#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work
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The Three Commandments
The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.
Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And
The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.
1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say
What’s your book about?
I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?
The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).
Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)
Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?
2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment
Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience’s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.
Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.
Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.
The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.
But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.
If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.
3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting
This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.
“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?
Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?
If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.
Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?
Hopefully these can help you, too.
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THE FATUI’S CUMSLUT
all the male harbingers except Pulcinella
Really it all starts out simple; you were just a simple secretary for the Harbingers who worked directly under Pantalone.
So naturally it starts because of him.
He likes talking to you- not like, actually, loves. You’re the only person who’s actually willing to listen to his constant rambles about his theories of currency and he doesn’t know if it’s out of fear or because you’re actually willing but he still finds comfort in it.
It’s so comforting that honestly, it kinda turns him on…like no one has ever actually sat with him and listened to him with such focus that he’s lining over you, both lovingly and sickingly.
How the stress relief starts…he’s bold.
by bold, meaning you quite literally caught him jerking off to the thought of you as you walked into bring him a few papers to sigh, and he was bold enough to ask you for your help; and of course you oblige!
okay now actually onto the actual smut part;
Pantalone, who is probably the second sweetest out of all of them when he fucks you. As teasing as he is, he makes sure to pleasure you.
Pantalone, who just laughs when you say you want to pleasure him instead, and he’ll tell you that your pleasure is enough to get him off for days.
Pantalone, who sometimes just can’t handle all the stress the others push on him and he’ll come find you, bending you over any near substance and prioritizing his pleasure just for a bit.
Pantalone, who can also just push you against the wall of the castle halls, not caring if anyone sees you. He knows the risk turns you on, and he loves it.
Pantalone, who fucks into you so passionately yet roughly; so obsessed with how your tits bounce he just has to grope them as he fucks you. He might even fuck them too, and let you suck the tip of his cock.
Pantalone, who passes this information onto his good partner Dottore, who decides he has to really test out the theory that you’re as good as Pantalone says you are.
Dottore, who decides he’ll need you for certain experiments. You’re hesitant, but he promised he’d never do anything to hurt his loyal assistant.
Dottore, whose experiments are really just seeing how many times you can cum on a drug, a toy, his hand or his dick.
Dottore, who is WAY more teasing than Pantalone and wants to pleasure you, but makes sure his pleasure is always given no matter what.
Dottore, who loves to try any new kink or idea with you. Whether it be bondage, role playing kink- anything! you’re the only one he will do it with
Dottore, who is just so rough on your poor cunt :( who’ll rub your clit as he fucks into you so harshly, the slaps echoing through his lab.
Dottore, who WILL fuck you in front of the segments or have multiple of them fuck you while he watches
Dottore, who then passes this onto his comrade, Capitano.
Capitano, who is the sweetest out of all of them.
Capitano, who yes, does need you for his stress relief but he doesn’t wanna hurt you. Instead, he’ll go at your own pace- he knows his cock is too big for you and is patient to get you ready.
Capitano, who praises the most out of them all. It’s a shock because he’s typically quiet, but a “good girl” will make you cum on the spot.
Capitano, who will only go rough on you once you beg him too, and he will quite literally fuck you like a monster.
Capitano, who is just so big even his fingers make you go crazy. He’ll wipe your tears as you complain about how big it is and he’ll try his best to soothe you.
Capitano, when rough, goes absolutely drunk on your pussy and fucks his cum into it for hours even if you’re too overstimulated.
Capitano, who’s coat is so big that when the others aren’t using you, he’ll have you sit on his lap during meetings and wrap his coat around you- hiding how you’re warming his cock, or sometimes he might not even use the coat.
Capitano, who passes this information onto his good friend, Pierro.
Pierro, who could be the sweetest if we considered this in terms of how gentle they were when they fuck you.
Pierro, who is actually practically monsterfucking you whenever he chooses to use you.
Pierro, who is sweet because he doesn’t like to use you a lot- he knows how much the others do and how much it makes you sore so instead he’s the king of aftercare, making sure you come to him after them if they don’t take care of you so that he can.
Pierro, who sometimes just can’t help it because he’s too stressed out, and has to bend you over his desk and fuck you for hours.
Pierro, who does care about your pleasure just a bit, but you are his stress relief aren’t you? He’ll remind you as he cums for the nth time in you, you a babbling a mess.
Pierro, who isn’t really as kinky or exhibiting as the others and likes to fuck you in the comfort of his office. However, he may steal Capitano’s idea and slowly and subtly bounce you on his cock while you’re under his coat, hiding from the others.
Pierro, who’s dick is just too big that the moment he even lets the tip in you’re already going absolutely drunk on his cock.
Pierro, who notices Childe’s recent sickness caused by his delusion, and suggests a reason for him to finally relax in certain ways; you.
Childe, who is the last on the list of being the sweetest.
Childe, who sure, he’ll praise you when you do so good and degrade you just how you like- will use you the most out of all the men
Childe, who is just soooo tired and stressed and he needs your pussy to suck his cock in at least once every hour.
Childe, who will have you cockwarm him as he does his work and spanks your thigh when you try to get some relief and tells you to be patient and that he’ll tend to you once he’s done.
Childe, who does care about your pleasure and makes sure to make you cum first, but the real reason is because he wants you overstimulated so you can cry and beg for him to stop- it turns him on because you know you don’t want him to.
Childe, who will fuck you anywhere and everywhere. The lounge rooms? Every couch has been used. The kitchen? You’ve been bent over every counter? The halls? He’ll hold you up and fuck into you.
Childe, who does not care if someone sees or hears you two and will purposely make you scream so the subordinates outside his office can hear and remind them that they can’t have someone as gorgeous as you.
Childe, who even if it seems like he sees you as his cock sleeve, does care about you and makes sure you get good aftercare and will massage you- him and Pierro are great minds alike.
Childe, who is the one to suggest to all of them to use you when they’re all in the castle.
You, who by the end of the day, is a babbling mess; you’re covered in their cum while some of it dropped out of all your holes. There were honestly hundreds of bite and hickey marks littered over you- your neck, thighs, tits, ass, hips. It’s insane. and all they can think about is how they can’t wait to continue using your slutty pussy.
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What's the worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years, and what's the worst thing about fandom that's always been true of it?
The worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years has been the incentivizing of fandom-as-conflict: not merely as a field in broader culture wars but as the field for endless intra-group battles.
This manifests in many ways: as seven hour videos complaining about The Last Jedi, as Twitter backlash campaigns, but also as stans defending their faves from any and all criticism real or imagined, as the endless boom-and-backlash cycle to any fandom meme or joke you see on Reddit, and as the drive for people to look for evidence other people discussing a thing they like are hysterical illiterate dolts, before anything else.
Or, in other words: a lot of fandoms are full of assholes these days, whose main interaction with fandom is using it as a reason to be an asshole, and to defend being an asshole. The actual “fandom” part of fandom no longer really exists for them. The discourse more or less is their fandom; someone whose main fandom activity is sharing videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) isn’t in the Steven Universe fandom, they’re in the videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) fandom. I mean, the chief fandom for many people is their side in the fandom war. What type of fanfic you write is secondary to what your affiliations are vis-a-vis battles over fanfiction
(One trend I've noticed is people who aren't at the stage where they only talk about what they hate and not what they love, but are at the stage where they can only talk about what they love in relation to what they hate. "I love this movie...and it proves this other movie is bullshit made by a hack". No ability to say just "I love this movie", period, end of sentence. This is how like two-thirds of Film Twitter talks about film, the remainder are all the grindhouse people going "man you've GOT to see Wrong Turn 5")
Another one, that I think is related, is that fandom’s become...more transitory, maybe? There’s Big Fandoms that are inescapable and then everything else feels like it’s here for a weekend and then it’s gone. And we’ve always had fandoms that endure and fandoms that vanish quickly, when the show runs short or turns out to be bad/boring, but we did use to have a lot of enduring if small fandoms for Okay shows most people hadn’t heard of and now you don’t really. Or they burn themselves out fast.
So we’ve reached this stage where fandoms are either so big they have seven hour long discourse videos, or they’re a smattering of fanart over the course of two weeks last August. But that isn’t really the fault of fans so much as modern media release schedules.
A lot of fandom activities of old are just...impossible now, with many shows? The slow build of speculation and fan works and in-jokes and theorizing and analysis simply can’t exist in a world where the premiere comes out the same day as the finale, and you can’t talk about the finale because you have no way of knowing if the person you’re talking to binged it all in one weekend or is still on episode four. That was the kind of thing that sustained the fandom of something that wasn’t a big hit, or even something that was. My fave fandom experience ever was watching the online Lost fandom wildly theorizing for all six years of Lost, and we’d never get “and what if the Smoke Monster is a dinosaur but only the head?” under a Netflix release model. Now at a base level, we either have shows nobody can discuss because nobody’s sure who’s seen or what, or shows where everyone just discusses the finale right away, and where you get One Week of Show and then a massive hiatus, which either kills all momentum or...drives fandom in the direction of hyper-analyzing everything and fighting because, well, what else is there to do? And that plus the outrage cycles of social media plus the fact that “man who yells at Star Wars” is now a viable career choice result in, well. *gestures upwards* All that
(Really, shout out to Cartoon Network for engineering the Steven Universe fandom to Be Like That through their inscrutable strategy of dropping episodes during one random week every five months or whatever)
As for something that's always been with it...cliques and a certain fannish elitism, like, that sees engaging with media in a fandom sense as more creative or analytical or intelligent than your average person. You see it now in the form of, like, people holding up fanfic above published fiction as more representative or authentic (I’ve seen more than one post on here strongly implying queer rep doesn’t exist in mainstream non-fic storytelling???), or going “well, we think about shows, unlike those normies watching sports”. But that was probably way more pronounced a thing in the past, in the 40-50s sci-fi fans were calling non-fans "mundanes" and calling themselves "slans" as an in-group signifier (a reference to a book with superintelligent psychic mutants known as slans). Like at the very least we should be happy no one’s calling non-fans “muggles” anymore. In the evolution from “mundane” to “muggle” to “normie” normie’s probably the least bad one
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Hi, genuine good faith question if you'd like! How is TOS racist? It was my understanding that the OG Series was like, huge for equality in media?
I’m speaking primarily about the content of TOS itself, not its historical impact - I understand it had various historic firsts in terms of having characters of colour in respectable roles, which I’m not dismissing. My experience with the discourse on here surrounding the show is that people front-load these character representations as emblematic of the show’s progressive politics. Which, if we want to go that route, TOS was contemporary to the US civil rights movement, which provides us with a handy measuring stick to see how TOS actually grapples with race, not just the presence of characters of colour themselves. I'm going to be kind of defensive in this explanation, not towards you specifically, but because I have had this conversation with people online many, many, many times, and so any defensiveness on my part is in anticipation of arguments I know will come up as a result of making the basic claim that a show made in America in the 1960s is racist. I'm also going to be copy + pasting from an older post I've made on the subject since it's been a while now since I've watched TOS so some of the details are fuzzy.
Like okay, the premise of TOS is that the Enterprise, as an ambassador of Starfleet/the Federation, is seeking out new alien life to study. The Prime Directive prohibits the Enterprise crew from interfering with the development of any alien culture or people while they do this, so the research they collect needs to be done in an unobtrusive way. I think this is the first point at which people balk at the argument that TOS is racist or has a colonial conception of the world - the Enterprise’s mission is premised on non-interference, and I think when people hear ‘colonial’ as a descriptor they (understandably, obviously) assume it is describing active conquest, genocide, and dispossession. Even setting aside all the times where Kirk does directly interfere with the “development” of a people or culture (usually because they’ve “stagnated” culturally, because a culture "without conflict" cannot evolve or “develop” beyond its current presumed capacity - he is pretty explicitly imposing his own values onto another culture in order to force them to change in a particular way), or the times when the Enterprise is actually looking to extract resources from a given planet or people, I’m not exactly making this claim, or rather, that’s not the only thing I’m describing when calling TOS racist/colonial.
The show's presentation of scientific discovery and inquiry is anthropological - the “object” of analysis is alien/foreign culture, meaning that when the Enterprise crew comes into contact with a new being or person, this person is always read first and foremost through the level of (the Enterprise’s understanding of) culture. Their behaviour, beliefs, dress, way of speaking, appearance, and so on are always reflective of their culture as a whole, and more importantly, that their racial or phenotypic characteristics define the boundaries of their culture. Put another way, culture is interpreted, navigated, and bound racially - the show presents aliens as a Species, but these species are racially homogeneous, flattening race to a natural, biological difference that is always physically apparent and presented through the lens of scientific objectivity, as "species" is a unit of biological taxonomy. Basically species is a shorthand for race. This is the standard of most sci-fi/fantasy genre work, so this is not a sin unique to Star Trek.
Because of this however, Kirk and Co are never really interacting with individuals, they are interacting with components of a (foreign, exotic, fundamentally different) culture, the same way we understand that a biologist can generalize about a species using the example of an individual 'specimen'. And when the Enterprise interacts with these cultures, they very frequently measure them using a universalized scale of development - they have a teleological (which is to say, evolutionary) view of culture, ie, that all cultures go from savage to rational, primitive to advanced, economically simple to economically complex (ie, to capitalist modes of production). And the metrics they are judging these cultures by are fundamentally Western ones, always emphasising to the audience that the final destination of all cultures (that are worthy of advancing beyond their current limited/“primitive” stages) is a culture identical to the Federation, a culture that can itself engage in this anthropological mission to catalogue all life as fitting within a universal set of practices and racial similarities they call “culture.”
This is a western, colonial understanding of culture - racially and spatially homogeneous people comprise the organs of a social totality, ie, a society, which can then be analysed as an “object,” as a “phenomenon,” by the scientists in order to extract information from them to produce and advance state (ie Federation) knowledge. The Enterprise crew are allowed to be individuals, are allowed to be subjects with a capacity for reason, contradiction, emotion, compassion, and even moments of savagery or violence, without those things being assigned to their “race” or “culture” as a whole, but the people they interact with are only components of a whole which are “discovered” by the Enterprise as opportunities to expand and refine the Federation’s body of knowledge.
Spock is actually a good example of what I'm talking about, because he is an exception to this rule - unlike the others in the crew, his behaviour is always read as a symptom of his innate Vulcan-ness, where his human and Vulcan halves war for dominance in his mind and character. Bones (the doctor, one of the main cast) constantly comments on Spock's inability to feel things, that he is callous and unsympathetic, ruled by Vulcan logic to such an extreme that his rationality is a form of irrationality, as his Vulcan blood prohibits him from tempering logic with human emotion and intuition. Now you can argue that Bones is a stand-in for the racists of the world, that Spock proves Bones wrong in that he is able to feel but merely keeps it under wraps, that Vulcans are not biologically incapable of emotion but merely live in a socially repressive culture, but this still engages in the racial logic of the show - Vulcans are a racially-bound species with a single monolithic culture, and Spock's ability to express and feel 'human emotions' is the metric by which he is granted human subjectivity and sympathy.
And on the flip side you have the Klingons - a “race” that is uniformly savage, backward, violent, and dangerous. In the episode Day of the Dove, where Klingons board the Enterprise along with an alien cloud that makes everyone suddenly aggressive and racist (this show is insane lol), the Enterprise crew begins acting violent and racist, but the Klingons don’t change. They aren’t more violent than before (because they already were fundamentally violent and racist), and they don’t become less violent when the cloud eventually leaves (because they are never able to emerge from their violence and savagery as a social condition or external imposition - they simply are that way). Klingons are racially, behaviourally, psychologically, and culturally homogeneous, universally violent and immune to reason, and their racial characteristics are both physical manifestations of this universal violence as well as the origin of it. The writers and creators of TOS are explicitly invoking the orientalist idea of the “Mongolian horde,” representing both the American fear of Soviet global takeover as well as blatantly racist fears about “Asiatics” (a word used in the show, particularly in The Omega Glory where a fear of racialised communist takeover is made explicit) dominating the world.
This is colonial thinking! Like, fundamentally, at its core, this is colonial white supremacist thinking. Now this is not because TOS invents these tropes or is the origin of them, it is not individually responsible for these racial and colonial logics - these conceptions are endemic to Western thought, and I am not expecting a television show to navigate its way outside of this current colonial paradigm of scientific knowledge. I’m also not expecting an average person watching this to pick out all the intricacies of this and link it to the colonial history of Europe or the colonial history of western philosophy/thought. But this base premise of Star Trek is why the show is fundamentally colonial - even if it was the case that the crew never intervened in any alien conflict, never extracted any material resources from other people, this would still be colonial logic and colonial thinking. The show has a fundamentally colonial imagination when it comes to exploration, discovery, and culture.
I think a good place to end is the opening sequence. The show's first line is always "Space! The final frontier." I do not think the word frontier is meant metaphorically or poetically - I think the show is being honest about its conception of space as an infinitely vast, infinitely exotic frontier from which a globally Western civilisation (which the Enterprise is an emblem of) can extract resources, be they material or epistemic
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Hardass
Chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who survive a shift from hell
CW: fem!reader, mention of alchohol/drinking, fluff.
comes from a request from @maladaptiveescapism: chef!sirius and mixologist!reader. sirius is a chef at a fancy restaurant and maybe a mishap happens with booking and reader has to keep the people sitting at the bar waiting for a seat and she does such a good job because she’s flirty and fun and trained for this. sirius who always has such a short temper (chefs, am I right) secretly worships her because she’s the one thing he can count on
Sirius was fuming, to say the least.
He loved his job; he really did. The kitchens were his sanctuary, and it was the first place he fled to when he ran away from home at only sixteen.
Though he knew Effie and Fleamont would have helped with anything he needed (or even wanted, for that matter), he didn’t want to become a burden or take advantage of their kindness. So, he found a part time job in a small family owned restaurant as a dishwasher.
Washing dishes became bussing tables. Bussing tables became hosting. Hosting became serving. He went from a server to a line cook, until finally someone took him under their wing, and Sirius made a name for himself.
Now he was a successful chef working in a successful restaurant and he certainly had made a name for himself.
That name? Hardass.
But it took a certain intensity to run the kind of kitchen that Sirius did, and he expected nothing short of greatness from the kitchen staff.
Fortunately for Sirius, it was the restaurant manager’s fuck up that caused tonights issues.
Unfortunately for Sirius, that fucked everything up for his staff in the kitchen.
“So, quick question for you Jeffery; did you pass year four maths?” Sirius asked earnestly, watching Jeffery shove his tongue in his cheek to avoid snapping back at the glowering chef in all his tattooed intensity. “Because last time I counted, we don’t have this many sodding tables!” He continued, pointing at the number of reservations scheduled for tonight.
“Uh oh.” You carefully called out as you walked in through the front door, in the process of shucking off your jacket as you made your way towards the bar. “Looks like you could use a drink, chef.”
Sirius was almost mad at how much of the rage seemed to settle down into a simmer at the sight of you; he didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to ring Jeffery’s fucking neck out.
But Jeffery, the coward, had used your entrance as a means to fuck off from whatever circle of Sirius’ personal hell he’d been summoned from.
“We’re overbooked tonight.” Sirius grumbled as he sat dejectedly at your bar; mirroring what likely most of your patrons looked like as they spent their weekday evenings with you.
“Shit luck.” you sighed commiseratingly as you poured two shots of vodka and slid one to him. “Here’s to working our sodding asses off then, hm?” You said with a smirk as you touched your glass to his and threw it back like a pro.
And you had indeed been right; the two of you had worked your sodding asses off tonight. But the difference between the two of you was astounding.
Sirius spent most of his evening sweating, cursing, and - more embarrassingly - shouting at the poor servers looking for their orders that ‘clearly weren’t fucking ready yet, were they?!’.
But not you.
Alright, did he take the opportunity to run out the odd plate for the servers just to steal a glance at you? Sure. Sue him. And everytime he did, he’d pass the very busy bar which was always full of couples and groups waiting for a table to clear. None of them seemed to mind, however, as they watched you shake, throw, spin, catch bottles like it was an olympic sport; all with a smile on your face and mischief in your eyes.
It was as if they were your captive audience and you were thriving on stage.
Sirius wanted to stay and enjoy the show; but you were working your arse off, and Sirius should be too.
Sirius’ feet were killing him, which meant most of his staff’s feet were worse; his shoulders ached, his head was pounding, and his fingers were raw.
But they made it to the end of the shift; and he supposed that was all that mattered.
He brought out two plates of the restaurant’s famous (read: Sirius’ famous) pasta alla gricia.
You were no longer wearing your beaming smile and Sirius could now see some of the weight of the night in your shoulders and the way your hair was falling as you reorganised your bar.
“Think you can take a break?” He asked as he sat at your freshly cleared bar and placed one plate in front of him and one behind the bar for you.
You startled, which Sirius thought strange for someone who seemed so confident and assured every time he’d walked past your bar for the past almost year the two of you have worked here, but he didn’t comment on it.
“Oh my God.” You groaned appreciatively as you abandoned your task to take in the plate he’d prepared for you. “I’m starving; thank you!”
Sirius chuckled and suddenly felt shy, which he did not think suited him at all, but you were smiling at him like he was your personal angel on earth and he couldn’t help but return the gaze.
“Let me get you a drink?” You asked, but turned to start pouring him a glass of wine (perfectly suited for the dish, mind you) before he had a chance to answer.
You placed both drinks on the bar and brought your plate around to sit on the stool beside Sirius.
The two of you ate in relative silence; allowing the stress and exhaustion from the shift to wash over you.
“I think I made Chloe cry.” Sirius said finally, causing you to snort.
“You did.” You agreed quickly. “She came and helped me in the bar for a bit and Jeffery had to run her tables after that.”
Sirius barked a laugh as he took a sip of his wine. “I was wondering why that sod was in my kitchen. Well, I’m sorry to Chloe, but happy to have put Jeffery to work.”
Speaking of the devil; Jeffery came out front with his jacket on and a work bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m heading out now; are you two okay to close up?”
You smiled at him, but unfortunately for Jeffrey, Sirius responded first. “Yes we can close up.” He sneered. “We’re not new here Jeffery.”
“Thanks Jeffery, have a nice night.” You relented; giving Sirius a gentle kick in the shin.
The door shut behind the bastard and Sirius felt his shoulders relax. “I hate that sod.”
Thankfully, you only laughed at him.
“I think you hate everyone here.”
“That’s not true.” Sirius disagreed quickly.
“Well you certainly don’t like anyone here.”
“That’s not true either. I quite like you.” Sirius admitted, quickly hoping to god his cheeks didn’t flush at his impromptu admission.
You hummed in acknowledgement with a cheeky smile on your lips. “Is that why you made me dinner? As a thanks for being the most tolerable coworker?”
“Most tolerable, certainly. Also for saving our arses tonight in the kitchen; I’m not sure how you managed to keep those folks so happy all evening.”
“Oh, that’s easy; get them drunk and steal desserts from the kitchen.”
“That’s where all my tiramisu was going?” Sirius asked in faux contempt.
You only smiled at him and shoved the last bite of your pasta in your mouth.
“You minx.” He continued, taking the now empty plates to the kitchen as you followed dutifully behind him with the glasses.
“Get out of my kitchen.” Sirius joked, plucking the wine glasses from your hands as he moved to wash the dishes.
“I’d think not.” You argued. “I got a free meal; put me to work, chef.”
“First of all, it was not a free meal; you more than earned it after your performance tonight. Secondly, don’t call me chef.”
“Why not? You are a chef, aren’t you?” You teased as you leaned sideways against the counter to watch him work.
“Yes; but if you call me chef, what am I supposed to call you?”
Your eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean ‘what are you supposed to call me’? My name is fine.”
“My name’s not chef.” He countered.
Your eyes narrowed challengingly at him. “What do you want to call me, Sirius?”
Mine?
“Haven’t decided yet.” He said instead, keeping his eyes on the dishes in his hands instead of meeting your gaze currently burning into the side of his head.
“Well…” You started, walking over to release some paper from the chit, and scribbling something out on it. “Why don’t you just call me…tomorrow?” You said, handing him the paper after he dried his hands on a teatowel.
Your number was scrawled out with a dainty little heart beside it.
Sirius looked back up at you to see you smiling shyly at him.
“I can assure you I will be.” He promised.
Your smile grew at that as you began walking backwards towards the backroom.
“Have a nice night, Sirius.” You said before you exited the kitchen.
It was too late to wish him a nice night; he’d already had one.
#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#mutual love#sirius black#sirius being sirius#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius black blurb#sirius black fic#sirius black ficlet#chef!sirius#restaurant au#ellecdc fics
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The Supernatural Script Hunt came from humble origins, a handful of fans banding together to collect and preserve our fandom history, making as many scripts as possible accessible to fans worldwide. Since acquiring our first script over five years ago, and then branching out to involve so many fans supporting the work in the years since, it was always our intent to give it all back, and then some.
When we began this project, the fandom collectively had six scripts from five episodes and a single network outline. In the five years since we bought our first script to add to that collection, we are ending the project with a total of 163 scripts from 147 episodes, casting sides from 50+ episodes, 50+ call sheets, arenas from 18 episodes, and other related documents. A complete list of items in our collection is on the SupernaturalWiki, for a closer look, click here.
The time has come for us to offer everyone a final chance to own their very own priceless souvenir of the show and cast we all love so dearly. In doing so, we also want to honor the largest (hopefully!) legacy of our fandom: using our collective power for good. Which is why we're offering up some very special scripts (and a few other items!) in our collection in a raffle to benefit Undue Medical Debt.
Our goal is to raise at least $10,000 so we can erase at least one million dollars in medical debt.
How Undue Medical Debt Works:
You make a donation. They use data analytics to pinpoint the debt of those most in need: households that earn less than 4x the federal poverty level or whose debts are 5% or more of annual income.
Undue Medical Debt buys medical debt at a steep discount. They buy debt in bundles, millions of dollars at a time at a fraction of the original cost. This means your donation relieves about 100x its value in medical debt.
Together we wipe out medical debt. People across the country receive letters that their debt has been erased. They have no tax consequences or penalties to consider. Just like that, they're free of medical debt.
For every $10 you donate to Undue Medical Debt, you will 1) be erasing about $1,000 in medical debt and 2) be able to enter our raffle to win one of the items listed below.
Our Campaign Page
Our Raffle Site
Donated by Eric Kripke:
'Pilot' - "Original pilot that got tossed out -- whole different story -- enjoy this alternative reality Sam and Dean." To be signed by Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Sam Smith at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
2.22 'All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2' - Yellow Revisions. To be signed by Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
3.16 'No Rest for the Wicked' - Goldenrod Revisions. To be signed by Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
4.01 'Lazarus Rising' - Pink Revisions. To be signed by Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, and Jared Padalecki at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
4.22 'Lucifer Rising' - Production Draft. "My director's copy - rare! Enjoy!" To be signed by Jensen Ackles, Rob Benedict, Misha Collins, and Jared Padalecki at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
5.01 'Sympathy for the Devil' - Pink Revisions. To be signed by Jensen Ackles, Rob Benedict, Misha Collins, and Jared Padalecki at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
6.22 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' - Production Draft. To be signed by Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, and Mark A. Sheppard at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
Donated by Natalie Abrams:
Gotham Knights - 1.11 'Daddy Issues' - signed by show creator/episode co-writer Natalie Abrams. To be signed by Misha Collins at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024. Thank you @deanismybuddy (twitter) for making this happen.
Donated by Robbie Thompson:
The Winchesters - 1.01 'Pilot' - signed by Robbie Thompson.
The Winchesters - 1.13 'Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye' - signed by Robbie Thompson. To be signed by Jensen Ackles at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
Thank you to Sadie Witkowski and Gabe Garza for making this happen.
Reproduction Scripts:
3.15 'Time is on My Side' - Production Draft signed by Jim Beaver at Creation Tour: Burbank 2024; Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki at Jus in Bello 14; to be signed by Steven Williams at Crossroads 8.
The Winchesters - 'Pilot' - 4th Network Draft signed by Jensen Ackles at Creation Tour: Burbank 2024; Richard Speight Jr. and Rob Benedict at Jus in Bello 14; to be signed by Jim Beaver and Alexander Calvert at Crossroads 8.
Gotham Knights - 'Pilot' - Pre-Production Draft signed by Misha Collins at Creation Tour: Burbank 2024.
Walker - 'Pilot Script' - signed by Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, and Richard Speight Jr. at Jus in Bello 14.
Walker: Independence - 'Pilot Script' - Revised Network Draft - signed by Jared Padalecki at Jus in Bello 14; to be signed by Mark Sheppard at Crossroads 8.
Other Signed Items:
Hardcover edition of Good Omens - signed by Neil Gaiman. Thank you to the staff at The Golden Notebook in Woodstock, NY for being extremely helpful and kind.
Family Don't End with Blood - signed by Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, and Jim Beaver
There'll Be Peace When You are Done - signed by Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Alexander Calvert, and Sebastian Roche
Hardcover edition of Death (2022) - written by Neil Gaiman, art by Mike Dringenberg, John Totleben, Mark Buckingham, and Chris Bachalo. To be signed by Lisa Berry at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024.
"To Be Continued" t-shirt made and donated by @shitannamakes (twitter), signed by Jensen Ackles at Creation Tour: Burbank 2024.
Dick Jr. and the Volunteers' "Fistfights and Hug-Outs" CD - signed by Richard Speight Jr. at JIB14
Rob Benedict "Leave The Light On" CD - signed by Rob Benedict at JIB14
"Saturday Night Special" CD - to be signed by Louden Swain at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024 [album is subject to availability at Creation Tour: New Jersey 2024, it may be a different Louden Swain CD]
Autographed photos from Crossroads 8 [details TK, multiple winners]
Unsigned Items:
AFK pin designed by Phil Sgriccia in 2015 for Jared Padalecki, "only Jared had these pins unless he gave them to you" - donated by @slammtam
Supernatural 15 Seasons: The Crew Member's Souvenir
Supernatural: The Complete Series Blu-ray
Supernatural and AKF themed decorative pillar candles (six winners) - made and donated by @TheGreenCooler
Raffle closes on Sunday, June 30 at 11:59pm (EST). Winners will be drawn by a random number generator, we will submit the names to Undue Medical Debt's development staff to confirm the donations match the caps submitted to us on the Google Form, and we'll contact winners by Saturday, July 6 2024. Winners will have 72 hours to respond, and will be required to provide their physical mailing address and to cover the cost of shipping (for scripts it's currently $9.85 for priority mail insured inside the US, international rates and non-script rates to be determined as necessary).
PLEASE NOTE: IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE AND WISH TO DONATE, PLEASE ENSURE YOU HAVE PRIOR AUTHORIZATION FROM CREDIT/ACCOUNT HOLDER.
As Castiel once told a patron of the Gas N Sip buying a lottery ticket, good luck!
Thank you to our con helpers, we never could have pulled this off without your help: abeautifulswan, AilesduSoleil, deanismybuddy, EmilieDK87, FangasmSPN, HanmeiCui, jennysun23, Julie_Fleming, KLFSPNcons, kreespa, kaurie_mac, marywinchstr, merenwen76AO3, MiaAW90, MysterioAmber, PurpleNurpleSPN, RMelton76, rowwyaboat, SDeeg13, shandataber, SuperWiki, zerbehunter
#supernatural#spn#eric kripke#good omens#neil gaiman#jensen ackles#jared padalecki#misha collins#jim beaver#rob benedict#richard speight jr#mark sheppard#walker independence#cw gotham knights#cw walker#signal boost#admin: lets-steal-an-archive#sensitivehandsomeactionman#aborddelimpala#userbrittany#prizes are still being added#the campaign and the raffle are separate things you aren't automatically entered into the raffle#kripke and edlund follow us in the bad place so i'd say our reach over there has greatly improved 🤯#long post
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the bratzfornick 141 writing challenge
hi everyone! me and @nicksbestie been looking for new fics to read and so many of you are so talented, so what better way to have new reading material than hosting a little challenge to fuel our delusions 😋
here are the basics for the challenge: pick 1 character, pick 4 story elements, and create 1 fic! more details below!!
the following rules are things you must follow. otherwise, you will be eliminated from this challenge.
no being rude or hateful to other creators. this includes us, as well as others participating in the challenge.
no copying or plagiarizing ANY work. this includes challenge submissions as well as other stories that have been posted to tumblr/wattpad/etc. if you choose to use one of your works from another platform, please make sure that you have proof it is your own work
no submissions that revolve around anything weird or illegal (abuse, incest, illegal age gaps, highly graphic mental illness, hard drugs, age play, homo/transphobia/racism/abelism/etc, bathroom play, etc)
5k max word limit. in order for us to be able to thoroughly read all of your submissions, please keep your word count to 5k or less and use paragraph breaks!
when you post your fic, please tag @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the tag #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge
characters (pick 1)
matt sturniolo
chris sturniolo
nick sturniolo
nathan doe
story elements (pick any 4): you may mix and match these to your liking. you are not required to do one from all four categories (for example: two locations, one trope, one genre OR two genres, two tropes, etc)
GENRES:
Fluff
Smut
Angst
Age regression (not age play. your work must be 100% SFW and innocent to fall into this category)
TROPES:
Friends to lovers
Enemies to lovers
Little x caregiver
Friends with benefits
Chronically ill x healthy
Mafia x goody two shoes
Academic rivals
Lovers to strangers
Nurse x doctor coworker
Fake dating
Grumpy x sunshine
Royalty x bodyguard
Major character death
Angel x demon
Singer/band member x fan
Arranged marriage
Locations/Settings:
Alternate universe (AU)
College/university
Concert
Outskirt small town
Big city
The forest/woods
Home
Library/bookstore
Vacation
Haunted/abandoned house
Office
Hospital
Plot Ideas:
Accidental confession (it slips out when drunk, caught in the heat of the moment, etc)
Revenge (fake dating, sleeping with an ex, etc)
Getting used to a new diagnosis/disability (a doctor who is so used to coaching patients through their new diagnosis that they struggle with theirs, getting used to new dynamics with a partner)
Forced proximity (one bed, locked in a room, etc)
Redemption arc
Taking care of each other (cleaning wounds, cooking, holding the trash can while they’re being sick)
Hiding a big secret
Fight that turns sexy
Language barrier (a Southern partner not understanding Boston slang, an actual language barrier, etc)
Chance encounter
Caught in the rain
Dare
create 1 fic: please follow the rules, characters, and story elements listed above! as stated before, you do not have to pick from all four story categories, just four total. write as many fics as you’d like for this challenge.
don’t forget to tag BOTH of us: @bratzforchris and @nicksbestie and use the #bratzfornick’s 141 writing challenge in your submission!
Submissions close May 15th, 2024! Most importantly, have fun! No actual monetary or material prizes will be given out for this challenge→it’s all meant to be fun and creative. Good luck and have fun! We can’t wait to see what you come up with ♡
#bratzfornick's 141 writing challenge#user bratzforchris#user nicksbestie#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#matt x reader#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x you#sturniolo imagine#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#the triplets
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Trial By Combat - 6
Requested By: No one. Original Work
CW: manipulation?
Summary: Arlecchino’s got a secret…
Note: You all asked and I will provide! Here’s part six <3 this chapter is a bit slow but I promise it’s leading up to something great!
Part One —> Part Five
-
Fontaine, for the most part, had finally begun to go back to normal. Although no trials have been held since the Creators trial, many shops have reopened their doors to the public once more. It’s as if Fontainians want to disregard the event entirely, treating it as a work of fiction like the Prophecy. However, this doesn’t stop The Steambird from posting every single update regarding the Creator, nor does it stop every copy from selling out.
Despite the lack of trials, it hasn’t prevented the Chief Justice from sending criminals to the Fortress of Meropide, and only hours from now, Paimon and Aether would be a part of the group sent there. The two were the only customers dining at Cafe Lutece this afternoon, the owner seemed almost eager to provide the gluttonous amount of food the duo had ordered.
“Oh Paimon is feeling a bunch of nerves right now and it’s just making her more hungry.” She whines while rubbing her stomach. “I’m just hoping that the food in the Fortress is actually tasty.”
Aether lets out a soft chuckle, “it’s a prison Paimon. I doubt that the food will be any good”
Paimon pouts crossing her arms. “Hopefully will be rightfully compensated for our due diligence. Oh! Maybe even something from the Creator themselves!”
The traveler gives her a look, “you shouldn’t think like that Paimon, not when they are currently missing right now.”
The travel guide immediately covers her lips, muttering out a small apology.
“Speaking of the Creator,” Paimon says, “do you really think Childe might know something? I mean, we’ve heard how he’s talked about them before.”
It was true, during their time in Liyue when they had met Childe, he had expressed how heavily he revered the Creator. Not just him, all of the harbingers they’ve met have mentioned the Creator in a positive light. Aether even recalls when the Wanderer told him that the only thing all of the harbingers could agree on was their ultimate respect for them.
“Based off our interactions with the Fatui before, they might have some respect for Their Grace. But we still have no idea why they want the Gnosis, maybe it’s connected to the Creator.”
Paimon nods in agreement. “You’re right. If the gnosis are what connect the Archons to Celestia, then maybe the Creator has something similar?”
“Hopefully if the Fatui got their hands on Their Grace, they haven’t left Fontaine yet. We should still be able to rescue them.” Aether adds.
“Paimon hopes so too! Oh I can only imagine the type of horrors they could be putting them through!”
“Are you talking about Their Grace?!”
A familiar girl with a pink bob holding a camera in her head pops out of a bush quickly approaching the table. It was Charlotte, and she had a large smile on her face.
“Do you two have any nuggets of information about Their Grace? Oh please share it with me, I’ll make it worth your while!”
Paimon and Aether share a look before looking back at the journalist.
“We don’t have any new information on The Creator.” Paimon explained, “we didn’t even know they had returned until Monsieur Neuvillette told us.”
Charlotte makes a look of surprise, “wait seriously? It was such big news! I’m sure everyone in Teyvat wrote the piece I had written.”
Charlotte places her camera on the table taking a seat across from them. “I’m just hoping for Their Grace to have a speedy recovery. I would love to interview them if they let me, it just seems like all of the big names in Fontaine never have the time for an interview. Monsieur Neuvillette and the Duke of Meropide have been on the top of my list for ages now!”
“Oh right, you’re a journalist Charlotte! ” Paimon exclaimed, “do you have an information about the Duke?”
Charlotte ponders for a moment, “not really, just the same regurgitated information I get from people who leave the Fortress. Why do you ask?”
“We actually are going to the Fortress later today.” Aether answers.
Charlotte’s eyes get as big as saucers as she’s jumping in her seat. “You two are going to the Fortress?! Will you two please get some information about the Duke for me?
Noticing the restrained looks on their face, Charlotte quickly adds, “I’ll pay for your meal! Yeah…! Let’s make it a deal, you get information on the Duke for me and this meal of yours is on me!”
Paimon grins, “it’s a deal!”
Charlotte shares Paimon’s enthusiasm as she pulls out a small bag of mora ready to pay for the meal. At that moment, the owner returns with multiple plates and bowls filled with various amounts of entrees and desserts wheeling it to the table.
“H—how much did you order…?”
———
Many journalist stood outside of the Palais Mermonia demanding answers from their Archon who had entered the building earlier that morning. Luckily, gardes stood outside preventing anyone from entering.
Inside of the chief justice’s office was him, the God of Justice, and the Champion Duelist whose hair was damp with sea water.
“I checked the surrounding area,” Clorinde says, “there is no traces of Their Grace anywhere. The only logical conclusion is that the Fatui must’ve done something with them.”
Neuvillette nods. “Thank you for looking Clorinde, your help is appreciated.”
Clorinde nods, “it’s no trouble. We all want Their Grace to be found safe and sound.”
Furina had a worried look on her face as she paces back and forth in the office. “W—what are we supposed to do now? We looked all over Fontaine and they aren’t anywhere.”
“Lady Furina.”
Furina stops pacing, turning her gaze over to Neuvillette who looked calm considering the situation. “I think it’s time to meet with the Kanve, wouldn’t you agree?”
“T—that Knave?” Furina stammers, “ha, why would we meet with her? Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”
Neuvillette clears his throat, “until we find Their Grace, we must operate like normal. If the others find out that we lost Their Grace—“
Furina lets out a breath putting on a confident stance, “yes! Right of course!” She interrupts, “I was thinking the same thing… I will prepare for the two of us to discuss relations with her as soon as possible.”
“Who said that I would be joining you?”
Focalors lets out a short gasp as she quickly approaches his desk, her gloved hands balling into fists. “Y—you expect me to attend the meeting alone! No! You must go with me!”
Neuvillette closes his eyes as he shake her head, “I must focus all my attention on the Creator, we must locate them before the rest of Fontaine and Teyvat begin asking questions. As the Archon, this is something you should be able to handle. Correct?”
Furina tenses slightly but lets out a sigh. “But… wouldn’t attending the meeting be the best thing for Their Grace?”
Neuvillette furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”
Furina’s confident flair was back just as quickly as it dissipated, “Attending the meeting will give us the chance to indirectly interrogate the harbingers before she even knows that we suspect her.”
Noticing the look on the chief justice’s face, Furina lets out a boastful laugh. “Naturally I, the God of Justice, would be the first one to think of this! Worry not Neuvillette, I believe that after this meeting, the truth shall be revealed!”
Clorinde mutters how she needed a towel and Neuvillette lets out a sigh.
“Very well... I will participate in the meeting.”
In between Fontaine’s Lumidouce Harbor and Chenyu Vale, a large ship was anchored the familiar insignia imprinted in the sail. There was a plethora of Fatui agents stationed on the ship that it was overwhelming, it would be impossible to infiltrate the ship without being spotted.
Many of the agents weren’t even aware why there was such an urgency to return to the homeland. Curious glances and whispers spread throughout the ship like wildfire, wondering what could the Knave possibly be doing in the lower deck that no one else was allowed to enter unless they brought news from Fontaine. All of them knew better than to question their harbinger, but she hadn’t been seen since the night before.
“Your Grace.”
Arlecchino’s soft voice cuts through your thoughts. Fontaine was in danger and you were the only one who could help, at least that’s what she believed. It was only a matter of time before the nation was completely wiped off the map, Lady Furina has done nothing but bury her head in the sand.
You glance at her face, despite her sharp features she still had a soft yet powerful air around her. Maybe that’s why the children from the House of the Hearth trust her so much.
“Are you hungry? I have chefs on board, they can prepare anything you desire.” Her hand rested on top of yours, her long nails rubbing against your knuckles in a comforting way.
You were famished. You knew she was capable of, but she was making you feel so welcomed. It felt as if you could trust her, tell her anything and she would understand.
You nod slowly and she smiles.
“I’ll be right back.”
She stands up from her spot next to you leaving the room. Her luscious black and white hair that was pulled into a low ponytail flowed behind her. Arlecchino returned quickly letting out a soft sigh.
“They are preparing a Snezhnayian specialty, the food is quite delicious. I hope it’s to your liking” She commented placing her hand right back on top of yours.
“We will be heading towards Snezhnaya at sunset.” She says. “Although leaving Fontaine wasn’t originally apart of my plan, but considering the circumstances, changes had to be made.”
You furrow your brows. “The circumstances?”
Arlecchino nods. “Your power…or rather, lack there of.”
“I have a colleague, I do not trust nor like him very much but I cannot deny his intelligence, I believe he may be able to figure out the answer… or even Her Majesty may know.”
So there was a colleague within the Fatui who had extreme intelligence that might be able to help you. Maybe he would even know why you were healing so quickly? Or does that tie into your “godly” abilities too?
“Is that why we are leaving so quickly? Because of my supposed amnesia?” You ask.
The Knave shakes her head, “not necessarily. It’s mainly for your safety, you don’t wish to stay in a nation that tried to kill you, right Your Grace?”
You were forced into a corner with that question. Wanting to stay in a nation that almost killed you was bad, but wanting to go to a nation that had the capability to kidnap you wasn’t any better. Yet you had to pick your poison, and in that moment you decided—
“Right.” You reply. “Leaving Fontaine is the smartest option.”
“I knew that you would see it my way,” she praises, “I only want what’s best for you and all of Teyvat.” She gives your hand a squeeze a small smile spreading on her red lips.
A small knock on the door interrupts the moment, Arlecchino looks at the door her gaze becoming icy. “You may enter.”
The door opens and a young lady whose face is obscured by a mask enters and she immediately kneels.
“Y—your Grace… Lady Harbinger.” Her voice was almost breathless, her gaze transfixed on you. “I have news from Fontaine.”
Arlecchino lets out a sigh crossing her legs. “News? What is it?”
“Focalors has agreed to have a political meeting with you. The chief justice Neuvillette will also be attending.”
The Knave doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that spreads on her face, “Very well then. Was there a time mentioned for this meeting?”
“In the next few hours Lady Harbinger. We’ve already got a boat ready to return back to Fontaine’s harbor.”
Arlecchino stands, her gaze becomes soft once more when she looks back at you. “Your Grace, I will return as soon as I can. If you have any needs anyone on the ship will be more than happy to serve you.”
She exchanges a few whispers with the agent before giving you one last smile leaving the bottom deck. The agent looks at you one last time before stuttering out.
“I—I’ll go get your meal immediately Your Grace!” She rushes out of the door leaving you alone once more.
The Fortress of Meropide was more grand than Aether had anticipated. Surrounded by Fontaine’s sea, there was no escape from this prison besides the path they embarked, which was at the rear of the Opera Epiclese.
After heaving their mugshots taken, Aether and Paimon are escorted onto a ship where they meet their tour guide, who is also just another prisoner within the Fortress. The entire tour he was standoffish and dry only giving the required amount of information. If the two asked for more information about credit coupons, secret rules, or about the Creator, he would say they’d have to pay for that.
The prisoner leads the two down the large hallway of the Fortress when multiple gardemeks came around the corner. The traveler immediately takes a stance ready for a fight when a voice eases his worries coming around the corner with the machinery.
“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide,” the man greets. He had dark clothing and dark hair with a scar under his eye.
“Y—your Grace!” The tour guide quickly says, his standoffish nature immediately disappears. “Lovely weather we’re having!”
The man glances over at the tour guide, “Hm? Oh yes, I guess the weather is nice. If we could see it.”
The prisoner lets out an awkward laugh as the Duke looks back at Paimon and Aether. “I’m Wriothesley, but you can call me Your Grace.”
“You’re the Duke of Meropide?” Paimon asks in a shocked tone. Wriothesley nods.
“So, how was your tour?” He asks, “was everything up to standard?”
Aether glances as the tour guide for a moment before giving Wriothesley a firm nod. “Yep. No complaints here.”
“Wonderful.” Wriothesley smiles, “I think we should be able to reward you with more credit coupons then?”
“T—thank you Your Grace! Thank you!” The tour guide says. He then looks over at the traveler, “and thank you for such kind words! If you ever need anything! Anything at all! Please come find me!”
Once he rushes off, the Duke turns his attention back onto the newcomers.
“So, is it normal for you to greet all newbies in person like this?” Paimon asks.
Wriothesley lets out a soft laugh. “No it’s not. I just heard that you two were friends with Neuvillette so I figured I finish the tour myself.”
“Wait, how do you know that?” Aether questions.
“The Fortress might look like it’s cut off from the rest of the world but word still travels fast. Just like what happened to Their Eminence.”
Paimon glances at the traveler briefly. Wriothesley continues, “Many people in the Fortress were ready to leave just for a chance at seeing the Creator. But since they are still in the hospital recovering, I managed to keep them under control.”
“What else do you know about the Creator?” Aether asks.
“Nothing really.” He responds, “I haven’t had the time to leave the Fortress and go visit them myself. Unless you’re talking about the basic information, there’s books all around the Fortress that can tell you that.”
Wriothesley continues on with the tour, showing the where the so-called cafeteria was, the Pankration Ring, and where they would report to work everyday. He also mentions Sigewinne, the nurse who looks after anyone who gets hurt or sick.
Lastly, he shows them where they’ll be sleeping. As he explains the procedures for their room, Aether gazes falls onto someone walking nearby. An oddly familiar magician.
Lyney stops walking and looks back at him, but once Wriothesley notices, Lyney lets out a soft laugh doing a dramatic bow.
“Well hello there Your Grace! It’s lovely to see you out of your office!”
Wriothesley crosses his arms, “it’s good to see you too, but shouldn’t you be reporting to work?”
The magician gives him a cheeky smile as he stands back up, “of course! That’s where I was heading right now! But these two must be very important to get a personal tour from the Duke himself.”
Wriothesley says nothing in response but Lyney quickly excuses himself, his gaze falling onto Aether once more before walking out of sight.
“Come on,” Wriothesley says, “there’s one last stop I’d like to make.”
———
The three sit at one of the tables in the cafeteria, the chef bringing over three welfare meals. They remove the lids revealing the delectable meals inside causing Paimons mouth to water.
“Oh is this what the food is like in the Fortress?” She rubes her hands together, “Paimon could get used to this!”
“Actually, I managed to pull a few strings to get this meal, after today, you might not get another meal like this.”
The fairy didn’t seem to be paying attention as she keeps shoving more food into her mouth. The traveler rolls his eyes at his companion, looking back at the Duke.
“So you said there was books in the Fortress about the Creator?” Aether asks, his fork pushing around his meal mindlessly.
Wriothesley nods. “There are groups within the Fortress to make people feel more welcome or comfortable. There’s quite a few revolved around Their Eminence. Prayer groups, wanting a stronger relationship, or just normal worship in general, they’re actually pretty popular.”
Paimon swallows the food in her mouth, “How do you feel about them?”
Wriothesley ponders for a second, “I don’t know anyone who has a negative view on Their Eminence, including myself. I would be honored to go up to the surface soon and share a cup of tea with them.”
Aether didn’t say anything in response, but he had a feeling that Wriothesley knew more about the Creator than he let on. He did say word travels fast from the surface, is it possible he already knows the Creator is missing?
“Anyways,” Wriothesley says, “I have other things to attend to, enjoy your time in the Fortress and try not to cause any trouble.”
The Duke gives one last farewell, leaving the table without another word. Aether and Paimon continue eating their welfare meals preparing themselves to adjust to their new situation and figure what exactly Childe may know about the Creator.
———
“You were right.”
In a dark corner of the Fortress, the twins from the House of the Hearth spoke in quiet whispers.
“Paimon and the Traveler, I just saw them.” Lyney explained.
Lynette’s ear lay flat on her head, her tail swaying slightly. “Monsieur Neuvillette must’ve told them and they’re here to investigate.”
“We have to do what Father told us to do.“ Lyney adds, “although playing ignorant to figure what they know won’t hurt either.”
Lynette lets out a sigh. “…and what about Tartaglia?”
Lyney shrugs, “what about him? He’s not here. We have to focus on the Creator. Without Their Grace, the Fatui won’t be able to—“
“I know.” Lynette interrupts. “Let’s just focus on the traveler for now.
“I must say, the timing of this meeting seems almost convient…” Arlecchino narrows her gaze as she brings her teacup up to her lips.
“I’ll just cut straight to the chase. I’m here about my colleague, Childe and of course, Their Grace.”
The table inside of Neuvillette’s office was covered in sweets from Snezhnaya, something the Kanve brought to ease the tensions within the meeting. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be working.
“Childe was declared innocent by you, the Iudex, yet was still given a guilty verdict by the Oratrice…” Arlecchino explains, “and only days after that, you declare that Their Grace is an imposter and almost kill them.”
Furina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Y-yes… we are aware of our… transgressions. The Creator is being well looked after and is healing quite quickly.”
Arlecchino perks up, “Oh? They are? So is it possible for me to see them for myself?”
“That won’t be possible at the moment, I apologize.” Neuvillette quickly adds in.
Arlecchino brings a forkful of cake up to her mouth as she lets out a scoff. “An outright refusal? I must say, I am surprised…”
Neuvillette crosses his arms, “this meeting wasn’t called to talk about Their Grace, but rather Mr. Tartaglia, correct?”
“That is correct. Then am I able to enter the Fortress to check on the wellbeing of my colleague?”
“That also won’t be possible.”
Arlecchino sighs, “so I cannot see Their Grace and I cannot see Childe. What exactly will this meeting accomplish?”
“We already have a course of action for Their Grace.” Focalors adds, “but we cannot share it with you or any other nations for now. This meeting was just a… common courtesy”
“And as for Mr. Tartaglia I am investigating matter.” The chief justice adds.
“A common courtesy?” The Knave questions, “everyone in Teyvat is wondering just what exactly will Fontaine do after committing the biggest sin known to man… and all you can say is that it’s confidential? Not to mention the prophecy you refuse to address.”
Furina shoves another bite of cake into her mouth, scooting her chair closer to Neuvillette.
“As long as Their Grace is in our nation, they are under our jurisdiction.” Neuvillette explains.
Arlecchino clicks her tongue. “A disappointing outcome indeed… but I cannot say I am shocked.”
Arlecchino finished her tea, “the Fatui is willing to extend our help if you need it. You all seem to have a lot on your plate at the moment. Maybe it’s best to pass some of the responsibility onto someone else?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Neuvillette states.
The Knave stands from her seat, brushing her bangs out of the way, revealing her red X eyes. “I think it’s safe to say this meeting is concluded, I have to return back to Snezhnaya immediately.”
Furina raises a brow, “returing so soon? W—why such a rush to leave?”
It falls silent in the room for a few seconds.
“Her Majesty cares very dearly about the Creator, I am expected to report any and all news directly to her.” Arlecchino explains, her back facing the two.
“Snezhnaya as a whole cares deeply about Their Grace, and once they heal completely we will welcome them with open arms… not a trial.”
Focalors looks down at her lap as Arlecchino leaves the office returning to her ship anchored near the border of Fontaine and Liyue. A sinister smile spread on her lips while Neuvillette and Furina sit in the office in silence, a sour taste lingering in their mouth even with the baked goods in front of them.
-
© avocad1s 2024
Note: Good luck to all my Arlecchino wanters! I got her and her sig weapon so I give all my luck to you <3
Tagging: @bittersweetorpheus @esthelily @tempestlart @angelofdarkness2 @mmeatt @dxprived4-starboys @Itm-acct @honey-lemonz @ymechi @nervouseaglelover @livelaughlovekuni @vianitry @vvyeislazzy @kbar1013 @ichiraku-verse @chaoticfivesworld @mabvo @noahrandom @haunts-gh0st @pix-stuff @riiriin @emmbny @shiki-jin @ra404 @leekingsman @ash1 @mahi-does-some-art @bitchyfanfics-posts @emilymikado @sarah22447 @swagbucksjester @nex-crowley @iruiji @cloise @scalyalpaca @game-savvy @dreamlessnight @myluckymoon @luxie963 @spffldlbrnf @missnella-nova
I know it’s been a while so if you want to be removed let me know!!
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Toxic romanticization of studying
In a word of introduction, my profile partly shows that studying and exploring is wonderful. But as a person involved in science*, I would like to show healthy and true patterns of this beautiful adventure in acquiring knowledge.
The inspiration for writing this post this time was not the phenomenon from Tumblr (although you can also observe it here), but from Pinterest. There you can come across cycles composed of quotes and photos whose aim is to motivate young girls to learn, succeed and get good grades. These images often also show examples of characters from movies, TV series or real life that you can aspire to be like. Overall, I have to agree that it really works! But I would like to draw attention to certain elements that need to be verified.
1. You shouldn't get up at 5am
First of all, the correct amount of sleep is one of the most important factors affecting the proper and effective functioning of our brain. During sleep, nerve cells regenerate, organize information acquired during the day and consolidate memory traces, which is directly related to learning. Lack of sleep increases impulsivity, deepens negative thinking and slows down the body's reaction time!
2. You can be a genius without good grades
Of course, good grades are a pleasant confirmation of our knowledge and praise for hard work. However, sometimes it is worth considering whether the structure of exams themselves, especially those with closed questions, affects the results. We often study for one specific exam, the knowledge of which may be very… limited and sometimes not useful, so it is worth prioritizing the topics that we study hard.
3. It's not cool to think you're better than others
We are different and have different priorities in life. It is also worth considering how many people escape from the rat race and start a slow, stress-free life. So we have to agree that judging people based on grades or responses under stress (sic!) is not cool.
The good thing about romanticizing studying
As I have already said, these types of collages are really motivating. So let's talk about what's great about them and what's worth highlighting and saving for later.
1. Knowledge is beautiful, but your outfit and surroundings can also be
We know that we should never judge a book by its cover, but… the issue of social perception painfully confirms that we do and will continue to do so because this is how our brains work. And isn't it nice when someone looks at us and thinks this girl is so classy?
Moreover, a nice outfit that makes us feel good gives us a lot of self-confidence. There are also many studies confirming the positive impact on motivation and concentration of a neat and aesthetic workplace.
2. Not just cramming, but also discovering
Broadening your horizons is easier with passion and real commitment. And to achieve this, the topics must really interest us. Not everyone has yet found something that they are extremely passionate about in science, so that is why you have to dig deeper and discover different areas.
3. Don't be afraid to use your knowledge in practice
Schools and universities, unfortunately, have their own rules and they do not always allow you to show your 100% potential. Thus, share your knowledge with others externally, write essays, blog and social media. This form of activity also makes you learn things faster and easier. In addition, contacts with others will expand your knowledge.
Therefore, I must say that it is worth choosing your inspirations carefully. Nothing helps you enjoy studying better than a clear head and lack of prejudices.
*This post was inspired by my own experience with studying. If anyone is interested, I think I can share my mistakes that did not help me in an academic adventure :)
#study aesthetic#healthy studying#study motivation#studyblr#dark academia#light academia#studyspo#study inspiration#study inspo#study blog#studying#productivitytips#studyblr community
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I am dusting off my little blog here because TTPD has my mind absolutely reeling. I am really wondering if anyone else listened to this and had this feeling that the album confirmed everything that they were thinking was going on with her. I know we talk so much about reading her songs beneath the surface of muses or certain details used to craft a story, but to me, TTPD reads so strongly of her reckoning with her life in the industry. like, it's so much more than the relationships. it's the comp het, it's the religious trauma, it's the being exploited as a child star, it's deep wound of abandonment and neglect when she as a person got split off from her brand and both could not thrive, it's giving everything to this brand and career and fandom and that still never being enough. it's her codependency with the very people that exploit her. it's the fact that she is bigger than she ever imagined and none of it feels how she wanted. it's the simultaneous love and resentment she has towards her family, and relationships, and career, and yes, even her fans.
the rawness of this album, the unrefined feel, the summation poem talking about this as mania, the continuation of the cage imagery and themes of escaping to her mind/fantasy, the coping with criticism, numbing it all with alcohol, the willingness to burn it all down and disgrace her name because none of this is what she wants or at least not how she wants.
I have seen so many criticisms of the album and honestly, I understand where they are coming from, but I also think the things they criticize make the exact point of what this body of work is - something that exists for it's own sake to turn things back on the people that made her into what she is now. art created not to be acclaimed but because it demands to be expressed. it is an exorcism, an expulsion. it is something that erupted from her. and it's so meta because this fandom and the industry are voyeurs in an echo chamber so desperate to see what they want that they miss that this is about them. that is what makes it brilliant to me - it is self-indulgent and metaphorical, and complex, and so direct, but yet still masked just enough that people miss it. her entire life has become performance art. it is a play within a play. and I fear the audience has not caught on.
it feels like she is reclaiming it all. I feel like this could either be a hint at a new beginning or a signal that she has broken and this is the end. this felt like the tell-all memoir written in code that everyone else will finally understand when she really leaves this spotlight. it's the lucky one come to life. she is daydreaming about fucking it all and leaving this life behind so she can finally have some goddamn peace.
I love this album for it as art. it is so expressive. it is so heartbreaking. it's messy and nuanced, and I think it is going way the fuck over most people's heads, especially when you really dig into poetry being the theme and the specific works she references. it's only been a week and I am just starting to really dig in but talk about a fucking iceberg.
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𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼
𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story.
𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.”
𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so
(A/N: First of all, I’m giving the biggest shoutout to a very close friend of mine for helping with the Russian written in this chapter, you’re the best and I owe you for this ❤
Second of all, I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are.
I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.)
❤ Reblogs are appreciated ❤
𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹?
𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹?
𝒪𝒽...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊�� 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈....
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze.
Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write.
He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all.
A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful.
Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters.
Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of.
His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake.
For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen.
He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories.
Or rather, attempted to.
His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late.
“Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!”
Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid.
His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.
He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell.
Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵
A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky.
The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk.
You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow.
You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.
The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds.
You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins.
This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.
The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published.
You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created.
“Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name.
You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird!
You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you.
The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement.
An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.
He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat.
You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer.
You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here!
Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly.
You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…”
You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–”
“Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”
You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–”
“No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.”
You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue.
One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell.
But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting.
“Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?”
His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”
‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod.
You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’
It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now.
✩
Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you.
Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write.
His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling.
It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands.
He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace.
“You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.”
He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.”
If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him.
It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵
Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next.
The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand.
“If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?”
“Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..”
She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?”
“Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s.
It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task.
You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on.
“I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place.
The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”
You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!”
You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard.
But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat.
“I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table.
“Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you.
Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived.
But he never offered you a cup.
Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice.
“I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–”
You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”
‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen.
You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’
You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit.
He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream.
He would not stomp that flame out.
A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance.
You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements.
He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend.
But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness.
He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch.
Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay.
Almost.
But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.”
You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs.
You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought.
There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again.
Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes.
You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.”
His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.”
Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over.
You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published.
He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed.
Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.”
“We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”
He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–”
‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp.
Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him?
Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise.
He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!”
“I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?"
"Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–”
“You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously.
You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you.
“You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes.
His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.
“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *
He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery.
He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job?
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵
“You should have cut him some slack.”
“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”
“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”
“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest.
The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.
It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left.
You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”
You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help.
But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–
You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!”
“Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating.
Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”
You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”
You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator.
He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–
Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize!
You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.
Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat.
“Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”
“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.
“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.
You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.”
The incident…
You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”
“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.”
A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”
“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance!
Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.
“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town.
You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.
Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”
“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't?
She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.
“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this.
“This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”
Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek.
The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.
Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵
The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin.
Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.
The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week.
No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.
You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well.
They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.
You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape.
Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.
He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you.
He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.
Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.
Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace.
Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.
You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light.
Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.
Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”
You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you.
He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.
“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine.
“I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor.
“I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”
He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him.
These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.
You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.
Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–
“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”
Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.
You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot.
Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.
✩
You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back.
Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?
Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.
The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts.
He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.
As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel.
He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.
He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.
You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.
With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room.
Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.
Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.
Dividers: @/saradika
* Translation: Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.
#bungou stray dogs#fyodor x reader#fyodor dostoyevsky x reader#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader
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He Never Misses! (Leraye Limited Event React I)
Okay so, here's the damn thing about this event.
I loved the amount of peeking into each noble's dynamic with each other so much and I love the fact that this is pretty much a slice-of-life approach to how a "normal" day in Gehenna was and is.
In an overall sense we get a good dose of Sitri, interesting pop-ins from Astaroth and Paimon, and a little surprise visit that had me squealing later.
This, my lovelies is 6 part reaction because I took that many damn screenshots and I honestly wish there was a better way to upload them all on one or two posts without a photo limit. BUT alas...
Make sure to grab a snacky snack, and let's dive in...to the life of long-haired Leraye~ ┬─┬(◕‿◕♡)
So we enter with Astraoth just minding his business and cruising around the palace and Sitri just comes up and starts getting onto him about not being at the palace lol
Turns out he was gone for a while because he was tending to his hobbies which is corrupting...
You hear that everyone? He corrupts anyone so keep your windows open (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
I'm really crying right now, so basically he's telling why it took particularly long this time around because he was dealing with someone who hated their dead-end job. (sounds fucking familiar right?)
nah now think about it, imagine wildly that someone at pb put that in the event as a joke when in reality somebody either once quit before or secretly a current employee can't stand work and low key just slid that idea in....buttt let's get back to the event lmao
Sitri hit 'em with the "Sorry I'll you finish but-" treatment. Though it's for good reason..
Awhhhh Roro...(yes my nickname for him leave me be) LET HIM FINISH
So basically what happened is that Sitri lost his favorite pen (rly?) it's the color of Solomon's hair and he put some of this man's hair in the ink and now he's lost it and he can't find it.
It's funny because Astaroth said the same thing as me "Why would you do that?" but he understood the sentiment behind it and was willing to give Sitri some insight on who to ask to find something like that.
LERAYE!
So our boy has crazy good eyesight. Like dangerously good to the point where I want to swap my eyes out with his because good lord I'd love a reason to not spend money on glasses with these expensive ass lenses.
So fun side note here that everyone leaves their door open except for Sitri, who most likely just likes his privacy or is used to having his door closed because perhaps the room he stayed in during Hades always had the door closed? Something along those lines I would like to think.
So now here are some nice Leraye and Paimon dynamics <3 our poor fave femboy lost his piercing recently and was asking Leraye to help find it. So it appears that either the piercing is shaped like Ppyong like the barette on his hair, or it's as big as he is, which last time I checked isn't Ppyong technically the largest red lump? (idk everyone else is pretty tiny when compared to him in the red lump family)
Okay nvm my previous thing it's shaped like Ppyong (LMAO) and this sounds cute actually, beside the fact that it becomes a fucking bomb all of the sudden (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
like imagine the TSA having a field day finding one of those...
I love how Paimon is like "Someone might die but most importantly my piercing is going to be destroyed :("
Amazing priorities bby, I support you.
Also, Astaroth is interested in how the piercing works and its explosive properties so he wants to tag along (he's so weird i love him) And Leraye with his cheery self is happy to help. So he goes to the window to start his search with those amazing eyeballs of his and his hair is blowing in the wind (imagine bouncy music in the background, his hair flowing and him humming while trying to find it)
Paimon is over here thirsting over watching him and it really fuels my "Paimon probably flirts with the nobles from time to time but he's never serious about it"
So within moments, he says he has a lead but hasn't really found it yet so the three go out looking around and well, so far not so good. This is pretty much the third time Leraye had moved positions and and updated on the status of finding the piercing and Paimon is getting a bit impatient.
You see that little pouty angry face? This event isn't voiced but I can hear him now getting all upset. But tbh I get upset too when I'm trying to find something and it's always "almost, maybe the next place it will be there"
Thanks Astaroth, really helping out here lmao
So it appears that even though he was circliing around alot he finally appears to have a lock in on the piercing's whereabouts which excites Paimon. Astraoth starts being poetic about Leraye's rooftop running and Paimon is just like-
You heard him! Stfu and get your ass movin' Roro!!! (I love how Paimon is super agitated easily when it comes to something he cares about lol)
I threw this scene in here because I was like "ah yes the devil with the good eyes I wish that were me lmao"
okay so pitt stop...because even though he's not known for his endurance he surely wasn't having a problem during his h-scene so....( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴
So when he's catching his breath Paimon and Astaroth catch up whose pretty much questioning how Leraye can even see this far ahead and it sounds like they traveled pretty damn far. (remember it's a flashback so Astaroth didn't know about his abilities yet)
And then out of fucking nowhere Leraye just goes to this random hole in the alleyway and throws something at Astaroth while Paimon is like omfg watch out???!!!
So we find out that it was Astaroth's snake that was in that hole just hiding out. So i noticed his name is Apophis and the described him as white but he's clearly black .-. ANYWAY.
(don't worry everyone he was just coming back from filming his role in Meg the Stallion's music video /j lol) So apparently Apophis was lost and Roro was looking for him but weren't they looking for Paimon's piercing?
Lol Apophis bites Leraye and possibly others when Astaroth isn't around and that's cute. Ofc he'd only trust his owner.
And ofc we find out that the snake has swallowed Paimon's piercing...and I'm just like. Oh yikes...so how are we getting this out? lol
So for this little scene Leraye explains plainly that he can see the shape of the piercing inside Apophis' stomach and yet the other two can't and that Leraye just assumes they can because he's naive in his thinking just like most devils, a childlike wonder and view.
And while Astaroth is reflecting on that Paimon asks for him to get the earring out which again I'm like how is he even going to do that???
┬┴┬┴┤•ᴥ•ʔ├┬┴┬┴ oh.....
he can make his voice deeper?
Me too Apophis...me too. I'm shaking, crying and throwing up.
Because think about that shit...Astaroth coming into your room to just randomly corrupt and fuck with you and even if you are corrupt he has a thing for making it even worse...and then he pulls this poetic, deep-voiced nsfw audio shit on you and now you're committing crimes you never even knew you could because of it.
BUT that stops for now with part 1, phew...only 5 more to go...! (i'm really sleepy rn so I'm going to get a couple hours of sleep and then get up and start back up again lol)
#whb#what in hell is bad#whb leraye#whb astaroth#whb paimon#whb gehenna bois❤️#whb event#whb spoilers#whb screencaps#let's goooooo noble event!
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Hey.
Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.
So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.
I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.
Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.
I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.
Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.
The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.
How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.
Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.
Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.
Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.
To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.
Nothing but love,
Liz 💛
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Morse and drinking in the 70s...
Long....because I can't write short. And obviously, a lot of you will already know this stuff...
Just want to take a moment to talk about alcohol and alcoholism in the context of the early 1970s and remind folks of how totally and completely different it is from how we see it today.
Drunk driving had not been outlawed in most countries. Not only that, it was widely regarding as funny—funny enough to be used as a regular “gag” in movies. Problem drinking was also seen as funny. There were regular cartoon strips about it. The “drunk” was a funny stock character in all sorts of plays and movies.
Alcohol was ubiquitous. We’re not just talking liquid lunches. We’re talking drinking at work, while you work—just as you see in Endeavour. Think about that for a second.
And politely saying no wasn’t something you did without social consequences. It wasn’t just seen as a personal preference. Unless you had a specific, acceptable reason, turning down a drink was often seen as stand-offish and judgmental or as a social snub. Teetotalism was regarded as rather naive and ridiculous—not something any man or woman of the world would embrace.
In the early 1970s, there was no widespread understanding of alcoholism as a disease. It was still seen very much as the consequence of personal weakness—still a matter of “If you cared enough or tried hard enough, you wouldn’t do this so it must be a character flaw.”
Plus, most people, “normal” people don’t have problems with alcohol, so if you do then there’s something abnormal and defective about you—most likely something you brought upon yourself.
And as a “personal weakness” and a “defect,” the shame around it was profound and the secrecy matched. If someone went away for treatment, it was very much akin to an unwed mother going off to have her baby and then returning without the child. You never spoke of it. You pretended that it had never happened.
If you were a kind person, you also didn’t go out of your way to parade babies in front of her or talk constantly about children when she was with you. But refer to it directly? Never. Ask for help? Never. It was always something to be hidden. Everyone did their best to forget that it had ever happened and saw this as the "kindest" thing to do.
When Morse returns from his “cure,” it would simply be assumed that everyone would pretend that nothing unusual has happened. Why he’s just been off on a tour of the West Country and nothing else! Hope you had a lovely time! That sort of polite fiction was exactly what he would have expected upon his return. Anything more direct—at least in a public setting—would have been shocking to him and everyone else.
Where things break down, however, is in the more personal interactions. His relationship with Thursday is such that they can at least broach the topic of drinking. When they do, my impression is that Thursday is well-aware that Morse not “cured.” However, in the context of the time, saying this would be akin to saying, "You failed," because there was no disease model of alcholism in widespread use. You went to be cured and it worked or it didn't.
However, I'd also add that Thursday is almost to the breaking point with the cumulative strain he is under. He can’t cope with the “burden” of Morse being in a precarious state and he knows it. He feels desperately guilty about that—as well as about other things like Strange and Joan or about life having moved on so much while Morse was gone—and so he just shuts down.
Shutting down is Thursday’s go-to strategy when he’s overwhelmed. We’ve seen him do it many times before. And part of that for him, is that he pretends that the people around him are ok—even if they are anything but ok. Not surprisingly, he does it the most with the people he has the closest emotional ties with—Win, Joan, Sam, and Morse.
So the only way that Thursday can cope is by having Morse be perfectly fine. Conveniently, his preferred coping strategy fits exactly with his society's expectations about how alcoholism works. If Morse is "cured," you don’t need to worry about sparing him the constant offers of alcohol in the same way that the young unwed mother might hope to be spared babies. You certainly wouldn’t embarrass him (especially after he’s been through the humiliation of rehab) by drawing attention in any way to a possible to the idea that he still has a problem.
And finally, a last note on time context. The scene in the pub where Morse has that first drink after finding out that Joan is marrying Jim is utterly heartbreaking for so many reasons. One of those reasons, however, is that we know it’s the first drink—and that the first drink leads to the second, and so on and so forth. Then Morse says to Thursday, “They said the, the odd beer, the odd shot, does no harm…"Everything in moderation," they said,” and we automatically assume he’s lying.
I’m fairly sure that those scenes were meant to be interpreted through our modern viewpoint. However, it’s worth noting that again, the model of alcoholism in the 1970s was nothing like what we have today. The idea that someone with a drinking problem/addictions needs to abstain entirely was not even close to universal at that point. It’s perfectly possible that the advice Morse is quoting is the advice he received!
#itv endeavour#endeavour morse#shaun evans#fred thursday#endeavour: prelude#thursday thursday#sort of#but mostly meta about alcohol in endeavour and the 70s
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Hii I love love love ur yan ocs I wanna just kiss them and pat them on the head!!!! My little skrunklies!!! I have a few questions about them
What turns them on? Like if I do this we are doing it immediately even if we’re in a plane or sum 😭😭
How jealous are they on like a scale of 1-10?
How whore knee are they? How often do they masturbate or have fantasies?
What music do they like?
You don’t need to respond to this btw 😭😭 I just love ur ocs and your work! Tysm!
The scrunklies!!! :3c and also, TYSM!! Sorry I responded to this pretty late!
For kairos:
Honestly? His darling saying anything naughty will turn him on instantly– oh, and receiving kisses on his neck! Or honestly… If you lower your hand and start massaging his thighs, that’ll make him grow weak too. If you start doing any of these things, he’ll feel all hot and will beg you to keep going. (っ˘ω˘ς )
How jealous is he? Hmmm…. Probably somewhere around an 8. He gets jealous pretty easily… When jealous, he’ll usually start being extra clingy and emotional. ^^;;;;;;
How horny are they? Before Kairos could get with his darling, he… Definitely had a (lowkey) masturbation addiction. Like, he would touch himself about twice a day, all while thinking about his darling. And he fantasizes… A lot. Almost constantly. It’s hard for him to sleep at night because all of his thoughts are racing and all he can think about is you in so many different lewd scenarios. But when he finally starts dating his beloved, he’ll definitely stop masturbating so often… And the fantasies won’t be as rampant. (*￣▽￣)b
What music does he like? He definitely likes some darker stuff. He’d listen to stuff like gothic/doom metal, alternative metal, symphonic metal, etc. When asked what his favorite band is, he’d probably respond with Deftones or Type O Negative. ( ´ ꒳ ` )
For Luka:
When in public, Luka can keep himself composed for the most part… But as said before, saying really naughty things to him will turn him on. (=`ω´=) However, there is another secret thing that Luka never admits will get him extremely worked up. By worked up, I mean, ‘we need to fuck. Now. I don’t care that we’re not only on a plane, but the plane is also actively crashing as we speak.’ …And that’s if you lean in close to him while kissing his ears and stroking his tail.
Run your fingers through the soft pink fur as you massage around the base of his tail... Oh, and throw in some flirting too. He’ll be gripping your wrists and dragging you somewhere private. ^^;;;;;;;;
How jealous is Luka? Somewhere around a 6.5. He doesn’t get jealous nearly as often as Kairos does, but when he does get jealous, it’s pretty intense. (↼_↼)
How horny is Luka, and how often does he masturbate/fantasize? Luka doesn’t masturbate very often– he never really has. Probably would masturbate about the same amount as any other guy. >_< Although, the fantasies he has are another story.. Before Luka gets with his darling, he’ll end up fantasizing about them quite a bit. The fantasies mostly pop up when he has nothing to do, or right before he goes to bed. They never fail to get him all hot and bothered, but he's still able to function. ( ´ ꒳ ` )
However, he does get plagued by wet dreams a few times a week. ^^;;;; Wakes up with cum staining his thighs, blankets all over the floor and sweat running his face... Which always makes him embarrassed. ( ´ ▽ ` ;;)
When he does get with his darling, though, expect him to be fucking you once or twice a day. And when he’s in heat, expect it to be more like three or four times a day, if not more. (-_-;)・・・ It’s a bit… Overwhelming at times, to put it lightly. If you can’t handle him fucking you that much, he’ll at least ask that you give him a hand job or let him use your thighs or something. ^^;;; (And luckily for him, the wet dreams stop!)
What music does Luka like? He LOVES a lot of heavier music. While his ears might be very sensitive to how loud the music is, he gets over it pretty fast. Loves black metal, doom metal, industrial metal, etc. Luka is involved in his local alt. music scene and goes to see bands live every now and then. Luka even has a battle jacket.
(=^ ◡ ^=)
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“Oh Aegon abused Sunfyre by using him in battle, Rhaenyra didn’t do the same to Syrax so she’s better! It really shows her magical Valyrian blood is more powerful”.
No goofy, Rhaenyra didn’t use Syrax during the war because she was in pain.
She was physically recovering from a traumatic childbirth for most of the time and literally could not participate in the war effort the way Aegon did. It’s almost like that thematically falls in line with the misogynistic aspect of the dance.
The Greens use misogyny as a tool against Rhaenyra and the worst part is that her being a woman hinders her when she least expect it, almost as if validating the misogyny used to usurp her. It’s sickening.
In the misogynistic reality Rhaenyra lives in childbirth becomes just one more hindrance against her. A fact that was exasperated by the slow loss of her children who we know despite her many flaws she loved. It’s not that being a woman is a hindrance or being pregnant is a flaw - it’s the fact that in a misogynistic society it will absolutely be used that way and it is used against her time and time again.
Mind you the Greens aren’t the only ones who use misogyny as a tool. It’s the same reason Daemon’s sadism targeted Helaena and her children. Misogyny is easy and targeting Aemond or Aegon would be difficult. That’s why he sent B&C after her and her children because he knew that in a misogynistic society women in general are easily abused and it worked effectively keeping Helaena and her dragon out of the war effort because of the trauma that was inflicted upon her.
Turning a positive - the unwavering love these women had for their children into a - negative to be used against them.
Therefore robbing the Greens of a dragon rider and Queen the exact same way The Blacks must have felt after Rhaenyra was incapacitated by the Green usurpation.
Would Rhaenyra have likely still had a traumatic childbirth without being usurped, sure. Would she still been unable to participate in the war because of her traumatic birth, probably.
However I don’t think individuals typically see things that clearly especially when they’ve been wronged. Rhaenyra herself blames the Greens for the loss of her daughter and her rage throughout her traumatic birth.
Ultimately I think that’s much more interesting to think about rather than “my character’s blood purity is better than yours”.
Not to mention the using the dragon in battle is abuse to the dragon is the silliest argument I’ve ever seen. As if House Targaryen’s entire inception didn’t involve them using their dragons for their own benefit in war.
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