#I’m just irritated with the state of fanfiction

[carnivore-voyeur]

Here’s some chat guidelines for Per’s lives based on things he’s shared in all of them:

Per doesn’t refer to himself as Sodomizer. I’ve seen his friends still call him Sodo and he’s responded to Sodo. However, he doesn’t like his Sodomizer tattoo and he has stated that he doesn’t want people to refer to him as Sodomizer. It was done as a joke in reference to a friend’s band. It doesn’t represent him and he would like to get his tattoo covered up.

He’s not going to talk about his involvement in Ghost. He never talks about his involvement in Ghost. If he talks about Ghost at all, it’s in reference to seeing them live (in the past) or being invited to see the movie. Otherwise, he doesn’t talk about Ghost unprompted and he doesn’t talk about his relationship with Tobias Forge.

Some things are for fans/fandom only. He doesn’t need to know about fanfiction. He doesn’t need to know about ships / shipping. It doesn’t matter what he thinks about fictional names for the fictional ghouls in the fictional ministry fans created for Ghost. He’s not a part of that. That’s for fandom use only. Please separate Ghost fiction from reality.

He’s been getting very frustrated over discussions of his height and his hair. He’s not going to let his hair down because he doesn’t like his hair. He’s already answered questions about his height (He’s ~5’8”) multiple times. He doesn’t understand why people are obsessed with his height or his hair. (IMO, it’s okay to love those things about him. He just doesn’t necessarily want to talk about those things.)

Whether we like it or not, he’s not going to talk about political issues at all. He’s not comfortable talking about political issues, and he expressed that he would much rather people who want to make a political change to just do it rather than yell at him about it. He doesn’t condone the “horrible things” happening in the world, but he’s closed off from politics for whatever reason.

Stop asking about his sexuality. He’s said he’s straight multiple times now. He’s not dating his coworkers. Stop asking him what he thinks about LGBTQ+ people. He has repeatedly said he’s supportive of LGBTQ+ people. His opinion is that people should be able to be and do what they want as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else.

Be careful about heavy topics. (e.g. Someone asked him what he thinks of hate crimes.) You don’t know what topics could be uncomfortable or even triggering to someone, and it’s really not a great idea to bring in heavy topics to a livestream when a safe space for them hasn’t been established. That can not only be stressful for him, but for other people in the chat.

Edit:

There are a few fans who try to joke around with him by saying they're his girlfriend or wife or that they're married. Recently, someone told him in the live that they made a Character AI of him that was dating or married to them. This is very very serious parasocial behavior. We cannot normalize it in our fandom spaces. Do not encourage it. Report these accounts when you see them.

.

I’m sharing this not to be overbearing and annoying, but rather because the same things come up in every livestream and some fans are simply not aware of them. A lot of these things revolve around personal boundaries. Just remember that you’re talking to a real person and not the fictional ghoul fans have created for his stage persona in Ghost.

I feel like these are reasonable boundaries for a livestream that we can all respect. I’ve left out other topics that he doesn’t really care about or that he’s already answered because they’re not really harmful. (Yes, it can be irritating to see the same questions over and over but they don’t involve ignoring his boundaries).

Finally, if you’re going to watch his livestreams specifically to go attack him or his girlfriend with insults on Twitter or TikTok or any other form of social media then you need to figure out something else to do with your time. You are way too invested in someone you obviously don’t like. You are making yourself and everyone else miserable.

You don’t have to like him. You can criticize him for something he said or did that upset you. That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable to transgress his boundaries. That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable to make misogynistic comments against his girlfriend. That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable to wish harm on him. That is obsessive, “anti” parasocial behavior. It needs to stop.

[foxintheferns]

Wild Heart

Chapter Three

A Twilight - Paul Lahote Fanfiction

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

*Short summary for my antsy gals: this absolute babe with childhood trauma, no real family and a passion for animals goes to live in the woods outside of La Push beach for her job that’s she’s deemed is necessary to find her way in life, and guess who’s not happy she’s there because now they have to worry about this human who’s put herself smack in the middle of bloodsucker city, where they have an instinctual obligation to protect her. And guess who’s even more angry that he suddenly feels an undying and relentless, fiery need to be with her all the time? Angst, tension, passion, anger, love, jealousy, perhaps even some betrayal? This story’s got it all babes (yes, even the smut) - it’s just one of those slow burn, then-suddenly-everything-is-fuckin-crazy-and-the-angst-is-unreal fics, you know? stay tuned ;)

A/N: awww shit we got the Jacob POV with this one! Sorry this took a while! I’m feeling super excited about the story and antsy to get into it. Hope you enjoy!!! PS, tagging all the wonderful lil babies that liked chapter one and two! You guys motivated me to get this one done :’) more to come shortly

CHAPTER THREE

Jacob Black’s POV:

“I don’t know, dude, but she’s out there,” I muttered under my breath, whittling away vigorously at the piece of wood I was working on with my knife. Jared scoffed, lounging on Emily and Sam’s couch across the room, gnawing on some chicken wings that Embry had brought over.

“Yeah, okay, I’m sure she was just a hiker, Jake. Teenagers from the Rez go out there all the time lookin’ for trouble, you know that,” he responded, not seeming to be truly allowing his full attention to fall on the conversation. I raised my eyes from my wood carving to glare at him from where I sat on the wooden steps.

“I do know that, Jared,” My voice came out as a sneer now, “That’s exactly why I’m saying this is different.”

Jared didn’t notice my eyes on him, and shrugged casually as he continued to pull chicken off a thigh bone with his teeth, his eyes more focused on the hockey game playing on the television than on my concerns. His face was looking extra punchable today, and I knew I’d have to reel in my annoyance for him if I wanted to be taken seriously by the pack with this one. Seth strode in from the back porch now, the screen door into the living room having allowed him to hear our bickering. He slid the screen closed behind him and shot me an interested look.

“I believe you, Jake. We just all gotta go out there and see what’s goin on.”

Ugh. Seth was always backing me up, and it made me even more irritable. Even though he was 22 now, he still felt a lot like a little brother to me, although I’d started to really respect him as a member of the pack; he did really pull his weight. I shrugged now, turning my attention back to the wood in my hand that was starting to slowly take the shape of a full-bodied wolf. I knew I’d have to wait until Sam and Paul came back from their trip to Canada before the issue would be addressed seriously. Even my own father wasn’t showing the concern I thought was necessary.

A week before, a twenty-something, obviously totally clueless girl had moved into the old lookout shelter smack in the middle of the Olympic Forest. Right where the pack had full territory protection orders, conveniently enough. The shelter hadn’t been used in over 5 years, and now suddenly the State of Washington has deemed it necessary for this girl to be out there doing, what exactly - birdwatching? It was ridiculous. On my patrol a few days before, I’d decided to stay quiet and watch her from afar for a while, as I’d been keeping an eye on her since I noticed her arrive days before. I seriously watched that girl walk around the forest for hours, looking through her binoculars and scribbling in her little notebook. I got so bored I almost fell asleep, my head resting on the ground between my paws and the occasional sound of the girl’s whispered ‘wow’s and ‘look at you, you are a beauty!’s lulling my tired brain. She often stayed in one area of the woods for hours, and I didn’t have to move around much to avoid her detecting my massive form behind the tall ferns and felled trees.

I just didn’t understand why anyone would do that to themselves. I mean, if anyone understood the beauty of the forests around La Push, it was me, but subjecting yourself to living in that little cabin for who knows how long? This girl must be certifiably insane - or at least very weird and antisocial, I thought. The boys and I had seen the empty cabin loads of times, it being pretty much smack in the middle of the pack’s territory. It was every so often that young, drunk teenagers stumbled across the chained-off shelter late at night and warranted us to do a little intervening, scaring them off by growling or shuffling deep from the darkness. It worked like a charm, every damn time. We couldn’t have people, nonetheless some random kids, partying out in the middle of the woods like a buffet for the bloodsuckers. It was our job to make sure anyone on our land was safe. And that’s exactly why this girl was putting a bit of a kink in our system.

I remembered the night I first saw her. The lights had been on, smoke escaping from the cabin’s chimney for the first time in years, and I had practically sprinted home to tell the rest of the pack. I had been the only one out doing patrol recently; Sam and Paul had gone as the pack ambassadors to Northern Canada, in their human forms, to visit another group that had reached out in efforts to understand more about our kind. It seemed the Quileutes weren’t the only shifters around. It was great and all, sure, but it left me as the stand-in Alpha while they were away, and the boys didn’t necessarily fear me as much as they did Sam, what with them being my best friends.

“Ah, right, that girl… the one with the Bronco, from the grocery store,” my dad Billy had said casually a week before, when I had brought up to him the severity of my concerns after first seeing her and having my worries be promptly brushed off by Embry and Jared pretty quickly. There hadn’t been a bloodsucker around these parts in quite a while. The Cullens were away, somewhere in Europe, for the past few months, and the pack had seemed to get a bit too comfortable with the lack of constant vampire threats.

I stared up at my dad in confusion, my mouth slightly open in surprise that he seemed to immediately know who I was talking about. All I’d said was that I saw someone was in the lookout shelter, lights on and wood burning stove cranking, and that we needed to figure out who the hell was trespassing and kick them out.

Billy looked up briefly from his newspaper and coffee to meet my eyes nonchalantly.

“Who?” I asked incredulously.

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head and straightening his newspaper out to read it again. “Jacob, the lookout is State property. Sometimes they send in a scientist or two to do some research on endangered species and whatnot for a year or so. They’ve done it lots of times. She’s not the first,” He said casually while eyeing the newspaper. My mouth gaped at him now. How was he taking this so lightly? “Wh-first of all, how do you even know about this girl? Second- she’ll be out there a year?!” My voice was louder, his nonchalance starting to irk me. Billy had sighed then, setting the newspaper down on the table. “I saw her when we got groceries earlier today. She dropped something from her wallet and I yelled out to let her know. I asked her what she was doing in these parts, and she told me she moved here for her job. Wildlife biologist. Tell me, son, you see any other places that a wildlife biologist would work in La Push? I figured that’s where she’d be going, right when she told me. Now, obviously it’s not ideal that she’s out there but, well… I mean, she’s doing it for a good cause.” I stared at him in disbelief, shaking my head and my eyes bugging. His careless demeanor towards the issue was making me feel like I was about to implode, my temperature rising and the wolf inside me eager as ever to let my anger take hold. “Yeah, not ideal is a bit of an understatement. Ha! She’s bloodsucker bait out there. She won’t even last a month, just watch. Either we’ll scare her off, or the leeches will come for her,” I seethed, crossing my arms and putting my feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch. I stared across the room at the wall. Billy’s eyes burned into me from my peripheral, and I heard him grumble under his breath before he curtly responded, ”Jacob. It’s your job to keep her safe now. That is not an option. That is the responsibility and obligation that runs through your veins,” he hesitated briefly, “And I won’t hear about you trying to scare her. I won’t.”

My brows furrowed, and I kept my arms crossed in defiance, although I knew I couldn’t argue with him. He was right. But, it was still worth a shot trying to get her to leave.

That was a week ago now, and with Paul and Sam still gone for the next week, I knew I’d have to figure something out myself. I was the Alpha for the time being, after all. I stood up from the step, folding my knife, stuffing it into my back pocket and carefully slipping my incomplete wolf carving into its velvet pouch for safe keeping.

“You guys have fun. I’m going back out there,” I grumbled, taking the extra moment to flick the side of Jared’s head on my way out the back door. He yelped and grimaced, holding his head dramatically and rubbing the place where my middle finger had made contact. Seth stifled a laugh from the recliner in the corner, and Jared shot him a look before flinging a chicken bone at his head, which Seth dodged gracefully. I hid my smile as I strode out across the back porch, bracing myself with my right arm and slinging my legs over the waist high fence to land on the other side with ease. I breathed deeply, feeling the last bit of direct sunshine the day had to offer touch my skin. I had honestly been enjoying this smaller pack experience. With Sam gone, and me calling the shots, I had a lot more solo-shifting time. Being in my wolf, all by myself and without the constant obnoxious chatter of the boys in my head, was truly peaceful. I stood behind the porch and glanced around me once before pulling my pants to the ground. I shook them off and tied them around one of my ankles, my typical way of ensuring I had clothes to put on when I shifted back into my human form later. I let my body begin to tremble and burn and tear as I pushed through my current peace and urged it to become strength. Shifting on command was now something my body had gotten quite used to, and I felt natural doing it. I was grateful that I no longer had to be seething with rage or worry in order for my body to morph, painfully and violently, into its massive canine form. This was much more convenient.

I made a point to check the entirety of the perimeter first, possibly trying to convince myself that this foolish girl wasn’t the only reason I was out there so early. I ran for miles, keeping my senses honed in and my body at a steady pace. I was leaving checking on her for last, the little cabin tucked deep into the woods on our land and about a mile in from our southernmost territorial boundary line. Suddenly, a thought broke through my quite peace.

~Jake, we’re all down by First Beach for a fire, you should swing by and take a break~

Seth’s voice was soft. He knew when I was in the zone, and had been barked at for being a nuisance many times, so I could sense his hesitation with the invite. Surprisingly, I was eager to take a break before checking out the lookout shelter. I hadn’t realized it, or maybe hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge it before, but I was a little nervous. I didn’t know what it was about this girl, but her comfort within the forest threw me off. I wasn’t used to seeing outsiders look so at home in what I felt was my home.

~Sure, sure, I’ll be there~

Seth’s presence quickly disappeared again with my response, and I began my sprint through the forest down to the beach. Within minutes I was gliding through the trees, aiming for the spot where the boys and I typically met up. I stopped when I came to the tree-line, and could see the fuzzy outline of the reservation’s only restaurant, Riverside, through the trees. I felt my body shimmer and shake as I shifted back to my two legged body, bending at the waist and moving from side to side to crack my tired back and neck as I adjusted. I untied my sweatpants from my ankle and pulled them back on, swiping my hand quickly through my hair to make myself presentable and avoid attracting too many unwanted looks from tourists on the beach. Although, being six foot five and usually shirtless typically prevented that from being avoidable. I made my way through the remaining patch of trees until they broke apart and revealed the stretch of dirt road that went from the restaurant down to the beach. Seth, Embry and Quil were standing in a huddle off to the side of the small building. Seth and Embry turned at the sound of my footsteps, a greeting, howl-like hoot coming from Embry’s mouth. I chuckled and returned the sound, coming up to them and returning his waiting fist bump. Quil nudged my arm, narrowing his eyes and lowering his tone to speak in a playful inflection, “Yo, think I saw that girl you’re so hung up on down at the beach, man.”

I felt my cheeks warm, and I immediately felt anger at the odd sensation. I knew Quil was just trying to fuck with me. ‘That girl you’re so hung up on’ as if I gave a crap what she was up to. I just didn’t want to have to deal with the inconvenience of another innocent human to have to protect for no good reason other than she wants to watch some birds. I punched his arm, hard enough for that shitty grin of his to be wiped off of his face.

“Yeah? D’ya tell her to get the hell outta here?” I responded with a sarcastic smile.

Embry rolled his eyes, looking at me straight on. Embry was never intimidated by me, even when Sam appointed me the stand-in alpha, even when I was the only one of us besides Paul that could easily overpower any of the others in the pack.

“Jake, relax. Girl looks like she knows her way around a trail, I don’t think it’s a big deal.” Embry’s voice was steady.

I raised my eyebrows, smirking at his consistently naive kindness.

“Yeah, Embry? You ready to keep watch and make sure she doesn’t become leech bait for the next year?”

Embry’s face faltered, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion, “A year? Why would she be here a whole year?”

I nodded, a grim smile on my face, happy the boys were finally getting it.

“A year. Billy says that’s what the State does, hires biologists or whatever to come down here to study the animals. I guess that’s how long the job is.”

Seth seemed interested now, his own usually neutral position seeming to falter as well.

“Oh damn, that is kinda…not ideal… I wonder if-,” Seth paused mid sentence, his eyes catching something behind me. I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, I turned to see what had caught his attention. Walking toward the restaurant -and toward us- a small red backpack strewn over her shoulder and curly brown hair that escaped a long braid in small wispy sections around her face, whipping across her cheeks with the salty breeze, was a girl. The elusive forest bird girl. There she was. The current thorn in my side that was causing more issues than she could even dream of understanding. I hadn’t seen her this close yet. She looked to be around our age, early twenties, and she was a bit taller than a lot of the girls I’d seen around town. She had long, graceful legs that carried her with purposeful and lengthy strides. Her feet were clad in brown hiking boots, dirty and currently blanketed in sand from the beach she seemed to be coming from. In the brief moment we had stopped our conversation to look in her direction, she had glanced down at the ground, seemingly avoiding our intense stares. I turned back slowly to see the boys watching her intently, and rolled my eyes. The silence carried on until she opened the door to the restaurant, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Seth’s eyes were still on the door. I snapped my finger in his face, calling his attention back. He blinked, staring at me. Then, he looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet around on the dirt, apparently finding a random rock to be quite interesting.

“I mean, if that’s the girl living in our woods- I think it’s, uh… I think that’s just fine,” Seth mumbled with a light shrug, a playful smirk pulling up onto his lips as he shot a narrow glance at Quil from the corner of his eye. Quil snorted, earning another shoulder punch from me. “Yeah, yeah. Get your skinny asses down to the beach, let’s go,” I instructed, turning my body away from the restaurant and directing the group of us towards the treeline. They obliged, starting a new conversation amongst themselves as I trailed behind. Before we entered the trees to make our way down to the beach, I risked one brief glance over my left shoulder, and regretted it instantly when I made direct eye contact with her through the glass pane of the front window of the restaurant. My eyes shot back forward immediately, but I continued to see her face in my mind for a moment. She had been looking at me. Her expression was… intrigued? No, that wasn’t it, maybe nervous? Good. I didn’t want her getting comfortable here.

Two Hours Later

“All I’m saying is, she’s cute,” Quil had his hands up defensively in front of him, palms facing outward, “sue me, Jake. A hot girl is living in our forest and I’m not mad about it.”

I glared at him from beneath my brows across the large driftwood fire the four of us sat around on First Beach, the sun just starting to come down across the horizon.

“And all I’m saying is, you’re lucky you’re sitting all the way over there, Quil,” I mumbled back, turning my gaze downward to continue to play with a stick in the sand, stabbing it down and feeling the satisfying crunch of the beach beneath it.

“Lighten up, Jake. You’re gonna go prematurely grey with all this worrying you’re doing,” Embry joked, chewing on some Swedish Fish he’d pulled out from his back pocket. My eyes flickered up to his face, and he slowed his chewing when he saw whatever expression was on mine, the humor on his features withering slightly.

“This isn’t something he,” I gestured towards Quil, “or any of us, should be joking about. Just because bloodsuckers haven’t come through in a while doesn’t mean they’re not out there. They’re always out there. And this girl has decided to settle down right smack in the middle of the damn woods. You guys don’t see anything that could go wrong there?”

Seth shrugged halfheartedly, “Honestly?…Not with us around.”

I rolled my eyes, but slumped my shoulders back down in defeat.

“Whatever, I’m going back,” I muttered, throwing the stick I’d been fumbling with down into the flames of the bonfire as I pulled myself to my feet. I heard the mumbles of complaint and opposition come from the three of them, but decided I wasn’t in the mood for more petty arguing and defending of reality, and kept a steady pace over to the tree-line bordering the beach until I was well into the cover of the dark greenery. I walked further, trying to allow the cold air of the forest to bite into my skin and clear my head. The sunlight was almost completely gone now, and I was eager to get back into my wolf form, the idea of not having to communicate with the rest of the pack looking like a luxury at this point. I was always able to sink effortlessly into the instinctual, primal rhythm that came along with shifting. It was a quiet place where my human emotions and worries weren’t as clear and sharp. It allowed escape. As I bent to pull my sweatpants down, a distant light flickered across my vision. I stood up straight, my pants pulling back up onto my hips, and narrowed my eyes to peer through the trees. A bobbing flashlight was moving through the black trees ahead, probably around 40 yards away. My vision was much better than the average human’s, and my senses of smell and hearing were almost as good as they were in my wolf form. I knew almost immediately that it was her. I felt a smirk pull up a corner of my mouth when I realized that she was making it far too easy, now. All I had to do was freak her out a bit, right? What woman wants to stay in the woods by herself when strange shirtless men are out and about? I started striding towards her, not fully knowing what I was doing or bothering to question myself up until the very moment she seemed to hear the crunching of my feet on the ground. She froze, and I could hear the terrified pumping of her heart in the silence. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to do much. Maybe this would be enough to scare her, to get her to pack her things and head back to wherever she came from. I continued to loudly trudge across the forest floor, trying to make myself sound even bigger than I already was. She suddenly reached behind her, grabbing some object from her backpack’s side, and then proceeded to yell. Or, I don’t think I could truly call it a yell. A loud whimper, perhaps.

“Hey, bear! H-hey bear!”

I almost laughed out loud. I stopped walking, stifling my chuckle and keeping my eyes on her trembling frame. I had to make myself known; I couldn’t let the poor girl believe that her pathetic attempt at keeping a bear away would’ve actually worked. I’d practically be doing her a disservice by going away now.

Back to the strange man in the woods approach.

“Well, I’m not a bear, but if I was - don’t know that those sounds would do the trick.”

She reeled, gasping and throwing her flashlight to the ground in her panic. I rolled my eyes in the darkness. If I had been a bear, you’d be a goner by now, I wanted to say.

“Shit!” Her voice filled the silent forest, and I bit my bottom lip hard to keep the unimpressed laugh from escaping. I was right to try and get this girl to leave, she wouldn’t last a second around a vampire. Suddenly, the flashlight was back in her grasp and a blinding light was being pointed directly at my face.

“Jesus, wha-, fuck, can you shine that down?!” I practically yelled, throwing a hand up in front of my face and straining my eyes from the brightness. After a moment, the light was lowered quickly, hovering around my legs, and I let my hand fall back down. We locked eyes, her terrified gaze traveling up and down my body, resting finally on my face.

“H-…wha-who-,” she stammered out, then appeared to take a deep breath and began again, “Why are you following me?”

Now, I couldn’t hide my amusement. I felt a smile prick the corner of my mouth, and I watched as her expression became more filled with terror at the change in my expression. When I saw that, I realized it was possible that I was maybe scaring her a bit too much. I let my gaze soften and stifled back another chuckle, cocking my head towards her and letting my genuine interest in her ridiculous reasoning lead the way.

“Following you? You’re on my land, sweetheart,” I responded, my voice calm and steady, keeping my eyes locked on hers.

➡️NEXT CHAPTER

……………………………………………………………………………………

A/N: eeeeeek! This was basically Chapter Two but from Jake’s POV, so very excited to move it along in the next chapter heheh. Should be up tmrw! To the wonderful readers who followed along with Chp 1 and 2, you guys rock and I hope you still wanna read, but still luv u even if u just stopped in for those first chapters! <3

@hotheadwolf @living-that-best-life @carrrieeexu @plainharmony130th-blog

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 17

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She asks, eyes glazed as pain starts to overwhelm her.

I’m aware of how painful the walk here has been for her with the state she’s in, but there will come a time when her body will struggle to keep going, and her mind will be her only means for survival.

“Nope. Third-year business.” I let go of her waist, and I can still feel the warmth of her body pressed against me, a phantom touch.

The end of the tunnel is solid stone, with no crack or crevice to indicate a doorway. A few deft flicks of my hand, and there’s a click as I push the door open, a blast of cool wind greeting us as we step out into the crisp November air.

“What the hell,” Violet whispers in wonder at the open doorway that appears in the rock.

“It’s camouflaged.” I wave my hand and the door closes, merging back into the rock as if it never existed. 

In the sky above, the sound of dragon wings greets our arrival, their figures growing larger as they descend.

Tairn lands and steps towards us, Sgaeyl following behind. She’s tense, every part of her scaled and taloned body tucked in tight.

“We’re fine. I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Stop being a mother hen.”

Sgaeyl’s eyes are on Violet, but her mental growl is directed at me, “Watch yourself, Dark One.” Her voice is humorless in my head.

Tairn’s voice hums through me before I can respond. “I’m guessing the  Wingleader wants a word?”

Andarna gallops in between Sgaeyl’s legs, skidding to a stop in front of Violet. Like a great, serpentine cat, she presses her head into Violet’s ribs, her scaly eyelids closed in concentration. Andarna’s anxiety and fear is strong enough that it flows through all of us.

“No broken bones,” Violet promises, her hand coming to rest on top of Andarna’s spiny head. “They’re just bruised.”

“You’re sure?” I hear her small voice in my own head.

“As sure as I can be.” Violet smiles, but her eyes are lined with pain and her smile comes out as more of a grimace. 

“Yes, I want a word. What the hell kind of powers are you channeling to her?” I glare up into Tairn’s ancient eyes.

“None of your business what I choose or do not choose to channel toward my rider,” He answers with a growl.

“He says–” Violet begins.

“I heard him,” I counter, eyes still locked on Tairn’s.

“You what?” She asks incredulously, brows disappearing into her hairline.

I ignore Violet, shouting up at her stubborn dragon. “It absolutely is my business when you expect me to protect her.”

“I got the message to you just fine, human.” Tairn’s patience is becoming razor thin. 

“And I barely made it,” I spit out through gritted teeth. “She would have been dead if I’d been thirty seconds later.”

Tairn’s menacing growl pushes into every corner of my mind, “Seems like you had thirty seconds gifted to you.”

“And I’d like to know what the fuck happened in there!” I yell, my voice reverberating through my own head.

Next to me, Violet sucks in a breath. I’m being reckless. More than reckless. But I almost lost everything today, I should’ve lost everything.

I want to know why I didn’t.

“We need to know what happened in that room,” I repeat, cutting my eyes over to Violet before I turn my focus back on Tairn.

It’s damn near suicidal to attempt to poke around in Tairn’s mind, but I’m getting impatient. I start to push inward, finding the string between Sgaeyl and Tairn in the atrium of my mind. 

“Do not dare to try and read me, human, or you’ll regret it.” Tairn’s tongue flicks out between his large fangs and I repress the shudder that runs through me.

Violet is instantly in front of me, placing herself between Tairn and I. “He’s just a little freaked out. Don’t scorch him.”

“At least we agree on something.” Sgaeyl exhales a sigh of the long-suffering.

Violet’s gaze slides from Tairn to Sgaeyl, shock and awe written all over her face. “She talked to me.”

“I know. I heard.” Unamused,  I fold my arms and give both dragons an irritated glare. “It’s because they’re mates. It’s the same reason I’m chained to you.”

“You make it sound so pleasant.” Violet says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s not.” I turn to face her. “But you and I are exactly that, Violence. We’re chained. Tethered. You die, I die, so I damn well deserve to know how the hell you were under Seifert’s knife one second and across the room in another. Is that the signet power you’ve manifested with Tairn? Come clean. Now.” I hold her gaze, searching for any sign of deception.

“I don’t know what happened,” Violet says simply, and I know she’s telling the truth. She’s just as shaken as I am.

Violet turns to Andarna and stares intently at her for a few moments, then turns back to me repeating Andarna’s words. “Nature likes all things in balance. That’s the first thing we’re taught.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

There’s a brief silence until Sgaeyl says, “Let her explain.” I’m completely lost to this conversation, and it takes an inordinate amount of patience to sit and wait for them to finish speaking to each other.

“Like a signet?” Violet asks, and I cock my head to the side in thought.

Andarna’s signet? Or not a signet, but her own independent magic?

“No,” Sgaeyl answers. “A signet is a combination of our power with your own ability to channel. It reflects who you are at the core of your being.”

Andarna puffs her chest and Violet repeats the little dragon’s words. “She says, ‘But I gave my gift directly to you. Because I’m still a feathertail.’”

Violet is quiet, turned inward for a heartbeat. “You’re still a feathertail?” she asks apprehensively, her face wary and guarded.

Andarna lets out a small sleepy yawn, her face looking peaceful. 

Next to me, Violet’s face has drained of color, something like horror in her eyes. “You’re…you’re a hatchling.” she whispers. 

My gaze whips from Violet to Andarana. “She’s a what?”

Violet glares up at Tairn, her entire countenance changed. “You let a Juvenile bond? A juvenile train for war?” Her tone laced with accusation. 

Tairn blinks, “We mature at a much faster rate than humans.” He looks mildly offended. “And I’m not sure anyone lets Andarna do anything.” 

Violet’s mouth is open in disbelief, “How much faster?” She gasps, “She’s two years old!”

“She’ll be full-grown in a year or two, but some are slower than others. And if I thought she’d actually bond, I would have objected harder to her Right of Benefaction.” Sgayel says, looking down at Andarna in obvious disapproval.

My eyes have gone wide. I thought that Sgaeyl was just fond of the featherling. Not…a caretaker to a hatchling. In the over two years we’ve been together,  Sgaeyl has never mentioned a hatchling before. Surely she would've told me. 

Dragon offspring are coveted. Mothers are held to the highest regard. She would never keep something like that from me. Not for two years.

Unless she didn’t trust me. 

“Hold on.” I take a step toward Sgaeyl, my heart already crumbling. “Is Andarna yours? Have you hidden a hatchling away from me these last two years?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sgaeyl ruffles my hair with a blast of hot air. “Do you think I’d let my offspring bond while still feathered?” I let out the breath I’d been holding, a weight lifting off of my chest.

“Her parents passed before hatching,” Tairn says, clearing any confusion.

Violet closes her eyes slowly, “Oh, I’m sorry, Andarna.”

“Not enough to keep you off the Threshing field,” Tairn grumbles in response to whatever Andarna’s said. “Feathertails don’t bond because their power is too unpredictable. Unstable.”

“Unpredictable?” I ask.

“The same way you wouldn’t hand a toddler your signet, would you, wingleader?” Tairn says with a grunt. Andarna’s completely exhausted sagging against Tairn’s foreleg like a ragdoll hanging from a child’s fingers.

“Gods, no. I could barely control it as a first-year.” I shake my head at the memory of those first few months.

“Exactly. Bonding too young allows them to give their gift directly, and a rider could easily drain them and burn out.”

“I would never!” Violet swears.

And she wouldn’t. Andarna knows it too. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know. Feathertails aren’t supposed to be seen.” Tairn gives his mate a look. 

Sgaeyl doesn’t even try to look guilty.

Horror sluices through me as I think about what that kind of power could do in the wrong hands. “If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves, rather than depending on their own signets...” I trail off as I stare at Andarna.

“She’d be hunted,” Violet finishes in a whisper.

“Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,” Sgaeyl says. “Hopefully, she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more…stringent protections on the feathertails.”

“I won’t,” Violet promises. “Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did saved my life.”

Andarna yawns again, her head swaying to the side as exhaustion creeps in further.

Violet’s face has gone blank, her breathing shallow.

“What did she say?” I ask as Violet wobbles on her feet.

I grip her shoulders tightly, holding her up.

Tairn growls and a puff of steam blasts us both.

“I’d take your hands off the rider,” Sgaeyl warns me.

I loosen my grip but keep my hands around Violet, looking down into her face. There’s a force tugging me toward the edge of some bottomless chasm. If I let go of her, I’m afraid we’ll both go stumbling into it. 

I do not like being left in the dark, unable to see. And right now, I can’t see anything.

 “Tell me what she said. Please.” The last word leaves my mouth tasting sour.

“She can pause time. Briefly.” 

My brain short circuits at her answer. I look over at Andarna. “You can stop time?”

“In small increments,” Violet whispers.

“In small increments,” I repeat back to her slowly, feeling the words sink in.

“And if I use it too much, I can kill you,” Violet looks at Andarna. 

There’s such pure honesty and admiration flowing through the two of them as they sit in quiet conversation, One gold and one silver.

When Violet speaks aloud again, it comes out in a horrified whisper, “Is Professor Carr going to kill me, too?” 

Three pairs of dragon eyes, and my own dark gaze, turn to look at her, something violent and possessive vibrating in the air.

I grip her tightly, forgetting Tairn’s earlier warning. My thumbs stroke a path from her shoulders down to the tip of each collar bone. 

“Why would you think that?” I ask her. The fear and anguish on her face is enough to drive me toward desperation. My thumbs press in harder, massaging her skin beneath the layers of clothes, willing my hands to become a tool capable of erasing the danger around us with each stroke.

“He killed Jeremiah.” Her hazel eyes bore into me, holding me in place.  “You saw him snap his neck like a twig right in front of the whole quadrant.” 

“Jeremiah was an inntinnsic.” My voice lowers. “A mind reader is a capital offense. You know that.”

“And what are they going to do if they find out I can stop time?” Her fear is morphing into terror.

“They’re not going to find out,” I promise her, my hands tightening on her shoulders. “No one is going to tell them. Not you. Not me. Not them.” I motion with one hand toward our trio of dragons. “Understand?”

“He’s right,” Tairn says. “They can’t find out. And there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel.” 

Andarna yawns so hard she sways. The hatchling looks dead on her feet.

 “Get some sleep,” Violet tells her softly. “Thank you for helping me tonight.” 

“Let’s go, Golden One,” Tairn says, and in unison, they launch into the air, a hard wind hitting us as their wings propel them up. 

Andarna beats her wings frantically, trying to move skyward.

Tairn swoops underneath her and cradles the little dragon in the crook of his wings as they disappear into the night sky. 

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” I plead as we turn to head back to the citadel. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.” 

Now that we’ve solved one of this evening's great mysteries, it’s time to solve the other one. “We need to figure out how unbonded cadets got in your room,”

“There was a rider there,” Violet says, her gaze fastened straight ahead, refusing to look at me. “Someone who ran away before you arrived. She must have unlocked it from the outside.” 

I stop abruptly, pulling Violet toward me. “Who?”

She shakes her head, fear and doubt swimming in her eyes.

It’s almost too easy to pick out which responses are  the unfortunate side effects of being disregarded her entire life. Dain’s doubt and disrespect, the constant threats to her life, and I doubt her mother’s cruelty stops at Tyr kids.

“At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other, Sorrengail. The rest of our lives depend on it.” I tamper down my rising anger. “Now tell me who.”

Violet looks up at me and takes a steadying breath. “Amber Mavis.”

Fury courses through my veins, so bright and hot that my vision tunnels into a darkness so black and empty that the only thing I can see is Violet’s hazel eyes staring up at me.

…

I rap a knuckle softly against the wooden door on the first-year floor. There’s the sound of shuffling feet and the door cracks open enough for me to see Liam’s blue eyes in the hall light.

“Mairi.” I nod once in mock formality. 

Liam opens the door wider and runs a hand through his sleep mussed hair.

“Should I start bowing?” he smirks, his voice garbled 

I snort, “The day I ask you to bow, you can have me torched.” 

I walk further into the cramped room, examining the meager contents of his new home. 

Liam’s only a few inches shorter than I am and is starting to rival me in sheer muscle mass. There’s not much sitting room with both of us in here. 

I pick a dagger up off of his side table and spin it inbetween my fingers. 

“You know you’re lucky I was alone this morning.”

“Ahh but Liam,” I tap the tip of the dagger to my temple, “I know everything.”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the dagger out of my hand, throwing it into the top drawer of his nightstand.

“I need a favor.”

Liam raises his eyebrows in amusement. “And by that, I’m going to assume you mean an order?”

“I was trying to be nice.” I laugh.

He gives me a look, “Let’s not pretend you’re anything other than a grumpy ass, Xaden.”

I let out a long breath, “I’m switching you to Flame Section.”

Liam nods once. “When?”

“Tomorrow. I’m moving you over next to Violet as well. Get your stuff packed up, and you can move in after morning announcements.”

“Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it.”

“I know.” I clap him on the back and that ever-present guilt makes its way to the forefront of my mind. 

I start toward the door and Liam catches me by the shoulder. “Xaden, I want to.” There’s something in his eyes that squeezes my chest painfully. He continues, “We all want to.”

“Yea–”

“I’m serious, Xaden. You have to stop with the constant guilt.” He levels a glare at me.

“Liam.” I start, warning in my tone. He’s pushing and he knows it.

“No.” He cuts me off. “No. I’m not doing this with you if it’s going to be like this. You’ve given me an order. I don’t feel obligated to follow it. None of us do. We choose to. We believe in what you’re doing. We understand the choices you’ve had to make on our account.” His words are clipped.

 I stay quiet as he pauses, looking down at his boots. He takes a breath and lifts his head, his gaze flicking back to me, “Let us follow you like we all intend to.”

[timdrakemybeloved]

Okay, I’ve figured out how I decide I like characters or not and even what decides the kind of fanfiction I can read about different characters.

You know that Oscar Wilde quote about people not being good or evil but charming or tedious? That’s part of how I decide it but other stuff comes into it too.

When I’m reading a book or watching a show there’s always a character who I relate to or just find more charming than all the others. With books it’s usually the main character, with shows it differs more.

So then all my opinions on other characters form in relation to my favourite. Take Harry Potter. Snape hurt him for years, therefore I don’t like Snape. Based on James Potter’s character, I think he would have been a good dad to Harry and I like him. Sirius Black was a good godfather and helped Harry’s mental state a lot, so I like him. But when it comes to Sirius, the only character I like more is Harry and that’s because Sirius is charming. He’s a complex character with lots of layers and he’s interesting. James and Sirius were both more developed than Lily so I find them more charming. I get irritated by Remus both because I find him tedious and because of the way he treated Harry so I don’t like him.

Take Stiles Stilinski, from Teen Wolf, on the other hand. Peter hurt him, but I find Peter charming and similar to Stiles so I still like him. But the way Scott treats Stiles rubs me the wrong way so I don’t like him.

As for the fanfiction, I can read bashing or critical works for the characters I find tedious, or even characters who I don’t find as charming as my main favourite. But I will never ever be able to read bashing of the one to which I’ve formed that attachment.

And all this applies to every other character I like: Percy Jackson, Tim Drake, Katniss Everdeen, Peter Parker, etc.

I’m not sure if this is how everyone decides how they like characters but I just thought I’d verbalize it.

[luniellar]

Broken (Dain's POV) - The Empyrean Series Fanfiction

Rules exist to protect the ones you love. There were consequences to every rule broken. A chain reaction that was unpredictable and dangerous.

Father always made sure I understood that.

These are recorded events from the Empyrean series from Dain's POV. ___________________

All rights to Rebecca Yarros for her original work and original characters. ___________________

Contains: Fourth Wing and Iron Flame Spoilers Warnings: Language

Read on: AO3 | Wattpad

Fourth Wing: Chapter 16 - The Threshing

Dain Aetos

Cath. I called out. Any updates?

My anxiety was building as the sun started to set on the horizon. I should be there.

No, you should not. There is nothing you can do. Cath replied, slightly irritated from my anxious state today. He showed me what he was seeing as he scanned the fields. From his vantage point I could see hints of the different dragon’s colors peeking through the woods. 

It was against the rules to interfere. Maybe sending Cath out to be my eyes could be considered an interference. I clenched my jaws and looked around the second and third years around me making bets on who would bond. I stepped away from the chatter into a quieter area. 

Confusion stirred around me as I felt Cath making his way back. Did it happen? Did she bond?

She bonded with Tairn.  

Wait, Tairn? I didn’t know he was going to bond again. Especially since his last rider-

She bonded with Andarna.  

Andarna? Cath, didn’t you just say she bonded with-? 

I said what I said. After a short pause, Cath spoke again. She bonded with Tairn and Andarna. There will be an Empyrean meeting. 

I swallowed. The Empyrean meeting was a rare occurrence and there was never a rider who bonded with two dragons before. That couldn’t be a coincidence. 

I turned and headed for the clearing where Violet along with other new riders will be dismounting for the first time today.

❈ ❈ ❈

Violet. 

She did it. My shoulders relaxed as I finally took a long exhale since the first years left this morning. My heart radiated with warmth. She was glowing in the crowd of other first years around her. I knew she would make it. I caught myself in my own thoughts. But did I? Painful memories from the last two years came rushing in, reminding me that no one was the exception. Not even the General’s daughter. 

I imagined the face of Malek, indifferent, heartless as he watched the souls of each dead first year from Threshing lined up at his door.

In long powerful strides, I walked through the crowd of celebrating first years and spun her body by the shoulders and pulled her into my chest.

Violet. I never wanted to let her go.  

“Damn it. Violet. Just…damn.” I squeeze her as tight as I can before pulling away to take a good look at her. She was covered in dried crimson splatters and it was heavily concentrated on her leg and arm. Was it the dragon? Heat radiated through my body as I thought of other possibilities. Fuck, if it was anyone else…

“You’re hurt.” 

“I’m fine,” she tries to assure me. Fine? She was covered in blood looking like a dragon tossed around with her for fun before bonding. Her face expression drops. “But we’re all that’s left of our squad’s first-years.” 

I saw the sadness in her eyes and looked at the others. We were missing more than half the squad, but there was nothing new about that. It was Threshing. “Four out of nine. That’s to be expected. The dragons are currently holding a meeting of the Empyrean - their leadership. Stay here until they return.” I glanced over at Violet. “You come with me.” 

I tugged her along until we reached the opposite edge of the field, hidden in shadow. When I knew no one was around our listening distance, I looked at her. “What the actual fuck happened out there? Because I’ve got Cath telling me that not only did Tairn choose you but so did the small one - Adarn?” I intertwine our fingers together in desperation. I just wanted her to be safe. This just put a huge target on her back and there were already many to begin with.

“Andarna,” her voice corrected me. I watched as a small smile appeared on her face. The smile I saw many times growing up. I knew she was happy. It should be as simple as that. But, Tairn had a mate. A very well known navy blue daggertail. The only thing I could do now was convince her to pick Andarna. Sharing a bond with Riorson was a death sentence for Violet. 

“They’re going to make you choose.” I said, preparing her. 

“I’m not choosing.” She pulled her hand away from mine and shook her head. “No human has ever chosen, and I’m not about to be the first.” 

She was the first. I was so proud of her, but I needed her in my life more than anything. I couldn’t lose her to a mated dragon bond that was thicker than blood.

“You are.” Violet stared back at me in anger. This was not going the way I planned, I can feel the desperation taking over me. “You have to trust me. You do trust me, right?”

She hesitated for a quick second. “Of course I do-” 

There. That’s all I needed. I needed to press while I still had her. I hated arguing with her more than anything. “Then you have to choose Andarna. The gold one is the safest choice of the two.” 

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. I could see that she was thinking, maybe trying to reach out to her dragons. But the Empyreans were meeting. There was no way she or any of us could listen to that conversation.

“I’m not choosing,” she said softly. 

My heart broke. “You are. And it has to be Andarna.” I reached for her shoulders and leaned in. The softer features of her younger face were slowly fading away, replaced by stronger features of a strong woman. I saw General Sorrengail's features on her. She was slipping away from the Violet I knew.

“I know she’s too small to bear a rider-” 

“That hasn’t been tested,” she countered. But I knew it from her face. She was smart. Smarter than anyone I knew and there was no way she believed her own words. Her feelings were messing with her logic. 

“It doesn’t matter. It will mean that you won’t be able to ride with a wing, but they’ll probably make you a permanent instructor here like Kaori.” 

Fuck, she was mad. My Kaori’s example got shot down because she knew about his signet and his requisite with a combat win before teaching. I was running out of ideas. How else was I supposed to tell her the risk? How do I tell her that she will no longer experience freedom? A part of her life would be to tend to the needs of Tairn. When Tairn needed to see Sgaeyl, he would be delivering Violet straight to Xaden’s front door. 

I needed to be honest with her. “Even if you take Andarna into combat, there’s only a chance you’ll be killed. You take Tairn, and Xaden will get you killed. You think Melgren is terrifying? I’ve been here for a year longer than you have, Vi. At least you know what you’re getting when it comes to Melgren. Xaden isn’t only twice as ruthless, but he’s dangerously unpredictable.” 

I watched the certainty from her face wash away with a single blink. “Wait. What are you saying?”

She didn’t know? “They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.” I explained.

I could see from the silence that her mind was spinning, digesting the information I just shared with her. Her face was fumbling as the consequences of her decision came tumbling down on her. Oh, Violet. I wanted to hold her in my arms. 

“Just… tell me how it happened.” I say softly over to her. 

Violet told me about the fucking pieces of shits, Jack and his friends, hunting down Andarna. Xaden was watching her and warned her of an attack from Oren. Once I heard his name, my mind hyper focused on one thing only… Xaden had interfered. 

“Xaden was there,” I said to Violet knowing well how his name sounds in my voice this time around. I sound disgusted. 

She nodded and added, “but he left after Tairn showed up.” 

“Xaden was there when you defended Andarna, and then Tairn just.. showed up?” I asked for clarification. My blood started to boil as anger consumed me. Xaden. He had set it up. Not only did he interfere, but he set all of this up.

My voice grew louder as my grip around her tightened out of my control. “Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?”

“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” The familiar voice spoke as a shape emerged from the shadows into the moonlight. Xaden. Perfect, just the person I was looking for. 

“You manipulated Threshing.” I let go of Violet and turned to face Xaden. He knew exactly what he was doing. Every single moment was calculated from the beginning. 

“Is that an official accusation?” Xaden replied.

“Did you step in?” I demanded. I needed him to admit the dirty tricks he played. 

“Did I what?” Xaden stared directly at me. “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?” He glanced over at Violet and she straightened her posture.

“And I would do it again.” She raised her chin. Oh gods.

As Xaden and Violet shared a moment, my mind drifted. Feeling the stinging words from Xaden, all I could think about was how I wanted to be there for her. I could have killed those boys for her. I felt a pang of regret. Xaden saw what I saw in her. One the many reasons why I will always love her. He saw her bravery. My mind reminded me how she would stand up for others even when we were younger. 

When Xaden glared back at me, he pulled me out of my thoughts. “Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets? Because the answer to all those is yes. But you're asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.” 

I looked away. I didn’t even think about this. Sgaeyl called for Tairn. They were a mated pair after all. 

“She’s never been a fan of bullies. But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon. Unfortunately, Tairm chose you all on your own.” Xaden explained. 

“Fuck,” I muttered. I didn’t like Xaden. He was the last thing from warm hugs and smiles, but I knew he was telling the truth even without looking at his memories. You can’t control the actions of mated dragons. Together, they wrote their own law. 

Xaden moved towards me. “Would you really level that accustion knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?” 

I felt transparent. It was like he could see through me. Violet was more than a best friend to me, but I couldn’t admit that here. He was cornering me. But, rules exist to protect the ones you love. There were consequences to every rule broken. A chain reaction that was unpredictable and dangerous. Father always made sure I understood that. 

“There are… rules.” I looked at Xaden. 

“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” 

The fuck? Anger and chaos broke loose inside me as I glared at him. 

“That’s unfair to say to him,” Violet’s voice whispered. She wanted me to know it was okay. Maybe she already knew what my answer was, she always knew me better than I knew myself after all. 

“I’m ordering you to answer, squad leader.” Xaden pressed.

Orders. I was given orders by my wingleader to answer. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. “No. I wouldn’t have.” 

I turned to Violet and my heart clenched. It was too late. I already saw how much I hurt her. She knew I had to follow the rules, but didn't want to believe that. I made it a reality for her. “It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules-” I started.

It was the truth. The reason why I wanted to make sure she was under my supervision. If she died under my watch, it only meant one thing. I failed to protect her. My life would be meaningless.   

“It’s all right.” She cut me off. Her hand touched my shoulder. 

She was lying. Telling me it was fine looking like a tattered piece of cloth, telling me it was all right when I should have stood up for her. Was this our new relationship? Did we lie to each other now? 

“The dragons are returning. Get back to formation, squad leader.” Xaden ordered. 

Another order. An order I followed without question. I tore my eyes from Violet.

I didn’t want to be here anymore. I hurt her enough. 

❈ ❈ ❈

As General Sorrengail addressed the new riders, my eyes focused on Violet. It was time to celebrate. My dragon branding tingled on my shoulder, remembering the pain from last year. I clenched my jaw and fists as I watched from a distance as Violet felt the pain. 

Cath told me the decision was made. Violet was going to keep both dragons. I was happy for her. There was no one else on this Continent who deserved it more than her. When I saw that she was starting to catch her breath, I made my way over. 

“Violet!” You kept both of them!” I smiled.

She smiled back too. “I guess I did.” 

I felt pure joy between us. I helped her unlace the top of her gear so she could see what her dragon relic looked like. I took a sharp inhale when I saw it. Two dragons, one white, one black, overlayed on top of another stretching across her shoulder. Her dragon relic, like her, was beautiful. 

Lacing her top back up, I built up the courage to talk to her. “You have to know that I would do anything to save you, Violet, to keep you safe," panic stirs in my heart when I meet her eyes. “What Riorson said…” 

“I know,” trying her best to sound reassuringly, she nodded. “You always want me safe.”

It was true. I wanted her safe. I didn’t want her to know the shit that existed outside her books. There was nothing I wanted more than to shelter her from this, from all of this. I could see death everyday for the rest of my life if it meant she would never have to see it. 

“You have to know how I feel about you.” I stroked my thumb gently over her cheek. Her skin was so soft. I looked into her eyes searching for a sign. Did she want me? She lived rent free in my head, but was I just a friend to her?

I leaned down and kissed her. Her lips were like soft pillows that greeted you after a long day. She tasted like how I always imagined her to taste, sweet and warm. Pressing my lips against hers harder, I felt like a new breath of life was blown into me. I was alive. 

I pulled away, smiling. I could feel the eyes on us as I finally revealed my secret card to her. When I looked into her eyes, I knew something was wrong. I shouldn’t have searched for an answer. 

I wasn’t losing her.

I had already lost her. 

[hyacinth-sims]

Hi!! So uhhh no big picture or fancy title card here cause I mostly just reeeaaally wanted to get this out. It is in traditional fanfiction style right now, and I feel like that's probably a better option for me. However, going forward I will try to have one large visual image as kind of a title card instead. For now, enjoy Chapter 4.1!

There was a look in Romeo’s eyes that Juliette had never seen before, one of fear. He looked positively panicked, practically gripping onto his hair as he bit his lip. And for once, Juliette had no idea what to do. She had no idea how to help him, how to make him feel better. 

But there was a certain part of her that felt upset at him. Why had he brought Mercutio in the first place? Her invitation was only meant for him, it didn’t extend to his posse that he couldn’t seem to ever leave behind. Perhaps she would’ve been able to handle him solely bringing Benvolio, but bringing Mercutio within Tybalt’s radius was like mixing hot oil and a cup of cold water. 

If Juliette knew that, surely Romeo did too. 

“Your brother’s going to murder me…” Romeo murmured under his breath, rubbing his temples as he bit his lip. Juliette could only stand there, her hands behind her back as her lips curled down into a frown. It was a rather—tricky situation that they’d gotten themselves into, but there was still one question left on her mind. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the right time to ask it, but Juliette had never been known for her subtlety and she needed to get straight to the point. “Why was Mercutio here?” She asked, her eyes meeting with Romeo’s as he lifted his anxious gaze from the ground. However, her boyfriend stayed completely silent.

There was no sign of him giving her an answer, his cheeks red as the simmering guilt was painted all over his face. However, Juliette wasn’t going to let him pout his way out of an answer. “My invitation only extended to you, Romeo,” Juliette continued with a frown, “So why exactly were Mercutio and Benvolio here to begin with?” 

Romeo furrowed his brow, a deep frown forming on his face. “Your brother just broke Mercutio’s nose, and you want to talk about invitations?” He asked, his tone sharp and accusing as Juliette huffed right back at him with a scowl. 

“Yes, Romeo…I am!” She retorted, “Because your brother was never meant to be here!” Juliette averted her gaze to the disheveled boy, who was currently getting paper towels shoved up his nostrils by a very panicked-looking Benvolio. “Maybe his nose wouldn’t be broken if you cared to listen to me for once instead of blatantly disregarding my requests and getting us into this mess,” Juliette scoffed, crossing her arms. 

Her boyfriend seemed—flabbergasted for lack of a better term. Juliette had never come to the realization that Romeo knew very little about her until that moment. He had never seen the sharp-tongued, cold side of her that she seemed to have been cursed with genetically. 

Was there a side to Romeo that hid in the shadows too?

Romeo opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a bloody-nosed Mercutio slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Yo,” He greeted, “Hope I’m not interrupting your lovers’ quarrel but uh…we need to go.” The man’s voice was nasally from the soaked paper towel in his nostril, and somehow even more irritating to Juliette than usual. “Gotta get the blood stain out of this shirt before Nonna sees it and flips her shit,” He added, shooting a small smirk at Juliette.

God, he was so—slimy. 

“Mercutio…” Romeo began as he pinched his brow with a small groan, “Not now—“

“He’s right,” Juliette interrupted, narrowing her silver eyes at a dejected-looking Romeo. “You should leave,” Juliette stated, “Both of you.” She averted her gaze towards Benvolio, who seemed to have taken the free moment to chat with Puck and Hermia, “And probably Benvolio too.” It looked as if Romeo wanted to get another word in, but Juliette chose to turn around on her heels instead.

The walk back to the manor felt miles long, knowing that Romeo still stared. It didn’t matter though, he’d betrayed her trust and questioned the honor of her family.

It was unacceptable. 

[jiminguuk]

Very long post ahead because I’m very irritated by the state of this tag. I have some thoughts. I wasn’t even going to say anything and just lurk, but Jungkook and Jimin have a very special place in my heart and I’m pissed

I think we as a society need to understand that shipping ≠ reality.

I know it’s easy to get caught up in the moments, the “evidence”, the chemistry. But you have to have a healthy dose of respect/common decency.

For example, when Taehyung said that thing to that taekooker (you know what I’m talking about). If I was clocked by bts in that regard I’d pass away. There is a line and you shouldn’t cross it.

As for the video, I’m skeptical of its legitimacy, but I’m not opposed to the idea of it being real. There’s absolutely no way of knowing if it’s true or fake without confirmation. Honestly, I think HYbe will probably ignore it and I know someone will say “it’s very telling they didn’t say anything” but really, it’s so fucking stupid.

1. The video was released very close to a release of a song (seems to be a trend) and my god that song should be the focus not the goddamn video. Whoever, whether true or not, got what they wanted.

2. It’s is insane the lengths people went through to prove it’s legitimacy/Debunk. It’s creepy, it’s terrifying. Imagine you’re Jungkook minding your business and seeing some ARMY in Ohio going through every inch of your apartment you’ve shown to prove it’s you in a grainy 144p video. What the fuck.

3. Hot Take Ahead: I’ve seen a lot of anons on different accounts asking questions/saying theories about jikooks relationship/status. Literally, what kind of fanfictional life do you think they live? “Oh I think it’s an open relationship, I think they broke up :/, it’s possible they are separated but still together” These are grown men. Who the hell cares besides Jimin and Jungkook. Who the fuck are you to dissect their entire bond to pinpoint moments you felt they may have been on “a break”. Have you thought perhaps, I don’t know, people are busy and are unable to interact the same way they did in 2015-2019? Or maybe they aren’t around each other as much in front of cameras? Their private lives, together or not, in a relationship or not is none of our business. It is so weird to me to make these kind of claims based on interactions you see/don’t see anymore. It’s like some people think it’s a damn show. Something I always enjoyed about Jikook is how close, cute and questionable they are. But not once have I thought to track their entire “relationship” and think “oh this is when they broke up” it’s literally a ship. It’s a pairing. I’m also a Yoonjin enthusiast and I have yet to see any kind of comments similar to the ones about Jikook. Shipping is supposed to be fun. It shouldn’t be dissected and analyzed to fit a narrative.

4. If I have to see one more post about JK being a fuck boy/ disrespectful to women or Jimin being heartbroken I’ll pull my hair out. How do you know? Song lyrics? Really? You think every single thing is connected to each other? It can’t be separate? Could Jimin be singing about a past relationship he was in not related to JK? Could JK’s songs be written for a western audience that thrives on that type of music? It would be great if we could separate art from ships. Not everything is about the ship, because quite frankly, I doubt they even think about it when creating shit. (I will say I did lose my mind over that JM tattoo in the seven MV lmafo, but that was because whenever I see it I gasp. I know the tattoo has been debunked or whatever but god it gets me in the feels) It’s must be so frustrating to be tied to a ship whenever you create a piece of art.

5. I’ll forever be a jikooker at heart for the fact I absolutely adore the pairing/ship. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend that they owe me the satisfaction of being true. I will take my crumbs and be happy because, really, that’s what it’s for. Everything from hickey gate to the fish in the clouds to the traveling around the globe for a birthday. Until proven otherwise, I’ll always have 👀 on them and continue to be a supporter but I’m not going to thrust my hand into believing that they are 100% together because I have absolutely no way of knowing it’s a fact.

Finally: 1. Who ft. Jikook never got the attention it deserved 2. Jimin is literally God reincarnated 3. Yoonjin is so Cam/Mitchell, Rei/Kazuki, Gojo/Nanami coded. Prove me wrong.

[candied-mushroom]

Wrote a little rare pair Halloween family fic with Byakuya/Sakura

I originally wanted to wait until it was actually Halloween but knowing me I’ll be too tired after work and knowing me I’ll forget. I got a huge pet peeve about posting holiday-themed works when it’s not even close to said holiday (I’m the kind of person who gets pissed when they see Christmas decorations and items out in October)

Originally this was going to be Sakura, Aoi and Byakuya taking Kenji trick-or-treating but from my research dressing up and going door to door for candy isn’t something they do there. Buuut there is dressing up in a costume, parties and events at theme parks. At least from what I gathered from my own research, it may not be 100% accurate so please don’t get your research from fanfiction.

So without further ado, please enjoy Byakuya and Sakura taking their spawn Kenji to one of these Halloween-themed events hosted by Aoi.

October had hit and Halloween was in full swing, the streets were littered with people decked out in costumes and attending parties and events. While Byakuya never cared much for the holiday and only ever took part in seasonal charity events, with a son who was developing a budding interest in all things horror and macabre Halloween had quickly become Kenji’s favourite holiday. Hence Byakuya found himself making plans with Sakura to Kenji to some of the more and very few kid-friendly events and traditions in Japan.

One of which was being hosted by none other than Aoi Asahina, Kenji’s godmother (although Byakuya very reluctantly agreed to give her that title) she had been giving children swim lessons as a favour to a family friend and managed to get permission to host a small kid-friendly Halloween party for her young students, which apparently included Kenji, and much to Byakuya’s dismay Sakura insisted on dragging him along.

While part of him loathed the thought of being surrounded by mediocre parents and their equally mediocre spawns, another part didn’t want to miss out on Kenji’s first real party outside of his birthday. Plus it was just a small gathering for a few short hours before they went on to attend the much better quality events held in Japan.

At least that was the plan. Byakuya let out an irritated sigh as he looked at his wristwatch impatiently.

“She’s late…” Byakuya not so subtly complained as he looked away from his watch to Sakura.

“Aoi will be here, she probably just got caught in traffic.” Sakura dismissed.

Byakuya fought the urge to roll his eyes, he still didn’t know why Aoi insisted on coming over when they could have easily met up at the location and saved them the time. But Aoi insisted on meeting up at their place so she could see the pumpkins Kenji and Sakura carved for the season.

Five minutes later Aoi eventually strolled through the door with a big grin plastered on her face.

“You’re late,” Byakuya stated the second Aoi entered the estate, but his displeasure went unnoticed as she happily strode right past him and to Sakura.

“Sorry, got stuck in traffic. Seems a lot of other parties are happening earlier than intended.” she laughed off and hugged Sakura.

“It’s fine, our schedule isn’t busy.”

“Actually it is.” Byakuya scoffed, seemingly the only one who remembered they had other events to take Kenji to.

“Sooooo, where’s Kenji?” Aoi asked, excitedly bouncing on the heels of her feet in anticipation to which Sakura lightly laughed in response.

“He’s just down the hall. He put on his costume the second he got up.” Sakura explained with a smile.

“That’s adorable!” she gushed, eyes sparkling. “Okay, now I have to see him.” Aoi took a step forward. “Kenji, your favourite babysitter is here!” she called out in a sing-song tone.

“Kenshiro’s here!?”

Byakuya had to fight tooth and nail to avoid smirking as Aoi froze for a moment before her face dropped. “Oh…”

As fast as he could without overexerting himself, Kenji scrambled down the hall, the second Aoi caught sight of his costume she tilted her head in confusion as she looked at the thick black material of the robe and the pointed mask Kenji donned.

“Are you a bird?” Aoi inquired. “I thought you said you were going to be a doctor?”

“I’m a plague doctor!” Kenji excitedly exclaimed as he lifted the mask off, to which Aoi just looked more confused. “They treated victims of the Bubonic plague during the epidemics in the 16th and 17th century,” he explained, flaunting his knowledge and love of macabre trivia.

“Byakuya took him to pick out costumes,” Sakura explained in a whisper.

“You said you were fine with him being a doctor, you didn’t specify what kind.” Byakuya shrugged.

“Plague doctors were also seen as a warning to leave the area and that death was near,” Kenji added with a bright smile that was greatly out of place with his morbid tidbit.

“He gets this from you,” Aoi muttered, shooting Byakuya a glare before returning to her more cheery personality as she kneeled down to Kenji’s level. “You ready to party?”

“Yes!” Kenji nodded so hard that his mask fell back over his face.

Both Sakura and Aoi giggled lightly as Kenji went on ahead outside with the other three in tow.

…..

Fortunately, the traffic that that caused Aoi to be late was dispersed by the time they left and they arrived right on time just as a few other cars were pulling up and other parents were shuffling their children dressed in brightly coloured costumes.

Byakuya’s nose wrinkled. “Ugh, we don’t have to stay long, right? I loath children.”

“You and Sakura have a son together!” Aoi snapped.

“Kenji doesn’t count.”

Aoi just rolled her eyes before they went inside.

It was exactly what Byakuya would expect from a party thrown together spontaneously. Brightly coloured paper pumpkins and ghosts littered the room, cheap plastic bats hung from the ceiling, and there was a folding table with a plastic tablecloth with cartoony-looking vampires, werewolves, ghosts and Frankenstein on it. Byakuya had to repress a shudder, Mary Shelley deserved better than having the character of her book reduced to a mere gaudy decoration. There was what Byakuya assumed was a staff who volunteered for this laying out bowls of candy, chips, fruit and veggie trays and a cooler full of juice boxes. Low-quality food too? He already couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Sakura took Kenji’s hand and guided him to a small table surrounded by kid-sized plastic chairs and got him settled with a Halloween-themed colouring sheet with the other children before returning to Byakuya.

“Don’t look so resentful, it won’t be long.” Sakura reminded.

“I’m aware,” he said through gritted teeth as he crossed his arms, watching Kenji colour and chat amongst the other children. At least Kenji was enjoying this but it didn’t mean he had to.

Byakuya just chose to grin and bear it, trying to endure meaningless and mind-numbing conversations with other parents while counting down the time to the very second until they could finally leave while Kenji happily took part in the seasonal colouring sheets, childish games for cheap prizes, grazed on the spread of food and gleefully played with the other children.

“Awww, don't be such a grump.” Aoi scolded playfully as she nudged Byakuya. “I think you can endure this for a little while longer.”

“I share those sentiments,” Sakura added.

“Can you at least tell me how much longer you expect me to stay?” Byakuya asked. “May I remind you we have other events to attend?”

“I was thinking another twenty minutes-“

“So, in the real version every step Ariel takes feels like she’s walking on sharp knives and she turns into sea form.” they overheard Kenji talking to a girl of the same age dressed up in a mermaid costume, whose eyes immediately began to water as she let out a sob.

“I told you to stop reading him horror stories!” Sakura lectured in a loud whisper as the girl’s parents immediately rushed over to comfort their daughter.

“You said read him fairytales so I did.” Byakuya argued.

Sakura opened her mouth to scold him but shut it. Undoubtedly feeling the disapproving glare of the parents of that girl Kenji unintentionally upset. “I think that may be our cue to leave,” she muttered, going to collect Kenji and offered an awkward apology to the parents.

Granted, Byakuya had no doubt he would be in for another lecture about the type of media he exposes Kenji to, but for now, he was simply grateful to leave this event and give Kenji a better quality experience for Halloween.

[foreverdaydreaming1]

Captor & Prisoner

So this is the start of the Wolffe X Jedi!OC fic I've had in my head for a while now. It's been forever since I've posted any of my fanfiction, so it's just me getting comfortable with posting again.

Summary: Saalia Anez has been through hell, but meeting Commander Wolffe seems to be the best thing that's happened to her since before the war started. Even if he acts like he can't stand her.

It’s implied that she was held prisoner and injured but there’s nothing specific.

“Are you lost?”

Four clones turned to look at her, helmets at their sides, with sheepish looks.

“Just a bit, sir.”

Her laugh was light, “No worries. The temple is big and can be confusing if you aren’t used to it. Where are you looking for?”

“General Koon asked us to meet him in the council room.” He must be the leader, if the kama attached to his hips and the easy way he answered for all of them said anything.

“You’re some of Master Plo’s boys? Well then, I really need to make sure you get where you’re going.”

“Would you lead us somewhere else if we weren’t under General Koon’s command?” This was a different one and his voice was cautious. She wondered what his name was, what any of their names were.

Her smile was devious, “Of course not trooper. We might have taken a longer way, but I still would’ve gotten you where you needed to be.”

She didn’t miss the cautious looks they exchanged as she turned to lead them to the council room, and it gave her a light spring in her step. She wasn’t entirely out of practice when it came to pranks and unnerving people. “Follow me.”

~

“Here you are. Right where you need to be with no detours.” She said the last part with a wink to the group looking at her.

“Thank you, sir.”

She smiled and was about to respond when she noticed the healer staring directly at her with irritation.

“Not a problem, I’m here for all your sightseeing needs if you have spare time when you’re on planet. If you’ll excuse me though, I think I sense another group of lost clones.”

The group chuckled as she turned and walked down the hall, away from the healer who was speeding up in an attempt to catch her. She was about to turn down a section of the temple that she knew was rarely used and could easily lose the healer in when another healer popped out of her planned exit with arms crossed and a scowl.

With a grimace, she spun quickly on her heel and decided she would take her chances with slipping between the group of clones and the healer. Surely the clones would be too confused to do anything other than watch as she attempted to duck the healers that wanted to drag her back to the med bay. The Force was not on her side today though, because as she was walking past the supposed leader, he snagged her arm in a tight grip. Her head snapped to look at him and the look on his face.

“I’ve caught enough men trying to avoid the med bay to know what you’re up to.”

What was that look? Smug? Amused? Irritated? She couldn’t place it, and that bothered her just as much as the lecture she was about to receive for slipping out.

“I have been saved from one captor only to be caught by another in what is supposed to be a safe place for me!” Saalia yelled out trying not to smile.

The clone looked down at her with a raised brow but was spared from having to answer by the council room doors opening.

“Ah Commander Wolffe, I see you have caught our resident runaway.” Plo Koon’s voice was smooth and Saalia’s head jerked to look at him in betrayal.

“Master Plo! You’re supposed to help me!”

Mace Windu let out a laugh, “Stop making Stass’s life harder, Saalia.”

Saalia whined, “But Master! She just wants me to lay there, alone, all day! Even I can’t mediate that much!”

“Not telling you to meditate, she is. Telling you to rest.” Master Yoda’s spoke up from beside Master Windu.

“I can’t rest that much. I spent months bound to a table. I want to move. I want to do something. Anything!”

“And you will. After you completely recover.” Master Windu stated, not unkindly.

Saalia groaned but put up no further argument.

Master Plo took her groan of defeat in stride. “I think it best if the commander assists in Ali’s return to the healer’s quarters. It seems as though a third person is required to ensure our runaway stays where she’s supposed to be.”

“Ha! Hear that? Your captor duties aren’t over yet. Now you have to escort me to my prison.” The grin that followed her words could only be described as toothy.

The look she was given was entirely unimpressed, mostly definitely irritated, and it only served to make her smile more.

“Well then, lead the way captor! Wait,” she couldn’t grin any more without splitting her face in half. “You can’t because you don’t know where you’re going! You just have to trust that I’m leading us in the correct direction!”

Finally, she got an audible reaction from the commander. The sigh that passed between his lips was long suffering as was the look he gave his general.

“Don’t worry Wolffe. You still have the other two; they can lead. Your job is to just not let go of your prisoner until you arrive at the healer’s quarters.” Master Plo’s reassurance didn’t erase the look from the commander’s face or stop Saalia from laughing.

“Commander Wolffe, is it? Don’t worry, I’m great company. Arguably one of the best prisoner’s you’ll ever have, and most certainly the funniest.” She was enjoying this too much probably, but it had been so long since she had been able to hound someone like this and she was having fun.

“Funniest looking maybe,” it was a quiet grumble, if Saalia hadn’t been so close she might not have heard it at all. But she was close enough to hear it and watch his lips as they moved.

The laugh that ripped out of her was light, genuine, and absolutely elated at his rebuttal and the startled look on his face at having been heard.

“I like this one!” She called back to her masters as she was led away.

~

They were at the med bay, but Saalia didn’t want to part ways from the quiet commander. He had walked easily beside her, his hand on her arm firm but not harsh. He had also listened to all of her commentary about his abilities as a captor without blinking an eye or smiling, which was what bothered Saalia the most.

“Commander, before you go, I have a genuine question for you.” His sigh was heavy, but he stayed and tipped his head to tell her to continue. “Did they mess up your coding? You haven’t smiled once this entire time, and it’s alarming.”

She watched him blink several times in surprise at the abrupt question. “Has it occurred to you that you just aren’t funny?”

Saalia gave an undignified snort of a laugh, “Absolutely not. I can make even the strictest members of the Jedi Council laugh.”

“It must be out of pity then.”

Saalia looked at him for a moment, tried to read his face and eyes, but while they were nice to look at, they provided no insight to his thoughts. She chose to hum instead in contemplation.

“I’ll think on your suggestion, Commander. It’s most certainly an interesting one.” With that she smiled, gave a soft nod, and walked into her so called prison.

She missed the puff of laughter he let out as the door closed behind her, and the smile on his face as he put his helmet on and began the walk back to the barracks.

[steelycunt]

okay so i don’t mind reg bc w/e this is fandom innit ppl can do what they want, but i think you’re so right that remus and lyall are fundamentally much more interesting characters and so is their relationship. reg by himself is somewhat compelling but no one in the fandom seems to care abt what makes him compelling i.e. stuff that actually happened in canon not just fanfictions that he’s been featured in. for instance, i see it being stated as though it’s fact that his parents abused him which we don’t know iirc? we know that sirius was mistreated and i do think being raised by political radicals would likely cause a turbulent home life, so i doubt regulus came out of his childhood unscathed, but we have no actual proof he was treated similarly to sirius at all. he was still a supremacist, just not to the extent that his parents were. as far as i’m concerned he died a fascist, but he had a “for thee but not for me” tory level attitude about certain things.

oh absolutely! with regards to my position on regulus, im in no way trying to say that people can’t/shouldn’t like him—as you say, people can do as they like, but im just personally not at all interested in him or with what general fandom consensus has chosen to do with him. the things that would make regulus compelling in canon do not necessarily compel me anyway, but more than that i agree that a lot of people have chosen to virtually wipe those things out out in favour of creating a morally pure conceptualisation of him that they don’t feel the need to defend (not that i think anyone should have to defend having an interest in regulus anyway).

i suppose i am just not personally predisposed to having an interest in canon regulus, so his popularity is not something i fully understand, but particularly the version of him that has been created by fanon...honestly i find him irritating, and generally i find even less to be interested in in a conceptualization of regulus that strips him of agency, flaws and responsibility. i said in that other post that i dont think regulus is as complex as he's given credit for (which applies even more once fanon is through with him), and i honestly stand by it--i reckon he was fully willing, albeit having been influenced by his upbringing, to become a death eater, and i don't buy the narrative that he had no choice and was forced into it and had no personal sympathy with the politics of it all. i find it ridiculously convenient. and then, i think he started having doubts when the impact of all it all became a little too close for comfort (for thee but not for me is quite a perfect summary lol), and he turned traitor. that is really all there is to it for me. i do not think that he would have rejected his parents' ideology if given the chance, the way sirius did. but i recognise really, since i don't think a character's morality or lack thereof should dictate whether you're allowed to enjoy them, the discussion of regulus' morality is sort of besides the point lol, other than the fact that i find his complete and unrealistic redemption via fanon rather boring and admittedly a little lazy.

my comparison between his relationship with sirius and lyalls relationship with remus in the earlier post was mainly just me. making a joke of sorts and being a little unserious, but i do genuinely think lyall and remus are a lot more interesting and complex--though i 100% recognize that this is largely personal preference and im not trying to dress my opinion as an objective fact. mainly, i guess where i am with it all is that i already dont really have an interest in regulus from canon, and despite his huge surge in popularity i have never seen anything in fanon that really changes my mind about that (apart from. maybe one fic). which is fine! nobody is obligated to sit here and try and tailor their own takes on, or fondness for, this guy to attract my interest, or win me over. that is not their job. my opinion holds no more weight than the next guy's, and my lack of interest in regulus is not anyone else's problem, just like i am not ever going to exert energy trying to win someone over to liking remus or liking r/s. i am never going to go to someone's blog or fic and have a go at them for liking regulus/demand they justify themselves. BUT, in the safety of my own blog, i figure im safe to say these things xx and as far as im concerned, my favourite thing regulus ever did was piss off and die xx

[embarrassingjon]

I feel like I’ve been a broken record about this when talking to people (mostly my boyfriends ((I’m so sorry y’all have to see this shit again, I love you)) ) but the state of the fandom I was last active in fucking sucks. I was a part of the discord for that fandom and it was fun at first but eventually it felt like no one wanted me there and so I left the discord because Why Would I Stay Where I’m Not Wanted?

I dropped a quick goodbye message so that people knew they could friend me if they wanted to and they could still message me nbd, but this is how I was feeling and I’m just gonna dip. As soon as my message went through (I had already left because I wasn’t doing it for attention) people flooded the chat with responses about how I wasn’t annoying anyone and my copious amount of fic work (seriously, me and my boyfriends were the only people posting fic at one point while everyone else complained about how there wasn’t any fic being written :/ ) was much loved and appreciated.

The thing that irritated me most about that is that they STILL aren’t reading my fic that they all loved sooooo much??? Not one of them has even tried to reach out to me to be a friend outside of the server either, which fucking sucks! Like, why pretend that anything I did was worth anything when it clearly wasn’t anything anyone wanted ever.

I am still very much into the fandom who’s server I left, but it’s such a small fandom that most everyone is either there or they don’t want to be active in fandom and I am so fucking mad that I let fandom irritate me to this degree again.

Anyway– all that to say: Fandom should be FUN. Fandom should feel like a place where people that are creating for it should feel appreciated even if you aren’t directly interacting with the content. What I mean by that is that you shouldn’t be actively complaining about how there's no new content being made by anyone when the last three writers of the fandom are working literally all of their free time into making quality fanfictions! Not to mention that damn near every single day someone was posting fanart on that server and yet there was this overall mopey attitude from the few people that were still active.

I think my breaking point was really and truly Kinktober. I wrote for about half of the days because by day 14 No One Was Reading It. Everyone had been so excited for it, and they were all blabbering on and on about how it was gonna be so nice to have new content every day and yet these people HAVEN'T EVEN READ THEM. Even on this, the day of our lord December 11th, I still have ONE Kudos on most of those and its from one of my boyfriends. Even now when I post fic for that fandom it doesn’t get anything!

Thank your fucking fic writers because thousands of words aren’t easy to produce especially when we work full time fucking hours and spend all of our free time trying to make shit for other people to enjoy.

When I say you should kudos if you got any enjoyment out of these god damn words, I fucking mean it. I’m so sick of this.

[frogissleepy]

[DCAE] Oleander Terran x Kilaeth Aurelian

A/N: Guess who wrote a book on Wattpad and decided to write a fanfiction for two characters who interacted for a single chapter that’s published so far?  Me. The correct answer is me. Now, onto the fic!

Dynamic: Romantic (Rivals to Lovers)

Word count: 625

Oleander was screwed–majorly. 

It all started on a normal day in their camp with Oleander glaring invisible daggers towards his archnemesis with a scowl, Kilaeth Aurelian, his rival to the seat of being camp’s leader. The one thing that changed was that Kilaeth looked back, not with the usual annoyance, but with a welcoming smile. Kilaeth waved to Oleander, “Hello, Terran!” He blinked, swallowing. After what seemed like a millennium, Oleander scoffed, feeling his face heat up. “Hello to you too, Aurelian.”

A laugh left Kilaeth’s lips as she turned her head back around to August and Oleander could have sworn she had messed with his mossdeer counterpart to make him sick. Oleander set his hand on his forehead, cheeks, then neck. He seemed sick and he must have had a fever.

…

As he walked towards Aine’s medicine den, he could feel the heat that had faded returning to his face and neck. Oleander groaned, pulling on the doorbell. After hearing the clattering and clashing of Aine’s supplies, he started to get inpatient, so he simply slammed the door open. Aine jumped back, the bandages in her hands falling to the ground. “Olea– Heir Terran! Hello! What’s wrong?” she questioned, picking up the wrapping, setting it onto a counter.

“I believe that I am sick.”

“Symptoms?”

“I feel oddly dizzy, my entire body feels higher in temperature but mostly my face and ears, and my stomach hurts. I may be sick,” he explained. Aine nodded, “I can see how red you are. Your cheeks, nose, and ears are flushed…Have you eaten any bad berries lately? I’m aware you have a weak stomach.”

Oleander scoffed. “My family and I get the first pick out of all the food, Leon. You’ve seen me.” Aine nodded, “Alright, well…”

…

Time passed, just as it always did, and Oleander was pacing around his tent-like den, just as he always did. He had a hand in his hair, grip as tight as a tied and pulled noose, and a hand on his antler, picking at the ends of the tines. He huffed, a look of annoyance plastered on his face. “Why must she irritate me so?! That Aurelian is such an imbecile!”

The door to his den was opened. It was Carrin, his brother.

“I believe I may be able to help you,” he said. Oleander let go of his hair and antler. He swiftly sat down and grabbed a string. He began to tie his long hair back into a braid–which he took out when he got back to his personal den. “Go on.”

“I’ve heard about your small problem from Aine; she told me to talk to you and make sure you weren’t going insane.” Oleander sighed, “I’m not going insane, I am perfectly fine, brother.”

“You don’t seem like it. But, I saw you earlier today when I was looking over our supplies, I was nearby when you, or at least when I assumed, felt ill. I believe that the problem you are currently facing is something that I never thought I would have to discuss with you for years.” 

As Carrin continued, Oleander merely grew more and more confused. “What–”

“Love,” Carrin stated.

Oleander nodded, a smile on his face. “Oh. Oh!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “I get it! I get it! You’re messing with me!” 

And that’s all I’ve got. Thanks for reading! I’ll link the book (chapter three is what is linked), it’s up at the top.

–Apollo Kae

[aseceecee]

Farm Life with Usagi

Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

Description: What happens when the Warrior of the Rabbit is on the run from his past? And what happens when a solution presents itself in the form of a shady farmer willing to look the other way? Join Usagi as he struggles to keep his obsession with ‘friends’ and his inner sadist at bay and adjust to a new life.

Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

“The fuck’s this?” the man chuckles. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks. Sitting up with a grunt, I kiss goodbye the serenity of silence that I was enjoying, knowing it wasn’t going to last much longer. Tilting the straw hat up from my eyes, I glare at the man before me, current owner of this farm, Marek, as he continues plastering a shit-eating grin across his face. 

“I was just sleeping, Emily makes for a comfortable pillow,” I lightly pat Emily’s still sleeping head as I stand up, letting out a satisfying stretch as I hear the cracks from my back. Marek’s cocky expression changes to that of disgust, “What’d I tell you about naming the animals, you a retard or something?”, I roll my eyes at his comment and begin dusting animal fur off and restoring my hair to its accustomed snow-coloured state. 

“Animals aren’t just slabs of meat, they’re intelligent creatures, cows especially. They can form friendly bonds across species and even have best friends, just like humans. And I’m friends with everyone here.” 

“Friends, friends, friends, is that all you ever talk about, you a broken record or somethin? They’re just bloody damn animals!” he says with an irritated expression, “get to work already” he orders as he throws a pair of muddy gloves at me, signaling the start of another day’s work. 

It’s clear that Marek doesn’t share the same fondness for animals as I do....

[COMPLETE]

FanFiction: https://m.fanfiction.net/u/15851154/

Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ase_CeeCee/works

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/Ase_CeeCee

[theshatteredrose]

Nugatory: The Secret War (Chapter 31) - Disgaea 5 Fanfiction

AN: By the gods, this fic seems never ending. But there is indeed an end…in about ten more chapters :’D Hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFnet

-

Chapter 31:

A hand gently shaking his shoulder pulled Samuel from his slumber. He pinched his eyes shut and uttered a low groan before he forced his eyes to open. While his vision was blurry, he immediately recognised Killia kneeling next to his bed and he immediately lifted his head off of his pillow.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred from having just awoken.

He assumed that something serious had happened as Killia had been the one who insisted sternly that Samuel get some much-needed sleep in the Nether Hospital.

“A spear has been discovering on Gorgeous.”

Samuel uttered a sigh as he sunk back into his bed. “I see. You’re getting ready to head out, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Killia moved from being crouched on the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. “Samuel, you’ll need to stay here.”

Samuel rolled onto his side and slipped his arms beneath his pillow. “I know. Honestly, even if I wasn’t suffering from this injury, I wouldn’t feel comfortable going to Gorgeous. Seraphina and I, well, we’re not exactly friends.”

To put it mildly.

“You.” He pulled out a hand to lightly hit Killia on his thigh. “You need to go to Gorgeous. But, be careful. Seraphina just might have a trick or two up her sleeve.”

Trick him into a pretend marriage to appease her father or something similar, no doubt.

Killia shook his head in dismay as he grabbed onto his hand. “I’m sure she wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.”

“I wish I had as much trust in her…”

“Samuel.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed in defeat. “I trust your judgement. I’m just” -jealous- “protective.”

Killia idly threaded their fingers together. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone here, especially injured like you are.”

“I know.” Samuel lazily rubbed his thumb against the back of Killia’s hand. “I promise I won’t leave the hospital. If I do, it won’t be willingly, alright?”

“I’m not worried about you leaving,” Killia was quick to state. “I trust you not to do things on your own. It will feel strange to be on the battlefield without you there.”

“Yeah.”

Samuel preferred to be on the battlefield, too. With Killia and the others. Being away from it…did not sit right with him. Anything could happen; a Seedling, Naraka making a reappearance, an enemy enhanced with a seedling. Anything, and he would have absolutely no idea.

“Killia, we need to get going!” Christo called out from somewhere in the distance.

“Coming!” Killia called back.

With his free hand, Samuel pushed himself into a seating position in bed. He tightened his grip on Killia’s hand to pull himself forward, to press his forehead against Killia’s shoulder. “I know it’s just a magical spear, but be careful all the same. Don’t let your guard down, not even for a second. I want you to come back to me in one piece, alright?”

Killia rested his cheek against his hair for a moment. “Of course.”

Samuel lifted his head from Killia’s shoulder, to present him with a very pointed look. “And you better not come back married.”

That brought a half smile of amusement to Killia’s lips. “That, I can guarantee you.”

With that, Killia gave his hand a quick, but comforting squeeze before he had to pull their hands apart. Samuel briefly wondered if Killia’s hand felt immediately cold, like his hand did, as Killia stood up from the bed and quickly walked away to join the others. Before they came looking for him.

Samuel watched until Killia was no longer within sight before he uttered an irritated sigh and flopped back into bed. He immediately regretted doing so as a streak of pain erupted from his side and he uttered another frustrated sound, throwing an arm over his eyes as he slumped into the mattress.

If he hated Naraka before, he utterly detested him now. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing when he attacked him; an injury that could have been life-threatening in the wrong hands. Non-life-threatening in the right hands, but still debilitating nevertheless.

And if there was one thing Samuel hated the most was being able to do nothing.

The sound of footsteps pulled Samuel from his thoughts. He lifted his arm from his eyes and he rolled his head to the side. He knew the footsteps could not have belonged to Killia as it was far too soon. Sure, they had grown adept at dealing with magical spears, but not that good.

Perhaps one of the healers were simply checking in on him by Christo’s request?

So, he was a little surprised when his gaze settled upon a certain Martial Artist from Scorching Flame.

“Oh, hey, Panchos,” Samuel greeted as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “I don’t suppose Red Magnus asked you check in on me?”

Panchos paused somewhat awkwardly by the foot of his bed. “Well, yes. I also wished to speak to the one who, well, saved my life, as it were. To say thank you.”

Samuel gave him a friendly, reassuring smile. “Don’t mention it. I did it as much for Red Magnus’ sake as well as yours. After what happened on Scorching Flame, Red Magnus would have gone ballistic if he lost you through a Seedling.”

Unexpectedly, Panchos’ cheeks seemed to take on a light pink colour. “Y-yes, I suppose he would have.”

His reaction was curious, but Samuel decided not to dwell on it. “How are you feeling?” he asked, resting his arms on his knees. “No nausea?”

“Much better,” Panchos answered. “I should return to the others, but Master Red Magnus had wanted me to stay around the Pocket Netherworld for a bit longer.”

That brought a smile to Samuel’s lips. Red Magnus had certainly grown a lot more protective of his underlings. “To keep a protective eye on you, I suppose. It’s understandable, really.”

A sharp twinge in his side promptly reminded Samuel that the best thing he could do was to get some more sleep. Sleep as much as possibly in hopes of also ignoring that annoying feeling of uselessness that often accompanied periods of healing.

Sitting around and twiddling his thumbs was not his strongest forte.

“Do me a favour? If anyone returns suffering from a Seedling infection, can you wake me up? I’m just going to get some rest.”

Panchos promptly nodded his head. “Yes, of course.”

Samuel granted him a short smile. “I appreciate it.”

Panchos nodded once more before he turned on his heel, walking away to give Samuel privacy and peace needed to get some sleep. Samuel promptly rolled onto his right side and settled back into his bed.

He thought that sleep would be difficult to return to, with his mind awhirl with thoughts of what kind of trouble Killia and the others could be getting into while on Gorgeous. Yet, as he nestled under the blankets and placed his head onto the pillow, he promptly fell asleep.

How long he was asleep, he was not sure.

The unnerving feeling of being watched intently pulled Samuel from his sleep abruptly. He awoke with a start and jolted into a half seating position in his bed. As he looked around blearily, his gaze fell upon two figures standing by the foot of his bed. One maid dressed in pink and one dressed in yellow.

They were Seraphina’s maids, if he was not mistaken. He was not aware of their names, as they were never actually introduced, nor had they actually interacted.

What would they want with him?

“What?” he asked, looking at the two with an unsure, somewhat distrustful stare. “What do you want?”

The Maid he would refer to as Ms Pink tilted her head to the side as she stared at him with a rather blank gaze. “You’re quite the thorn in Madam Seraphina’s side.”

The other maid he would refer to as Ms Yellow nodded her head readily. “Yes. You’ve been interfering in her destiny with Sir Killia.”

Samuel arched an eyebrow. Well, kudos for being honest and getting straight to the point.

“You’re proving to be a thorn in our sides, too,” Ms Pink continued. “Despite our best efforts in cooperating with a Lost informant, you continue to steal Sir Killia away from our Madam Seraphina.”

Wait…what?

An uneasy feeling fell across Samuel. “Wait, did you two just admit to feeding the Lost Army information about us?”

About him in particular?

Ms Pink ignored his accusation. “If you value the lives of your fellow rebels, I suggest that you willingly follow us to meet with our informant. And hand yourself over to him.”

Samuel openly gaped at her. “What?” That conversation took an abrupt turn!

Ms Yellow nodded. “Yes. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in Madam Seraphina’s side,” she reiterated.

“And you’ve done nothing by cause trouble for this very Rebel Army,” Ms Pink continued. “Demon Emperor Void Dark has made it clear that he won’t stop looking for you, and has placed a bounty on your head. It would be wise for you to simply give yourself up. To spare the lives of your fellow rebels.”

A bounty on his head? So, those three Overlords that attacked them on Naraka’s behalf were telling the truth?

No, there was something more important going on.

“But you’re the ones who have been leaking information!” Samuel hissed in response as he shot up in bed.

Ms Yellow looked at him with empty eyes, a placid smile on her lips. “We’ve done it so in preparation of being rid of you. For Madam Seraphina’s sake.”

Did…Seraphina know? She had been very open about wanting to get rid of him for a long time now, but would she really resort to such tactics?

Wait, what about Gorgeous? Was the magical spear being reported legitimate or false, an excuse to separated him and Killia?

Samuel looked between the two maids. “What if I refuse?” he asked slowly.

Ms Pink tilted her head to the other side with an unnerving creak. “We will have no choice but to leak the information of the location of the Pocket Netherworld.”

“Are you crazy? You’ll put millions at risk!”

The entire Rebel Army could be put into danger! All because of someone else’s petty jealous? That was simply insane!

“Either that, or hand you over to them.”

He…he could not do that either. They would then hand him over to Void. And then…

But the Pocket Netherworld…the others…

“What will it be?”

Samuel could not hand himself willingly over to the two traitors. But what if it wasn’t just the two of them? He could easily take the two of them out. Defeat them himself or have someone arrest them and have them interrogated. His word, his voice; they were trusted within the Rebel Army.

But what would happen if there were others? By revealing two traitors, it may spur others into action.

He…damn it, he could not risk it. Not when lives were in danger, and his…wasn’t. Not really. Not yet. Not immediately.

“Are there other traitors like you?”

“We’re not traitors; we’re extremely loyal. To Madam Seraphina,” Ms Yellow answered, indignant. “And, yes, there are many others like us. If we fail, others will take our place.”

He would have to take them for their word.

“Then I have no choice,” Samuel muttered, though it pained him greatly to do so.

Killia…

Sorry…

Pushing aside his blankets, Samuel slipped his legs off the bed and onto the floor. He spent a moment to slip on his boots. His mind reeled while he tried to maintain a calm demeanour.

How long had the traitors been selling them out to their enemies? What kind of information had they been telling them? What were they getting in return? Was Seraphina involved? Who else was involved?

Pushing away from the bed, Samuel turned to the two maids, who stared at him with empty eyes and placid smiles. He tried to gaze blankly back at them in return, biting back the urge to glare at them, furious that they would sell out the Rebel Army for such a stupid and petty reason.

With his injury promptly reminding him of its existence, Samuel tried his best to suppress a wince as he pressed his hand against his side. He simply nodded his head when the maids motioned for him to follow them.

As they moved away from the hospital and toward the main bridge, Samuel began to plan in his mind what he could do in an attempt to alert to someone of his predicament. He knew that he could not just allow the two maids to simply walk him out of the Pocket Netherworld without anyone being made aware of something being wrong. He could not just let himself become a hostage of the Lost Army, or Void’s…victim, plaything, whatever the hell he wanted with him.

He just couldn’t.

“W-wait!”

Samuel snapped his head up. Panchos?

Ms Pink immediately turned around; her head tilted to the side. “What is it?” she asked, surprisingly terse in tone.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder also, where Panchos stood several feet behind them.

“I heard-”

“No, he didn’t hear anything,” Samuel abruptly cut him off. “I’m stepping out for a minute, Panchos.”

Panchos reeled his head back in surprise. “B-but…”

Samuel turned around to look at him, giving him a forced smile. “It’s all right, Panchos. Anything for the Rebel Army. Remember?”

Panchos stared back at him silently, his expression pained, torn as to what to do. Eventually, his expression smoothed into stoicism and he nodded his head. “Of course,” he said as he took a couple of steps back.

“Without further interruption,” Ms Yellow said, tersely, “let us continue.”

Samuel turned back around and allowed the two maids to continue to escort him. He felt a fraction calmer now that Panchos had revealed that he had overheard his conversation with the two maids. Knowing that someone else knew was a relief. And the fact that it was Panchos was an added bonus; Red Magnus would immediately believe him.

Climbing the stairs to the main bridge, Samuel was greeted by the sight of the usual prinnies going about their usual jobs. They all stopped what they were doing, however, when they caught sight of him and turned to stare at him.

A little unnerving, but they were no doubt wondering why he was wandering out and about from the hospital. With two of Seraphina’s maids, no less.

“Excuse me, Mr Prinny, we have an important meeting we need to attend,” Ms Pink stated confidently.

Dimensional gatekeeper Prinny ignored her, however, and blinked rapidly at Samuel a couple of times, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

Samuel brought a finger to his lips and subtly shook his head. Slowly, he mouthed the words ‘Panchos will explain’.

Ms Pink smiled charmingly as she raised a hand toward the dimensional portal. “Mr Samuel has an important meeting he must attend. We have been asked to escort him. Please open the portal to these coordinates.”

Good, they had coordinates. Maids were not known for their high intelligence.

“We will return shortly,” Ms Pink finished. “If not, then there will others that will take our place.”

And that could be taken as a threat.

“Ah, sure, dood,” Prinny dutifully replied.

“We appreciate your hard work and dedication!” Ms Pink returned cheerfully.

Samuel bit the inside of his mouth as he turned and walked over to the dimensional portal.

It was a dark Netherworld, one of tall trees of red leaves and dark brown bark, and walk ways and bridges made of wood twisting through the trees. Solid ground appeared sparse and far between, the inhabitants living within the walks and bridges. What little inhabitants that were left, after the Lost was done with them, of course.

Stepping from the portal, and having it fade away behind them, Samuel soon noted that their appearance was greatly anticipated.

They were surrounded by a horde of Lost Soldiers…

It hit him square in the chest that the two maids had truly been in contact with a band of Lost Soldiers. And they were more than willing to hand him over to them.

All because of some petty jealousy.

He had hoped that they were bluffing and they would just, dunno, deposit him onto some Netherworld or something. Not ideal, but it was far better than…reality.

A redhaired Martial Artist stepped from the shadows to look him up and down. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a scroll of paper. He unfurled it and held it out in front of him, directly in front of Samuel himself.

And he looked mildly surprised. “Yes, he truly is the one that Demon Emperor Void Dark wants.”

“Truly?” a Lady Samurai with pink hair asked, scepticism heavy in her voice. “He doesn’t look like much. Why would Demon Emperor Void Dark want with someone like him?”

That was what Samuel himself would like to know.

Martial Artist nodded his head as he refurled the scroll. “He’s definitely the one.”

Lady Samurai glared in Samuel’s direction before uttering a sigh of defeat. “Alright, if you say so. But you better be right. Remember what happened to the last band of soldiers who thought they had the right guy?”

A wince and a shiver from the Martial Artist. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Ms Pink stepped forward, fearlessly and probably stupidly, and motioned toward Samuel with her hand. “I can assure you; this is the very demon that you have been searching for. Demon Emperor Void Dark himself had encountered himself on a Netherworld before he had discovered his Overload Skill.”

Both Martial Artist and Lady Samurai snapped their heads up, their eyes wide. And Samuel winced. He swallowed thickly when twin smirks spread across their lips. That piece of information that Ms Pink had just delivered was, no doubt, a piece of important, key evidence to weed out to fakes.

And she had just proved that he was the real deal. Sealing his fate.

“Is that so?”

Ms Pink nodded her head eagerly and clapped her hands in front of her. “Oh, yes. And he has discovered his Overload, too!”

Samuel winced. Damn it.

“Even better for us,” Lady Samurai purred.

Martial Artist suddenly pumped his fist into the air. “Now!”

Samuel tensed when several Lost Soldiers sprung from the tree tops and bridges, effortlessly surrounding him. There were far too many for him to fend off, especially without a weapon and injured.

Even if he was armed and able-bodied, there may have been little he could have done against such enemies. Especially when they suddenly unfurled lengths of chains, wrapping them around him as restraints, pinning his arms behind his back.

He unwittingly released a strangled cry as the chains irritated his injury, the pain bringing him down to his knees.

They…despite outward appearances, they were expecting to take someone captive.

The Martial Artist grabbed Samuel roughly by the chin and tilted his head back, forcing him to look up at his face. “Willingly handed yourself over, all because of a few weak little rebels? You are indeed foolish.”

Samuel gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side, twisting his chin from the Lost Soldier’s grip. It may be incomprehensible to him, but Samuel valued the lives of his fellow rebels.

“As you can see,” Ms Pink maid began, “we held our end of the bargain. I believe it is time you held yours.”

Bargain? Did she truly think the Lost would honour their deal?

Lady Samurai turned to the two maids and, rather unexpectedly, smiled at them. The smile, however, was hollow. Mocking. “Oh, of course. Let me get that for you.”

She walked straight over to them, seemingly fiddling with something within her sleeves. Yet, as she reached them, she swiftly unsheathed her blade from her side. And slashed at the two maids.

Samuel winced and looked away upon realising the angle of the attack. It was angled upper bodied, specifically toward the two maid’s necks.

The all-too distinct sound of two objects dropping and cracking against wood was heard, promptly followed by the dull, wet thud of two more objects. He risked a glance and immediately regretted it; two headless bodies.

Samuel pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. He felt a bit of pity for the two maids. They…really should have expected as much, though. The Lost was not known for their mercy nor did they keep their end of their deals. Ever.

But what about the Pocket Netherworld? Was it safe? Were they bluffing about others taking their places? Was another maid, or someone else entirely, about to step up and reveal the coordinates to the Pocket Netherworld’s location?

Killia and the others were still on Gorgeous, at least they were safe. Right?

He, on the other hands, was anything but…

[vvatchword]

BS2 Fanfiction, Chapter 16: Gimmicks

The next morning, Naomi insisted that John dress to the nines and dragged him to a breakfast at a bistro in Olympus Heights, where the high-class apartments congregated. The reporters mobbed the bistro until the proprietor threatened to call Sinclair Security.

Passersby crowded in from the streets to snap photos and ask for his autograph. John’s scrambled eggs were rubbery by the time he got to them, and his coffee was knocked into his lap by the overzealous crowd.

Then she took him shopping at Fort Frolic. She bought him clothes—ties, suits, jackets, hats, a monogrammed bathrobe. She fussed over the length of the arms in his shirts, leaned uncomfortably close to him to cluck about the cut, and ordered a pair of exorbitantly-priced cuff links. Reporters stood a few yards away, taking notes and peering over racks, as though they were sociologists penning the habits of a far-flung civilization.

John finally put a finger on his irritation while Naomi was buying him another set of shoes.

I feel like a doll, he thought, lifting the bags off of the counter. I feel like I’m watching myself from far away.

As soon as he noticed it, he tried to shake it. First he rifled through a selection of pleasant memories: that familiar mattress in the workshop basement, the pillows heaped up just the way he liked them; sitting with a good traveling group on the rails, howling a tuneless rendition of “Do Your Balls Hang Low?” with more and more inventive lyrics until everyone started laughing too hard to continue; a sweet soft girl blushing in his arms.

When that didn’t work, he tried to think when he’d felt that detached before, and he couldn’t. He’d always felt firmly grounded in his own body. Even when his stepfather whipped out the belt, even when his mother threw him out for the umpteenth time, even when he’d been hungry enough to eat old leather, he’d never once felt like he didn’t belong to himself.

Is this why people believe in souls? he thought. No wonder they start praying.

In his detached state, he watched the goings-on of his body. Everything was unnecessary—that was the problem. The clothing was pretension; the smiles were superficial, by people who didn’t know him, and didn’t care; the five-star restaurants plated a single shrimp with a leaf on it for some fucking reason, and then did that seven more times in a row when they could’ve just brought him the whole meal right at the beginning; the grandiose statues, the gilding, the marble, the towers—all that money spent on stone and metal when you couldn’t so much as find a coat closet that wasn’t cold as fuck.

And the clothes, the shopping, the eating, the entertainment—a nonstop flood of social excess. Beneath his ribs, a knot of misgiving: it was all too easy; you couldn’t trust it if it were easy. “There’s either someone paying somewhere, or you pay in the end,” as his stepfather used to say, and fuck, if the old asshole wasn’t right. And besides, John knew what he was. He’d known since he was a child. Put him in a flour sack for all he cared. He could get by with a dollar. Who the hell needed to shine like Fred Astaire on parade? Fuck Fred, and fuck Ginger, too.

There was a brief period of about 15 minutes where he wondered if he had actually died out on that abyssal plain. Perhaps he was in the final throes of nitrogen narcosis. Perhaps he was the last man on Earth, surrounded by devils who, for lack of prey in other places, each vied for a bite of his soul.

He came to his senses when he was standing in front of a mirror, staring into his own face, studying his scars and the movement of his eyes as he listened to the pulse of his blood.

You feel this way because you’re putting your life in this woman’s hands, he thought. And you won’t feel right until you’re free. Because buddy, you and I both know: you may not be in a cell, but you sure as hell ain’t going anywhere.

*******

They stopped for lunch in a glitzy restaurant in Fort Frolic. John stared out at the city skyline as Naomi chattered at him. She was fucking adorable: coy smiles, meaningless little wrist flicks, tossing her head when she laughed.

Jesus, why couldn’t everyone see what a fake she was?

The waiter set an order down in front of him. It was a steak and a fluted glass of red wine. He didn’t remember ordering any of it.

“You’re still moping,” Naomi said.

He glowered at her. “Yeah. Let me have this.”

A switch flipped. Somehow, although her expression never changed, it instantly lost its meaning: it was the shape of a smile, but carried nothing. Gone were the head bobs and the flutter of her lashes. Suddenly he felt like he was staring at an alien.

“These first few days are critical.” She cocked her head. Her curls bounced. She never blinked. “Do this for me: push those sad thoughts into a box. Can you do that? It’s not like you can’t think about it. Of course you can. It would be unreasonable not to. But there are places and there are times. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to bring that box out, and then both of us will get along so much better. Besides, this should be the time of your life. So many people to meet, and so many things to see, and so much of life to enjoy, all in the best city on Earth.”

The switch flipped back on, and her eyes crinkled up. He could almost believe she was warm.

He took a deep breath.

One. Two. Three.

“Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “You’re right.”

What was this escape, after all, but a marathon? A test of endurance. Mourning could wait. Once he was out, he’d take a bat to the dump for a day of beating bottles and old armchairs to death, and he’d sure as hell tell every newspaper he saw. Wouldn’t bring Jules and the boys back, but it would take everything from Ryan.

She slapped his hand.

“I saw that,” she said. “Stop it. Think about something nice.”

“Sorry.” He bent over the steak, groped for something innocuous. “So… you have cows here?”

He jabbed the beef with his fork and sawed it in half with one motion. The blade screeched against the plate. Naomi winced.

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “But they’re miniature cattle, and there aren’t that many.”

He chewed slowly, then scowled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Tastes like someone rubbed a fish all over it,” he said.

“Oh, they can’t help it,” she said. “It’s the seaweed, I suppose…”

“Darling,” a lady said. “What are you doing here?”

A woman in blue strolled toward their table, a white handbag tucked under her arm. Her hair rolled in thick chocolate ringlets over her shoulder, pinned with pearl-encrusted clasps; her face was half-hidden by a hat trimmed with polka-dot ribbon. But the first thing John saw was her eyebrows, and all he could think about was that they were sharp enough to pin butterflies with.

“Blanche!” said Naomi, rising to her feet. “What a surprise!”

John rose to his feet, too, but Blanche did not look at him. Instead, she clasped arms with Naomi and they kissed each other on the cheeks. Both began speaking rapidly in French. He stood there dumbly, glancing from woman to woman. If the tone of their voices was to be believed, they were the greatest friends in the world and they hadn’t seen each other in a decade.

Naomi waved at John and grabbed him by the arm. Blanche’s eyes flicked from the top of his head down to his feet.

“Hmm,” she said.

Naomi said something that sounded conciliatory.

“But this, darling?” Blanche said, in heavily-accented English. She jerked her chin at John. “I am surprised at you.”

“I knew you would be,” said Naomi.

“Don’t tell me that you are keeping him in your room.”

“Not in my room, dear. On the sofa.”

“Still, it is a dangerous thing.” Blanche looked him up and down again. “He might have a disease.”

Naomi shook her head. “Please. Of course not.”

“But look at him. Where do you see cause for all this excitement?” “Why not? Consider what he has done. Nobody else has simply broken into the city and successfully defied the council…”

“There are hundreds of smugglers down on the docks. Probably much nicer-looking ones.”

“And without Fontaine, what on Earth would they be?” laughed Naomi, tossing her head. “This man came here of his own strength and cunning.” She threw a glance at John and winked.

To John’s shock, the wink thrilled him—as though for one magnanimous moment she had opened a bright and shining door that included him. He actually gave her a grin before he realized what he was doing.

Oh, hell no, he thought, and squashed the smile flat.

“Furthermore,” Naomi said, “he’s one of a great band of explorers… he’s world famous in diving circles.”

Blanche chuckled. “For what? Being the cleanest among them? You have dressed him very nicely, but I can tell your handiwork when I see it.”

John looked at Naomi. “And who’s this?”

“Mademoiselle Blanche de Glace to you,” said Blanche, her lips curling. “And you are the diver.”

“Yeah. I’m the diver.” He looked at Naomi and jerked his chin toward the table. “Can I cut out? My food’s getting cold.”

“Oh, don’t mind Blanche.” Naomi took him by the arm. “She’s having a party tomorrow night and she was wondering if you could come.”

“Sorry, can’t go. I’ll give her friends fleas,” John said.

“They have no taste; they deserve it,” Blanche said. “Now. You tell me. You are the one who destroyed two bathyspheres, and…?”

“Sure,” he said. “I also fought a hundred men at once with my bare fists and I won.”

Strangers leaned over to listen. Conversation died off. The only sound was the canned music.

Naomi shook her head. “He’s being facetious. But he did fight off over a dozen attackers and escape the police in Neptune’s Bounty fish market.” Her eye flickered to the diners around them. “After traversing the ocean floor, tricking sailors in a bathysphere armed with torpedoes…”

“He could not possibly have fought everyone,” said Blanche. John shrugged. “Well, no, but there’s a trick to it. Keep a few steps ahead, don’t fight unless you have to, and fight one at a time if you do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How would you learn to fight so?”

The edge of his lip twitched. “I’ve had a lifelong career as a rascal.”

“Then you are perfect… if I must have a bar fight,” said Blanche. “Such a gimmick!”

“What, don’t you believe me?” John asked.

“Of course not. You are a silly little man, a puff of air,” she said. “Ah, well, if that is the price I pay…” She handed Naomi a card. “The party begins at 9 on Friday in the Demeter Ballroom at Adonis Luxury Resort. Be there promptly.”

“I have work that evening, Blanche,” Naomi said sweetly.

“Promptly!” Blanche snapped. “I hope that he will gimmick and make nonsense… and for god’s sake, make sure he is clean. Throw him in a bucket and swish him around.”

“Of course he’ll be clean,” said Naomi. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Please, John, don’t mind her. For Blanche, everything is a scene.”

“This is not a scene.” Blanche’s eyes flicked over Naomi’s shoulder. “Now I am very sorry, but I must go…”

Naomi grabbed her by the wrists. “Oh, don’t leave so quickly, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stop for a bite to eat?”

John set his jaw.

Blanche glanced at John. “Not for the world. Until we meet again.”

She strode away, snapping her purse shut with a note of finality. John leaned toward Naomi as they sat down.

“What the hell was her problem?”

“Blanche is one of the top-billing actresses in the city,” said Naomi, taking a sip of wine. “She expects everyone to react accordingly.”

“Tell me you’re not really taking me to her fucking party.”

“Of course I am. Oh, don’t give me that face. There will be two or three hundred people there, maybe more. You won’t see much of her and it will be a fine debut for you. In fact, I welcome you to break your silence. Tell as many stories as you like. Feel free to embellish them…”

He looked at her blankly.

“I mean that you should lie and exaggerate, darling. Look, don’t take her so seriously. She is past her prime and these days she’s running on her name alone. It’s only a matter of time before she can’t find anything at all.” She smiled. “Unless she’s willing to take parts for meddling aunts and the like. And if I know Blanche, she’d rather die.”

“You don’t like her, then?”

“I don’t like or dislike her. She’s a connection, that’s all. I owe her a little for taking me underneath her wing early in my career, and we help each other from time to time.”

“So you have no friends.”

“In your sense?” She smiled. “No.”

*******

Friday evening, after a whole day of nothing but art exhibits and promenades, John attended Naomi’s play—a romantic comedy called “A Ballyhoo in Boston.” Showings were weekend affairs staged at a theater called Fleet Hall in Fort Frolic, a theater John’s eyes had slid over before—just more grandeur struggling for definition amongst grandeur.

He fought his way through the paparazzi all the way to the ticket booth. Once he popped past the ushers, the mass of humanity on the other side assaulted him with programs and pencils. Only when a handful of ushers stepped up was he able to escape up the narrow stairs to his private box.

He drew the curtain and sat in the back rubbing his face. He felt distracted, nervy, off-kilter; below, a sea of top-hats and chiffon, strange faces peering up at him with mild curiosity. He ended up scooting all the way to the back of the box until the lights fell. The orchestra welled up and the curtains swept away. At first, all he could see were the silhouettes of what might have been buildings; then the colored lights burst on.

He’d never seen anything like it. The sets were a caricature of turn-of-the-century Americana; the players sported bushy handlebar mustaches and bustles, rushed along below oversized posters for minstrel shows, and tended real horses pulling real carriages. He slowly migrated from the back of the box to the front.

Soon enough, he leaned over the balustrade, mouth hanging open. The plot went right over his head. There was so much going on in the backgrounds, so many interesting little details peeping out behind open doors and false storefronts, acrobats hanging on wires and dancers on rooftops, and an orchestral score that swelled up in themes strangely striking and fresh. He only really started hearing dialogue 15 minutes in, and he missed Naomi’s entrance completely; it took him halfway through the play to pick her out. There were a lot of blondes, and almost everyone wore hats.

Near the end, as the mistaken beaus stood alongside a puffing life-sized train considering their headlong flight into the country, Naomi rushed out of the wings with her skirts in her fists. The orchestra rattled off her footsteps, chased her down with tympani and snare, rolled up behind her in a building brassy cloud.

It was so easy to forget, just for a little while, that life couldn’t always be like this: every human being heralded in song, every color rich enough to drink, every detail an artisan’s dream. Oh, that the whole world could be one great big sensible misunderstanding tied up with a pretty bow.

*******

They returned to Naomi’s apartment by 8:30. He found himself staring out the bathysphere window into the city feeling oddly high. At first, it was delicious; he had been unhappy for so long—and hadn’t realized it was unhappiness—that he welcomed the momentary madness. All of Rapture seemed brighter, more colorful. Every person was a character; every object was a piece of art; every color was so deep and richly saturated he fancied he could sink into them.

Then they walked through the apartment door.

“We’re gonna be late,” John said, squinting at the clock.

He cut himself off. His voice didn’t feel real; his words felt scripted. When had he become an actor in his own life?

“I know, darling,” Naomi said. “There’s no helping it. I’m not going to starve for Blanche.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to use the shower first.”

“Ladies first,” he said, shrugging.

The tension was back.

Naomi immediately disappeared into her bathroom. The shower hissed on.

John did not immediately move. Instead, taking a deep and shuddering breath, he rolled out his shoulders, closed his eyes, just stood and thought nothing. He concentrated on his breathing:

In. One, two, three. Out.

In. One, two, three. Out.

In…

Out.

He followed the tension from the tips of his toes up his legs, into his hips, into his belly, up his spine, then back down again. Jules had taught him to do it early on in his training when he got too worked up.

“It can be scary down there,” said Jules. “When it’s dark, when you can’t see for shit. Don’t worry about the oxygen and just breathe. You can’t do a damn thing if you’re panicking.”

The air kicked on with a loud hum.

John let his breath out, shook out his hands, dropped to the couch, lit a cigarette. The nicotine drifted over him like a blanket.

“What comes after this?” he asked himself.

He tried to think of people who’d been famous for, say, a month or two. How long had he been aware of them in papers? On the news? Some of them appeared only once, then disappeared without a sound. Where had they gone to? What were their lives like afterward? Tragedies aside, he’d suspected that most of them had gone back to the invisible labors of everyday life, and that their fame became a fun five-minute story at family barbecues.

But after fame dropped him here?

Couldn’t dive.

Couldn’t work in the Bounty.

Back when Jules had started training him, he’d thought he would have at least two decades of work, injuries permitting. Now he was stuck: there were no railcars out of Rapture. He could weld and he was handy with a toolbox, sure, but welding paid peanuts compared to salvage. And in a place like this, peanuts would kill him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Gotta start job-hunting now or I really will be shit out of luck.”

Then the black-and-white images of the Hercules popped back up in his head. In his imagination, he could almost feel the weight of the ocean, and the water shivered with unseen scavengers creeping many-legged…

He turned on the television, cranking the volume all the way up. For a while, he watched a mystery serial. None of it was clicking; the actors were just noise and cutouts. Out of the corner of his eye, the front door beckoned.

You could just leave, he thought. You could just fucking go. Right now. Fuck Naomi and her shitty friends. Not like she could do any take-backs.

Memories of the slum tunnels and their visceral stink slapped him in the face. He winced.

What do you want to bet you end up there anyway? he thought.

Maybe Naomi was right. Learn the city a little bit, make some good connections while he could, enjoy himself before the inevitable descent. Put the shitty parts of his brain in the box. Kick it back under the lockers for now. Why not? It wasn’t like he was forgetting them. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t take care of it. Just not now.

Before he could follow the thought further, a news reporter rattled off his alias. He glanced down. The screen flickered to an afternoon entertainment news broadcast with highlights. There was a shot of him sawing at his steak.

“I wasn’t moping,” he said under his breath.

Eventually, the shower switched off. The cabinet clattered and drawers slammed. The clock chimed the hour. Count on a dame to take an eternity; he’d probably get himself ready in 15 minutes. He flipped a paper open to the classifieds and picked up his trusty magnifying glass.

He had worked through a couple columns and circled a number of promising leads when the bathroom door swung open. He didn’t look; he had averted his eyes all week even though she had been practically mummified in towels. Not his business. He was starting to think she should be nobody’s business. He traced a column with his pen.

Her soft white hand dropped on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Job-hunting,” he said, flipping the paper closed. “You won’t be my meal ticket forever.”

“Oh?” She leaned over his shoulder. Her breasts drooped beside his ear, hugged in gold.

He jumped back. He had just swung around to tell her to cut it out when he met her eyes.

His breath caught in his throat. The way she leaned was indecent. Those naked shoulders, that heaving bosom. Gold webbed around her throat. Her lips were wet and red and slightly parted, and over her ears twisted gold leaves speckled in pearls.

He slapped the paper down over his lap.

“Don’t do that,” he said. His voice cracked.

“You need to use the bathroom, I’m sure,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet, folding up his newspaper officiously. “Quick shower.”

“You’re not going to shower with the paper, I hope,” she said.

He tossed it on her bureau and ducked in. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he jabbed a finger at himself.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, and thrust off his jacket.

*******

When he stepped out in evening dress—fresh-shaven, hair slicked back, spinning his hat on an index finger—she was still leaning on the couch watching television. She did not look at him, but even so, he felt that something had changed. Something like the wink, he thought. Like a door had been opened. He was being included, somehow, and she was doing this without looking at him.

“Are you done?” she asked, swaying upright.

God, did the dress have to hug her like that? He wracked his brain for her last outfits and couldn’t think of any of them. They’d been outfits, that was all. Nice-looking ones, sure, she was definitely a pretty bird, but…

She took his hand.

“You’re thinking again,” she said, slapping him on the arm. “Stop that.”

Her smile was intoxicating. Damn, and the musk she wore. Fucking primal. Was this what it had been like for Annie when he had smiled at her? Fuck, he hated it. He’d never do it again.

As she led him out the door and locked it, committing them to the flash and pop of the paparazzi, he collected himself. There was no reason to start thinking of her any differently. He knew what she was and she knew he knew. Just breathe and keep walking. It wasn’t going to be forever.

But then she took his arm. She nestled into his side just right, fitting the straight lines of his body without even trying. The heat of her skin, the rise and fall of her ribs, the thud of her heart…

Suddenly they were halfway to the metro. He was time traveling. Her breasts pressed against his arm and he had to make a concentrated effort not to look.

My god, the boys would think I was sick, he thought.

“I thought you hated me,” he said as they ducked into the bathysphere.

“Whatever made you think that?” she asked, punching her ID and hitting the button for Adonis Luxury Resorts.

“You don’t have friends, just… business partners.”

“And they can be quite enjoyable partnerships, too.”

“Look, I’m just trying to ask you to stop hanging all over me.”

“Darling, we’re just playing a part.” She curled up against him as they sat down.

“Nobody can see us here,” he said, shifting away. “Why the hell should we play a part here?”

“It’s practice.” She shifted into him. “Oh, do stop worrying. Let’s just try to enjoy each other’s company. After all, we have to stick together for such a long time.”

Even her voice had changed, although he couldn’t have said how. Were his eyes wet? Was he going to fucking cry? Jesus. He forced his gaze out of the window. Even there, he couldn’t escape her. Her reflection lit a cigarette and the orange light flickered across her cheeks. Did she know he was staring at her? Fuck, how could she not? He’d always known when the girls were looking at him, hadn’t he? Shit, and he’d savored it. No reason to think she wasn’t doing the same.

He tried to remember her heels on Gerard’s forehead. He tried to remember the way she turned off at lunch.

“You’re quiet,” she said at last. “You aren’t thinking again, I hope.”

Yep, there was that faint note of satisfaction. Good, now he hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “You look very nice tonight.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. The pearls shivered in her hair.

“Is that all!” she said. “I hope so!”

The bathysphere dinged and ground into arms of steel, bumping as it docked. He turned to snap something about how that’s not what he meant and she knew it, but the bathysphere lurched as it rose and jolted him into her side. He met her eyes. She met his. She brushed his cheeks with her lashes and her breath was hot and wet on his throat.

And then the bathysphere shuddered, the door creaked open, and she drew him into a hail of flashbulbs.

Blinding. Like walking onto the surface of the sun. Squinting, arm up over his eyes, he finally made out the wall—rosy marble, pinstriped wallpaper, and a massive oil painting with the same square footage as his first apartment. Its subjects: a dozen nubile women falling out of bedsheets.

John had just parsed what might’ve been a nipple when Naomi yanked him down the hall. Royal purples and velvet mauves and gold trim: if Fort Frolic had been the burlesque dancer of Rapture, Adonis Luxury Resort was the Carnegie. Marble nudes and satyrs stared lifelessly from false forests. Above grand entryways were fish arcing beneath blazing sunbursts, and the floors were geometric roses. Naomi craned her neck around him to peer down a hall. Her throat was so smooth, so slender! The muscle tensed beneath the gold. God, he just wanted to…

“Oh, John, we’ll have to come here next,” she said, squeezing his arm. “This is the wing for the ballrooms and restaurants—there are saunas and pools lower down. Don’t you think that would be enjoyable?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled back. He had started leaning down toward her. Why was he letting her hug his arm like that? How dare she hang from his elbow with that familial ease? It hurt him, it was so pleasant: he thought of Jules laughing at him from the wheelhouse.

Just past the crowd was one of the omnipresent glass walls. He could see Neptune’s Bounty swelling out of the gloom, windows gold and green; just beyond it, the Welcome Center towers lit up in silver and blue.

“Does this connect to the Bounty?” he said.

“There’s one tunnel, yes,” said Naomi, her voice darkening. “Why do you ask?”

“Just don’t want the law to think I’m coming here on purpose.”

She laughed. “Why would they think that? You’re a philosophy-abiding citizen now.”

“I guess I am.”

He laughed, and to his shock, she laughed with him. He started smiling at her. He started smiling at her! He was going to hell! He was an idiot! She was going to push him into a meat grinder! And still, without even meaning to, John had relaxed into her touch, hands tucked in his pockets. The heat in his belly built up into his chest, down between his thighs.

Hell, they were like… they were like friends, almost.

It won’t be forever, he thought. She knows it. I know it. Maybe we can just have a little fun. That’s all it is. Fun never lasts forever.

A weight was lifting away from him. He stood straighter, looser. They shouldered through a hallway filled with journalists, dames like peacocks, and a hundred identical Mr. Moneybags. He was one of them, too. No one would have been able to tell the difference unless they shook his hand; his calluses would cut them in half. Suddenly he wished he’d worn gloves.

At some point, they were no longer fighting for space, but being pushed by a current of humanity. They dragged a long train of interested passersby who peered at John like he was a lion at the zoo. Whispers followed in their wake. The only thing John could pick out with certainty was the whisper, “Is that him? Is that really him?”

Naomi kept walking as though she could not hear them. As for John, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic and light-headed. Suddenly he was grateful that she held him. She knew where to go. She was taking him to the place he needed to be. He didn’t have to think about it: it was in its box, it was waiting for its time; every deed had its time. Besides, his debts were paid. Oh, thank god, thank god, the weight rose off of him, it bounced with the cigarette smoke on the ceiling. Was he smiling? Was she smiling back? What was that word she mouthed at him?

The high-class mob squeezed them through the hallway, faster and faster, like water through a sluice, flowing madcap past pink and satyrs and flowers and servants in matching suits, until they were swept into a ballroom.

John whistled as they stepped onto the landing.

An entire wall of the ballroom looked out upon a garden shimmering with bioluminescence. The pillar in the center of the room had been carved to look like a tree. Its branches glowed with lanterns, birds, apples, and leaves of bright and glittering glass. The ceiling was painted like a sunlit sky with scudding clouds and putti as pink and lumpy as ham hocks. At the foot of the pillar was a bar sculpted to look like a hedge, and around the bar spun a hundred couples resplendent in rainbows. The floor reflected the painted heaven back at itself. On the stage, a woman in red sequins hovered over her microphone, and her voice welled out like amber, like coffee, like rich earth. Behind her was an orchestra, a pianist flying over ivory. Some song he’d heard somewhere. He couldn’t place it.

Blanche swept out of the crowd toward them.

“There you are,” she said. “You are late!”

“I told you, darling, I worked tonight.”

“I said ‘promptly,’” Blanche said, “and I meant ‘promptly.’ If you will inform the muck-digger that he should close his mouth, as he looks like a fish.”

John snapped his mouth shut and gave her a stink-eye.

Blanche had gowned herself in an ivory floor-length number and had thrown a mink stole around her naked shoulders. Now that he gave her a second look, he saw what Naomi had mentioned: faint lines in her cheeks, the touch of crow’s feet, the old woman pressing through—death taking its due.

“Oh, don’t be cruel!” Naomi dragged John toward Blanche, glowing like a star. She kissed Blanche on the cheek and rattled off a line of French.

With a shock, John felt the shape of jealousy balling up in his gut.

“As long as you have the gimmick,” said Blanche, turning to the crowd.

Now, in addition to John’s train of followers, some curious ignorants bunched up in the door to listen to Blanche, and a ruckus kicked up in the hall as the crowd backed up.

“I have an announcement to make,” Blanche called out. She clapped a few times. “An announcement!”

When nobody paid attention, she flung up her naked arm and snapped her fingers. John nearly jumped out of his skin: her eyes flashed and a long thin flame burst above her pointing finger.

“What the hell!” John said.

Everyone started laughing.

“This is Johnny Topside, as I promised,” Blanche said.

They fell upon him chattering. The fumes from their perfume and cologne and tobacco choked him. He coughed and backpedaled, nearly losing Naomi, only to bump into a wall of people extending their hands. The voices were an unintelligible roar.

“Damn you, Blanche!” he said.

Blanche plucked a cigarette-holder from her purse and laughed. Soon, he lost sight of her in the mass of people. Naomi was his foundation. She propped him up; she pressed part of the throng back with obsequious smiles and an out-flung hand. He clenched her arm like she could save him.

He had no idea of half of what they asked him; he shook dozens of hands, politely declined to dance, and gave vague answers to breathless young men asking about his adventures. And the women—they were everywhere, of every age, from grand dames to starry-eyed girls. Soft hands touched his. Soft hands on his arms, soft heaving bosoms, soft bright-eyed girls in every color, every shape, bejeweled and smiling, and Naomi—

Naomi crushed his arm to her waist. Her fingers slipped between his fingers; her hip melted into his hip.

“All right, all right!” John said at last. “Everyone pipe down. I can only answer one question at a time.”

The crowd erupted into questions again.

“I’ll ask!” he said. “You.” He pointed at the prettiest girl in the circle—a hazel-eyed brunette in dark blue. A golden net winked in her hair. Naomi’s grip threatened to cut off circulation to his hand.

The brunette blushed. “Did you really fight all of the smugglers in Neptune’s Bounty?” she asked.

The crowd shifted and he saw Blanche again, glaring at him with thinly-veiled contempt.

“Uh, not really,” he said. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

John had just told the crowd how he’d been ground into the seafloor by the submersible when Blanche reached through the crowd, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him through the throng. Her nails dug into his elbow like the teeth of a rat; Naomi staggered along with them both.

John hissed and the crowd grumbled.

“Oh, Blanche!” said the pearl-haired girl. “He was telling us a story!”

“You are clogging the way, muck-man,” Blanche said. “Down to the dance floor, if you please.”

“Blanche, don’t be so rough,” said Naomi. “You just have to ask.” John ripped his arm away. “Exactly.”

“Go,” said Blanche, pointing down the stairs.

“I just managed to get it organized,” John said as they turned down the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d just jump in like that,” said Naomi. His hand ached where she squeezed it.

Soon storytelling was the last thing on John’s mind. He moved slowly down the stairs, shaking hands as he went. Naomi introduced each person; here was a famous producer, here was a great actor, here was a businessman who made more money a day than John had in ten years. John forgot them as soon as he met them. There were too many. Every time he said hello to one group of partygoers, another glittering wave swept up to meet him.

Naomi tugged him toward the bar when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“He’s getting tired, I think,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink, darling?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Please!”

The crowd laughed.

“It’s on me,” said an oily shrimp with a camera. He had a face like a weasel and a Jersey accent.

“Who’re you?” John asked.

“Stanley Poole, Rapture Tribune,” said the little man, offering his hand. It was sweaty and a little greasy. John shook it and wished he hadn’t.

“You here for an interview?” John asked, wiping his hand off on his pants. Naomi pursed her lips and dug a handkerchief out of her handbag.

“Natch,” Stanley said, smiling. His hair was slicked back with Brilliantine and his scrawny neck stuck out like a box turtle’s. John immediately had the sensation that the man was thrashed regularly as a child.

“Maybe later,” John said, leaning into Naomi. “I’m a little shell-shocked.”

“All right,” Stanley said. “Understandable.” He laughed. It was an ugly, horsey sound. “Here, maybe a drink’ll calm your nerves. Bartender—you got some of that Allson’s Orchard Limited, red, 1948?” He passed a hundred-dollar bill to the bartender.

“That’s okay, really,” said John. “I’ll just have a beer.”

The crowd around John laughed as though he had uttered a joke.

“Yeah?” said the bartender. “Which one?”

“A Schlitz?”

The crowd laughed even harder. Naomi blushed.

John blinked. “What’s funny?”

“You’ll like it,” said Stanley, pushing the drink over to John.

John nodded to him and picked up the fluted glass. He sipped it, smacked his lips, and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Like it? Yeah? Mind if I take a picture?” Stanley asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” said John. “You’re going to take one anyway.”

Everyone laughed again. John wished they wouldn’t. He felt like they were all privy to a joke he didn’t know.

The camera popped; the flash left stars in his eyes.

Grimacing, John took a quick swig of the wine. The crowd laughed again, but he laughed with them. He rolled his shoulders as he set the glass down.

In…

Hold…

Out.

“So what did you want to know?” John asked.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Stanley set a dictaphone between them, then flipped out his notepad and pen. “First things first. You’re the Naomi Lucas, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “I’m a friend of Blanche’s.”

“Fantastic.” Stanley scribbled something down. “You’re movin’ fast.”

“Why not?” Naomi said, squeezing John’s arm.

“Jesus,” John said.

The crowd laughed again.

“So, Johnny Topside. The Rapture populace wants to know,” said Poole. “Where do you come from? Are you a spy? An explorer? Or did you come here by accident?”

“Maybe I should begin at the beginning,” John said. “Just to set the story straight.”

The crowd grew silent. Even the bartender leaned toward him.

“That would be fantastic,” Stanley said, and pressed the button on his dictaphone.

*******

The story took much longer than John thought it would, mostly because he kept getting dragged down rabbit holes. He told them about his dives on Spanish galleons and modern shipwrecks, as well as his last near-death experience, when his air hose had fouled during bad weather in shark-infested waters.

The crowd around him posed questions; sometimes they spoke too loudly or too much, and John had to repeat himself. By the end of his tale he had managed to drink the wine and two small glasses of cognac and had accepted several cigarettes that were quite clearly made with real tobacco. Three filled glasses sat by his side waiting to be drunk. He felt pleasantly warm, relaxed; he couldn’t imagine why he had ever been on edge. All these plump, soft-handed paper-pushers? Sometimes he fancied that he loomed above them and they were the sizes of kittens.

Naomi sipped a glass of wine, leaning on his shoulder. For once, he was glad she was there. He didn’t know if he could have stood being there alone, the heavy eyes of strangers boring into him.

Stanley finally punched the button on his dictaphone and closed his notepad.

“Thanks, bud,” he said. “Mind if I call you ‘bud’?”

“Nah.” John shook his hand. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Stanley, slipping him his card. “Keep in touch.”

Stanley dropped off of his stool and disappeared into the crowd; it closed around him and crushed in toward John, hands extending pieces of paper and pens, a hundred mouths calling out his name. John backed into the bar.

“Whoah!” he said, stuffing the business card in his pocket. “Give me a second!”

“Why don’t we dance?” whispered Naomi in his ear, and then yanked him through the crowd. It broke around them grudgingly.

“S-sure?” John said. “Good god, is this the way it’s gonna be all night?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Naomi patted him on the cheek.

Naomi swept him to the edge of the dance floor. The song was a swing number that he did not recognize. He perked up.

“Good tune,” he said.

“That’s Anna Culpepper and her orchestra,” Naomi whispered in his ear. “She’s an acquaintance of mine.”

“Do you know everybody in show business?” John asked.

“I try to. Shall we dance?”

She took him by each hand, gently wrapping his left around her waist. When she lifted his right—gently, instructively—he realized she thought she was going to teach him something.

So the minute the music hit an upbeat, he whipped off into a swing step, sore foot be damned. She stumbled after him with a squeal and for a few seconds struggled to keep up. He was gratified to see her mouth fall open.

“You—you know how to dance?” she said.

“Sure. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He hooked his arm around her waist, thrusting his hips up a mere inch from hers. He leaned in close. “What if I told you I took lessons?”

Just as she shuddered, he swept her away.

This time, his crooked grin landed. Her eyes lanced into his; she bit her lips. She wasn’t as fast or smooth or precise as he was, and frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

“How inventive do you want to get?” he asked when he swung her close again.

“Oh,” she said, blushing. “I’m… not right now.”

“You need me to slow down? Maybe downgrade to a little foxtrot?”

“No!” Her blush was doing something to him. “But do you know how we dance in Rapture?”

She almost sounded frantic.

He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. He felt her sharp intake of breath more than heard it.

“Show me,” he said.

There were deep red grooves where her nails had dug into his hand earlier; now all she did was hook him with the pads of her fingers. There before the coral garden, she gripped his hands, she scuffed at his feet with her pretty white pumps, she counted out loud. He picked it up in minutes, and soon they swung off together to the beat on the edge of the dance floor, then into it.

God, it felt good. Without warning, he cast his worries and fears out into space, reunited with his body, and was free. It felt good to fall into a rhythm, to whirl with the surge of trumpets, work in all that subtle sway to his hips and knees, to match the beat of the drums with his feet. And it felt good to feel watched—for he was good and he knew he was good. He noted out of the corner of his eye how others were looking at him—women and men both—and he leaned into it. The whip-snap precision of heel to toe, the way he swayed with his whole body, the complementary swing of his limbs, the arch of his back. Stanley Poole was one of the watchers, standing next to one of those ubiquitous Moneybags, with his camera on his hip and his hands in his pockets.

Let them laugh at him about his booze and background as much as they wanted. He’d show them up here.

As the song rushed to its tumultuous end—the throb of drums, the crescendo of trumpets, Culpepper with her hands trembling on either side of the mike, her eyes closed as she surrendered to one rapturous note—he yanked Naomi tightly against his body, then dipped her, and she stared up at him so starstruck that he started laughing. One curl had broken free of his pomade and bobbed over his right eye. He let her go. She staggered back from him, hands on her cheeks. Dancers were clapping for the band, but a fair number were looking at him. He pretended not to see.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“I feel like a drink,” he said, offering his arm. “How about you?”

She hooked her arm in his. “Oh, absolutely.”

He drank some wine, watching the other dancers twirl. Naomi leaned into him, breast heaving, gleaming with sweat, and he tucked his arm around her waist. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was standing on his own.

He hadn’t stood there long before a host of pretty girls swarmed up, begging for the next dance. Naomi’s hand clenched at his arm.

“Sure,” he said, and patted Naomi on the hand. “I’ll be right back. You were going to talk to some people, right?”

He danced with every girl who asked, watching Naomi seethe from a distance. He was finally warm. The lights were melting stars; heaven was cloaked in bumping clouds; when he eyed Naomi, the light had smeared around her hair in rays. He had a cocktail no one told him the name of, and then someone gave him another champagne. The tastes all ran together. He didn’t care. The faces of strangers disappeared in a haze. All he could see were smiling faces. Everyone liked him, and he liked them. Eventually he returned to the bar, sopping with sweat. Naomi clung to him like a barnacle. She laughed at every joke he cracked, even if it wasn’t funny; she gazed up at him with sweet smiles and stroked his arm.

After an hour or two of dancing and free booze, winded and weary and buzzing, Naomi and John finally stumbled to a table overlooking the garden. In the dusky evening lighting, the kelp and coral glowed, and strange lights flashed in alien patterns between the waving leaves.

John set his hand against the window. It was ice cold, but the sensation was good against his hand. An inexpressible longing passed over him.

“Are you all right?” Naomi asked, nestling against him.

“Yeah.” He quickly turned back to her and wiped his hand off on his pants. “Don’t know what came over me.”

She bit her lip and looked out at the garden with him. “Darling, this is a bit off topic, but…”

“But what?”

“I have a question about your story.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You mentioned taking pictures.” She looked up at him. “What happened to the camera? You said that you took it with you, but you never said where it went.”

“I hid it.”

“Why would you do that?” she said.

“They said I had a duffel bag on the news program. I had to drop it off.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She looked at him closely. “Would you like me to go get it for you?”

John hesitated. “You’d do that for me?”

“Certainly. I’m sure the camera holds sentimental value for you. Didn’t your friend make it just for you?”

He looked away. Something clenched in his gut. All glory and gladness melted away.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “It’s behind a vending machine in the Welcome Center, in the lobby above the bathysphere dock.” John leaned in close. “You’d really get it for me?”

“Oh, of course! Nobody can stop me from going to the Welcome Center.”

“God, thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

Before John could react, she kissed him on the cheek. Her eyelashes tickled.

A flashbulb went off and John jumped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Stanley Poole fiddling with his camera, and behind him, several crestfallen girls.

“Don’t look at him,” said Naomi softly.

“What was that for?” John whispered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose you could think of it as a reward for doing so well tonight.”

“What makes you think I wanted that?” he said.

She laughed and did not answer.

*******

The return to Naomi’s apartment seemed to take longer than before. The tunnels stretched out for miles and miles, and the railcars slumbered like giant pill-bugs beneath the ribbed glass. It was almost homey, even if the cold had returned. When strangers passed, he did not think of them. He was one of them now.

The hallway was stable for the most part, but every now and then it swayed gently. They staggered together. He couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had. How much had Naomi drunk? He couldn’t remember her drinking more than two glasses of wine, but maybe that was because he had been concentrating on the crowd.

“Damn it, I don’t want to be drunk,” he said.

“Oh, you’re not that drunk,” she said. “You’re just a little tipsy.”

John stumbled into her. She propped him up, cooing.

“I don’t want to be tipsy.”

“I like you tipsy,” she said. “You’re not so serious, and I get to see that real smile.”

“The hell are you flirting with me for?” he asked, laughing.

She blushed and squeezed his hand.

They wobbled up to her doorway, laughing louder and louder. John was still snickering, tears in his eyes, as Naomi drew out her purse and turned to face him.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Topside. Would you like to come in?”

“If you’re willing, miss.” He leaned toward her. She leaned back. She uncurled one hand against his chest, the other on the doorknob.

“I have to open the door first,” she said, teasing the key from her purse. He missed the pressure of her palm.

“You tease,” he slurred, slipping his arms around her waist.

She pressed back into the cradle of his hips. He buried his face into her hair and took a deep breath. Lilac perfume, and beneath it, the pleasant scent of her sweat.

She sighed; one hand stroked up underneath his jacket, her knuckles dragging against his sweat-dampened shirt.

“Hmm,” she said. “You scoundrel. At this rate we shall astound the neighbors.”

He nipped her ear. Her skin was hot, her sweat was bitter with perfume…

She turned the key in the lock—slowly, taking her time—and then turned the knob, gently. The door swung open. She pushed it open, fraction by fraction…

John kicked off.

Shrieking and laughing, they stumbled into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them. It was lightless; she was only a silhouette against the windows, through which he could see the lights of the city on parade. She whirled upon him in the darkness and her mouth pressed against his with so much fire that it spun his head. Her hands slipped underneath his jacket and she began to unbutton his shirt with rapid-fire precision. John’s hands stroked down her back, hunting for a zipper.

They broke apart momentarily, gasping for breath and fumbling with each others’ clothing. John abandoned the search for the zipper and yanked her gown up over her knees. He lost his grip when they staggered backward, laughed stupidly, righted themselves against the sofa. She kicked off her heels and fumbled at his belt. He kissed her down her cheek, down her throat, down her collarbone. They lingered there, kissing roughly. He cradled her head in his hands, running his fingers through her hair. Her crown pricked at his fingers.

“I shall be the first lady in Rapture to have you,” she whispered in his ear.

“Lucky you,” he whispered.

Before he could finish his thought, she shoved his slacks off. He snapped the buckles on her garter—cradled the plump round of her ass—shoved her against the cold window and kissed her. The lights of the city haloed her silhouette like fireworks and set her hair on fire with a thousand colors.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[fandom-aleatoire]

I like to think of myself as a passive kind of fan. If you saw me in the real world, you would not be like huh I bet she watches, anime or reads fanfiction.

Will I internally light up if someone talks about one of my favorite things yes. Are my colleagues aware that there are a couple superhero actors that I have major crushes on? Yes, but they think it’s just because I think they’re hot and not anything to do with the character that they play.

I rarely interact with anything other than like 👍🏻 or ❤️. I also understand that just because I like a character doesn’t mean that other people do. There are many of them that are just problematic. Cue uncle angry grape. But Jesus, some people just spew vitriol for characters. Every character has flaws. If nobody had flaws and it would be boring. 

In case you’re not a fan of Horimiya, they have put out a second season, which, I mentally put in quotation marks, that’s essentially all the filler they left out. I loved that anime. While I like the main couple, I could really see myself in two people: Yuki and Sakura. So getting to see, either of them made me pretty happy and since I don’t watch any of that stuff with actual people in real life, I like watching reaction videos to see if other people have the same sort of ideas I do- it’s like watching things together but not.

 I was watching a video, and I was excited to see the reactors opinion on the interaction between those two characters where one of them is helping the other with their cheer routine. Before she comes on the screen, fully, one of the reactors just called her a bitch and calls her a manipulator. (He also insulted her sweater paws. I love my sweater paws. It happens when you’re short and no, they are not dirty.)

I’m guessing that this comes from the fake dating between Tooru and Yuki? Either of them could’ve stopped the fake dating whenever they wanted to. It’s acknowledged that they do have feelings for each other but aren’t ready to actually date date. Did Sakura confess yes, but if the other person doesn’t reciprocate, then they don’t reciprocate. Tooru isn’t the kind of person to hurt the person they want to date because they’re fake dating someone else. Nobody earns a boyfriend either you have feelings for each other or you don’t. It was obvious that this person who made the comments had never been a teenage girl, which I guess could give you the overall make up of the person. (maybe they were trans, but if they’re trans men, then they weren’t a teenage girl because they were a teenage boy.)

We all have characters that other people really like that we find irritating or annoying. For example, lots of people love Goku from Dragon Ball, I do not. I find him a terrible father. But that’s me I’m not gonna go on a video and be nasty and rude talking about him. I might calmly state he is not my cup of tea, and I am glad that he is not my parent but I’m certainly not gonna call him a bastard. Or a deadbeat father. He did what he did for a reason, even if I don’t agree with it.

I’m sure that a lot of people are like me and they just don’t consume the things they don’t like. I tried watching Dr. Stone but they kept saying 10,000,000,000% and it pissed me off so I didn’t watch it but you can check any of my posts on here and see that I’ve never mentioned it before. (I really wanted to like it because I do like English dubs and I really love Tamajiki from my hero.) i’m not going to read anything that’s in the first person or anything that has huge chunks of italics. There’s nothing wrong with either of them. I just don’t like it. I don’t like peanut butter but I understand that most people do. I just don’t eat it so people don’t have to hear me complain about it.

Maybe it just goes back to my mom and said that if you can’t say something nice keep your damn mouth shut. Or it could be that this person looked like they were in their early 20s and I am an actual fax adult or I guess as adult as a millennial can be(maybe that makes me too old for Horimiya.)

If you made it down this far, I am giving you an AO3 kudos!

If the answer is yes, please tell me why. Nicely.