#i mean its about them but at the same time not? this happens with all the gay ships out there

[sturniolo04]

The Confession 1 C.S.

Fwb!Mean!Chris x Fwb!Fem!Reader

A/N: I tried something different :)

*Really long you have been warned.

I dont even know how I ended up in this position. One minute my best friend Madi thinks she likes both Matt and Chris and the next she is 100% Matt. Me and Madi are super close I mean we practically grew up together and when we met the triplets in Boston everything changed, our circle grew just a little bit bigger. Lately, I haven't been the best friend to Madi just because I have been neglecting to confess to her about my secret crush on Chris and I am not the type to run over her if she knows she likes Chris because who am I to tell her she can't like him especially since I haven't told her that I did.

its about 1:50 in the morning and by this time Madi had walked all the way to a park and found a bench to sit and bawl her eyes out she couldnt figure out why she was feeling this bad whether it was that she couldnt articulate how she hurt Matt and Chris or if it is was because she cant choose between chris and matt she knows them both equally for a long time. sighing looking down at her phone finally deciding to call the one person she knew is always there. Holding in my tears as the dial tone rings hoping she wasnt asleep yet.

"Hello Madi"

jess speaks into the phone

"Jess"

she states through choked tears

"Madi what's going on love what happened" 

"i messed up really bad and i dont know what to do"

she exclaims letting her tears fall

"Madi"

"I like chris and matt and ive might have messed up our friendship"

"no madi you didnt okay i promise you didnt they are still your friends and they love you"

you quickly reply feeling that heavy feeling in your chest again as she still thinks she like chris.

"i dont know"

she replies through a fit of tears

"its okay promise try to get some sleep and you will feel so much better tomorrow i promise"

you reply reassuring her.

"okay goodnight"

she sniffles out

"goodnight i will see you when you get back home "

she hung up from jess and sighed out once more calming her nerves proceeding to walk back to the house. as she made her way into the driveway sitting back on the concrete driveway where the night officially started 

"MADI"

you exclaim softly seeing her sitting on the driveway

"hi"

she replies quietly as she turns around to look at you

"i was so worried are you okay"

you ask again.

"im sorry"

you sigh squatting down and hugging her then sitting down next to her

"i fucked things up didnt i"

she huffs out

"what no well i mean chris and matt are not speaking to each other currently but i mean whats new"

you sigh out since madi basically confessed to both of them on the same night and them both finding out in this driveway tonight.

" but it was my fault im the reason they are mad at each other"

"no no youre not okay they are just being them okay they will grow up"

you reassure her

"but i mean i told you had feelings for chris too"

you state smirking trying to shake the heavy feeling in her stomach at that sentence.

"jesss"

"you know i love you"

you say side hugging her

'well im going to bed you think youre going to be okay"

"yeah thanks j" 

"okay"

you say standing up and walking back into the house as madi rests her head on her arms positioned on top of her knees as someone comes and sits next to her quietly

"hi matt"

she speaks softly out noticing his presence

"hey"

"im sorry"

"why you were just being honest" 

he sighs out

"i do really like you" 

she confesses again

"no madi you and chris are perfect and honestly it makes he was at least able to communicate how he feels about you without being oblivious about it im not the one you need madi you are way out of my league and im okay with that honestly"

he sighs out rambling

"what the actual fuck matt stop youre  out of my league why do you just automatically assume your not good enough" 

she exclaims frustrated standing up and wrapping the blanket you had brought her getting upset

"madi no youre not out of league okay just stay"

he says pulling her hand down a little as she sighs and sits back down as matt pulls me into him connecting our lips guiding her on his lap in the process. He tangled his fingers through her messy hair as he continue to make out with her. Her hands wrapped around his neck tightly as he stood up carrying her back into the house. shepulled away quickly he closed the door behind them and set her back on her feet.

"Matt if-if"

she trails of whispering

"wait"

he stops her as he pulls his and her shoes off leaving them downstairs as he swiftly picks her up again by her thighs taking her upstairs to her room quietly being sure not wake up anyone especially Chris. Matt leans back in after setting her on her bad standing in between her legs attempting to connect their lips again but madi halted him in the process.

"matt..seriously come on"

she giggles out as he sighs out stares at her as she bites her lip slowly.

"yes madi you were saying"

he chuckles out

"matt if- if we do this"

she trails off motions towards them

"no one can know yet"

"okay"

he kind of chuckles at the concept

"im serious matt"

she exhales out looking at him as his face softens at her response

"at least until i figure out how to tell" 

"chris"

"yeah because"

"i know i know"

he sighs out moving himself from in between her to next to her laying on her bed. 

"jess' mom might be coming to boston"

"what that so cool"

"yeah she called her when i walked off tonight"

"oh" 

"yeah"

"well im going to go"

he states standing up

"where"

she states worried

"dont worry just in the other room with chris maybe so you can get some sleep"

he chuckles out giving madi a forehead kiss as he walks out of her room.

Madi wakes up the next morning mentally face palming herself considering well she basically made out with Matt after literally confessing to both brothers she has feelings for them. she rolled out of bed hoping everything will return to normal. she shower and put on this And head downstairs to be met with the face of the one and only

"good morning"

"whats up how are you feeling"

"better just like jess said"

"jess"

"i talked to her last night after everything"

"oh okay hey madi listen forget everything i said last night i was just being stupid it was nothing"

he states quickly realizing he also confessed that he liked you.

"chris i dont think it was nothing you dont have to lie about it"

"no im being for real"

"christopher"

"what im serious"

"okay then sound cool"

she states heading back upstairs

"where are you going"

"to wake up matt and everyone else"

Chris couldnt understand why he said that he literally let her get away again. His thoughts were soon interrupted the sound of jess's doorbell ringing. He went over and opened the door to reveal

"oh hi there i was- where is jess"

jess mom trails off

"she's upstairs um"

he trailed off kind of awkwardly since he had no idea that this jess's mom as what sounded like jess's laugh approaching the bottom of the stair case. I turned to see jess walking down with Nick and Madi being carried down the stairs by matt. the lady at the door cleared her throat as they all snapped out of their trance looking in that direction

"Mom"

she exclaims running over and hugging her

"mom"

Chris questions

"yeah.. mom this is chris, matt, nick and then you remember madi"

she trails off as chris waves his hand

"Hi you all"

she says with a raised eyebrow smiling

"jess; mom"

she exlcaims hugging her after jess

"hey madi"

"when did you get here" 

madi asks her

"last night when jess called"

Madi looks over at jess standing next to her as she shrugs her shoulders a little not wanting to talk about last night at all due to the fact she still felt the pit in her stomach of guilt of even allowing herself the like chris and not trust madi enough to even tell her that you liked him.

"so mom do you want to come on in then"

she states as madi and her both step aside to let her in

"how long are you going to be here for"

"just the weekend"

"maybe we can all go somewhere and just hang out for a little bit maybe grab dinner does that sound good guys"

she asks everyone

"im fine with that"

nick agrees nodding his head

"mom"

you question her

"sure plus i want to see all there is about Boston since this is my first time up here"

"well the triplets can definitely help point out those key spots since they've grown up here"

"literally"

chris chuckles out admiring jess' laugh slightly

"cool so do want me to ride with you"

"umm.. im going to ride with jess and her mom is that okay"

"uh yeah of course" 

madi and you grab your shoes and they all head out the door.

"soo"

she trails off looking the mirror at the two girls in the backseat of the car

"what's going on with you and Matt Madi"

"uhh"

" yeah i was going to ask about that i mean i knew you guys made up because i saw him come outside after i left you after you came back home"

"umm i dont know what you guys are talking about"

"are you sure because i remember clearly you being carried down the stairs by him this morning"

"in a skirt too at that madii"

you exclaim dragging out the 'i' in your best friend's name

"oh come on what is that suppose to mean just because we made up doesn't mean we are dating"

"so your telling me he hasnt tried to make a move on you after everything that happened yesterday evening"

she asks as madi kind of stares off into space getting flashbacks to last night of literally her and matt making out in her driveway

"oh my god he totally did didnt he"

"what no jess no" 

"madi"

jess's mom exclaims trying to get an answer out of her

"OKAY maybe we might have made out in the driveway at like 2 in the morning"

"MADISON"

you exclaim at your best friend with your jaw dropped

"what i mean its wasnt like terrible"

she shyly replies.

"that you made out with your bestfriend the best friend you liked for literally ever or that he was actually good at making out"

"OH MY GOODNESS"

madi exclaims embarrassed

" just asking"

"OH MY GOD NO"

"it was definitely the second option"

you giggle out

"shut up Jess"

she exclaims pushing some of her hair behind her ear opening her phone

"just make sure you do and know what your heart wants madi" 

"of course always"

Taglist

@dirtylittleheart333 @stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @emely9274

[strawberrystepmom]

NSFW - AGELESS/MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

yami x f!reader. 69 to face sitting to reverse cowgirl for the birthday boy! oral sex (f!and m!receiving), light ass play, rimming (f!receiving) cw: use of nicknames (little girl, pretty bird), spit, size kink | wc 2.2k, divider thanks to @cafekitsune

While Yami has never been one to complain about the sight of you on your knees in front of him, tonight he feels a stirring in his chest for something different. You rub your cheek against the bulge that you’re attempting to free from his pants, deft fingers working him out of his buckles, and he reaches down to run his thumb along your chin and lift your face toward him.

“Take them off and follow me to the bed.” 

For some that would be a question but you know him well enough to know it’s a command, one you’re all too eager to give into. He works his pants off one leg at a time and you follow him in your state of undress, tucking your legs beneath you on the bed. Lying down, he props himself up with his forearms behind his head.

“Come sit,” he instructs but you shake your head. 

“It’s your special day, Captain. I wanna take care of you for once.”

Rolling his eyes, he spreads his legs. Your eyes fall to his half hard cock, mouth watering when you imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the salty taste of that bead of precum catching the light just right. 

Noticing how distracted you are, he clears his throat and your eyes shift to meet his.

“You know that I don’t need any of that shit. How can you leave a hungry man waiting?” Now you roll your eyes, sighing and preparing to fold your arms over your chest. He stops you just short, grinning up at you. “If you’re gonna be stubborn, I have a solution.” 

He reaches for you before you can ponder what he means and you yelp when you realize he’s grabbing you. Meeting him halfway, you rise to standing on your knees and he helps you pull one of them over his body and then situates the other on the opposite side of his torso. 

Resting one of his large palms against your lower back to lean you forward, you realize immediately what he’s offering and giggle, biting your lower lip. His now extremely hard cock rests just inches away from your lips and tongue, the same true of his and its proximity to your spread pussy.

He blows on your exposed skin, making you yelp again. Your response makes him chuckle, heavy cock bouncing close enough to your face that you stick your tongue out to drag it along his glans. 

“Now we both get what we want,” he groans. Both of his hands find their way to your lower back and then the top of your ass, squeezing and kneading your pretty flesh while you gradually take more of him into your mouth.

“Go slow, I don’t want you to choke.”

If you weren’t so interested in doing just that, you’d glance at him from over your shoulder with a playful grin. For now though, you opt to lave your tongue over every bit of him you can, swirling the muscle from his frenulum to the middle of his shaft, finally taking the entirety of his head into your mouth. 

“Fuuuuuck.” 

His reaction is loud and drawn out, exactly how you wanted it to be, and you take advantage of the position to suck him deeper within your mouth, the tip extending past your tongue and into the back of your throat. This is just as much a gift for him as it is for you, although it’s arguable that something that happens at regular intervals can be considered a gift anyway, and you hum your pleasure. 

If there’s one thing about the two of you, though, it’s that one can never just accept the other enjoying them for long. Everything is give and take, return and release. It’s how all of this works to begin with.

Leaning in, he inhales your scent and moans. The tip of his nose settles against your folds and you whimper, shifting slightly now that he has distracted you.

“Sukehiro.”

His cock jumps against your soft palate in response to the utterance of his real name, the one he forgets on occasion is his to be called. It’s muffled by the fat head of his cock in your mouth, tongue laving over his shaft while the spongy tip pokes against your cheek but he catches it, head tipping back and eyes squeezing tightly.

“Hey.” He warns you, smacking the roundness of your ass and speaking through gritted teeth. “Go easy on me, eh? It’s my birthday.”

With a giggle, you shake your head and hips slowly from side to side, giving him unique sensations at both ends of his body. The soft inside of your cheek rubs against his tip, tongue still working down the length. Your ass bounces softly and utterly delectably in his face. 

Taking a deep breath, he decides to fight back. Large hands grab either side of your hips and spread your cheeks, showing him everything and now eliciting a gasp from you. Breathy and whiny, exactly what he wants to hear because he knows it means you’re feeling a modicum of shame despite the show you’re attempting to put on, tucking your hips inward to hide. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, little girl. Weren’t you just brave enough to offer it up?” That grip on your hips comes in handy and he tilts them backward once again, letting a low whistle slip at the sight of your glistening pussy and puckered hole.

His thumb travels down the globe of your ass, brushing against your hole, and dipping lower toward your cunt. Whining around the girth in your mouth, eyes rolling back in your head and chest sinking down onto the bed. Your hips are even closer to him now, face so close he can smell the arousal seeping out of you. 

“Mmmm.” He takes advantage of the proximity of your body to his mouth and sticks his tongue out. 

Yami runs the flat of it along your sticky folds, dragging it all the way to your ass and back downward, your face now buried against the corded muscles of his thighs instead of focusing on the task quite literally between your lips.

You replace your mouth with your hand around his girth, fingers not quite touching while you pump at him lightly to afford you a chance to lift your head and glance over your shoulder.

“Baby,” you whine breathlessly, hips slowly bucking backward against his face despite the guilt you feel over this now becoming all about your pleasure instead of his. “It’s your birthday, let me have my fun first.”

Chuckling, he slurps at you loudly and downright impolitely, causing your head to drop back down. It’s hard to tell what is your arousal and his saliva as he laps it all up equally, panting against your damp flesh and sending goosebumps across the backs of your thighs. The desire to argue with him some more stirs in you, to insist he allow you to do what you set out to do which is take care of him with your lips and tongue and throat, but he clearly has other things on his mind. 

Another smacking, greedy slurp from the head of the bed emphasizes that he’s really enjoying himself. Your head swims with pleasure while he sucks your sensitive clit between his lips, gently toying at the bud with the tip of his tongue while you weakly cry out against the muscular thigh beneath your cheek.

“If you…I’m going t –” Attempting to warn him of your impending orgasm, he stops his ministrations long enough to mumble against your skin. 

“Do it then, pretty bird. Give me my gift.”

Backing away to watch your muscles twitch and clench as you cum, it’s impossible not to smile at a job well done. Every bit of you is filthy and sticky and positively ruined - just the way he likes you. When the initial twitches of your orgasm have subsided, he leans in to extend it by dragging the flat of his tongue over all of you once again, hole to hole. 

If he could capture your moan in his mind to replay like that little jewelry box that plays music through magical means you keep on the dresser across from the bed he would. 

“Leth me he –” 

It’s rude to speak with your mouth full, he hears in your voice, the sentiment echoing through his mind. A smirk comes across his scruffy and soaked lips that pepper every bit of your beautiful body with kisses, granting him a moment to catch his breath. Your chest heaves with each breath you take, body tight as a bow string from the tension in your muscles.

“That’s right, let me hear you.”

Using his thumbs he spreads your cheeks wider, licking his lips and spitting onto your hole. Every muscle in your body clenches once again in response, a moan turning into a choked sob. While his mouth is nothing short of prolific in his ability to make you feel good, he’s making you hungry for more with each kiss, lick, and careful nibble on less sensitive skin.

“Please fuck me, baby. Need more of you, wanna feel you.” 

The half hearted begging does you no good for he’s having too much fun driving you crazy to give up now and instead you find yourself parked firmly atop his face while he leans backward, head hitting the soft pillows beneath it.

The new position makes you worry that you’re suffocating him but he uses that same handy grip on your hips to guide your pussy over his face, tongue out and waiting. It’s his turn to show you, once again, how much he’s enjoying himself and he does just so with a deep and guttural groan against your ass while his tongue laps at the puckered hole. 

You couldn’t kill him even if you wanted to though he wouldn’t be all mad about this being his last sight. 

Sighing dreamily against your skin, he continues grinding every intimate bit of you against his face. His stubble rubs and grinds in the most delicious way and you feel another impending orgasm bubbling up, causing you to lean forward slightly and brace yourself by digging your fingernails into the strained muscles of his thighs. In response to the pinpricks of pain, precum seeps out of his glans and downs his thick shaft.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen and you happily take in the sight while your walls pulse and clench around nothing. Your thighs shake lightly with the force of the second orgasm, drool escaping the corners of your mouth when you cry out. 

As badly as he wants to keep going just like this, his body is begging him for more. The urge to feel some of those spasms around his dick that barely fits in you instead of simply watching them occur will always win out in the end.

Yami lifts you off of his face and you gasp, sitting up enough to watch 

“Can I at least finish what I started?”

Yami shakes his head in response, easily moving you and settling your cunt above the tip of his cock. “Nope.”

Further argument would be futile so you don’t bother, instead grinding your hips downward to welcome him inside of you slowly. He assists you by holding onto your hips as you are lowered inch by torturous inch, stretching to accommodate him. You lose your breath as he bottoms out, limply allowing him to take full control of your body and movements. 

His hips cant upward sharply as he lifts you up and down on his cock near effortlessly thanks to his strength. Your ass bounces with each of his thrusts, sticky skin on sticky skin creating a consistent smacking sound, and his own release draws closer. One of his hands slides from your hip to your lower back, dragging two fingers up and down the length of your spine. 

“My beautiful gift.” The reverential utterance grabs your attention and you turn to look over your shoulder to witness him. 

He meets your eyes and gnaws his lower lip. The tension in his forehead is almost comical, brows knit together tightly, and one final thrust has him coming inside of you before you can cry out his name and praise how good it feels.  

There was no way he was going to last for more than a minute inside of you anyway but he knows you don’t mind, splaying one of his hands against your back and dragging the other one to the front of you to lay you down against his chest. 

Once you’re safely in his arms, where he wants you to be the most, he kisses your forehead. Then the bridge of your nose. Then your cheeks, smiling down at you and rocking you gently. 

“Not a bad way to celebrate getting older if I do say so myself.”

His words make you snort, burying your face into his broad chest and gazing up at him with a smile. Big hands slide up and down your back and sides in a comforting pattern, your limp body draped over his with no intention of moving until you absolutely have to. 

[solreino]

Swan Song

Chapter 1: Taking Flight

Summary: In preparation for your debut as Odette in Swan Lake, you encounter a few bumps in the road. Little do you know this is just the start.

Pairings: TF 141 x Reader

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: Eating Disorders, Toxic Beauty Standards, Creepy/Unwanted Behaviour, Period-Typical Attitudes (1910's), Innacurate Translations.

A/N: I'm not well informed about ballet, I have never danced it before, so I apologize for any inaccuracy regarding terminology. Also, the story is set mainly in Russia, so the reader is presumed to be of Russian origin.

MASTERLIST Next➔

[November 11th 1911, The Bolshoi Ballet Academy, Russia]

"1 and 2 and 3 and 4!”

Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as Mr. Lenkov begins to play Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a: I. Scene "Swan Theme" for what feels like the sixth time this hour. His nimble fingers dance across the ivory keys once again as the composition presumes its macabre melody.  

To say the last few weeks have been stressful would be a dire understatement. Since taking up the role of Odette in Autumn, you’ve yet to recall the last time you’d had the pleasure of succumbing to the sanctity of slumber, nor rest altogether for that matter. From dawn to dusk, you’ve found the studio becoming a second home to you; like an ever-so gracious host with a tendency for passive-aggressive hospitality, who coaxes you from the front door in promise of warm tea and a place to rest your head, insisting you stay "just one more hour". You know better, well at least you think you do, because beyond the studio door you know there’ll be no rest awaiting you, only relentless recital. Still, you don’t look back as you accept its welcoming embrace. Because- 

Anything but perfection would not suffice. You see, back-breaking discipline; impeccable precision; artistic competence; meticulous dedication, it’s nothing new to ballet and in turn, it’s nothing new to you, either. To be a ballerina means to surrender yourself to the artistry, and let your body become its mindless muse.

The Ballet industry is an anomaly compared to other artistic sectors. Unlike others, it subverges from the ideals of ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’. Conformity is key. There are strict standards to be met and an unquestionable quota to be completed. Anything but, will not do. It disregards the need to sugarcoat its shallow requirements; skinnier, sharper, prettier, thinner; if it fulfills the requirements, it will suffice. 

Image is everything. It’s a shallow, superficial sentiment that directors set upon budding ballerinas like hounds to hares. From day one, they plant it into the impressionable minds of aspiring dancers. Uncontrollably, self-doubt sprouts like a stubborn weed. Each off-hand comment or direct dig, whether it be about a girl’s weight of en pointe form, encourages the festering parasite to root itself deeper into her mind. Then she grows older - it’s too late - and the parasitic thought has poisoned her once innocent outlook on life and has rotted it right to its roots. For the rest of her tragic life, the girl will only know the number on the scales, the image in the mirror, and the misery in her mind. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve seen it happen to you, because-  

Ballet has ensnared you - mind, body, and soul. Over the years, you’ve felt its callous claws dig deeper and deeper into your flesh, leaving scars so severe - both physically and mentally - sometimes the pretty pink ribbons you adorn your feet with prove futile in the bid to cover them. Prodding and poking and probing; fingers jabbing mercilessly into your sides, accompanying a doubly ruthless "you'll need to lose this extra weight if you want a spot on my stage". For a sport so vain, you ought to think it would go easy on its victims. A session of self-reflection proves otherwise.

You learn to bear and grin through it all. You don’t have much of a choice anyways. After all, many before you have suffered the same, and those who come after you will too. Because after many years of being a ballerina-

You learn to see beauty in the pain. 

The blood you bleed makes the red roses you receive at curtain call worthwhile; the sadistically sweat-inducing masterclasses make the shining smiles and standing ovations from awestruck audiences worthwhile; the tears make the champagne chutes you get to drink at the expense of your company worthwhile. You chase these highs like you do with stardom.  

All you've ever dreamed of since a little girl was to be a ballerina. Perhaps, it was the beautiful dresses a child of your class could only dream of back then, or how pretty the woman on the front page of your father’s newspaper looked posing on the tip of her toes. You don’t know for certain what exactly it was that enthralled you with it all. Sometimes, you wish you had never boarded that train to Moscow, never bothered with all that came with being a ballerina. It’s a selfish and self-deprecating thought, for you know if you were to stay on that homestead, there was an imminent chance you would have succumbed to the troubles of poverty you had faced back home. Admittedly, there are times you miss your life before coming to the city. None can be done about that, however.

Now, you have to push your body to its limits and beyond. Daily, you trespass boundaries you had once believed your body did not possess the ability to, reciting the same sequences endlessly, over and over again, until you physically can’t pursue your practice further that day. Even then, you find yourself persevering through the pain and fatigue; limbs heavy like lead; a mind strong like steel. If you knew your efforts were futile in the bid to rid yourself of any flaws in your dance, you would be wrong because-    

Ultimately, you knew no matter how much effort you exerted, the Dance Principal; Ballet Mistress; the reputable Madame Orlova would not miss a single thing.

For decades, word has circled Moscow of the cold-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued old woman who ran the prestigious academy with an iron fist. It was just your luck that she had taken you under her wing as one of her pupils. You dare say she had taken a liking to you, though, she did have a tough way of showing her fondness onto others. 

Never a day was there without some sort of mistake to be mended by her recognition. At times you think God had cursed her to be forever unfulfilled in her outlook of life. The others in the Troupe seem to think so too. 

You dread to think of how much Mr Lenkov’s fingers must be hurting from playing the same melody over and over again for this past hour. It wouldn’t surprise you if the composition begins to haunt your dreams like a creaky, broken music box. You’ve never had the pleasure of owning one, though you had seen one in the window of a repair shop one time and-

And, as the Ballet Mistress shouts at Mr Lenkov to cease his playing, you know she has once more found a flaw in your dancing. 

The symphony stops abruptly with a garble of incoherent notes before it can reach its crescendo. Inwardly, you sigh. 

"No, no, no!" She scolds.

Her boney fingers rub feverishly against her temple in frustration. Rising slowly from her chair before you, her walking cane thumps anticipating against the studio’s oakwood floor as she ambles towards you. Wrinkled eyes bore into you; you struggle to withstand the urge not to writhe under the intensity of her stare.

"Your arms,” She begins slowly, her gaze raking over you in scrutiny, “They are stiff.” 

“From the shoulder to the fingertips,” She gestures with her hand down the length of your arm as she speaks. “It must flow, like the wing of a swan.”

She uses the moment of silence as you take on the command to survey your form, prodding and poking your stance to adjust it to her liking. 

“Do not forget this.” She finishes. 

"Yes, Madame Orlova," You nod in acknowledgment, wincing slightly each time her finger jabs into your shoulder blades and readjust your position to better suit her expectations. 

She huffs a breath in what you can only presume is somewhat satisfaction, signaling for Mr Lenovo to resume playing.

“Again!”

The song resumes its somber sound, and you take heed to the Ballet Mistress’ words. Flowing from your shoulder blades to your fingertips, you encapture the essence of the White Swan; melancholy in her mourning of a lover whose heart he had promised to another. She is vulnerable in her virtue, and she shows that in her final flight. Odette longs for the skies, for an escape from the betrayal of who she had held dear, but her wings fail her. In desperation, she flexes and flaps her wings, but alas, she cannot take flight. And so-

You spiral in a presession of slow spins, arms portraying the anguished attempt the Swan Queen takes to take flight for the final time before decelerating into a despairing descent as Odette. The tune tumbles to its end from beneath Mr. Lenkov’s fingers as you complete your practiced plummet to the studio floor, encasing your body with your arms the wings of the white swan, as the grief-stricken creature takes its final breath. 

You raise your head to look at Madame Orlova.

And, for the first time in your decade-long enrollment at the Bolshoi Ballet School, you think you see the infamously stone-faced stone-hearted ballet mistress smile. 

It's a cold evening in Moscow tonight. The winter winds thrash ferociously at the loose and unraveling threads of your scarf. Whilst it does little to protect you from the frigid frost lingering in the air, you wear it anyways as any warmth you can garner to combat the icy environment is, in your eyes, worthwhile.

Snowflakes dust your hair with specks of glistening white, gathering upon the crown of your head where you have neglected to put on a hat. They tickle your nose and gently brush against your rosy cheeks as you tilt your head back. Your face turned towards the sky; watching as the snow twirls and tumbles from the clouds above, gradually blanketing the ground ahead in a pristine carpet of soft white. It crunches as you walk towards the theatre, leaving footsteps on the once-untouched landscape. You take extra caution not to slip on any hidden ice - an injury is the last thing you needed on a day as imperative as this. 

Somewhere in the far distance, the Kremlin bells ring. 

Thirteen mighty chimes thunder throughout the city. You feel the ground rumble in response beneath your feet - a reminder to hurry.

Rushing up the snowy steps of the Bolshoi Ballet Theatre, you quickly let yourself inside in an attempt to escape the chilling temperatures of the Moscovian evening - and to avoid running behind schedule. 

The warm air inside greets you welcomingly. You eagerly pull off your gloves in its presence to soak up the heat it has to offer. Slowly, you begin to regain feeling into your fingers. Sighing a relieved breath, you make your way backstage as the marble floor of the foyer echoes noisily beneath your shoes.

There, you receive a not-so-calm yet begrudgingly familiar greeting. 

Pre-performance is usually like this; congested backstage corridors; a cacophony of frantic demands and directions; boxes of overflowing props and costumes rushed up and down the hall; the deafening pounding of ballerinas breaking in their pointe shoes;  dim lighting making it near impossible to navigate. However today, with your debut as the company’s newly appointed principal dancer just hours away, it feels even more nerve-wrackingly overwhelming. 

You brace yourself as you get swept away in the havoc of opening night, tangled in the rambunctious crowd as it traverses through the labyrinth of backstage passageways.

Despite the absurd amount of people crammed in corridors unable to withstand even a fraction of their current capacity, you miraculously manage to maneuver your way to the dressing room; elbow-to-rib style, ducking under boxes and weaving past those racing in the opposite direction. 

Relief hits you as you swing open the dressing room door, closing it quickly behind you as your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the bright lighting inside. The much more quieter, yet seemingly livelier chatter of friendly conversation and girlish giggles encompasses you as you move further into the dressing room. You shrug off your coat, laying it to rest on the coathanger and take your seat in front of your dresser.

Tranquility seeps into your bones as you slouch against the chair’s backrest momentarily, soaking up the opportunity of rest no matter how short-lived the moment may be. Mentally, you take the moment to prepare yourself for the evening, and all the chaos and calamity it is sure to bring. 

Sighing, you straighten yourself up in your seat, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as you do so. 

"I didn't know you had a secret admirer.” 

You don’t turn around as the voice chimes up from behind you. You of all people know better than to entertain her playful antics. 

The voice reveals itself from its lurking in the background, resting her chin just above your collarbone and draping her arms over your shoulder. 

Your eyes meet hers in the reflection. She grins back at you.

“Valeria.” You sigh, patting the hand resting around your shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Valeria, crowned tonight’s Black Swan, is one of the company’s longer-serving principal dancers and has self-appointed herself as your tutor and friend as of late. Graciously, she has taken you under her wing these past couple of months as you have gradually adjusted to your newly bestowed title, joining her amongst the Bolshoi’s most prestigious ranks. 

“You too,” She smirks, a little too suspiciously for your liking, pecking your cheek in greeting before returning to her seat at her vanity next to you. “You too.”

You begin to rummage through your stage makeup, tilting the mirror toward you so you can better see, before laying out your needed products on the desk space. You pay no mind to her mischievous staring as you do so. But, as you have learned over your time acquainted with Valeria, nothing can deter her from getting what she wants. And right now, that is to find out who this supposed ‘secret admirer’ is.

"So tell us then," She drawls teasingly, "Who's the lucky boy?"

The edge of your desk presses uncomfortably into your side as you turn to give her your attention. For the time being, anyways. You yourself are somewhat curious as to what she is talking about. But the sooner you can resolve this suppositious accusation, the sooner you can resume to the real issue at hand - getting ready for Swan Lake. 

Confusion stirs at her question, and you tilt your head to the side, urging her to explain further.

A ribbon-wrapped gift box is pushed toward you. You watch on, confused. 

Valeria’s legs swing idly back and fro as she gazes at you expectantly. The corners of her lips tug further into a grin at the silence that ensues and at the completely dumbfounded expression on your face. When you give her no answer, her Cheshire-cat-like grin falters. 

The girls around you giggle, peering over from their makeup stations to indulge in the drama unfolding. Valeria shoots them a look from over your shoulder, one you cannot decipher, but it quietens them down. 

“For me?” you ask doubtfully, slightly stumbling over your words as you take the generous gift into your hands. “Oh Valeria, you shouldn’t have-”

“Not from me.” She huffs.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble, eyes scanning over the gift as you look for a label, a note, a letter, anything that may reveal the gifter’s identity. “Who could this be from?”

She shrugs indifferently, turning to focus on her reflection in the mirror, transfixed on getting the edges of her lipstick just right. 

“The girls who were here before me said it came delivered to the dressing rooms earlier this hour-” She smiles at her appearance, appreciating her flawless makeup in the mirror. Placing the lipstick tube down with a quiet thump, she turns to focus her attention on you once more. 

She pokes a finger at you in playful accusation. “-Asking for you specifically!” 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders, unable to give her the answer she craves, for what reason, is beyond you.  

She eyes you incredulously, before returning her attention to her mirror seemingly unable to neglect her reflection for just a moment longer.

“Well,” She gestures toward the ribbon-wrapped gift with her free hand, playing an unbothered facade. You know full well she is practically itching to uncover this mystery. “Are you going to open it?”

Your eyes dart between her and the suspicious box, almost expecting this to be some sort of ruse, perhaps she had given you a jack-in-the-box and was waiting for you to get the fright of your life; her idea of fun.

Hesitantly, you begin the unravel the sheer ribbon keeping the box from opening. The fabric rubs soothingly against your fingertips, a luxury fabric you have not had the experience of touching before. It was clear that whoever had purchased this was of a wealthy background.  Perhaps, you think, you could make this into a bow to wear. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when you lifted its lid, but you definitely were not expecting a pair of .

“Aye chingao!” Valeria startles as she leans over your shoulder to get a better look.

Nestled between a blanket of draped deluxe fabric, a pearlescent pink, almost winter-white, pair of the most exquisitely crafted pointe shoes lie. You fail to restrain the exasperated sigh of awe at the sight, carefully grazing your fingertips over its silky satin finish as if the slightest touch could possibly damage them. You can confidently say, they are the most beautiful gift you have ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

“No secret admirer,” she says.” Valeria quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's probably just costuming.” You dismiss her far-fetched conspiracies, though, you find it hard to draw your eyes away from the pair of shoes, and the fact that this had definitely not come from the costume department. So who had sent you these?

"Ha, as if Mr. Baryshev would ever allow the budget given to costuming to be used for anything but lining his own pockets!” She laughs bitterly. 

“I’ve been-” Valeria exhales out a frustrated breath, “-trabajando como un burro to afford the means to get wear this!” She growls, her hands gesturing to the coal-coloured feathered fabric of her intricate bodice and tutu. 

You open your mouth to give her your consolation before a knock comes to the door. You, Valeria, and the rest of the room quieten into hushed murmuring - just for a moment. Then-

“On in 30, Ladies!” A gruff voice hollers from the other side of the door.

The room erupts into chaos.

A tsunami of frantic ballerinas surge forward towards the row of dressers, crashing against each other like the tides of a raging sea you had heard many-medal adorning men recount about in tales of some distant land. The only redeeming thing about conducting post-performance business is the stories and tales you overhear; the rest, you are not so keen on.

You take the distraction in stride, shoving the pair of shoes more like semi-worn in pointe hand-me-downs from costuming somewhere under your vanity, and replacing them with your newly acquired gift.

“You’re going to wear them?!” Valeria hisses incredulously. 

You glance at her sideways, smirking back at the priceless expression of amused disbelief on her face.

“Well, they’re shoes, aren’t they?” You jest, grinning at her mischievously. “It would be a shame not to.”

She shakes her head in mock-dissappointment, haphazardously stuffing her stage makeup in its designated drawer before firmly slamming it shut. 

“I fear my mischief is rubbing off on you too much.” She mumbles as she looks up at you, feigning a tone of dismay, only to be betrayed by the growing smirk on her face. 

“Well,” She smoothes her hands over her slicked-back bun of cropped raven hair, "I'll see you out there." 

You give her your goodbyes as she pats you on the shoulder, rising from her chair and making her way toward the dressing room’s door. 

“Don’t let the Director find out,” Valeria whisper-shouts from over her shoulder. “You know what he’s like.”

She ushers the remaining lingering corps-de-ballet girls out of the changing rooms, winking at you as she closes the door gently behind her. 

You listen as the chatter slowly retreats from beneath the doorframe, Valeria’s distinct, accented laughter mingled with that of fast-paced Russian retreating down the echoey corridor ‘till you could hear it no more. A serene silence hugs the now-semi abandoned dressing room; those, including you, who aren’t to appear until later acts remain, a more pacific atmosphere stirs, with subdued gossiping, softer laughter, and a more slowing-encroaching sense of time.

You slump in your chair. 

You have a long evening ahead of you.

The rear of house is relatively quieter now.

You can no longer hear the lively chatter associated with the pre-performance buzz, only the occasional hushed conversation resurfacing through the suffocating silence as people pass by. Walking backstage is always an awkward feat, your pointe shoes make an unpleasantly loud noise against the cold concrete floor with each precarious step you take. 

You had felt bad for having to break them in; they were an extraordinaryly well-crafted pair of pointé shoes, they fit perfectly too, and you were certain the price tag was even more extravagant. You still hadn’t resolved the identity of the mystery gifter, but you’d make sure to thank them profusely for their kindness. For now, however, you have a debut to make. 

Your feet thump rapidly as you semi-rush toward the entrance to the left wing. The further you near, the more people it seems are gathered in anticipation for their appearances onstage. The conversation is greater here than that of in the deeper bowels of the theatre where the dressing room had been. Mingling herds of ballerinas and dancers lean idle against the walls, stretching in preparation for their scenes, and chatting amongst themselves, but done so in more gentle, lower tones so as not to alert the audience of their presence a mere wall away. 

They regard you with reassuring smiles and words of good luck as you briskly waddle by; you reciprocate them with a short-but-sweet smile. 

The music grows in amplitude as you enter the left wing officially; the once gentle thrumming is replaced with an all-encompassing eruption of expertly strung-together instruments. The welcoming embrace of the song is quickly diminished though, much to your dismay because-

The rafters here have always given you the creeps. With no help from Valeria either, who  divulges in gossip of the ‘ballerina’ who had been ‘crushed to death’ by a poorly-secured light fixture on the theatre’s proscenium arch each time she catches you gazing nervously upwards at the looming space. You know it’s mainly just the technicians who lurk up in the rafters, commandeering light cues and stage transformation sequences as the ballet progresses. 

‘You have nothing to fear’, you admonish yourself. 

Still, that doesn’t stop the hair on the back of your neck from standing up as you approach the left stage-side.

Your presence goes unnoticed for not even a second. 

Someone speaks your name in a hushed whisper.

You peer over your shoulder at the source of the sound; the silhouette of a stout-statured man emerges from the left-wing doorway. He seizes you suddenly by the shoulders before you even have time to recognise the overly-touchy-friendly Mr. Ustrashkin.

You stagger at the sudden force with which he embraces you, regaining your balance with an awkward squeak. It is only then do you see the disconcerted look that his face has taken on.

“Mr Ustrashkin?” You begin hesitantly. “Is something the matter?”

“Walk with me, dear.” He requests, but he has already pulled you into motion with the firm grip of his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you trail off to the side to make way for the group of pas de corps, and for the privacy of what you can only assume to be bad news. The ballerinas smile respectfully at you, lowering their heads slightly as they account for your company before skittering off, their ghostly white tutus fluttering by behind them like swirling snowflakes. 

When the last of the dancers had passed by, Mr. Ustrashkin speaks again. You take the small queue of silence to compose yourself exteriorly for what is to come. 

“Something..." He stalls, theatrically contemplating the correct word to use before resuming. "...unexpected came up within these previous hours. A true shame it is, but Fyodor, your dance partner, has sustained an ankle injury. As you can understand, he will be out of commission for the foreseeable future, and unfortunately is unable to perform with you tonight." 

Your heart sinks. It collapses from your chest cavity like a marionette doll on snapped strings; as its puppet master surveilled with cruel glee from above. You wonder what you had done to anger God, for him to administer such a thing onto you. On today of all days too. 

“Oh, um, I-” You stumble over your words in a tangled array of shock, panic, disbelief and uncertainty.  

“None of that now, little swan.” Mr. Ustrashkin tuts, almost as one would scold a misbehaving child. 

You recoil at the unwanted nickname, but are too overcome with internal panic at the newly arisen situation to pay it much mind. Saying anything anyways will get you in trouble, and you have climbed too far into the good graces of the executives of the company to fall out of favour for something so insignificant. 

You struggle to maintain your composure, hanging on the thread of internal and external unbridled alarm. You bite the inside of your cheek to withhold any curses from escaping your mouth.

‘On all days this could have possibly happened on.’ You mumble to yourself mentally. 

“So, if Fyodor isn’t dancing tonight..” Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, eyes trailing from Mr. Ustrashkin and the conversation at hand to the semi-concealed view of the stage. “Who is dancing Prince Siegfried onstage as we speak?”

Swan Lake has been going for around an hour by now, but with your appearance not until the second act, you needn’t be in as much of a rush as those in the first. You had spent that time responsibly; the majority of which was in the dressing room ensuring the costuming was to standard and ogling over the anonymous gift. Much to your displeasure, that also meant you didn’t have the pleasure of seeing everyone off at curtain opening, and you hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of this ‘Mactavish’ Mr Ustrashkin had been singing his praises about to you. 

"Do not fret that pretty little head," The plump man quips. Mr. Ustrashkin pats your back, presumably in an act of reassurance, but the force which he uses almost sends you stumbling forward. "His understudy, Mactavish, has taken up his role."

“Mactavish?” Your head tilts to the side as the syllables of the foreign-sounding name roll off your tongue with a questioning implication. 

“Oh yes!” He startles with a cheery smile. “A wonderful dancer through and through. We scouted his talent in London and had him transferred from The Royal Ballet to dance for us instead.” He rambles on in recollection. “Though the two of you aren’t properly acquainted yet, I’m sure he’ll be substantial as a dance partner in Fyodor’s absence.”

All you can do is nod your head absentmindedly, hoping to be relieved of his unwanted presence. And, like all men are, his attention is quickly drawn to another. 

A loud laugh barks out from across in the right wing. 

“Valeria!” The now-agitated man growls lowly, his teeth grinding together as he storms toward her as quickly as his little legs can carry him. 

‘So that’s where she went,’ you think, half-bemused, half-concerned. You also thank her in your head for unknowingly getting you out of a conversation you no longer had any interest in being involved in.

Rolling your shoulders to relieve some tension that had been building up, your eyes search diligently for someplace to stretch before your presence on stage is needed. Finding one, you make sure to apply an ample amount of rosin to the bottom of your shoes before skittering your way over. 

The minutes pass by neither quickly nor slowly, more like a muddled mixture of the two. Your body moves without control, years and years of dedicated practice leading up to this much anticipated moment allowing your body to memorize the moves. Your thoughts, however, are the fore-focus of your attention. They rumble through your mind like a blinding blizzard, burying any logical thought with a suffocating, unmoveable barrier of bleak snow and amounting stage fright. 

The Pit Orchestra unleashes Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 1: No. 9, Finale Andante’s crescendo upon the awestricken audience as such Zeus would do to the land below Mount. Olympus with his thunderbolts. If you dare a glance, you may manage to see Mr. Lenkov strumming his harp melodically, or his musical protégé he can’t help himself but boast about day in-day out. 

The floor beneath your feet vibrates as the composition reverberates deafeningly throughout the auditorium; you would struggle to believe the crystal chandelier that looms overhead is not swinging violently nor the champagne glasses the aristocrats’ cradle has not shattered at the absurd volume. Though, it could just be the nervous shaking of your legs.

You catch fleeting visions of the dancers on stage; their shadows flickering in and out of view like the dimming flame of candlelight. Your thoughts are once again drawn back to Fyodor’s supposed understudy. Not once had you had a recital with him, and so you could only hope he was adequately practiced for his role. 

The melody of Act 1’s final act concludes with the triumphant trill of the violin ensemble. The audience erupts into an oscillating ovation; cheering, clapping, whistling; at a volume so loud it could rival its predecessor. Your doubts about Mactavish’s adequacy are quickly disproven. 

It only brings a sliver of comfort, however. 

You linger in the shadows for a moment, trembling fingers brushing hesitantly against the fabric before you. Then, cautiously, you peer out from behind the safety of the illustrious velvet curtains. Your jittery hands fiddle with their golden tassels as you gaze at the exceedingly large audience. The auditorium of the theatre had never been so full.

You try not to let the sheer amount of people overwhelm you; a thousand thousand faces staring stagebound.

You fail.

And as the announcer commences the beginning of tonight's performance, you also fail to notice the man watching you from across the other side of the stage.

 “Bolshoi Ballet proudly presents Swan Lake!”

[xetswan]

Twilight- Mortality: Chapter Three, Date Night

(Alice X Reader X Jasper)

[Two] [Three] [Four]

[Warnings: Sexual topics(not much)]

[Filler chapter, doesn’t truly affect the storyline]

That night I ended up going home with Charlie, he drank a little too much to drive and I didn't want something happening to him. He was half asleep the drive home so I was glad when I made that decision. I got him to lay down on the couch and that's where he fell asleep.

After everything I fell asleep in my room. I knew if I stayed up I would have to deal with things I didn't want to. I took advantage of being a Hybrid. Sleeping away my problems was always my answer as a human and now I can do it again.

Very grateful for it too after I woke up to Alice and Jasper in my room going through my laptop. I sigh loudly, earning their attention. "You're awake." Alice announces, coming over to me and peppering kisses on my face. "Yeah, what's going on?" I ask, my eyebrows scrunched. "We got here early. Had nothing to do so we were just checking emails." Jasper tells me.

I raise a brow but honestly I don't care enough right now. I lay my head back down on my pillow. Alice straddling my waist, hugging my torso tightly.

I rub her back gently, going back and forth.

"Has the married couple said anything to either of you? Or anyone else?" I ask them, Jasper chuckles, shaking his head. "They are enjoying that honeymoon." He says, coming over and joining us on my bed.

I smile awkwardly, now just overly worried about my sister. Dying from vampire dick? What a way to go, but hopefully not the way Bella has to go out. Ugh.

I shiver in disgust at the thought.

"Rosalie and Emmett invited us to a double date." Alice suddenly says, Jasper and I look at her as she sits up, still straddling me. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I said we'd be there, it's later tonight." She tells us, I look back over to Jasper who has the same expression. Not very surprised but a little disappointed as it's our first night alone since having to plan the wedding and get everything done for that.

"It's as if we don't see them all the time." I joke, well kinda.

"It'll be nice, a relaxing night out."

"Where are we supposed to go out on a date? Four Vampires and Hybrid. You guys can't eat. We can't play a sport we will literally destroy whatever we play with unless it's baseball." I remind her, crossing my arms. "And I'm sorry but I genuinely do not want to play that." I tell her earnestly.

"You'll see." She gives me a smile that she normally does and here I am actually wishing that Edward was here so I could read her mind.

I also realized that my eye changing color thing wasn't brought up which if that means I have to go on a date for that to still not be a conversation. I will take it. She lays back down, her chest against mine. Jasper laid his head on my arm that he pulled out. I was like their heating pad or something.

I didn't mind it though.

"Swim wear?" I ask, stretching out my arms, checking myself out in the mirror. I was put into a one piece swimsuit with shorts over the top. Its not summer time though so I did not expect this. "Isn't it so cute. We match!" Alice gleams, showing off her bikini and then moving to show Jasper's swim trunks. We were all in black. Somehow all the same exact shade too.

I smile, nodding my head. "We look attractive." I tell her, then go back to looking in the mirror, flexing my arms. "When do we leave?" I ask her, still checking myself out. Noticing certain muscles pop out more with the bathing suit on. "Now actually, let's go." Alice takes both mine and Jasper's hand. It was already dark, it being 11 pm. I wonder if we're just going to the beach.

I purse my lips out trying to guess what we're going to do. We get into Jasper's new car, it being a convertible. I sit in the back, sprawling out dramatically. I notice him glance back to me, shaking his head with a small smile.

"Took you guys long enough!" I hear a voice shout behind us as we get our few things out of the car. We all look back to see Emmett with his arm around Rosalie. Both wearing swimsuits as well. Rosalie wearing a red bikini and Emmett wearing white swim trunks with red kiss marks all over it.

"We're not even late, it's thirty minutes before we said we'd come here!" Alice yells back to the buff vampire who just laughs in response. The couple hurrying over to us. "That's late." He rolls his eyes playfully but it bothers my girlfriend nonetheless.

"All right, all right, let's go have this stupid date." Rosalie attempts to hide her smile, dragging Alice by the arm. All of us following behind them. "What are we doing tonight?" I furrow my eyebrows as we go onto the sand.

"Didn't your lovers tell you, Hybie?" Emmett asks, nudging me. He watched as I didn't flinch. He does it often to see if my strength falters at all. Also with calling me Hybie ever since I turned into my wolf form in front of him. He knew I was a Hybrid, I mean obviously.

"No, obviously not bird brain." I nudge him back but purposefully a little hard causing him to stumble. "No need for the hostility." He puts his hands up in defense. "What ever, what are we doing?" I switch the subject with a smile.

"We are going to swim. Play a few water games." He winks at me, I give him a confused expression in return. "Water games?" I repeat back to him. He puts a finger up to my lips, shushing me. "I've said too much." He joins his girl along with my girlfriend. I stare at the back of his head still genuinely confused. I feel arms wrap around my waist and slightly lift me in the air. I squeal a tiny bit.

"Don't mind him, darlin. We're going to have a good time. No worries." He kisses gently at my neck, now both of us walking. "He... confuses me sometimes. I now know Rosalie can never get bored with that man." I snicker. As we get closer to the water, we get to this large blanket that has candles set up along with blood bags.

"It's our own makeshift picnic." Rosalie clasps her hands together.

"This is cute in a... way." I nod my head. "Let's dig in. I've been waiting for your ungrateful ass." Emmett plops down, grabbing a blood bag. My eyes widen but I begin to laugh. "Sorry." I mutter, Rosalie sits next to Emmett as Alice and Jasper sit on either side of me.

The waves are stopping just before the blanket, the moon was bright tonight. Brighter than the candles beside us. The temperature of the air wasn't bad either for it being autumn. It's been weirdly warm this November. It wouldn't matter to any of us even if it was super cold. "So, thoughts on the wedding?" Alice questions everyone. We all begin to chuckle. We could've figured that was going to be her first question. "I mean we set it up, it was beautiful." Rosalie gives a simple answer. "Exactly." I add in, taking a sip out of my blood bag. It would've been cooler if we put the blood in like wine glasses or something. "I mean like how it went with everybody that showed up. Idiots." She gently shoves me and reaches over to slap Rosalie.

The blonde and I make eye contact, trying not to laugh. "Oh wait before the questions begin, I brought something." Alice pauses the conversation, standing up and speeding off to the car trunk. She swiftly comes back with a bigger bag in it. "What is it?" I furrow my eyebrows, curious.

"Open it." She puts it down in front of us. I go to reach into it but Emmett beats me to it. He lifts out a bottle of wine. His face scrunches up in disgust. "Wine, seriously?"

"There's more." She motions. He goes to reach in but this time I shove him back. I take out a Jack Daniels and I mentally taste it from when I tried it as a freshman. Disgusted I put it down and take out two other bottles. Spirytus Rektyfikowany, a Polish Vodka that is harsh, so I've heard. And Everclear a pure grain alcohol. Both banned from most states. I widen my eyes but they're taken from my hands as Jasper and Emmett cheer. "Don't worry, we don't get hungover." I hear Rosalie say in front of me. "We do however, get drunk off our asses like any other being." Emmett smirks, taking the cap off of the Everclear and the Jack Daniel's. Taking a swig from both bottles.

I shake my head, opening the wine bottle. "Oh there's glasses in the bag." Alice stops me from drinking from the bottle, giving me a wine glass that I don't understand how it didn't break in that bag.

It also irritated me as I could've been drinking the blood from these glasses instead of a bag like a freak. Well either way we're freaks. But I could've been a classy one.

I pour the wine in mine and in one for Alice. Rosalie hands me her glass and I pour some into it, handing it back. "So answer my question now." My girlfriend waves a hand for us to start talking. "I had a blast. Those Wolf mutts are kinda cool. No offense Hybie." Emmett takes another drink of both alcohols. Passing the Everclear to Jasper. "Thanks, bird brain." I snatch the Jack from his hand and take a drink, roughly giving it back. I attempt not to gag but the taste brings me back to horrible memories.

"I had a chill time, nothing memorable." Jasper shrugs his shoulders, lifting up the bottle, I watch as some of it drips down his chin. He goes to wipe it but I stop him, licking it off myself. He hums in response, pulling me into a short kiss. I feel a tiny buzz but I know I haven't drank enough yet.

"I'd say the same thing, I also don't like what that marriage stands for." Rosalie huffs, drinking her wine, ignoring what I just did to Jasper. But I see Emmett smirking at the sight, his eyes kept on me. I give him the finger in an elegant way by scratching the side of my face as I drank the rest of my wine. He snorts.

"I feel you there, Rosie." I sigh out, "but I'd say I had a good time. Truly got to say goodbye to Angela really my only friend I made in high school." I roll my eyes, taking the Spirytus from the bag and opening it. Alice places a hand on my arm. "That's strong, be careful love bug." She gives a short smile. I give her a nod.

"Oh, I saw you with that girl, she had the glasses. Even with glasses to help her see she had her eyes fixed on you. I don't get it." Emmett roars into laughter. Alice glares at him, Jasper squints. He goes quiet but it's now him trying not to laugh. "Excuse me?" I smile, teeth showing. "She was so into you." Rosalie chimes in. "Yeah!" Emmett nods his head. He practically drank most of the Jack already. Splitting the Everclear with Jasper that's almost gone as well. He was swaying. Drunk.

"You guys think that?" I look at both of my lovers who agree with the other couple. "Hm, wouldn't have guessed." I smirk, licking my lips before taking a large drink of the Spirytus. "You already knew, didn't you?" Rosalie asks, finishing her second glass of wine, going to pour a third. I shrug my shoulders in response. Sipping some of the blood after that horrible alcohol.

"She was a good friend, didn't matter to me. I also have two loves of my life. I can't get too greedy." I lean back onto Jasper, and laying my leg over Alice.

It's been about two hours of us talking and joking around over stupid shit before Emmett stands up, having to use Rosalie to keep himself up. She lets him which surprises me. Drunk Rosie is definitely more calm. It's kind of silly to see. Her anger kind of disappears.

Alice is more handsy and Jasper is more vocal. Letting loose. "Last one to the water is... is a loser!" Emmett huffs out, about to use his speed but then trips and ends up falling into the water instead. Jasper gets up, laughing. Following behind but helps him up.

"Man, I think you're the loser." I hear my boyfriend say, laughing heartedly. Something I don't think I hear often. I smile, standing up. "You heard the man, don't be a loser." I kiss Alice swiftly. Running into the water.

The two girls don't rush into the water, only going in to their ankles. I go to say something to them but I get dragged under the water. Hands stay on my shoulders to keep me down. I open my eyes once I register what's happening. I put my arms back behind me and take the legs of my attacker. Lifting myself up, bringing them under water with me. I laugh as I finally reach the surface. Emmett stands up, his drunken self swaying still as before. "It's so on, Hybie." He murmurs, going to attack me again but I move out of the way. I'm definitely drunk but not as much as him.

"You missed!" I laugh out, easily blocking every attack. Splashing him so he can't see me. "Just give up, bird brain!" I yell at him, Jasper cheers me on. Telling me to just attack him. "Never." He huffs out angrily. His large arms almost get me but I get out of the hold quickly. Running over to Alice and Rosalie to save me. I get behind them. He slowly stands out of the water. Standing in front of them.

"Rosie, baby, move." He points, motioning for her to move over. She doesn't say anything but I can tell she made some sort of face for his eyes to soften. "Please, baby." He pleads with her. She sighs. Then in a quick motion I wasn't expecting to happen she pushes me over to him. Getting him to lift me up.

"Rosalie!!! You traitor!!" I screamed, flailing my body around. "I'm sorry!" She laughs back to me. "Oh don't worry, you're next!" I yell just as I get thrown under the water. For the next five minutes it's me and Emmett fighting with one another. Lifting each other up and down into the water. Our bodies repeatedly hitting the lake floor.

The others could feel every time our bodies hit it as well. Forgetting our strength most of the time.

"All right, all right. I'm dizzy." Emmett stops me from getting him again. I cross my arms. "Weak." I mumble under my breath. "What ever." He grumbles, shoving me away from him with a smirk.

After all the rough housing I climb onto Jasper, wrapping my legs around him. Alice and Rosalie were sitting in the shallow part of the water, talking about something as Emmett joins them. Laying his head on Rosie's lap.

I kiss Jasper repeatedly. "Did you have fun, darlin?" He asks me, I bite my lip, glancing back to our set up on the sand and then back to his face. "The most." I nod my head, kissing his lips once more. Jumping up a little bit to get a better position on him. He grunts a little. Holding me closer.

"Was this a distraction from something?" I quietly quizzed him. Laying my head on his shoulder. "No, just some fun before reality hits further." He kisses my neck sweetly.

I hum softly, squeezing my legs around him. "Don't start something right now. I can't hold back with this alcohol. I'll even do it in front of Rosalie and Emmett at this point." I whisper to him softly, nibbling at his ear. He snickers. "Looks like Alice is all for it." He whispers back and I throw my head back groaning. "Stop." I warn him.

"Seriously, you sickos." Rosalie yells at us. We look at her and laugh. "I wouldn't mind." Emmett shrugs his shoulders, his head still on Rosalie's lap.

"Gross, bird brain." I laugh.

Master list

A&J M.L.

Taglist: If you want to be added lmk!

@stevenandmarcslove

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@l3ejm

@kisekihany

@aureliacorvina

@marit332

@marsyay78

@small-town-wayward-daughter

@sugathy

@tallrock35

@azazel-nyx

@silas-aeiou

@xxeiraxx

@capswife

@alphabetically-deranged

@munsoncultedits

@eneywey

@vanessashands

[utilitycaster]

I'm curious about your judgement of the success of the various format experimentations in Campaign 3. If you feel like saying a bit more, I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on which are the most and least successful, and why.

Sure! So as I said earlier today, I think a big problem is that the format experimentation and the moon plot are directly at odds. Pulling off the moon plot, with all the NPCs from past campaigns and payoff of various canonical setups requires a pretty firm hand on what the current canon is, and also really did require a firmer hand in the character creation than there was. On the other hand, the point of experimentation is to let other people play in the space and introduce their ideas. This comes together in what I have referred to in the past as "Not Now." Like, the Crown Keepers showing up just as the party was grappling with FCG's death? Not bad as a concept, but Not Now. Abubakar playing Corellon? Incredible performance, but the fact that he was given free rein in a plot that's already shedding viewers left and right for its lack of direction? Not Now.

On an individual level:

I think EXU Prime either needed to be fully standalone, or Matt needed to provide a slightly more rigid direction to Aabria and therefore really couldn't play Dariax. If it's going to get woven into the main plot of Campaign 3 it needs to set that up (including giving Liam and Ashley a heads up beforehand). My personal vote would be for the former, to allow Aabria to tell her own story without it having to serve like 20 different functions, but what's done is done. If I recall, Liam and Ashley had the option to play different characters for Campaign 3 and I do wonder what would happen if they had decided differently, because you could still have Dorian pop up as a guest but I wonder if the Crown Keepers would have shown up in the same way.

Similarly, as stated, the general concept of the Crown Keepers interlude during the campaign as a means to bring in Dorian? I'm not opposed, though I think this is by far the hardest thing to coordinate generally and for a plot as demanding as Campaign 3 probably not a great idea. But it's hard to judge because the timing was truly the worst timing possible given the events of episode 91, and even delaying by like an episode or two would have at least solved that to the point that I don't understand why they didn't just...do that. (and, just to head off this particularly stupid argument at the pass, this would not have in any way affected Sam's ability to take time off for cancer treatment; it would have just shifted things around, and a lot of this experimentation was planned WELL in advance). [sidebar: I haven't listened to the WBN interlude yet but I do have thoughts because I think interludes from different GMs can be done, but the premise of Campaign 3 is particularly hostile towards them unless the main GM has a very heavy hand in their creation or unless they are light on things relevant to the core plot and mostly for the purpose of worldbuilding a la Song of the Lorelei.]

Solstice split was excellent and I think it's because it was not actually anything you wouldn't see in how people frequently play D&D at home. You have a few players who won't be available for a few sessions in a row? Great, find a reason to split the party, bring some other guest players in, and run some side quests!

Downfall was great because it was diagetic. It was a story within a story that Bells Hells was seeing and responding to, and because it took place so long ago with such specific characters, while it may bleed into how Laura, Taliesin, or Ashley feel in game (impossible to prevent, people bring their own feelings to the table), Matt still has room to decide how the Raven Queen, Wildmother, or Everlight feel a thousand years later. I also feel this had the most direction from Matt, which the other things really needed.

As said, bringing in Abubakar to DM as Corellon is something that again, this plot simply doesn't handle well. It makes for a fantastic scene, but within the 107-and-counting episodes of this story, giving the reins to someone else after you finally have a clear plan and letting them throw another curveball is a terrible idea narratively. I think this again would be fine in a story with a looser plot.

Echoes of the Solstice and presumably the upcoming Vox Machina Malleus Key/Mighty Nein Weave Mind concept is again pretty good. This also fits into things that D&D home games have been doing forever - run a one shot or mini campaign following different characters but DM-ed by the same person that have an impact on the current plot but aren't too closely interwoven. Basically this is like the solstice split in concept.

Essentially: I think playing around with the format within a campaign but having the same GM is pretty easy to do. Once you introduce other GMs acting within the world concurrently (rather than as a story with a foregone conclusion a la Downfall, or for that matter Calamity) you need to be extremely careful if you are trying to tell a specific story with a lot of moving parts, as Matt is with Campaign 3. It's one thing to improvise based on things your players do or say; it's another to do so based on improv by a major NPC or someone doing extensive worldbuilding mid-game that you now need to incorporate. This wouldn't be an issue in a more sandbox-style game; Campaign 2 might have been able to withstand it more gracefully, though I'm still not sure. But Campaign 3 was the wrong place to do it. Again, it's trying to converge in some places and diverge in the others and as a result it's just kind of flopping around in place.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

restricting myself to only do 5 snippets lol i love them all so much

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 (OH!!!!!! @ that last snippet more pls)

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰(this one has me on the edge of my seat!)(i say as if the others dont lol)

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖(its new so im requesting more :))

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷(this one i need a totally normal amount! diaz boys Talking ;-;)

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨(i just love them so much)

You can do as many as you want! Tanis submits 800 million every week.

I'm gonna put Gentle On My Mind at the bottom bc the snippet is sort of smutty, so I'll hide it under the cut.

That being said, 30 for ➰:

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings

---

His fault. Sure. The naproxen? He shouldn’t have taken it from Rachel. That’s on him, too. Rachel’s kid cracking his skull open? Dumb bad luck. Not on him. But, fair enough… Three out of four. 

“That makes sense,” he tells Eddie weakly. 

“Why?” Eddie asks. 

“Just curious,” Buck mumbles. 

“Well, don’t worry,” Eddie replies. “Not like you’ve had to watch them, right?”

Yeah… He supposes that’s true…

“It doesn’t matter,” Buck says quickly. “Sorry.”

Something sad flashes across Eddie’s expression. He cups Buck’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. Buck allows it to happen, although he’s not sure he’s in the mood for their usual morning activities. 

“We should get going,” Buck says, breaking the kiss. “Don’t want to be late for kayaking today.”

Eddie nods. “Right. No. No, we don’t.”

---

45 for 📖:

---

“Hi,” the woman greets him with a nervous little wave. 

She’s beautiful, Buck thinks. Bright smile. Gorgeous eyes. Eddie is holding her hand.

Buck feels strange. He thought she was out of the picture. Are they back together?

“Shannon,” she adds. “My name is Shannon.” 

“Nice to meet you, Shannon.” Buck says, smiling. He feels a little muted and he doesn’t know why. 

“Nice to meet you, too, best librarian in the world.” 

They chat some more. She’s really nice. Buck can see Christopher in her. Whatever happened there, Buck resolves himself to be happy for the three of them. 

Not that it’s any of his business, anyway. 

vii. 

Life gets busy for a bit. He dates and subsequently breaks up with an interior designer named Ali. In Maddie’s life, there’s a stalking incident. A near kidnapping. Chimney gets hurt. Maddie’s ex ends up in jail. Buck lives in a state of shaky adrenaline for weeks. He takes some time off work to help his sister move apartments again and fight with her new landlord about breaking her lease. Even when he’s back, he doesn’t have as much energy for the job as usual. He feels bad about it, but he just can’t give his all. 

All this to say, he doesn’t get to know Shannon Diaz very well. Even though she’s the one picking Christopher up more and more these days. Even though she’s kind and talkative. Even though Chris lights up when he sees her and it’s clear having her back in his life has been good for him. 

It’s nothing against her, really. He’s just busy. He’s got a lot going on personally. He doesn’t have the same energy for the parents as he did six months ago. No other reason. 

But then… 

Well, then she dies. 

He only finds out about it through Carla. Christopher stops showing up to after school programming. One day. Two. By the third, Buck starts to worry. 

---

60 for 🦷 (YEAH TALKING!):

---

Eddie doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what he’s said wrong. 

“What about when you got back from Afghanistan and you were hurt?” Chris asks. He seems insistent. 

“Uh,” Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t think I had any ice cream then, Chris. I can’t remember.”

“No, comfort. Who comforted you?” 

Eddie’s chest feels tight. 

“I mean… I think your mom tried,” Eddie replies weakly. “She had, uh… She had a little kid to think about, though. You. And her mom was sick…”

“So no one?” Chris fills in.

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t try,” Eddie defends Shannon. 

“What about…” Christiopher’s eyes dart around. He’s upset. He’s upset and Eddie can’t tell why. “What about when you were shot?”

Eddie nods. Okay, yes. Yes, he can give a satisfactory answer. 

“Yeah, buddy. Buck was there for me. Comforted me all the time.”

“Just Buck?” Chris asks.

“I mean, other people were there. You were there. You being there helped.”

“What about Ana?” Chris asks. 

“Right, yes. Ana.”

Chris narrows his eyes. 

“What is this about?” Eddie asks. “Why all the interest in my own surgeries, Chris? Yours won’t be that bad, I promise.”

“It’s not that,” Christopher sighs. 

“Then what?” Eddie tries to temper the edge in his voice. He doesn’t know why he is getting frustrated, too. Maybe it’s just the confusion of it all. 

Christopher looks down at his tub of ice cream, then back up at Eddie. He looks like he’s going to cry. It makes Eddie want to cry. 

“I… I thought going to Texas would make me feel better,” Chris says. His voice is wavering. Like it’s about to crack. 

Eddie freezes. The ice cream is probably warmer than the blood in his veins right now. 

“I thought… I thought I’d feel better because you’d feel worse. I thought I’d feel better because I wouldn’t be in your way.”

---

45 for 🚨:

---

“So, uh… So, where is Christopher today?”

Eddie feels a little thrum of apprehension. 

“He’s at the zoo,” Eddie answers. “With his stepfather.”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever phrased it quite like this before. To anyone who doesn’t know Buck’s role in his life, Eddie might phrase it like… My partner. My boyfriend. Something like that. There’s a different sort of implication behind my son’s stepfather. A permanence. A finality. One Eddie knows is valid and true. But one that catches Ramon off guard, clearly, from the way he raises his eyebrows. 

“Stepfather?” Ramon asks. 

“Yes,” Eddie replies tightly. Maybe he’s testing him a little. “You saw him. At the funeral. Buck.”

Ramon nods. “My memory of the day is a little fuzzy.”

“Right,” Eddie replies. 

“You’ve been together a long time?” Ramon asks. 

“A year,” Eddie replies. “Friends for longer, before then. He’s a firefighter, too.”

“That’s good. It’s good to… Well, to really know a person.”

Something in his tone says he’s speaking from experience. Like maybe he hadn’t, so well. Or maybe he feels like he doesn’t anymore? 

Eddie nods. “We’re happy.”

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to say this. Perhaps because the implication, when he came out to them all those years ago, was that he could never really be. That he was taking his life in the wrong direction. Well… Here’s the truth. He did right by himself.

---

30 for 🔼:

⚠️NSFW CONTENT AHEAD READ WITH CAUTION⚠️

---

Eddie kisses Shannon as he undresses her. Her mouth. Her cheeks. Down her neck. Her collarbone. Kissing along a line of freckles he has memorized. He knows every inch of her. 

He removes her bra and moves his mouth to her breasts, brain short-circuiting at the fullness of them right now. 

“God, Shannon,” he mutters uselessly. He thinks she says something back but it’s muffled and a little incoherent. 

She’s so beautiful. She’s always been so beautiful. He’ll never stop being amazed by it. 

Her chest has always been sensitive. She’s always liked him kissing her here. Applying a bit of pressure. Today, she’s more sensitive than ever. He obviously understands why. But her reaction takes him by surprise. The volume of her gasping. The sharp digging on her fingernails into his back. It drives Eddie forward with confident resolve. 

He keeps moving. Kissing further and further down her body. Her sternum. He kisses the firm swell of her stomach. Peppers it with the affection he hasn’t been able to give. He kisses her thighs. Another freckle on her hip. He kisses her everywhere he can, and then he gives her exactly what she needs. 

[misskattylashes]

Another crazy Katty theory

Okay, here it is....

Mirrorball is not a break up song....

So, as I have touched upon before, a lot of The Car is about the reconciliation between Miles and Alex, I now believe in 2018 after the fall out from EYCTE.

What if Mirrorball is about Alex leaving Miles to go on the TBHC tour?

Bear with me...

‘Don’t get emotional that ain’t like you, yesterday still leaking through the roof...’

For one Miles – on the surface – is not emotional, he hides his emotions with humour.

'Yesterday still leaking through the roof'...does he mean yesterday as in the things that happened in the past still haunting them as Alex leaves?....or does he mean Yesterday the song is playing somewhere in the house (‘but that’s nothing new’) – Miles is a massive Beatles fan.

‘I know I promised this isn’t what I’d do, somehow giving it the old romantic fool, seems to better suit the mood’

The phrase ‘I know I promised I wouldn’t do this’ is often used in situations where you have previously promised the person you would be strong. But given everything that had happened, he can’t help but be romantic.

‘So if you wanna walk me to the car, you ought to know I’ll have a heavy heart’ – this is self explanatory if someone is leaving to go away.

‘You’re getting cynical and that won’t do, I’d throw the rose tiny back on the exploded view’..this could be because Miles fears with Alex gone again, things will go wrong once more. An exploded view is a diagram of an object with all its component parts in a line. This could well be Alex speak for look back on the whole relationship not just one part that went wrong.

And ‘How’s that insatiable appetite for the moment you look them in the eyes and say baby it’s been nice’ – self explanatory after Miles admitting several times he has been the one to do the running away (see also ‘your saw tooth loverboy was quick off the mark’), in other words he needs to stop running away too.

The whole point of TBBAM is Alex expressing a wish for wherever it is he is going that he wants a Mirrorball. And throughout the entire Car tour he had a mirrorball. In the early days it was a small one on stage he would take to polishing, to the famous one that only came down at the end of Mirrorball and stayed for 505 or Hello You.

The mirrorball he so openly called ‘Miles’ in London. The mirrorball he took to gazing at lovingly when in North America.

Same as him changing the lyrics to Fireside from ‘When you’re losing to when you’re moving’

And extra.... what if on The Car...the thing being fetched from The Car is the Mirrorball (MK)

Many thanks to @lalaballa and @thetruthisfictional for their inspiration and help.

[ceo-mochee]

Right I'm gonna say it cus I've seen and heard enough.

If you ship something toxic, Do NOT complain when people hate it.

(NOTE : Do NOT send me hate asks/comments if you choose to read this, cus I really do not gaf if you hate me for this. It's just my opinion and I wanted to get it off my chest.)

If the ship your shipping is a healthy pairing and people are hating you for it, then sure you have a reason to be upset. However if you're shipping something like Romesse, Aidesse or I don't know...... AXDEN.... (which are pretty toxic ships in general (my opinion)) then yeah people have a right to hate the ship.

I will agree on some part that attacking people is not a good thing, and this goes to both sides. People who don't like your ships shouldn't have to force you to change that, but at the same time if people hate on the SHIP itself (and are NOT namedropping people), then why should you be so worried? I literally watched one of my moots get attacked by someone because they wrote about not liking Axden.

Hell I'm even gonna take a quick minute to slander this ship now. Why? Cus it's pretty toxic- Aiden bullied Axel and tried killing his friends, do you reaaaaally think Axel would be friends with someone like Aiden, let alone get in a romantic relationship with him?? Yeah I don't think so either.

Here's the thing tho, this is just MY OPINION. If you disagree, COOL! But making a huge fuss about it and attacking others who disagree is only fueling that belief that "its not the ship itself, it's the shippers that are the problem." Getting pissy cus you CHOOSE to read someone's opinions and decide that because you disagree, and believing that you should go send anonymous asks attacking said person is also just making yourself look real pathetic.

I'm sorry, but if you're gonna get sensitive over a fictional pairing getting hate, then I don't know what to tell ya. s

I, of course, may or may not be the one to talk. I've shipped Axel and Lukas together for a long while and I may or may not have been hurt by some people's opinions myself, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna go off with my pitchfork and torch and bombard someone with hate asks/comments, you know how much easier life is when ya just silently disagree with one's opinions and move on? It's amazing lemme tell ya.

So far I've only seen this happening with the ship Axden (Axel x Aiden), which is pretty damn bonkers if you ask me. Why can't y'all just accept the fact that no matter how much you preach, self project onto characters, or fuss about your own opinions, not every single person is gonna agree with you. My ass already got turned into a damn PTSD trigger to one person (who I'm of course choosing NOT to namedrop) cus I disliked that ship.

"I know Aiden bullied Axel but... but I made it to where he redeemed himself!!!"

Okay??? Still doesn't change the fact that you're getting upset that people are understandably uncomfortable with that ship mate... do you understand how happier we would all be if you'd just BLOCK people who disagree instead of burning an innocent user at the stake because they dislike a toxic ship.

Like seriously if you're gonna get upset and attack someone for not liking a (pretty toxic) ship that you like and not just like- Idk- BLOCK them... then you're probably already a lost cause my friend.

[hopelessromantic5]

This one’s been on the shelf for a while.

Merthur modern AU-ish clip. Reincarnation-ish.

Enjoy.

“I don’t like this, Arthur.”

Turning to his best friend in concern, because he’d never heard that specific tone before, the blonde asks,

“What’s wrong?”

“Just something about this feels…very sad.” He pauses for a moment, eyes searching out over the perfect blue lake. Serene in its quiet.

That is, until the feeling starts creeping over Arthur too. Like a shadow moving closer of its own volition.

Merlin continues,

“It feels like…”

“Grief.” Arthur finishes for him, no more than a whisper to his voice. “It feels like grief.” After all he’s felt this before.

For his mother. It was so long ago now, but this exact feeling still catches him off guard on his best days.

As if reading his thoughts, Merlin speaks softly to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t. I will always remind me of her. The real question is, why does this place seem to perspire sadness?”

“I don’t know.” Merlin says looking out again.

Suddenly he’s walking, without thinking twice, the raven haired boy is at the water’s edge in less than a second.

Arthur slowly comes to his side. Looking out at the water, trying to decipher its message.

“It’s the strangest feeling.” Merlin says, to no one in particular.

“Like we’ve been here before.” Arthur doesn’t know how he knows. But he definitely knows that he and Merlin stood on this same patch of grass, some time ago.

“Maybe we should-“

“No.” Merlin shakes his head vehemently. “No, I don’t want to go in.”

“Why?” Arthur whispers looking at his best friend. His other half, really.

“Whatever happened here-“ his voice breaks off as he chokes on a quiet sob. Merlin is never one to outwardly show his melancholy. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

“It’s not going to, Merlin. We’ll go in together, alright? I’ll hold your hand every step.” He reaches out and tugs at Merlin’s long pale fingers, currently wrapped around his torso in self-comfort. “I don’t know how I know but…the water will give us the answers.” He says, hovering his hand just above its surface. “It knows us.”

“What if it takes you, again?” Arthur wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t a step away.

“It won’t.” He states with all the conviction he possesses. “I won’t leave you here, again.”

Neither of them knows where these words came from or what they speak of, but in that moment, there is an understanding. Similar to the one they’d had all their mortal lives, but it is deeper somehow. Thicker with death and heartache. Covered in the cobwebs of time.

Slowly, Arthur steps his bare foot into the shallow water, tugging Merlin in with him.

It isn’t until Merlin’s skin touches the lake, that it all comes rushing back.

A castle, armor and swords, an unjust King, the day they met. Bickering words and sly comments that made Arthur smile blindingly at the thought. Then there was adventure. Into the forrest on a great white steed, always with his closest confidant next to him. Then there’s a vision of a golden bathed room, surrounded by all the people he loves and cherishes, as Geoffrey placed a crown of gold upon his head.

At last, the end. Sentimental words shared with the only person he cared to see him in that state. The only person he ever trusted with his heart.

And then nothing. Blackness. The last thing he remembered was Merlin’s heartbroken cry, and the calm lapping of lake waves on the shore.

There is a gasp and he is back in the present, still holding Merlin’s hand. But Arthur remembers. And he knows Merlin does too, by the look of sheer shock and adoration on his face.

“Arthur, I-“

“I know, Merlin. I’m sorry it took so long.”

[skeletoninthemelonland]

a glimpse of what their early dynamic looks like

[scificrows]

Okay, my brain refuses to think about anything other than Murderbot, so I looked at every use of the word "friend[s]" in TMBD and... created some pie charts. Normal human activities.

Some Thoughts™ I had while putting this together (under the cut):

In All Systems Red, Murderbot notes that the PresAux crew are all close friends (twice! and goes on to explain their internal relationships which I think is very cute). This is pretty much the only use of 'friends' in ASR, except for when Murderbot says that SecUnits can't be friends with each other.

It seems that this may be one of the first times Murderbot has ever really been around a group of friends before? Murderbot notes that this is not the norm for its contracts and admits that the fact that they are all friends and the way they interact with each other make it actually enjoy that contract (before!!!! the hostile attack, so it already enjoys this contract before they start seeing it as a person etc ghghhhh). [Inference: Friendship seems enjoyable.]

The first character that calls Murderbot its friend is ART in Artificial Condition. Murderbot immediately refutes this (and then goes on to call ART its friend to its clients for the rest of the book). [Inference: Maybe ART is Murderbot's friend. And maybe that is... agreeable]

Rogue Protocol has more than twice as many instances of the word 'friend' as any of the other novellas. Why? Miki. Friendship and its implications for non-humans are a central theme because Miki is friends with everyone. Murderbot initially scoffs at the notion that Miki and Miki's humans are friends. At the end of the book, after witnessing how desperately Don Abene tried to stop Miki from trying to save them, and her grief after its death, Murderbot has to admit that she had in fact been Miki's friend. [Inference: Humans can be friends with bots and can sincerely care about them]

In Exit Strategy, Murderbot tentatively uses the word "friends" for its humans for the first time (several times actually). It questions whether it can actually call them its friends or not and later realizes that it had been afraid what admitting that the humans are its friends would do to it. At the end of the book, Mensah tells Murderbot the PresAux crew are its friends, which is the first time a human has directly said that to it (at least on-page). [Inference: Humans can and want to be Murderbot's friends]

In Network Effect, Murderbot seems to be more habituated to the word 'friend', confidently calling ART and Ratthi its friends, like it is no longer just trying the concept on unsure if it fits. There are many instances in which other characters refer to MB as ART's friend or the other way around and Murderbot's humans refer to Murderbot as their friend several times. Generally, there seems to be less hesitancy, because yes, all of them are Murderbot's friends, why wouldn't they be. [Inference: SecUnits can have friends. This SecUnit has friends. They care about it a lot.]

Conclusion: The Murderbot Diaries tell the story of a construct that does not seem to consider the possibility of friendship for itself and is fine with that - until it accidentally starts caring a little too much and suddenly more and more people annex it as a friend (ew) to the point where it can no longer deny that this is happening and has to begrudgingly admit that yes, it has friends now and maybe that is actually not a bad thing.

[kagoutiss]

green beetle black beetle

[fineapplequeen]

Brrrainrot

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[reel-fear]

Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.

[grandcovenant]

carlo's inherent tragedy as a character means that if he hadn't died young he would've gone through something worse. the horrifying realization that he inherited his father's personality <3