#planning for this fic has been extremely difficult and at least for me personally its a huge almost first project haha

[nosleep83]

saw the thing you reblogged about the fanfic asks, so

can you give one fact (can be as important or irrelevant to the plot as you’d like) about the horror or horror game au?

very excited to hear more about it!

Hey tysm for asking about it! I didnt know what to say so i let @wingstobetorn answer if thats alright:

Well, obviously I can't spoil much about the au because Sleep will murder me, but one of the most compelling dynamics to me in both aus is Shredder and Leo's. Leo's development because of Shredders presence in the story will be a very complicated process, and really make the writers do their research on psychological/mental stuff, and it will hopefully leave the reader devastated by the end. If I'm being honest, Leo and Shredder are the characters I'm most excited to write.... You guys don't even know about the bus scene....

Aside from those two, I'd say the most developed turtle dynamic we have right now is Raph and Donnie's. That will be very rough! Can't wait for you guys to read it ❤️

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

[bailey-dreamfoot]

Considering writing a Hermitcraft (mainly Grian and Mumbo) fic.

I’ve been reading a lot of really good fics recently like Wings and his Wingman by @bruhman745 and it’s making me want to write about Grian and Mumbo. So that being said, here are some quick headcannons for Grian, Mumbo and Scar I picked up from W&W as well as a few others.

Minor context note: the way I interperet deaths in minecraft is every death results in a scar, (this is why Scar has so many- well, scars.) or some kind of handicap relating to how someone dies. But if you survive a major injury, there are some things healing pots wont fix. Like if you get a limb cut off, a healing pot wont fix that.

Grian: Somewhat clumsy and mischievous. The type to probably hide injuries or overestimate his abilities. Can imagine many circumstances where he might get an injury on a trip and think not much of it, only to realize later, yeah, he probably should get that checked out. Generally fleet of foot and balanced but has a tendency to space out and forget where he is/ what he’s doing and this often leads to deaths or at least serious injuries. This is where most of his scars come from. However he is generally much more aware of himself when in the air, and even after spacing out he can usually avoid anything in his path, due to incredible reflexes. A direct contrast to mumbo.

Hybrid Headcannon: Avian. Species of bird and overall design varries depending on the season. For season 9 I imagine him being a rough-legged hawk, with more brownish feathers. I think it fits the geologist vibe I gave him too. I can imagine him flying over lots of terrain scanning the ground for caves and stuff.

Mumbo: Very focused, extremely curious and easily flustered. If he’s determined to do something he will do it. No matter what. Tends to lead to problems when 2 things he’s interested in overlap. If he has to choose between doing 2 things he really wants to do, he usually gets stuck and thinks about it way to hard, unless someone else is there to guide him. The idea of him being focused also applies to him when on foot. Despite his long limps he rarely trips or falls, and even when he does loose his footing he can normally avoid injury. This is not the case when flying however, as when he makes a mistake or spaces out he tends to fumble. Also very easily flustered, generally oblivious to risqué jokes unless incredibly obvious. Source: ep 1 of Hermitcraft season 9.

Hybrid Headcannon: Moth. Specific wing design is red with a mustache design. This is taken from @p1neapplerum . Been playing with some ideas of making him a different species, like an atlas moth, but tbh I’d probably just stick to him being an owl moth with this cool design, if the creator’s alright with other ppl using it. (Cmon its just really neat)

Scar: Also very mischievous, but also very opportunistic. A business man at heart, usually tries to find a way to exploit things for money if there is the opportunity, but also very caring and empathetic even if he doesn’t act like it. Entire personality summed up with the 😏 emoji, will make a nsfw joke or innuendo whenever possible. Rarely uses his wings as he doesn’t much find the need too, and much prefers going on foot. He’s already quite clumsy on the ground, he doesn’t need to add more risk by being in the air. Phantom wings are also very frayed and tattered, (mainly bc he tried to sell phantom membrane by farming it from his wings, then using a healing pot to grow them back. Turns out, haling pots can only do so much.) so they’re difficult to control in the air. Adding to reasons to stay on the ground.

Hybrid Headcannon: Phantom. As previously stated, Scar is a phantom. Not a ghost phantom, the weird dragon fuckers that spawn if you dont sleep. I got the idea because the design of the mechanical tail i see some people use for him reminded me a lot of the tail of this one redesign of a phantom Neytirix made.

Aaaand that should be it. I don’t know enough about the other hermits in order to start making headcannons, but I plan to watch more of them with this upcoming season, so that should be fun :]]

[internalsealpanic]

The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

 or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff.  I will edit this for grammar later. 

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink,  reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink. 

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

 You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt. 

 God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

 You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this. 

 Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case. 

 For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths. 

 Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries.  Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs. 

 When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

 Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.  

 “I’m his type!”

 “And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

 “Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

 It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality. 

 Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

 You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

 “No! Not you too!”

 “Yes!”

 “Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

 Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack. 

 “Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air. 

 “Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

 “Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air. 

 You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’. 

 Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid. 

 A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space. 

 “Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort. 

   “Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

  Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand. 

 Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place? 

 “We’ll be taking a room.”

 “Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key. 

 Wait. We?

 Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily.  You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.  

 You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close.  You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face. 

 You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish. 

 Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now. 

 Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people. 

 Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

 “So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

 “Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile.  You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked. 

 “Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey. 

 You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade. 

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

 "If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything." 

 You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

 Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact.  He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

 “You kinky shit.”

 He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you. 

 You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

 Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

 “Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole. 

 You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element. 

 “No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass. 

 With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts.  You were a sight to behold. 

 Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind. 

 You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.  

 You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. 

 Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours. 

 Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.  

 His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work. 

 When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure.  In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch. 

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair. 

 You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.  

 You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation.  You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror. 

 Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.      

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder. 

 Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you. 

 Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration. 

 You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.  

 A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

 You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air. 

 Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear. 

 The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping. 

 A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire. 

 You're so close.  You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun. 

 He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem.  Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body. 

 He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it. 

 “Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

 “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

 You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

 You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

 “That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

 He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

 Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers. 

 “Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.  

 “Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch. 

 Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth. 

 “Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs. 

 You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin. 

 His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied.  “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant. 

 A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.  

 “Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock. 

 “Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up. 

 Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you. 

 “Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.  

 Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle. 

 Ah ah ah

 Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.   

 His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.     

 With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin.  “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go. 

 He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms. 

 Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips. 

 “Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business. 

 “Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.  

 Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker. 

 Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel. 

 You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

  The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly. 

 “March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up. 

 “What time is it?”

 “A quarter past one.”

 Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.  

 “Thanks.”

 “You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey. 

 That asshole. 

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Thanks for reading! 

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell. 

  Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

[cheryblossomdreams]

A Discussion About Dramione

This is a very difficult ship in the HP fandom, alongside others like Drarry etc.

However, I think there is something to be said for it regardless, since I’ve seen a lot of anti-Dramione content with some valid points and a lot of non valid ones too, so I suppose I’d like a try my hand at rebuking some of them.

1. Dramione shippers romanticize abuse and bullying.

At first glance, it certainly looks that way. Draco Malfoy was a racist, petty, spoiled bully that jumped on every opportunity to bully Hermione Granger and her friends. He is not a good character. In the Dramione fandom, no one claims he is a good character either. Instead, the Dramione fandom recognized the canon potential for change in Draco and uses that to shape their fanfics. The largest majority of the fandom (There do exist those really young fans that don’t quite yet understand everything that will blindly defend him or create extremely problematic fanart, but they are truly a minority) acknowledges entirely all the wrongs Draco has committed, and they are many. Actually, in most Dramione fics, the writers go to great lengths to process the part of DHr’s past that was filled with hatred and insults. You can find examples of this in the fic Measure of a Man by @inadaze22​. Also to the point, most of Dramione fanfiction is written and set in a time many years after the War, after their school years, where they’ve both grown, matured and become adults, changed by time and what they went through, so it is a null point to say Dramione shippers romanticize bullying when their content is almost always set in a time where Draco is no longer a bully and Hermione is no longer a victim.

What the Dramione shippers like to emphasize is the fact that even though Draco used to be a horrible person, he had changed and grown past that, owned up to his mistakes and is now a different man. That’s what the stories they write are about. He had the potential to change already established in canon that he used later through his life to become someone better Hermione could eventually forgive and love.

You’ll be hard pressed to find a Dramione shipper that would say that while they were still in school they should’ve gotten together. Absolutely not. The content most of the Dramione fandom creates is always set post-canon, at a time where Draco’s changed and grown up from who he used to be, and Hermione recognizes his change and forgives him.

She certainly doesn’t have to forgive him, she doesn’t owe him anything, but part of Hermione’s bravery and overall character is that she would have been able to forgive him when she realized he’d changed. Plus, he saved her best friend’s life at a critical point in the war and, even though he did nothing to help her because he literally couldn’t have, which is something I’m pretty sure Hermione would have been grateful for, even a little bit. 

The Malfoy family saved Harry’s life TWICE in HP, in both extremely critical moments in the war (Draco lying at the manor, Narcissa lying to Voldemort), which is something Hermione wouldn’t have been able to just ignore and pretend like it never happened, because that’s not who she is. 

There probably is a very small percent of the Dramione fandom who create problematic content, but every fandom and every ship has toxic shippers, besides they are simply not the majority.

2. Dramione shippers use Hermione to redeem Draco.

The redemption arc Draco got in HP is extremely flimsy at best, especially considering the amount of damage he’d done prior. He saved Harry’s life, yes, but he did nothing to protect either Ron or Hermione, so personally I wouldn’t harp on about that being much of a redemption arc at all. However, I don’t think any Dramione shippers use Hermione to redeem him. In the Dramione content the things he did wrong and the hurt he inflicted is something Hermione recognizes and then, through the story, eventually chooses to leave behind. Besides, she doesn’t have to redeem him, since we know from canon he’d grown out of his beliefs eventually, privately at least if not publicly (more on this later).

3. Draco had a choice in how to act, if he really didn’t believe in blood supremacy.

No, he didn’t. Let me break it down why.

When he was 11 years old and first coming to Hogwarts, he was too young to understand the beliefs his parents ingrained into him were wrong and harmful, he simply didn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend that. He was a child that hung to every word their mom and dad said and he acted accordingly.

As he grew up though, started going through puberty and maturing, he would’ve realized that blood supremacy is wrong. Let’s say this realization came when he was 14. Lucius and Narcissa weren’t with him at Hogwarts, so if he changed his behavior to reflect his new realizations, they wouldn’t have known, right?

WRONG.

Do you really mean to tell me that if Draco Malfoy, only son and sole heir to the Malfoy family, an extremely wealthy, influential family in the Wizarding World and its politics, part of the sacred 28, well respected and with a high status in society, suddenly started being kinder and friendlier to Muggleborns and Halfbloods, people wouldn’t talk? People wouldn’t wonder, get suspicious? That such news wouldn’t reach his father, who’s got eyes and ears everywhere (evident by the fact he was able to bribe someone in Hogwarts to buy his son a position on the Quidditch team). And how do you think Lucius Malfoy, a devout Death Eater, would have reacted to receiving such news? What do you think would have happened to Draco when he came home that summer?

Draco was never abused and I doubt Lucius would start then, but I am positive he would’ve been disowned, for betraying the values his family had upheld for centuries. Lucius is a staunch blood purist and he absolutely would cut all contact with his son (disown him) when news reached him Draco was making nice with Muggleborns and Halfbloods.

And Draco knew this, he knew how strict his father was, he knew how deeply he believed in blood supremacy and he knew the consequences for stepping out of line and being anything less than the perfect son.

What would a 14-year old kid do being disowned? Homeless essentially?

So, even if he had realized the wrongs of his beliefs and renounced them, he couldn’t have done that publicly, and certainly not with Hermione Granger or Harry Potter much less, seeing as Harry Potter is the nemesis of the man his father believes in.

By the time he reaches 15 and 16, Voldemort is already at full power again and living in Draco’s house. Now things get even worse. After Lucius fails to get the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort decides he has to punish him for his failure by having Draco take the Dark Mark. By this point, Draco had abandoned ideas of blood supremacy, but at this point, what the fuck is he going to do? Refuse The Dark Lord? The Darkest Wizard in all of Wizarding History? The guy who is living in his house AND holds the lives of him AND his entire family hostage? Who could and would murder Draco’s mother and father and Draco himself if Draco disobeyed? The man who murdered a person right on Draco’s kitchen table and had Nagini swallow them whole?

Even if all of that wasn’t true, and it is, how’s a 16 year old kid going to fight off a house full of seasoned Death Eaters, proficient at the Dark Arts who will use Unforgivables on him, plus Voldemort himself, plus a giant terrifying snake?

At that point, Draco is left with literally zero choice but to take the Mark and obey his mission to murder Dumbledore.

He hatches several plots to kill Dumbledore, all of which fail. When they stand at the Astronomy tower, even Dumbledore himself calls all of his plots halfhearted and weak. Dumbledore offers him help, but Draco is very clear in his regret of the things he’d done and the fact there’s no going back now.

‘I have to do this, I have to kill you, or he’s gonna kill me.’

AND

‘What do you know about me? I’ve done things that would shock you.’

(I’m paraphrasing here, these aren’t the exact quotes).

At which point Snape shows up and kills Dumbledore in Draco’s place because of the Vow he made to Narcissa.

Any way you look at it, he really didn’t have any choice, even if he did at some point during school renounce his beliefs and grow past them.

4. He tried to kill Ron.

I’ve seen antis blame Draco for this one, which is a bit ridiculous. He did not. He had madam Rosmerta poison a bottle of wine, which he sent to Horace Slughorn, hoping Slughorn would pass it onto Dumbledore. Filch hadn’t noticed any traces of poison in it, because he is a Squib, he also didn’t doubt a shipment from Rosmerta, and so he just gave it to Slughorn. Slughorn kept it around and then later he was the one to offer Ron a glass of that wine. In Draco’s plan, Ron wasn’t ever even mentioned nor included in any way. It had been an unlucky coincidence for Ron, and Draco couldn’t have possibly known that Slughorn would hold onto the wine, that Ron would ever be around Slughorn OR that Slughorn would offer Ron that same wine. Sufficed to say, Draco never attempted to murder Ronald Weasley.

5. He did nothing while Bellatrix tortured Hermione.

We’ve been over this, what could he have done? He had saved Harry’s life earlier, but that one lie couldn’t of spared Ron or Hermione, their faces were too recognizable, even if Harry’s wasn’t.

A room full of Death Eaters, some of the cruelest, most dangerous ones mind you (Bellatrix Lestrange) and he’d be 17, if I remember correctly, still not even an adult, plus at this point in the war even more powerless (considering the fact the Malfoys had fallen out of favor with Voldemort, evident by the fact Lucius tells Draco that if they deliver Harry Potter to Voldemort, all would be forgiven).

What did you expect him to do? Leap into battle and try to fend off dozens of Death Eaters, effectively betraying the Dark Lord in the process and single-handedly getting his entire family killed, if not even himself?

Would you have done that? No, of course not.

6. Draco Malfoy is not redeemable.

Now Draco’s “redemption arc”, if it can be called that, is a powerful moment but it’s flimsy. JK didn’t really ever intend for him to be redeemed or liked either, but let’s take a look at it anyways.

It is canon that Draco stopped believing in blood supremacy at some point during their school years, though we can’t know exactly when.

How can I say this, when his behavior never indicated that?

Well, I’ve already been over why he couldn’t have suddenly changed his behavior, now let’s go through how I can claim it is canon.

The scene where Draco lies to everyone about Harry’s identity.

That moment could only exist IF Draco didn’t believe in blood supremacy anymore.

Think about it, if Draco was devout to Voldemort and his beliefs like his father, he would have had no problem or conscience to tell everyone ‘Yes, this is Harry Potter, hand him over.’ It would have been favorable to him if Harry died.

And let’s be clear, if Draco had said the truth in that moment, Harry would have died. He was captured, wandless (his is broken, when they escape the Manor he steals Draco’s), Ron and Hermione captured as well, he was entirely helpless and surrounded by powerful Dark Arts wizards and witches who would lead him directly to Voldemort the moment they got confirmation it was indeed him and that would have been it. Voldemort would have killed him. Voldemort would have won.

But that isn’t what happened.

Draco looked at Harry, recognized it was him (evident by a later scene where Harry straight up says that. “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me, you didn’t say anything.”) and at first, still unsure what to do, asked why Harry’s face was like that, and he’s told Harry just came in like that.

Draco says “I’m not sure.”

At that point Lucius grips him and tells him that if they gave up Harry Potter to Voldemort all would be forgiven, Bellatrix brings him closer to get a second look.

Draco knows all the consequences of what he’s doing at this point, he knows what he’s risking, the literal lives of everyone he loves, and what does he do?

He still lies.

‘I can’t be sure.’

It’s a powerful moment for his character, BUT it’s not enough for redemption. The amount of pain and hatred he’d spewed for 6 years (I say 6 years because The Golden Trio wasn’t attending Hogwarts for year 7) is not redeemed by this one instance. His actions, letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, likely torturing people on command of the Carrows in 7th year, are not redeemed by this moment, even if he did save Harry’s life.

However, though this instance doesn’t constitute redemption, it is telling of the fact Draco has changed, and changed significantly from the hateful, angry, spoiled, racist brat he used to be, which gives him potential to grow up into a different, better man.

Whether JK intended it or not, the way that was written makes Draco Malfoy more than redeemable, if not for the duration of the books, then later through his life.

Being a horrible person at one point in your life does not make you forever evil, does not mean you can not ever change. To prove this, I’d like to humbly request you to watch this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSH5EY-W5oM

Voldemort’s regime is very similar to Hitler’s Nazi movement, so this video is very fitting to my point and HP in general.

Here’s another three:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORp3q1Oaezw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fw0vS0qvYo0&list=TLPQMTcxMjIwMjBZfqJdkbbQJw&index=2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4gly9n9RBo&list=TLPQMTcxMjIwMjBZfqJdkbbQJw&index=3

If you don’t have time to watch, let me sum it up for you.

The first video chronicles the story of a man who’d been part of the Neo-Nazi movement, managed to leave it behind and become an activist and overall an amazing guy now.

The other three links chronicle the story of Daryl Davis, a black man who’d attended KKK rallies and even met with the Imperial Wizard of the KKK Roger Kelly, somehow despite all odds became friends with him and eventually managed to get through to Roger Kelly to the point where this man (The leader of the KKK on a national scale) stepped down from his position and left the Ku Klux Klan.

That’s real life, something like that happened, truly happened, but Draco Malfoy is irredeemable?

PLUS, Draco is hardly the first case like this.

Take James Potter as an example. James was also a rich, racist, privileged white boy, and a bully. He’d bullied Snape severely, even set up a “prank” with his friends that would lead to Snape getting attacked by a WEREWOLF, putting him in mortal peril, with great potential of killing him, that required then a rescue operation.

James attempted murder, or if you don’t want to go that far, he set up a situation that quite possibly could have gotten someone killed, and he got to mature and grow past his behaviors and redeem himself, fall in love with Lily and have a wonderful son.

Why couldn’t Draco change when James had?

~

In conclusion, I think there’s a big diifference between what the Dramione fandom actually is and what antis think it is. 

The heart of the Dramione fandom is about growing and changing and maturing and forgiving and falling in love despite the differences of the past.

It’s not about romanticizing bullying or toxic relationships, life is not black and white people, people can change and grow from their past actions and people can also forgive and move on. 

There’s plenty of examples in the books of Harry and Ron mistreating Hermione and they all move past those instances (obviously that can’t be compared to what Draco did, I’m just making a point here).

I do acknowledge that the Dramione shippers have some bad apples among them, some problematic people that take it all too far, but honestly, every fandom and every ship has bad, toxic people so you can’t really use that against them.

All in all, things aren’t the way antis always present them, there’s a lot more gray there, and I hope this entirely too long post helped some of y’all see that.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Character Thoughts - Maglor

This isn’t particularly novel since I’ve seen most of these ideas before in meta and fics, but I still wanted to pull them together.

During the years in Valinor, and especially before the tension within the Finwëan family turned into outright military factionalism, Maglor would have been one of the most famous and admired people in all Valinor. Music is not a “lesser” art in Elven culture, it’s the single greatest of all the arts; it’s the way that the world is created. And within Valinor, Maglor is unrivalled in this art; the other character who’s on a similar level, Daeron, is far away in Beleriand. All the Finwëans have fans within the Silm fandom, but Maglor is by far the likeliest of them to have had large numbers of in-universe fans.

Fëanor would not have been dissatisfied with Maglor for excelling at music rather than at craft work; he would have been extremely proud of him, to the point of boastfulness. This is particularly the case because music and specifically song is also Indis’ particular skill, so this is something he can throw in the face of his half-family: we’re better than you even at the things that you’re especially good at!

Another interesting thing about Maglor’s music is that, for all fandom’s love of portraying him with musicl instruments, I’m not aware of any line in The Silmarillion that describes him as playing one. Daeron is a piper, Fingon and Finrod both play the harp, but Maglor’s musicianship is described solely in terms of his voice. So it’s possible that he didn’t play any instruments, or did so only rarely. [EDIT: Correction - @cycas has pointed out that Maglor is in fact referred to as a harper in the poetic Leithian.]

The material we have on Maglor from The Silmarillion suggests someone with a high degree of physical courage combined with a distinct lack of moral courage. He stations himself on the one part of the front lines with no geographical defenses, and he holds his forces together and brings them to Himring - enabling the Fëanorians to keep strength of arms on the front lines - during the Battle of Sudden Flame, despite his portion of the lines being directly attacked by Glaurung. (Whereas Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, who are all in somewhat less exposed and difficult positions, nonetheless all retreat far to the south.) During the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he is the one who slays Uldor after the betrayal by Uldor’s forces. So Maglor is clearly formidable both as a warrior and a commander. (This is quite separate from whether Maglor himself thinks he’s a coward. I suspect he’s thought so since the day Fingon returned from Thangorodrim with Maedhros, accomplishing something Maglor had spent all the years since the Return telling himself was impossible and reckless.)

In the years between Fingolfin’s arrival in Beleriand and the Nirnaeth, Maglor is on better terms with the non-Fëanorian Noldor than his you ger brothers are. He doesn’t have any moments of active hostility or unpleasantness towards the other Noldor the way Caranthir, Celegorm and Curufin do. He’s the only brother Maedhros brings to Mereth Aderthad (given the military undesirability of having both your frontline commanders absent at the same time, this strongly indicates that he’s the only one Maedhros can trust to behave himself), and he and Maedhros are the ones Finrod comes to visit prior to his first encounter with the Edain.

The lack of moral courage is something that can be derived from the points in the Silm where Maglor isn’t mentioned. He makes no objection to the burning of the ships. There is no point at which he objects to or is mentioned as opposing any of the Fëanorians’ actions up to and including the Second Kinslaying. Maedhros is horrified by the abandonment of the twins, searches for them, and attempts to forswear the Oath in the subsequent years. We’re given no mention of Maglor’s reaction. Nonetheless, we do know, from the Noldolantë, that he regrets the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Combined with his reaction to Sirion and his desire to surrender to the Valar at the end, it shows that he does recognize what he’s doing as wrong. He just doesn’t do anything about it until after the Kinslaying at Sirion, when he and Maedhros are the only two left.

This gives me a picture of Maglor who is deeply averse to conflict within his family and who is unwilling to stand up against either his father or his brothers regardless of his own reservations about their actions. There’s a line in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone about it taking courage to stand up to one’s enemies, but also courage in another way to stand up to one’s friends. Maglor has the former and not the latter.

But after Sirion, in contrast to all the previous events, it’s Maglor rather than Maedhros who is showing the most resistance to further crimes. Maglor is the one who fosters Elrond and Elros; Maglor is the one who’s openly happy about Elwing’s Silmaril, as the Star of Eärendil, being beyond their reach and able to be seen by all; Maglor is the one wants to surrender after the War of Wrath. I think there are two elements to this. First, Maedhros is, within the family, the one Maglor is closest to (they’re frequently mentioned together), and so Maglor is more willing to disagree with him when there’s only the two of them left. Secondly, I think that the Kinslaying at Sirion was most probably led by Maedhros, and this disturbed Maglor deeply. Maedhros is supposed to be the one holding them back, and now he’s doing the opposite, and Maglor is, in addition to coping with his own guilt, desperately trying to get his brother back to being a person he recognizes and remembers. Or a person at all. But Maedhros is pretty much gone by this point.

Another example of Maglor being avoidant is his initial suggestion after the War of Wrath, that they go back to Valinor without rejecting the Oath and just hope that the Valar will give them the Silmarils one day. This is an even worse plan than the one they end up going with - as long as they hold to the Oath, they will keep doing violence in its name - and Maedhros is right to shoot it down. It’s only after that exchange that Maglor reaches the point of saying, well, if we’re damned regardless, let’s at least be damned in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone else. And even after reaching that conclusion, he still gives in.

This makes his fate/decision of ultimately avoiding everyone, and choosing to punish himself in a way that doesn’t involve interacting with other people or grappling with what he’s done to them, particularly fitting. (And is what makes forcing him to grapple with that such an appealing topic for Fourth Age fic.)

[letteredlettered]

Absolutely no pressure to answer if u don't want to but how did u and ur girlfriend meet? U guys seem really cute together.

We are insanely cute together.

This is a long story that doesn’t need to be this long, but whatever. I love my girlfriend and you asked, so here you go.

Last spring I was writing That Lesson Alone, which was making me rethink a lot of things I’d already thought a lot about before. That rethinking made me promise myself to be more open to new experiences, which I try to be, but I do let my social anxiety drive quite a bit of what I do.

So, when I got an email from a fan who said she was going to be in what she thought was my hometown, and she loved my fics, and was I interested in meeting, I said yes. She mentioned she had left a comment on one fic and that we had had a little conversation; I remembered this comment in particular because the personal story in the comment was rather sensational and quite interesting. Still, I might not have agreed to meet, because it could be very awkward. I don’t like talking to strangers with faces. However, because of That Lesson Alone, and because she was fannish, I agreed to the meeting. (I like meeting strangers who are fannish far more than strangers in any other circumstance. At least you can talk about fandom with strangers who are fannish, and I’m very interested in fandom. You can talk about work with work strangers or the bus with strangers you meet at the bus, but most real things bore me so I struggle with these conversations.)

This person sent me another email in another language, which stymied me for a little while about how to reply, but then she quickly sent me another email saying the first email was meant for someone else; the someone else also sounded sensational. When she got to my hometown, she emailed to say she had arrived, but only had a vague idea of when she was leaving, and she had no concrete plans so could meet any time. I began to get the impression that this person was, how do you say, A Ride, by which I mean one of those people who is interesting and clever and sensational but also extremely non-linear and flighty and difficult to understand. I mean she was halfway around the world and didn’t know when she was leaving; she sent the wrong people emails; the people she told me she knew were sensational; she was perfectly bilingual; she was totally down for meeting random strangers. I have a friend who is A Ride. She is what the Sisters at the Abby would call a flibberty-gibbet, a will-o-the-wisp, a darling, a demon, a lamb.

I wanted to meet on a weeknight (I don’t know if you know this, honey, but I told you I wanted to meet on a weeknight because I was busy, but although I can always be busy, so it wasn’t strictly a lie, this wasn’t my main motivation. I wanted to have an excuse to only have a small window of time to meet so that I could get away if it was too awkward), but on the night we arranged to meet, I was unwell. I was in fact entering the worse part of what I have now learned is a chronic illness. Usually this would be enough to convince me to cancel altogether, and to this day I’m shocked that I didn’t. Is it becoming clear that I don’t like meeting anyone and never ever date? Anyway, because of That Lesson Alone and my determination to be open to new experiences, we rescheduled.

I bused to the restaurant where we met after work and then walked from the bus. I remember this walk. I remember doing the thing that I do to prepare myself for social situations I don’t like, which is not letting myself dwell on it too much, reminding myself that I am actually rather good at making other people feel comfortable when I make the effort, reminding myself to ask questions, reminding myself I could get away, reminding myself that people actually find me quite personable and even vivacious, because I am, but if it’s with strangers, only if I fake it hard enough. These little reminders get me into game face, the face I use for dealing with other people.

Anyway, when I met her, she was very tall. This immediately made me more comfortable, as I am very tall and often feel awkwardly large around other people. And then the first thing she told me was that she had been watching something happy and queer, which meant we could not only talk about fannish things but also queer things. But was she going to be one of those people who just went on about straight things being dull? That always makes me uncomfortable.

Luckily, she doesn’t talk that way, and it was such an amazing conversation, the kind of conversation you dream about having with the love of your life, but the one you doubt you’ll have when you actually meet the love of your life. You imagine when you meet the love of your life you’ll have a conversation that goes, “Pass the salt,” and maybe you’ll talk about the weather, and then a few weeks later you meet them again and talk a little more about something equally uninteresting. Not until months pass by do you realize how much you have in common and how much you like being near them, and then you will start to talk about the things that truly interest you, and after years, you realize they’re the love of your life.

Most of the time, when you have a really stunningly good conversation, you don’t assume you’re talking to the love of your life. You assume it’s a once in a lifetime conversation, with a once in a lifetime person, and you never see them again, because they are too smart and too cool and too tall for you. Or, you do see them again, and you keep seeing them, because they are so mystic, so magical; they are so stunning and intelligent and intellectual; they make you feel so much, you just want to talk to them and talk to them and talk to them. And the more you talk, the more you find out that behind the magic, there’s actually not much that you have in common. Sometimes you find out that they trot out the same sensational stories on every occasion; they make the same jokes you found so witty over and over; you find out that everything that was glossy and new about them is something old that has been polished to shine, with very little you can hold on to and firmly understand underneath. Other times you just learn that your moral centers diverge, or you don’t actually like them. There is no fire beyond the initial spark.

This is just not true of my girlfriend. She is still smart and still cool and still sensational and, very importantly, still tall. I would not describe her as A Ride. She’s not one of those people who makes you feel like you have to sit back and hold on; though she’s endlessly clever, she can explain her thought processes and likes to; she thinks deeply about herself and others and listens. She’s so thoughtful and interesting and clever and also deeply passionate and exuberant about so many things that when you’re with her you can create a ride together that both of you drive or both of you sit back and enjoy. (She didn’t know when she was leaving my hometown because her flight back wasn’t for a long while, but she was traveling down to Oregon and California, and hadn’t bought train tickets yet, and we solved how the mistake was made on the email. We are guessing it was an autofill accident, since the person she was trying to email has a name that starts with the same letter).

She is reliable. She has a whiz-bang, knock-you-flat kind of memory, that not only remembers facts and conversations and locations but that remembers how you are feeling, and remembers to ask. She has the kind of broad-yet-also-piercing intellect that can follow an abstract conversation and build on it, even when you’re in the territory of feelings and concepts without names. She always wants to talk about her feelings, which makes me want to genuflect with gratitude, and she’s so hot she’d probably light a candle if she touched its wick. Like definitely keep her away from flammable substances. She’s creative and theatric and theatrically creative. She has big dark hair and curvy hips. She’s generous and accommodating and care-taking in a way that doesn’t negate her own self-interest. She’s gentle. She’s kind.

But anyway, so we got to talking, and it was one of the best conversations of my life, and I got on a bus and went home, very proud of myself for having accomplished A Social Thing, and telling myself, “See? Social Things are not always bad.” She had mentioned that she would be in town a little longer if I wanted to hang out again, but that would just be crazy, as having to do anything social twice in one week is a strain for me, much less with someone I don’t know. But the truth is, I already felt like I knew her, and leave yourself open to new experiences, said That Lesson Alone, and when else was I going to meet a magic person?

Also, I should mention, which I’m not sure I’ve mentioned to her, but I am suspicious of magical people. When I meet magical people I assume they are vampires underneath, by which I mean they are putting on an act, as I said above, or they are one day going to get you in a very difficult situation, because they are A Free Spirit, which, eventually, you find out means they think crime is fun, or something. I’m just a suspicious person, okay.

But we did hang out again. And that was also magical. And I invited her to my apartment, something I’ve barely done with anybody and never ever ever in my whole life with someone I’ve just met. And then I thought about having sex with her, which is something I basically never think about. And then she left town and said she might be in love with me, but at this point I still A LITTLE BIT thought she might be A Ride, in which case she probably fell in love with people all the time.

Usually when I meet someone very cool I assume they don’t want to pursue friendship with me, because they probably have way too many other friends. I think we’ve all been in the situation of knowing someone very popular and realizing that we do not mean as much to them as they do to us. I am always wary of investing too much emotion in someone who does not have the capacity to equally invest in me. However, because investing time in people I don’t know well is such a commitment for me, I’m also frequently guilty of just ghosting people. I often don’t respond to texts or emails. I often just drop people, without ever really meaning to. Part of it is how intently I focus on things—it’s difficult for me to be pulled in many directions at once, so it’s easier to have a few good friends rather than many casual ones. But part of it really is self-confidence, assuming people don’t want to know me.

However, writing That Lesson Alone reminded me that I am allowed to pursue friendships. It made me realize that a lot of my assumptions about people not wanting to know me are my own self-confidence issues, and not actually other people not wanting to know me. Writing That Lesson Alone reminded me I was worth knowing.

So, we kept talking. I was still late to replying to some emails, but I eventually did reply. I even got a new messenger app just to talk to her. We both have an interest in theater. I was directing a play. She expressed interest in seeing it. She was going to be in Canada when it opened. I told her if she wanted to see it she could stay with me if she wanted. I’d never really done anything like that before. She said yes. I still didn’t really think it would happen—but it did. She came to stay with me for a week that summer. I remembered thinking about having sex with her. I remembered thinking she might be open to it.

One of the things I wanted to be open to when I was writing That Lesson Alone was the idea of dating. I used to think that if I was open to dating, I would have to be open to dating lots of people I didn’t want to date; I thought dating meant you had to give everyone “a chance” and suffer through a lot of “pass the salt” just In Case. That’s why I didn’t date. I have actually been happy being mostly single most of my life. I never really felt a strong need for a partner, except in some sadder lonely moments, and even then, I wanted to be alone more than with someone who was just “pass the salt” okay. But one revelation I had writing That Lesson Alone was that I didn’t have to give everyone “a chance.” I didn’t have to give anyone a chance. I could just be open to dating, and look at what was out there (OK Cupid), but if nothing appealed, I didn’t actually have to do anything, since I already knew I was happy being alone. So, I thought more about what would be appealing, so I could know what I was open to.

I realized the person I wanted was tall (natch). With big dark hair. They like reading and talking about fiction and fictional characters. They can have abstract conversations about philosophical topics. And they are caring and accommodating in a way that can deal with an acerbic nature like mine, but they are also self-aware enough and assertive enough to be honest when I’ve hurt them. And they aren’t acerbic back.

This is a tall order. (hahaha) I thought about it a lot, because I really am harsh sometimes. I try not to be. I try very hard. I just get snappy when I’m tired or stressed, and even though I think about it deeply and put measures in place so that it won’t hurt other people, and I reflect on my own behavior and make apologies, I still hurt people. And despite all of this I’m still hurt by anyone that acts like me. I can deal with it! In fact, lots of times I like it, as lots of people like that (myself included) tend to be blunt and I love blunt, because I love knowing where I stand with people. But I also know that, as a rule, I just cannot be extremely close and spend my life with someone who will snap at me. I’m just too sensitive.

Anyway, over this week she stayed with me, I realized she actually was the only person I’d ever met who fit all of these qualifications. She was someone I would date if she was local. Meanwhile, she made it pretty clear she was really, really into me, which was also something that had never really happened to me before. If people have been into me before (which I still doubt, but who knows), they haven’t made it clear. If they thought they were making it clear, they didn’t realize that I am someone who needs heavy, heavy hints in order to understand flirting, even when I see it happening to other people. But luckily my girlfriend is pretty great at making what she wants clear. She made it really clear she wanted me.

So, well, things happened. I told her I wished that we could date and she could be my girlfriend. She asked why we couldn’t. I told her I thought the distance thing was an obvious problem. She didn’t think it was. So then I had a girlfriend, and she did too.

The end.

PS I love her.

[catofadifferentcolor]

The Blood of Olympus

Victory must be real. It must be earned. That means it must be rare and difficult, against steep odds, and defeat must be the other possibility.

After recently having gotten back into PJO via Lorixjake’s excellent Reading Percy Jackson fics, I decided to try rereading the books for the first time in well over a decade.

My initial thought with this book was oh, yippie, they're changing Jason's personality again - and even better, this time, instead of being a hero for the downtrodden, he chose the downtrodden in an attempt to beat himself down to their level. Because that's attractive.

Honestly, at 50 pages in I was ready to say the author had lost the plot. All of a sudden Piper has control over her powers and Extreme Battle Prowess. Annabeth is suddenly super skilled at sword fighting after a lifetime of knife welding and Captain First Aid. Jason, who until this point has wanted to be the best, has been intentionally setting himself up for failure - but not. And then Renya gets a POV.

Honestly, it's a mess. And not even a hot one.

Don't get me wrong, there are parts I like. I loved the thing with Nike. Apollo at Delos is beyond compare. And Renya's POV, random as its addition is, was lovely and perfect.

But mostly I'm just angry. I mean, Percy can control poison... and doesn't use that power when he's dying? The guy who has always done what needs to be done, regardless of the consequences to himself, suddenly can't do his duty? Jason, the guy who decided to be Greek, is suddenly Roman again... and a priest? Piper, the girl whose headshot could be replaced by a pair of flip-flops, is now more levelheaded and mature than Annabeth (who, admittedly, is not much of one or the other, but at least can plan her way out of a paper bag until this point. Everyone else is relying on her plans, but the Seven can't? WTF, even if I sort of want to kill her after MoA.) How is Piper suddenly all powerful, able to charmspeak gods and fight with a sword?

It makes for a decent story, minus the stupidity of letting yourself be poisoned, but it doesn't make any sense. They go from A to Z without us seeing so much as B. It doesn't make any sense.

The ending was terrible though - not Octavian's death, but everything else. I legitimately could not stop going WTF is this a joke the whole book - minus a few key parts. The only thing keeping me from strangling the author is I know it won't do any good. He wrote himself into a corner and it shows. And blows. Except for referencing the Apollo parts, not coming near this book again if my life depended on it.

[votederpycausemufins]

We’re back with Summoning family! I’m referencing Rustic House Club in this fic, so you might want to go read it, especially the bonus chapter as  it has a bit that leads into this chapter, though it’s not necessary to read.

also ay yo @petrichormeraki ! new chapter!

The moment Jrum had seen Sam, he rushed to the redstoner and attached himself to one of his legs. Grum quickly followed to help pry his younger brother off the man, but Jrum made it as difficult as possible. “I am sorry for my brother. I assume you are Sam?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Can I ask what that was about?”

“Your mask. It resembles that of a creeper in such a way that it makes you resemble someone we are familiar with. Jrum likely saw the mask and presumed you to be him. He is already rather homesick.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m happy to help you two. Puffy said you needed help with some redstone?” Sam asked, earning a nod from Grum.

“Correct. We are robots that are powered by redstone. Our circuitry is complex enough that we do not have a way to easily self recharge, thus a charger for us will need to be constructed. Jrum? The blueprints if you please?”

Jrum handed a sheet of paper to Sam. It had various orthographic views of the device as well as interior images and instructions on how to build it. “That’s the tweaked version since our dads could make it smaller.”

Sam looked over the blueprints. “Hmm, yeah, this is gonna be pretty big, but it’s manageable. Do I need to make one for each of you?”

“No, we should be able to share.” Grum replied. “Though two would indeed be a better option, we would not want to force you to do more work, and once we have one charger, the two of us will be able to make a second ourselves without any looming deadline.”

“Alright then, let���s start making this thing.”

Sam took them to an open area which he also explained was where they could build a place to live around the charger. Grum thought that was a good idea as he mapped out the area for Sam and Jrum to start working. Grum also helped out as much as he could, but he had given much of his battery charge to Jrum, and soon it showed.

“You doing okay there?” Sam asked Grum, who’s movements were stuttered and slow. Grum didn’t respond, just continuing to work. “Hey kid? Uh, Jrum I think? Something’s up with your brother.”

Jrum stopped what he was doing and came over, looking at his brother. “Oh… h-he’s in low power mode. I… Grum do you want some of my charge?” Grum didn’t respond. He didn’t want to use any power for it. “Here, let me just connect us up.” Jrum started to pull out a cable, but Grum stopped him. “Don’t. Finish the charger. Instead. I’ll be. Fine.”

Jrum still looked worried, but slowly put the cable away. Sam went back to working, and Jrum almost did as well, but then Grum collapsed, now completely out of power. “No!” Jrum was immediately back at Grum’s side and started shaking him. “Please wake up! P-Please! I don’t want to be alone! W-wake up!”

Sam wanted to comfort the robot, but what just happened showed just how important this project was. So instead he just started working as fast as he could without messing up. Jrum reluctantly joined him after a few minutes, working slowly.

They had almost completed it when Jrum’s movements also became stiff and laggy. Sam paused what he was doing again to be next to Jrum, not wanting to leave him feeling alone. “What. If I. Don’t wake. Up again?” Jrum asked.

Sam gave a comforting hug to the robot. “You will. I promise.”

Jrum slowly hugged the man back. Sam held on until he felt Jrum’s grip loosen, and when he pulled away, Jrum was also completely off, save for the symbol of an empty battery before it disappeared, leaving everything dark.

“Now are you all sure this is a wise decision?” Xisuma asked, admin panel open and ready to send the group of six to Helscraft. 

“Yes! This is probably the last place we have to look!” Tommy shouted at Xisuma, surprising him. “And if we have to fight for them back! So be it!”

Mumbo put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Calm down. This isn’t exactly the first time we’ve lost someone in there. I’m sure if the bots did end up in Helscraft, they’re probably in safe hands.”

Tommy looked over at Grian who gave a sad smile and nodded. “We’ll just need to be a little careful. Last time we were there I got mistaken for someone else, and since that person was the empress of the world, it could happen this time too.”

“Okay, someone good will have the kids, people are going to try and kill Grian, we protect him. Great! Got it! Let’s go!”

Xisuma rolled his eyes but smiled at his newest hermit before sending the group off to the hels dimension.

The group found themselves standing on a small island made of mycelium as well as being on fire. The water surrounding the burning island was a blood red color, though it otherwise looked like water. Mumbo walked over to a chest and pulled out some boats before putting them down. “Alright, we’re heading to that main island in the distance over there.” He pointed. “We’re going to need to find a portal that’s made of something that looks like glowstone, but isn’t. From there we follow a path lined with blue clouds. No questions, just get in the boats.”

The only time Tommy had heard Mumbo that serious was when he was scolding the bots, so he immediately listened and got in a boat, Tubbo getting in behind him. He followed behind the boats Mumbo and Techno were rowing, going towards the main island of the world. Looking at it was a bit jarring. He could tell this was like the hermits’ cowmercial district, but it also looked like it was a part of the SMP with how destroyed and griefed it looked.

Grian led them to a portal that looked like it was made from a golden material with blue magic in the middle. When Tommy went through, he was surprised to see something that looked so much like the standard overworld. Though it resembled a plains biome, something Tommy absolutely hated, it also didn’t with its mint green grass and blue dirt. Trees with light green, blue and navy leaves speckled the land, and unfamiliar mobs roamed the land. There was also one other difference. The place was absolutely freezing. 

“Wh-wh-where a-are w-we?” Tommy chattered out before he was handed a blanket made out of wool. Mumbo had one of his own and was handing out one to each member of the party, save for grian who was using his wings instead. One blanket had been brought for the avian though, and Techno took that one too, as being a piglin already made the overworld chilly, so this was on a different level.

“This is the aether. It’s what they have instead of the nether in Helscraft.” Grian answered. “And while The nether is supposed to be closer to the core of the world, making it much hotter, this place is far up in the air, making it extremely cold. The spawn here has something to make the air here breathable, but outside of this place, you need extra gear to breath for very long as there’s not much oxygen. Fortunately the path we’re going on has something set up, which is why those blue clouds are there. But also do not touch them because it will not end well for you.”

After Grian’s warning, everyone was very careful as they walked the marked path. Beings made of clouds attempted to attack as they walked, but the group had bows that made quick work of the mobs. Finally, as they drew close to the end of the path, a large rustic style mansion stood completely undamaged like the main island had been.

“Alright, now hopefully the bots are there.” Grian said, half under his breath before running towards the mansion. Tommy was the first to run off after him, the others all following behind. Just before they reached the front door, it opened, and Grian walked out.

“Oh! Grian! You came for a visit! How nice!” The second grian spoke before setting down a picnic basket and hugging his double.

“Nice to see you too NPG, but… please tell me you at least thought I would visit.”

The other Grian, NPG, tilted his head. “No, I’m sorry but I didn’t. Was I supposed to know? Did I forget a planned gathering?”

“No… I just… Grum and Jrum… they got k-killed… and their respawn… th-they didn’t show b-back up… w-we thought they m-might be here and…”

“Oh no! That sounds horrible!” NPG covered his mouth in shock. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will. I just need to visit Sense first.” NPG picked up his basket again. “If you want you could come with?”

Mumbo put his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “I don’t think that would be a good idea after their last meeting.”

“What the fuck did this Sense guy do?” Tommy asked, making NPG look over.

“Oh hello! I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“I’m Tommy. These are Tubbo, Philza and Technoblade. Now what about this Sense guy?”

“It is nice to meet you all. Perfect sense is the Hels counterpart to Mumbo here. From what I can tell, the first meeting between him and Grian did not go well at all.”

“How so?” Phil asked, dad instincts cropping up.

“He got extremely handsy with Grian.” Mumbo answered. “To put it lightly, clothes almost came off and Grian was left with a bruise on his neck. After that he tried to kill the both of us along with NPG.”

“Oh I remember seeing that bruise.” Tommy replied. “Now I get why Grian got so upset about my comment about your guy’s love life.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting the guy.” Phil spoke up. For all we know, he could have some answers about your kids. If he was willing to mess with you before, he could be doing it again.”

“Alright then! Follow me!” NPG started to lead them off before doubling back and grabbing masks for everyone to wear. Once they were on, then NPG started leading the group through the unprotected land. A number of creatures attacked, but the group was relatively safe. 

Eventually they reached a large chasm, the sky below going down for miles, any ground below obscured by clouds. If there even was any ground below. “Okay now this is probably going to be scary for most of you, but what we’re going to do is jump onto this small purple cloud. Once you do, try not to move, there are blue aerclouds below, but it’s not the most fun thing in the world trying to get back to the start. Here, I’ll go first.”

NPG jumped onto the purple cloud and was immediately launched into the sky, rocketing forward until he hit another purple cloud that caused the same effect. He kept at this for a bit before finally landing on another island on top of some while clouds. The robot then turned around to face the others and waved them over.

There was a bit of screaming from some of the group as they were thrown over the chasm by the clouds, glad to be back on solid ground by the end. Once Grian had gotten over - flying instead of using the clouds much to everyone’s dismay - NPG started walking again until they finally reached a clearing. There wasn’t a single mob in sight, but there was a small house made of some unfamiliar wood, similar to what NPG’s mansion had been made with.

“Sense! I’m here to visit again! And I brought some friends!” NPG called out and then there was the rattling of chains coming from inside the building. The group immediately drew weapons, ready to face whatever game out of the building, but they lowered them as someone stepped out.

The man for the most part looked like Mumbo, but there were a number of things that made him different. His hair was much longer and looked matted, with something similar going on with his mustache. He had a blue tie that had stains which Tommy recognized as being from blood. The stains themselves were all near the top of the tie, where a large scar was present on the man’s neck, just above the fabric. His wrists were cuffed, about a foot of chain connecting them and his hands were stained bright red from redstone dust. His feet were in a similar situation, the ankles cuffed and connected, but a much longer chain was also linked to one of the cuffs, leading back into the house. Finally, the man was rather skinny. Mumbo himself was lanky which added to his height, but this man was so thin that some of his bones could be seen and his clothes hung on him loosely.

“Okay! So I got you some beef, though I made sure to soak it in broth all night so it’s nice and soft. I’ve also got some swet gummies that have some essential vitamins as well as some milk and blueberries. And then, once you’ve had all of that, I brought youuuuu” NPG dragged the word out as he slowly pulled something out of the basket. “A candy cane!”

Sense grabbed at the food and NPG was soon helping the helsmit eat. Grian and Mumbo were absolutely horrified at the scene, and even the group from the SMP were taken aback at the state this man was in. He was so weak, he could barely chew without help, which was very different compared to the evil genius Grian and Mumbo had the displeasure of meeting before.

When Sense was done eating, NPG went back to the basket. “So I know last time you said your dust was wearing out, so I brought you a new piece to play with!” The helsmit’s eyes lit up when NPG handed him a bit of redstone dust. He messed with it a bit before putting it away in his pocket, and then pulling out a death ray and pointing it at Mumbo, who was currently standing closest to him other than NPG.

Tommy took a step closer, drawing his sword and immediately the weapon was pointed at him. However, Sense was still weak and his hand was wobbly. Before he could hold it steady, NPG smacked the ray gun out of his hand and put it in his own inventory. “Bad Sense! Next time you won’t get any candy!”

“Did True do this to him?” Mumbo asked, now even more worried about meeting her to make sure the boys weren’t there.

NPG looked back and tilted his head. “What? Oh no. The new emperor did!”

“I thought you said True was the empress again.” Grian spoke. “You said that Sense got dethroned a few days later. Wouldn’t that be True?”

“Nope! Someone different. In fact I’m his second in command! Or running mate. Either works! He didn’t need one since it wasn’t an election or anything, but he insisted. Oh! We should go talk to him and see if he knows anything! He doesn’t really use any communicator so I have to visit him if anything comes up. But if Jrum and Grum are with him, I’m sure they’re just fine since I talk about them so much to him!”

Before anyone in the group could say anything else, NPG led them away and over to a large campfire. Techno raced to it once he could see it and held his hands out to warm himself. “Oh, you don’t have to do this. This will just take us back to the main island. There’s only really supposed to be one, so it takes you back to where you entered the dimension in, but Xannes made more!”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Evil X’s name. I get to call him that because I’m his friend!m Anyway, let’s go!”

The group used the magic of the campfire to pull them back into the overworld. NPG Was almost immediately off running towards the castle, leaving the rest of the group to catch up. They went through a number of halls in the castle before finally getting to a set of large decorated double doors. “Okay, so he’s in here. I’m pretty sure he’ll let you guys come in and say hi and ask your questions, but I don’t want to be rude and assume, so I’m gonna go in there and ask.”

Everyone was perfectly fine with that, getting a moment or two to catch their breaths since none of them were robots like NPG. The door was still cracked open, so everyone was able to hear as he spoke to the emperor, so they listened in as they waited and rested.

“Hi! I just finished visiting Sense!” There was a pause, none of them hearing the emperor. “He managed to make a death ray. I think he kept lying when he said his redstone was wearing out. But he wasn’t able to use it on any of us.” There was another pause, this one much shorter. “Oh! Some friends came to visit! Grian and Mumbo had a question for you and also brought their friends along named Tommy, Tubbo, Philza and Technoblade! They were wondering if they could come in and talk with you.”

Everyone couldn’t help but hold their breath at the pause before a small cheer erupted from NPG and he was almost immediately back at the door. “Okay, he said you can come in and ask him things!”

The robot pushed the door open all the way before running back into the room. Grian watched as his creation sat down in a smaller chair next to a large throne centered against the far wall. Tommy gave a quick laugh at the cheery robot before his gaze moved over to the one sitting in the throne and it suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Beside him, Tubbo was having a similar reaction and both Phil and Techno drew their weapons.

Sitting on the throne was a man. His elbow rested on one arm of the throne as his hand pressed against his cheek, holding his head up. His legs were crossed as well, giving him the look of someone who was bored or just didn’t care. A bandana was tied around his face like a bandit, covering his mouth and nose. A single brown eye was visible, starting down towards the group, meanwhile the other eye and the rest of that side of his face was covered with a mask of white porcelain, a simple smiling face carved into it.

“Dream…” Tommy spoke aloud, his voice trembling.

[spockandawe]

Hi.....if you don't mind me asking, what are your top 10 favorite books? And why? Sorry if you've answered this question before....

This is an interesting question, and a difficult one! Which is why I let it steep for a few days while I was in a bookbinding fugue, haha XD

I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer it, because my level of fondness is highly dependent on how recently I read a book/how many times I’ve reread it, with an optional nostalgia modifier if something made a huge impression in my youth. And when I’m picking favorites, as the number of potential [thing] expands, the more I end up dithering and fretting that I’m forgetting something HUGE as I choose. So rather than a selection of top ten, I’ll just run down through some of my favorites! I’ll split it as five cnovels (recent reads, current genre hyperfixation) and five more conventional english-language novel (realistically, probably more like series, unless a standalone book occurs to me), and I’m not going to rank the conventional novels.

SO. Regular novels first. There’s a heavy recently-read/frequently-reread element going on in here. 

The Imperial Radch trilogy, by Ann Leckie. Okay, I am a sucker for a nonhuman protagonist, which is going to pop up in at least two other entries. And I’m also a sucker for themes of what can be perceived about a person externally versus their internal world, and Breq delivers like WHOA. She has SO MUCH going on in her head, and even though we’re in there with her, she still hides lots of her emotions from us. And characters like Seivarden hit me in character development buttons that I’m a sucker for, and the whole idea of consciousness being split across multiple bodies is DELICIOUS to me. Also... love me a sentient spaceship. ‘The Ship Who X’ series by Anne McCaffrey isn’t going to make this list, but I also love it a lot. (also, a universe of ‘she’s made me realized how STARVED i was for that degree of representation in certain genres that i love a lot, but don’t often see myself in as often as i might like)

The Murderbot series, by Martha Wells. Another nonhuman, sometimes-human-passing protagonist! Another one processing MASSIVE trauma of a sort that I, the human reader, have to slow down a lot and try to comprehend from an extremely different life experience! I like that a lot, it really forces me to LINGER on the nature of what a character is feeling. And oh my god, Murderbot’s voice is one of my favorite pov voices of all time. And watching it work (or go hogwild on its own asdfdgd) is absolutely delightful. I love literally everything about this series, except what happened with Miki. Other than that? Flawless.

The Books Of The Raksura, by Martha Wells. Martha Wells is a DELIGHT, y’all. Also! Another heavily-traumatized, nonhuman protagonist! And this time, like... It’s a fantasy world with huge amounts of sentient species, and the protagonist grew up away from his people, who are basically a bunch of feral homesteaders (LOVE THAT), and is trying to figure out how to reintegrate into their societal structures as an adult. That desperate desire to belong and feeling of discomfort and not-fitting-in, and the connections he makes and the way he DOES find a way to fit... like if u crey every time. Also, as far as we’re shown, it’s a cheerfully bisexual, polyamorous society, and *grabby hands*

Discworld, by Terry Pratchett. God, what do I even say about this series. It was a PARADIGM SHIFT. It’s bitingly funny, and also just plain biting, and full of huge varieties of interesting stories, set in a fascinating world, with a series of protagonists who I love too much for words. Vimes! The witches! Moist!!! They’re all so WONDERFUL. I still haven’t read the last book in the series yet, because then it will be Over Forever, and I can’t deal. This one is heavily nostalgia-tinted, but also, I stand by it.

The Belgariad/Mallorean, by David Eddings. Okay. Also very nostalgia, and the choice I can justify the least. But these books CLICKED with me. I’m afraid to reread them, because I’ve been wallowing in queer fiction for so long I’m worried about what the compulsory heterosexuality will feel like, and I know both series are very... episodic, in a way that isn’t necessarily great literature. But I dunno! Feels good, man. It’s high fantasy with a magical system I like, segmented worldbuilding of a sort that isn’t necessarily WELL-MADE, but it’s like... comfortable and easy. And something about the style and the character voices just clicks with me. I have no idea how well these hold up in the present day, but I do love them, and I’ve been planning to reread at least The Redemption Of Althalus by the same author as a standalone before I commit to a 12-book rereading of this universe, but.... I like em XD

--

Cnovels! I think I can rank these, so let’s go for it.

Fifth favorite: The Disabled Tyrant’s Pet Palm Fish :B Look, it’s ridiculous. It’s a transmigration story where the lead enters this fictional universe in the body of a fish, where he is adopted by a prince who eventually falls in love with him, and YES IT IS TAGGED MPREG, BUT HOLD ON A MOMENT-- I don’t know! I came here to point and laugh, but I’m honestly having such a good time right now. It’s really cute! And sweet! The main character is delightful, and the love interest is that particular flavor of semi-socialized upper-class young man, where like, can he do court politics? yes. can he politely express his affections for the main character? uh....... less so. It’s a really fun read, and I felt very sincere emotions about this prince who is passionately, deeply in love with his pet fish!

Fourth favorite: Mmmmmm, Mo Dao Zu Shi, I think. I struggle here, because it is NOT an easy book to read or show to watch, but having consumed the story, I love it to PIECES. I know a big draw for me is the protagonist, specifically, and his relationships to the people around him. And the more I cared about him, the more I wound up caring about the people around him, who I’d kind of neglected before, if that makes sense? It’s a story that really rewards some good old pondering. I didn’t care that much about Lan Xichen, but then I started thinking about how Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji relate to Lan Xichen, and then oh no, I care SO MUCH about his emotions, and now I’m thinking more deeply about how Lan Xichen relates to Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue-- It does lose points in this ranking because it IS hard to get into, and I would struggle to keep everyone straight even more if I didn’t have the show visuals to lean on, but it is still story I enjoyed VERY much.

Third favorite: Erha, but I feel REALLY, REALLY BAD that I can’t fit Yuwu on this list too, and I just want to loop them together. It’s time travel fixit fic, but it’s the book! Yes????? I love this. I love the striking character growth we get to see, and the changing perception of the world as the main character relives through events he already experienced and sees things in a new light, and I adore how Mo Ran’s growing guilt goes hand in hand with his growing love. And Meatbun in general... like, my god. I haven’t read another author who’s able to yank me through emotional whiplash so hard and fast. She makes me hoot with laughter one moment and then burst into tears the next. It’s absolutely wild. I love mxtx, and I think svsss/tgcf are gentler entry points into the genre and deal with lighter themes, but meatbun is seriously an UNBELIEVABLE writer if you can deal with the darker topics she covers.

Second favorite: The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System :V Look, I love it. I just love it. I love, again, characters dealing with the aftereffects of old trauma, plus I do also love seeing NEW trauma piled on top of it. I love having a main character with emotional dysregulation issues who doesn’t necessarily make good decisions, but doesn’t just leave me thinking ‘jfc what an asshole’, and I think that’s a really hard balance for an author to strike, especially without us getting direct pov. I love themes of being wanted and insecurity about being wanted, which is Luo Binghe’s major, major damage. And this is my first transmigration story I ever read, and the contrast between a main character who read the novel telling us about what’s totally going to happen versus the ground shifting under his feet is INCREDIBLY delightful to me. I’ve read other transmigration stories I enjoyed, but none that got my attention quite as much as this one.

First favorite: Tian Guan Ci Fu ;u; It’s so good. It’s so well-made! It’s so LONG, and it meanders, but also, I would scream if anyone tried to trim anything out of it. I am here a lot for the ship, honestly, but I also find the plot themes VERY interesting. I am very much here for reading about characters trying to process old trauma that’s been dredged up by new events, and also very here for the themes about how characters either pass their traumas along to the next generation, or try to shield the next generation from taking the same kind of damage (see: mdzs). And I’m also very much into tempering stories about pain with like... memories of kindness, and small acts of kindness repaid with an outpouring of devotion (see: svsss). But the craftsmanship in this book is just... DIVINE. I’m always reluctant to start rereading this one, because I have a terrible time stopping. There’s nothing about this book that I don’t like.

[alia-turin]

Request:  I wish you would write a fic where Caranthir and Imlerith are being requested by their commander to capture a human sorceress, who is known for her healing powers, compel her to divulge her secrets and spells and then kill her, but things take an unexpected turn

Honestly guys I feel so bad because you sent these awesome requests and I feel like butcher them and turn them upside down :D 

In any case couple of notes - big HC that I was introduced to is that despite everything Imlerith has soft side for animals, so I’m sorry if he sounds a bit OOO, but that whole thing is really about his soft side. If you want more Imlerith + animals, please check out @erinbeast . I have also put some ideas for Caranthir that come from an old fic I posted and another fic I’m currently working on (which I might never post but there is that). I hope y’all enjoy tagging you 

AO3 Link

Warning: mentioning of injured animal 

Caranthir stepped through the portal and Imlerith followed. Neither of them was wearing their armor, at least not in full. His friend still wore gauntlets instead of gloves and some of the metal around his legs and torso. Caranthir on the other hand was more practical, no amount of armor was going to protect them where they were going so he was just wearing his normal clothes and a cloak. He knew roughly where their final destination was supposed to be, but he wasn’t sure so he ended up getting them in the forest and they were going to figure the rest.

“I still don’t understand what Eredin’s problem with that particular sorceress is.” Imlerith groaned as Carathir led the way. He could sense the bitch so it wouldn’t be that difficult to find her at that point.

“Does it matter?” they were alone, even the usual forest sounds were somehow dulled around them. He couldn’t hear birds, just the wind brushing against the leaves. “She is a human sorceress, she is better off dead.”

Imlerith raised an eyebrow but the younger man did not see him as he was leading. Since Caranthir had joined the Red Riders the two of them had become friends. He had trained him to use a sword and spear, art Caranthir never mastered, but he had become damn good with that staff of his even when he was not using magic. He had also seen him grow, become more of a Red Rider compared to the skinny kid who left Avallac’h.

“For someone who uses magic you hate other mages way too much. Jealous they might be better than you?” He mocked but also that was something Imlerith never fully understood. One day something had snapped in Caranthir. The man never showed any real hate to anything but Avallac’h, at most he would just show lack of interest in things which in Caranthir’s cold mind was probably equal to hate. But then something happened, first it was just the darker mood but then during one of their raids he saw the Navigator break the skull of a human sorcerer. Imlerith liked violence, he inflicted it however he could, it made his blood running, but that had been something new from Caranthir. Maybe their friendship was rubbing on him or maybe it was just the Eredin effect.

“There isn’t anybody who is better…” Caranthir suddenly stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Imlerith looked around and focused, he could hear it. It sounded like a dog whining somewhere close. Without thinking Imlerith traced the sound and Caranthir was following.

It didn’t take them too far until they found the wolf lying on a bed of leaves and dirt. It was injured, an arrow was sticking from one of its hind legs and another one from its abdomen. Imlerith’s jaw clenched. He liked hunting, but he never did it for sport, it had always been for food or fur and he always made sure to finish his kill fast. He had no issue killing humanoid creatures in an extremely painful way, he even took pleasure in it, but animals were innocent. Whoever did not finish that kill deserved slow and painful death.

The wolf looked at them and showed them his teeth but he looked weak. Imlerith stepped closer, the arrow in the leg did not seem so bad, but the one in the abdomen...that was nasty wound.

Caranthir just looked at the other man as he approached the wolf, the animal was growling, but there was no bite, no danger to it.

“Imlerith, it’s dying, mercy is the best thing you can do for it.” He knew his friend felt some kinship to animals. Everyone always thought Imlerith to be mindless brute, Eredin’s rabid dog, but that was just part of the story. There is a side that almost nobody had seen.

“Maybe Avallac’h should have shown you some mercy.” the other man pointed at his face where Caranthir’s scars were.

“Maybe your mother should have shown some mercy when she saw you are barely intelligent to get dressed.” the Navigator bit back without hesitation. That’s what they did, Imlerith made fun of the scars on his face, the only person he tolerated to do that, and he made fun of Imlerith’s intelligence, just like true brothers.

Caranthir sighed. He wasn’t heartless, he just didn’t see a point in letting the poor animal suffer. He knelt next to Imlerith and placed a hand on the wolf’s head despite the sharp teeth that were barren.

“What are you doing?” Imlerith grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

“I’m not killing it. I can relate to the need to protect innocence and purity in its clearest form.” Imlerith had no idea what that meant. Caranthir had the habit to speak like Avallac’h at times, half of a conversation that made no sense to anyone. He made fun of him for that, but not now. The navigator freed his hand and placed it on the wolf again. Second later the animal was asleep and the laboured breathing was calmer. “We can break the arrows, but we should not pull them out, we need to deal with that bitch, which would be a quick job and then we can take it to Tir na Lia. It should be asleep for about two hours and it doesn’t feel pain, just make sure it doesn’t lose any more blood, because that will kill it.”

Caranthir didn’t have much hope for the animal surviving, judging by the blood around, it had been like that for some time, and his healing powers have always been the weakest from his many talents.

Imlerith scooped the wolf in his arm and followed Caranthir. He constantly looked at the animal to make sure it was still breathing. He decided he would name it Treise, a strong name for a beast like that. It wasn’t too long when they found an old log cabin deep in the woods. Caranthir did not stop, the man had no fear from some human witch, Imlerith followed but left the wolf outside, to prevent any further harm. He had seen mages fight and he also knew the pleasure Caranthir felt in making them suffer.

The Navigator was the first to enter the log cabin, bending his neck in an awkward position to get through the human sized door. Nothing impressive inside, wooden table, chairs, a bed in the far corner. The bitch was sitting next to the fireplace and turned in surprise when they walked in.

“Who…” she started a question, but he never allowed her to finish. His first attack knocked her on the ground, he wasn’t going to kill her, he was going to take his time.

Imlerith watched as Caranthir attacked the witch, she was a pretty thing for a human, small and fragile. A predator grin decorated his lips. Maybe he would let Caranthir have his fun using her to mop the floor and then he will have his type of fun.

“Wait!” the woman was on her hands and knees, her hair was a mess and there was blood running from her mouth. “I can help you.” Caranthir laughed mockingly. “I know you brought an injured animal with you, I can sense it, I’m a healer, I can help.”

Without hesitation Imlerith placed a hand on the navigator’s shoulder. Caranthir turned toward him, there was cold fire burning in his eyes. Funny how usually the roles were reversed. It had always been the younger man stopping him, but now Imlerith had other concerns than simple bloodlust.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, digging his fingers a bit deeper in the other man’s shoulder, his hand sinking in the soft first of his cloak.

“I cannot beat him.” she nodded at Caranthir. “And I don’t know why you are here but it isn’t for fortune reading. I help your wolf, you let me live.”

“No.” Caranthir said, almost offended.

“Deal.” Imlerith spoke at the same time and they both exchanged looks.

The woman wasn’t stupid and she did not wait for the two of them to sort their small differences. She got on her feet with visible effort and slowly limped toward the door.

“Please tell me the plan is to let her heal the wolf and then we kill her?” Caranthir said through his teeth, his jaw clenched. Imlerith did not answer. He wasn’t sure what the plan was. “You will tell Eredin. I’m not dealing with that.”

When they went out Caranthir walked to the nearest tree and pressed his back against it, his arms crossed over his chest, his cold eyes just pinned on the woman.

“It’s very weak.” the witch said as she placed her hand on the animal.

“Oh great, it’s very weak. Must have missed that.” the navigator said sarcastically, Imlerith couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

The woman ignored them and started working. She pulled what was left from the arrows, thick blood started pooling on the fur but she worked quickly. She chanted a spell and pulled some herbs from her pocket that she applied to the wounds. Couple of minutes later she got up, the animal was still asleep and Imlerith got worried for a moment. Did she trick them? Did she kill the wolf as a final ‘fuck you’? If that was the case, whatever Caranthir was planning to do to her, would be nothing compared to what he would do to her.

“I cannot do anything about the lost blood.” she finally said. “And I cannot wake it up because of his spell. But once it wakes up it will be weak, it won’t be able to take care of itself until its body recovers from the loss.”

Caranthir forced an arrogant smile on his lips. Of course she couldn’t she was just a stupid human mage. It was surprising that Imlerith had been so...soft, between the two of them he had always been the nicer one, had he changed so much? No, it wasn’t that. He felt pity for the animal as well and didn’t really want it to die, but he was the logical one, Imlerith was impulsive. Where was Avallac’h now to see him? Where was his old teacher to call him rash?

“Am I free to go?” the woman asked, her eyes shifting between the two of them. Imlerith nodded, Caranthir was not really sold on the idea, but nodded as well.

He opened a portal and waited for Imlerith to grab the wolf and step through it, then he followed. They went straight to Imlerith’s apartments in the castle in Tir na Lia.

“We are not telling Eredin.” his friend finally said as he gently placed the wolf on his bed. He had never seen Imlerith being gentle with anything.

“We are not telling Eredin.” Caranthir repeated. “You are telling Eredin.”

“No.” Imlerith was still looking at the wolf. “We are waiting for a couple of days, and then we will do what we were supposed to do.”

After Caranthir didn’t speak for a while, he turned to make sure the navigator was still there.

“Why?” the younger man finally asked.

“Because that wolf means more to me than any other life out there and I’m paying her by giving her a couple of days.” Imlerith wasn’t sure if the navigator understood, neither of them was affectionate to anything. He expressed his emotions with violence and Caranthir...emotions did not come easy with him.

Caranthir nodded. He could relate, probably the reason he reacted the way he did was just because he did not expect Imlerith to be so...kind. But he could understand the desire to protect something.

[rockandroobuckaroll]

Shyan Mafia AU - Chapter One

This is the first chapter of my first Shyan fic, so any comments/notes would be helpful. I'm currently waiting on an email from A03 to make a new account, so when it's up I'll start uploading this there too.

A couple people asked about this too being @watcher-savage and @celestial-e I apologise in advance for my inability to write chapters less than 5000 words haha

This is a mafia AU where Ryan is a newbie in the mob, looking to gain protection. He’s sent after a guy known only as ‘Legs’ to take care of business... only things aren’t so simple as that. Ryan must lure this ‘Legs’ guy out to some place quiet... but he’s not the only guy in town who’s after him.

Life hadn't been easy for Ryan Bergara. He'd been on his own most of his life, not many friends and he had no family that he was particularly close with. Ryan didn't know what had happened to his parents or younger brother, only that they were six feet under and not by natural causes. It had happened one night when he wasn't home, instead he was out partying with his old friends from college. He'd come home to a sight that caused many sleepless nights, a sight decorated with shades of red that he could never wash out of his clothes.

Ryan had been a paranoid man from that night onwards, afraid he was next on the list and he would be murdered some day soon. It lead him to lead a sheltered life, shut away from friends and remaining family. If he was on his own maybe people would forget he existed entirely. Being alone kept him alive, despite the loneliness it brought him.

It was this loneliness that eventually brought Ryan to a decision that would change his life forever.

Ryan needed protection and he craved a family like the one he used to know and love, and there was a way to kill two birds with one stone;  he did have to admit he must have been crazy to come to the conclusion however. His dad was a wealthy, powerful man, he and his wife had ties to higher ups that they kept secret. Ryan knew they weren't just rumours made up by people in the street, after all he'd been at family dinners where strangers in sharp suits were invited, he'd overheard meetings and phone calls. It was certainly no secret to him that his family were part of the Californian Mafia.

During the day his dad was a humble dentist but by night he was out in a tailored suit, attending meetings and 'taking care of business'. Ryan's mom always joked that his dad was part of the men in black and that he used to go out and hunt aliens and as a child he had believed her. As he grew older and pieced together the truth Ryan thought it was pretty cool what his dad did, although that novelty came to an abrupt end the night they lost their lives.

It was a longshot, but he hoped that the men who used to come round his house for dinner would take him in, train him up, and give him the protection that he needed to sleep at night. He could be brave if he was in the mob, he had to be, and maybe he could finally get some sleep at night. If he couldn't all those years of shutting himself away would have been pointless and Ryan didn't ever want to admit that to himself.

That was how he found himself sat in a leather armchair in a small office, sat opposite a man he recognised from his youth. The man was much older now, hair grey and he wore glasses that weren't previously needed, but he still had the same believable kindness behind his eyes - though Ryan knew better than to trust that kindness.

"I'm glad you came to us Ricky, we can give you the protection you need." The elderly man sat behind the desk spoke, his voice smooth and soothing. He may not look it, but the man in front of him was the big boss of the Californian Mafia, overseeing the ins and outs of the entire organisation; he was known only as Father Thomas. He was a man no one wanted to cross.

"Um, my name is Ryan, sir." Ryan corrected him, realising afterwards that he probably should have known better. If the movies were anything to go off he shouldn't talk back to these kinds of people.

"Ryan, my child, you don't want to give out your identity to men who are going to use it against you. From now on if someone asks for your name, you tell them its Ricky: Ricky Goldsworth." The Father had a point, although Ryan assumed it would take him a while to get used to that alias - he would probably have to write it down. "You're new here and you want our protection... but not everything is free, Ricky."

"I'll do anything, sir." He was honest when he said 'anything'. Ryan wouldn't have resorted to the mafia if he wasn't willing to leave his old miserable life behind him.

Father Thomas leaned forward, elbows resting on the dark oak desk and his chin atop his interlaced fingers. "Anything?" He looked Ryan in his eyes, peering deep into his very soul. "Here's the thing, Ricky. I believe you when you say you'll do anything, I do... but I don't know if my good friends will be willing to back you up. So I've got a little job for you. It's a risky job, you'll be tested for sure, but if you pull it off I can make you very wealthy very quickly... and throw in a couple of trained assistants of mine to keep you safe at night." The Father leaned back again much to Ryan's relief and opened up one of the heavy looking drawers on the desk, pulling out a large, beige binder and flipping through before taking a page out.

The paper had a personal file, a photo attached with a paperclip at the top. There wasn't much known about him, no name to call him; only an alias was written down. "This here guy is a bit of a troublemaker for us. We've lost many good men to him, he's cunning and has a perfect record when it comes to his work."

"And you want me to..."

"To take care of business, yes." Ryan suddenly wasn't so sure. He picked up the photo of the man. He had dark hair slicked back and had a slender build. He was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt only half buttoned up and sunglasses covering his eyes. "We don't know all that much about this guy, only that he goes by the nickname 'Legs' and that he's extremely hard to catch. If you go after him your loyalty and dedication to us will be tested, naturally, as well as your skill and methods. I can't promise you'll ever come back though... so what's it going to be, Ricky?"

Ryan thought over carefully. He couldn't deny his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that Father Thomas could probably hear it, nor that his hands shook slightly as he held the photo. He was terrified of what this 'Legs' could do to him, or what he had done to others. He was also terrified of his own desperation. He was scared of how tired of being paranoid he was, how tired he was of being scared and alone. If things didn't work out and he ended up getting killed... would that really be so bad?

A snarky voice in the back of Ryan's mind told him he should have probably gone back to his therapist instead of paying the mob a visit, but it was far too late to listen to logic and reasoning now.

"Where was he last sighted?" Ryan bravely spoke up, gaining a small smile from the man in front of him. Ryan knew whichever way things went it would be a win-win for him - though deep down he had a feeling things were more realistically lose-lose, it wouldn't hurt to at least try.

"Yesterday in New Orleans, that's when that photo was taken." Ryan placed the photo down on the desk and looked over the rather empty file, he'd be going into this practically blind. "We've got an unused hotel in that area you can use to take care of him, one of my boys will give you the keys. We can get you a flight too, private of course."

"New Orleans..." It was a long way from home, although Ryan was almost glad of that. He'd only left his home state of California a few times and only ever as a child, on holidays and such. Hopefully leaving the state would do his mental health some good. "When's the flight?"

"We can get you in the air by six in the morning, you'll have all day to get your bearings and get to work." Ryan hadn't expected it to be so soon, although he supposed he didn't have to make up any excuses to anyone about where he was going. His job at the local theatre realistically wouldn't get him anywhere anyway and they could easily replace him in an instant. He had hoped one day to be making his own movies, or at the very least work on big productions, but it was a difficult industry to crack.

"Six AM..." He nodded to himself. "Okay... I'll do it."

Ryan was restless that evening, barely touching his bland microwave meal and constantly reorganising his suitcase, filling it with only the essentials and his best sneakers. He showered and sat on the edge of his bed beside his opened suitcase until early hours in the morning, going over what he had to do. The plan was relatively simple: find this 'Legs' guy, take him to the hotel and... it was the last step Ryan was having trouble coming to terms with.  He knew he would have to kill some guy he had never met. He probably had a family, maybe a wife or a child - at the very least he probably lived alone with a cat. Could he really do that? Could he really take someone's life?

He had opened his laptop and looked at Google Maps for a solid hour, trying his best to memorise the streets of New Orleans, the routes he would have to take to get to the old hotel the mafia had given him the key for. He didn't know how he was even find 'Legs', New Orleans is a big city after all, though he had been tipped about a diner that the man had been seen frequenting over the past few weeks so hopefully that was a start. Part of him hoped he never ran into him and that he would just have to live a quiet life in Louisiana, surely the deep south couldn't be all bad.

Hoping that he had everything memorised, Ryan decided that there was no point in getting any sleep now, he could just hopefully sleep during the three hour flight. He changed into something that would make him look like he was going on a business trip, something the guys at the office had informed him would be his cover up. If anyone asked him he was taking care of the hotel to prepare it for new ownership, that was all they needed to know. He settled on a silver suit and with a black tie, hoping he didn't look too affiliated with any gang; he didn't want to go over the top and wear a fedora with sunglasses, that was way too cliché.

By four in the morning there was a knock on his door and before he knew it he was on a private jet making his way to New Orleans. Ryan watched as the sleepy city slowly awoke, the sun slowly making it's way above the horizon. It didn't take long for his lack of sleep to catch up with him and a few minutes of resting his eyes managed to turn into him sleeping through his short flight. The next thing he knew was that he was being prodded awake by the pilot.

The pilot in front of him was a, quite frankly, dodgy looking, slender individual. His dark hair was greasy and slicked back and his eyes were just as dark as his hair. His skin was tan with little blemishes on his sunken face and his nose was crooked, his teeth matching the nature of his nose and were in desperate need of a dentist. He wore a pinstripe suit, black with thin cream stripes, over-polished shiny black dress shoes and a cufflink shaped like a red dice adorned the white shirt that peaked out from his slightly short sleeves. He was almost the complete opposite of Father Thomas.

"We're here." He sounded just as slimy as he looked, Ryan couldn't believe he actually fell asleep knowing it was only the two of them on the plane; he would be sure to check for any scars when he was alone later on to see if he had any missing kidneys. "You know what you're doing, right?"

"Yeah." A simple yet effective lie.

"Good. Then get off my jet." He ushered Ryan and his luggage out, the poor man still half asleep and aching from sitting in one spot for three hours. "If you by some miracle get the job done give Father Thomas a call, I'll come back and fetch you. Good luck."

With that hurried goodbye, Ryan was left on his own in a city he didn't know. He knew he should have been nervous, probably terrified given what he was supposed to be doing there, yet the only thing he felt was hungry. He'd skipped breakfast and barely ate any of his dinner the night before. He decided the best thing to do was find somewhere to get a bite to eat and ask around for any clues where to find this 'Legs' guy; Father Thomas had informed him of the perfect place.

Diners were always a hit and miss experience, although the small building that had been recommended by Father Thomas seemed to house a semi-decent establishment. It had a pleasant scent of coffee and bacon, mixed with a hint of pine from the décor. It was cosy, welcoming and much to Ryan's relief: empty. Not to mention, apparently 'Legs' had been sighted coming in and out of there all week. It was the perfect spot to start looking.

He sat at one of the barstools and looked up at the menu, mouth already beginning to salivate at just the stock photos of the food they served. "Hiya, hon, what can I get you?" A young, blonde waitress appeared from the beaded curtains, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes; a symptom of an early shift in the quieter outskirts of the city.

"Hi, can I get a black coffee and some pancakes please." At this point Ryan would eat anything, even if it came out of the trash.

"Sure thing, hon." She scribbled down the order and took the payment before pouring Ryan his coffee from the glass pot. The first sip burned his tongue but it helped wake him up a little. A few minutes later the waitress returned with a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup with bacon placed on top: it looked picturesque.

"Thank you." Ryan remembered the manners his mom had taught him many years ago before shoving far too much into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savoured his first mouthful. Before he could ask the woman about places of interest that may attract mob guys or murderers (or both) the bell on the door rang, meaning another customer had walked in. Ryan didn't turn around to meet them, instead taking another sip of his coffee.

The customer sat two seats away from him, the waitress smiling at him the same way she had at Ryan. "Hiya hon, the usual?"

"Yes please." The man spoke in a quiet but kind voice, although his accent stuck out to Ryan. It wasn't that it was a strong accent, quite the opposite actually. It certainly wasn't from around here. "Thank you."

The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the two men in silence. Ryan took another sip of his coffee as the man tried to start up a conversation. "Pancakes? Now that's in poor taste. It's waffles all the way." Ryan almost spit out his coffee - not at the comment but at the man's appearance.

This was the guy from the photo: this was 'Legs'.

"You alright? Don't choke." He laughed at Ryan, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he did. Ryan had to fight every instinct not to bolt out of the diner there and then. Here he was, trying to enjoy his breakfast and now all of a sudden he was having a conversation with a murderer... well, he would have to respond in order to have a conversation.

"Uh..." Ryan struggled to find the words to say. "Pancakes are way better." He settled on, 'Legs' shaking his head and turning back to the waitress as she brought him a plate of waffles before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Is that how you like to talk to strangers?"

"Oh, sorry..." He seemed to become shy all of a sudden as he realised his conversation starter had been a bit rude. "You don't sound like you're from around here. You here on business?" It was a fair question to someone who was dressed in a suit although Ryan could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. Did he know? Could this guy sniff out someone in the mob at a glance? He was a professional from what Ryan had heard, for all he knew the guy had spotted the plane landing and followed him there, planning to kill him behind the diner.

"Yeah... something like that." Ryan cleared his throat and steadied his hands on his coffee cup. They had begun to shake, betraying him when he needed to remain calm.

'Legs' hummed a response and begun digging into his waffles. Ryan needed to think quick. He needed a reason to keep him around, not let him out of his sight. The hotel key Father Thomas had given him felt like it was burning into his leg like a beating heart under the floorboards, reminding him of all his troubles. He was starting to panic already. He really wasn't cut out for this despite his efforts to try and convince himself otherwise. "Hey, don't mean to sound rude but are you alright? You don't look well all of a sudden."

"I'm fine." Ryan's voice shook. Shit. He couldn't afford a panic attack. "I just need some air." Ryan stood from his seat and rushed out the door, his knees feeling like jelly. He took in a few deep breaths as he leaned against the wall, hoping he was just far enough outside that 'Legs' couldn't see him. Fuck. If Ryan couldn't even sit next to the guy and have breakfast and a friendly chat how the hell was he supposed to lure the guy to some abandoned hotel and murder him in cold blood?

"You want me to ask the waitress for some water or something?" 'Legs' poked his head around the door, "You gonna hurl, dude?" 'Oh great', Ryan thought begrudgingly: 'of course he's a nice guy'. No, no he isn't, Ryan had to remind himself. This guy has killed people.

"I'm okay." Ryan kept lying to himself, lowering himself so he was crouching down, his back against the wall. 'Legs' crouched down next to him, his hand on his back to try and comfort him.

"Just breathe, yeah? You're alright." 'Legs' seemed to recognise the signs of an oncoming panic attack. "What's your name? Have you got someone I can call?" 'Stop being so fucking nice', Ryan internally groaned. He shook his head, closing his eyes and just focusing on his breathing. "Okay, I'll stay here with you. Talk you out of it... uh, well shit I can't think of anything to say." He chuckled in such a nonchalant way that made Ryan want to punch the guy.

"Pancakes are better." Ryan managed to mutter in between breaths, deciding to just say anything to change the subject and take his mind off his paranoia. 'Legs' wheezed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You believe what you wanna believe, man." He adjusted his position so that he was sat down properly, legs crossed in front of him. "You're wrong, but hey, opinions and all that baloney."

Once Ryan felt like he was going to be okay, that he wasn't going to have a complete breakdown in front of his future murder victim he looked up to the sky, still avoiding looking at 'Legs'. "My name's Ricky by the way... Ricky Goldsworth." Ryan needed to try and make acquaintances with him while he could; it would hopefully make the upcoming murderous meet and greets less awkward.

"Goldsworth?" He seemed intrigued by that. "Cool name." Ryan was glad he hadn't just seen straight through him immediately. "Nice to meet you Ricky." He held out his hand to shake, Ryan took it and tried to keep his grip firm despite his hands still shaking. He also had to play it off like he hadn't noticed that 'Legs' had completely avoided telling him his name.

"Your breakfast is gonna go cold." Ryan told him to try and change the subject. "Mine too... let's go back inside."

"You alright to stand? You looked a bit wobbly on your feet just now." Ryan was tempted to just put a bullet in the guys head there and then and get his suffering over with. Of course he ended up with the crazed murderer who just happened to be a total sweetheart.

"I'm fine. Come on." Ryan pushed himself up and lead 'Legs' back inside, the two taking the seats they were previously in. Ryan's coffee was still pretty warm and his pancakes hadn't quite turned to soggy mush yet.

"Sorry if I said something to set you off, by the way. I didn't mean to freak you out." 'Legs' spoke in a hushed voice, as though he was trying not to induce more panic into Ryan.

"It's alright... it's been a long night. I'm just on edge I guess." Ryan took a bite of his breakfast, he wasn't that hungry anymore but he also knew he would regret it later if he didn't finish it. "It's not your fault." Ryan took another sip of coffee to wash it down.

"Well, I don't know if you're free sometime soon but there's a nice bar in town, I was planning on going out tonight if you wanted to join me." That was the second time 'Legs' had made him choke on his coffee. He hadn't expected to be asked out by the guy he was supposed to kill. "Uh, well, you don't have to if you don't want to!" He quickly gave Ryan the option to turn him down, his cheeks bright red and he couldn't meet his eyes.

This was perfect. 'Legs' had practically signed his own death warrant... granted that Ryan could actually pull the job off. Everything had fallen into place however, he would be an idiot to turn it down.

"That sounds... that sounds great actually." Ryan tried not to sound so relieved that he didn't have to make up some bullshit excuse to stalk this guy without it being weird.

"Really?" God, Ryan felt like such an asshole. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. 'Legs' was showing interest, he was inviting him out and was shy when he asked the question. Now 'Legs' was feeling immense relief that Ryan had offered to spend the night getting to know him. He was leading him on and wouldn't even get the chance to let him down gently. "Shit, I didn't actually expect you to say yes! I mean, on my part even I can say this is bad timing!" He was giddy like a child, not helping the sinking feeling in Ryan's stomach.

"I'm always up for a good time." Ryan played along to the best of his ability. This guy was digging his own grave without Ryan even having to try, he didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. "I've got to... there's this hotel I'm looking after at the moment. It's gonna be refurbished and I've got this job to basically check in and make sure none of the shit gets stolen. I can meet you after work if you want?"

"You're looking after a hotel? You're not gonna go all Jack Torrance on me and come after me with an axe, are you?" Even if it was a great movie he was referencing Ryan couldn't help but nervously chuckle at the irony.

"Wouldn't dream of it." 'Just drink your coffee and don't make eye contact Ryan', he thought to himself in desperation. He picked up his napkin and took a pen out of his blazer pocket. He'd childishly put it there in case he needed to go all spy-movie-action-scene and use the pen as a weapon, but he supposed using it for it's intended purpose would do for now. "Here's the address." Ryan had memorised it off by heart after fretting over his plans the night before. "Meet me about seven-ish?"

"Seven-ish." 'Legs' spoke aloud his mental note as he took the napkin and glanced at the address. "This isn't that far from the bar actually." That was lucky for Ryan, he wouldn't have to bring 'Legs' half way across the city just to kill him.

Ryan's plan was pretty simple, if not slightly manipulative - though he decided that if he was plotting to kill someone he would have to put his morals on the back bench for the time being. He would go out for a few drinks with 'Legs', get him to loosen up, bring him back to the hotel, lock the door so no one would accidentally wander in on his murder scene and then take care of him in the basement. One flaw he found with his plan was that he realised he still hadn't been told a name for his victim, not a nickname or initials: nothing. Ryan was starting to wonder if he was the one manipulating the situation, that he was the one in control... he had a feeling 'Legs' had his own ulterior motives behind inviting him out.

By the time seven rolled around Ryan almost felt sick with nerves. After preparing everything he needed in the hotel he was sat on the steps at the front door, staring at his blank phone screen in front of him to seem less conspicuous when he heard a call for his name - well, the name he had given out as a cover.

"Ricky?" Ryan looked up and smiled at the man before him. 'Legs' had changed out of the striped hoodie and jeans he wore that morning, he was wearing a dark blue shirt with red Hawaiian flowers on it which caught Ryan's attention. He'd never actually seen someone pull off a flower shirt like that and not look like a dad on vacation.

"Hey." Ryan stood up and climbed down the stairs, feeling slightly intimidated by the guy. He found it strange that he was wary of a paper thin guy in a flower shirt, but when put into the context that said guy towered over him in height he found himself feeling strangely inferior - that and he was a fucking murderer, Ryan had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

With a nervous breath 'Legs' gave a smile, "Shall we get going? The bar's down this way." Ryan smiled and nodded, following the taller man down the street

'Time to act your heart out' Ryan thought to himself, 'Play it cool, don't be suspicious'.

The bar was starting to fill with patrons though it didn't seem to be as busy as some of the others, Ryan was glad of that. The less people that saw him there the better. 'Legs' took the gentlemanly approach and offered to buy the first round, Ryan watching closely to make sure his drink hadn't been spiked before taking his first sip.

It had been a while since Ryan had been out like this, he had missed it if he was honest. The last time he was out drinking he... Ryan shook away the thought with a frown. He wouldn't think about that tonight, not now that he was about to cause someone else to find their family member brutally murdered.

'Legs' had noticed Ryan's frown and looked nervous, as though he was calculating the right thing to say. This night must have been important to him, he was trying so hard not to mess it up. Ryan felt immense guilt but knew he couldn't wallow in it all night. He needed the night to go well too, given that he needed to get him back to the hotel. He hoped it would be willing and not Ryan dragging him back kicking and screaming.

"Thanks for coming out tonight." 'Legs' started, talking over the music with his best efforts. "I mean, I really thought you were gonna turn me down."

"I needed something like this, I should be the one thanking you." Ryan wished he meant that, he wished he was just out on what felt like a date - it probably would have been considered one in Ryan's mind but 'Legs' still had neglected to give him a name. It was a sobering reminder that the man in front of him could very well have his own plans of murder. His nice guy act was so cliché anyway, serial killers were always known like that. It was the whole Norman Bates schtick, the type of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, socially awkward yet charming. Ryan hoped he wouldn't get stabbed to death by this guy dressed as his mother later on, though it would certainly be an unexpected twist to his evening.

"Is it a tough life, looking after hotels I mean?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink, "Must get pretty lonely having all those rooms to yourself."

"Yeah... it can be." Ryan was used to loneliness, it was just part of his daily life by this point. He supposed if the whole hotel business was his real job he wouldn't think it any different to how he felt when he was sat at home on a Friday night watching movies all on his own rather than reuniting with his college friends and going out to get completely shitfaced. "What do you do, I don't think I asked?" Ryan hoped that question wouldn't scare him off.

"I, uh... I'm actually unemployed at the moment." He was avoiding eye contact again, Ryan knew he was lying anyway. "I'm here on a sort of midlife crisis, trying to see if I can make it on my own sorta thing... it's not going well." He laughed it off and took another, longer sip of his drink.

"You're on your own out here?" Interesting, that meant there would be no one around to search for him if he suddenly went missing. Ryan had interpreted him saying he was unemployed as he wasn't out on a job for the mob in New Orleans. He was just as alone out here as Ryan was. This whole situation just seemed so perfect, though he was wary of how careless it was on 'Legs' part.

"Yeah." Was his only response.

"You must be pretty lonely too then." Ryan didn't like to empathise with a killer, though he knew in just a few short hours he would be one himself. "Guess we can be lonely together." Ryan raised his glass, 'Legs' picking his own up and tapping it on Ryan's, the sound of the clink breaking through the music with ease.

Ryan had anticipated the night to go poorly. He had assumed he would be too nervous to drink or talk for half the night or perhaps for his date to figure out his true identity through some offhanded comment and ditch him or put a bullet between his eyes. What he hadn't expected however was to actually have a good time with him.

The two of them seemed to get along just fine, conversing in topics such as old shitty horror movies that were just charming enough to be enjoyable - or the ones that had practical effects so terrible they were actually hilarious to watch. 'Legs' had listened to Ryan ramble on about how much he loved Disneyland and hadn't been in years, in return Ryan tried his best to pay attention to some anecdotes 'Legs' had from an old D&D game he had played with his friends back in his hometown.

As the number of drinks piled up Ryan actually started to let his guard down, relaxing in his seat and laughing along at the dumb jokes 'Legs' cracked every other minute. He had to hand it to the guy: he was pretty funny. With his guard down he hadn't quite expected 'Legs' to smoothly place his hand over Ryan's as he was fidgeting with his glass, nor had he expected himself not to pull away quickly.

This was his chance.

"Hey... how about we drink up and get out of here, yeah?" Ryan suggested, 'Legs' quirking an eyebrow at him and downing the rest of his drink. "We can go back to the hotel I'm looking after, it's completely empty. It'll be just you and me."

"Lead the way."

The two of them headed out of the bar and into the cool night air, Ryan holding his hand and pulling him along through the crowd as to not lose him. The streets were bustling with the city's nightlife, the people passing them were either already drunk and loud or on their way to join in. Ryan really had missed this, the buzz of it all, but that wasn't what he was here to do, as much as he was hoping that maybe he could spend a couple nights with this guy, go out partying and make stupid decisions together. At the same time however, the last thing Ryan wanted to do was form an attachment; he was already getting dangerously close to that.

"Here we are." Ryan struggled to fit the key into the front door ten minutes later, mentally cursing to his past self for having one round too many. He hated that he'd actually had a good time with 'Legs' tonight. He hated how now it was over, now was the time where 'Legs' whole life was over. The price Ryan was paying to have protection didn't seem worth it all of a sudden, but he'd come this far... giving up now wouldn't sit right with him.

"Give me a room with a view, Goldsworth." 'Legs' put his hand on Ryan's hip, leaning into him and breathing against the back of his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. It took all he had not to throw his plans out the window and lead him to one of the rooms upstairs.

"Got a better idea." Ryan turned around to him. "You said you didn't want me to for obvious reasons... but what if I did go all 'Jack Torrance'? What I'm trying to say is I bet the basement is romantic as fuck." 'Legs' burst out laugh at that, his head dipping and eyes crinkling into thin lines as they had done many times that night.

"You know what? You've won me over." He let Ryan take him by the hand and guide him towards the heavy metal door that lead down a flight of stairs to a mostly empty room, just a boiler and some electronics  that Ryan had no idea the purpose for - probably a fuse box or something. The only light in the room was a simple bulb hanging from a chord on the ceiling, fitting for a room that was soon to house a murder.

The second the door was closed behind 'Legs' Ryan struck out, grabbing the pole he had set out earlier when he was rehearsing this moment over and over again like some crazed fanatic and striking the taller man on the side of the head. It knocked him out in an instant, 'Legs' dropping like a sack of bricks and tumbling down the stairs. Ryan winced, it looked like it hurt. 'Forget your fucking morals, man, you're trying to kill him'. Ryan stared down at his unmoving body from atop the stairs, his breathing heavy in his chest. It was terrifying to him just how easy that was, how simple it had all been. This poor guy was just looking to have a good time and now he was getting murdered for it.

Acting quickly, just in case 'Legs' woke up half way through, Ryan rushed down the stairs and grabbed the chair and the rope had set aside, hauling up the man's deadweight and tying him to the chair. He inspected the wound on his head, blood pooling around the edges but not gushing down like he had imagined it would in his rehearsals.

"Okay... okay, right... what now?" Ryan frantically looked around the room as if looking for clues. "Oh, gun, right." Ryan took the gun he had concealed under the boiler, dusting it off and checking to see if it was loaded. "Right... now wait for him to wake up I guess."

Ryan took the spare chair he had previously placed in the basement just in case things escalated and he had to knock him out with a chair instead of the pole, lucky the craftwork had stayed in one piece. He sat opposite 'legs', hunching over slightly and looking at the gun in his hand. It rattled slightly as his hand shook, looking out of place in his grip. Ryan knew this wasn't right, he knew deep down that this was only going to make his life worse but he was in far too deep now for retrospective analysis.

"Stop shaking." He whispered to himself, using his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was panicking again. "Fuck..." He couldn't help but think about the last time he was panicking, crouched down outside the diner this morning. 'Legs' had been there for him then, a comforting presence that had managed to calm him down despite being the reason he was panicking in the first place. He felt like he needed that now.

As if on cue 'Legs' stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips as he struggled to find consciousness. He tilted his head up slowly with a wince, eyes squinting as he looked directly at Ryan. "Huh?" He struggled against the ropes he was tied to, looking at them in confusion as if he couldn't understand why he was now tied up. He seemed to wake up a little more after his brain tried to piece together what was going on, the tall man looking around with a pained expression before his eyes settled back on Ryan.

"Hey sleepyhead." Ryan stood up, putting his acting chops to best use. 'Whatever you say just make it intimidating' he repeated in his head like a mantra. "Have a nice nap?"

"Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded woozy, "What's going on... is this a kink thing or something? I'm not one to judge or anything but some consent would have been nice."

"Wha-" Ryan was baffled by the stupidity that had just come from this guy's mouth. A kink thing? This guy was a well known member of the mob who'd just been knocked out and tied to a chair in a basement like some sort of thriller movie cliché... and then he thought it was just that Ryan had a fucking kink? Not quite what Ryan had been expecting. "No, you idiot! I'm here to kill you!"

"Oh?" 'Legs' seemed to think that over for a minute before the somewhat humoured smile that had previously been on his face was wiped completely. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." Ryan mimicked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought this was going to be a lot harder but you just walked right into this... you didn't even question me wanting to take you into the basement! Are you really that dense?"

"In my defence you hit me on the head pretty fuckin' hard." He groaned, almost as if he was trying to get sympathy. Ryan wouldn't take the bait, even if he did sort of feel guilty about it.

"That was after I lured you all the way out here!" Ryan's voice rose in both volume and pitch, holding the gun out and aiming it at 'Legs' head. "I thought mob guys were supposed to be fuckin' smart!"

"Mob guys?" Everything slowly clicked into place for him, he looked almost disappointed, but what he was disappointed about Ryan wasn't so sure. Maybe in himself for being so naïve or perhaps in Ryan for leading him on the way he did to turn out to just be another in a long line of guys that had come after him. "Right, so you're here to kill me then?"

"Yeah, I said that already." Ryan was trying his very best to be patient and take into account the guy had only just woken up after he bashed him round the head with a metal pole. "You're a ballsy guy, I'll give you that. I mean, just going out and partying in New Orleans knowing the Californian mob is after you? I can't tell if it's bold or insane!"

"Well I'm not in California right now, am I? I didn't think they'd be dumb enough to come around here with how high the tensions are between them and the gangs here in Orleans." So he did have a bit of common sense, even if his logic had been flawed. "That and I wasn't expecting the good looking guy in the diner to be some fucking mafia hitman or whatever."

"You think I'm good looking- wait, no. You're not going to flirt your way out of this!" Ryan jabbed the gun in his direction as if to threaten him into shutting up but 'Legs' didn't seem all that phased that his life was in danger. 'Definitely insane' Ryan thought to himself as he glared down at him. Who the hell stays so calm in a situation like this? This guy really is Norman Bates reincarnate. "And I'm not a hitman, I'm part of the Cali mob!"

"You are, are you?" 'Legs' seemed sceptical. "You don't look the part. I mean, you're way too short for one and that tough guy act is fooling no one."

"Man, fuck you! Just because you're as tall as a fucking sasquatch doesn't mean I'm short! Oh my god I cannot believe I was actually considering throwing everything I worked for away and just fucking you instead!" Ryan was aware he was trying to rile him up on purpose, but god dammit it was working like a charm. "Are you forgetting I'm holding a fucking gun here? I'm going to kill you! You should be begging for your life right now!"

"Oh, no, please don't kill me Mr Goldsworth." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Although, I mean, if you untie me I could pretend none of this even happened and we could just go upstairs and, y'know." He gave a conspicuous whistle rather than being as blunt as Ryan had been.

"You're insufferable." Ryan couldn't believe this was the same guy he went drinking with, the same guy he was starting to regret luring to the edge of town to kill. He was filled with enough aggression and adrenaline not to feel that regret anymore, but he still couldn't help noticing that his hand still shook slightly as he pointed the gun in 'Legs' face.

"I always thought you mobsters were supposed to be tough guys. You're shaking like a leaf."  'Legs' pointed out which only infuriated Ryan even more. "You really should work on controlling your emotions more, just shut 'em off, y'know?"

"Stop giving me fucking criticism!" Ryan growled, his fist balled at his side before he used it to steady his shaking hand. "I'm literally about to shoot you!"

"Well hurry up with it then, you're starting to look like some incompetent movie villain!" 'Legs' almost sounded bored, impatient even. Ryan figured the guy must be on some next level of crazy if he was practically begging the guy holding a gun to shoot him.

"Don't rush me!" Ryan clicked the safety off on his gun and held it against 'Legs' forehead, the taller man closed his mouth very quickly and his eyes opened wider. Ryan couldn't help but smirk at how quickly he turned his act around.

"Uh, Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded worried all of a sudden, a complete juxtaposition from how he was mere seconds ago.

"Oh, now you're afraid. Didn't take much for that tough guy act to fall through, did it?" Ryan felt proud in a way, proud that he'd actually succeeded in intimidating the guy. Maybe he had it in him after all? Maybe this whole time he had just been overreacting, overthinking. He had the guts to do this, all he had to do now was pull the trigger (after saying something badass like they did in the movies, of course) and it would be over.

"Ricky!" 'Legs' called out, an unmistakeable fear in his tone. "Look out, behind you!"

"Yeah, how stupid do you think I am?" Ryan scoffed, though his tune soon changed when he heard the sound of metal scraping along the floor behind him, something he imagined 'Legs' had heard before Ryan knocked him out earlier. He gasped, eyes widening as he remembered he forgot one crucial step in his plan: he forgot to lock the front door.

Before Ryan could even turn around and defend himself he felt something connect with his temple and the world turned to black in a terrifyingly quick instant.

So much for everything being too easy...

[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Bright Time

Word count: 2321 Pairing: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: Thank you all for the support and the lovely messages I’ve been receiving concerning this fic. You guys are definitely what has kept me writing since I never would’ve thought anyone else would be interested in this Inquisitor AU. So, thank you ❤️ This is the third part of the series!

Previous Part

My Writing Masterlist

It’s been another tedious week in Fortress Inquisitorius. Each day has been filled with dull tasks, really making you work for what they pay you. In a sense, you’re glad that there is no shortage of work but still time has moved extremely slowly. You’re anxiously waiting for any sign or a message from a certain Inquisitor.

You haven’t heard of or seen Cal ever since the day you fixed the melted control panel of the door to his quarters. Just thinking about the incident makes your blood boil and the Inquisitor will certainly get what he deserves. Somehow, one day. The details are still a little unclear, but you’re determined.

In the tranquility of your own living accommodations, you can finally strip off the dark overalls and faintly ponder the fact that it’s the only outfit Cal has ever seen you in. The uniform isn’t exactly complementing. Though, he didn’t seem to mind on your last encounter.

You sigh and toss the clothes to where you’ll to pick them up again in the morning, which means in eight hours – a luxury, really, in the light of the recent week.

As you slump on the elevated mattress posing as bed, one of your most faithful engineering droids rolls into the room.

“What’s up, MK?” you ask without getting up to look. Your back muscles are crying a symphony at finally relaxing on a soft surface.

The droid makes an uppish beep and you roll your eyes. This one has a handful of a personality.

“If it’s that important, why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you question, full-well knowing the MK droid will be galled by your lack of interested in its business. It lets out a series of drills, which sound a lot like scoffs for a being that has no respiratory channels.

“A message?” You frown lightly and get up to your elbows. A bad feeling creeps into the back of your mind. “Let’s hear it.”

The MK droid boops coolly and plays the recording.

“Hey, uhh, I think there’s a busted light bulb in here? Can you come and fix it today? Thanks.”

You freeze, blinking and staring at the messenger. You only just got away from work and now he wants you to go over to the other side of the base and urgh.

That kriffing stupid Inquisitor.

Ten minutes later you’re dragging your feet, once again wearing the stupid overalls and carrying a small toolbox. Fixing a light bulb shouldn’t be a big deal. You’re as equally vexed about having to get up as you’re anxious about getting to see Cal.

There has been no shortage of subconscious reminders about the last incident in his quarters and the more you try not to think about it, the faster your heart beats. Getting worked up about having to go and do your job doesn’t really help but at least you feel better when you think about all the ways to tell the stupid Inquisitor off. How can he be one of the Empire’s finest if he can’t even fix a kriffing light.

That inconsiderate man-child and his stupid pecs. If he weren’t an Inquisitor, I swear I’d–

It’s so late that the hallways are mostly empty save for the guards that you greet with yawns and earn a few sympathetic nods in return. If Cal isn’t wearing a shirt this time, you’ll give him a good old slap across the cheek, to hell with the consequences.

That perv might actually like it if I hit him. Oh, for kriff’s sake–

By the time you reach the right door, you’re positively fuming.

“How many Inquisitors does it take to switch a light bulb? Oh, I don’t know? None, since they have nerf shit as brains and can’t even– oh, hi. Ahem.” You settle the most perfectly neutral look to your face and hope Cal didn’t catch you muttering to yourself.

He gives you a cursory glance from your head to toes. At least he is wearing a shirt, even though it’s a very snug one.

“Come in,” he says.

Cal’s timid smile and casual tone set your cheeks alight and heart fluttering.

You clear your throat. “…Thanks.”

The sound of the door closing surges you into a mild inner panic but you draw in a breath to hide it and put the toolbox to the floor. Cal stays skulking by the entrance as you look up to find the target, eager to be on your way before he can think of anything reckless like the last time.

“Which one was it?” you ask slowly, craning your neck. All the lights seem fine and staring at them is making you see stars.

“The one in the middle,” Cal says and nods towards the culprit.

The light is as bright as the others and your eyes are starting to water from looking at them. You turn to Cal – his smile is nothing like timid anymore. It’s downright impish.

You should’ve known it was a trap.

“What’s the meaning of this?” You try to hold back the exasperation in your tone but it’s difficult. “Cal?”

The Inquisitor holds the eye contact and shrugs. You’re about to open your mouth to give him an earful when a loud crack makes you jump and you turn just in time to see the bulb explode into millions of tiny pieces. The shards scatter all over the floor as you instinctively hold your arms up to cover your face from the shrapnel, but not a piece even touches you.

The energy that was pouring into keeping the light on, no longer has a proper outlet and the fuse blows with a loud pop. You’re standing in the middle of the now dark room with the idiot Inquisitor.

The emergency lights near the floor cast an eerie red light and you can just barely make out Cal’s silhouette. Your eyes will need a moment to adjust to the darkness.

“Happy now?” is what you eventually set into snapping out at him.

The fuse box is in the hallway, but to get to it you need to find a way past the Inquisitor.

“Did you plan this?” The bravery falters in your tone. You swallow.

“Not really,” Cal says but you don’t believe him. “Hold on. Don’t move.”

Light clatter of glass against the floor echoes all around you and while you don’t see what happens, you assume that Cal just cleaned up the mess he made.

“Right,” you sigh, gather the ripples of your anger, and start walking towards the exit in resolute steps. Cal doesn’t move a muscle as you march past him. You’re almost to the door, already heaving out a relieved breath but come to the realization that you’re no longer moving.

In fact, your feet are taking you backwards. You yelp in surprise and almost get knocked over when the back of your legs hits the sofa in the middle of the room. You take purchase from the furniture to stay on your feet. Your eyes are steadily becoming acclimated to the darkness and you can see Cal’s silhouette coming closer.

Your blood pressure will lead to an early retirement at this rate.

“You need to stop breaking stuff to get me here,” you whine, “I’ll give you my personal comm frequency.”

“That’s not very exciting,” Cal huffs amused. He is standing right in front of you. The scarce light reflects enough from his eyes to hint where you should be facing.

“Well, sorry for not living up to your standards,” you quip frustrated and barely manage to finish the sentence since Cal’s hand comes to rest on your neck. The careful touch makes you quiver and your heart beats a mile a minute.

The breeze from Cal’s shallow breaths hits your skin as he leans forward. You would be lying if you claimed you were not waiting for this. He is smiling when your lips touch and you sink to sit down on the sofa back.

At least the door lock is fixed now.

“I’ve been, mmh, thinking… about you,” you confess even though Cal tries to make sure you can’t waste your mouth on talking. His lips move down to your jaw with a thoughtful hum and start trailing down towards your neck. It’s difficult to stay still with your already precarious balance.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one,” Cal husks.

His hands come down to rest on your waist and before you can reply, your world revolves again with a yelp as your back softly hits the sofa cushions. Cal climbs over and lifts you up to straddle him. Faintly, you register that the sofa is really large and comfy, and this man is done playing around.

Cal’s lips find yours again, more demanding and eager. He starts unzipping your uniform and thrill shoots up your spine. A pleasant haze is starting to settle into your mind and you have to strive to keep your wits about you.

“I don’t suppose you have any more requests when the light is fixed?” you ask as you let Cal do his thing with your work overalls and pull down the part covering your upper body. You’re still wearing a tank top underneath it.

“Mm. I want a kitchen droid,” Cal replies and plants his lips onto your shoulder. Pushing your nose into his hair makes you giddy and you don’t at first realize what he said.

“Huh? A kitchen droid? Why?” you fumble to question.

“The meals in the commissary are horrible,” he simply says and continues peppering your exposed skin with kisses. You can’t argue with that point.

“Mm. I’ll see what I can do.”

You ease yourself better into Cal’s lap, perfectly accidentally grinding yourself against him – to which he responds with a grunt and furrowed brows. It’s music to your ears.

Cal stops and straightens up, hands still somewhere around your middle body, rudely interrupted from hiking your top up. Even in the dark, you can see the warning in his eyes and it sends your pulse flying.

“Look. Do you want me to hold back or not? ‘Cause I can’t if you–”

You grind yourself again against the growing hardness in his pants and cut him mid-sentence.

“Who said anything about holding back?” you purr in a bit too seductive tone.

You hide your devilish smile by taking the turn to kiss the side of Cal’s neck. He groans again and you can feel his body going slightly rigid underneath you. Serves him right to taste his own medicine. Stupid Inquisitor.

“Alright. You asked for it,” Cal coos gently. His grip on your waist tightens and he throws you to your back on the sofa.

“Oh!” you yelp but quickly regain your stance even though your positions have been reversed.

You kick your shoes off and wiggle down the overalls with Cal’s help. Gripping his shirt hem, you yank the piece of clothing up to get it off. If you’re going to do this, you deserve to get a glimpse at how well his training has paid off.

When you reach his pants and open the zipper for access, the fervent undressing slows down and molds into a make out session. This time horizontally, on the sofa, with the Inquisitor on top of you and your legs tangled with his – and hands in each other’s pants. It’s hot and messy and you can’t see a thing, but who needs eyes when his fingers dip inside you and it feels so good that you want to cry out loud. The hums and moans Cal makes against your mouth as you massage him drive you deeper into the moment. With each passing second you fight the regret about still having your underwear and top on.

You’re feeling so dizzy and elated that you’ve completely forgotten who you’re playing with. You’re in the den of an Imperial Inquisitor. The kind of who is not known for his mercy or empathy.

“You should stay for the night,” Cal utters suddenly.

In a motion so quick and nimble that you didn’t think you’d have it in you, you’re up and away from Cal’s arms, heart drumming in your ears and panicking. Every breathe is a drag and your hair must be in upheaval. Your underpants are uncomfortably damp and the room feels chilly when Cal’s body is no longer warming you.

“S-stay? You mean like… I, uh, wouldn’t want to impose… on your…” Your eyes skim the Inquisitor’s almost naked frame in the dark. “Hospitality.”

Cal straightens up but you bounce away from the reach.

“What? You’re not imposing. I’ll make you coffee in the morning,” he says slyly, clearly not understanding what is going through your head.

You almost give in. Your very soul hurts as you shake your head. If he wants you to risk life and limb and stay, he will have to do better than high-end coffee and what presumably would’ve been the beginnings of amazing sex.

You grab your overalls and almost fall onto your nose trying to put them on as swiftly as possibly.

No, this is bad. Worse than what you should get yourself into.

“So, uhh, sorry! I’ll fix the bulb tomorrow!” You snag your shoes, tugging them under your arm and take the toolbox from the floor. With a free hand, you fumble for the button to open the door before Cal can retaliate. What were you even thinking? People who get too involved with the Inquisitors disappear and you wish to keep existing.

“Wha– Hold on!”

“Nope. Bye!” You wave as you tiptoe into the hallway, praying that it’s empty. It’d be fun explaining to a Stormtrooper why you’re barely dressed behind the Inquisitor’s door.

Cal stays sitting on the sofa in the dark, looking after you, pants halfway down and utterly confused. He cannot comprehend what he did wrong.

//

Tagging (please lmk if you want to be tagged or not! I probably forgot someone cause I couldn’t find the list anymore OTL): @europhiacs @froyuhh @sinner-effy @droidrights @annoyedguildmaster @mysteriouswritingzonthewall @boxfullofcats @maulblr @sevansheart

[i-just-want-to-destroy]

18 and 30 for the fic asks 👀

thanks for the ask :>

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

i really like chapter 12 in retry. 

the initial concept for retry deku was actually comedy (lol). and of course it ended up being more of a tragedy, so i aimed for a hurt/comfort, cathartic kind of story instead. but that was too ambitious bc the thing is, im awful at writing comfort. ive figured that out lately... also i figured out that ive been trying to (over)compensate that with humor lol.

but then retry got more and more fucked up to the point i was like.. okay. how tf are we STILL going to make this funny.. yes its an angst fest but i dont want it to be just depression and noting else bc then what would be the point? (nothing against hurt/no comfort, i like hurt/no comfort, but thats not what i was going for with retry.) yet on the other hand, i had no idea how tf do i even make a severely traumatic incident hilarious lmfao.... that was the issue. tragedy is difficult to write but comedy is even worse and tragicomedy is just.... idk it just felt impossible, i was pretty stumped. 

but chapter 11 was so sad and heavy that i was determined to do it. i was like. okay. that was pretty fucked up. now i have to make them laugh. i have to do it somehow.  so i went and wrote chapter 12 that way. 

idk how i did it. humor is weird. you dont really plan things out, it just happens (?) when you write it. and im sure it doesnt work for some people (ive had someone complaining that the humor tag is misleading lol) but it does work for the rest (at least judging from the comments). 

and i like the way it ended up. i like that chapter.

30. Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

There is this fic wip that has been sitting in my docs since early 2020. like i did so much research for it, SO MUCH, but i kept getting distracted and never got around to finish it even though its like.ugh. its SO GOOD (to me i mean). 

anyway its about investigative journalist deku teaming up with pro-hero shouto :) uncovering a scandal conspiracy on this and that. yess.... another mystery crime fiction ftw!!!! like its SO delicious (to me personally) a lot of sleuthing and some kind of spicy dynamic going on between this au deku and shouto. because, i mean, journalist and superhero team up is a classic okay. i want to try writing it.

and i just really really really want to try my hands on a quirkless grown up deku finding his own path on being a hero without the help of OFA, and i think him being a go-getter, severely ambitious and extremely stubborn journalist who got way over his head is just brilliant, i love this au deku a lot (who lives entirely in my head im sorry). 

like this fic is made for me. the thing is it is not made yet. i want to write it so bad but i never got around to do it bc im like this... maybe if i go crazy and just hammer it out like i did with off-white............... and then you will all see........................................................................................................................

[twinkleallnight]

Marshmallow

(Part-8) Fight or flight

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC, Drake x ??

For previous chapters: catch up here

A/N: This fic is my submission for this week’s #WackyDrabbles. The prompt is: ‘Oh? Just once?’ and will appear in bold.

A/N 2: Thank u @ritachacha for helping out and connecting me to @queen-of-effing-everything who gave me a basic idea of the noble houses and further gave a lead and I met @lizzybeth1986 . Lizzy, your essays are amazing. You have helped me with your vast knowledge and It was an enlightening discussion. This chapter wouldn't have been without your inputs.

Music inspo: Connan Gray

Tags: @ao719 @aloneautumn @charlotteg234 @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @daisydancer12385 @drakewalker04 @gardeningourmet @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @idontknowwhysblog @islandcrow @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @mom2000aggie @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @ritachacha @speedyoperarascalparty @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @loudbluebirdlover @queenrileyrose @sanchita012 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @wackydrabbles @yourmajesty09

The next few days are spent busy, at the stables. After couple of days, Liam walks in, as I am tending to Brawny in the separate temporary shed, that I got made for the infected horses. I signal him to wait. I change out of my protective clothes and scrub before meeting him outside.

“Welcome back home! So, how did Lythikos treat you?” I know I am beating around the bush, when I am asking it. But I don’t want to hit him straight with the awkward question. I know he is equally in an uneasy position.

“Yes, all well.” He gives me an agonizing stare. “I had a talk with her.” He brings up the inevitable topic. “I think she did it out of desperation and jealousy.”

“It is alright Liam. She is not blind and not a child anymore. She can see where you are inclined.” I let out a sigh, “It’s difficult to read a woman’s mind. I feel sad for the manner in which we are parting ways. Part of growing up, I guess!”

Liam gives out a sigh too and then changes the subject, “Everything under control here?”

“Yes. I reached in time. There were two more horses showing similar signs. Got all three horses isolated. And vaccinated remaining ones.”

“You are good at your job. Even father seems to have blind faith in you, when it comes to vet skills.” He chuckles.

“Thank you.” I smirk thinking of king Constantine. It’s his inherent nature to always doubt and question everyone. “I have to report and update it to him later today. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Liam gives me a friendly pat, and we head to the palace for a quiet lunch together. I get a call from Max soon after we finish our meals. “It’s an emergency. I am sending you the address. Meet me in half an hour.” He sounds serious.

I drive down to the coffee shop, which he mentioned in his text. When I walk in, I find him sitting in the corner booth, his feet tapping on the floor nervously, and his blue eyes scanning the scene around, in a hope to find solution to the problem he is carrying in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” I ask settling down across the table.

“I don’t know. Bertrand doesn’t seem to be interested in giving me the whole story. He thinks I’m still his baby brother.” He rolls his eyes. “All I know is, that the crew we hired for our yacht for the Royal Regatta scheduled tomorrow, has ditched us.”

“It’s just a symbolic boat race and not an actual one with a pressure to win.” I try to lay down the facts.

“But you know Bertrand. He won’t leave any stone unturned to win it. Also, it’s king’s favourite event. He wants that Riley should bag the prize, so that she gets a chance to interact with the king. It is kind of gaining brownie points.

“Hmm." I ponder. "How many members do we need? Let’s count. You and I will be there.”

“You will do that for me?” he says, his eyes widening with a shine.

“I will. If you promise not to crack your stupid jokes during the event.” I warn him. “Who else can be roped in?”

“I don’t want to include anyone else. I don’t know what is wrong with House Beaumont and it’s difficult to explain to outsiders. So, I think just three of us. I hope we will be able to pull through. Will you be okay with that?”

“Yeah, I see no problem there. What about Bertrand?”

“ He is in a bad mood. Angry, sad, frustrated, all at the same time. He should be fine by tomorrow to give us a helping hand.”

We finish discussing all the minor details for the boat race in next hour and then walk out of the coffee shop.

The following day, at the Royal Regatta, I stand on the deck taking in the salty air.

Riley comes and stands beside me. “What are you looking at?”

“I just realised the actual count of suitors for the first time, by the number of boats, of course. I hardly know any of them. For me they are only the names I hear from the conversation with Liam. I should know at least this much, right?”

“Yes, you are his best friend and best friend should know it all.” She says it with a wink.

“Am I missing something?”

“Just that, may be, I am falling head over heels for your friend.” She grins.

“And you are revealing this to me and not him?”

“I don’t want to burden him more. He has too much to handle already. I know, being a crown prince, he cannot open up about his feelings for one particular suitor in the midst of the social season. So, I don’t want to tell him, just yet, lest he gets anxious and tries to spend more time with me. That would put him in a tricky situation.”

I sweep her in a big bear hug. “Oh, Brooks! I am so happy to know that.” I part away and look into her brown eyes, tears of happiness glinting in them. “He is so lucky to have you. That’s all he needed. Someone who understands him, his struggles, his responsibilities.”

I hug her back and whisper in her ears, “Let me give out a secret. He may also be sharing the same feelings.”

“I know.” She says gleefully looking up at me.

“Okay now let me help you enhance your knowledge about my competitors.” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s start from the right.” She points out to the boat lined up in extreme right to us.

The sight is full of colourful sails. Each of these boats have a flag representing their house. The one Riley pointed to, has a black flag with a silver owl on it.

Riley starts “That should be from the duchy of Castelsarreillan represented by Kiara Theron, the future Duchess.” Riley continues.

“Yes, the owl represents their house. Their family has intelligence and art running in their blood. Duke Theron is a very wise man and the Duchess is an artist.” I add on.

“So, you have met him?”

“Once.”

“Oh? just once?” Riley gives me a playful smile.

“Yeah.”

“Kiara is very smart, logical person and a linguist.” Riley elaborates. “Next to her should be her best friend’s boat.”

I observe purple flag with golden waves and a narwhal painted on it. “Portavira.” I blurt out.

“ I guess, it’s the only duchy with a sea port. Penelope Ebrim represents the house. Easy way to identify her is, you will find her talking about her poodles every now n then. You may like her.” She teases me. “She is an animal lover and she is sweet and kind.” She flashes that smile again.

I cut her, “Wait. Are you trying to set me up, Brooks?”

She lets out a laughter. “No, I better not. I can see where your interests lie.” She raises a knowing eyebrow at me, making me blush behind my tough skin.

“Let’s quiz you with the one with green flag.” Riley gestures at the next boat where a green flag with a pine tree on it, flutters.

“Madeliene, right?”

“Yes, the ambitious countess of Fydelia.” Riley fans out her hand. “You must be knowing all about her from Leo’s social season.” She pauses and then claps for the boat next to us. “ And that’s my dear friend Hana as our left side neighbour.”

A pink flag with purple orchids, furnishes Hana's boat. Just then, as on cue, Hana appears on the deck. “Hey there guys!” She waves out. “Time to greet the king at the harbour.”

“Lets go!” Riley jumps up excitedly.

“You proceed. I am better here, away from the crowd. I will wait for you to come back, and then we do our favourite thing together. Race!”

“As it suits you.”

“Just one question. How do you know so much in detail about all the houses in such a little time? A few months back, you didn’t even know where on earth Cordonia is,!”

Riley smiles wide, “Bertrand is my teacher, remember?” she says gazing up at the House Beaumont flag on our boat that shines with its silver sheen, a squid in the centre and the motto embroidered in blue, 'Depths to remember'.

“We didn’t talk about your friend’s, House Nevrakis, but I am sure you don’t need introduction there.” Riley speaks looking at the only boat to our left side.

I shake my head and make myself busy, untangling the wires of my earphones that I plan to put on, till Riley returns and the race begins. She shrugs her shoulder, “Bye! See you in a jiffy!”

“Bye!” I wave out to her and turn to the sea.

Before I could plug in some music, the fluttering of the Nevrakis flag catches my attention. The crimson flag has a flaming sword of steel on it. The motto shines in gold,

‘If you can breathe, you can stand.

If you can stand, you can fight.’

Just then a seagull flies high over the boat, crooning a song for the lonely sea.

I plug in my earphones and the song fills my ears and my mind,

‘Something’s gotten into you

You don’t really look at me the way you used to

And I’m hoping it ain’t true

Every single rumour that I’ve heard of you say……..

It’s time to move,

Fight or flight….

Fight or flight.’