#the only thing that I have to compare this to...

[heartyluv]

Note: This quite literally came to me in a dream. Like…I WAS THERE. I HAD TO WRITE IT. Genuinely, I am in love with this. No need for me to yap. I hope you enjoy. Love you, beauties!

Warning: Smut, Sylus talks about killing while he’s in you, he pours syrup on them 🍒 and licks it off, he has battle scars, very brief mention of him wanting to claim you in blood (IT’S NOT CRAZY WHEN YOU READ IT, PROMISE!!!), slight breeding kink

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: The Empire’s beloved gladiator has had another day of monumental success and wants you as his victory night cap.

Gladiator!Sylus/Reader

When your name is spoken, your skin prickles with goosebumps from anticipation. After every arena held, this is what you always looked forward to.

“He has called for you.”

You look up from the book you’ve been reading, briefly scanning the dining hall that you were sitting in with several other women and feeling their gaze bore into you. Once you give your attention back to the guard who was usually the one to bring you to your champion, you nod and stand.

“Again?” one scoffs, seemingly believing she’s doing so silently enough for you not to hear.

“Out of all the women in the Empire, of all the women here,” another whispers. “He continues to choose—“

“Mind your tongue, new blood,” her maybe friend interrupts. “Have you gone mad? Should she tell him of your venomous and foolish words, you will suffer the consequences. He’s proven so before.”

The golden jewelry decorating your body clinks and jingles with each movement as you slide on your simple sandals to protect your feet from the dirt and stone floor. All eyes are on you when you make your way out the door, silently following behind the large man who was no feat compared to the one whose bed you’d warm tonight.

Everyone within and out of your grandiose town treated you with respect, even the ones who harbored jealousy for you or for the man your soul belonged to. They had no choice if they valued their life and if they didn’t know better, they were always soon made aware.

So in your short journey to the extravagant halls in which your warrior rested after his wins, each individual along your path nodded their heads or turned away out of respect. None were to even speak to you if it wasn’t by his order.

Your Sylus.

The gladiator who’s never lost a fight. One who is so victorious that he’s not just a staple in your town and several others, but in the entire Empire.

A man whom has never been conquered. At least, not physically.

No, the only thing of his that has been claimed and owned by another was his heart. And it was yours.

“Good night, miss.” The guard offered his farewell once you were right outside the giant wooden doors that led to your beloved beast.

After he has fully departed, you softly knock twice to alert Sylus of your arrival.

“Come in, kitten.” He’s memorized everything that is you. How you talk, smell, walk, knock, breathe—it’s all information and knowledge he has safely tucked in his mind. Even if he hadn’t called for you, he would’ve known those gentle raps against his door to be his lover.

Once you enter, the large warm candlelit room was perfectly illuminated to grant you the glorious sight of a nearly nude Sylus, a thin ivory sheet laying across his hips being the only thing separating your eyes from his thick cock that makes an impressive tent beneath.

“Beautiful,” he grins as he takes you in, one strong muscled arm flexing while he rests a hand behind his neck. The white-silver hair atop his head matches the patch beneath his armpit and the trail that sneaks below his bellybutton and beneath the duvet. His hard and large body is adorned with dozens of scars with stories to tell—most old, a few new.

“Congratulations on your success today, my love,”you note after shutting the door, bowing in the way you’ve seen so many do to him before. “I watched it all.”

“I know you did.” He holds a hand out to you. “And I’ve told you, no need for the formalities. Come. I’ve missed my woman.”

“Have you now?” you tease, kicking off your shoes. “It’s only been a few days.”

“A second without you is a poor existence. Tell me, have you not ached for me to the same degree, sweetie?”

“Perhaps once I’m sitting on your cock, you can let me know if you can feel how badly I’ve craved you.”

His dick throbs at your words, his body shifting as if it would relieve any of the pressure. Beginning to walk barefoot toward him, he puts up a hand to halt you, grinning at the way you meet his gaze head on.

“Get undressed for me. Show me my prize.”

You lick your lips, staring into his mesmerizing rubies as you tug the thin material of your dress down your shoulders. Quickly does it pool at your feel, leaving you in nothing but all your bangles and necklaces that he has gifted you.

He likes when you wear the things he buys you, so you don’t work to remove any of the expensive gold.

Once you’re at the side of his bed, he quickly pulls you in by the waist with strength seemingly inhumane, placing you on top of him. The only thing keeping him from slipping inside of you right now is the dreaded blanket, but you can feel his dick trying to nestle between your pussy lips, making you shiver.

He kisses all over your tits, sucking and nipping at your flesh to mark you in ways only he can. Your hand tangles in his hair as the soft crackle of the fireplace behind you sets the romantic atmosphere.

“I see they’ve fed you well,” you smile, looking at the assortment of fruits, cheese, sweets, and syrups he has on his bedside.

“This was intended to be my dessert after the feast they granted me.” He takes your nipple into his mouth, pulling a sexy moan from you. “But I had a different one in mind. A better one. My only one.”

Your hips try to rock in an effort to feel him more, but he holds you still by your waist. “Don’t rush this, kitten. Let me take my time with you. I like to savor my rewards.”

“Some rewards need to be claimed faster than others.”

“Indeed they do,” he grins into your neck as he peppers kisses down the kiss of your throat. “But greed…it’s a slippery slope. Grab the syrup, since you’re so eager.”

You’re not confused at all by his intentions. In fact, the mere thought of what he’s getting ready to do makes you clench around nothing.

Once you grab the small dish of berry syrup, he takes two generous handfuls of your ass, tilting his head lightly. “Pour some on yourself.”

“You’ll clean me?” you grin, using your other hand to take hold of his throat gently. He looks up at you with need, groaning when you lick his lips.

“Do what I say and we’ll find out, won’t we?”

You two stare into one another’s eyes as you tilt the bowl to let the sweetness stick to your tits. Immediately, Sylus’s hot tongue laps it up. The wet muscle licks down the valley of your breast before he alternates between two of his favorite things to give each of them the attention they deserve.

Your cunt throbs and your whines grow louder the harder he sucks.

“Yes…F—fuck, your mouth…” you cry, pouring more of the delicacy when he runs out. You go until the thing is empty and he’s running on lust and a sugar rush.

The soft pops his mouth sounds when he makes contact with your hot body is enough to have you completely soaked. He can feel your juices wetting the sheet, letting his cock know as it soaks it up, how badly you need him.

“Be good,” he mumbles breathlessly, unable to stop lathering you in kisses. “And let me in.”

Eagerly, you reach behind you to pull the fabric away, hissing when it grazes your clit. His cock sits between you once revealed, waiting for you to put him where he’d get on his knees and beg you to be. Sitting on your knees, Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you start to sit down on his length, needing nothing but your bodies to guide him to your tight hole.

“Sylus…” you call his name once you’re filled with him. It’s a relic on your tongue, enchanting him how the two syllable spill out of you. You don’t wait for long, letting his strong hands explore your plush body as he guides you up and down his cock.

“I’ve killed men for you,” he declares, your breasts pressing against his hard chest only surging him on. You hold him closely, like he could snake out of your hold at any given moment.

“I’ve felt their blood mark my skin after I cut them down for the taunting words they’d spew in the arena.”

It was rare for anyone to not know that you and Sylus owned each other. It was even more rare for anyone to not know that should they utter your name with anything negative to follow it, Sylus would make them an example. His attentiveness to that has made it so he hasn’t had to make many.

The sound of slapping skin echos in the room, announcing the beauty of your lovemaking. “Their lives were already mine the moment they decided to go against me, but their fates were eternally sealed when your precious name was used in vain of their idiotic words. And you know what?”

“W—what?” You’re nearly drooling as his length moves within you, your wetness and his precum making a delicious mess along your gummy walls.

“I imagined me claiming you in their blood. Letting everyone watch as I show them how mad I can be for you. Would you let me, kitten?”

“Without hesitation…” you answer immediately, clenching tightly around him when you feel his dick pulse like it’s proud of you. Each dribble of his impending load leaking into your womb makes your mind grow infinitely more foggy with bliss.

“You like when I kill for you. I can feel how much harder you squeeze me.” He smirks cockily, but he’s right. He’s so fucking right and you don’t even care.

“I’m going to put my baby in your womb and the ring you deserve on your delicate finger.” His words hold so much promise.

“Please,” you beg. “Give it to m—me…Fuck, Sy…” Your thighs and legs burn, but you won’t stop. You refuse to—not when both of you are so close.

“My cum will take root,” he kisses down your shoulder. “And when you’re barefoot and pregnant with my seed, I’ll kill a thousand more in honor of the both of you.”

You slam your lips onto him, your tongue and his battling for control as you taste him. Naturally he wins, but you like to let him. You like being owned, protected, and loved by him. No matter how much you could hold your own, he has come into your life to show you that he can and will wield all of it so that you don’t have to.

His hands caress your back and you two fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, coming together at the same time. Your moans and mewls are pouring into his mouth just as his cum does inside of your pussy. He holds you down and close, doing everything in his power to make sure not a drop is wasted.

Your needy sounds curate the perfect symphony alongside his manly grunts and shuddering breath.

With the little bit of energy you have left, you grind against him to overstimulate your aching clit. When you can’t take anymore, you rest your chin on him and trace the scars along his arms in comfortable silence. You kiss each one your puffy mouth can reach, cleansing him with your affection.

“I’ll clean you before I have you again.” You giggle at how he says it so matter-of-factly.

“Good.” You pull back, sighing in contentment as he fondly kisses on your breasts once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mhm,” he continues to indulge. “You aren’t.”

A/N: Guys. What are we thinking? Me? Like I said—I LOVE THIS SO FREAKING MUCH!!! Like lowkey Camboy!Caleb level love. I started writing this last night before I fell asleep, and when I woke up this morning, it was like the little story never stopped. My fingers were just flyinggg (pause). LOLLLL!!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

[velaenam]

courtside sins

basketball player!caleb x cheerleader!nonmc reader tags: NSFW (18+) RAW. NASTY. SMUT!!! creampie, penetration (p to v), clit stimulation, groping, swearing, smut w/ sorta plot we just tryna bang caleb ngl — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

the gym is electric! stomping feet, whistles, screaming fans packed tight into the stands– but all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. caleb’s got the ball. shot clock ticking down. sweat glistens down his neck as he dribbles past the last defender, eyes locked on the hoop. you’re front and center on the sideline in your cheer uniform, pom-poms gripped right in your hands, “let’s go, number 5!” you shout louder than anyone else. 

it cuts through the noise!

his eyes flicked to you– just for a second– and that is all it takes. you see it in his face; he heard you! that cocky smirk flickers across his lips right before he takes a leap, muscles coiling as he sinks the shot– buzzer screaming!

the crowd erupts– screaming echos off the gym walls, and you can barely hear your own damn voice as you chant along with your squad, launching into your celebratory routine. you flip, kick, throw your arms in the air, adrenaline high and cheeks flushed. state champions. the win tastes sweet, but nothing compared to the way he’s looking at you across the court. 

caleb shoves past his teammates, brushing off the pat on his back, and makes a beeline for you. your pom-poms hit the floor just in time for him to grab you by the waist, lift you off the ground, and spin you in a tight circle, sweat drenched and grinning wide.

“thank you. did that for you.” he breathes into your ear, voice rough, chest heaving. his hands linger a little too long on your hips, and you don’t stop him. 

before you can respond, he’s pulled away– swallowed by the swam of teammates, reporters, and coaches flooding the court. everybody wants a piece of him. cameras were flashing, arms were wrapping around him. someone shoves a towel at his chest and another hand grasps his shoulder. but even as he talks, nods, and plays the part of the mvp, his eyes would drift back to you.

he manages to break away for half a second, weaving through the chaos just long enough to lean in close for you to be the only one to hear him;

“locker room. 30 minutes. i need you.” his voice is low, rough and urgent. it wasn’t a request– it was a promise– a demand.

your knees buckle, and your lips part to grasp.  your pulse is already pounding for a completely different reason.

then he’s gone again, smiling for the crowd.

.

you don’t wait the full 30 minutes. 

the noise of the celebration fades behind you as you slip through the back hallway, cheer uniform brushing your thighs, every step echoing on the waxed floor. the locker room door is ahead- slightly ajar, the overhead lights humming softly inside. your hearts thudding so hard you swear it might rip out your chest.

you push the door open, slowly, letting it creak just enough to announce you. it was empty. warm. the air smelled of sweat, victory, and… axe?

you walk past the lockers one by one, fingers grazing cool metal, until you reach the row where his things always are. your back presses against one of the doors as you wait, stomach tight with heat and anticipation. you can still feel his hands on your hips from the court, still hear that growl in your ear– i need you.

you’re not sure what’s going to happen when he walks through that door. 

.

the door clicks shut behind you– and then it opens again.

you don’t even have time to speak before caleb steps through. the moment his eyes find you the tension snaps. he’s still in his uniform, jersey peeled off the slung over his shoulder, skin slick with sweat and flushed from adrenaline. that look in his eyes? it’s not the cocky grin he gives reporters. it’s darker. hungrier. just for you.

“you waited.” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by heat.

“i always do..” you answer, barely above a whisper.

in two strides he’s in front of you, one hand braced on the locker beside your head, the other already gripping your waist, pulling you in. “you don’t know what you do to me out there,” he mutters, breath brushing your lips, “the way you scream my name..” he groans, head tipping back slightly like he’s trying to restrain himself, but he can’t– not tonight. “the way you move in that skirt.”

then he kisses you– hard. no hesitation, no warm up. just heat and teeth and weeks of tension finally breaking open in the dark.

the kiss turns frantic fast– his mouth claiming yours like it’s owed, like the win wasn’t complete until he had you like this. your back slams softly against the locker, the cool metal contrast the heat flooding your body. caleb’s hands are everywhere– one tangled in your hair, the other sliding down, rough palm catching the hem of your skirt.

“been thinking about this all game,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick and shaky with need, “you cheering for me like that… jumping around in that damn skirt… do you know what that does to me…” he mumbles hungrily

you gasp when his fingers trail up your thigh, under your skirt now, dragging slow over your skin with purpose. his touch is firm– like he already knows every place that makes you squirm. your legs part for him instinctively, the air between you charged and electric. his breath hitches, his eyes flicking down as he grins darkly. “no shorts underneath?” he murmurs, “bad girl.”

you’d took it off before he came in.

he doesn’t move further. his fingers stay right at the edge, maddeningly close but never quite touching where you need him. instead, he just smirks, like he’s already won twice tonight. once on the court, and now here, with you trembling beneath his hands.

“you came in here like this on purpose, didn’t you?” caleb whispers, mouth brushing along the shell of your ear, “no shorts.. no shame..” he drawls, lips dragging along your neck, slow and lazy, “what were you hoping i’d do? take you right here? make you mine again– while the rest of them think i’m still giving interviews?”

your fingers dig into his shoulders as he drags his hand up your inner thigh again, feather-light. every muscle in your body tightens, aching for him to stop teasing and do something. but he’s enjoying this– watching you squirm, seeing how badly you want him to break.

“you should see yourself right now” he mutters, eyes locked on yours, “so needy.. so fucking pretty when you beg..” 

he pauses, fingers still hovering. your pulse is in your throat. “tell me.. what do you want, baby?”

he doesn’t wait for you to say it. instead, caleb grabs your wrist, spinning you around with dizzying ease, then pulls you down the row of lockers. the sink and mirror come into view, silver and fluorescent lit, as he presses you hard against the counter, your palms catching on the edge.

“look,” he growls, positioning himself behind you. “his hand splays across your lower back, holding you there as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you? look at yourself– watch what you turn me into..” he presses himself on your ass– his dick already hard.

the mirror reflects your flushed cheeks, wide eyes. the way his tall frame towers behind you. all muscle, hunger, and restraint stretches thin. he hikes your skirt up slowly, painfully slowly, exposing you fully in the mirror, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“this is what I wanted..” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh, “you.. just like this.. mine..”  he tugs his shorts off, skinagainst your own.

you barely have time to breathe before you feel him press against you even harder. caleb’s grip tightens on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushes your ear again, voice low and possessive, “keep your eyes up,” he commands, “don’t look away.” 

expert fingers hook onto your panties, tugging them to the side. his dick sliding between your thighs. you were dazed. mind in space. your juices start to coat him as he starts to move slowly, his shaft teasing your folds. your eyes locked onto his gaze, a blush creeping on your face. you were lost for words. 

absolutely fucking lost.

then– he thrusts in– deep and sudden– and the sound rips from your throat is half gasp, half moan. one of his hands clamps over your mouth just in time to muffle it, palm broad and rough, the other anchoring your hips in place as he starts to move– hard and deliberate.

the mirror trembles with every motion. your reflection blurs with every rock of his hips. lashes fluttering as you try– and fail– not to melt under the weight of him. caleb groans behind you, head falling forward against your shoulder, “fuck baby..” he murmurs against your skin, “you feel so fucking good..” he pants, pace picking up, “so tight..” he coos, so lost.

your hands grip the sink for dear life, knuckles white. your eyes keep catching his in the glass– wild, dark, and locked on you like you’re the only thing here right now. “you’re mine..” caleb growls again, “say it..” 

you try to speak– you really do. but all that comes out is a broken whimper, your mouth falling open against his palm as your body rocks with his every thrust. words feel impossible, lost in the haze of heat, and pressure building fast and sharp inside you. your eyes plead through the mirror, and he sees it– of course he does.

“tried to be sweet.” caleb mutters, voice raw and breathless now. “but you don’t need words, do you, baby?”  his hand leaves your mouth, sliding down your front with a slow drag of fingers that find your aching center, circling and taunting, “you’ll tell me with this..” 

“y-you idiot!” you half scream half whisper, “ t-tried m-my ass… y-you didn’t let me– talk!” you say in between ragged breathing and moans. your back arches, thighs shaking as he sinks deeper, his fingers working you in time with his hips until you’re right on the edge– held open and helpless, pinned between the sink, and the full weight of him behind you. 

he watches every twitch, every moan, every desperate press of your hips against him. 

“you’re saying it now.” he grunts, pace snapping into something rougher, more desperate. “you’re saying it with how you’re moving.” your answers before you can. you clench around him, head falling back against his shoulder as a cry tears rom your throat, your release crashing over you like a wave. but caleb doesn’t stop– not until he’s spilling into you with a low guttural sound. chest pressed against your back, lips against your neck as you both come down.

he pulls out slowly, dragging a moan from both of you, and you nearly collapse against the sink– legs shaking, chest heaving. but before you can fully catch you breath, caleb’s hands are already back on your waist, guiding you away from the mirror with that same intensity in his eyes. 

“not done-” he breathes, voice husky and rough. “get on the bench.” you don’t question it– because you can’t. he drops onto the wooden bench lining the lockers, legs spread wide, sweat-slick skin gleaming under the harsh overhead light. he pulls you into his lap like he owns you, and maybe he does. your hands find his shoulders as you straddle him, still in your uniform, skirt flipped up and forgotten. 

his hands grip your thighs, sliding up slowly, possessively, and he lets out a shaky breath as you sink down onto him again. the stretch burns, raw, and perfect, and his head falls back with a low groan.

“that’s it baby..” he whispers, eyes dark and fixed on where your bodies join. “ride me.. just like that..” 

you start to move– slow at first, letting him feel everything, every grind of your hips. he groans again, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass, guiding your rhythm. 

you set the rhythm first; slow, rolling your hips against him in smooth, deliberate circles, letting him feel how deep he is inside and how wet you still are. caleb’s jaw clenches, his hands gripping tighter, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to keep going at that pace. you smirk, just a little, riding the high of having him this crazed beneath you.

“you like watching me fall apart for you, huh?” he mutters, voice thick with arousal and something a little hidden, “think you’re in control now?” 

you don’t answer. you just keep moving, slow and deep. hands planted on his chest as you grind down hard, a quiet whimper escaping your throat as his cock hits that perfect spot. 

then– he moves.

his hands slide to your hips and slam you down onto him harder, faster, stealing your breath mid-moan. he thrusts up into you from below with a rough rhythm that makes your thighs tremble and your back arch.

each snap of his hips steals whatever control you thought you had, until you’re a mess in his lap– moaning, panting, clinging to him. holy fuck.

“i’ll let you ride me.” he grits out, lips brushing your ear, fighting back a groan, “but don’t forget who’s really fucking you.” 

your hands claw at his shoulders now, nails digging in as the pace starts to turn brutal– neither of you bothering to hold back anymore. caleb’s breathing is ragged against your neck, his mouth catching on your skin between curses and praise. his thrusts from below meet every roll of your hips perfectly, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing through the empty locker room. 

your name falls from his lips, rough, desperate, as his hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with maddening accuracy. you cry out, his stuttering, and he knows– that you’re close– again.

“come on baby..” he whispers, “want to feel you fall apart on me again.. let go.. i’ve got you.” 

you do

your body locks up for a second, thighs clenching around him, and then he crashes over you– blinding, breathless, a mess of trembling limbs and broken sounds as you cum all around him. caleb curses under his breath, holding you tight as he follows, thrusting up hard one final time before he grabs you by the back of your head, lips colliding with yours.

you’re still trembling when he lifts you off his lap. arms strong but movements slow and careful. he murmurs a soft ‘i love you’ barely enough to hear, as he kisses your temple and runs a hand down your spine to soothe the aftershocks.

then he slips his hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in his scent. it was warm and oversized. his sweats follow, tied loose around your waist, your uniform stuffed in his duffel bag.

you’re exhausted– limbs heavy, brain foggy with bliss– but he crouches in front of you with a smile that’s all soft and cute, “come on baby girl” he says, tilting his head, “i’ll carry you.”

you don’t argue. you climbed onto his back, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he hoists you with ease, one hand beneath your thigh, the other steady at your knee. the locker room lights hum behind you as he walks through the hallway and out the door.

when he gets to the car he opens the door with one hand, sets you gently in the passenger seat and buckling your seatbelt before brushing a kiss on your forehead. 

“still my favorite win.” 

taglist : @rcvcgers, @miffysoo

[ouchmaster6000]

Okay, but like, you realize 90% of the problem is the female fans right? Its mostly female fans and fic writers that will focus on the male characters because they are hot and will hate on the female ones because they get in the way of their yaoi ships.

It definitely ain't the straight male Baldurs Gate 3 fans, for example, that are responsible for Asterion getting a disproportionate amount of focus compared to Karlach and Laezel. Its 100% the women playing the game.

Hell, just about every fandom I'm in where the female characters outnumber the male ones has a primarily male fanbase, with a only a few of the more popular / mainstream ones, like Madoka Magica, having a pretty even split between male and female fans.

By contrast, the only fandom with mostly male characters I'm part of where I feel confident in saying still overwhelmingly male, despite having an influx of female fans in recent years is Warhammer 40k.

And before you bring up guys calling certain female characters mary sues in recent years, that has nothing to do with those characters being female.

Most guys hating on Rey like Leia

Most guys hating on Captain Marvel enjoyed the Wonder Woman movie, or have other female superheroes they like.

Most guys hating on Korra, love Katara, Toph and Azula. (Plus alot of guys actully like Korra too, including me, shes not actually as hated as the previous two examples.)

I'm not saying female characters getting overlooked in favor of male ones isn't a thing happening in a lot of fandoms - It totally is. But to blame it on misogyny is completely disingenuous, since it implies its mostly men's fault. When in reality it's mostly the female fans.

really is bizarre the way fandoms largely do not like women at ALL. it’s been happening for ages but when you see people straight up just hating on women characters more often now (+ the general rise in misogyny) and then you come on here and everyone’s just pretending women don’t even EXIST in any media ever. it’s like that’s not much better. fandom isn’t activism but it does reveal people’s internal biases. like women being excluded, sidelined and erased in everythingggg. people will take characteristics that are compelling in a female character and give it to a man in fan content just so they don’t have to engage with a woman ever. fics, fan art, ships, etc. a hollywood produced movie/tv show won’t even sideline a woman as much as the average fandom blogger will

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 10

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 9

Your power’s been strange since that day you heard the melody. You haven't had the joyous occasion of it coming back into your life and your ears, but your heart still yearns for it, calls for it. You try not to dwell on it. That want, that need, takes backstage for the oddities that have been popping up since it first whispered in your ear.

Like now. You know Miss Hunter’s in danger even before the alarm attached to the earrings you gave her go off. You feel the dread in your heart, feel it fill your empty and lonely soul. The sheer volume of that feeling jolts you awake.

Sylus slumbers beside you. He insisted, worry lacing his voice and his hand gently brushing your cheek when he asked you to stay. The look in his eyes is what pushed you to do so. They were inquiring about your relationship, about where you stand after all that's happened.

You should’ve put your foot down. You should’ve kept your distance. Your mind told you so. Your heart didn’t listen, once again.

So you two share a bed again, entangled in each other’s embrace. Sylus’ fast heartbeat syncs to yours. His every breath is the most comforting soundtrack you’ve ever experienced.

Or, it used to be. Nothing could compare to the sound of your beloved being fast asleep until your heard that piece. That song of the stars, that hymn of the universe, is the best thing that’s ever had graced your ears. You hunger to hear it again.

And maybe that selfish wish is why you rush out of bed. You long to hear it again. Because that time, enveloped in that beat, is probably the only time in your life you’ve ever been at true peace. The only time you’ve ever truly belonged.

Miss Hunter is the key to that, and you haven’t seen her in some time, making room for her to bond with Sylus. You’ve pushed both of them into each other’s arms (ironic given that you still let yourself sleep in Sylus’).

That’s what you’ve assumed, anyway. Neither of them have told you anything of the sort. Sylus just spends more time in Linkon and Miss Hunter talks about him in a better light when you two text.

Feels like a husband trying to hide a mistress from his wife with the way they sneak around. And said mistress is her friend.

The mere thought makes you want to vomit. To expel that thought and all others that could follow from both your mind and stomach.

Stop it, you tell yourself as you unceremoniously wiggle your way out of a sleeping Sylus’ embrace. There’s nothing between you two, and everything is right between them.

Your rush, oddly enough, isn’t what wakes your boss. He eyes only shoot open the moment your warmth completely leaves his.

“Where…?” His voice cracks a bit, and he constantly blinks his eyes in the struggle to keep them open.

You wonder, in this moment, what you would do if two really were together. If he really was your husband like so many assume. If he really was yours and not someone else’s.

Would he coax you back into his arms, kissing the back of your neck and mumbling nonsense? Would you two play a game of back and forth, to see who will get up or who will go back to sleep? Or would he simply just wrap his arms around your waist like at the gala a few weeks ago, kissing you everywhere in order to wake himself?

Just the idea flusters you. So flustered that your first attempt on putting on a shirt is one that’s inside out and backwards. You quickly remedy this, glancing back at Sylus as you put the shirt back on right.

He doesn’t even flinch at the brief sight of your bare back. Understandable. You’ve seen him practically naked (except for a towel he haphazardly put on). He’s seen almost every inch of you, bandaging and stitching you back together in more ways than one.

What I wouldn’t give for him to take me apart in the best way possible?

Everything is so very, very hot again.

“Go back to sleep, Morana,” you whisper to him, not going back near the bed in fear you’d do something stupid like kiss him. “Something came up. I’ll handle it, and you call you after I do.”

“Alright,” he yawns. “Come back to me soon.”

You almost cry at his words.

“Be sure to tell the boys. You know how they worry about you.”

You nod, sending a quick text to your group chat with Luke and Kieran (the two menaces named it “When Mom Needs to Shit Talk Dad”) before you head out to your motorcycle.

You don’t check your phone for her location. Something tells you Skyhaven is the place. And another thing tells you that your world is about turn upside down.

As you drive, you soon don’t even need instinct for the former of your ideas. Because Miss Hunter’s thread appears, like the red guiding light in some video game. You know it’s hers because the stories it weaves are hers. The explosion. Her entry into the N109 zone. And some childhood memories she’s told you about.

But this isn’t Sylus’ connection to her that’s leading you. It’s someone else. A boy who’s been by her side for ages. A boy whose death drove her into your life and Sylus’.

You don’t quite see who this boy—man—is. Or maybe you and even Miss Hunter’s very soul are blocking him out. His blurry image conjures confusion, anxiety, betrayal, and layers upon layers pain.

You drive faster.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to find Miss Hunter. Pulling a few (sometimes literal) strings with members of The Fleet, a nice smile here, and a bit of manipulation there, and you find her. She appears to be in a nurse’s uniform, something that gives you pause. What makes you unpause is the aggressive man whose hands are on her.

His appearance flickers, much like Sylus’ did on that fateful day you first met him. Except his doesn’t bounce between dragon and human. No. For this man, you sometimes see a black bandage cover his eyes, and gold running down his body. Said body also becomes engulfed in black machine parts, and you hear them turn even when you’re some distance away.

He looks so much like Alex did that day years ago. Gold instead of silver runs across his metallic body and he lacks the powerful weapon they clutched in their hand. But the same emptiness is there. That same blank slate that hums with a power you want nothing to do with is there.

The difference between this man and Alex though is that he is still alone. He’s still someone’s pawn, and is willing to stay that way for the sake of the woman he loves.

Alex would never be in this position. Their family situation may be complicated, but Kai will never stand for it to escalate. She never allows her spouse’s family to have their way.

The man with cold violet eyes doesn’t have that. He stands a bastion between Miss Hunter and a horrific fate you don’t even want to think about. He stands between her and an evil that you can see in his thread.

Ever.

You hoped to never hear that name again. To never remember the scientists that poked and prodded at you when no sign of a soulmate came in at the expected age. You wonder if they told him about you. You wonder if you’re going to get dragged back into the strange rooms with the strange devices again.

You wonder if your rescue mission is about to become a failed one.

You call out Miss Hunter’s first name. She turns to you, and the military man finally acknowledges your presence. She runs to you, and you shuttle her behind you.

Calm yourself.

You take deep breaths, watching his thread like a hawk, dissecting each little notch and every little twist to find something to exploit. You don’t want to be near this man that represents everything that makes your skin crawl any longer than you have to.

“Apologizes, ummm?” You trail off, laughing at yourself. “I’m sorry, what’s your name? My friend here didn’t mention you in her report.”

“Report?” Is all that comes out of his mouth. His words are devoid of anything. No inflection. No feelings. Nothing.

Your blood runs cold. Miss Hunter hands begin to grip the back of your shirt. She trembles.

“Yes, yes. Her report. The Hunter Association did send her to investigate some things, correct?” The man makes a notion for you continue. “When she submitted it, it was decided by her boss that I’d come and pick her up.”

“The Fleet wasn’t informed about any such development.”

You figured as much.

“I didn’t think the retrieval of one hunter needed to be told to them. The Fleet is busy enough as it is. Adding more paper work and things to sign for us to get one of our own seems foolish, does it not?”

You hate staring at those dead eyes of his. But it’s the only way to get his attention. The only way for him to believe your words and let the two of you go.

But you can hardly focus on getting your words out. There’s something wrong with this man, something mechanical. Something that’s burrowed so deep within him that it messes with him on a fundamental level.

It’s not enough to change his soul, thankfully. You can still see his worry, even if it’s not on his face. You can still see his love for Miss Hunter, even if he doesn’t show it.

So you keep your eyes on his, and hope to the universe that your abilities and your voice are enough to get away.

“Than may I ask why the Association needs her, given the state she’s in and the fact that you didn’t inform us she was to be sent back to Linkon so early?”

“I’m afraid a stranger isn’t privy to such information.”

“Colonel Caleb Xia,” he sticks his hand out for you to shake it.

You take it, and give him your name.

“Now that we’re not strangers, answer my question.”

His attitude is grinding your gears. His attitude, the fear he's giving Miss Hunter, and just the wrongness about him makes you snap inside.

“Well, Colonel,” you’re more harsh with your tone now. “I don’t see why I should. You did not inform the Association of her injuries. You did not inform us that she would be taken on a private airship, forced against her will for treatment, and then hunted down like an animal when she made the reasonable assumption you wouldn’t let her leave and try to escape. I don’t owe a brute like you jack-shit, let alone answers.”

You stick out an arm to further shield Miss Hunter. This seems to rattle the Colonel a bit. So you push further.

“The way you speak to me gives me the impression that you’re suspicious of me. Which is ironic coming from a man that’s meant to be dead.”

Miss Hunter flinches at your words. You use your other hand to soothe her, and even your powers brush against her very soul to calm her. You hate to shake her so much. But using these words, using his own guilt against him, is probably the best chance you have of leaving here.

“Some things came up. Things that you don’t need to know.”

He steps closer to you.

“Ah. So we both have our secrets, don’t we?” You get in his face. “Only mine doesn’t cause my friends great distress.”

His emotionless mask finally cracks a little. Just a smidge. But his thread tells you of mountains and mountains of guilt. Of how it hurts to see the woman he loves so scared of him.

You don’t give a shit. Sure, you almost pity him a bit. But Miss Hunter’s shaky hands on your back, and the reminder of the love you know she deserves from Sylus kills that pity in seconds.

If anything, his cruelty is just another reason you’ll make sure he never has her. It’s just another reason for you to drive her into Sylus’ arms and break your heart again.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.”

The cliche words make you want to strangle him.

“I’d hate to know what kind of misunderstandings you’ve had in the past, Colonel, to think that any of what you’ve done is acceptable.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I’ve done? You just got here, Miss,” the way he says your name makes you all the angrier.

“I have eyes, Colonel. I know a terrified woman trying to escape from a domineering man when I see one.”

You hope flat-out calling him an abuser will get Caleb to back down. Because you know he’s doing all this with good intentions. He doesn’t want to hurt Miss Hunter. He doesn’t want to scare her.

Too bad the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions. Too bad he’s one of those people who refuse to see and acknowledge when they’re wrong.

“How did you find us?” He ignores your comments altogether.

Fine. I’ll play your game.

“By asking around. People are surprisingly agreeable to what you want when you’re not demanding or controlling. Right, Colonel?”

His face scrunches at your implications.

“I wouldn’t know. My job is to command or listen to orders. I do not ask for permission.”

“You know, every word out of your mouth makes me wish you stayed dead.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You don’t really mean them. Not truly. Any family or goodness for Miss Hunter is something you’ll celebrate.

Even if Caleb is something that somehow falls into those categories. Even if the man you'll never allow her to truly be with is one of those people.

He’s caused so much pain. So much anguish in her threads and turmoil in her mind. The normally confident and headstrong hunter is silent behind you. Her soul begs for her to run.

You want to turn around and hug her. Give her a shoulder to cry on. To ease her mind while you plot with Sylus how to fuck up the lives of anyone who’s ever hurt her. You want to save her, protect her.

And the more these emotions boil, the more you wonder. Is this the influence of that song? Or is this just what it means to be so beloved by the universe? That even someone like you is drawn into her orbit, ready to give up the man you love for her in a heartbeat?

Once again, your selfish heart wonders if she and all the love the world wants to give her, is the reason you have no love at all.

“Harsh words from someone who just met me,” the Colonel’s quip drags you out from the depths of your self-hatred.

“You’ve just made that bad of a first impression on me.”

“What did I do to do that?”

“You do not want me to answer that.”

The Colonel and you say nothing to each for some time, just staring the other down.

“We really must get going. We have things to attend to, as I’m sure you do as well.”

You turn to try and leave, guiding Miss Hunter to walk in front of you, but Caleb grabs your wrist.

“Unhand me this second, or so help me, Colonel I will make you wish you stayed dead and buried.”

He lets go. You and Miss Hunter return to your old stance of her behind you while you face her childhood friend.

“She’s injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“She can’t work like this.”

“I’m also aware of that. I’ll treat her once we’re back in Linkon and she’s in a comfortable space.”

“She needs rest.”

“And she’ll get it. Away from you. Believe or not, there are others that care for her as well and can do so without violating her autonomy.”

“Why do you need her specifically?”

His change of topic doesn't go unnoticed by any of you. Once again, you play along.

“As I said before, it’s none of your business, so I won’t go into the details. All I will tell you is that her resonance Evol is needed for some investigative work.”

You pause, staring deeper into those cold eyes and his frantic thread.

“And, she has a capable partner that will look after her during this process. She won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You?”

You almost snort. While you may have cynically thought of joining the Hunter's Association out of spite, you'd never truly consider it. Too... perfect for someone as broken as you. Too bright, too kind, too messy, too secretive, too—

It's just too much. Too much for you and your bloodstained hands and soon-to-be broken heart.

“Oh heavens, no. Not me. I’m not the fighting type,” you can hear Sylus and the twins cackle in your mind as you say this.

You may not like fighting, but everyone in Onychinus knows you can be deadly in one if need be. And some of your opposition actually fears you more than Sylus because of that. Because Sylus’ power is tangible, you can see his energy Evol as it snuffs a life out.

But no one can see it when you pull a thread out of someone’s heart. Or twist their very soul into oblivion. Or choke the life out of them with their own connection to their soulmate.

Your mystery is your greatest weapon. And it’s another reason you tell yourself not to divulge your secret ever again.

“Than how can I trust this mysterious partner if they don’t have the decency to show up themselves?”

Shit.

You gather yourself quickly. You need to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Your trust in my words are irrelevant. I don’t need your permission to take her anywhere, I’m just giving her childhood friend who’s worried about her well-being the curtesy of being told such information. I’m not leaving you in the dark.”

Caleb’s mask once again wavers, so you push more.

“I’m not leaving you frightened of the unknown and nor am I strong-arming you into doing what I want with my authority. I’m having a conversation with you in hopes you’ll see things from my point of view. And I’m not ignoring your clear discomfort nor your fears.”

“And what is it you think I’m afraid of?”

“That you’ll lose her again. Or they’ll get their hands on her.”

You know that’s the right thing to say when the Colonel’s hand begins to hover over his waist, where you assume his gun is. His eyes go dead again. Cold. Bottomless. All consuming.

Just where you want him.

“You think you two are the only ones they’re hunting? You think she’s the only one they’ve ever obsessed over?”

You hate yourself for this. For putting this information into his hands, their hands, again. Because you became a ghost once you entered the N109 zone. You disappeared from their grasp because the old man in charge of the Zion Hunt knows better than to blab about you.

It was your wish from him when you won his little competetion during your first year with Sylus. It was the wish and deal you made with him, his very soul the price should he ever break it. Whether it was you or Sylus that would come to collect, you hope to never know.

Because you were dead to Ever. And it was supposed to stay that way. But for her, and for Sylus, you’ll come back. You’ll put yourself back under their radar in hopes they’ll chase you and not her.

And while you’re at it, maybe you can save the Colonel as well. You may hate who he is right now, but you're curious about the boy he used to be. The boy Miss Hunter loves like family. The boy he was before Ever broke him like they broke you.

“You aren’t,” you continue. “In fact, I think the Professor loved me most of all before I left him.”

“Why?”

He’s still tense. Still ready to end your life and forcibly take Miss Hunter away. But you know where to strike. You know because his thread tells you he’s heard about you. About the strange little girl with no soulmate but with the power to see others, to touch others, to manipulate others.

Seems the Professor still remembers me.

You still remember him. You still remember how him and Josaphine and all the others treated you. You still remember the many tests, the files you read, and all the injections they gave you before your family sent you off to school that same day like nothing happened.

You still remember the adrenaline and joy that coursed through your veins the day you finally ran from it all. That same adrenaline pumps now at the thought of going back.

But you’d do it for her. For them. And hopefully, they’ll all forgive you for it.

“Because I turn everything we’ve ever known about humanity and love upside down.”

Bullseye.

Caleb lowers his hand to his side, no longer ready to shoot you. Because now he realizes you’re just like him, just like Miss Hunter. Another one of the Professor’s runaway “children”. Another one of his pawns that never wants to see him again.

“And do you know what my parents told me each time they took me to him?”

“What?” He asks the question breathily, shaken to his core despite how the chip in his head tries to stop him from feeling.

You pull at his literal heartstrings, at his soul, to bypass the machine. The power of universe itself is far more potent and compelling than some man-made computer.

“That it was for my own good,” that hits Caleb harder than any of your other words, and you scoff when you say it. “Selfish words by selfish people who refuse to admit when they’re wrong. When they refuse to see how they hurt the people they claim to love.”

Miss Hunter burrows deeper into your back. You twine your power into her threads to soothe her, since you can’t physically do it right now.

Her friend Caleb, on the other hand, seems to have been shattered. As if the weight of his actions has hit him. He doesn’t show it on his face or in his eyes, but in his thread. In the thread tied to the very woman who he scared so much.

“You love her, don’t you?”

No response.

“So why continue to hurt her as you do? Why continue to be like my parents and do something that she clearly doesn’t want and is only causing harm?”

“Because it’s a misunderstanding.”

“We already went over this, Colonel,” you’re gentle with your tone now, empathy bleeding into every fiber of your being.

I’ll get you out next, you tell yourself. I’ll get you and all the rest away from that man I should’ve killed years ago.

“But how about I put it another way? How do you expect me to believe you, who disappeared from her life once already and is now back and causing her pain, to be a better place for recovery than a place where everyone loves her and respects her ability to take care of herself?”

Once again, the Colonel doesn’t show how much of a gut punch your words are. You are a stranger, after all. And he’s been literally programmed to suppress how he feels.

So you tug at the string only you can. You tug on the connection on you can feel and twist and exploit. And he starts to feel it all. His guilt. His piles and piles of insecurity. And how maybe, just maybe, all you’ve been saying is right.

It’s a bit gross to you, to do this to a man who’s already been through so much. But he isn’t your priority. She is. The young woman who cowers behind you. The young woman who put her faith in you.

The young woman that will make the man you love feel whole again. She’s who you came for. She’s who you’ll help. Caleb will have to wait his turn.

“Think about what you’re asking me to do, Colonel, from my perspective. My friend, who I’ve seen be consumed by grief, finally has gets the green light to work again after losing the only parental figure she remembers and the only family she had as well as her home.”

You pause to look his in the eyes and play with his thread more before continuing.

“She goes on said mission, gets heavily injured, and I come to pick her up only to find her on the run from said family member who’s supposed to be dead, and she’s disguised as a nurse as she tries to free herself from him. Would you trust you in my shoes?”

He has no response again, so you deliver what you hope to be the killing blow, “She’s been through so much. Do you really want to make matters worse?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Colonel,” you don’t know what compels you to do so, but you lay a hand on his mechanical arm; it takes him by surprise, but since he doesn’t immediately retreat from your touch (and instead leans into it) you count that as a win. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought you were here to pick her up for a mission. How does my presence impact that?”

Got you.

While your words may sound like a slip up, you meant it. You meant for him to catch the underlying meanings of your words and press. You meant to reveal this “truth”.

“Alright, you caught me. There’s no mission. She called me directly because she was scared.”

You can feel the panic from Miss Hunter. You squeeze her hand, both to reassure her and as a promise to tell her everything later. Poor girl’s been lied to her entire life. And you understand that confusion and pain from being deceived by so many better than anyone.

The last thing you want is to become another person in that long list for her.

You take a deep, dramatic, breath. “You see, you never quite know how safe you are in this job. Whether it be Wanderers or rival organizations, danger’s around the corner for us Hunters. The explosion at your house made that all the more obvious.”

You pause, squeezing Miss Hunter’s hand again, making sure Caleb saw the turmoil and pain in your eyes. “So I came up with this system for me and her. A way to call each other discreetly and to be sure we’ll get back up from a trusted friend. Regardless of where we were of whether we had our Hunter’s watches. A way for us to protect one another while still respecting each other’s space.”

You don’t quite know what it is this time that gets Caleb to see the light. But something flashes across his eyes, and he finally backs down. You almost let out a sigh of relief. But your professionalism makes you choke it back down.

Don’t waver. You’re not in the clear yet. Not until she’s home and safe.

“I see…” his voice carries the most emotion you’ve heard from him.

You sneakily curl a finger around his thread, tapping into that heart of his that you know still sleeps in his chest. No machine, no stupid little chip, will keep you from reaching it.

So you rub the thread between your fingers. You rub it and make him see the pain he’s causing, the suffering on the woman he loves’ face. You force him to see that feeling and come face to face with the realization that he caused it.

Something shifts in the Colonel. You words coupled with you literally touching his soul get to him in ways he didn’t think possible.

“I see…” he says again, this time, with pain in it.

You finally relax.

“I’ll escort you out.”

Your stomach drops at the mere idea. “No need. I happen to have quite the memory, and can get us out safely on my own.”

“I insist.”

Please don’t.

“Haven’t you done enough damage with your “insisting” already?”

A low blow. But nothing is too low for you to get him to back off. To get away from this man that makes your friend tremble and you uncomfortable.

You don’t know if it’s the machine in his head, the emotionless landscape of his past life, or the way that history of his reminds you of your missing friend Alex. Any one of those could be what ultimately makes you not want to be in his presence.

The Colonel opens his mouth, probably to push his point again, but another voice interrupts him before he can.

“Colonel Xia. What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice comes from behind you and Miss Hunter. It’s female, and a bit scratchy. From disuse or just a natural undertone to it, you don’t know. But something about it compels you to keep your gaze forward. For whatever reason, you can’t bring yourself to turn around.

Miss Hunter can’t either, judging by how she buries her face into your back.

The steps of your savior are anything but comforting. A pit forms in your stomach. A pit that’s familiar.

Death approaches.

Every part of you wants to fight. To fight against what your lizard brain sees as a foe but what your logical one sees as an ally. It’s a confusing storm of emotions. One that gets worse once you see the woman.

She flickers. Just like Alex and Caleb. Just like Kai. Exactly like Sylus, given how her changes are that of horns and a tail.

She’s a fiend.

It’s the first time you’ve seen similar past lives. You’ve seen Lemurians. You’ve seen cyborgs. You’ve seen beings made of flowers and sand. But never two of the same.

Another fiend isn’t something you thought you’d ever see. Another fiend shouldn’t be possible, given that you know Sylus was the only of his kind (a dragon that's too human, and a human that's too much of a monster). Another fiend like him shakes everything you thought you knew.

Who is she?

Caleb, as if hearing your thoughts, answers for you, “Undertaker Rafia. What are you doing here, ma’am?”

The amount of respect he gives this woman shocks you somewhat. The same man who tried to force his own soulmate into compliance, who frightens even you, is on edge by the appearance of one woman.

A woman of tall stature. A bulky, muscular woman. A woman with pitch black hair and the palest skin you’ve ever seen. A woman who was once a fiend.

That same woman stands between you and Caleb, her back still turned to you.

“Why I’m here is irrelevant. You have a ceremony to get to, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, it’ll be your funeral I’m planning next.”

“Ma’am, I—“

“Get to it, Caleb. Before you piss me off more.”

Caleb seems to weigh his options for a second. Before he salutes her and walks off. The tension in your body finally releases. You can breathe now. You can exist now without the weight of the Colonel’s eyes and voice on your shoulder.

“I’ll escort the two of you out. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

Despite the primal fear her appearance first gave you, you’re grateful. She turns to you, and you open your mouth to tell her thank you, but something makes all words catch in your throat. And you stare.

You stare at Undertaker Rafia, even as Miss Hunter’s hold on you becomes a death grip on you. Not because you’re grateful. Not because you’re in shock.

No. You stare for a reason you never thought possible. You stare because the sight before you shouldn’t be real.

She has no soulmate.

Undertaker Rafia has no soulmate thread. Just. Like. You.

—

You’re 7 and in love with your best friend, the son of mother’s own best friend.

You sit on the couch in the game room of his house, picking at the fraying knitted blanket. Your crush sits next to you, eyes more focused on the pause screen of his video game than you. You don’t mind though. His dedication to his games is one of the reasons you like him.

He’s so excited about them, rambling to you about them with wild gestures while you just sit and listen. He could fill up an entire conversation for you two. You don’t need to say a word. You don’t need to force yourself into the awkwardness of trying to find the right words.

You could just be there with him.

”Sam says you like me.”

You nod.

”So… you do?”

You nod again, still unable to utter a word. Maybe because speaking will make this all too real? Maybe because speaking will make him laugh at you?

You chase that stupid thought away. He’d never laugh at you. He’s always kind with you, offering you his blanket when he’s clearly cold, opening doors for you, listening to your opinions on the rare occasion you can your mouth to form actual sentences.

Your friend treats you so preciously. And it makes you hope and pray you’ll be lucky enough to discover that he’s your soulmate.

”But I’m not your soulmate.”

Your friend tilts his head at you. Your heart falls with the motion. And you force your mouth to move and for words to come out.

You can’t lose him.

”You don’t know that,” you barely manage to mumble.

He takes your hand, toothy grin on his face. A grin that you love and makes you flush and makes you smile the biggest smile in your little life.

”I guess we’ll find out.”

You could cheer.

That all goes away in a few days. Your love? Tossed aside. Your happiness? Dashed. The friendship and the new relationship with a boy you thought like-liked you? Gone.

One day, you’re happy and the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. The next, he’s dumping you.

”I like someone else now,” he says kindly, as if that’ll make the blow hurt any less.

Your mind races. What did you do wrong? What have you done to make him like this, to make him no longer like-like you? Tears gather in your eyes as your chest aches.

You clutch at it. The pain is unbearable. You think your heart is literally breaking, shattering. Thump, thump, thump, it goes steadily. But, the pain, oh the pain, makes you believe otherwise. How else could you explain the piercing stabs in your chest?

You can’t look at your friend. Can’t look at him with his apologetic eyes and sweet voice that tries to calm you down. Can’t look at him with his soft hands that rub your back and familiar clothes that you think look cute on him.

All there is for you is pain. Pain in your chest as you sob and sob and sob. The one person, your person, is leaving you. Abandoning you. When you thought he’d be the only person to ever stay with you.

He’s the only one who sees you in your silence. Where your family teases you and tells you to take a joke, he gives you comforting reassurance of your feelings. Where others tell you to speak up, he gives you space to find your voice. Where the world tell you your heart is too tender and too soft, he tells you it’s a gift to care so much.

He is your rock in the storm. Your everything. The one pillar in your life that makes the house of you stand strong. And now, he’s knocking it down without a care.

And with that, your sorrow turns to rage. At his betrayal. At his abandonment. At anything and everything about him and the embarrassment he’s causing you on this stupid couch you confessed on.

When you look at him, at his chest he’s trying to suffocate you in because the stupid boy thinks that’ll comfort you and mend your heart, you see it. You see this odd red string that shimmers. You push him away. You blink. All sounds are quiet.

The string is still there. Still shimmering, still floating, still making waves from his heart. You're as enchanted by it as you are lost by it. Why is it here? How is it here? What is it?

You just stare. Your friend’s hands still rub your back in vain. Your chest is still on fire. Your eyes still produce tears despite how much it hurts to, despite how much they make you choke and spit and cough.

You cling to the string instead of him. You cling to this mystery. Because every mystery has a solution according to your teachers. Every puzzle has an answer, one that makes sense.

What sense is there to be found in your friend? What sense is there to be found in your own heart?

As if knowing what’s going through your mind, the string calls out to you louder. It compels you stronger. To listen. To touch it. To experience it. So, in your confused and broken heart, you do.

And you see her. An unassuming girl. A girl who didn’t know your friend like you did. A girl who would never give a nerd like him the time of day because all that matters is popularity and talking and peopling and all these other things that just isn’t your friend.

”Is it her? Is she your soulmate?”

The other question slips out before you can stop it. Her name follows shortly after. 

You don’t even need to look at your friend to know the answer. The string tells you. It’s taken his place as your place of comfort. You grasp it in your hands.

Will this leave me too? you wonder.

”What are you doing?” Your friend asks; you barely hear him because no words out of his mouth matter more than this moment.

But his stupid words do tell you something. They tell you he can’t see them.

Am I the only one who can?

Maybe the string is secret you’ve been entrusted with? Maybe it’s your apology from the universe for your broken heart? Maybe it can be your new friend?

Excitement and glee unlike any you've ever felt flood your chest. The strings are yours. They're something no joke, no call to speak up, and no adult can take from you.

It doesn’t vanish when you touch it. It doesn’t leave once you have it in your grasp like your friend is doing now. It sits with you. It speaks with you. And you speak what it tells you.

”You two share dreams, right?” You don’t give your friend time to answer. “Started yesterday, you fell asleep beneath our special tree. She wasn’t at school that day. Fever.”

Your friend has nothing to say, so you continue, “You should give her the blue Jolly Ranchers the next time you two share. She knows they’re your favorite, so she lies and says she doesn’t like them. She also hates the watermelon, you know. But your smile is worth choking them down.”

The more you learn, the more the tears fall from your eyes. Guilt begins to replace your hurt. Your chest still sings with a blaze you can’t put out.

”She actually loves chess and checkers. Guess you have someone new to play with.”

One sob you can’t hold back interrupts you. Image after image that illustrates how perfect she is for him and how perfect you aren't enter your mind. Each one stabs a new hole in your heart.

”She’s perfect for you. So, so perfect.”

You break. You scream. You throw pillows around and toss the blanket that the two of were sharing at a window.

”Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!”

Footsteps rush up the stairs. Their family dog is barking. Your throat hurts. Your voice is scratchy. When was the last time you raised it? Ever?

As your family comes to your side, asking what’s wrong, and your friend looks at you with horrified eyes, you finally whisper, “Why couldn’t it been me?”

The ride home is a blur. Your family’s attempts at comfort are a blur. Everything but your final words to your friend is a blur.

Why? Why couldn’t it been me?

That’s the only thought is your head until you finally fall asleep. As well as when you get to school and spot your friend and his soulmate feeding each other those stupid blue Jolly Ranchers to each other, laughing.

He doesn’t spare you glance. He doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t talk to you. And you, with your new friend in the strings, let him.

Your teacher, however, doesn’t. She pulls you aside after class.

”Did you and,” she says your friend’s name, “get into a fight?”

You nod your head, not looking her in the eyes. Eyes are scary to you. They should say too much according to the books you’ve read. But to you, they say too little.

Now, you have your strings. You have these things no one else can see, but everyone seems to possess. Even your teacher.

Worry makes waves in her sting. Worry and exhaustion. So you cut straight to the point, even as your body begs you to just shut down and wait it out like usual.

”Yes. He broke my heart because he found his soulmate.”

Surprise colors your teacher’s string. After all, you’re a quiet child. One who keeps her eyes glued to the floor and voice barely above a whisper. One who—in some case, quite literally—runs from conflict and the rest of the world.

You don't talk to adults. They never listen anyway, so you stopped a long time ago. So you understand why hearing your voice so clearly and so directly is strange to your teacher.

You await her response, hoping and praying for something good. While you may still hurt from your friend’s abandonment, you got the strings out of it. Maybe an adult will listen and help you for once because of them?

”Oh honey,” anticipation builds within you. “You should be happy for him! He found his one true love… you two were never going to last long anyways.”

The world collapses again. Tears build in your eyes again. But you don’t let yourself cry. You don’t let yourself beg or scream or wail because that didn’t help you the first time. Why would it be different now?

Why did I even hope?

So you turn to her string. You turn to her love because yours is so meaningless and empty and a waste and nothing—

”You get glimpses of your soulmate when you paint, right?”

You just start talking before you can think. Again.

”The color purple comes in pretty often. That, and dolphins. It’s because it’s Mrs. Smith, the math teacher. Did you know she does opera on the weekends because singing gives her glimpses of you?”

Your teacher’s jaw is on the ground. You shuffle away as she tries to recover from what you just said. You wait for your family to pick you up, more hopeless than ever.

The next day, news spreads that your teacher and Mrs. Smith are together. It gets around that a pair of soulmates found each other miraculously after years of unknowingly working together for years. Your teacher tells her, your, story. And the world finally begins to listen to you.

You begin to speak. With so many eyes turning to you, wondering about where you got your information, you tell. You tell them about the threads and what they whisper to you. What they say about others, about their soulmates, about their pasts, and about their loves.

One of your classmates gives you a look. A look you know all too well. A look that resonants in their own thread, which tells you they don’t believe you.

You aren’t even surprised anymore.

But another classmate approaches you after class. Asks about their thread and their other half. And you tell them. To go to a cafe with their parents on a specific day at a specific time. There, they will bump into their other half and be able to share their thoughts with them.

They do so. And another success falls into your lap.

After that, more and more people approach you. Some kids. Some adults. Some old people. Some from school. Some from apparently the other side of the world. All hearing stories and rumors from those you’ve helped.

You tell every time. Despite their clear caution. Despite the glances you now get in the hallway. Despite how the loneliness piles and piles on top of the grave of your old love.

But the final nail in your coffin comes from your friend again. Or rather, from his family. Yours and his are trying to make you two talk again. To make everyone friends again and “keep the peace” as the adults are saying.

You don’t budge. His useless apologies and meaningless sorries bounce right off your ears. Because all you can see is his thread and his memories with her. All you can see is your broken love and his blossoming new one.

So you turn to another thread. Not your family’s because you know them far too well. But his mother’s, the only one who seems to understand you. And you’re floored again.

”Your husband is not your soulmate.”

For the third time, your mind can’t stop your mouth.

”Your bonds are both similar, so you just assumed as much. When you sleep at night, you get your other half’s memories, right? Well, you each got the wrong sibling.”

Chaos ensues. You’re being screamed at by all: your friend, his family, your family, and even yourself. You just retreat into your mind, and into the threads. It’s the one place that can never hurt you.

You family doesn’t hear from your friend and his family for some time. Your own family has been distant from you. You no longer care. All you need are the threads. They’re the only truly loyal thing in your life.

When you do hear from your friend and his family again, you’re greeted by warmth. By joy. By tears of absolute happiness.

”Thank you,” they all say. “Thank you for making us all whole.”

You wonder why. According to everyone, you broke up a family. And according to what you know, that should be bad. So why are you being praised? Why are you being thanked?

Your friend begins to hang out with you again. He becomes your voice again. He gives you snacks and blankets and pillows again. He looks at you with happiness again.

Than it all falls into place when you see him with her. When you see your teachers together. When you see the two new couples that form your friend's family.

Who cares who or what a soulmate’s love hurts? Everything is nothing compared to it.

You think this as you watch your friend play video games with his other half, smiling while you watch with your own wavering grin, heart stitched together by your own resilience and refusal to hurt again.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: This has honestly been the most emotional and personal Ikigai chapter for me to write, since I based part of Reader's past emotional trauma on my own (it's the easiest for me to write and works as therapy, so win-win). I mentioned early on there would be flashbacks, and I wanted to showcase some of her young life and where her mindset came from. I have one more planned—which is coming next chapter—but let me know if you'd like more!

3rd Author's Note: If I wrote and published an acutal novel, would anyone here read it? Because I had a fiction workshop class and I'm so invested with the story I cooked up there!

4th Author's Note: What's your ideal date? I need ideas for a future scene in this series, and would love some more input.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[twilightofthesandwiches]

You can say Jevil is a lot like Susie, an unpredictable battle-happy force of chaos fighting against the restrictions placed on them by the world by simply denying that they’re there.

The main difference is that Jevil seems to truly has no interest in anything but his 'games' of violence, while throughout Chapter 1 Susie learns that violent solutions aren't always the answer.... and now that her desire to 'do anything' also includes just wanting to keep being with her friends...

It might be a lot harder for her to achieve the kind of freedom she wants....

Or you can say Jevil is a lot like Kris, the paradoxical nature of their existence exemplified through the motif of a Cage.

But Jevil is the prisoner who is actually Free, while Kris is a prison who is themself trapped.

You can also say Spamton is a lot like Kris, robbed of freedom and agency by both metaphysical puppet-strings and a mysterious voice on the phone.

It's just that Spamton has alienated everyone he's ever known and ended up totally alone, while Kris at least has some friends willing to help them… if they knew what's going on.

Or you can say Spamton is a lot like Ralsei, a Darkner tormented by his wider knowledge and deeper understanding of the nature of things, and how he is not truly real and how he is not truly free. Who echoes some of Flowey's lines from 'Undertale'.

But Ralsei handles this knowledge by being both incredibly fatalistic and incredibly unhealthily selfless, while Spamton, as a Darkner doomed to selfishness, drives himself mad (well, madder) trying to fight against it.

And… you could say the Roaring Knight is a lot like Kris because they are both incredibly mysterious to the Player. And Kris' Dark World design does make them look a lot like a knight of sorts...

Or if you wanna say Ramb is the true 'main character' of Chapter 3's Shadow Crystal Route, than he's a lot like Kris because they are both outsiders in their 'worlds'. Kris is the only Human in Hometown, Ramb is the only Plugboy in TV World.

The main difference is that, well, even if Kris still feels like an outsider sometimes, they still clearly Belong in Hometown more than Ramb belonged in TV World.

Or you could say Ramb is a lot like Ralsei, a Darkner who sees himself as a good friend for Kris and is highly invested in pleasing them and making them happy. Actually becoming literal pushovers for them.

But Ralsei still tries to gently nudge Kris towards Pacifism and what he sees as the right choices where he can, and tries to keep them on the set path. Ramb, for Kris' sake, gave them a world of 'total freedom'… that they actually found to be quite disturbing. Especially since they weren't truly the one in control. A fact Ramb seems unaware of, but Ralsei probably is.

Also, unlike Ramb, Ralsei doesn't just have Kris/the Player. He has actually made other connection, most importantly Susie. Ramb sacrificed any connection he could've ever made in TV World in the name of his loyalty to Kris and it actually cost him his life.

And the most obvious comparison to Gerson would be his unofficial pupil, Susie. While opposites on the surface... one is a scholarly elder and the other is a rambunctious teen. One is a trickster who is constantly hiding his true power, while the other's strength lies in how incredibly straightforward she tends to be. One is a bookworm and author and a teacher, while the other seem to really struggle academically.....

But both are reptilian Monsters with a similar Magic attack.

Both fiercely reject the Prophecy's inevitability. Both are 'echoes' of Undyne as she was in Undertale in different ways...

But Gerson could also be compared to Ralsei. Both are Darkners who look like Light World Monsters (although with different in-universe lore reasons... I assume), both know a lot about the Prophecy, both try and guide Kris and Susie in their own way, both are part of Susie's Healing Magic Training, both are somewhat echoes of Flowey. (Gerson being revived from an object covered in dust in a very similar manner to how Asriel was revived as Flowey).

It's just that Ralsei is a lot more defeatist. While he did hold some hope that maybe he could change fate through the power of his kindness, he still found it hard to doubt the Prophecy's inevitability. He tried to hide it from Kris and Susie in the hopes of sparing them the grief of knowing about it like he does.

While Gerson shatters the Prophecy in an attempt to nudge the Heroes into defying it, always believing and never doubting that the Prophecy could be rewritten.

Ralsei is saddled with this knowledge from just the nature of his being, he's not even quite sure where his knowledge came from. And despite knowing so much, he's still got the emotional maturity of a teen and the life experience of like three days, and his naivete and lack of actual experience are his biggest weaknesses.

Both his social inexperience and his fatalist attitude are the reason why he could never teach Susie more than the basics of Healing Magic.

Gerson is a grown-up who's knowledge of the Prophecy came from his research and has ages of actual life experience and wisdom to pull from. While he doesn't seem to know Healing Magic himself, he was instrumental to teaching it to Susie because he was able to figure her out and devise a method that will actually help her learn and improve.

Ralsei is also the one Darkner we know of who is immune to petrification in every Dark World, while Gerson specifically can only appear under very specific circumstances in specific Dark Worlds.

Hmmmm… are there any more Shadow Boss - Delta Warrior comparisons I missed?

[colossrat]

WingsAU where Captain Marvel doesn't have wings.

Okay, many magical or supernatural creatures don't have wings like humans.

But one day, during a cleanup mission, the Captain is helping a child and, to distract him while they look for his parents, they talk.

Child: You look so much like a human…

Marvel: Well, thats probably because i am a human, buddy.

Child: Are you? then… Where are your wings?

Marvel: Well… I used to have wings. They were just like my father's… but I had an accident and lost them… Good thing I can still fly without them, huh?

Later, Batman would be the only one brave enough to ask Cap about it.

Marvel: Oh, no. I lied a little bit to the kid… It was not an accident. A relative of mine… he really didn't like the look of my wings. I think looking at them made him sad, because they reminded him of my dad… so he ripped them off before he kicked me out of the house.

He said it so nonchalantly that Batman felt a little stunted.

One day, on a mission, Captain Marvel got impaled by a huge pole. Thats ok, he healed. But not the suit. So, there was a big hole in the back of the clothes, showing some ugly nasty but healed scars where Captain's wings should be.

From Batman's analysis, he used to have 2 wings. They are so small compared to the size of his back, he must have been very young at the time… They are scarred, but their sinuousness makes it obvious how extremely violent and raw the act was. It is not a scar from something that was cut, it is a scar from something that was torn. The next time Marvel is at the WatchTower, he notices how everyone tries to be extra nice to him.

Wings are a very sacred part of humans, Cap was just so small that when Ebezener ripped them off, he didn't have time to attach himself to them or with what they meant he IS an optimist who always sees the glass as half full. he didn't completely lie to that kid earlier. yeah, he doesn't have wings anymore, but he can still fly with magic! only when he's transformed… but that's enough for him not to get so upset.

and maybe the trauma also made him forget 90% of the situation in favor of ignoring the agony he went through

[pearlofamphitrite]

Yeah I personally didn’t enjoy it too much. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the sets and the props and the work that went into that. I liked the dragon designs. Stoic, Gobber and Fishlegs were my favourite characters. From an artistic point of view, everything looked visually good, but from a writing point of view, I didn’t like it.

It didn’t add anything to the story that the first movie didn’t have already. In fact, one of the important scenes (the terrible terror scene) was removed. The first half of the movie felt rushed, scenes didn’t have enough time to breathe, dialogue was kept in from the original movie even when it didn’t make sense/flow with the scene. Some of the characters told us what we should be focusing on instead of showing it to us like the original movie. (Prime example was when, during the final battle, we hadn’t seen that the creature had wings and Hiccup points out “oh it has wings!” And then only we see it’s wings. It’s a tiny detail, yes, but things like that add up.)

I just don’t see the point in remaking a movie if you aren’t adding anything to the conversation. And you can’t expect to remake a shot-by-shot film to the original and not have me compare the hell out of it. Yes, I may be nitpicking, but I’m sick of live action remakes and the fact that their only purpose is to say “hey I’m better coz I have real people”. Animation is a cool medium of storytelling and it’s perfectly okay to create a film in animation that’s not supposed to be translated into real life/real people. That’s the point of animation.

Anyway, it wasn’t an awful remake, but I don’t understand why (I know because of money) they had to remake it in the first place.

people saying that the live action how to train your dragon is good actually because it's basically just a shot for shot remake of the original... then why the fuck would I watch it when I can just watch the (more visually stunning, not a blatant cash grab) original

[howitcouldgoes]

for all my ragatha haters out there

I am not one of them

I love Ragatha - in fact I'm a firm believer if you hate Ragatha.. you kind of have to hate Jax too. I can understand where potential confusion might come from since despite this episode focusing more on Ragatha's past compared to Jax's we do get to hear most of it through Jax's perspective. Which leads me to believe personally ep. 6 will be the opposite. Jax's backstory and how Ragatha will react to that information.

But still, Ragatha is one of the most human characters out of the whole cast(tied with Gangle) to me personally. She feels the need to be happy and positive NOT BECAUSE she's trying to manipulate anyone - but because she doesn't want anyone to focus on the negative and abstract. That's her method of keeping herself and everyone else sane. Almost blind encouragement and a positive attitude things will turn out okay - because what else is there?

She seems the closest to Kinger whose whole mentality is "The worst thing you could do in this world is make someone feels unloved or unwanted." and to hold onto memories and connections because they're all we have.

And then you have her mother - who is her only memory. She grew up with someone who made her feel like shit, unloved and unwanted - Ragatha confesses this when she literally says "And my mother... I doubt she misses me."

No Ragatha is not perfect, but she was forced to be in her childhood and early adult life.

I genuinely don't believe she's trying to manipulate anyone - and especially not intentionally.

Ragatha's positive attitude towards Pomni and her friendliness is because she sees herself in the jester - in Ep. 2 Ragatha confides in Kinger about this on the candy truck, seeing how horrible of a day Pomni had when she first got here and compared it to her negative reaction when she first arrived too. She's not trying to steal her from Jax or force her to be happy all the time - the only reason she retaliates with something like that is because she believes Jax is trying to turn Pomni bad - and the last thing she or anyone needs is a second Jax.

So her jealously in Ep. 5 when Jax is growing close to her - IN THE MATTER OF A FEW MINUTES BTW - when Ragatha has tried for four episodes now to befriend her is killing her.

Hence why she's so relatable. Ragatha's inability to get angry without consequences(most likely from her mother), raised to be happy and perfect, humbling herself quickly by calling herself just a farm girl - is why people now think she's tricking everyone - but that's just it. She is just a girl, and by the sound of her and how Ep. 5 ended - she grew up with absolutely no friends.

It brings us back to that question we all had at some point in our lives: "Why does no one like me?" "Why does no one want to be friends with me?" "Is it me?" "Am I the problem?"

Ragatha watches Pomni, the girl she wanted to befriend so badly not out of pity or a selfish desire but because she thought Pomni was lonely just like her - walk away with Jax. And then watches Zooble and Gangle walk off with Kinger mindlessly following because he doesn't care and we see her standing all alone.

And there she debates: Does she want to keep pestering Jax and Pomni? Like a bother? Like she finds him annoying but here she is anyway chasing after him..

or does she follow the trio that didn't even realize she got left behind?

I love this little Raggedy Anne look-alike because I see so much of myself in her. She just wants to be good and yet that overly positive attitude and friendliest over the years is growing tired and annoying and the only person willing to tell her that isn't even Jax. Not directly anyway. With no one to tell her what to do - how to improve - what can be done differently - Ragatha can only keep asking herself those same questions and keep trying with the same approach.

Jax may be my favorite character - but I just don't agree with his view on Ragatha. I think she's a delight.

But if you deadass just hate Ragatha because she's annoying to you, or boring, then okay idc disregard the above-

btw i know ive been spamming so much tadc this might be my last post temporarily but i wanna make a few things clear for ppl who shockingly hate my girl

[shaysplanet]

what vampires are like in my twilight dr !

because i did change certain things from canon since stephanie is actually unhinged omg??? if this does well i'll do a pt. 2 and 3 and… yk how this works already

vampires have hard skin compared to humans, it is as if a human muscle was tensed but all over a vampire body 24/7.

75° F body temperature. they have a working heart but it doesn’t pump blood, it pumps venom through their veins which gives them their icy temperature. It also doesn’t accelerate—their heart beats steadily, as if on a loop.

vampires look their most alluring after feeding (3 days before the dark circles return). feeding does affect the strength capabilities of a vampire but the type of blood they drink does not.

vampires do not sparkle in the sunlight, but do carry a subtle luminescence, not to the point where it’s blinding but to a point where if a human eyes looks at them too hard, they’ll know something is different.

vampires are naturally incredibly still. they don’t need to blink or breathe for long periods of time.

vampires on an animal diet have an easier time creating connections and bonds than vampires on a human diet as the time away from human blood limits their ravenous frenzies and allows them to keep a greater sense of empathy.

vampires can eat human food though it gives them no nutritional benefit. the venom in their systems will simply break the food down quicker than the acid within a human system.

once turned, they lose some pigment in their skin and become paler/cooler in complexion (because of the loss of blood) but will still ethnically look the race they were born. vampires of all races exist around the world.

vampires do not have fangs contrary to how they’re portrayed in folklore. their teeth are incredibly sharp and cut through skin like butter. venom slicks their tongues and coats their mouth similarly to saliva which is how people are turned.

the reason evidence of vampire attacks always seems so brutal is because of the frenzied state vamps get locked into the moment they taste human blood. a vampire with enough restraint to turn a human instead of mangle its body is few and far between.

once turned, the appearance freezes at the age you were turned but not the mind. the only massive change that takes place in a vampire’s lifetime is if they find a mate (they only mate with one person their entire lifespan). finding a mate is rare for vampires on human diets.

vampires don’t become exceptionally attractive unless they were attractive as humans.

however, most vampires are choosy when it comes to producing newborns so even with that knowledge, it’s rare to find a vampire that is not spectacularly beautiful.

the only vampires that will always be extraordinarily beautiful are immortal children. vampires around the age of 2-6 have an extreme pull on anyone due to the pheromones they release as toddlers and the natural inclination to protect babies that humans are born with. this is why immortal children are illegal.

when the Cullens aren’t being watched by humans (not including me) they’re incredibly peculiar.

a vampire will always view a human as prey first, even the ones who don’t partake in human blood can’t help their predatory inclinations. however bonds can still be formed with humans overtime which heightens a vampire’s compassion.

a vampire’s scent is rich and intoxicating, with hints of dark spices, sweet vanilla, and a touch of metallic twang.

a vampire is practically indestructible. their skin is near impenetrable, only being able to be harmed by another supernatural creature. their regenerative factor is nearly faster than the speed of light. they can easily lift objects that are several hundred times their weight, potentially even thousands while in their newborn state. they run upwards of 120 miles per hour (Edward is the fastest vampire Carlisle’s met and he runs close to 140).

the only ways to kill a vampire are to dismember it and burn the body or smite the vampire’s immortality and dismember it afterwards (the seraphic way).

shapeshifters have the most potent scent to vampires as it’s not at all appealing to their appetite so they recognize it immediately.

[yueyuesgarden]

i don't know who needs to hear this but

who exactly is telling you that you don't have your desires

who exactly is telling you that you haven't shifted? that you aren't at your home reality right now?

is it your circumstances? your 3D? your SP?

or is it you?

whose reality is this? is this your SPs? your circumstance's? your 3D's?

or is this yours?

since this is yours, do you run this shit? do you declare what you want and get it? do you deny what you don't want and it disappears?

there is literally nobody external of you going around with a pen and notebook taking notes being like "today at 4:44am, [insert name] wavered/spiraled/crashed out! minus -1 points for them and unticking the boxes that they previously checked in their mAnFieStAtioN proCeSS"

first of all, manifestation is not a process. the minute you declare that you have it, you have it. the 3D has no free will and will only reflect what you assume to be true. it will only reflect you. second of all there is no such thing as starting over. the past doesn't exist, the future doesn't exist, what's left is only the present. every moment is always a new story, a choice to declare that you have it all and deny what is offscript.

you already have it all. you dont need anything external to validate you. you are the validation.

STEP UP. take back your power. stop thinking you have to prove yourself to anyone or anything. you are limitless, powerful, omnipotent. you are amazing. there is no one like you. nobody compares to you and nobody is better than you. you RUN this shit. this reality is YOURS.

now GO ON and live your dream life. happiness looks good on you (:

[pagesfromthevoid]

How could I deserve someone like you? + Rhett!!

Rhett always gets into a mood after a bad ride or being reamed by Royal. It’s like he just can’t do shit right, and he gets into his head that maybe he’s not half as good at this as he thinks.

Tonight it’s both, though.

It’s a bad ride that barely lasts four seconds. It’s Royal trying to tell him how to improve in the most condescending way imaginable. Like Rhett hasn’t been doing this for years. As if Rhett isn’t replaying that last ride over and over in his head, picking apart what he did wrong.

You’re leaning against his truck when he finally gets away from the crowd. You’re always in the stands, rain or shine, but you don’t like to crowd him after his rides. You know it stresses him out, and you can only bite your tongue so much before you want to chew out Royal for his shitty parenting.

“Not tonight,” Rhett says, voice low.

You know that tone; have heard it enough times to know that he doesn’t actually mean it. He’ll say not tonight or to go home. And if you do go home, he’s at your door within the hour, apologizing. Sighing into your skin, holding you close. You’ve stopped listening to him when he says things in this tone.

“Am I gonna have to fight your dad?” You ask, and your voice is light compared to his. But there’s a hint of serious in there. Like you’ll actually pick a fight with a grown man for him.

“I’m serious,” he continues, pushing you gently away from the door so he can open it. “‘M sore and fuckin’ tired. Tomorrow, ‘kay?”

But you slide into the drivers seat before he can, and you give him a knowing look. Rhett runs a hand over his face, and you know he’s trying to keep it all together.

“Look at me,” you order gently, reaching up to touch his cheek. Rhett fights you for a second before caving —he never fights too much when it comes to you. “I’m cutting out the middle part, cowboy. Plus, I don’t gotta ride home.”

He takes a breath, and there’s a wince where he landed wrong his on his side. You know he probably has bruised ribs at the minimum.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” you promise and he’s taking his hat off and tossing it into the passenger seat.

Then his head drops to your shoulder and he’s clutching you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in this shitty little town. Maybe you are.

“How could I deserve someone like you?” He murmurs into your shoulder, and it’s muffled. But it’s so genuine. So broken.

“You exist,” you remind him softly. “And that’s all I need to love you.”

[hanasnx]

anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔

Warning: obsession, forced marriage (mentioned), soft yandere?

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

This is very short but I didn't want to leave you abandoned without publishing anything, in a week I will go on vacation and I will be able to upload more things and be more active. I hope you like it despite everything, take care of yourselves ♡

Yandere King who ascended to the throne after his three older brothers were murdered under mysterious circumstances, leaving him as the sole candidate for the throne (no, he didn't kill them... okay?).

Yandere King who reluctantly (and thanks to much insistence from the council) organizes a party at the palace with all the kingdom's nobles just to find him an ideal wife and queen.

Yandere king who isn't at all interested in the annoying and arrogant daughters of even more annoying and arrogant nobles; he makes a huge effort not to roll his eyes every time one of them opens her mouth (annoying rabble).

Yandere king who gets excited and fascinated when he sees you, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, standing in a corner, your hair beautifully up and adorned with pearls, matching your elegant, silky dress, fitted in just the right places, not at all exaggerated and pompous like the dresses of the other women around him, who look more like clowns.

Yandere King who walks away from the horde of women surrounding him, ignoring their whimpers and attempts to get him to stay, approaches you with a firm step. When he stands in front of you, you make a reference only for him to ask you in a serious voice.

"What's your name?"

Yandere King who nods curtly when you tell him your name before leaving as quickly as he arrived, only to retreat from everyone's sight by leaning against the wall of the empty hallway, one of his hands over his madly beating heart. Yes, you will be his.

Yandere King who is scolded by his advisors the next day for leaving the dance without notice, but he curtly silences them before announcing that he has already found his wife and queen. When he calls your name, the advisors aren't very happy, believing there are young women from more important, influential, and beneficial families for the kingdom. But they fall silent when he slams his hands on the table and says in a disdainful voice:

"You dare compare your future queen to that insignificant rabble? Do you want to die?!"

Yandere King who ends up getting his way and a month later marries you in a luxurious ceremony unlike any other seen in the kingdom (only the best for his queen). During the banquet, you are by his side, adorned in a beautiful wedding dress and sparkling jewels. You are undoubtedly the image of beauty.

Yandere King who, when it comes time to have his wedding ceremony, doesn't let anyone in as a witness; you are for HIS eyes only. HIS queen, HIS wife, HIS everything. He would kill anyone who dared to get close to you, but don't worry, he knows you're nervous. He promises to make you feel great...

[arthurs-ficz]

Mission Accomplished // Jax x reader oneshot !!

Caine had decided to give you random jobs for you to complete today, due to him having 'too many overstimulating options' from the submission box, according to him...

Despite this, you were about to complete another job when suddenly Jax decided to bother you. Of course.

"Whatcha doing? Looks real boring and tiring to me."

He says as he practically looms over you, watching to see exactly what you are doing. The jobs that Caine had assigned you, particularly, were pretty tame compared to the adventures you all would regularly go on. It did make you question why you were the only one assigned them, though... and why were these tasks so easy? You shrug it off for now and respond to Jax.

"I have to do some things today."

You say as you complete another task from Caine.

Jax quirks an eyebrow and leans closer, arms folded.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Suddenly, you get the idea to say something risky. To get back at all the pranks and embarrassing things Jax had done to you. Would you regret it? Proba-

"Like you."

S i l e n c e .

Jax’s eyes widened at that, and a slight pink tinge tinged his cheeks. A slow smirk spreads across his expression and his tone becomes cocky as he looks at you.

“Oh, you’re gonna ‘do me’, eh? Really goin’ for full on cheesy pick up lines here, aren’t ya?”

Your cheeks stung with a flush as you looked away from him, continuing with what you were doing.

"Okay, but seriously, I need to get things done today."

Jax rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, his smirk staying plastered on his face.

“Fine, be a boring workaholic. Go do important stuff'n ‘n all.”

He pauses and glances at you sideling again.

“But can’t you spend like, one minute just hangin’ with me first?”

You sigh. Just to get him away, you agree and look at him, his smug expression not leaving your sight for a moment.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

Jax shrugs as a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m easy to entertain.”

He turns in the direction of Ragatha and Pomni playing in the distance, and a sly grin breaks across his features.

“Or I could always take a tease at Pomni. That’s always fun.”

You sigh through your nose, looking at him with an uncertain gaze.

"Just don't go overboard... like you did last time?"

Jax leans against the wall and snickers, recalling the way Pomni had freaked out last time.

“Hey, not my fault she’s got no chill. You have to admit it’s funny.”

He glances sideling at you.

“Besides, you laughed.”

"Okay- but I laughed because I was in shock okaayy? That's completely different."

Jax grins widely and steps closer. His gaze is heavy as he leans in, his voice lowers to a murmur.

“You’re cute when you act all defensive.”

You hold your breath. He did not just say that.

"Shut up. I'm just telling you the truth here, it's different."

Jax snickers and raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing into a cocky grin. He steps closer so that you’re both almost chest to chest and lowers his voice.

“You’re totally cute.”

He glances sideling at Pomni, who’s still happily playing with Ragatha, and grins wickedly. You're about to open your mouth to object to what he'd said, but he interrupts your thought before it can get out.

“Y’know what would really get her to lose it?”

You stay silent for a moment, not knowing if you should even ask.

"..What?"

Jax grins mischievously and whispers into your ear.

“You should kiss me.”

He looks at you with the smuggest face, with no regret for what he had said. Did he really just say that? Seriously, what is he thinking?! You could have nearly dropped what you were doing right there and then.

"What?! Jax, that's literally crazy!"

Jax glances sideling at Pomni, still happily chatting with Ragatha. He smirks smugly.

“But it’d get a reaction.”

He turns to look right at you and leans in, his breath fanning your face. His gaze is intense and his tone is a smug murmur.

“You wouldn’t be too scared to do it, wouldcha?”

You have to blink before responding. This was insane.

"I'm not scared- it's just extreme for a prank! Let alone teasing."

Jax raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to you. His voice is silky and cocky.

“But you’re tempted, aren’t you?”

His grin is Cheshire Cat wide as he studies your expression.

"Don't put words in my mouth."

You shake your head before looking at him again. Still has that smug cheeky expression on his face.

"Look, we'll just do this really quickly because then I have to go.. Are we seriously going to do this just in front of them? To give them a shock or something? "

Jax’s cocky smirk widens into full mischief.

“Oh absolutely we are.”

He glances sideling at Pomni and laughs out loud.

“This is gonna be sooo funny—“

"Okay!!"

You interupt.

"Let's just get it over and done with quick..."

You say as you try to keep your flush from staining your cheeks.

Jax’s expression softens a fraction, and he cups your face with one hand, the other hand dropping to your waist. He leans in closer still, his voice lowering to a murmur as his cocky smirk fades to a softer smile.

“You know, I can make it real dramatic. Give you like, the whole big kiss thing and all—“

His free hand brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Or I can make it quick and sweet… your choice.”

"Does it really matter if it's just a prank anyway?"

You mumble under your breath.

Jax’s grip on your waist tightens for a moment as he leans in even closer, his face a mere few inches from yours. He keeps his voice low, his expression an intense smolder and his smugness replaced with a softer, more genuine emotion.

“It matters to me.”

His voice grows to almost a whisper, his grip on your face shifting so that he cups your cheek rather than holding your jaw.

“I wanna know what you want.”

You feel your flush completely burning your face off again. Not only that, but it's suddenly so hard to stand up? Your legs wobble and your breathing hitches as you think of a response to give.

"I don't- I don't mind..?"

Jax pauses a moment longer, his hand still cupping your face. He searches your eyes and grins.

“Well, since you can’t decide, I guess I’m taking charge.”

He leans in the rest of the way, and his lips are on yours. The cocky smirk from before is gone now with the kiss he gives you: soft, almost slow, although they are right in front of both Pomni and Ragatha. However, he does make sure to keep it brief. After a few seconds, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull back. He keeps his face a few inches away from yours, his thumb idly tracing the outline of your cheek. His tone is soft, cocky smirk gone, and the mischief in his expression is replaced with something softer.

“Mm. You taste sweet.”

He leans forward and pecks you on the corner of your mouth for extra measure. Your thoughts are completely gone, almost like they pooled to the bottom of your shoes. The only thing you can feel now is Jax's surprisingly gentle grip on you.

"Did they- Did they see?"

You barely mutter out.

Jax glances sideling at both of them, trying not to break into laughter.

“Yeah and now they're both freaking out. Ha.”

He grins and turns back to look you directly in the eye, his expression still oddly soft.

“I think mission accomplished.”

[sophrosyncc]

— what's up bro ?

you call the chrysos heirs bro. how do they react to it?

warnings/tags : slight story spoilers (you'll only notice them if you squint your eyes), gender-neutral reader, crack, slight ooc behavior (for the comedic effect) author's note : apologies for suddenly disappearing out of nowhere. I have severely underestimated how busy I'd be 🥀🥀 a bit of silly stuff before the dreaded 3.4 arrives. might edit this later characters : aglaea, anaxa, castorice, phainon.

aglaea

in her many years of leading the flame-chase journey, the last thing she expected was to be called bro.

no. you aren't the first one to call her that. both children and teenagers in the recent age of amphoreus have approached her with that nickname. cipher and phainon are definitely at the scene of the crime as well.

if she dislikes you, she'll ignore you or politely tell you off. unless you're elder caenis which is an entirely different situation on it's own.

compared to the next person on this list, she doesn't mind it if you call her that around others. it'll be a bit awkward at first but she gets used to it. there are far worse names or titles that others have given her, and she's glad that yours comes from a place of no ill intent.

if you are associated with phainon and cipher to a good extent, expect her to ask you if you were dared to do that.

maybe she'll give you an amused smile or laugh a bit after you call her bro. aglaea enjoys the unpredictability you bring in her life filled with daily routines and responsibilities. it's a nice break from what she's usually used to.

the only time you shouldn't is if she's doing something important.

on the other hand, if you're her lover, she'll be a be more playful with you. she may or may not call you bro when you least expect it. what's even worse is that no one will ever believe you if you tell them. the demigod of romance calling you bro out of nowhere sounds more impossible than completing the flame-chase journey.

can you really blame her? it's funny to see you surprised. aglaea can and will be a tease.

if you try to catch her off guard, it won't work.

call her garmentmakers bro as well and she'll enjoy it.

"hm? I don't remember calling you by that nickname. perhaps you have mistaken the voice from one of my garmentmakers for me — some of them can be playful."

anaxa

first of all, why would you call him bro?

are you asking for a death sentence? an early entrance to the nether realm?

or to catch his attention?

we're talking about the man who doesn't want to be called anything but anaxagoras. the same one who corrects everyone to the point he's made it a personal rule — he has a voiceline ranting about his own name.

if the two of you are strangers, he won't hesitate to tell you off. if he dislikes you, he'll give you a glare too or straight up ignore you. he isn't going to waste his time on you when he has better things to attend to.

however, if you're friends or lovers with him, anaxa will stare at you for a few good seconds. the scholar's silently judging you. he doesn't know whether being called bro is better than being called anaxa. to put it simply, it's awkward. he still corrects you in the end.

continue calling him bro after the first time and he'll eventually get used to it.

no. he's not calling you bro. it'll only happen in your dreams.

the era nova will happen before anaxa calls you bro.

call him bro in the classroom or anywhere near his students and he'll give you the nastiest side eye you've ever received. anaxa does not need the troublemakers getting ideas from you. that includes the other chrysos heirs as well.

a huge emphasis on the other chrysos heirs. entertaining the thought of phainon, cipher or aglaea hearing about that gives him dread. give this man some peace please.

"first of all, that's anaxagoras to you and remember that well. secondly, i'm not your bro. refrain from referring to me with such nicknames next time."

castorice

she... doesn't know how to react.

speechless. quiet.

a bit flabbergasted, even.

no worries, you didn't offend her at all. castorice simply doesn't know how to reply.

you are most likely the first one who's ever called her that. congratulations!

not a lot of people approach the hand of death and call them bro casually. people have called her by many names or titles as well, similar to aglaea, and the last thing that comes to mind is a casual nickname. castorice is also aware that she isn't the liveliest person around.

whether you're a stranger or someone she dislikes, she'll give you an awkward nod or ignore you. if there's others around her when you call her bro, she'll think you're talking about someone else. anyone but her.

however, if you're a friend: despite the silly nickname, she likes it.

being called bro isn't something she's definitely used to, but it's a nice and pleasant surprise. it gives her a sense of normalcy and comfort. it'll take more time for her to get used to it compared to the others. call her that with other people in the area and she'll be a bit confused if you're talking about her or someone else.

castorice won't call you bro often, but sometimes she will.

not a lot will change if you're her lover. she'll still react the same for the most part, but I can imagine her surprising you with another silly nickname of her own. it has to be mutual.

please just don't call her that in front of aglaea or tribbie.

she will be a bit embarrassed.

"it's... alright. there's no need to apologize. I enjoy the nickname quite a bit actually. please— don't be scared to call me that again, or other similar words."

phainon

phainon takes it extremely well. too well.

in fact, he'll even reciprocate it.

no one is surprised at all.

it isn't the first time he's heard others call him like that or the first time he's called others bro. call him bro and he's calling you bro as well. equivalent exchange.

he has also called some of the other chrysos heirs bro as well. both of you are guilty of that.

the only time he won't do it is if he dislikes you a lot. if you've played the 3.3 story quest. depending on the situation and how much he dislikes you, he'll either firmly tell you to not do that next time, pretend you didn't call him that, or glare at you.

worry not, it takes a lot to have the deliverer hate you.

if you tell him to stop calling you bro, phainon will respect that. however, he'll find other silly nicknames to call you, ones that you don't mind.

if you're his friend or his lover... good luck. one way or another he'll turn it into a competition on accident or purposefully, and it'll only get more heated if you're just as competitive as he is. get ready to have bets over who can come up with the most absurd nicknames in one minute or something else.

just be careful to not drag anyone into it, lest the two of you want to replicate chaos that could rival penacony's disaster.

"bro? haha! I didn't expect that but I'm not against it either. I guess that means you're my bro now as well. what? don't look at me like that."

masterlist

[pearlypeacepeacock69]

I attend quite a few art events, both casual to formal, so I want to share my experience.

Every event has a reason for being held. In regards to art events they can be:

1) Fundraiser

2) Opening/ Reception

3) Awards ceremony

4) Demonstration performance

The op goes into fundraisers extensively so I'm skipping it

Type of event: Gallery Opening / Reception (after event/party)

Attire: Casual to formal (depends on event). Rock up with cut off and a crop top to a public even. Wear your Sunday best to a rare viewing.

Reason for event: Gallery opeings and receptions are usually held to celebrate an artist or artists works. Sometime it's for a collection*.

Conversation: usually we talk about the artwork, artist(s), the process / medium, history, anything to do with art. We'll catch up, make small talk with people, network, but we're mainly focused on seeing artwork

Food: There's usually hors d'oeuvres, but the quality really depends on the exclusivity of the event. Open to the public? You get Cosco cracker platter and tiny water bottles. Ticket/ members only event? Catering* babyyyy! Invite only? Oh we FANCY fancy. Might be a buffet style lunchon or light dinner. Alcohol is similar to what was said in the other post.

Attendees: Again this depends on the exclusivity of the event. At the casual ones you can see children and may even have activity/ craft stations just for them. The more formal ones may have children if it's the artist's family. Collector shows dont really bring their little kids. If it's a gallery featuring student/ kids' work ofc kids will be there and it's adorable every time.

Location: These events are held in galleries* or museums*, but can also (rarely) be in a "pop up" galley.

Duration: 1 to 3 hours max (2 is pushing it honestly)

What to expect:  Doors open and allow people to wonder the gallery/ museum. Sometimes you get a little program about the showcase and the artist statement. Depending on the event, the showcased artworks might be the only thing available to look at. People are given a bit of time to view everything and maybe hors d'oeuvres and drinks. After a bit, the Director, collector, artist, and/ or special guest will make a speech.

Artist will talk about their life/ processes/ meaning/ etc. Collectors will talk about how they acquired the artworks and how much they love the artist/ style/ history/ period style. They will either loan or gift to the museum/ gallery. Directors are like the "owner" of the space. They'll talk about the hosting, their own appreciation of the works, sponsors (who might speak too), etc.

After speeches are done, people can mingle and look at art again or just leave.

Artist will talk about their life/ processes/ meaning/ etc. Collectors will talk about how they acquired the artworks and how much they love the artist/ style/ history/ period style. They will either loan or gift to the museum/ gallery. Directors are like the "owner" is the space. They'll talk about the hosting, their own appreciation of the works, sponsors (who might speak too), etc.

After speeches are done, people can mingle and look at art again or just leave.

Type of event: Awards ceremony

Attire: business casual to formal. The more prestigious the award, the more formal you dress. BUT you can also dress "artistically" (like a hot fucking mess) if you're rich enough.

Reason for event: to commemorate someone, to acknowledge achievements, to gas up sponsors and donors.

Conversation: It's very much like a reception in terms of conversation. A lot more "congratulations" tho. If we know the candidates, but winners are not announced yet, there's a LOT of anticipation and gossip. And sometimes cattyness lol. "Sue's composition is trash compared to Mary's. There's no way she'll win" "But Mary's subject is so trite! Very amature" it's so fucking funny (I've done the same thing lmao)

Food: Durring the ceremony theres not usually any food. Thats what a reception is for. Can be a dinner though! Theres usually two seating sections for dinners. One is for the people receiving awards, so they're usually seated closer to the stage or podium as well as speakers. The other section is for attendees. Sometimes theres a seating chart. Dinner award ceremonies are banquets.

Attendees: typically not open to the public so the people attending are the celebrated, their families, the director/ contest host/  representative, special guests, sponsors, the judges, etc. There are children's art competitions!!! Scholastic does one and it offers scholarships to the winners!

Location: museum, gallery, banquet hall, auditorium, parking lot, whatever.

Duration: the ceremony it's self is 45 minutes to 1 ½ hours (the worst or the best theres no inbetween). Reception after.

What to expect: You walk in before the event starts and recieve a little booklet called a program. It has the itinerary, candidates names (and directors/ hosts and sponsors), a blurb about the competition or what ever the ceremony is about, and some pretty art sometimes. Maybe the name of the live music.

Theres a bit of time to look at the artwork if you get there early. They might be hung on the walls, but if it's an auditorium they might have a slide show projected instead. The ceremony starts on time, speeches are made, medals and trophiesand handed out. Its more emotional that I can wright :/   I suggest watching at least a bit of this from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards National Ceremony (skip to 6 mins to hear the host talk).

Type of event: Demonstration performance

Dawg I'm not gonna lie, all the ones I attended are weird as fuck. If you want to put Bruce or whoever in a confusing ass situation, make them go to a demonstration. Make that man watch some twink in a full body latex paint brush costume wiggle around on the floor for 6 minuets somehow creating a 10' x 10' rendition of the Mona Lisa with tits the size of Venice. Have him hold a conversation with a woman who is Wind™️ with a fan attached to her ankle. There is fabric flying around. Its in his eyes. He keeps talking. Good luck 🫡🤷🏿‍♀️ fucking performance art can be so cool but what the hell?

*museum - (usually) non-profit that focuses on preserving, educating, collecting works of art. They can have  permanent collections and  temporary rotations of "traveling" works. The one I work at has a temporary exhibition of Rodin rn and a borrowed Warhol. We also have a permanent (and growing!) collection of student art 😭

*gallery- so here's were terms get weird. Museums can have galleries, as in, a room that holds similar art work/ art by the same person. But theres also private galleries, as in a building that is usually privately owned, can be for profit, and can house almost anything the owner wants. Like a Monet next to a Kara Walker. The art in galleries can also be purchased. More contemporary, you can submit you art to one to hopefully sell.

*collection - a bunch of artwork that may be created by the same (sometimes deceased) person, OWNED and loaned by one person/ family, share the same themes, created in the same era (think impressionist or highway men), etc. Art owned by a person or museum is a Personal Collection.

* Catering - Usually venues and hosts have a preferd caterer, so if you've been thinking of that curry spinich empanadas for the past few months dont worry. If there's another event at that particular venue or host, you'll see those empanadas again (God i miss them ;w;) Catering is either on a table buffet style or with servers walking around with platters. Everything is small as hell. The more formal ones have ceramic dishes and silverware rather than paper and plastic.

*Special Guest - people who are invited to the event due to their knowledge of the arts, their philanthropy, experience with the artist/ medium/ history, president of some art alliance, or just some really cool dude.

by far the funniest thing about reading fanfiction as a political professional is that I can always tell exactly who has and hasn't been to a fundraiser or gala based on how they write them