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criminalskies · 4 months

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Not Alone. Aaron Hotchner x GN!reader

Hi all! so, this is actually a birthday gift to a beautiful friend and mutual who has been struggling recently. I heard him say that Aaron would not be proud of him at this very point in time, and well. I just couldn’t disagree more. So! That sparked this. I hope all of you reading can hear the message I originally intended to shine through the words. <3 And Happy Birthday, Casper!!!!! @softhairedhotch

word count: 3,400.

THIS IS HEAAAAAAVY ON THE HURT AND HEAVY ON THE COMFORT SO PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!

This fic contains: graphic depictions of depression/depressing imagery. Brief mentions of alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism. Some allusions to suicidal thoughts and loneliness/bullying. Mentions of reader shaving and accidental cuts (no mentions of where on their body). Mentions of caffeine consumption.* *not tagging due to the heavy themes in this particular fic, I don't want to pressure anyone into reading if they aren't completely comfortable*

Numb. The only way to describe the way you’ve been feeling, or rather, unfeeling lately. What you know to have been weeks, feels like months, could have been years stretching on and on feeling this way. You have, of course had moments of joy and happiness, seemingly outnumbered by those where you’ve felt a kind of misery seeping in through the windows at night, staining your carpet with its seething despair. You’ve been trying and trying and trying to avoid it, standing on the furniture as it rises and rises. Now you must be clinging to your raised curtain like a cat, trying still to escape the dreary fog.

Of course, you wake up every morning, noticing there is no stain at all. The sunny daylight bleaches every fiber in sight and washes away all your signs of last night’s struggle. You turn off your blaring alarm, wipe a restless sleep from your eyes and have to get on with your day. Every. Damn. Day. You throw on your uniform and you begin the endless trudge to Quantico. You can’t help but look around on your long commute, wondering if every other train passenger feels the same way you do. You see the same faces appearing time and time again, expressionless on their way to their same mind numbing 9 to 5. But surely, not everybody feels this weighed down. Not everybody feels like their boots are packed with lead and every step is in the wrong direction. They can’t all have been pushed to their last limit, violating every rule they set for themselves because they just can’t deny themselves a moment’s pleasure. A moment’s reprieve in a world that is otherwise frankly draining.

Looking around, you note the absence of a particular man you’ve labelled Hat Guy. Until two days ago, you saw this man every morning on the same commute. He’ll often share a row with Newspaper Dude and sit in their comfortable silence. They never greet each other, though. In fact, you wonder if any of these people find the same brimming sense of familiarity and calm that you feel seeing the same faces each day. Actually, do any of them even know you? Would they notice if you stopped riding this train? If you were here every day for the past who knows how many months and then you weren’t?

Luckily, that crisis is cut off by the shrill sound of the doors grating open, you’re finally at your stop. You pick up your daily energy drink from the corner store before beginning your short hike to Quantico’s FBI Headquarters. Greeting the guards at the security checkpoint, you’re predictably asked to remove your bag and belt, putting your drink aside while you make your way through the scanners. The metal alarm sounds as you rush to explain to the guards you have a plate in your arm from an injury as a child. The guards seem equally surprised by this every day. Every day the same. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually living the plot of groundhog day as the younger, more by-the-books guard picks up the metal detector wand, waving it over your body ‘Just to be sure’. You narrowly avoid telling him, like every single morning. that you’re quite literally one of a few people entering this building without a gun on your hip. There are about a thousand armed agents he should be more concerned with than you.

You take the elevator up to the sixth floor, barely needing to glance ahead of you to know the path towards the BAU doors like the back of your hand. You push through the doors, the ever predictable Dr Reid being the first to turn and notice your figure trudging past his desk.

“Morning.” He offers you a tight lipped smile as you note that he’s never even greeted you by name. If he didn’t have an eidetic memory you’d be convinced he didn’t know it.

“Morning, Reid.” You offer him a similarly forced little smile as you trudge by the other familiar faces of your coworkers, all too absorbed in their work or in quite literally anything more interesting than you, you suppose. You set down your things with a sigh, shedding your jacket over the chair and looking over to see your three fellow evidence technicians deep in conversation, all sat around your ex-partner’s desk, laughing about how much they enjoyed going out for karaoke with the team’s field agents last night. None of them seem to notice your presence as you wake your computer and start rummaging through your desk drawers for your notepad, yesterday’s nearly finished evidence logs, pens and a calculator.

One of your peers laughs so hard at a joke the infamous Derek Morgan made that she tips backwards, her hand flying out to catch her as it collides with the cold metal of your energy drink, spilling it all over your desk. The fizzy liquid quickly soaks into the loose pages of your entire week’s work as you just watch the can gulp more and more sticky drink over your things. You raise your hands to your head, taking a moment to breathe and tell yourself that you can redo the work. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Things can be replaced. It’s just useless. Seriously, what’s the point of trying anyway if everything is just ruined in the end? This is always the way it goes. You feel before you see the now empty can picked up and placed gently into the wastebasket by your desk, a long set of legs planting two shiny soles beside your chair as a throat clears, loudly beside you.

The room comes to a grinding halt, your coworkers piling off the desks around yours, clambering to their feet to face their very unimpressed boss.

“Agent Summers.” You hear a cold but familiar tone directed at the particular ass which collided with your morning caffeine.

“Yes? Um, sir.” She stutters, clearly surprised to be greeted at 9:02 sharp with such a directed reprimand.

“Clean this mess up, please. This is furniture, not a playground. We don’t go swinging beverages over important documents. Although, I expect since you and your colleagues were meeting in your paid hours, you guys can come up with some plan to make up for this lost work? I trust you can make out which documents you just carelessly ruined on your own?”

“U-Um, yes, sir. I’m sure we can, We can fix these-” She began peeling the dripping messes of paper off the desk as Agent Hotchner carefully wheeled your chair back just out of the splash zone.

“Good. And don’t let this happen again.” He gave one last icy stare to the group of fools you once called friends as he carefully moved a hand to your shoulder. He bent down closer to you as his tone turned to one of delicate care. “Come with me.” He offered you a very neutral, soft expression as you pulled yourself to your feet, willing to just move one in front of the other, like always, and stay calm. Whatever he’s about to hit you with, you probably deserve it.

It’s worth noting that you and Agent Hotchner had been in a sort of dance for months now, both of you had clearly been harbouring feelings for one another but each time one of you took a small step forwards, the other was nearly sent flying back. It was torture. His unwillingness to just be seen as even a little bit unprofessional even once in his life made it impossible to read him as anything other than neutral, if not even a little off-put by your continued presence in his life. Your building anxiety over his indeterminable feelings for you eventually led to the mounds of dead weight you’re now forced to carry with you day to day. The notion you weren’t enough for him to risk his reputation for and the nagging feeling that he only ever did what was right or polite of him to do towards you, and no feelings ever really existed for you continues to burn your throat where your loving words had once died trying to work their way to him. In any case, you’ve been actively avoiding him ever since your strong feelings of regret towards him began following you around like a bad smell.

You follow him up the stairs to his office where his blinds are already drawn, his hand resting on the door as he allows you in before shutting it behind you. You walk towards the chairs opposite his desk, ready to be fired honestly for someone finally noticing your sluggish and lazy work ethic these past few months, only to be stopped in your tracks.

“Not there. Over here, please.” You turn and see Aaron gesturing to the small couch by the window. You take a seat, pointedly staring at your now stained work pants as you feel Hotch lower himself onto the couch next to you. You sit for a moment, hand fiddling with the seam of your pants at your side while you await your doomed fate.

“Y/N. Please, try to look at me when I say this.” Your head turns towards the more seasoned agent, but your eyes stay glued on your reflection in his overpolished shoes. “I’m worried about you.” You’re caught off guard by this, fully expecting the reprimand of the century for your lackluster job performance. You turn to him fully now, a frown pulling at your features as you try to think of what to say next.

“You mean… like, worried about my job performance, or?” He doesn’t care. Mister professional, mister perfectly fine can only care about one thing and it’s this unit.

“No. I mean you. Come on, Y/N. You think a seasoned FBI Profiler can’t notice when somebody is clearly struggling?” You resent that he had to say clearly, as if all of your efforts to hide your anguish and your pain have been for nothing, if it’s as clear as day anyway. “I don’t say this just to hurt you. I want to help you. I’ve seen you shrugging off every person who tries getting close to you recently, and I don’t want to let that happen here. I can’t let you push me away.” The gentle tone of Aaron’s voice drifting through the narrow space between the two of you almost moved you to tears. His offer to help you hanging in the air while you took a deep breath, trying to keep the beads in your eyes at bay.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Hotch. Even if I wanted to let you help. Everything I’ve tried has only made this worse. I can’t get out. I come close but then each time I think I have a handle on my senses, I end up sinking further from the surface again.” You hear your boss actually take an audible gulp. His throat is tightening hearing you admit you’ve been struggling this much. The way your voice keeps wavering mid sentence is making his chest feel tight. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep treading water, Aaron. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. There’s just no end to this.” You bury your head in your hands, only when your palms meet your cheeks do you realise they’re wet with tears you’ve held back for too long. The dam has burst.

“You start by admitting you’re not okay. You start by talking to a friend, or even just someone you can bear, and you admit that one person cannot move this mountain alone. You just did that.” A warm hand lands on your shaking shoulder as you move to sit more upright again, finally turning to look at the kind soul seated next to you. ‘Someone you can bear’ you note that this must be the sentiment aaron thinks he holds in your mind. God you’ve made such a mess of things. “It’s hard. I can’t pretend that reaching the other side of this is easy, or even that it’s fast… or linear. There are a dozen ups and downs and it’s so so slow going, but one day, you look up and it dawns on you that you haven’t been carrying such a weight around for a while. You realise it’s lifted. Little by little, without you even knowing, it got better… It does get better, Y/N. It did for me, at least.”

You face the older man fully now, searching those deep, soulful eyes of his for the slightest hint that he’s lying. That he’s making this up just so you won’t stop treading water.

“And I was like you. I won’t lie. I thought I was handling it, and I was handling it, and even as I lost my handle on it, I refused to let people in. To let them even see how bad things were. I couldn’t face my own employees knowing they’d seen me so weak or so vulnerable. I thought they’d all be disappointed to learn their unshakeable unbreakable boss was exactly as terrified and shattered as a person can be. But, you start with a conversation, and then you start changing the way you talk to yourself. The way you treat yourself. If we treated ourselves half as well as we’re willing to treat other people, I really think we’d live an awful lot longer. Fuller lives, too. But, I digress. I just wanted to say that I’m in no way disappointed in you. In fact I’m proud of you. Every day, no matter how bad you’ve been feeling, you have walked through that door and you have tried, even for a second, greeting this unit with a smile. Every day you’ve tried. Even if there was a whiff of alcohol on your breath from the long night before, or if you had to take home half your work for the day, trying to complete a respectable amount even though your brain is so clouded with shit that you can’t even find the lead end of a pencil. Even the mornings you’ve come in with fresh nicks and cuts from shaving yourself with shaking hands. I have been proud of you. You’ve never quit trying.”

You swear you must be staring at Aaron like he has three heads by now. He saw everything. He saw right through you, all of your greatest faults and flaws, and he felt… pride? You feel a gasp rip through your chest, your now thick lens of tears in your eyes making it hard to tell if this is a dream, finally, the sweet dreams you’ve been hoping would interrupt the endless cacophony of hurt you’ve felt every night as you tossed and turned in restless sleep. Aaron’s weight shuffles closer to you on the couch as he moves to wrap his arms around you. Seeing your trembling form blubber beside him was beginning to make his chest physically ache as he saw himself in you. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s so inclined to help you. You helped him. The part of his story he didn’t disclose, was that the moment he realised the weight had long since left his shoulders, was the same moment he saw you setting down your things at a desk in the bullpen. Your quirked smile as you bounced from foot to foot, shaking your new colleagues hands had cut through the ashy gray of his known world like a beam of light. He had only then noticed that his back had stopped aching from carrying all of his grief with him.

Right now, he pulls you into him as your fists ball in his neatly pressed shirt in the back, his cupped hand finds the back of your head and he instinctively rocks a little, side to side, his hand smoothing over your mess of hair so gently. The two of you feel yourselves drifting slowly apart from the flow of time as you sit there, heart to heart. All of your months of stress and heartache and dread finally move away from the forefront of your mind, drawn to the back for once, out of the spotlight. You can’t help but wonder if Aaron’s hand is a magnet for negative thoughts, but surely that is a thing of fiction. His smoothing motions over your slowing mind sure are dulling the terror and sadness that usually run rampant through your every synapse, though. Your mind feels almost clear when you pull back from Aaron, sniffling and removing your hands from his now very wrinkled, tear stained shirt as his arms loosen their hold around you.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be. You are more important to me. Okay?”

“Okay… then can I at least apologise for being such an ass every time you tried asking me out?” You look at the wonderful, sensitive, caring man before you and cross your every finger, toe and hair follicle that he’ll let you express your regret for the way you acted towards him. He clearly doesn’t deserve to be treated so hot and cold.

“Pfft, only if you let me apologise for your probable whiplash the morning I scolded you for trying to take everyone’s coffee orders in a classified briefing right after I’d told you I had feelings for you the night before. I think I was trying to appear impartial to you but I very, very badly overcompensated and swung the other way towards disdain. If anyone should apologise for you not meeting me on the roof for dinner, it’s me. That was my own doing.”

“Wait, that was you going for impartial? You threatened to charge me with Unauthorised Disclosure if you saw me even blink at Morgan’s open casefile again.” Now it’s Hotch’s turn to bring his hands to his face and groan.

“God. Maybe impartial isn’t my strong suit. Actually, maybe dating isn’t my strong suit. But, dating or not, I really want to make sure you have someone in your corner for this. Even if you’d rather that’s Garcia, or, or Rossi. I just need to know you’re not alone. That you know you’re far from alone.”

“I think you’re about the only person who’s been able to draw me out of my own head in months, Aaron. I really think you’re the best person for me to turn to here. Besides, it sounds like however far you’ve come since you were, um, treading water, you could maybe use somebody in your corner too. I’d like to do that for you.” You only notice now that the other agent had let go of you completely when he relented his role to the other agents in the unit. You make the move this time to be the one to put a warm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Letting him know he’s also not alone. “Deal?” You offer your spare hand for him to shake. You think for a moment you catch sight of the stone-faced agent’s chin wobbling as he steadies himself in your grasp and moves to hold your hand, not shaking it. Interlacing both of your fingers between your laps where your bodies are exchanging the same warmth.

“Deal” He offers you a shaky smile, letting a moment pass before he turns, checking the blinds are still closed and that time isn’t really at a standstill since you two fused with this couch. “Now, let me try look up what can get Mango Loco Monster out of cotton workpants.” He stands, moving to his desk too swiftly to peel open his laptop. You don’t miss the moment where he brings a knuckle up to his eye, wiping a stray tear onto his own pants as he rounds the desk.

In that moment, you decide that you don’t particularly care if none of the other commuters, none of the other evidence technicians or even the field agents know you exist or notice your absence. You know now more than ever that you’re not nearly as alone as you thought you were. Once Aaron Hotchner is in your corner, he’s immovable. Destined to remind you that you’re worthy of love and of pride, even in your darkest moments. And you, in his.

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stars-and-inkpots · 7 months

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A Distance I Can't Close (Yet) | Astarion x Reader

Astarion's thoughts get the better of him sometimes, and old habits die hard. But you know him too well, and you are both patient and incredibly stubborn.

Pairing: Astarion/reader

Tags: Astarion's Past Abuse, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt/comfort, angst, angst with a happy ending, self-hatred, self-loathing, mentions of sex, mild suggestive content

Notes: I listened to A Pearl by Mitski for an hour and projected a lot and this was the result

Ao3 Link: A Distance I Can't Close (Yet)

You’re far too patient with him. Far too patient when he’s like this . In one of those moods where everything is wretched and awful. One of those moods where he is wretched and awful. He snaps at you, shies away from your touch even though he wants so desperately to move closer. What he wants and what he feels he should do makes this awful dissonance in his mind. You’re so gentle with him, and it makes him feel sick.

Of course, whenever you try to ask him what’s wrong he brushes you off. Paints on his usual smile and says everythings fine. He can’t fool you anymore. He knows this. He feels guilty every time he answers, watching you frown and walk away again.

But then there’s the fear that blossoms in his chest when you walk away. The fear that one day you’ll realise that he’s a lost cause. You’ll grow tired of waiting for him to talk. How can you love him if he gives you nothing to want? He needs you to want him. He needs you to love him. He pushes you away so much, and yet the thought of being alone again fills him with such an unbearable terror. And yet, there’s a part of Astarion that thinks you deserve better than him. You deserve to love someone who doesn’t recoil at every touch. You deserve someone who will believe you when you tell them you love them. He’s paranoid, he’s fragile, and he’s pathetic.

“Astarion?”

He hears your voice, but it sounds more distant than it is; like he’s only an observer in his own body.

“Astarion, are you alright?”

You don’t touch him. He’s more than aware of that. Your hand hovers uncertainly above his shoulder. Of course you don’t want to touch him.

“Excellent as always, darling,” he answers, voice smooth and not his own. He can’t tell you the truth of how he feels, it would only make you more inclined to leave him.

“Alright.” You sound resigned.

Panic flares in him again. You are getting tired of him.

He can fix this.

He needs to fix this.

“I’m sorry, love, I was just distracted. I assure you, I’m fine. Though, would you do me the honour of accompanying me in my tent later?” He forces himself to bring his hand to your face, fingers brushing along your jaw. He feels guilty for having to force himself to make such a gesture. He should want to touch you. He should want to be close to you.

You smile, seemingly believing him this time.

“Of course. I’ll be there soon, I just have to speak with some of the others quickly.”

You leave again, and he watches as you make your way over to Halsin. Jealousy gnaws at him for a moment, but he quickly pushes the feeling down again.

Everything will be fine.

He can fix this.

When you finally arrive back at his tent, Astarion is already inside waiting for you.

It’s cosy; the small lantern leaving the room pleasantly dim while shadows dance across the tent walls. Astarion is sitting on the mass of blankets and pillows he’s put together. He closes the book that you’re sure he wasn’t actually reading and sets it aside. He gestures for you to sit beside him, but there’s something about his smile that makes you uneasy for a reason you don’t yet understand.

“Hello, lover,” Astarion says as you sit down. He leans closer to you, resting a hand on your knee. You smile, but it fades a little when you remember your earlier conversation with him.

You know he doesn’t tell you everything. You don’t expect him to. Healing from everything that’s happened to him couldn’t be easy. You just hoped that he really understood when you said that you would always be there for him. You will stay by his side however he’ll have you; be it friend or lover.

“Astarion, are you sure everythings okay?” You bring a hand up and tuck one of his curls back behind his ear. You don’t miss how Astarion tenses the second your fingers touch his skin.

“Like I said earlier, darling, I am perfectly fine. I just missed you is all.” He moves to kiss you, and you let him. The kiss isn’t soft like you expect it to be. It’s rough, heady, and makes your face flush. Astarion’s hand on your knee moves slightly, massaging circles into your thigh.

He sits in your lap, knees on either side of your hips, straddling you. When he kisses you again, it’s all tongue and teeth. Then he’s kissing along your jaw and down your throat, and you can’t help the near whimper it drags out of you. One of his hands finds the edge of your shirt.

The realisation of what's happening hits you all at once.

Despite the intimacy, Astarion is too rigid. His shoulders are still tense; all of his touches are too methodical and forced.

You hold his face in your hands, pulling him away from your neck to look at him. He looks at you, but you know he’s not really here with you, his eyes distant. He’s doing this because he feels he has to, not because he wants to.

“Astarion, talk to me.”

Your voice pulls him back to the present for a moment, and you watch as the careful facade crumbles, if only for a second. It’s replaced quickly with fear.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, seemingly confused. “Have I done something wrong? What changed?” He sounds hurt, almost panicked.

“It’s okay, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you’re quick to reassure him. “Do you really want to do this? You know I never expect anything from you, right? I came here content with the idea of just spending time with you, I never expect anything more. I love you, Astarion. You don’t have to do anything to ‘earn’ that love. You have it. You will always have it so long as you want it.”

Your words finally get through to him, and he finally breaks. Still holding his face in your hands, you watch as the tears begin to fall. You shift slightly, letting go of his face to hug him while he cries into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out between sobs. “I’m sorry.”

You hold him tightly, fingers brushing through his hair while you whisper reassurances.

It takes some time, but eventually he stops, and you aren’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t have the energy to continue crying or because he’s truly finished.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again.

“You don’t need to apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.” You kiss the top of his head. “You should never feel like you owe me anything. Healing takes time.”

“You deserve better than me.”

“Enough of that,” your voice is gentle and soothing. “There is no one else I want to spend my time with. I could live hundreds of times over and I would still choose you. Everytime. You mean so much to me, Astarion. You cannot change my mind; we both know how stubborn I am.”

Despite it all, you feel him smile against you, albeit slightly.

The two of you sit in silence, still holding each other. Eventually, you move the two of you so you can lie down, but you keep holding him and he very clearly has no intention of letting go either.

“You don’t have to deal with it alone,” you whisper quietly after a while. “I mean it, I’m here for you. Whatever you need, be it reassurance or space, just tell me.”

Astarion finally looks up at you, and you wipe the remaining tears on his face away with your thumb. He holds your hand on his cheek, keeping it there for a moment.

“Thank you.” He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. Instead, he kisses you. It’s different from your earlier kiss; this one is patient and careful. This kiss holds no attempt at seduction, no expectations of something more. When you part, you press one more kiss to his forehead before he tucks his head back under your chin.

Astarion can feel the steady rise and fall of your chest, grounding him.

How you still love him is a mystery to him; a gift he does not believe he deserves yet, even though you are so adamant that he does. He will try though. He will try for you. Healing will take time, as you said, but knowing you will be there with him regardless makes it a little easier.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate x reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldurs gate 3 fic #x reader fic #bg3

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turbulentscrawl · 5 months

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can i rq general hcs for antonio? thank you 💜

I’ve been a little more hesitant to tackle the Hunters, (aside from Ithaqua) just because I’ve been unsure how much to lean into them being the “villains” of the manor. And honestly I’m still a little wishy-washy about their characterizations…but anyway, I’m gonna give it a go with Antonio here (because I’ve got requests for him ;) ) and you guys please feel free to tell me if it feels off.

-Antonio is, first and foremost, depressed. And all his coping mechanisms are self-destructive. When life got hard, he turned to alcohol, and then later to gambling. And then, you know, to making a deal with the devil or something. The combination of those broke his wallet, his love, and then his spirit. His fuse is shorter now as a result, but instead of blowing up he moreso just…deflates.

-Despite being a Hunter, a “bad guy,” he’s probably better now than he was before. The biggest issue now is really the whole possession thing. He’s not exactly what you’d call “in control” of his body a good chunk of the time. Exactly when he’s going to lose control is generally unpredictable, aside from feeling like an invisible string of hair has coiled around his wrists shortly before. It happens a lot in matches, where he’s otherwise hesitant to be all that brutal, as well as when his mood gets low enough like above. But when he is in control, history has made Antionio milder than he was before his initial spiral.

-He still really likes his alcohol, but he’s better about taking it in moderation now. The other Hunters help to keep him in check about this as well, if not because they care about him then because he makes for an annoying, hot-headed drunk. He tends to pick fights when he’s really wasted and why would they want to deal with that?

-Gambling is also still problem for him, but since money doesn’t matter in the manors it’s both less concerning and less thrilling. He and some of the other Hunters place bets on matches, staking things like higher-end foods and favors to one another. He’s often requested to play specific pieces of music for people when he loses—particularly ones he dislikes.

-Because of the greedy imprisonment he suffered, Antonio dislikes spending long periods indoors, and especially in his room. He spends as much time outside as possible, enjoying the garden flowers and a cool breeze. On full moons, when there’s nothing planned, he usually goes wandering about to try and find any survivors doing the same. He enjoys the fresh company, for the most part, and even considers some of them friends.

-Antonio is among the most displeased of the Hunters, regarding the set-up for matches. Despite his history as a violent drunk, he takes no pleasure in hurting people, and he’s bitter about possibly having to be “evil” for the rest of eternity. The fact that some of the survivors don’t hold the matches against him is a balm to his aching soul.

-While the violin is his instrument and weapon of choice, Antonio enjoys all of the arts. Any kind of music, visual, or performance. He understands the importance of self-expression, and loves to see people give themselves to it in earnest. What he dislikes are frauds. People who use art just to make a buck.

-The best love languages for Antonio are Quality Time and Acts of Service. He finds it incredibly sweet when others anticipate some of his needs and complete tasks for him in case his arms are taken and he’s unable to do them himself later. He also just enjoys spending time around his loved ones, it reminds him that he’s not some irredeemable monster. He prefers to show his love through Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch, often giving people sweet pet names and touching their arms.

-His hair is stronger than the game suggests. He can easily carry large items, other people, and even lift himself with it. He can hoist himself up to a second-story floor with relative ease, though being lifted by your scalp isn't exactly the most comfortable sensation, so he tries to avoid it.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #idv violinist #antonio paganini x reader #turbulentscrawl

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buckys-little-belle · 1 year

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I know you mentioned it before but a Xavier cg fic would be cool. Would he use his power to make little drawings come to life for you? (I had to cover my eyes and ears at the part where we got to see because I don't like bugs. Yuck!) I think he would be nice. and sit and color and draw. :)

Rainy Nights

Xavier Thorpe X Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - thunderstorm, reader is afraid of the thunder and lightning, reader has a brief meltdown because of the storm, xavier is the softest, fluff, fluff, fluff <3

Notes - I love this, I'm going to cry over this, I want this, Please send more of this, I beg you! <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW, if you do not comply you will be reported and blocked <3

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Rainy nights were something Y/n couldn't handle, the thunder always too loud, the lightning so random it was off putting, they always put their headphones on, played some music, and tried to go to sleep early. But tonight, they of course couldn't find their headphones, the little hitch in their evening causing them to spiral slightly. Sure, it was only 7pm, lot's of time to search for the headphones before actual bedtime, but the loud booms and sudden flashes of light caused them to tip over the edge, their eyes tearing up as their mind regressed back to a younger state.

Y/n hadn't regressed at school yet, too new to feel comfortable around anyone to open up about their coping mechanism, too scared to be judged this early on in their stay at nevermore. But little Y/n didn't understand the big fear, the whole point of regression was to forget those tedious worries, so in their mind they knew they needed some help, some comfort, from someone who they trusted. So that's how they ended up at Xavier's dorm room door, tears streaming down their face, their pajamas a little disheveled, and their brain scrambling to come up with a coherent sentence.

"I, I'm, I jus', I." Was all they could get out, Xavier doing a once over of their body, trying to find some injury that would cause this level of sadness and scaredness.

"What's going on?" He asked, stepping aside to let them in, making sure no one in the hallway knew he was breaking the rules by letting someone into his room after hours.

"I can' find m'headphones." Y/n sobbed, miming putting on their headphones as they spoke, as if they were actually placing some on their head. "An' i's raining!" They explained, pointing to a window, as if Xavier didn't know the current weather conditions.

Xavier smiled, Enid, him, Ajax, and Wednesday had talked about their suspicions around some of Y/n's behavior, noting their childlike behavior in some scary or stressful situations, all coming to the conclusion that they were an age regressor, just one who didn't feel comfortable talking about it yet. He wasn't smiling because they were sad about the lightning, but because he knew he was getting serious bragging rights for being the first person Y/n truly regressed in front of.

"Would you like to borrow my headphones Bub?" He asked, trying to navigate the situation and calm Y/n down.

"Yes." They whispered.

"Yes, what?" Xavier asked, grabbing his headphones from off his desk, making sure they were connected to his phone, cuing up the playlist he may or may not have made for Y/n.

"Yes pease." Y/n repeated, sitting down on Xavier's desk chair, ready for the scary thunder to be drowned out.

"Good manners Bub." He smiled, placing the headphones on their head, making sure they sat on their ears nicely, playing the music and quickly walking away to gather some other distraction supplies.

Another thing he had made for Y/n was a little art kid, the box under his bed filled with colouring books, crayons, some finger paints, that he wasn't willing to try out now, and a set of beads and string, just a few things to see what Y/n would enjoy. He pulled out a coloring book and the crayons, walking over to his desk, grabbing the other desk's chair and sitting beside Y/n, opening up the book and ripping out a page for himself, letting Y/n join in if they wished.

After a few minutes of calming down, relishing in the thunder free environment, Y/n picked up some crayons, settling on a colouring page of flowers, filling in each little section with a different colour, making it as colourful and fun as possible.

When done they held up the book to Xavier, waiting for him to look at the picture, his eyes lighting up when he saw the artwork, placing the book back onto the desk. "Watch this." He said, his words not heard by Y/n but still uttered anyways. His hand moving slightly as the flowers 'stood' up, swaying side to side like read flowers would, the picture much more colourful and fun than his usual grey and macabre drawings.

Y/n giggled, clapping their hands slightly after he had stopped the flowers moving, Y/n quickly getting back to colouring another picture so it too could be brought back to life.

Who knew a thunderstorm was all it would take for Y/n to open up, and who knew Xavier was waiting with open arms willing to help in the time of need.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thrope fanfic #xavier thrope fluff #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x little!reader #little reader #little space #age regression fic #xavier x little!reader #xavier x reader #xavier x little reader

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blackjackkent · 3 months

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What Good, This Heart of Stone?

Pairing: OC Tav & Lae'zel, OC Tav/Karlach Characters: Lae'zel, Male OC Tav, Karlach, Scratch Rating: G Warnings: None Descriptors: Angst, hurt/comfort, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sparring, Selunite monk Tav Word Count: 3.4k Setting: Early Act 3, camp outside Rivington Summary: Lae'zel and Hector are more alike than either would have thought when they first met, and neither of them was trained to deal with the sort of emotions they're now experiencing. other bg3 one-shots | i welcome fic requests!

Hector wakes drenched in sweat, a muffled cry on his lips. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is and what is happening. Their latest camp - an abandoned farmyard on the edge of Rivington - slowly coalesces into dark, chilly reality.

He must have been thrashing around in his sleep. The bedroll is tangled and twisted, half kicked aside. His arm hurts where he jammed it instead into the rocky dirt, and he has managed to roll almost completely out of the tent where he had been curled up next to Karlach. His movement thankfully didn’t wake her, but her arm is stretched out where it was draped over him; her fingers twitch in her sleep, reaching unconsciously for his missing warmth.

He sits up with a low groan and rubs a hand down his face. Steady. Breathe.

The centering and grounding exercise is automatic and instinctual. He pulls his legs under him and focuses inward, struggling to slow his rapid heartbeat into something calmer. But the nightmare that woke him still lingers, confounding his efforts at tranquility. A hellish combination of images is burned into his brain - Orin's mocking expression twisting into the shape of his own face, and the blade of her knife slicing across Karlach's throat as a pillar of fire consumes them both. He still hears the screaming as if it were a real, true thing, taking him by the heart and squeezing.

Not surprising, really. That damned dryad this afternoon…

Well, no, that's not really fair. It was a terrible day long before they met the dryad at the circus. All of their explorations of Rivington have felt soaked in threat; Orin and her spies seem to crop up in disguise in every corner, reminding Hector implacably that nowhere is truly safe, no face truly free from suspicion.

The dryad's little “love test” at her circus booth was merely the cherry on top of that sense of creeping dread. Her questions proved to be an unintentional, chilling reminder that the time he has with Karlach is slipping away all too quickly. That the woman he loves is dying, consumed by inward flame, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

“Shit…” he mumbles, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands.

He really needs to crawl back next to Karlach and try to get some more rest. Tomorrow promises to be as brutal as today was. But in spite of all his calming efforts, his heart is still pounding too loudly in his ears, like distant rolling thunder foretelling the storm almost ready to break.

As quietly as he can, he disentangles himself from the bedroll and climbs fully out of the tent.

Read More on AO3

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #lae'zel #lae'zel bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fic #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg3 tav #selunite tav #monk tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #i never know how to tag this stuff; suggestions appreciated #karlach/tav #this one took me quite a while to hash out but i'm pretty pleased with the outcome c: i hope y'all like it

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yonemurishiroku · 11 months

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Could u go more into how Nico would be the villain in relation to this ask https://www.tumblr.com/yonemurishiroku/716941674120724480/jason-had-a-rendezvous-with-percy-before-his

I’m deeply fascinated by what u seem like o be implying

JAAksda pal you have no idea how much this ask delights me. Finally, a chance for me to ramble.

Ok. So.

The idea of this story is that Jason and Percy have a daughter before Jason dies, and years later, the girl embarks on a quest to find her other father. Why, you ask? Idk LMAO I just need her to do that so that I can put Nico in it.

Before that, though, I just want to make it clear that - imo, an antagonist doesn't have to be a villain. Generally, an antagonist is anyone whose goal(s) contradicts to those of the protagonist(s) - regardless of who is the right one. This is more common in seinen mangas (where the characters tread the line of good and bad as if it doesn't exist), though I guess it might be new/rare in mainstream children entertainment (?).

Anyway. So. Where does Nico fit into all of this?

As explained, if it's up to me, I want Nico to be the one hindering Jason and Percy's daughter on this quest to find her father. He's the antagonist because he does not wish the girl to reach Jason himself.

This sounds ridiculous, I know, I know. I have my fair share of saving/resurrecting-Jason!AU as well, but this AU though. Just hear me out.

My peculiar (and uncomprehensible) interest aside, Nico lost both his mother and his sister (sisters if you count Hazel, and you should, rlly) to the gods, and a large portion of his story is about how he overcomes said lost, especially Bianca. Half of his story is grief personified. He understands most what grief feels like and how disastrous it can be.

Seriously, you would think Nico would emphathise the most to Jercy's daughter (now named Dora bc I just found anon's latest ask ajsdhkja) - especially considering Jason mattered a lot to him, too.

But the thing is, Nico has learnt how to let go.

And how important it is to let go.

That's the whole thing, really.

Nico knows the horrible things grief can do to its bearer. He experienced it himself. It's love, and mayhaps pity, in a way, that Nico wishes Dora to move on from a father she has never known, just so she wouldn't end up lost like he has done so many years ago.

Moreover, since this AU is set in a future timeline and I always picture Nico as a die-hard follower/ lovechild of the Underworld, Nico - like Hades - wouldn't wish a demigod to come trashing their land for a deceased loved one. It's against the law - and to hell with it if I'm not making Nico Hades' executor or law enforcer.

So, Nico has every rights and reason to stop Dora.

That's what Nico would tell Dora for you.

I, the personification of madness I am, would like to add a hidden motivation, though. I don't know what it's called, but I suppose it's Nico's coping mechanism and in a way, jealousy. To Dora, that is.

In TOA, Nico didn't even try to summon Jason for a closure (no thanks to you, Rick). I don't like it either but let's just take this as Nico has found his own closure. He learnt how to lick his wounds and patch himself up, in which he finds relief.

How, do you think, Nico would feel to have someone come tearing that down?

Tbh this is a lot of things to unpack.

Firstly, Nico's grief for Jason - which he himself had buried deep down for his own sake - is pried open upon seeing Dora demands for her father purely out of love.

Secondly, Nico's feelings of incapability when he failed to savage Jason's lif - now resurfaces full force with how Dora (supposedly) fights for her father. And the jealousy accompanying it.

Are you with me? I'm talking about that feeling when you realize that, though a slim chance, there might have been hope after all - but you let it slip away because you're just incapable. It's all your fault.

And now, when another has come to seize that chance, claiming the hope you've forsaken as savable, you just don't want to admit it. You want to prove it to be futile, just so you don't have to live with the self-blames.

Ok, that concludes the motivation. As of How Nico as the antagonist would be like, ngl I have a bunch of ideas and none of them makes sense LMAO. Though, if there's anything I want to cement, it's that 1/ Nico has no direct ill-intent towards the daughter; and by that I mean 2/ he's a terrifying enemy anyway.

The first one because obviously. Nico isn't a bad person. Different goals, that's for sure, but he means Dora no harm. Nico just wants Dora to let go of Jason and get the idea of resurrection out of her head.

Also she's literally Percy's child and idk maybe Hazel's, Piper's, Annabeth's god-daughter. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Hazel would skin Nico alive if he hurts the girl more than necessary. 💀

The second one is more fascinating (at least, in my mind, lmao). There're actually so much to this:

Strenght-wise, Nico di Angelo is terrifying.

That's canon and there's nothing that could change it. I mean. Literally. Son of Hades. Prince of the Underworld. Hades' nepotism. The Underworld at his beck and call. He himself is a resilient and powerful demigod borderlining on deity. I've talk too much about this. Srsly What's more would you need?

Sure Jason and Percy's child have her own disastrous powers (being the child of both heaven and sea does that to you), but Nico has one thing Dora can never match: experiences. Percy, the greatest swordmen of their generation, can teach his daughter every move. But Nico has his own set of skills honed through years of just being a son of Hades with a bunch of dead heroes. And that's without the at least 10-12 years generation gap between him and a legacy. Nico has his advantages.

And he doesn't hesitate to use them.

Plot-wise, Nico has many ways to affect Dora.

The first is that Nico understands Dora's motivation. Too much.

As I've mentioned, Nico is the first one who understands what it feels like to lose a family member to the divine forces. He also lost his memories of his mother, Maria, which makes his situation a littlle more similar to Doras's than necessary. He understands Dora's reason, her wishes and her drive.

And it's so much easier to predict one's movements when you know where they're heading, what drives them forward.

Another thing is their family tree. Basically: Nico is a friend of Percy's and even a closer friend of Jason's, which presumably enables him to watch their child closely, thus see through them easily.

Do you know how difficult it would be to fight someone who has been watching you grow up, knowing your weaknesses, your limits, remembering things about you that you yourself can't recall? Nico knows even Jason, the father Dora has never known yet could kill to meet.

And what's more is that all of these^^^ just so happens to align oh so perfectly to Nico's manipulativeness. Really, this just feels unfair lmao.

See. This is why I adore Nico as the antagonist, especially in the specific AU. Nico has all the potentials of a formidable enemy to Jason and Percy's daughter, and I haven't even moved to the part about what Nico-Percy&Jason dynamic can provide.

Because Nico's still basically their family's friend, as long as he doesn't go overboard with Dora, he can just... literally come to their dinner, for example, and act as if he wasn't threatening Dora and his presence is his own warning to her.

Dora could walk out of her room and see Nico sitting there, amongst other guests of the gathering, in her house. His eyes find her efforlessly and pin her to the wall just as easily. When he voices his disapproval of Dora's intentions, he doesn't even flinch under Percy's harsh interference. In fact, Nico and Percy proceed to have a near-brawl across the dining table over Jason Grace, and then Bianca di Angelo, and then Jason Grace again. Dora has never seen her father that furious and it scares her. Dora has never seen anyone capable of being so calm, so cold in front of his angry father, and this Nico scares her, too. It's Aunt Thalia who ultimately brakes them off, with the help of Hazel and Annabeth. Before Nico leaves, though, he looks straight into Dora's eyes, and just his hardened gaze promises millions of challanges waiting for her on the way to her father. And challenge her he did. Nico has all the connections he needs to hold Dora down until she gives up, and he plans to use them all up if he has to. Percy doesn't like the Underworld. Dora has never understood it when Aunt Hazel is so nice, so kind to her or everyone. She sees it now - in many horrific creatures Nico has sicced on her and in his sad, sad eyes and his cold, cold voice. Nico comes to her after each challenge - never one to hide his intentions of sabotaging, sick check-ins to see if Dora's will has crumbled. He tells her to give up, Would Jason want this?, that You'd think I have tried before, and You are not the only one who loves him so much. He coaxes and he threatens just as much. Years of being an ambassador and dealing with whining ghosts makes him excellent at pursuing. Each and every time, his words weigh more on Dora's childishly mind. The Underworld sips away her strengh and Nico's quiet heavy voice draggs her down, down, down...

You might be wondering where the adults are.

Percy, her father, has always grown tense when it comes to one Nico di Angelo. He would fight for the love of his life, though. And yet, Jason has always been close to Nico's heart. Not as close as Percy's, but Nico makes it up with love to spare. Aunt Thalia seems just as eager to bring Jason back as Dora and Percy. Nico fights her just as fiercely, if not even more. They have their own problems to deal with. "You don't get to abandon your brother twice and then demand him return!"

Hazel, Will and Reyna are the only ones who hold a slim chance of changing Nico's mind as they're the only ones close enough, yet that's also what makes them emphathise with him more than Dora would like. They'd help Dora if she needs, but they wouldn't interfere when it all comes down to it. In fact, Hazel tried, once - only because she was resurrected by Nico - and it ended up angering Nico further. No one wants a repeat of that. Leo help Dora tremendously, and Nico asks him "Making up for all those months you were warming it up with your girlfriend whilst he was searching the world for you?" Piper and Apollo try their best, until Nico looks at them with a resentment that makes his shoulders tremble and his laugh burst out maniacally, "Did you forget it was your lives that Jason traded his own for?" The revelation left Dora reeling.

Srsly this AU is just a pure delight.

Anw, if I were to write this, I honestly wouldn't know how to put an end to the story.

I mean, I love Antagonist!Nico. I also want Jason to meet his daughter, but I know that you're not allowed to meet dead loved ones lest you stray further from life. I also don't have any morals when it comes to fictionals.

So like. Who do I want to win? I honestly don't know lmao.

But I want Dora to defeat Nico.

Mainly because I find it a spectacular sight when Nico falls on his knees and confessing his petty motivation - that of the jealousy and insecurities blah blah I've mentioned above - whilst letting out every ounce of grief turned malice he has been forcing down since Jason's death.

And Dora's love for her father would triumph them all. And hopefully, she can save both - in a way I have yet to thought of bc all I want is antagonist!Nico lmao.

Anywayyyyyyy this is such a delight to write all of this down when I have at least 5 fanfics sitting in the drafts LOL AJsKHDAKSdh THANKS A LOT FOR THE CHANCE. 🥺🥺🥺 I'm so glad I can share my Antagonist!Nico agenda and someone's willing to listen lmao i thought i was the only one.

Hope you enjoy!

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soapyscoobert · 1 year

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Robin ghost au

(Taking this from my Twitter) (Platonic) Stobin ghost au? Because I like ghost au's.. Robin dies in the Russian base in season three. She becomes a ghost where only Steve can see her. Steve tries to explain this to everyone with the logic of "We've all seen a lot of stuff that shouldn't really exist so they'll have to believe me." They do not believe him in the way he want's them too. Everyone thinks it's a grief/guilt caused breakdown. Which it could be. Dustin and Erica kind of sympathise towards him and the situation because they saw him and they saw her body. And he's already seen so much so this is very likely a breakdown or his brain trying to come up with a coping mechanism. The kids aside from (Dustin,Erica,and El) don't know Robin aside from being Steve's coworker. Nancy, Jonathan, El, and the adults don't know who Robin is. Nancy and Jonathan may have seen her around school but that doesn't change the fact any. None of them has really got a set answer on how Steve's coworker got dragged into this without them knowing, or how she died. Life moves on pretty much the same as canon. Billy dies and the mall burns down. Hoppers in Russia. The Byers are in California. The kids are in high school. What's not the same is Family Video. Robins not there to convince Keith into hiring Steve. Steve works retail. Robin's ghost even after almost a year is still by his side. Still in her scoops outfit. Still covered in blood. Everyone is still just kind of sympathizing with him because whatever happened to her to trigger this must've been bad for it to still be going on like this. Chrissy dies and Eddie gets framed. With Steve not working at Family Video finding out where Eddie is was difficult. They did eventually find him though. Eddie watching Steve Harrington talk to himself so genuinely as if he was speaking to another person was an experience.. Eddie believes (?) Steve Kind of. Not 100% But he just saw a bunch of stuff that definitely shouldn’t be real. So why wouldn’t Steve Harrington be able to see the ghost of a random Hawkins high band member? It’s one of the more tame things he’s heard so far.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #stranger things #stranger things au #au #ghost au #tw major character death #Robin Buckley ghost au

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indigoelegy · 1 year

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amane gymnasium is a deconstruction of early bl

pictured is part of the back of volume 3 : )

amane gymnasium follows the title character, the dollmaker amane, and chronicles her life after her creations come to life. it hasn't been fully translated yet (though the first chapter can be read here on mangadex) but based on what i know about it (from being in a fortunate position where one of my friends can translate), aside from being really charming on its own, it unpacks and questions the bl genre from around the time furuya would have been engaging with it. (spoilers under the cut - i'll try and keep discussion of specific plot events to a minimum but i will definitely be spoiling like, the overall plot direction and concept)

on the surface level, the plot that follows amane's dolls and how they relate to each other has a lot of similarities to works by hagio and takemiya that set up the shounen ai genre and are often considered the 'first bl'. there's bullying, exploitation, and relationship struggles, all set against the backdrop of a european boarding school; all things that were typical to these works. even theo's design (in particular) seems to call back to that earlier time. but this story is within her story - 'amane gymnasium', the story that her dolls ultimately end up following, was written by amane in her journals; we see as she reacts with horror to the things she wrote that befalls these characters, and how she scrambles to fix things between them.

amane's horror, along with the way furuya portrays the events happening in the gymnasium, call into question the aestheticism and beauty these events are treated with in earlier works. it's easy to forget the horror and get lost in that beauty and relish the brief moments of 'respite' a work like kaze to ki no uta presents you with - but amane gymnasium doesn't allow you to forget. you watch these things befall them, you're a helpless onlooker, and it's distinctly not beautiful, and then you watch amane fall apart about it during her daily life. the events are the same - but furuya strips back the rose coloured filter and leaves you with the horrifying reality contrasting against the same elegant background, and amane's dolls who are beautiful in the same way. it doesn’t end there either - eventually it’s revealed to us that all of the things written were things that happened to amane herself, and the story was a coping mechanism of sorts - and it manifests in front of her through her dolls as the most literal reminder possible that all of it is unresolved and festering within her.

in the end, though, amane gymnasium is a story about facing your past and overcoming it, and moving forward. and despite digging in to that genre, it’s evident that furuya has a lot of love for it - and a lot of love for the people who consume it, as well (a similar situation can be found in genkaku picasso, too!). and I think that’s who should be attempting something like this - we see it often that somebody creates an edgy, cynical parody of a genre and then other people who hate that genre pile in and be like wow…. so cool and deconstructive….. and I don’t think they’re qualified to do that. the hot take of this post is that people who earnestly love (or have earnestly loved) and understand genres of media are the only ones who are truly fit to deconstruct them

might come back to this post later when it is in fact translated and make some more specific insights (there’s something with zepp I feel like has some significance but I’m not 100% sure enough to comment in case it’s misinformation) but who knows <3

#usamaru furuya #amane gymnasium

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the-loveliest-lotus · 7 months

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All of the balls

Your OC is planning their wedding. Their phone is ringing off the hook and emails keep flooding their inbox. So many people are giving their opinion about what they should and shouldn't do. -How does your OC handle all of this attention? How much information do they absorb from those around them? -What are some of their coping mechanisms when things get too stressful? Would they work in this situation? -Can they rely on their partner for help and guidance? Do they provide the clarity your OC seeks?

All of the balls. 😹 (This time, I understood the instructions, lol. Thank you for this one, this actually turned into a super cute little aside and I love this as part of the eventual canon of "The Wicker Man" universe. And yes, Dick is still alive in that Universe post Doomstar, lol.)

Lucy was handling yet another email in preparation for her wedding with Pickles and Dick. When the three of them had agreed on a triple wedding for their open triad, somehow she hadn’t thought about the extra work involved attempting to coordinate everything. Dick’s family had survived, so there was a matter of planning things out with them and finally meeting them. Pickles’ family had been killed off in the Metalocalypse, save for Seth’s wife and child. Amber actually turned out to be really sweet and some part of Pickles had wanted to try to have a relationship with his nephew, but trying to arrange for Amber and Pickles’ nephew to get out to the Red Woods from Australia had been an absolute nightmare. Lucy was just happy that everyone had been able to figure out how to get wifi back and get the phones working again so quickly after the dust settled from the Doomstar.

She was handling constant serious calls from her Dad about where exactly they should set up the altar so that it would have the best lighting and planetary alignment, and “maybe you should do it on this day, babydoll, Venus is going to be in a better alignment,” and “is everyone in the crowd going to mind being witness to a ritual like this?” Her father almost seemed more anxious about her wedding than she was, but the anxiousness was starting to rub off on her. Then there were the constant texts from Murderface and Toki about what kinds of food was going to be offered, whether or not the cake was going to be sugar free and if it wasn’t could they get a small sugar free one for Toki, and ‘how are you even going to get catering after an apocalypse?’ Trying to find a supply of drugs and booze that was going to last for the three day after party that they were planning was also nothing short of a nightmare post apocalypse, though Pickles and Dick had both been exceedingly helpful in that department. At this point, she was at her wits end.

On top of the wedding, Nathan had had inspiration for a new album as a beacon of hope to everyone who had survived the Metalocalypse, so they had been working on that consistently, meaning she was on her phone and laptop in the studio figuring things out in between doing her parts. Lucy also still had other partners and intimate friends that she was trying to spend her time with. Even smoking to relax wasn’t helping as much as it normally would, and she couldn’t find the time to do any of her hobbies, so she was starting to feel a bit on edge.

When they had finished recording for the day, Lucy was still face deep in her computer, and hadn’t noticed that everyone else had left the studio. Pickles and Dick shared a look, and then looked at their fiancé, who had a sudden feeling of being watched. She looked up from the laptop at them and noticed that everyone was gone. “How long have you two been staring at me?”

Pickles shrugged, “Lahng enough to know that yer stressed beyond ahll reason.”

“Baby, you’re gonna burn yourself out if you don’t calm down about the wedding.”

“I’m calm. I’m fine. We’re only trying to plan a wedding post-apocalypse while also recording an album and everyone’s up my ass constantly with questions and I’m feeling weight of being polysaturated for the first time in my life. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Pickles pulled out a joint, “Here, smoke this.” She sighed, shut her laptop, and took the joint, taking a big hit and then passing it to Pickles. He took a hit and then passed it to Dick. “You need a break, Luce.”

“You know, we can help with all of this stuff,” Dick said.

“Yeah, but everyone keeps emailing me and calling me about it.”

“We’ll figure out a better system for all of this baby, we’re not just gonna let this fall on your shoulders.”

“For now though, come ahn. You need a break.”

Lucy set her laptop on a table and got up with the two of them. “Where are we going?” she asked as she held Pickles’ hand and leaned against Dick.

“It’s a surprise,” Pickles said.

They walked up to the roof, where they had had a blanket already set up. There was stoner metal going, and there was fresh fruit waiting for them. She grinned at them. “What’s this?”

“This is the pregame for the night that we gaht planned.”

“Pregame?”

Pickles pulled out a little tube with some strips of acid in it. “Got yer favorite.” Lucy got a big grin on her face.

“You’ve been real stressed lately, kitten. We figured we could take ya to space for a little while, hit the reset button.”

She looked between the two of them, remembering exactly why she was going through all of the stress of trying to get the wedding perfect, and she said, “You both have no idea how much this means to me.”

Pickles chuckled, “I think we gaht some idea.”

She sat down with the two of them and they star gazed for a little while, enjoying their fruit knowing it was going to enhance the trip later, and found happiness in the fact that they were even able to do any of this with all that they had experienced in the last few months.

#mtl oc #metalocalypse oc #pickles the drummer #dick knubbler #lucy skye desmond #the wicker man mtl #ask answered #ask game #writing prompts

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2hoothoots · 2 years

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it’s the weekend, let’s round up some asks

@kidatash see, i actually kinda think that out of the trio he’s the one who’s least an animal person? like, he didn’t grow up with pets - it’s not really A Thing in romani culture, and Sugarcube is (ostensibly) a working animal. he doesn’t dislike animals, but in comparison to the other two, Dogen has his zoolingualism and Lili already canonically will find animals on the ground and put them in her pocket because they’re hers now (Harold).

i do headcanon Raz has a soft spot for crows, though! it has basically 0 justification other than the dialogue he has with the crows outside of Thorney Towers but yknow what, i can have a few minor headcanons with no in-canon basis as a treat for me

@loudlychoppedbread HAHA i think they definitely do bicker sometimes. they’re, like, in the middle of a firefight having an argument about whose fault it is that they’re out of toilet paper back home

uh but i think generally they all have really good communication, and they’re all reasonably emotionally intelligent people? so they’re pretty good at talking out conflict before it blows up. i think the only time they really fight is when something’s happened at work or something, because their coping mechanisms can pull in different directions - eg, Lili becomes very clingy when she’s upset and a lot more in need of affirmations than usual, whereas Raz has a really bad habit of distancing himself from the others and throwing himself into his work to try and distract himself from bad feelings (’mission now, mad later’). they all work a pretty high-stress job, and sometimes it can spill into their personal lives, especially if one of them gets hurt.

@strawberry-milk-things @portalcartoon i’m still hammering out concepts for mental worlds for the three of them, but once idea i’ve seen floating around that I really like is that as part of Raz’s mental defenses, his mental world is very tricky to navigate for an intruder? i think it still starts from the caravan, but if your mental projection isn’t strong enough you’ll step through the door and just end up back outside (if you can even get into it in the first place).

his mental world proper is a sprawling labyrinth of circus tents. they all lead to different parts of his mind (you’ll step inside one and find yourself in the Motherlobe, another will lead to his family campgrounds) - but which entrance leads where is always shifting. if you can climb to the top of the tallest tent (hope you’re either an acrobat or a skilled levitator!), what looks like a sky filled with stars is actually a huge inverted ocean, stretching above the tent city. through it is Raz’s subconscious/inner mind, but it’s a barrier almost impossible to navigate for anyone else.

i think generally speaking, the mental worlds of adults are a lot more expansive than those of kids, and i think as you get older you can get better at shaping your own mindscape? so Raz also has, like, some basic braining-esque areas set aside for when he goes to help out at Whispering Rock. a little kid-friendly mental parkour course, and stuff

i only have the sketches of ideas for the other two, but Lili’s mental world is a huge gothic castle + grounds that’s crumbling and overgrown with plants. different rooms are different biomes, so you’ll go from a corridor that’s hot and humid like a greenhouse to a huge ballroom that’s filled with a pine forest, cool and quiet with a thick bed of needles underfoot. and Dogen’s mind is a huge factory/machine (as a representation of his blastokinesis), and it’s staffed by a bunch of little lemming-like animal critters. when the machinery starts malfunctioning the lemmings start dying in comically gory ways lol, and if it was an in-game level you’d have to do like puzzles to help them through.

@threewaysdivided YES definitely! like i don’t think the game needed to explain everything to us outright because i think its use of metaphors and imagery to convey the mental states of its characters is good, but man. i just love the water imagery around the Aquato family so much.

i have a fic idea that i’ve been picking at for, like, MONTHS about Nona teaching Raz how to use hydrokinesis. and i’ve never gotten anywhere with it because i’ve never been able to figure out what i want it to be ABOUT, but like, man. water as a metaphor for trauma, but also for bloodlines and the things they share and how they can reconnect over that. re-watching the Devil’s Firehose cutscene after having finished the game and realising that, once you know that the Hand isn’t some malignant outside force, the hands coming out of the water tornado aren’t trying to drown Raz but to catch him and carry him safely through the storm to where Nona is. i don’t have a concluding statement for this, i just. it’s very good. love this family

#also this is a general apology to anyone who's sent an ask and i still haven't gotten around to answering it #i love getting asks but i am often very slow at answering them lol #i have a ton of old ones in the back of my inbox that i'd still love to answer or draw stuff for lol #i'll get around to it one day..... one day #but it really does make me smile to see asks appear in my inbox so THANK YOU to everyone who has sent one! sorry i am so bad at replying ha

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and-then-there-were-n0ne · 1 year

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By the end of a tumultuous 2020 I felt like I might be going a bit mad. It seemed to me that we were clearly living through revolutionary times: politically, ideologically, technologically, even geopolitically... everything seemed to have become unmoored. It felt like we were clearly approaching, or had already entered, a period of crisis—or rather the Greek krisis: a moment of radical decision and separation, a process of transformation where the old system can no longer be maintained and something new emerges. And yet nobody seemed to be talking about it openly or honestly; almost everyone I knew insisted everything was totally normal and would continue just as before, even as the ambient societal fear and anxiety grew so thick you could cut it with a knife. Gaslighting or simply ignoring reality seemed to be the new normal as coping mechanism. [...]

In trying to trace back the roots of the present madness, of our various ideological and cultural maladies, I found that each kept running to a level much deeper than I expected. To be honest in my investigation, I soon found it wasn’t enough to blame Foucault, or Marxism, or liberalism, or whatever; these ideas and ideologies were only responses to the same patterns stemming from human nature. Deep atomization and alienation. A rejection of higher authority, any authority, even the authority of reality. Boundless ego of the self. A void of higher meaning. Unmitigated fear of suffering and death. Existential anxiety. Nihilism. Anger at life, anger at all of creation. A desperate, limitless thirst for technological control as a reaction. Deluded hopes for utopia on earth and the end of all suffering. Relentlessly, every issue I was investigating began to converge on our modern society’s lack of ready answers to the same uncomfortably metaphysical questions: Why are we here? What is truth? What is real? How do we explain suffering? How do we justify existence? How do we live in the world? And so on.

We thought we had resolved or at least successfully set aside these questions in our modern, secular age. But it turns out this neutrality was always impossible; they are unavoidable and have to be answered. If they aren’t, something else will inevitably rush in to fill the void, no matter how crude, ill-considered, disordered, or dangerous that something is. That is what we are seeing everywhere now: “the return of the strong gods,” in the phrase of R.R. Reno.

So I’ve had to conclude that, at bottom, our civilization’s crisis is first and foremost a spiritual crisis. And that the great struggles underlying our present upheavals are really struggles over essentially theological questions, such as whether there is any inherent dignity in human life and the human body, or whether all matter is inherently evil and only pure spirit good. Most of all, at the core, there seems to be a great struggle between two competing visions about what it means to be human: whether Man exists as, in essence, machine or Imago Dei. As someone who previously thought theology was surely an irrelevant anachronism, having it turn out to still be the Queen of the Sciences has all been a bit of a shock. But here we are.

Now I’m still worried about the rise of totalitarianism, risk of destabilization and conflict, etc. Very worried. But for a bit different reasons. Most of my previous conceptions about modernity and its direction have been shattered, you could say. Now my real concern is that the spiritual causes of our present crisis are so fundamental, and that we’ve dug ourselves into such a deep hole, so to speak, that finding a way out on our own will be exceptionally difficult.

— Thoughts on Today's Upheaval and Its Implications

#upheaval

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hekateinhell · 1 year

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Am I missing some crucial headcanon of fandom consensus or something? Why has Lestat been a junkie in every human AU I've read for VC, book- and show-based?

I can only answer for myself because tbh I haven't seen that come up in the couple of human AUs I have read, and also I don't know other people's fic meta.

Whenever I'm writing/plotting an AU, I'm thinking about the different ways in which I can translate the characters' personalities, motivations, and backgrounds into the scenario I'm trying to work with. I think if we're considering Lestat, Louis, and Armand as individuals in a real-world setting, they would all have had adverse life experiences and traumas that statistically make them more likely to turn to drugs and/or alcohol as a coping mechanism.

In the one fic where I did have Lestat and Armand go through that, it was because I thought it worked well as a plot device and that it wouldn't seem OOC given the above context! But again, that's just me, and I don't know how other fic-writers approach it.

As an aside: I prefer not to use "junkie" unless it's within the context of dialogue and it's clearly being used as a derogatory slur (which is how we most typically hear it).

#no shade just language around addiction and things like that are important to me :)#you ask and hekate answers #lestat de lioncourt #vc

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soulvomit · 2 years

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Interesting seeing how I identify more, pre-2007s (during and after my Normie Aspirational Period), with some of the experiences of “male autism” vs “female autism.”

Like, some people are reporting that they can’t watch/read anything with second hand embarrassment, experience hyper-empathy, viewpoints about autistics being “a particular way” are wrong, etc...

...except I very, very much identify with being “that particular way.” I’m hyposensitive; my sensory coping mechanism when I was younger was to withdraw. I actually pull inside and become inert when I’m overwhelmed, I shut down more than melt down, and I struggle with other people’s emotional demands in the moment. I don’t feel other people’s feelings. (I think that hyper-empathy can often be a kind of hypervigilant trauma response. It’s not how my own trauma works.) I tune things out. I tune other people out. I barely feel my own feelings. I’m very unemotional on the daily. I don’t pick up on bullshit easily (aside from finding other people’s expressed stuff irrational and keeping my mouth shut). I don’t experience second hand embarrassment watching TV shows. In fact when I’m out in public, my failure mode was... being oblivious, and often in my own world. YES for a long time I was self-centered. YES I was a ton of negative things people say autistic people are that other autistic people don’t identify with or agree with.

And I think it may be that “oblivious/think other people are NPCs/think of self as better and smarter/being pretentious and dgaf” presentation comes from different life experiences than “fake up a whole personality.” I relate to the social coping mechanisms of autistic men in self improvement spaces who are trying to get better at it, for big chunks of my life, more than I relate to the social coping mechanisms of women. I didn’t really begin to encounter an actual dictum to mask per se, as it’s understood at the intersection of female normie conformity and neurodivergence, until I started interacting with women in hetero dating discussion groups.

Like - being a little oblivious didn’t really cost me anything for a chunk of my life and I didn’t really start HAVING to really double down on trying to be a normie, until my 30s. And that’s when I learned that most women basically are expected to, and generally have to, have a lot greater situational awareness than some men do. And a lot of what’s being described in the masked autism experience seems to reflect this. Some of what people are describing makes me think of interacting with people as if I were working in sales. I’ve only had to do that to anywhere near that degree to work at customer service jobs (how much are we seeing “we don’t know how to recognize autism in people forced to do customer service” in masking discourse) where I must match the tone of each individual I interact with. Tech and graphics weren’t like that (graphics *may* be just a little more). Health care wasn’t like that, the work comes with its own “mask” and its own scripts.

And a ton of my social failures had to do with being oblivious, not actually feeling enough about things, and forgetting the tone of a room. (I would have been the person who inappropriately suggested going to the movies just after someone died, before I learned to read the room.) I was socially and sexually aggressive without being actually good at reading the feelings of the person on the receiving end of it. Being thick-skinned helped me maneuver certain worlds where the tone was set more by men, but was a total fucky wucky in worlds where the tone was set by women. I was raised to believe that being correct actually, yes, mattered more than people’s feelings. I actually had to unlearn that. I had no idea how curt and uncouth I really was for a woman, until I tried to exist outside of nerd culture. I feel like a big game I have to play is pretending to be hurt by things I’m not hurt by, and or having to do some major cognitive hacks to make myself feel empathy that I’m not feeling exactly in the moment (like, talking myself through the situation and mentally consulting my Rolodex for “the closest thing to your own experience you can relate to” to fake putting myself in another’s shoes, and remembering NOT TO VOICE THAT I’M DOING THIS THIS because it’s a major social taboo).

And the copes my parents taught me re: getting by were more like ones ND parents are going to teach their kids. My mom taught me a ton of stuff that just definitely seems like it’s “what an ND thinks normie NTs are like.” My dad taught me to fake eye contact, knowing it’s faking it, and telling me it’s a trick that worked for him.

Like... a ton of the things that made me suspect I was autistic, was identifying with descriptions of autistic people, and connecting with why teachers thought I might be autistic when I was younger (coupled with developmental patterns), and yes that includes identifying with some autistic imagery that other autistics are presently not identifying with. And idk where that leaves me sometimes.

“This is not really autism.” ...except when yes, it really is? And some autistics are validly actually Like That?

Like, I’m writing an autistic character *I* identify with and I already know the “actually we are totes empathic and sensitive” people are gonna come for how I’m portraying her because she only THINKS she’s empathic and sensitive.

I used to think I was empathic and sensitive, too. Women are required to say they are. Then one day I realized I wasn’t. I started actually having *some* better social results once I consciously knew this and realized I was going to have to work around this.

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