay strong now.

For both of them.

“Will you… will you ever come back?” Till asks the question Richard doesn’t want to hear. He’s not sure about that yet, so he doesn’t answer. He had already tried once to leave Till and his feelings behind, because he knows he’s not good enough for someone like Till, but back then it hadn’t worked.

Till nods to himself and then walks back inside. For a moment Richard thinks that he will just leave, because Till even walks out of his room. Instead it takes only a moment, before Till is back.

This time he’s holding a package in his hands.

“I want you to have it. I… I made it for you and I originally wanted to give it to you in a few days, but… you should have it now,” Till says and he holds the package out. Richard slowly takes it, noticing that it’s rather light.

It’s starting to snow even harder now, it looks beautiful in Till’s dark hair.

“Thank you,” Richard whispers. Till leans closer and presses a soft kiss to Richard’s cheek.

“Maybe… maybe it will make you come back to me,” Till says and before Richard can reply again, Till turns around and really leaves this time.

Richard isn’t sure how long he stays out there on his balcony.

“Hey what the hell is this?” Joey asks, when he finds the package a few days later, buried underneath other stuff. For now Richard is staying at Joey’s. He doesn’t have an apartment in New York yet.

“Uhm… something Till gave me,” Richard answers and he slowly takes the package in his own hands. He hadn’t opened it so far, so he sits down on his couch and does that now.

“Oh.”

“What is it?” Joey wants to know and Richard holds it up.

“It’s an advent calendar. Seems like Till really… made this for me,” Richard says and he can’t help but tear up at the thought. He tries to swallow his tears down and nods to himself. That is so sweet and thoughtful.

“Open it then! Today is the first of December!” Joey says, sounding so excited himself. Richard feels so bad. He hadn’t even called Till or anything when he had landed. He had been so sure that this would be the best for them.

Richard’s hands are shaking when he opens the first little bag. It reminds him of the night he had last seen Till. He misses him so much.

Inside the bag is a bit of chocolate, which makes Richard smile and a small piece of paper. He’s not sure if he wants to open it.

Joey is still watching him, his smile so encouraging.

Richard takes another deep breath and then opens it. He can see that Till wrote that with his fancy pen.

“Reason 1 why I’m in love with you: You are everything I never knew I needed. I wanna stay with you forever,” Richard reads out loud.

“Oh shit,” Joey says and Richard nods.

This time he can’t help those tears. Fuck. Richard slowly turns away from Joey and hides his face in his hands. He misses Till so much.

Till - who actually loves him.

Richard would think that this is a joke, but Till would never make a joke about something like this. Richard’s heartbeat picks up again and he sobs into his hands. He wants to go back home. To his Till.

“I m-miss him,” Richard says and he hears how Joey gets up. Joey pats him on the back and then gives him his phone. Richard takes it and Joey leaves him alone for the moment.

Richard clicks on Till’s number. He isn’t even sure how late it is already in Germany, but he needs to speak to him now.

“Scholle?”

“I love you too,” Richard bursts out and he winces when he realizes that he hadn’t even said anything else. Till is chuckling though. It’s Richard’s favorite sound in the world (besides his guitar).

“You mean that?” Till asks and Richard imagines him blushing. He wants to see that. He wants to touch the blush, feel it. Rub his cheek against Till’s and make him laugh.

“Yeah. I’m sorry that… Till I… I miss you. I opened the advent calendar. Please, don’t tell me that it’s too late to come back home,” Richard says and Till makes a surprised sound.

“It will never be too late. I will always wait for you,” Till whispers and Richard’s throat closes up again. Before he knows it he’s already crying again. Till makes a soothing noise and hums quietly into the phone.

“I was so dumb. I thought I need distance, but… all I need is you,” Richard admits and while he feels kinda silly about sounding so romantic it also sounds right.

“Why did I bother to write down 24 reasons why I’m in love with you, when I already won you over with the first one,” Till says now and he laughs so cutely again. Richard is for sure blushing himself now.

“I’m in love with you for years,” Richard mumbles back.

“Good. Does that mean I get an advent calendar too?” Till laughs and this time Richard laughs as well.

In the end he doesn’t know how long they spend on the phone together, but he falls asleep with Till’s voice in his ears.

He wishes he could always have this and for the first time he actually believes he could have this.

A week later Richard is almost falling asleep on Till’s chest.

He had been right after all. He had needed a new perspective and a break from the band. But never a break from Till. He just needed to be even closer to him.

Till carefully strokes through his hair, before he presses a kiss against his temple. Richard hums and nudges him, so Till would finally read the newest letter of the advent calendar.

It’s his favorite thing in the world.

Till laughs and starts to read. Richard blushes and squirms a bit, but he has to say that he really enjoys hearing what Till loves about him (even if he doesn’t agree sometimes).

In may they would meet up with the band again in southern france. But right now Richard doesn’t want to think about them again.

Right now he wants Till to open his own calendar. Richard had bought that one in New York, since he didn’t have time to actually make one of his own. But Till loves the chocolate one, he had said.

Maybe next year he would make Till an advent calendar with 24 songs only for him. Richard smiles.

Yeah.

He likes that idea.

#reehshyz advent calendar #tillchard

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feathered-serpents · 1 year

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hii weird question. u mention drawing a lot, but i cant find any of your art? do you have an art account, a tag, or is it just that you dont post it?

im super big fan of all your gow posts they bring me light and joy so, just wondering :]

Hey! Glad you like my GOW stuff!

So I do post it, but it's a nightmare to find because:

1. I only started seriously drawing about a year ago so there isn't that much of it

2. A lot of it is posted on my Dragon Age blog because for a long time most if not all of it was Dragon Age

3. I don't have a consistent tag because... I don't think I've earned one. I'm not an artist so I shouldn't have an art tag, and if I did have one it would be dishonest. What I draw doesn't feel like art. I know it doesn't make sense but it's a thing

BUT instead of scavenger hunting or making you scavenger hunt down my drawings I'll just post them all here.

Here's my first idea of Hel (going to redesign her soon. The overall colors and placement of the skull will remain but otherwise she's gonna change pretty drastically)

(included the line-only version because I think it's neat)

Here's Adult Angrboda with pre-undeath baby Hel (aka Calliope)

Here're Freya's mythological daughters, Gersemi and Hnoss, imagined with Kratos as their father (part of a larger post that's ALMOST done)

A WIP of Freya holding Semmi and Hnoss as newborns (you might be noticing a pattern. I really like fankids)

(also part of that bigger post, was going to color it but I think I'm just going to finish the lines and then post it all. It's just taking too long)

And an Atreboda WIP that I've scrapped and restarted 7000 times and will probably scrap again so expect the final version posted in 2041. It looks like this right now

(they're meant to be around 18-20 here, hence why Atreus has long hair and a lil stubble) (i say this and then realize I kept Atreus in his Ragnarok armor I'm going to go scream into the night)

That's pretty much all the GOW stuff! Here's the Dragon Age stuff rapid-fire if you're interested. It's literally all FenHawke. Except for the one with Dorian and the Inquisitor that one was a gift for my friend. As you go from left to right top to bottom it gets older

those bottom two are really old

And that's basically everything I've ever drawn. Like legitimately I can't show you examples from before 2022 because they are so few and far between and mostly just notebook margins. If you dug maybe you could find some doodles but 2022 is the year I started drawing. Honest to god started. From the ground up. I'm fresh as fuck

I know most people would say I can call myself an artist, call these drawings art, and have an art tag but I just. Honestly do not think I've earned it. I don't hate this stuff, I'm showing it to you because I'm proud of most of it! But I still do not think I've earned the right to any of that

I don't know what earning it looks like but I truly don't think I've reached it, and I know that's dumb, but it's very real for me. If people are starting to ask maybe I'll make one, even though it really feels like I shouldn't

Thanks for liking my GOW stuff!! Sorry for such a long answer

#God of War #Dragon Age

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dmclemblems · 2 years

Photo

Some super quick explanations for some of them included!

Love A Lot:

Miklan: for those of you who may new be here/have not seen many of my posts about him: had a lot of headcanons confirmed in Hopes that I held from Houses. he needed someone/people to steer him in the right direction. when he had someone/something to fight for, he was loyal. his behavior growing up and afterward were a result of being given no direction on top of overwhelming jealousy and spite that turned into hate. even if he wasn’t able to entirely forgive his family/the system, he did get over it and find a goal for himself that he really wanted to reach and more or less moved on (see: fuck you, Gwendal).

Rodrigue: see: my rodrigue tag that’s all i can tell u or this will be an essay also i adore him

Sylvain: his writing is WAY better in Hopes than Houses. he has genuine relevance to the plot itself and is extremely important to Faerghus’ army and politics it in all routes. I love him in Houses but in the main story his relevance is honestly abysmal and there are way too many offhand flirtatious comments on a constant basis. he matured, but not even remotely like he did in Hopes. Hopes’ Sylvain is everything I would want and expect from his character (Felix is basically in the same boat).

Love:

Sothis!fused Byleth: more development to her personality at this point and she’s actually very cute! I love her sassy little crossed arms lean thank u. also, I really feel like her and Dimitri (in AM) really worked well together as characters and grew together. seeing them both grow emotionally with each other’s help was really sweet.

Ingrid: much more development for her in general, and her relationships are expanded upon (not just scolding Sylvain, is good friends with Dedue, doesn’t have an utterly crappy friendship with Felix that survives off nothing but childhood friend willpower, actually has conversations with Rodrigue that are both about and not about their shared history and show more than one side of their relationship, etc). much less bland of a character in Hopes.

Gilbert: BOISSSS HAVE U SEEN THIS MAN IN HOPES MY GOD HE IS THE MOST LOVING AND DOTING FATHER THERE DO BE OUT THERE shit man im jealous like my parents didn’t dote on me like that when i was in my early twenties ajkfgsgjs also, he’s actually a well written character with a good past and present in both games. I’ll write up a long post another time probably. I do like him a bit more in Hopes, but I’ve always liked him a lot at the very least in Houses.

Rhea: it was between Like A Lot and Love, and since Seiros!Rhea is below her for reasons explained below, I had to bump up her a bit.

Like A Lot:

Male Byleth: idk why i like female byleth more, maybe bc i just like girls more irl and she’s rly cute when she gets more development like i don’t dislike byleth but u kno there is just somethin else about titty teacher

Serios!Rhea: she’s really cool in the opening cutscene! I like her generally speaking, but I feel like they made her batshit in CF just to excuse making her out to be a villain (kinda like they did in SB’s bad ending for Claude). I like her in Hopes in GW a lot though - it’s just the CF nonsense that makes me like ???. I get Edelgard pushed a lot of buttons, but Rhea has always been about protecting innocent people. setting Fhirdiad on fire is so out of character for her. she’s vicious and violent at times when it comes to people who attacked the Church, harmed innocents, etc, but she never otherwise harms citizens for any reason. what happened in CF just felt like an asspull to make her a villain.

Thales: I like him as a villain, not a person, but Hopes also gave us more insight into him. he’s just an interesting villain to me, really. most of them in this universe are pretty eh to me as villains, which leaves me to base my opinions off who they are/their character, which... most of them are lolz. not even much to go by. Kronya is just some kill obsessed clown lady who was afraid to die in Houses and was just in denial about it in Hopes and that’s... that’s it. Solon just has a grudge against the bloodlines I guess.

Like:

that’s abysskeeper and baron dominic not generic npcs lmao

Claude: it was really between Like and Like Slightly because a good half the game is just normal Claude, and we did get a lot of good background info on him, Almyra and his family relationships (even if indirectly, like when Nader is talking to the Almyran soldier about how Claude is the favorite child). the things about Claude that I didn’t like in this game (especially bad ending SB which is massively just ??? wtf ??? eh wot nani the fucc fuccies mcdoodles ???) I have very strong opinions about, but I think the bullshit parts are outweighed by both normal Claude and a slightly differently characterized Claude who didn’t get to spend a year at school (there are still bits and pieces of that difference in him even in AG, though they’re a lot more subtle and he’s more on the fence about what to do after everything is over in comparison to GW/SB).

Hilda: way more character and actual growth as a person. she grew a little bit in VW, but overall there wasn’t that much change. she didn’t feel like much of a character and it felt like she never had anything useful to say that didn’t involve being lazy and wanting people to do things for her. she’s lost a lot of that behavior and attitude in Hopes and actually has humane dialogue in Hopes.

Mask!Jeritza: just less characterization overall. he’s still funny tho. still funny.

Monica: idk, I feel like she kinda lost of the cool parts of her character with what little bit we did get in the prologue chapters (any route). I still like her and it’s not even about her devotion to Edelgard being a little (read: a lot) overboard, and let’s face it, I’m beyond overjoyed that a ship I shipped long before the existence of Hopes actually sailed and it sailed so hard it’s on the other side of the world now. idk what it is tbh that really makes me prefer her in the early chapters (not counting Kronya!Monica in Houses, who I left out since it wasn’t really Monica).

Shahid: good villain, some background detail, and useful for drama. that’s uh that’s it tho really lol

Like Slightly:

Cornelia: an actually good villain aside from Thales, which is a rarity in this universe. terrible, horrendous, nasty person, but sometimes you need that! she’s/he’s (i.e. not really Cornelia) also actually smart and not so kill happy that she’s just stupid about it. she has a lot of contingency plans and backups, and she managed to convince Faerghus for a good long time that she was still the real Cornelia. it’s rare in this game that we get an actual villain with a brain.

Erwin: lbh Hopes saved his purple ass. he’d be down in dislike-hate otherwise LOL. Hopes really did do a LOT for him though imo regarding characterization. all we really hear about him in Houses makes him sound like a horrendous asshole and makes you wonder what Lorenz even sees in him to respect him. Hopes gave him an actual personality/character and showed us intellect. I think he’s done some pretty crappy things and he’s been shady, but in Hopes his assessment of Claude isn’t really that wrong or far off, so I can’t hold that against him the way I do in Houses. he’s also a very caring and loving father, whereas in Houses I was more under the impression that Lorenz was just his heir and that they didn’t necessarily have much more than a respectful relationship. I feel like in Hopes there’s a lot more to unpack with his character and it did him a lot of good for me. since of course Houses is also the “main” canon and whatnot, I can’t really say I like him all too much, but Hopes definitely gave him a lot more to work with.

Lonato: Good dad vibes, but I think it’s super questionable that he’s willing to fight/kill Ashe out of his desire for revenge for Christophe. What I would’ve hoped they’d have done with Lonato is that like in Radiant Dawn, if two characters were on opposing sides but had a strong relation, they would refuse to fight each other (an example of this is Brom and Meg, who are father and son but won’t fight each other. Even though you have control of Brom, you can’t use him to attack Meg because he just won’t do it). He did so much for Ashe and basically saved his life by taking him off the streets, even despite that he’d be taking in three kids, and yet... he’s now willing to kill this kid he took in just because this kid is enrolled at the school at the monastery headed by the archbishop he hates. Couldn’t really put him higher because of that. They always talk so highly about him in the game, so he seems like a generally good dude but then... I also don’t like he’d kill Ashe for Christophe, and tbh I don’t think he’d do that the other way around and kill Christophe for Ashe fi the situation was reversed.

Matthias: Not a bad character and definitely loyal to Faerghus. Heavily in politics and is a good person to have helping run the country. Rodrigue says he changed after his first wife died so I guess that’s where he got his argumentative and more practical side, though I feel like he tends to be practicality above emotions at all times and definitely doesn’t have a balance for it (to the point where Rodrigue has to be the one to tell him to go to apologize to Sylvain to something he said to him instead of Matthias choosing to do that on his own). Not gonna bother talking about the whole “bad did” stuff because... that’s general knowledge lmao.

Rufus: He’s a semi-good villain, and I’m not sure how I’d feel if he got more time in the game. As for who he is as a person, he’s a pile of trash to be taken out into the dumpster to await the trash trucks. I am putting that lightly.

No Opinion:

Aelfric: A pretty low-tier villain imo. I like the way he planned things out and how he got everything together, but his overall goal and how single minded he was about it was kinda lame.

Anna: Sometimes she has pretty nice things to say, especially regarding the war, but otherwise... she’s just eh in the boring sense.

Kostas: Tbh we don’t really know much about him or why he’s a bandit. We know Ashe used to be a thief because of his situation, so I don’t want to assume Kostas is just scum of the earth based on being a bandit since it seems like he just takes jobs for money. The guy you meet in Abyss who is hiding there and says he has a family waiting for him at home also insisted they didn’t know the real details and all that, so I don’t really... hate Kostas? I more wonder if he wouldn’t turn himself around if given the chance. I don’t like him or dislike him since we don’t really know enough about him personally.

Tomas: I’m assuming the persona Solon had of him was as close to the real thing as he could get if he wasn’t detected all that time, so judging by that I guess I’m like sure why not about him. Not super interesting but a nice dude.

Eh:

Caspar: This version of him is literally totally brainless and he doesn’t do anything except fight and care about fighting. He literally has no morals or care for anything and it’s baffling to go from Houses Caspar (either version) to this Caspar. He’s worse than Raphael in that sense because Raphael at least has times when he’s shown to have other traits, but this version of Caspar just doesn’t feel like Caspar to me.

Hegemon Husk Edelgard: Not enough information. Just a husk! At least the name in and of itself proves a whole lot of my points about her...

Ludwig: He actually cares about the Empire, so... kudos for that. Obviously he wasn’t super terrible to Ferdinand and the Empire at large if Ferdinand grew up idolizing and respecting him. He’s not like Bernadetta who is actively afraid of her father but wouldn’t want him to just straight up die, and is in fact sad in both games about Ludwig dying. He can be pretty shitty and be involved in shitty things so he doesn’t really get a pass from me, but he gets above the hate scale.

Marianne: I get she has the whole issue with her Crest and thinking it’s a curse, but jesus christ if she’s not annoying about it. When people just want to have a conversation and not even really get involved with her she’s too quick to push people away and leave them thinking they did something wrong. Overall I just found her response to a lot of things very annoying. I don’t hate her but I’m too annoyed and bothered by that stuff to say I’m neutral.

Myson: Not enough information on him as a character. He kinda ended up with Sandima (FE4) syndrome where he was a main lackey and not much else. You see him, you get used to him being there, but you don’t know enough.

Randolph: He’s lucky Hopes happened or he’d be one tier lower or worse lol. That whole nonsense conversation he had with Dimitri in AM would’ve kept him a tier or two lower, but he had at least some semblance of a character in Hopes. Putting the two together, I just don’t really like him. Like, yeah, sure, he’s kinda a nice dude... but wanting to distinguish yourself and your house so much that you’d take live on a battlefield and be grateful for the war for that purpose doesn’t sit right with me. Also, being part of the force that initiated the war makes me see it with an even more critical eye. Imo he’s way too deep into wanting to be a distinguished name and it seems like he doesn’t really... have any morality in doing so. As far as Houses goes, YIKERS. He really had the audacity to say he was fighting for his sister and home (as if other people aren’t also doing that???) and so he didn’t want to die. Y i k e r r r r r s. It’s like, when HE’S on the verge of death he wants mercy, but he’ll cut down any number of other human beings to have his name known/have a (political) house and won’t spare their lives just because they have families waiting for them. He’s a hypocrite who’s hyperfocused on his own deeds at war, and the fact that he thought he could spew insults at Dimitri and act like he was A Pure Bean would have kept him on the shit list forever if not for Hopes. He’s one of those people where he’ll do bad shit and keep doing it until what goes around comes around and when it’s finally his turn, he begs for it to not be his turn. At least Dimitri owned his shit in their conversation. Randy here did not, refused to and literally thinks that fighting for his supposed good cause is justification for his actions. Big yikes, yikers, yikees. No want, no like.

Raphael: I just kinda threw everyone in alphabetical order so it’s not that I like him less than Caspar as I brought him up briefly in Caspar’s description. My main issue with him is that also largely lacks morals in this game. Marianne is the one who keeps questioning all the killing, and Raphael doesn’t give half a fuck most of the time. He just wants to fight and they wrote him like he’s too stupid to understand having morals while at war. It doesn’t feel like Raphael to me. He was great in his paralogue, but other than that he was just... devoid of character outside of his overblown traits. It’s like they took Houses Raphael and just stripped away any characterization except for two of his traits and went “ah yes, much better”. He’s still a kind guy, just... kind of a shell of Houses Raphael.

Male Shez: Idk lol he’s just like... more childish and brainless to me than female Shez? For sure I think it’s the delivery in their English lines, but there’s just something about him I’m not really caring for.

Sothis: Lord almighty did I find her annoying. In Hopes I’m super eh about her because she’s kinda... bad/mean/evil/what have you? But just in general in Houses I didn’t really care for her. I didn’t hate her and I definitely don’t think she deserves to disappear or something, but her attitude just typically bugs me.

Dislike:

Arval: He’s just... annoying lol. Annoying, smug and tries to pressure Shez into things that they clearly don’t want to do.

Bernadetta: I hate that she’s played for laughs, but I also hate that characters can’t even speak to her without her screaming something completely unrelated. She has issues because of her dad, sure, but to be afraid of every single stranger and all her classmates to the point where she didn’t even remember what Claude, a house leader, looked like? To the point that nobody can even speak to her because she never listens? Annoying. Literally the most frustrating character I’ve ever seen in any franchise. She’s better in Hopes, but in Houses, especially in at the first half... Y I K E S.

Gwendal: Bad adoptive dad, traitor, also killed Miklan in Hopes. 0/10, I have Yuri kill him in Houses in every time.

Ionius: Him being a seemingly good dad is the only thing that kept him from being any lower tbh.

Leonie: Rude, annoying, and not a personality I’m into. Got better, but like Bernadetta I can’t stand her in the first half of Houses.

Dislike-Hate:

They all suck but I don’t feel burning rage of hatred lol.

Hate:

Fleche: Basically her handling of revenge in AM knocked her to rock bottom for me. Nothing in any other route in either game could save her from that lol. Let’s be clear: Byleth killed Randolph. It doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter if it was a mercy kill. At the end of the day Fleche clearly did not know who exactly killed her brother. She just wanted to kill someone for revenge, regardless of whether or not she targeted the right person. Now mind you, not ONLY did she target the wrong person, but she murdered a man totally uninvolved in her revenge. MIND you, she went on about boo hoo revenge for her ONLY LIVING FAMILY BEING KILLED and then murdered a man’s ONLY LIVING FAMILY because she TARGETED THE WRONG PERSON in her revenge. Yes, Dimitri wasn’t all there mentally, but no, he did not kill Randolph. My issue with Fleche is that this told me she wasn’t really in it to get actual revenge on the person who killed her brother (like she did in Hopes in all routes). It’s that she didn’t care WHO she killed or HOW MANY people she killed in her path to revenge. To her it never mattered who died. She’s selfish, apathetic, and doesn’t care about other people outside her own family and their standing in the Empire. She doesn’t care about the truth or who did what. She just wants to murder people. That’s her revenge. She attacked Dimitri and attacked like a literal pos toward him with that sarcastic shit, again, not her brother’s killer, just off the assumption that he did it merely because he was... the leader of the army, I guess. He was going to capture Randolph, and honestly from there someone could have convinced him (someone: Rodrigue) not to torture Randolph because they could have used him as leverage or gotten information or what have you. This isn’t to say Byleth was wrong for killing Randolph - it’s to say Fleche did not give two whole hoot hoots as to who actually killed her brother and just wanted to cause havoc regardless because boohoohoo someone killed your brother AT WAR when you all know what the consequences could be AT WAR during the war your uwu emperor started.

Really need to write a fanfic one day where she gets away and then Felix seeks her ass out and slaughters her and goes “uwu u killed my only living family during war so i wanted revenge uwu and hey at least im killing the right person for it instead of being a lil baby and killing whoever the fuck just bc im uwu mad” because FCKN D A M N Y’ALL THAT WOULD BE THE 👌 CATHARTIC 👌 SHIT I NEED. ...don’t worry he’s not gonna say uwu that’s just the implication of a mocking tone so felix’s mocking is the last thing she hears because he slays her

being a rodrigue fan is hating fleche’s entire being alright xoxo love u roddyrod

Edelgard: we’re not getting into that LMFAO it’s all over my blog anyway if you can find it among my love and affection for other characters

#JD Tiers #I didn't include everyone while talking about my reasons for placement #so if there's someone specific not listed that you're curious about I don't mind talking about 'em #MAYBE AFTER THIS I CAN START DOING GOOFY TIER LISTS :D #I just wanna use the portraits for goofy shit bc everything is so colorful shjfgasjugd #ALSO if I have a character listed in a bad spot above hate (which is only two characters I won't budge on lol)#I don't even mind ppl talking to me abt them or telling me their hcs and why they love them #I'm not immune to those characters and don't necessarily have a be all end all opinion on them #the only ones I'm solidified on are the two down in the hate bin and anyone else is fair game #nobody can go down but you might be able to make them go up!#also nobody is really placed by the order of how much I like them #like Annette is just at the front of her row bc I went in alphabet order the way they're listed before placement #and it might have been a bit more tricky to place them in a more concise way

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