#the book should be relatively easy now that I have way more time on my hands

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

very seriously considering suggesting doing a traditional folk dress/19th century clothing exhibit at the museum from january onwards if the museum board doesn't have other plans yet but also. can I realistically put together an entire exhibit in like 3 months (within which I'll be gone for two weeks to take a break in october) with accompanying promotions and book.

[flawseer]

On the False Dragonets of Destiny

Recycled art... Forgive me, I can't physically draw more than I currently am.

Just a little while ago I was looking at some replies to my recent work, and I noticed a nice comment from someone who expressed they enjoyed my comics featuring the false dragonets of destiny, but couldn't really get into them in the books. I am thankful for that comment, but even more thankful for the opportunity to ramble at length about something I kind of wanted to talk about, but couldn't find a plausible excuse for. Until now.

All of this is just my reading of the material, of course. You don't need to agree with me on this.

Content Warning: Some discussion of abuse, trauma, violence. I don't know if it's severe enough to warrant a warning, but better be safe.

General discussion

The false dragonets of destiny, the alternates, or whatever one wants to call them. They enter the story proper in book 4, after having made a few minor cameo appearances before, and serve as a kind of hybrid antagonistic force and pseudo-allies for Starflight during his stay on the Nightwing Isle. During that time, they are very abrasive, stand-offish, uncooperative, and a bit annoying, and I guess that doesn't make them come off very well. But like, in spite of that or maybe partially because of it, I am really fond of these guys, and I'd like to take some time talking them up to you.

One can examine how these guys act and conclude that they are a bunch of dysfunctional screw-ups. And they absolutely are that, don't get me wrong. But one should keep in mind: the majority of the time they are in the spotlight, they are in an extreme, tense, and frighteningly uncertain situation. It's easy to forget how stressful these situations are because the books as a whole really like to gloss over the more frightening kind of subjects on account of being written for young readers. You can't really go deep into themes of abuse, trauma, and depression in a story like that without tripping over some kind of censor on the way, but the implications are there, between the lines for you to find.

Understanding the group

Who are the false dragonets of destiny? They are posited as a mirror image of the true dragonets of destiny, who have all been extensively schooled in matters of education and martial prowess. The first thing we see THIS group do on page is brawl, so one may think they must be trained and capable fighters. Viper and Flame constantly throw around death threats and aggressive quips, so one may think they are hyper-violent and dangerous. They are neither. Nautilus admits the Talons haven't bothered training them at all, they haven't seen real combat, they've likely been deliberately kept away from the war as a whole. Flame doesn't even know how to use his fire breath correctly. Starflight, who is by far the least physically adept of the arc 1 protagonists, is able to outpace them even as four of them team up against him.

They are neither killers nor a crack team of badasses, rather they are a bunch of play-fighting, posing delinquents who talk a big game with little in terms of actual skill to back it up. Realizing this is key to understanding just how out of their depth and ill-equipped they are to handle anything that gets thrown at them on the Nightwing homeland, especially past the negotiations at the Skywing outpost.

Abduction and imprisonment

When Starflight first finds them, they have been on the Nightwing Isle for a good while, and they are suitably bristly because of it.

Look at this situation from their perspective. These guys have known nothing other than their semi-peaceful life in the Talon camp. Then the leader of that camp, Nautilus--a figure they all know and trust, essentially sells them to a frightening stranger, who looms over them and is so physically large he could crush each of them easily. This stranger pulls them away from their home without even giving them a chance to say goodbye to their relatives (I'm convinced Avalanche would not have let Morrowseer take her son if there was a chance to intervene, so Flame must have already been gone when she found out).

A contingent of Nightwing awaits them, blindfolds them so they don't know where the entrance to the Nightwing home is. They pass through a kind of eldritch tunnel that pulls at their souls. When they are finally allowed to see again, they find themselves trapped on an island where there is no sunlight and every breath hurts as the air is thick with ash.

The Nightwings won't let them leave, in fact they don't know if they will ever be able to leave again. Nobody tells them what's going on, what they are meant to do, or what the plan is. They are left confined in some room with nothing to do, and they (sans Fatespeaker) can't go outside without being arrested. Food is brought very infrequently, and usually inedible, so they haven't eaten since they were forced to leave home. They don't know where they are, nor where their parents are, nor if their parents know where THEY are. They are completely cut off from anywhere, isolated, trapped in this little slice of hell with no means to escape and little hope to acquire any soon.

I think if I was in a situation like that, I would be pretty cranky too. More than that, I would be scared out of my wits, and I believe that they are as well. If you look at their actions through a lens of them being frightened, their irritating quirks suddenly become very relatable. Viper is coping by throwing out threats and making herself seem bigger and scarier than the thing trapping her. Flame makes offensive jokes about killing Fatespeaker because making light of the situation helps him keep his wits together. Ochre is hard to read, but I think he's just tuning everything out. Squid is convinced that his father--who is the most important and smart dragon in all of Pyrrhia--has made the correct choice and knows what's best for all of them. And Fatespeaker is in complete denial, choosing to trust an inaccurate vision of the future while ignoring all the red flags that don't fit into it.

I think it's interesting that you can read this as all of them having a different strategy to cope with the uncertain and frightening situation they're trapped in. That's part of why I like them; they're very flawed and make interesting decisions.

Trauma and Empathy

You can look at someone like Squid and see his surface traits: He is annoying, he whines and complains constantly, he brags about who his father is, and he seems completely incapable of doing anything useful. If this guy was in any other story, I would probably dislike him. But Squid has the benefit of being a whiny dweeb in a situation where it is very appropriate to whine and be scared. He has a scene where he makes a somewhat goofy speech at Morrowseer where he calls him stupid and wants to go home, and is subsequently exiled. It's a bit silly in execution, but for me it did succeed in making me feel bad for Squid as he desperately and pathetically pleads for Morrowseer not to send him to his death.

But then you can read beyond the lines a little and view the scene in the full context that isn't really dwelt on. Here, you've got Squid, who is inept even among his peers, sheltered and doted on by his father, whom he has never been away from for any real amount of time until now. This guy, who probably can't even feed himself (otherwise he might have been able to catch fish in the waters around the island), keeps telling himself that his father has a plan, that all of this, even the questionable stuff, is happening for a reason. He hasn't eaten in weeks and he's been the punching bag for everyone else's frustrations (because Fatespeaker is not around enough, hanging out with Starflight). Now he has been chased halfway across the world, forced to cross the ocean while tired and starving, to be told he has to talk to a bunch of violent strangers who hate his kind and want to kill him. He tries to hide but is grabbed by the throat and held in the air by a soldier twice his size. This is likely the first time his life has ever been threatened that directly and with genuine intent.

The strange new Nightwing who was sent with them somehow manages to deescalate the situation enough to save him, but then, without warning, more dragons burst into the room. Suddenly everything is on fire, including the soldiers who just a moment ago threatened him. He is close enough to them to watch their forms twist and writhe in agony as they slowly burn to death.

As he is made to watch this horrifying spectacle, all the feelings he repressed by reminding himself of the faith he has in his father come flooding back in at once. It becomes too much for him to bear, and he breaks. He starts crying and verbally lashes out at their abuser for the horrid conditions they have been placed in and demands--half asserting and half pleading--to be allowed to go home. This isn't really whining anymore, this is a full-scale mental breakdown, rendered to be simple and digestible to a young audience. Imagine how harrowing this scene could have been if it wasn't filtered through a child-friendly narrative.

Closing thoughts

There is a scene some time after that I found kind of poignant. At one point, Starflight looks out and he sees Flame just standing out there, silently staring into the distance. There's maybe one line dedicated to it, and when you read the book normally, you don't really dwell on it since it's so nondescript. But this scene happens shortly after the visit to the remote outpost. The soldiers that burned to death in there were all Skywings. Skywings like himself, and like his mother, who also was a soldier before she joined the Talons. Whenever I picture him standing there, I imagine he is reliving that moment, hearing the dying screams of his kinsmen. I think he will be hearing them forever.

So in conclusion: The reason why I like the alternate dragonets so much is because of the enormous, untapped potential they possess as characters, and how deep some of them run if you take some time to look at them. I feel like all of them have a story to tell, and it's a bit of a shame that Sutherland likely won't come around to telling any of them. If I had infinite time, money, and energy, I would love to make many more comics about them, as they are an interesting lot.

Especially Flame's story I feel is such a heartbreaking tragedy, and thinking about the way it ended saddens me. He's one of my six all-time favorite characters in the series, I wish he could have gone out in a happier, healthier way.

[wreckofawriter]

Lucky Charm

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

pairing: james potter x reader

summary (request by @delusionalcancer): hello! I was wondering if you could do a James Potter fiction where he has a very important quidditch match and begs you to go but you can’t so he is really sad but midway through he sees you in the crowd and gets super happy? Sorry if requests are closed!

word count: 5k

warnings: weed, language, a tiny bit of angst, james calls you doll, no y/n (i think)

a/n: been really liking writing about quidditch recently lol. This is based on book!james who is a chaser not a seeker. its a bit cheesy but i think its cute

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

The common room was never quiet after Gryffindor had a quidditch match. Even when you lost -a rare occasion- there would be a crowd of bitter fans, grumbling about an unfair call or an unlucky miss, late into the night. Usually quidditch brought life and excitement to Gryffindor, no matter the outcome. But today as students in red and gold shuffled up the marble staircases and through the portrait hole they were silent, even in large groups there was no more than a hushed nervous whisper among them. The usual complaints that followed a loss had been discarded and forgotten. 

It bothered you. It was uncanny and made you shift uncomfortably in your chair by the fireplace. A glance around told you that you weren't the only one feeling that way, an uneasy air had filled the room. 

The match had been a brutal one, even now the heavy drops pounded against the windows of the tower, the winds shifting and fighting, unable to decide which way to blow. The air was just cold enough to turn what should have been rain to sleet, sharp and cold. Many had been surprised that the match had even taken place, expecting it to be canceled due to such terrible conditions. But the heads of houses refused to back away from a challenge, and the Gryffindor team hardly seemed to mind. 

“Quidditch is played in any weather and every weather.” James had insisted, the morning before the match, “They won’t cancel a match for anything and I don't expect them to.” 

You had stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall anxiously watching as chunks of hail were blown sideways uneasily, “I don’t think I even wanna go watch.” 

James' face dropped as soon as you said this, “What? No!” he exclaimed, “You have to come watch. You're my lucky charm!” 

And of course when he said that with his lips pulled into his signature boyish pout you couldn’t deny him anything. 

Gryffindor was the favorite to win this year's cup, as they were every year since James joined the house team. It wasn’t all him of course but he had something no one else seemed to possess; raw and unbridled talent. People often joked that he was born to ride a broom, but it was hardly a joke. James’ broom wasn’t something he rode, it was a part of him. It seemed to a spectator that he could hop onto it and tell it what to do with nothing but his mind. He was graceful and precise so casually it seemed as if he were hardly trying at all. Today's game against Slytherin had been a shoe in, an expected win.

Which is why the loss had come with such a heavy silence. You couldn’t deny that Slytherin thought ahead, they too had been expecting the rain and had been a bit smarter about it, casting a series of enchantments and charms onto their players, paying extra attention to their seeker. So while your team fumbled through heavy storm clouds bogged down by drenched robes, the Slytherins had a relatively easy time navigating the skies. With this advantage they had taken the opportunity to humiliate the Gryffindor team as much as possible. 

Their chasers played dirty, purposefully slamming into the Gryffidors and then claiming they simply had not seen them. Their beaters were ruthless as well, using their bats for hitting more than just bludgers, one of them had hit your new third year seeker, Aada Laine, straight between the eyes with their wooden bat, breaking her glasses in two and bloodying her nose.

James, who was so used to winning and doing it easily, took this bitter start to the match poorly. His anger had risen quickly leading to a number of unnecessary fowls that the Slytherin team took with great enthusiasm and by the time Regulus had caught the snitch right from under a near blinded Aada, Slytherin was already up 120 to 40. Perhaps it was just the shame of a horrible game but as James landed he had been angrier than you had ever seen him. His usually unruly hair plastered down across his skull from the rain, one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked and he was gripping his broom so tightly you had been surprised it had not snapped in two. 

His obnoxious parade that usually occurred after a match had not taken place, in fact he had not even glanced at where you, Sirius, and Remus stood waiting for him on the edge of the pitch. Instead he marched across the mucky grass straight towards the seeker.

She was sobbing uncontrollably despite the fact that her nose and glasses had both been fixed by Madame Hooch. A few other teammates stood around the young girl attempting to offer comfort. But when James reached her he did no such thing, in fact he snatched the broom from her hand and yelled so loudly that even over the whipping of the wind and the jeers of Slytherin you had heard him kick her off the team. The rest of the Gryffidors had made to protest angry shouts and bitter words thrown at James but he had simply marched across the field and into the changing room leaving Aada wailing even louder than before.

No one had seen James since, and as you sat quietly in the common room with the other students it began to seem like you were all waiting for him. Waiting for him to show up, all smiles and jokes, and everything would go back to normal. But as hours ticked by and he never showed it became clear this was not going to be the case. 

By dinner time the common room had almost completely cleared out. The die-hard fans retreated to bed while the rest of the house trooped miserably to the Great Hall preparing for the taunts and jeers from the Slytherin table across the hall. 

It was almost dark by the time Remus climbed through the portrait hole looking annoyed, but he grinned when he saw you. 

“No dinner?” You asked him and he shook his head sitting beside you. 

“Been out looking for James.” 

Your eyes widened, “You still haven't found him?” 

“No we did.” He assured you quickly, “He's just acting like a prick so I decided I wanted to come in and dry off.” 

“Makes sense,” you sighed, “he looked furious out there.” 

“Tell me about it.” Remus groaned slumping back, his wet robes soaking onto the couch as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table, “He’s sulking like a child out at the boat house.” 

“Oh, he’s very mature.” You chidded and you both grinned lightly. 

There was a moment of quiet and the fireplace snapped, a portrait yawning. 

“I don't suppose you could go get him?” Remus asked, looking up at you hopefully. 

You sighed expecting this, “What makes you think I could bring him to reason?” 

“You know how he is,” Remus said and he was right. You knew exactly how James was, earnest and genuine and proud. You thought about it for a minute, Remus eyeing you hopefully. Reluctantly you gave in. “Well I best go get him.” 

You mumbled complaints under your breath on your way down towards the lake, the enticing smell and warmth of the great hall taunting you as you passed. 

The trail to the boat house was muddied and steep. By the time you reached the bottom you were shivering and damp, glad for the cover it provided from the wind and rain. James was seated at the edge of one of the docks staring out across the lake. 

You sat next to him and he turned, “Oh.” he said, “I thought you were Sirius.”

You grimace, “Does my hair look that bad?” 

James' usual laugh didn’t follow and instead he cracked a small forced grin. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, the sound of the rain pounding onto the roof and splashing onto the water. 

“Congrats on the game by the way.” You say.

“What?” James looked at you bitterly, “That's not funny.”

You grin, “Yeah but you were, I’d stand out in that shit weather to watch you knock Connaham off his broom again.” 

James paused, “He scored because of that.” 

“Eh, whatever,” you shrug, “Totally worth it.” 

You were expecting a laugh but instead James just shook his head, “You don’t understand.” 

“Well then explain it to me.” You said, rolling your eyes playfully at him. 

“We’ve got absolutely no chance at the cup anymore.” He says fiercely. 

You shrug again, “Since when I thought we were favorites? You just lost one game.”

By the way James looks at you you can tell he's getting frustrated but you don't back off keeping his gaze lock with yours. 

“Ravenclaw hasn’t lost at all, and there's no way we're beating them by 230 points. We’d have to be 80 points up and catch the snitch.” 

“That doesn't mean impossible.” You point out and he glares. 

“You don't understand quidditch.”

“Says who?” you say and he shoots you a look, “Okay so what if I don't understand quidditch, I do understand that you're bloody good at it.” 

Your praise raises a genuine smile out of him for the first time that night. 

“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” He said, wiggling his brows. 

“Don't let it go to your head.” 

There's another pause in conversation and you take the opportunity to pull a small joint from the pocket of your robes.

James grins, “Ah so this is the reason you're out in the cold.”

“What? No! I'm here purely to comfort you.” You giggle, lighting it with the flick of your wand. 

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, the way your face lights up from the soft orange glow of burning hash. Your eyes sparkle and your lips pucker as you exhale. He finds it hard to look away but does so quickly when you turn to look at him. 

“Want some?” 

He nods and takes the joint from you grinning, “Thanks doll.” 

You flush at the pet name, something he called you a bit too often. 

The two of you pass it back and forth a couple times silently, watching the cold rain splatter onto the surface of the lake. 

“You should really apologize to Aada though.” You mumble the slight buzz of your high making your voice sound floaty. 

James doesn't say anything for a moment before he folds his arms stubbornly, “I was serious about that. She played like shit.” 

You furrow your brow, “You all did James, that's not fair.” 

Heat rises to his cheeks as shame bubbles in his stomach, “I don’t care if it's not fair. That snitch was four centimeters from her nose when Black caught it. She cost us the game.” 

“Her broken nose.” You fight back, “And it's a team sport, she screwed up yeah, but so did you.” 

Embarrassment flooded James' head in an angry red, “If it weren't for me it would have been a bloody blowout!” He snaps and you're taken aback, “I scored every damn point we had and youre saying I screwed up?” 

You look at him bitterly, “Yeah I am. You let yourself get all pissed off before the game was even up and your team fell apart. You're the captain, take some responsibility.” you scoff. 

James is now glowering, the softness of being high turned sharp and awkward, “You don’t even know what youre talking about.” 

“I may know nothing about quidditch James but I do know that making a little girl cry over a game is a prick move.” You spit. 

“It's not just a game!” He shouted at you so loud you flinched back. 

Your eyes are narrowed as you stand, “That's exactly what it is James, a game. And you let yourself get all worked up over it like a child.” 

He tenses as you speak, he feels as if someone had punched him in the gut when you look at him like that. But his pride takes over in a swoop and anger rises as he stands too, “What are you even doing down here?” He demands, “To smoke fucking weed and ‘comfort me’? You're not my bloody girlfriend!” 

You stop dropping your shoulders, he was right of course, you weren't his girlfriend. As much as everyone always seemed to assume you were, as much as you flirted and touched, sneaking off together into the night beneath his cloak. The two of you had always toed the line of intimacy but you had yet to cross it, something you lay awake thinking about most nights. 

“You're right.” You state firmly, “I don’t know what I’m doing down here.”  And you turn, throwing the roach onto the ground and stomping it out. You're back out into the night grateful, as the weather hides your tears. 

James doesn't follow though he bites his tongue harshly when you leave, wanting to call out, apologize and beg you to stay with him. But he doesn't, just watching you go with balled fists before he yells and swings at the stone wall.

The next morning is awkward when James makes it down to the great hall for breakfast, his hair messier than usual and dark circles under his eyes, the knuckles on his right hand scabbed.

The two of you sit on opposite sides of Sirius who carried the conversation on his back with great effort. 

“Godric, what is up with you two?” He asks finally, “You’re walking around like fuckin’ corpses.” 

“Nothing.” you shrug not meeting his eyes, “Just tired.” 

Sirius eyes you both, and then glances at Remus who is mentally praying for him to shut up. “Sure…”

You excuse yourself to head to Arithmancy and Sirius turns to James immediately, “So you guys finally shagged huh?” 

James sputters and Remus scoffs in disbelief. 

“That's not while you’re all awkward?” He gaped, “What the hell else could it be?” 

James grimaced, “We just… had an argument. “ 

“Don’t tell me it was over Quidditch.” Sirius says and James looks away, “Christ you're an idiot.” 

James just nods in agreement, letting his head rest in his arms. All of the anger he felt towards you had been replaced by regret over his sleepless night and now all he wanted was for you to smile at him, but you wouldn’t even meet his eyes. 

“Well, apologize.” Remus says, beginning to pack up his things, “Seems you have a lot of apologizing to do after yesterday.” 

James stares gloomily at where you had been sitting, “Yeah I know.” 

It's not till lunch when he finally gets you alone, cornering you on your way out of Herbology and back up to the castle. The grounds are wet from yesterday's weather and your shoes are covered in mud. 

“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, “I didn’t mean to yell at you last night, I was just upset and tired and I… I shouldn’t have done that. I'm really sorry doll.” 

You eye him skeptically, looking for a hint of anything but pure sincerity, but find none. His eyes are glued to you like he's begging you to forgive him and as usual you just can't say no. 

“All’s forgiven James.” You say simply, “Though you're lucky I didn't push you into the lake.” 

Neither of you mention the real reason you stormed back to the castle last night, what he had said about what you were, or more what you weren’t. The topic seemed too heavy for the bright sun that seeps through cracks in the clouds. 

He grins and throws an arm around you, “See this is why you're the best.” 

You raise a brow, “Why ‘cuz I put up with all your bullshit?” 

“No, because you forgive me for all my bullshit.” 

“That's because I know you're an idiot who only means about half of what he says.” You snicker and it feels as if the world has gone back to spinning when he leans into you.

“I'd give myself at least a good three quarters.” He smirks. 

“Of course you would.” 

Remus looks pleased to see you hooked under James’ arm when you enter the common room, “See you two have kissed and made up.” 

You flush.

“I think we're missing half that equation.” James said slyly, leaning in to peck your cheek, “There, all better.” 

“Get off me James,” You huff, heart pounding as you half-heartedly push him away to take a seat on the couch and you know everything is back to normal when he sits beside you and throws his arm back over your shoulder with a pout. 

And things stay normal, well as normal as they usually are. 

The weather begins to warm and the trees begin to sprout new growth, green and pink flowering across the forest whenever you look out the window. A sense of excitement has gathered in the students, even as exams approach the sun gleaming through dusty windows in the castle make everyone feel giddy. 

James has been practicing non-stop now as the final match against Ravenclaw approaches. He's out late, keeping the team out till dark to run drill after drill, play after play. He's even taken to giving private lessons to the new seeker, “Can’t have them falling apart when I leave, doll,'' He explained when you asked, “Plus I need her to be prepared for the match, we’re gonna win that cup again I swear.” 

It was nice to see he was nothing but optimism again, his natural state. But it all crashed to the ground when the date for the match was set. 

Your eyes go wide when he tells you, “The 16th?” 

“Yeah, so you better start making your ‘Go Potter’ banner now.” He says cheekily.

“James..” You pause and feel guilt bubble in your chest, “I have my apparition test on the 16th. It was set ages ago.” 

His face falls, “I thought we all took the test back in January!”

You shake your head, “Wasn’t 17 yet, my mum had to pull some strings so I didn't have to wait till summer.”

“So you can't come?” He’s devastated, his heart sinking into his stomach, he doesn't just want you there, he needs you there; to glance down at in the crowd after he scores, to wink at as he sweeps past, “But youre my lucky charm.” His voice is so soft it hurts.

 “I know James, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” You look down at your hands unable to handle the disappointment that was written on his face. 

He doesn't say anything, just staring down at the food on his plate. Suddenly his appetite was gone, he didn’t know what to think, how to think. What was even the point of quidditch if you couldn’t be impressed by his amazing dives and dodges?, “Will you at least be there before the match?” he asks.

You shake your head, “I’m leaving Friday after classes. My mum is gonna bring me back on Sunday.” 

And he wanted to cry, it was childish and dramatic but it felt like you were abandoning him before his big moment, his big match, one that he had been working so incredibly hard to win, “Oh.” is all he can muster out and you're both left looking at your laps. 

You apologize again, and try not to let the heaviness in your chest drag you through the floor. You weren’t sure if there was anything worse than disappointing him, you preferred him fiery and fuming.

When James reached the Quidditch pitch for practice that day he seemed to have lost all of his energy, his feet dragging. He kept getting asked if he was okay and he kept saying yes even though it felt like someone had smashed him to bits and put him back together with nothing but scotch tape. 

He played terribly, his usual charisma lost leaving his passes stale. He felt anger rising with every mistake he made, how could he let this happen? How could he let you have so much impact on him? How could one person missing from a stand of hundreds make him not even want to play? It was infuriating how obsessed he had become with you. Sirius and Remus had warned him this would happen, that his little crush would grow into a bulging monster, and they had been right. He simply couldn’t help it, you were stunning. And funny and brilliant and every other positive adjective he could possibly come up with, he would list what he liked about you for years if you asked. It was this reason he just couldn’t bring himself to confess, the only thing worse than having to keep you at arm's length was losing you altogether. And despite his friend's assurance that his feelings were returned he just couldn’t risk it, he couldn’t risk being wrong and not even being able to call you his friend anymore. Because, once again, he needed you. 

So he played it up, with the petnames and the touches, he took what he could trying to make it obvious, to convince you to make the move he so desperately wanted to. But you hadn't, you had just blushed and giggled, turning his heart to mush. 

And now he was sitting in an empty locker room, tears spilling down his cheeks because you couldn’t be at the most important game he had ever played, would ever play. He wiped them away desperately but they just kept coming, making his face feel hot and his head throb. 

The ache didn’t go away over time like he thought it would but grew, weighing him down like a ball and chain. Everyone noticed, his friends, his teammates and worst of all you. 

You kept apologizing, like it was your fault that his match had been scheduled on the one weekend you would be out of the castle. He could tell you felt terrible about it and it only made him feel worse that he wasn’t just bringing down his own performance but your own. If you didn’t pass your exam he was sure it would be his fault for making his own devastation at your departure so obvious. 

The sixteenth approached with building anticipation, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that usually got on quite well had begun to shout obscenities at each other at dinner. Team members were taunted constantly in corridors on the way to classes, a duel had even broken out between two beaters, landing them both in the hospital wing for a short spell. But of course ever the strategist, the Ravenclaws had saved their best ammo for last. 

It was Friday night before the match and you had already left giving James a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek ‘for luck’ that had actually improved his mood quite a bit. As if sensing this the Ravenclaw captain had materialized before him on his way back from dinner with a sick grin on his face. 

“Heard not even your girlfriend wants to watch you lose tomorrow Potter.”

James flushed red, “Piss off, Robinson.” 

He just laughed, “I mean after your horrid performance last match I bet you asked her to leave huh?” 

James tried to swallow his fury but he was not doing very well, his fists bunching at his sides. 

“Maybe when I win she’ll realize you're all talk and finally go on that date with me.” he taunts. 

James knows this is very untrue, you had confessed to him many times that you found Robinson nothing short of annoying, claiming he had an even bigger head than himself, but he still felt jealousy rising in his gut. Would you think less of him if he lost again? Would you laugh about it behind his back? Would you give some other guy a kiss on the cheek and wish him luck instead? He wasn’t sure he could bear even the thought. 

He strode past Robinson with a seething glance, “You're gonna be bloody crying by the time the match is over tomorrow.” He hissed and then marched up the stairs to a restless night of dreams involving you kissing some faceless guy in blue quidditch robes. 

James felt sick the next morning, his head was throbbing behind his eyes and no matter how much bacon he tried to force into his mouth he just didn’t feel like eating. It wasn’t until Aada came up to him literally shaking from nerves that he realized he was just gonna have to pretend to be okay. 

He gave his usual pep talk in the locker room, but his eyes were cold and hard instead of the usual glowing excitement that he alluded. The team was tense when they marched out onto the field, the sun was out and the sky was clear. A cold morning breeze swept across the grass as he shook hands with a smirking Robinson and he shivered. 

The whistle blew and it began. 

“Potter with the quaffle!” The commentator began, “Nice dodge there, oh that looked like it hurt! It’s Ravenclaw with it now.” 

James growled rubbing his side where the bludger had hit him and racing after the girl who had snatched his fumble. 

The game pushed on and James was surprised to find that while he was playing mediocre at best, the rest of the team seemed to be making up for it on the tenfold. Aada, who had been instructed to do nothing but annoy the Ravenclaw seeker until Gryffindor was eighty points up was doing a magnificent job, the extra time he had put into training  her showing obviously in her skillful maneuvering and dives. The beaters had yet to miss a hit and twice James had been able to score with only the keeper as an obstacle. 

Despite the fact that they had gone in at a significant disadvantage the Gryffindors were shockingly loud, James didn’t glance much at the crowd, afraid it would make him realize who wasn’t there more than who was, but he could hear them even over the whooshing of wind in his ears. 

They were almost an hour into the game when the snitch was first spotted, but only 50 points up, Aada was unable to go for it and instead took the opportunity to run straight into the Ravenclaw keeper, nearly knocking him off his broom. She played it off beautifully, tears and all, and it cost them only one penalty shot which their keeper saved. James could have hugged them both. 

When the quaffle was tossed after, Robinson had snatched it from James’ grasp and sped towards the hoops. A bludger caught him in the side and the quaffle spiraled from his grip down towards the Gryffindor crowd, James raced after it, his feet sweeping inches from the heads of his classmates when he caught it with a roll. It was then that something caught his eye. 

A flag so large it was being held by four people was spread and waving mere inches from his face, the words, “Go Potter!” sprawled on it in red and gold ink that had been enchanted to send off sparks that crackled and snapped with golden light. 

He looked down and saw you staring up at him, a red hat pulled over your head as you cranned up at him, waving your arms as wildly as you could possibly manage. You were grinning so wide he could see each of your teeth, your cheeks pink and eyes glinting as you cheered up at him. 

When you locked eyes he felt his heart rise from his stomach and pound away in his chest. He wanted to drop into the stands that very moment, take you into his arms and kiss you stupid. But instead he sent you a wink and sped off towards the goals feeling like someone had just gifted him a pair of wings. 

“Potter with the quaffle, bludger coming his way. A beautiful dodge!” The commentator yelled, “And he's looped Robinson as well, look at him go!” 

James had never felt so confident in his life, and he scored with ease again and again, coming to do a victory lap round your flag each time he did. 

“And Potter scores again!” shouted the loudspeakers, “He has been simply unstoppable! Gryffindor leads 160 to 80!” 

The cheers were deafening around you and James once again hoovered above you momentarily, blowing you a kiss that caused your cheeks to light on fire. He was actually doing it, he was winning the match he had told you was impossible and pride swelled in your stomach. It wasn't ten minutes later when Aada caught the snitch and it was official, you had won, both the game and the cup. 

The team hurdled to the ground and swarmed their seeker, but James had started in a run the opposite way, towards the crowd that was now rushing out onto the pitch. 

He shoved past the first few to reach him and beelined for where you were jogging at him, arms spread. 

You collided with such force that if he hadn’t lifted you into the air you were sure you would have toppled over onto the ground. His arms wrapped around your waist spinning you around with a shout, “You came!” 

You nodded, smiling so hard it hurt, you looked down at him, his cheeks flushed, brown eyes glistening in the sunlight and you knew at that moment that it was meant to be. You took both hands and cupped his face pulling it into yours and kissing him feverishly. 

There was a loud chorus of cheers and whoops around you but neither of you heard, too lost in the taste of one another. When you broke away he was grinning even wider, “You passed then?” 

You had forgotten all about your test that morning, but he hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. 

“Yeah, I disappeared as soon as they handed me my license.” You giggled, heart hammering in your chest, “Mum’s gonna kill me for missing dinner.” 

“You’re a bloody treasure doll.” He laughed, and then he drew you into another kiss squeezing you tight around the middle as your hands ran through his hair. “My lucky charm.” 

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

taglist: : @accio-rogers @roslea @sleepingalaska @the-natureofme @sarcasticallywitty @rosieweasley @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreams @d22malfoys @evyiione

m.list

[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love! (JJK)-02

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don’t know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister’s fiance wasn’t it.

Word count: 5.6K (approx)

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

I'll add all the links in a few days time!

It’s six in the morning when the doorbell rings.

Hurried footsteps make their way through the hallway and to the main door. The door is opened to reveal a long queue of people and one by one, everyone starts filling in. Anyone could have been fooled into thinking that this was afternoon.

The quiet apartment is now filled with excited greetings and a constant low murmur in the background.

Now it finally looks like there’s a wedding in the house, Jungkook’s mother thinks silently, with a small, satisfied smile. 

“Can’t believe our Jungkook is getting married!”

“I know right! I’m so glad that it’s a love marriage!”

“Have you looked at Riya’s photos? She’s so pretty.”

Had it been in Busan, I would have booked the costliest bungalow for them. But no, they wanted a destination wedding. Jungkook’s father thinks as he looks at the newly arrived guests chatting among themselves.   

Don’t get it wrong, the rented apartment is more than sufficient. But excuse him for his thinking. It’s his youngest son’s wedding after all. The father in him wanted to put the connections he has made over the years as the police commissioner, to good use.

“I am thinking of wearing red on the day of the wedding and saving the yellow for the reception.”

“I am confused as to what I should do with my hair.”

“We can simply book a stylist for a few days.”

I need to be out of here, comes the big conclusion in Jina, Jungkook’s sister in law’s, mind.

Her lack of patience could be credited to the fact that she is five months pregnant.

Jina is undoubtedly happy about the occasion of Jungkook’s marriage. How can she not be? Jungkook is like her own little brother, after all. But please excuse her for not wanting to be a part of the conversation as to who’s wearing what, when she feels like a boiled potato.

Jungkook will take care of this, Ju Hyun thinks, the moment his eyes meet his wife's. After seven years of marriage, one becomes an expert at deciphering their partner's expressions. 

Ju Hyun looks at Jungkook, who's currently been crowded by the kids. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook looks up, and silently sighs to have found an excuse to escape. 

“Yes, hyung?”

“Please take Jina out for some fresh air.”

Jungkook looks at his sister in law, and the reason behind his elder brother's request becomes very visible to him. 

“Why can't you take her out?” Jungkook whispers. 

“I have a case file I need to go through.” Comes Ju Hyun’s short and simple reply.

Before Jungkook can reply, his phone rings to notify him of an incoming call. 

Riya. 

“Can you come to hotel Delta?” Greets the voice as soon as Jungkook answers the call. 

“Hotel Delta? Where is it?” Jungkook asks. 

“I'll send you the address and please try to be as quick as possible. I need to go back to shooting.”

“Don’t worry, I'll be there in ten minutes,” Jungkook promises, even before checking where and how far the destination is. 

As he ends the call, two expectant gazes, meet him. One that of Ju Hyun’s and the other that of Jina’s. 

Oh right.

“Sinu-i, don't worry–,” Jungkook does a quick scan of the room and his eyes halt when they land on Jimin, relaxing with a cup of tea in his hand, “–Jimin will accompany you.”

Jimin looks perplexed, having no clue why his name just got mentioned.

Jungkook spots a fast-pacing Riya and curses in his mind, knowing damn well he’s late. In his defence, it isn’t an easy task to get out of a house full of relatives. Not to mention the traffic.

“So, this is your ten minutes?” Riya asks on spotting Jungkook, with a face that clearly reads that she is not impressed at all.

“I’m sorry, there was a whole lot of traffic on the way.”

Riya sighs and motions Jungkook to follow her. “Suzy called me, apparently no venues are available on the date you suggested.”

A frown appears on Jungkook’s face. “Is that so? But that date is very auspicious for marriage. It comes once every seven million years.”

A scoff. “Seven million years ago only dinosaurs got married.”

It takes Jungkook a moment to realise that it wasn’t Riya who spoke the words.

“Jungkook, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jungkook, he will drop you off.”

“Hello,” Jungkook greets politely, waiting for you, who's sitting comfortably, to look up from the menu card. 

“Hi,” you look up and give Jungkook a brief curt nod and return to the pages of the menu card.

YOU. It’s you!!!! Jungkook’s mind exclaims. The t20 girl.

“You drop her off at the address I mentioned, there you will find Stuart. Stuart will take Y/N to the hotel,” Riya gives off the instructions and quickly bids her goodbye.

Jungkook looks around a little, feeling awkward and a little clueless as to what he should do now. Seeing that you are so invested in the menu card, he decides to take a seat and ask you whether you would like to have something.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“An espresso with a shot of cream,”

The quick and brief answer surprises Jungkook. He blinks and waits for something more–what, he does not quite know (well, maybe you looking at him and acknowledging him would have been nice).

Pushing his surprise aside, he orders two coffees.

He looks around some more, because you refuse to leave the menu card even now. Out of curiosity, he subtly leans in and takes a peak to figure out what could be so interesting in those pages.

Huh? There is nothing out of the ordinary.

Are you perhaps memorising the prices of each item?

Well, shouldn’t you be showing a little more interest in someone you met seven years ago?

Jungkook averts his eyes like a thief being caught in action, when you flip the page. He sighs in relief though when he realizes that you have not caught into his little peaking. However, just moments later he feels stupid because what exactly is he doing?

“Do you remember we met seven years ago?” The question slips out from Jungkook’s mouth with a hint of hope and excitement.

You look up.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

And then you are back to your beloved menu card.

“T20 cricket? Remember we talked about the different formats of cricket?” Jungkook pushes, hoping something would click.

You look up, again.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“No.”

Jungkook deflates. Your eyes were blank. You truly do not recognize him.

Minutes pass as the order arrives and both of you have sips from your beverages. Surprisingly and much to Jungkook’s annoyance, your attention has now shifted to the view outside as you peer through the window right next to your seat.

“Shall we leave?” Jungkook queries as soon as both of you are done.

You give a nod and before Jungkook can even get up, you have your luggage on your shoulders and are heading out through the door.

Jungkook remains astonished with his mouth parted slightly as he looks at your retreating figure.

Isn’t he supposed to be the one guiding you out?

He shakes that thought away and quickly gets up with the intention of catching up with you before you get lost.

The car is filled with awkward silence. Thankfully, it does not bother Jungkook anymore. He has gotten used to it but for some reason, Jungkook finds it a little disappointing.

Maybe his excitement was simply rooted in the fact that he was meeting someone he never expected to meet again, that too after seven whole years.

Or maybe a small childish part of him thought, you two would hit it off again, like you did the last time. Maybe he had also entertained the idea of you two becoming good friends. With Riya being a common link between the two of you that thought was not much farfetched.

Wait. How do you and Riya know each other?

Jungkook looks at you but right as he’s about to voice his curiosity, your phone rings.

His eyes focus back on the road, with the knowing that he will have to wait to ask the question.

” Fāshēngle shénme?”

Huh?

“Gàosù tāmen wǒ hěn kuài jiù huì gěi tāmen qián.”

Is that…..Mandarin?

“Qǐng bǎozhòng.” You end the call.

It is Mandarin!

“You know how to speak Mandarin?” Forgotten is the question about the connection between you and Riya. Your fluency with the foreign language now has his attention.

You look at Jungkook and nod. Then you are back staring out of the window.

Huh? Do you only speak with nods? And what is with you and staring out of windows? Jungkook thinks, his annoyance sparking again.

“I think this is the place,” Jungkook announces, after ten more minutes of driving. Having stopped the car, he looks around through his window.

The sound of a car door opening echoes and Jungkook is startled to find that you are already out of the passenger seat. As you open the back door to take out your luggage, he quickly speaks, “Wait, let me call Stuart.”

“No need, I can see him,” you answer confidently.

Jungkook frowns in confusion and watches as you cross the road and pause in front of a short young man. Quickly taking out the number Riya had given him, he dials it.

To his relief, it is the man across the street that picks it up.

“Stuart?

“Speaking.”

“Take ma’am to the hotel carefully and make sure she has everything she might require.”

Jungkook thinks that for a brief moment, Stuart looked confused. But he ignores it thinking, he cannot be sure about a man’s expressions from across the street. With a confirmation from Stuart, he ends the call.

He waits in his car until the both of you are out of sight.

With a sigh of relief, he starts the car engine. As the tires get moving, his thoughts drift to you and how odd of an encounter it was.

He would have said you were not your usual self but then what does he even know about you? The only interaction he has had with you prior to this was seven years ago, a conversation that lasted for about ten minutes. People change. Maybe you did. Or maybe you were always like this and that one particular evening you happened to feel chatty.

Who knows.

As he turns off the engine after having parked his car in the garage, his phone pings.

Riya: Thanks :)

A content smile spreads over Jungkook’s face and forgotten is the weird encounter he just had with you.

TWO DAYS LATER

 “Your letter is T.”

The groom’s side discusses among themselves as to who would continue the game further with the letter T.

“Aunty, why don’t you sing two lines?” Seema, the bride’s sister suggests.

Jungkook’s mother visibly shies at the suggestion and mutters a bunch of ‘No’s to deny the request. This only urges the bride’s team to request her even more.

After much hesitation, Jungkook’s mother takes a hold of the mic. However, the moment the microphone is in her hands a look of determination spreads over her features and a switch is flipped on.

…….and then takes place the onset of a classical song.

Both the teams are equally caught off guard by the sudden change of……atmosphere.

Jungkook, who was watching from a distance, finds great amusement at the scene unfolding in front of him. People find out about his mom’s expertise in classical music in the funniest of ways.

Knowing pretty well that the classical music will go on for some time, he decides to take a little stroll around the place. Since, Jungkook’s extended family have finally arrived, tonight is supposed to be a grand celebration of the engagement.

Some ten minutes later, he finds himself in a small circle of men involving a few of Riya’s industry friends.

“Shooting has been incredibly hectic these days,” groans Vikram.

“Last day, we shot till four in the morning,” adds Chris.

“With how busy the schedule is, I am just thankful that I can attend Riya’s marriage,” Jay, a rather close friend of Riya’s , comments.

Jungkook hums and nods along, only adding words when required.

“Isn’t that Trisha?” Vikram queries, squinting his eyes to figure out if his guess is right or wrong.

“Yes, it is,” Jay confirms.

“Oh god, she is drunk. Hope she does not cause a scene.” Chris’s words have the opposite effect as at that very moment, Trisha collides with a waiter and causes the tray of mocktail he was carrying to fall on the ground.

“You can never trust Trisha and Y/N to not cause trouble.”

“Y/N?” The mention of your name takes Jungkook by surprise. Why are you getting mentioned out of nowhere? And how do Riya’s friends know you?

“You have not heard of Y/N? She is Riya’s younger sister.”

Okay, whoa, Jungkook did not see this coming.

“Y/N is Riya’s sister?” Jungkook asks, just in case he had heard things wrong.

“Yeah, they are five sisters, Seema, Kriti, Riya, Neena and Y/N.”

He is well familiar with the other four names. He has met them, talked to them and sees them quite often at family occasions. But, you? You are the fifth sister?

The noises around Jungkook fade as his mind processes this newfound information.

He did not think that his curiosity about your and Riya’s connection would be answered this way and that you would turn out to be Riya’s sister.

Jungkook has been trying his best to sleep.

His attempt, so far, has remained unsuccessful.

His mind has been going in circles about you.

It’s not like he didn’t know that Riya has four sisters. But he knew the one sister who he had never had the opportunity to meet with, as Mita. To add to that, he had never seen a single picture that you were a part of.

The name Mita is still explainable. Maybe that’s a nickname given to you by your family. But what makes Jungkook feel doubtful is your reason for absence. Common knowledge was you were abroad studying and doing research work. You were busy and never got the time to pay a visit.

But Jungkook doubts that someone going abroad would leave their home the way you did; climbing over a wall. And for some reason, he is sure that, that was the day you left because you are only back now. Had you visited before, Jungkook is sure that he would have known.

 However, now your presence that day made sense to him. You were the bride’s sister.

Bride’s sister climbs over the wall and takes a cab to the airport on the day of the wedding. In no world does that sound normal.

Jungkook turns around, pulls the blanket up to his chest, stares at the wall and sighs.

This whole thinking and trying to figure out why he did not know you were Riya’s sister, any sooner is only an attempt to cover up and ignore the fact that he is worried.

But can he really be blamed? How can he not be worried?

Dropping off your fiancé’s friend to a place is one thing and dropping off your fiancé’s sister to a place totally unknown to him is one thing.

Are you eating alright? Are the services there good? Is the place clean?

Jungkook sighs again.                                                         

Fuck this.

He removes the blanket, puts on a shirt and grabs his car keys.

He needs to know for sure that the place you are staying at is good and safe. Maybe then, he will be able to sleep peacefully.

HAPPY GUEST HOUSE.

The signboard reads. Except, the ‘A’ and ‘O’ are missing and the signboard is crooked.

It isn’t just the signboard though. It is also the overall isolated aura this place has, that makes Jungkook wish he had checked the place you were staying at while dropping off.

Still, he checks the address on his phone one last time, hoping that he has got the wrong place and that you are not actually staying here. The address on his screen, however, remains unchanged, confirming that this indeed is the place.

With a sigh, he walks in through the gate. Ain’t no way he is letting you stay here any longer.

“Miss Y/N,” he gives your name to the guy at the reception, who looks barely awake.

The guy looks at Jungkook and takes out a register.

Register? A DAMN REGISTER?!!!! Who even uses a register these days? This place does not even have a computer!!!!

“Room 112,” the receptionist guy informs, after flipping through some pages.

Jungkook keeps standing there. However, when the receptionist just goes to sit on a chair and yawns, Jungkook loses it. “What do you mean by room 112? An unknown man is asking you for a woman’s room number and you just give it? Don’t even ask how I am related to her, don’t even care that I might just go up to her room right now. What on earth is wrong with you?”

The guy is the least bit bothered. “Do you want to meet her or not?”

Oh, fuck it. Arguing with the guy is useless.

Without another word, he climbs the flight of stairs to find room number 112. Thankfully, it hardly takes him only a minute or so to find your room.

He raises his fist and knocks on the door. However, after the very first knock, he realizes that the door is unlocked.

Gently pushing the door open, he turns on his mobile’s flashlight and calls your name. “Y/N?”

No response.

“Y/N, it is Jungkook.”

No response.

“Y/N, if you are here-“

Then he spots you. You’re sleeping on the floor, all curled up from the cold.

“Y/N?” he kneels down and gently shakes you by your arms, to wake you up. “Y/N? Please wake up.”

“Mm?” You make a small noise at the back of your throat, and slowly, very slowly open your eyes.

“Get up and pack your bags.”

You’re still not fully awake and it takes you a moment to process what he is saying. “Why?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Idiot, what kind of a place did you take my guest to?” At some point, Jungkook just could not take it anymore and ended up calling Stuart, to give him an earful. “Forget about good services, there is no security!”

“Sir, I am sure they let you in because you look like someone from a good family,” comes Stuart’s reply, from the other side.

Jungkook scoffs, finding so many flaws in that logic. “Do you have any idea the amount of mosquitoes that are there in this place? What if she had caught dengue?”

“Sir, don’t worry, the dengue mosquitoes don’t bite at night.”

“Oh yes, malaria is so much of a better option,” Jungkook replies sarcastically and cuts the call.

“Mosquitoes don’t bite me,” you offer in a soft voice.

“I am sorry, Y/N. Had I known this was the place, I would have never let you stay here,” Jungkook apologizes for the umpteenth time.

You offer him a small smile and shake your head. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

You both walk to his car and get in. Once inside, Jungkook offers if you’d like to listen to some music, which you politely decline.

“Did you have dinner?” He asks, wondering if he should make a pit stop on his way to a food outlet.

You reply with a small nod of your head, letting him know that there is no need for that.

As the car gets moving, you sigh and relax in the passenger seat. The roads are empty, which is to be expected considering it’s well past midnight. A result of which, is the cool breeze that hits your face, something that you admittedly find really enjoyable.

You see the roads passing by and it suddenly occurs to you that you are out in your hometown after a really long time–seven years to be exact. The roads feel the same except for the fact that they are entirely different.

The place reminds you of the days when you were younger and–

You take a deep inhale, trying to distract your thoughts from going in that direction.

In the last couple of days, you have surely been out of that little dingy place that runs under the name of a hotel but you were never out like this. Maybe that is why thoughts and feelings you have wanted to avoid and bury, are trying to say their ‘hello’s to you.

“Actually,” you begin in a soft mumble, “some music would be nice.”

“Sure,” Jungkook turns on the radio and soon a soft melody fills the air.

Thankfully, the music does serve as a sweet distraction as you refuse to focus on anything but counting the rhythmic drum beats, blocking any other thoughts and feelings in the process.

Unbeknownst to you, at some point your eyes start feeling heavy and you start dozing off. You would never admit it out loud, not even to yourself, but you hadn’t been getting good sleep the past few days. And for some reason, the car seats seem really comfortable to you.

What wakes you up after what could possibly have been ages, is a soft call of your name. You slowly open your eyes and with a blurry vision register that Jungkook is speaking to you.

“We are here,” the words reach your ears and you let out a small hum.

With steps like that of a drunk man–or mayhaps that of a toddler–you blindly follow Jungkook into the building. If someone were to ask you what floor the elevator stopped at, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

When you both enter the apartment, you hardly take your environment into consideration and speak rather loudly; “Can I have–“

A hand abruptly clamps down on your mouth and causes the rest of your words to come out muffled. The next thing you know, you are being dragged into a different room.

The sudden movements are enough to clear your drowsiness and you’re back in your full senses.

“Shhh,” Jungkook for the first time tonight, looks annoyed. “People are sleeping. You will wake them up.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, realising your mistake. “I just need a wet towel.”

Jungkook nods, about to get you what you just asked for but then pauses to look at you. “Wet towel? A dry won’t work? Just soak it in water.”

“That will work too.”

He nods again and opens a cupboard to fetch a towel. “By the way, what will you do with a wet towel?”

“Placing a wet towel on your stomach kills hunger.”

Jungkook is perplexed at your words and the annoyed frown on his face, melts into that of disbelief. “I asked you whether you had dinner or not.”

“This is the only place that is open at this time.” These are the words that Jungkook introduces the small street-side restaurant, with. “One thing I can assure you is, the food doesn’t disappoint.”

You give a small shy nod, feeling guilty for letting it slip that you indeed did not have dinner. In your defense, you really did not think it was necessary to meet the needs of your empty stomach. The other two nights, the wet towel technique worked just fine.

“I’d have survived the night you know,” you offer lightly as a joke but actually meaning it.

“I know you would have,” Jungkook offers and for some reason, the reply shuts you up.

As you both occupy the seats of a two-seater table, you realise that the entire place is empty except for a young couple occupying one of the corner seats.

“Butter chicken and chicken chow mein are the only two food items available at this time,” the waiter informs, looking like he is ready to retire for the day.

“Two half chicken chow mein,” you decide.

“I won’t eat—,” Jungkook is cut off by your feet harshly slamming on his, under the table.

“Two half chow mein,” you confirm. Once the waiter is gone you lean forward and whisper, “Two halves are always more than one full.”

Jungkook’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he nods in understanding, admittedly impressed by your little tips and tricks.

The time it takes for you to finish the two half plates of chowmein is embarrassingly short. It briefly makes Jungkook wonder whether you had anything to eat yesterday—as a matter of fact, the day before yesterday—but he decides not to dwell on it. He makes peace with the fact that you will go to bed today with a full stomach.

Once you’re done, you release a sigh, almost having forgotten to breathe in the process. Sometimes, you don’t realise how hungry you actually were unless you have filled your stomach to the brim.

“Thank you.” You speak, genuinely grateful for everything that Jungkook has done for you.  

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “Next time, just be honest if you’re hungry.”

The words cause you to let out a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once the bills are paid, and you have had your fair share of collecting the sugar coated fennel seeds in a napkin, the both of you find yourselves back inside the car for a third time tonight.

This time, there is no music and you don’t feel a need for a distraction either.

Your mind is rather occupied with the events of today and what it means for your tomorrow.

You didn’t think things would take a turn like this but admittedly it makes it easier for you to accomplish what you came for. The only thing you perhaps feel guilty for, is causing Jungkook trouble. Heck, you are not even sure whether Riya knows that Jungkook has offered for you to stay in his place.

Actually, you know. There’s no way Riya knows about it. Had she known, you wouldn’t have been sitting here.

The thought makes you briefly look at Jungkook and you suddenly find yourself feeling sorry for all the trouble you’re undoubtedly going to cause between him and Riya. But more than the guilt, you feel grateful for his kindness.

Jungkook seems to have a very genuine, welcoming aura. Despite everything he has done for you, you have not felt as if he is doing a favour on you. He seems like the kind of person who would tell you on your face, if he was annoyed or if you were being too much. That saves you from the guessing game.

Maybe if you were not in so much of a rush to leave, you and Jungkook would have made good friends.

When you leave, you should probably leave a thank you gift for him, as a token of your appreciation.

Your train of thought is broken by the sound of a hiccup.

“I am–,” a hiccup, “–sorry.” Jungkook apologises, feeling a little shy.

“It’s okay.” You make a mental note to offer him a bottle of water at the next signal.

However, after the fifth hiccup, a soft mumble of the word Riya reaches your ears and you soon realise it is repetitive in between each hiccup.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused.

Jungkook glances at you from the corner of his eyes. “It is said you get hiccups when someone is thinking of you and who else could be thinking of me, but Riya? So, I am taking her name in hopes that the hiccups go away.”

“In that case you should definitely take my name,” you suggest. “From the moment that I have sat in the car, I have been thinking of you.”

Jungkook looks at you once again, momentarily caught off guard by your honesty but then decides to take up on your suggestion.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

“Y/N.”

Hiccup.

You tsk and shake your head. “You see, a hiccup is essentially an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm which causes sudden closure of the epiglottis which creates the ‘hic’ sound.”

“And the remedy for that is to just let it be, but if it lasts too long, take medicines like maloperidol, nanoclopramide and florpromazine, which isn’t in the car–” your chew on your nails briefly, recalling other solutions, “–there is another way....it is called the swimmer’s remedy.”

You press the tip of your little fingers against your nostrils, blocking the free passage of air. Simultaneously, you widen your eyes, stick out your tongue and exhale loudly.

“But you can’t do that either, because you’re driving,” you murmur, more so to yourself.

Well, minus the hand placement and the tongue, Jungkook’s eyes are fairly as wide as yours were.

“And the third way is–”, you sneak a glance at Jungkook to ensure that his eyes are focused on the road. Out of nowhere, your hands take a hold of the steering and you swiftly turn it in the other direction causing the car to take a sudden turn.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU INSANE?!”

You release your grip and look at him, mildly apologetic. “The third method is shock.”

Jungkook looks confused, the suddenness of your movements still having its effect on him. However, after a few moments of silence, Jungkook puts a hand on his stomach and realizes that the hiccups are indeed gone!

The realisation causes him to chuckle. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head, glad that you could be of help. A few beats later, you speak again. “By the way, do you remember we met seven years ago? T20 cricket?”

The turn of Jungkook’s head towards you is a slow one and he wonders if you really did say that.

If you enjoyed reading this, consider supporting me on my Patreon!

[parkerpeter24]

Fake dating because your family is pressuring you into a relationship with tasm Peter?

i didn’t write anything wintry in this? 😭

pairing: tasm!peter x reader

winter blurbs 3.0 ❄️

it was a simple dinner.

one dinner and everything would be over because you would avoid your family for the next two months on the grounds that college was keeping you super busy. it would be easier to tell them that you and peter broke up after

you always opted for the easier way out. why make your life harder. that was the exact reason you decided to ask peter parker to accompany you to the family dinner for your grandma’s 70th birthday. it was going to be a big celebration and rather than having your mom point out that each of your cousin brought someone well-qualified as their dates, you chose the easy way out and asked peter to be your “boyfriend” for one day.

“i will help you with history.” you pleaded, “i’ll cover your lunch for a week.” you bargained again when he seemed hesitant.

peter chuckled, “y/n, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“i’ve seen you in drama class, peter. you can act. plus you’re smart. they’ll love you!” you sighed, missing the way peter’s cheek turned a shade of light pink.

“shouldn’t it be the opposite?” he raised an eyebrow.

“no, it’s better if they believe i broke your kind, innocent heart and left you.” he couldn’t help but laugh at the way you said that, “please?”

and that’s how you ended up here in your most expensive dress that ran all the way down to your feet, the green of the dress matching your earrings. your hair was neatly put up in a bun and when peter saw you, he forgot to breathe for a moment. you noticed his cheeks heat up this time and gave him a smile.

“uhm, ready to go then?” he mumbled, watching you move across the room to grab your clutch, your platform heels clicking against the floor. he wanted to compliment you on every little detail he noticed about you but all his words died on his tongue, considering how this all was supposed to be fake.

you gave him a nod and walked to him, linking your arm in his, “let’s go flaunt your acting skills.”

barely an hour into the event and you felt like drowning yourself in drinks. your mother and aunt won’t stop investigating you about your and peter’s story and you told them all kinds of crap, however it started to get tense once they cornered peter. he was a nervous wreck, you could tell. your hand was in his, his palm sweaty and cold as your mom kept asking him about his future plans.

the first chance you got to get away from them, you dragged the brunette inside the house, to your old room, “i’m so sorry they did that.”

your heavy sigh was met with silence for a few moments as you noticed peter looking around your room. he admired the sky blue walls and the desk in the corner of your room with all kinds of books, from your academic books to novels you’d read over your school years.

“just twenty minutes more and then we’ll leave.” you promised him, sitting on your bed. peter joined you shortly, sitting beside you. you looked over at him, “i’m really sorry.”

he gave you a pursed smile, “it’s fine. i mean, relatives can be annoying. i’m so glad my aunt doesn’t believe in taking me to our relatives’ place.”

you chuckled, feeling a little at ease, “thanks. i promise your lunch is on me for the whole week.”

he reciprocated your chuckle, “that’s not necessary, y/n.”

you gave him a look of confusion, “no, no. let me. it’s only fair.” you shrugged, “this was our deal. you acted well and i should do my part now.”

peter spoke up after a moment, “i’m not that good of an actor.” he shrugged and you gave him a smile.

“what?” you dragged it out, “you absolutely are!”

“well, maybe i wasn’t acting.” he chuckled and you could sense his nervousness returning.

“but you were really good… my family would never know we’re not dating.” you gave him a smile, “you were good.”

“i wasn’t that good.”

“why do you keep saying that?” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“because i wasn’t acting.” peter blurted out suddenly, making you halt, your eyes fixated on his face.

“you weren’t…?”

he gulped, realising there was no going back now, “i like you- have liked you… for a while now.” that pink colour returned to his cheeks, “and when you asked me to be your date to this party… i honestly didn’t need bribing.”

you chuckled at his nervousness and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek, “you’re cute.” that didn’t help with peter’s reddening face. he watched you get up– his hand in yours now– and got up himself, “wanna ditch this lame party and go on a real date?”

masterlist

[blueclownsworld]

✦✧ — "I do care." — Levi Ackerman x gender neutral reader part 3 — ✧✦

Content & possible warnings: soft Levi, gender neutral reader, Erwin and his love advice (again), some swearing/curse words, fluff

Plot: continuing the story from part 2. you and Levi are trying to figure out what you are to each other.

Author's note: Thank you to everyone for showing love to the earlier parts 💗💗 this is the last part, enjoy!!

✦✧✧✦

Levi lead you to his room and sat you down on his bed. You took a note on how his room was really well-kept and clean, as always.

Not a long after he served tea for the both of you. Levi's tea was the best, you knew that for sure.

"Thank you", you said and paused. "Not just for the tea."

Subtle smile appeared on Levi's face at your words, "I should be the one thanking you."

After the small conversation you sat next to each other in silence for a while, simply enjoying the tea and company of each other. Even though you didn't speak, the silence felt oddly comfortable and you didn't feel the need to break it.

It was just you and him, enjoying each other's presence as the night arrived. It was welcomed moment of peace in the chaotic life of a soldier. And before you noticed it, you had fallen asleep on Levi's bed.

Levi looked at you with pure affection as you were asleep. It was a look he never showed to others.

"You fell asleep, huh?" Levi whispered more to himself, slight smile on his face. He contemplated wether to let you stay there or carry you to your room instead. He decided that you two sleeping in the same bed was out of question, especially since he wasn't sure what you would think of it.

You ended up getting carried to your room in Levi's arms as you remained well-asleep. He gently laid you down on your bed and pulled the blanket over you.

"Goodnight", He whispered before leaving.

✦✧✧✦

The next day:

You were eating breakfast by yourself, thinking of yesterday. You had no memory of walking to your room, yet it didn't seem likely that Levi would have carried you to your room, right? He wouldn't do that, why would he? Surely you had walked on your own, you just had shitty memory as always.

And now this slightly overthinking mind of yours was thinking of something over and over, even though you could have solved it by asking a simple question from Levi. But you didn't.

✦✧✧✦

Few tables away from you there were Levi, Erwin and others eating breakfast as well. Levi was thinking about yesterday too and his steady gaze was on you, though you were unaware of it as you tried to focus on the conversation going on in your table.

"Well, did you take my advice?" Erwin asks as he notices the way Levi looks at you. Something was clearly different, this time he didn't try to hide the shine in his eyes as he watched you.

"It's not your business", Levi replies bluntly, not moving his gaze from you. He was bothered by the situation. Did you realise what happened yesterday? Did you mind?

"What happened?" Erwin asks, he was not going to give up that easily.

"I don't know. I'm not sure where we are", Levi finally answers.

This caused Erwin to raise his eyebrows in surprise, it's not often Levi was this open about things in his life, even though it was relatively small.

"You'll figure it out, together. If you're worrying, you should just talk with them", Erwin advices.

Erwin and his love advice, again.. Levi silently cursed the other man.

I'll consider it", Levi sighs. As if it was that easy to just talk to you, out of all people. Levi was worried of saying something wrong and ruining the situation, that's why he barely spoke yesterday. He wasn't the most experienced with love.

Erwin nods at Levi's answer, not continuing on the subject further. He knew Levi wasn't exactly and open book, and this was were he drew the line.

✦✧✧✦

Later:

You were sitting in the hallway, reading a book as you had day-off today. You were pretty much lost on the book, unaware of your surroundings until you got interrupted.

"I've read that", familiar low voice said and you noticed someone sitting down next to you.

You looked to your side and your eyes met his, you couldn't help but to notice how close he suddenly was. If you leaned in a bit, your lips would meet each other too.

Honestly, what the hell were you thinking.. You still weren't sure what he thought of you, and you didn't remember how you got to your room yesterday.

"No one told you staring is bad?" Levi asked with amused voice as he noticed your stare. "What's so fascinating about me?"

"Oh, uhh..", your mind froze. What were you thinking?

Levi didn't say a word more, clearly expecting you to explain yourself. Or atleast form a proper sentence.

"This might sound odd, but.. How did I get to my room yesterday? I genuinely don't remember", you finally ask.

"Uhm.." It was Levi's turn to be uncomfortable as he thought of his next words. "I had to carry you. You fell asleep and I didn't have the heart to wake you up."

Your eyes widened as he confirmed your theories. "Really..?"

"Yes", Levi simply nodded.

"Sorry. You didn't have to, you could have woken me up", you quickly apologize as the embarassment took the best of you.

"I didn't mind it. If I may say, you looked good in my arms", Levi admits with quieter voice and glances away from you.

You were at a loss of words.

You had expected anything but that.

What was going on..?

"Anyway, you probably want to continue that book of yours", Levi said after a moment as he didn't hear a response from you. He thought he had fucked up as you remained silent.

But when he tried to stand up, you grabbed his hand. "I prefer you."

Levi's heart felt like it could jump out of his chest at any moment, and maybe it would. He didn't care. He sat down next to you again, gently letting go of your hand to place his on your cheek without thinking any further.

"What are we?" he asked before leaning closer.

"I don't know", you whispered as his lips got dangerously close to yours and you could feel his breath on your face.

"Then, may I?" Levi asked softly, brushing strand of hair out of your face. He was tired of pretending he didn't want this.

Your heart was beating way too fast by now, and so was his. You both had been waiting for this so long.

You smiled. "You may."

Levi leaned closer and his lips met yours.

Both of you closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around each other as the kiss continued. He caressed your hair and lower back while kissing you softly and you felt like melting in his arms. You had been waiting for this, but you never thought it would really happen. It was perfect.

✦✧✧✦

Eventually Levi pulled away and looked at you with unmistakable amount of affection in his eyes. "This is what I'd like for us to be."

~The end.~

✦✧✧✦

[cerise-on-top]

Fluff alphabet for Nikolai? You’re one of the few who write for him and he’s my favorite character! Thank you so much!!

Hey there! Really? There aren't many people who write for him? That's such a shame, he's literally such a cool character and I adore him so much! Also, sorry I wrote this relatively late, but life got inbetween! But I wrote it now!

Fluff Alphabet for Nikolai

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

If it was up to him, then you’d be spending most of your days at home, within the safety of your walls. However, he loves doing whatever it is you love. You wanna go on a hike? You wanna have a boxing match with him? You wanna start a book club? Everything is game for him as long as you’re down for it, or make the suggestion. He is the adaptable sort of person who can do just about anything, especially if he gets to spend time with you and make you happy.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

The fact that you can stay with someone like him. Nikolai can be a very cocky man, he doesn’t particularly hide his occasional cruelty either. Sure, he is calm and collected as well, but he could see why you would want to leave him for someone more “proper”. You could likely get anyone in the world, and yet you decide to stay with him? He, who has killed the guilty and innocent alike? Who makes fun of the police whenever he can? It takes a special kind of crazy to want to be with someone like that. He can appreciate that. 

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Since one of his abilities is that he can stay calm under any circumstance, he would likely calmly talk to you, try to talk some sense into you as well. His voice can be rather calm too when he wants it to be. He’ll be your voice of reason while getting you away from whatever may be upsetting you, shielding you from onlookers. When you’re sad he’ll offer some advice, or maybe some distraction, whichever you say you need more at the moment. His advice is actually pretty solid too, he’s been through a lot and isn’t the youngest anymore either.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He has a small country house in the middle of nowhere in Russia, and he’d love living there with you. No more soldier or mercenary business, just you and him living together there, disturbed by no one aside from the occasional bird chirping here and there. He’d chop the wood while you make him a lovely pie. It doesn’t need to be fancy, as long as he gets to spend his future with you, winding down from all the adrenaline he gets on a regular basis, he’s happy.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Surprisingly, he tends to be more passive in the relationship. Though, he could go either way, but normally he just goes along with whatever it is you want. Sure, he can and will flirt with you occasionally, and if you’re on the more passive side then he’ll take charge, but other than that he just goes with the flow and lets you decide. If you can’t decide for whatever reason, then he will. But whatever makes you happiest he’ll do.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He would never raise his voice at you. It’s very hard to anger him in general, he usually believes he’s in the right anyway, which he usually is. He’s calm and collected at all times, but will be more factual with everything when he’s starting to get annoyed with you. However, he easily forgives, regardless of whether you apologize or not. Your relationship isn’t so weak that something like this should make it falter.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Generally speaking, he knows what is and isn’t a given, and he knows to appreciate the things that aren’t. So yeah, he’s a pretty grateful man, even if it doesn’t seem like he’d show it very often. Nikolai knows that you cleaning the house from top to bottom, you cooking him a meal and giving him all the love he deserves and so much more isn’t a given, so he likes to show his gratitude through the small things, such as making sure to take in every new detail about you and always complimenting you, getting you the occasional gift as well. Something small but meaningful.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He runs a PMC, so naturally there are things he can’t tell you about. However, he does believe that secrecy kills a relationship. If it’s something he can talk about, he will. Although he won’t go into detail about how he tortured that man, he will give you constructive criticism on how you can improve your knitting. He’s not one for lying, you deserve to know just about everything. Isn’t the most open about his past, though.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

I think Nikolai changed the most during his youth, so likely long before he met you. By the time you met he had already become who he is today. I don’t think anyone or anything could change him that significantly anymore, unless something truly terrible happened. He knows to take care of himself. However, I feel as though he could have become a bit kinder as a result of meeting you.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He has faith in you to not leave him. Sure, he gets his spurts of jealousy, but he’s an adult, he doesn’t really act on it all that much. The only thing he really does when he’s jealous is talk over the other person to try and get your attention. He deals with it by either walking away from the situation or trying to get you away from the other person if he can. Again, he trusts you to not stray from him.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He’s an attractive man, he likely had his fair share of lovers throughout his life, meaning he’s kissed plenty of times. When he was younger, he wasn’t a very good kisser, but he learned to adapt to the likes and dislikes of people. He could likely satisfy just about anyone with a few kisses these days. However, your first kiss with him would have beena a gentle one. He loved you even back then and was afraid of intimidating you. It was short, it was gentle, it was sweet.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It wouldn’t be anything too fancy. He’d get you flowers, some chocolate or other sweets you like and invite you to a lake or something. And then he’d confess his feelings to you in a casual manner and ask you if you want to be with him. If you had said no then he would have made the offer of staying friends, at the very least.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

On the one hand, he does want to get married, on the other he doesn’t want to subject you to all the danger he’s usually part of. I think it would take him an eternity to propose and then it would be something simple as well. He’d test the waters by asking you if you want to marry him first, the ring comes later. Not much changes when you’re married to him. It still feels rather casual, but there’s always the fact you’re bound by your vows now. He’ll make it his goal to relive his honeymoon with you by going on a vacation with you every once in a while.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Милый/милая (my dear, darling), Любимый/любимая (loved one) and Солнышко (sunshine) are his go to. He’s not overly creative, but he sometimes also calls you by the names of cute little animals. Again, he’s more casual when it comes to things like this. More often than not, he calls you by your name. However, he’s not above using terms of endearment in your native language as well. He knows eight languages, and if yours isn’t among them then he’ll simply learn it.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s not obvious at all when he’s in love. Sure, he likes to spend more time with you, but he won’t prioritize you when he’s busy. Sometimes he’ll give you an expensive gift. Knowing fully well you’ll want to repay him, he’ll simply ask for your company and that you’ll pay for the coffee on your little date. He knows how to get what he wants, and if he wants a small outing with you then he’ll get it. He doesn’t express his feelings freely at first, but he’ll call and text you more often to check up on you. That’s about it, he has his feelings in check otherwise.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn’t really brag about his relationship. He only really mentions you here and there in front of his closest friends. The entire world doesn’t need to know about you, so he keeps you to himself for the most part. However, he doesn’t really mind PDA all that much. Sure, he won’t really initiate it, but if you really wanna kiss him, then you can just go for it. Same if you just wanna cuddle up to him under his jacket. He doesn’t really mind that sort of thing.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

The fact that he can stay cool under any circumstance. Even when you’re out to get on his nerves like no other he can stay almost completely neutral. It’s really hard to piss him off, and even then he thinks more rationally than he normally would. He really doesn’t let his emotions get the better of him when he’s in a negative situation. You’ll never have him yell at you, only tell you facts. He can also argue for you in case someone is being mean to you.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s not really a romantic at heart. Sure, there’s the occasional gesture. He’ll gift you plushies, he’ll take you on a walk where you can watch the sunrise together, he’ll also cuddle you on the couch. However, he will also train you, he will take you to his shooting range, you will be sparring with him from time to time. Although it may not seem like much, that’s also another “romantic” aspect of his. He wants you to be able to defend yourself in an emergency, so he’ll make all of it seem more romantic than it really is. Will take you out for dinner, though. He can make some really mean pirozhki.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Naturally. He’s been through so much, he likely has some piece of advice for just about any situation. And even when he can’t give you any advice, he can help you out by either listening to your woes or by paying for whatever it is you need. He’ll always be there for you. Nikolai is a very loyal man once you’ve gotten on his good side. He would never let anyone he’s close with down, be it a friend or a lover. You can bet he’ll do just about anything for you.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

It entirely depends on what you want. He can honestly go either way. Sure, he might not want to spice his love life up by committing a murder with you every day, even if he could, but maybe going on a vacation every once in a while would be nice. While he may be down to try almost everything at least once, he doesn’t mind staying stagnant in that regard either. It’s really up to you. However, he will make you eat certain new foods he thinks you might like. He’s a great cook, his meals are always top notch.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He’s not a very empathetic person. Sure, he can usually tell what someone is thinking, but that doesn’t mean he cares enough about most people to feel what they’re feeling. Even in a relationship he isn’t the most emphatic person, he barely has any empathy for anyone. However, he can easily take notice of even the smallest of changes in your behavior and act accordingly. To him, life is more logical than anything else, not so much emotional. So he will act in accordance with the signs you give him and do whatever he has learned works for you. Either that or he will listen to his intuition. His intuition is great.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship with you is on par with the friendship he has with Price and Laswell. He knows that you can’t live off of love and air your entire life, so he keeps close contact with both of them as well. While you could not bribe him out of the relationship if you tried, he does sometimes think about cutting ties with you to keep you safe. He wouldn’t go through with it, but he does value a lot of things in life. Any relationship is important to him, whether it be romantic or platonic. So yeah, you wanting him to cut ties with Price or Laswell would immediately raise a red flag with him. He wouldn’t give up either of them either, please understand that. 

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He runs so very hot. Out of all the main characters, he has the highest body temperature. Nikolai is very comfortable to cuddle with in winter. He doesn’t mind cuddling with you either, if that’s what you want. But just so you know, he’s a tall man and could likely wrap himself around you almost entirely. He’s also very strong, so he could make you feel very protected as well. That’s one of his favorite things to do, making you feel safe and secure. The more you melt into him, the more you trust him to protect you, the better. He’s a nightmare to cuddle with in summer, though.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

On his own accord he’s kind of like a cat. He prefers to watch you and be in the same room as you to show affection. Once he’s figured out your style of affection, he’ll act in accordance to that. You wanna cuddle? Sure. You wanna be together in the same room? Naturally. You wanna be mushy together and exchange loving words? Yeah, he can do that too, even if he isn’t the most emotional person. Generally speaking, he likes kissing and cuddling, but he doesn’t need to be all over you all the time. The occasional kiss and cuddle is alright, but too much skin contact has the potential to annoy him.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Since he knows that being distracted on the battlefield could lead to him never seeing you again, he tends to not think about you. However, once he has some downtime he likes to replay some of the moments he shared with you. The time you accidentally hurt yourself breaking a mug as he patched you up or when you fell asleep in his arms, he thinks about those moments more often than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t really keep a memento of you, you’re not even on his phone’s background, but he remembers you well. Your smiles, your tears, the way you’d hug him so tightly when he’d come home. He just thinks about you and those thoughts lull him to sleep.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he has killed for you several times already. To answer the question, yes. He’s killed for you, he’s broken the law several times for you. He runs his own PMC, he could technically go to war for you as well. And he would if someone were to take you away from him. He could likely destroy a small nation for you. While he won’t do it if you ask him to, if someone were to kidnap you, he would not hesitate to fight for you. Your safety is a priority of his, so he will do what he can to make sure you’re by his side, forever and always.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

“And the relative simplicity of her music works with people who just want something mindlessly play in the background. It's also really easy for average people- who have no musical background- to sing along with. The lines are simple rhymes, and she never really uses any specialized vocal techniques like Vibrato. Basically, it's music for bland people who think salt is a spice.”

Some of your takes are valid and it’s healthy to critique anything that amasses such a large following in pop culture. However I would argue there is a way to do this without coming across as a pretentious undergraduate who read a few required and recommended readings from the syllabus and now sips their tea with a pinkie protruding. Let’s remember that tumblr is not inherently full of academics and defining anyone who hasn’t got a certain level of education as average or bland is such an Americanised, my way or the highway way of thinking.

It is possible to have differing opinions to others without insulting their intelligence or falsely presenting them in a certain way. Average people as a term in general, is quite elitist and classist. For example, I have a PHD in literature and am a classical musician. I work in publishing and academia.

That said, I still enjoy pop music, sometimes something can just be enjoyable and it’s not that deep.

Criticising Taylor Swift is low hanging fruit for a lit major who claims to be allied with as many causes as yourself. Or, if you do decide to continue with it, I hope you do it in a more articulated manner that focuses more on the quality of your arguments, and not just an assumption that those who oppose you are stupid or “bland” when I suspect the truth is much more complex than that, as it always is.

Best of luck with further studies. I hope to see more diverse content from you in the future, maybe some literary analysis of contemporary texts, or other artists who you deem intellectual enough to enjoy, or some recommendations.

Honestly- I do not know with which tone I should address this anon. I cannot tell if you are being hostile- but I certainly feel that you are being condescending.  

Thanks for at least direct quoting my words with which you draw issue. I appreciate it- some people send me critiques but fail to outline which of my posts is the problem.  

I can capitulate to exactly one of your points- and admit it is a good point- that I am overly sassy on occasion. The post you are angry about is just me chitchatting with someone about Swift’s live shows- it wasn’t a literary analysis. I cannot do an academic analysis of her live shows- but that does not mean I don’t have an opinion of them.  

Again- it was opinion not argument or analysis. Not a serious post. This is not a blog where I am going to speak like an academic all of the time. I’m here to have a little fun- and try to remind myself why I actually do love what I do for a living.

Generally speaking- I will try to make a more obvious, clear difference between what is just an opinion and what is a researched, literary argument on Taylor Swift in my future posting. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.  

There are some other things about your ask that I want to address, because it struck me as a bit unnecessary.  

You say that I’m “coming across as a pretentious undergraduate who read a few required and recommended readings from the syllabus and now sips their tea with a pinkie protruding” (para. 1). This is condescending. No, I did not simply “read a few required and recommended readings” to complete my education. You say you’ve got a PHd in the same discipline- and yet you want to tell me all I did for my degree was read a couple of books? You should know the kind of intellectual work that goes into real literary study. I am trying to show people with this blog, at least in some small way, that while literary study is not so straightforwardly quantifiably valuable like, for instance, physics- it is still a real discipline. With real requirements on argumentation and logic. It takes intellectual skill to wrestle with concepts in literary theory – but more so to apply them in synthesis and interpretation of textual evidence.   

SO, why are you essentially patting my head and saying “aw-cute she read some books and now thinks she’s smart?”   

To be clear- I am not in undergrad. I have finished two different degrees and am currently working on my third.

Why would you accuse me of classism and elitism predicated solely on a bad joke in a post wherein I am not even doing any real literary analysis? What prompted that? I made no effort to even pretend the post in question was little more than opinion- my real posts however, about literary analysis, I take great pains to research and edit those together with care.  

Also, “Americanized” what? Are you American? Because people ‘round here don’t care about what level of education you’ve got? The access to education varies remarkably state to state- and down into Latin American too- and we all know it. So, there is very much a culture of “help each other out when struggling” and not a culture of thinking that everyone of Earth needs to go through American University in order to matter. What are you talking about? Do you think American’s hold the monopoly on having Dogmatic views or “my way or the highway” thinking? That’s obviously not true- so what are you trying to say here?  

Did you miss the part of my Bio where I talk about being a teacher? I am a teacher in one of the poorest- most unfunded places in the country. My friend- I am repulsed by the idea of classism- I take my position in my community very seriously. Knowledge is not a stick with which I attempt to beat others down- Please understand that.  

Next, you say it is possible to critique without insulting people’s intelligence (para. 2). um, I did not insult anyone’s intelligence? I said their taste in music was bland, which does not correlate to an assumption on their intelligence. Um- I have also said many times that I like simple pop- music. Am I calling myself stupid because I’ve been listening to “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter on repeat? NOpe. It’s just a silly little song- and dancing to it makes me feel cute, young and free- but it’s still a bland song with no literary or moral value. What exactly is the problem here?  

Okay, within this same point you draw issue with my use of the word average, saying that “average people, as a term...is quite elitist and classist” (para.3). Okay, you misinterpreted my use of the word “average” here- as I was not referring to people as “average” because they have no education, or a different education compared to my own. I was only using the term in the most colloquial sense- meaning “in general” or “on average” as in the median percentage of people have no musical background- therefore they find simplistic pop music the easiest to digest and the simplest thing to play in the background or sing to on car trips. It’s pleasing to the ear because we don’t have too much “work” into understanding it- that's what I mean when I say it’s bland. 

If oatmeal was a type of music- it would be pop music. bland filler- but you know it can still be good.   

Okay, let’s talk about your final point “Taylor Swift is Low Hanging Fruit” (para. Whatever I can’t be bothered to count). Ummm? A billionaire musician who has massive worldwide acclaim and social impact is “low-hanging” to you? I mean yeah- she's clearly not worth study through the lens of poetical semiotics, or God forbid- Linguistic Morphology; however, there are several different ways a good analysis of her work could function- through feminist, Marxists, Post-colonialist, or anything under the umbrella of cultural studies. I also intend to do a rhetorical analysis on her use of “lower class” aesthetics and how that attracts the audience she wants. And, I’ve done a couple of syntactical analyses. However, I had to prop those up with a dichotomization of her work to someone with more impressive literary value, like Kendrick Lamar, because her work alone is not strong enough for that type of analysis.  

Apologies if I have written a return, you did not expect or want- perhaps, I should be less sensitive on the internet. I do often brush off people's condescension, especially when I notice that they are extremely young or just do not know anything at all about my field of study. Because why worry about uninformed opinions? I wanted to speak with you, however, because you do care. It is obvious, and I am glad that people do care. I admire you for caring about the integrity of the discipline- but I really wasn’t doing what you thought I was doing.  

 I admire anyone who also studies Literature, and you say you’re a classical musician, I think that’s so impressive! I love classical music! Rachmaninoff makes me feel insane! I love it! You know that one O’Hara poem? The one that is an ode to Rachmaninoff’s birthday that ends “you’ll never be mentally sober” because I feel that line in my bones. And don’t even get me started on Tchaikovsky- Truly, you might never hear the end of it. (CAnnoNS!!!!??? what a guy)

 I just wanted to clear up anything that you found offensive- but I also defended myself because you do know what I’m talking about when it comes to literary study- and so the conversation took priority over the other meaningless “hate” messages I get. And- boy howdy- I've been getting hate messages pretty much daily. 

Promise to no longer be condescending to me and I think we ought to be friends and not fight- let me start- what did you concentrate on for your PHd? 

 I, myself, focus on post-colonialism, feminist theory, and post-modernist thought in American Literature. I work mainly within US Multi-ethnic literature, though, outside of school, I have an intense fascination with medieval or ancient Literature- primarily, these days, classical Sanskrit poetry. Last year it was an obsession with old Norse literature- lol I like to switch things up. Have you ever read the Heliand? It’s about Viking Jesus- so cool and written in old Saxon! But, anyway, I think the unique prosody of Sanskrit is so neat-o. My other obsession is this one old french poem called "le roman de silence" what a crazy little gender-bending 13th century thing that is (haha). And this doesn't even get into my philosophical preoccupations- though I believe I will discuss those on my blog, too, at some point.

Anyway- perhaps I will talk about my more niche interests on this blog- all good things in time. I have no interest in solely focusing on Taylor Swift forever- but I do want to finish saying all the things I’ve been holding back for years. I think it’s important- because Swift holds such a massive influence over people. It’s healthy, as you said, to critique people like that.  

Okay- Sorry I talked soo long. Peace Out :)

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats Chapter 2

Previously| next

The days turned to weeks and weeks to months soon, that world was a thought of the past. Y/n had continued to her regular life going to school, hanging out with friends, and having her biggest worries being what time her assignments were due.

She didn’t throw away any of her old books or posters with those characters on them instead she put them in a box under her bed. Just so they were right beneath her feet if she ever wanted to return and fantasize about maybe a different time, maybe if things would’ve gone differently. 

The seasons were beginning to change March would soon become April. It had only dawned on the girl today that a year had passed since she first started that journey. Sitting by the window as the birds chirped in glee, Y/n finally had some time to dive into her memory.

A year ago Y/n had just met the straw hat pirates. She appeared in their life so suddenly, and little did she know they would become so easily enamored. She laughed to herself in disbelief then rubbed her hand through her bangs, “ How could I be so stupid?” she said to herself.

Opening her curtains for the rays of the sun to wash over her reminded her of tanning with the girls on the Sunny, in the beginning, it was just so sweet, wasn’t it?

With a sigh, she got up from her bed and waltzed over to grab her remote from the desk turning on the TV hoping to drown out the memory of a certain someone. The shows were white noise as the face of Trafalgar Law was all she could focus on. 

A call from her mother had made her jump and she quickly made her way out of her room. “ Yes, mother?” She said walking into the living room. Her mother smiled and handed her a letter. The envelope was black with no writing on it and the seal was yellow with a small bear on it.

Y/n bit her lip, not wanting to get too excited in front of her mother and for herself, who knows if this letter is from who she thinks it is?

She thanked her mother and quickly made her way back to her room shutting the door with her back. The pit of her stomach grew butterflies and nerves flared inside of her. She turned off her TV and sat on her bed using her thumb to unseal the envelope.

There were two letters inside marked with red and blue at the tips of the corner. Pulling the blue one out first she swiftly opened it and began reading.

Dear Y/n, I wonder what you’ve been doing all this time. I know you got back home safely, I can feel it in my bones. I debated on whether or not I should just go see you myself but I figured it was better to let you enjoy your time with your family for now.

I have been able to avoid clashing with BlackBeard thanks to you and I have been able to gather more research on this gateway between our worlds. I won’t go too in-depth in this letter but I can say that we have a lot to talk about once we meet again. After you left the strawhats also left me alone without a word or a fight. Within the next month, we will meet but it will take some effort on your part as well. Please read the next letter for additional information. 

L. 

Y/n felt ecstatic, finally after months of wondering what happened to Law there was an answer, directly from him at that. She tossed the note beside her pulled out the red-tipped letter and began reading.

There were instructions and illustrations explaining how to open a gateway directly onto the polar tang where they could travel with ease. It was a method without shifting that wouldn’t be so strenuous on both parts.

At the end of the letter, there was a small warning, “ It will take time, over a month on your end to make sure that the gate is stabilized so as soon as you read this you should get started.”

With a smile on her face, she followed both letters back into the envelope and began to follow the instructions. The instructions were relatively easy but there was a reason she needed time.

Step one, keep the mirror on your door as clean as can be that will be the gate. Step two, ensure any other mirrors are not facing the gate including your television.

Step three, keep your curtains open as the sun will help charge up the portal. The other steps were simple as well, don’t keep anything plugged in at night, and keep a diet consisting of greens. 

Y/n had a new pep in her step and everyone around her noticed. Y/n had smiled more often and life at home seemed like a fantasy for her parents, they never had to ask her twice to complete chores or help out with anything around the house.

The first week of April swings by and exam season is brewing up, Y/n spent time studying with her friends in the library. " Y/n me and y/f/n are going to get drinks real quick."

The girl waved her friends off too focused on her current textbook. A minute passed before she was interrupted again by a text message. Her mother was telling her she needed to pick up something for dinner, she sighed and decided to take a break from studying and possibly find a book she could take home.

Out of interest Y/n took to the supernatural fantasy section. Wondering if she could find any books relating to portals and how they work.

At the top of the shelf there was a black hardcover with the words open your mind written in script on the spine. Reaching up she grabbed it, ‘ Open Your Mind written by N.R’. The book seemed to be brand new, the pages crisp and the cover silky smooth.

Returning to her seat Y/n began to read. Her friends soon returned and hours had passed as Y/n fell into the fantasy world of N.R. The book was about a women who had a found family and was able to discover the mysteries of her world. The chills ran down her spine when she realized how similar it had been to one piece.

Although there weren’t any pirates Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling of having heard a few similar stories within her favorite series. Bitting her lip she closed the book on the third chapter, not wanting to spoon herself while with her friends.

Y/n tucked a strand of her behind her ears and told her friends she would be off as it was getting late. Waiting for the bus questions popped into her head.

There is no way one of them could be here right?

Law made sure they didn’t have a way back right?

It’s been so long since she was filled with this much anxiety. The cool spring breeze wouldn’t cool her nerves and the palms of her hands filled with sweat.

The bus finally came and she stepped on seating herself in the single seats. Her head rested on the window and she silently watched the cars zoom by leaving colorful glares.

🏷️: ( new tag list, reply to be added to next update )

A/N: Welcome back to the drama!!! I’m so excited to begin this new journey again and I am so happy everyone enjoyed the first part. I don’t currently know how long I want this part to be but I will have a schedule in my Masterlist of when I will update.

Extra: What do you think about the letter?

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello this is a question that came about from watching the new Fallout TV show and a character named Maximus. He’s a relatively neutral character and his arc is very wonderful coming from a writer and big book reader but I noticed that the average viewer doesn’t understand his character and actually hates him… my question is as an author is it okay to make your story more digestible to people who lack perception since it’s the general audience for mainstream media and how do you do that without losing your story? Idk this was probably too complex and a stupid question 💔

Not a stupid question! There are no stupid questions.

Going to unpack this a bit though. (I haven't seen the show.) First some general points, but then some advice on balancing complexity in a story.

So. Some things to get out of the way:

You don't know what the average viewer is thinking. Just because their opinion on a character is different to yours, doesn't mean they lack perception. Do we sometimes have an issue with critical thinking in the modern age? Yes. But we also live in an age where people bring a vast array of different insights and experiences into the stories they read/watch. 99% of the time a story doesn't have just one right interpretation, especially if it is a more complex narrative.

You CAN try to write a story that is more digestible to a general audience, but if you do have concerns about the media literacy of the general population, focusing on providing unchallenging stories is not the fix to that. People learn through engaging with interesting work and having discussions about them - e.g. when they are given the opportunity to. Perception, like anything, is a skill trained with practice. No one's born with it. There's no inherent us/them that can't be changed.

Will you be happy and fulfilled as a writer writing stories that you feel are dumbed or watered down? I know I wouldn't end up writing the versions of stories that I want. Similarly, you probably won't then attract the readers/audience that most resonate with your ideas, because you don't give them the chance.

Generally speaking, people hate being talked down to. As a reader/lover of stories, if I thought a writer was talking down to me and thought I was an idiot who couldn't understand the themes/plot, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with their stuff. It's a horrible feeling, isn't it? It's like being written off before you even leave the gate.

Okay, now some advice: Amazing children's books are a great example of stories that are simplified to appeal and meet the audience where they are at, without losing the richness that makes them resonate and engage readers/audience. However, there are adult examples too. They share some qualities.

These often have:

Clear structure (there are a myriad story structures that you can use to make a story hit beats the reader expects and create a sense of satisfaction, while still giving you room to play.)

High concept story idea/plot (so, stories that can be explained/pitched in a line. E.g. children are forced to fight in televised death matches (Hunger Games), a famous author is imprisoned by a dangerous fan who doesn't approve of his new work (Misery), 'it's jaws in outer space!'). These stories have simple premises that often have wide-appeal, but the stories themselves can be complex.

Engaging main character(s) with a clear goal/agenda. They don't have to all be morally pure, but for an easy win, your character should be likeable/easy to root for. In a children's book, e.g. at the simplest level, these are often also high concept. (E.g. a mouse wants to be heard so is convinced it needs a lion's roar to be loved - The Lion Inside by Rachel Bright)

There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. Game of Thrones was phenomenally popular, for example, but I don't think it's an easy to sink into world/simple set of characters.

Watering down an existing story to fit a different target audience is often not going to lead you to write the best story. This is because it's like trying to fit a triangle into a circle, or make a banana bread into a savoury scone. However, there are plenty of stories with mass-appeal that offer readers a variety of different levels to engage with them, so it is very possible to write a brilliant story with mass appeal. But you work from the foundations up, not from the finished product down.

I hope this helps!

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

chapter 6 thoughts: (spoilers ahead!)

oh. fuck.

-

he was king. now he’s a martyr.

holy shittttt

-

aftg really brings us all together, this is random but i love talking to other fan accounts about the books

-

anyway fanfics will no longer have to speculate when rikos funeral was, and if kevin attended or not (or if he had a mental breakdown about it)

also neil u have no tact babe and i love u for it

-

oh renee ur so lovely ur so insightful (neil u should listen to what she has to say)

jean and his ‘i won’t grieve him’ ❤️🫶

- ‘promise me’ jean said with a desperation that should have kill him, nathaniel didn’t hesitate, ‘i promise’ SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THEM THANK U NORA THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED FROM THIS BOOK

THE SWAP FROM NATHANIEL TO NEIL IS JUST AS POWERFUL FROM JEANS PERSOECTIVE IN TSC AS IT WAS IN FROM NEILS IN TKM I LITERALLY CANNOT THE PARALLELS ARE KILLING ME

-

it’s 1:40 am and i’ve just made a cup of tea to keep myself awake

feeling many things about jeans perusal of the fox photo wall and taking renee’s picture

-

i know these motherfuckers aren’t accusing neil kevin and jean of abandoning that cunt and leading to his ‘suicide’

-

WE ARE THE RIGHT PEOPLE I THINK JUST NOT THE RIGHT TIME (look i am admittedly not a jean/renee shipper but good god they are so sweet in this)

A COOL EVENING BREEZE AND RAINBOWS

-

screaming as silently as i can rn

- petition for someone to put summertime sadness on the jean playlist

-

whattttt is the mystery about jeremy’s family?? what is this fabled fall banquet that tore his family in half im so intrigued i have to know more

ALSO JEREMY IS IN THERAPY AND HAS SOME SORT OF FAMILY ISSUES I KNEW IT IM SURE THATS ON A BINGO SOMEWHERE

-

jeremy dad of the trojans checking to see that they’re safe and also cody first cannon non binary character??? pls say yes

-

accidentally fell asleep in the middle of my planned all nighters whoops it’s currently 7 am

chapter 7:

“I like to indulge,” Jeremy said with a dimpled smile. ​Kevin’s words mocked him in the back of his thoughts: “Some of them you like.”

i did. notice this in chapter 2 or whatever but is this?? are we getting jerejean???? that’s what this means righ??

-

jeremy wdym ‘oh to be the pampered elite’ u have a butler??

jean defending kevin saying he’s earned the right to be arrogant be still my beating heart i love these stubborn mother fuckers

-

He was years away, watching a different beautiful boy lean in close to say, Will you teach me when he’s not watching? It could be our secret.

STOP IT RN

chapter 8!!

flicked him a sly look. “Easy on the eyes, maybe.”

AHHHHH!!!

-

also so glad that there’s 100% confirmation cat and laila are dating (shared bedroom!)

-

the description of laila and cats lounge room is so soft and cozy im so jealous i wish i was there

-

barkbark von barkenstein u will never top sir fat cat mcatterson (although props to nora for always having simultaneously the worst and most creative names for pets)

-

jean telling cat she’s a good player but misses every ball at her hips is literally every raven! (someone) fic ever come to life where they meet a relatively normal other team and have absolutely no tact or awareness of what others considered rude and immediately tell the other players what their weaknesses are (i’m obsessed)

-

“Yes,” he said, and if he didn’t sound sure, he at least sounded angry. “Let them all burn. I hope none of them survive.” BABY I LOVE U IM SO PROUD OF U UR SAFE NOW FUCK RIKO FUCK THE RAVENS FUCK THE MASTER

-

“Oh, he’s good. A bit rude, but I like him. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

i’d say the exact same thing

-

*jeremy giving jean the keys*

well it’s not andreil levels of drama and symbolism but love a good comparison

-

or they do not care enough about her wellbeing. It’s unforgivable either way.”

giggling a bit over jean being up in arms about boba knowing that he’d be seriously unimpressed with me if he knew how much boba i drank

-

he wants to know what it was for

AND WHAT IF THAT LINE BROKE ME NORA?? AND WHAT THEN??

The Ravens had given up everything to be the undefeated champions, only to be destroyed last month by a tiny team from South Carolina.

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

“Loving something is not enough,” Jean told him, right on cue. ​“When is the last time you enjoyed playing?” Jeremy asked. ​“Irrelevant,” Jean said. “I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. I do not need to enjoy it to be the best backliner in the NCAA.”

that was what Jean felt safest in, Jeremy would back his decision wholeheartedly.

LITERALLY LEAVE ME ALONE

chapter 9999

also i’m so glad that we have jeremy/laila/cat friendship like in fics and stuff they were always best buddies coz they were the only trojan characters named in the books but it’s great to see they’re actually good friends in cannon

-

“I need you to listen to me for one moment,” Laila said, “and I need you to believe me when I say it. Fuck Coach Moriyama.”

AGREED AGREED AGREED FUCK THAT CUNT

-

COOKING LESSONS WITH JEAN THIS IS THE WHOLESOME CONTENT I SIGNED UP FOR

-

cat talking macronutrients and promising to help with his diet so it’s still familiar but more fun in order to begin healing jeans relationship with food is so important to me

-

nora bleaching jeremy’s hair blonde after telling us she was shocked we all headcannoned him as blonde while she thought he was brunette is so funny to me,, don’t worry fan artists u do not have to change a thing!

(frosted tips made me giggle too, jeremy u pussy)

-

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

-

chapter 10

jean learning basic household chores like sorting and washing clothes and deep cleaning the apartment and learning his way around a supermarket <3

-

LAILA CAT JEAN FRIENDSHIP IS REAL

Afternoons were filled with whatever the women were in the mood for that day, be it wandering downtown, shopping, or combing through estate sales.

Jean went where they took him because it was better than being left in the house alone,

-

COOKING IS HEALING JEAN ITS A COMFORT THING SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS EVERYTHUNG HES SO REAL FOR THAT

-

Ravens graduated; they didn’t leave.

fuck if that didn’t just stop my heart

-

i definitely should have been more wary of the trigger warnings. if anyone is wanting to read the book but is worried about certain parts, i’d be happy to let y’all know what sections are triggering so u can try and skip around them.

-

But Jean was not a Raven, and Wayne was dead.

FUCK YEAH BABY NOT ANYMORE U ARENT

-

the thought of that quiet space with its single bed was so repulsive he turned toward the living room instead. - this is so important to me

He could sense the others’ presence even if they weren’t around to bother him, and that was enough to take the edge off the loneliness eating at his heart.

literally end my life i’m so happy for jean, he’s healing slowly but surely

-

this was better than anything he’d ever had. It was worlds more than he deserved. He feared it as much as he wanted it;

JEAN U DO DESERVE IT I PROMISE U

-

wait wtf,, zane is reacher??? in literally every raven fic ever reacher is the most abusive character other than riko

-

OMFG BEACH SCENE??? THEYRE GONNA TAKE JEAN TO THE BEACH??? CHECK THAT OFF EVERY SINGLE BINGO CARD MADE FOR THIS BOOK

^ yeah i wrote that two seconds before then reading jeans panic attack about drowning and the trigger of riko waterboarding him and neil and now i want to cry

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.  

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

 I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

 “y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

 His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

[thedarkone121]

How I would try to Adapt “Dracula”

Hello, resident Film student that is about to graduate here and I have been through the deep-dive of the Dracula by Bram Stoker waters. Suffice to say, I feel in love and was very disappointed that the cultural osmosis of adaptations that I grew up around to understand Dracula does not even come close to the masterpiece that I found within the original story. It’s Jonathan and Mina, by the way. Their relationship is the masterpiece of this story. Go away very problematic themes, stereotypes, and ideas, I will not let you take this relationship away from me.

Seriously, how was it possible for me to ship a Victorian couple so hard? Why do we not have this in more adaptations?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU HOLLYWOOD?!

…AHEM! Once again, I am sorry to my followers for another fixation has caught my attention. At least this is something I could probably put in a portfolio…

Moving back to my idea, I should make a point that I am a storyboard artist so my idea generally falls to making it into an Adult Cartoon Series. Something along the lines of the Legend of Vox Machina — because I really like that art style and it feels like it fits best with my plot.

Speaking of which, let me get into the plot! Strap in newcomers because I am a bit of a storyteller when it comes to explaining my whacky ideas, if you didn’t already figured that.

DARKY’S DRACULA ADAPTATION, GO!

The setting of my adaptation takes place relatively the same time period. In fact, things are largely the same as the beginning of the novel; Jonathan travels to the Count’s castle, he notices the strong ongoing, he has that horrible encounter with the Vampire Ladies, Dracula does who know what to him, he even has his refined taste for paprika!

You might ask yourself: “Well, how is your adaptation any different from the book?” Well, that’s easy, my good friends. Because Jonathan manages to kill Dracula that day on June 30th, where he successfully decapitates the monster that’s been tormenting him.

It all sounds well and good, right? That means no one to torment Lucy and she can have her big day with Arthur. Mina will be safe, no children get bitten. It sounds wonderful…

…But Jonathan can’t get out of the castle. He remains there, trapped, with the Vampire Ladies and a presence that won’t go away.

Months go by and Mina receives a letter, one from her missing fiancé. He is still in Romania working with the Count, but he would like for Mina to come by and look at the land. Thinking how it would be a wonderful place for a honeymoon.

Mina is confused by the contents of the letter, but it is her proof that her fiancé is alive. And now she has a location of his whereabouts.

With a sadden goodbye to Lucy due to the fact that she will miss her wedding, Mina heads to Transylvania in order to find Jonathan.

But when she arrives at the Castle, welcomed by the Three Women, Mina realizes what horrors had plagued Jonathan and now it will soon come to her.

And that’s the outline of the Pilot I had in my head. Do I think it’s possible for Jonathan to decapitate Dracula with the shovel? Probably not, but it needs to in order for this adaptation to work. And before anyone says, yes, this Adaptation is pretty much Mina Murray going all Resident Evil 7 on Dracula’s castle.

She deserves to have her rage moments. Also, she really wants to get married. If it means she has to storm a castle, then she will do that!

Some other facts that I wanted to include:

Lucy gets more of an active role in the story. She’s been poorly adapted for so long, I wanted to give her something more. She’s the Galinda to Mina’s Elphaba. You bet she’s going to lead a search party that involves her husband, their two best friends, and the silly Professor that was interested in the location in order to find her two childhood friends.

Also, yeah. Lucy and Arthur got married. I’m going to give these two a chance to be happy before things go wrong when they arrive at the castle.

The Vampire Sisters get a chance to be main villains for the first half of the show. Yes, I called them Sisters instead of Brides cause I read that two of the three look like Dracula and I’m just going to leave it at that. Also, I think the Blonde one is their mom? I’m not a hundred percent sure. It’s an adaptation. They’re getting more screen time and depth, is what I’m trying to say!

Mina has a gun, watch out.

Dracula still has a role in this story. That I can include.

I know I likened the plot to Resident Evil 7 so I ‘m just gonna go ahead and say this; Mina will not loose any of her hands.

Expect a lot of Jonmina moments, flashbacks and when they reunite included.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Pt. 2: Oliver's Kidnapping

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Kidnapping, drugging, mind control

Oliver's chest tightened at the sight of the woman who had entered his shop, given the warning Alexander had just given him. He tried to keep his breathing steady. She could very well be an ordinary patron. There was no cause for alarm.

"Welcome to Oliver's Rare Books, miss," he said genially, hoping his voice didn't tremble. "What can I do for you?"

She hadn't even glanced around at the shop itself, staring directly at Oliver without blinking. "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me, but I'm not much of a reader. My work keeps me ever so busy." She stepped closer to the desk as Oliver took a step backwards. "You can help me out by coming quietly. Make it easy and quick for both of us."

His heart sank. "What do you mean, 'come quietly'?" he demanded, his voice sounding weaker than he would have liked. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

"Oh, do relax. You have nothing at all to fear. I'm just going to take you to sell. That's all."

Alexander had mentioned something about an "auction," and now his warning was ringing in Oliver's ears. He should have closed shop when he had the chance. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but -- I'll call the police if you lay a hand on me."

She put her hands up in mock surrender. "Oh no, not the police!" she said, laughing. "I don't mind subduing you if I have to. I'd just rather not waste time."

Oliver's mind raced, trying to assess his options. She was smaller than him, and didn't seem all that athletic. If he made a run for it, he could get past her and get some help, maybe even detain her. 

Unless she actually was a vampire. Then there was no telling what she might do. She clearly wasn't normal, but he really had no choice but to risk it.

He darted out from behind the desk, but before he could take more than one step, the woman snapped her fingers. "Freeze."

To his horror, his body responded immediately, every joint locking as he stood helplessly in place before the woman. He could breathe and blink, but he couldn't move, could hardly speak.

In that moment, the nightmare became all too real. Up to this point, some part of him could imagine that this was just some insane person, or maybe a garden variety thief -- a bad situation, but a relatively ordinary one, one that he would most likely survive. But now there was no mistaking the supernatural force at work here. She really was something otherworldly, something he was in no way equipped to fight, and he was caught up in it, trapped in her crosshairs.

"Do you like my power?" she said. She ran a hand through his hair, and he didn't have enough control of himself to shudder. "It's very useful for my line of work."

"Stop," he managed to force from his lips. "Please."

"It will wear off in a few minutes," she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a long needle. "That's why I need to have a little extra insurance to keep you from escaping."

Still paralyzed, Oliver was unable to stop her from taking his wrist and pulling his hand towards her. She stuck the needle right into one of the veins in his elbow, only a small pinprick. "There we go. That'll help you stay nice and relaxed."

"You... drugged me...?" 

"I told you that I want to make this easy for both of us," she said. "Don't you worry, it isn't going to hurt you. You're just going to feel like taking a nap as I drive you to the auction house."

He was regaining a bit of control of his body. "What the hell is this auction house?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like." Her fingers traced along Oliver's jawline, and this time he was able to pull back. "Your blood smells delectable. You're going to fetch an extremely high price. Make me rich. Well, richer." She eyed the spot where she'd pricked his arm, with unmistakable hungry desire. "Speaking of rich..." The woman grabbed his arm again and licked the drop of blood that had welled up there.

"That's revolting!" Oliver cried out, stumbling backwards into a bookshelf. "You're insane! Help! Help..." His second cry was much weaker as he felt woozy all of a sudden. The room spun, and he grabbed a shelf to try and steady himself.

"And that'll be the nice drugs kicking in. Don't fight it, dear. This'll all be over soon. Well, for me."

His knees wobbled as he resisted the unnatural impulse to collapse to the floor. Whatever she'd stung him with was potent, and between that and her powers, there was little chance of escape. "You're a monster," he said, as defiantly as he could manage. "If you think you can sell... sell a person..."

"I don't just think it. I do it. Traveling city to city, several times a year. And I'm being honest when I say I rarely find merchandise like you. You're worth a fortune, far more than you'd ever be worth as a mere human."

"N-no..." His eyelids fluttered dangerously. He had to stay awake. Had to do something.

"It's good news for you, too, because it means no vampire in their right mind would kill you. It'd be killing the golden goose, so to speak. You might even have a relatively posh life. Who knows? As long as I get paid, it doesn't matter." Her laugh was high and cruel. "Well, I think I've stalled long enough for the drug to set in."

Before Oliver's rapidly slowing mind could respond, she'd picked him up effortlessly, despite being considerably smaller than him. He wanted to push her away, but his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated. All he could do was sink into her arms, staring up at the ceiling beams and drifting closer to unconsciousness.

He just wanted... he just needed to rest his eyes... just for a second... The ring of the brass bell above his door and the feeling of cooler air on his face caused his eyes to pop open again. He'd nearly succumbed to sleep. Now that he was out of the shop, maybe he could get someone's attention.

"Help..." he called, but it sounded more like a tired moan, looking around the deserted city street.

"Cute, but no one's here to help you," said the woman. "You might as well take a good look at the stars, because who knows when you'll see them again?"

The stars and moon were indeed bright overhead, and beautiful, the kind of night Oliver loved. The thought of never seeing them again, of spending the rest of his life in a vampire's captivity, was too much to bear.

Oliver heard the sound of a car door opening, struggled to force his sedated mind to focus. Once she packed him off in a car, she would no doubt drive her to some vampire compound and any chance of rescue would become much less. But his attempt at struggles were less than feeble as she placed him in the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. His clumsy hands pawed at the car door, which didn't seem to have an inside handle, as she walked around to sit in the driver's seat and start the car. 

"I wouldn't," she said, as though he'd made any progress. "I can just freeze you again, you know."

The car started and they began to drive.

Oliver's eyes fluttered, glassy and half-open, as his head slumped against the car window. If he could figure out how, he could still open the door and roll out, maybe when she was focused on driving. 

But he was so drowsy. He knew he'd feel so much better if he slept for a while. His confused mind told him to shut his eyes, falsely reassured him that he could deal with this problem in the morning.

"G'night," he mumbled as he curled up in the car seat and finally allowed his eyes to close and his mind to drift.

"Good night, dear," said the vampire with a laugh. "Sweet dreams."

Part One >> Masterlist >> Part Three

[ceilidho]

Hi, really strange question, so feel free to ignore, but how do you deal with the constant surge of content - art, really. You seem to be a generally more well known/viewed blog, and so I'm sure you've developed quite a community on here, whether it be people you know or interactions with other artists. And I've been following you for quite some time, and I always get excited when I see the "updated now" for your blog. But (here is my actual question), do you ever get overwhelmed knowing that you can't read/see/experience everything? I'm very new to social media, and online spaces in general, and it's generated this fear in me that if I don't keep up with what has been posted by those I follow, I am now suddenly lost. Missing a piece of what should have been catalogued in my mental history. Fanfiction has become such a relief in my life now, and I've gained this new appreciation for human creativity and the beauty of sharing yourself in your art. But I am constantly left wondering that if I miss something, will I also miss an opportunity. I love learning more, and reading, and viewing; appreciating beauty in this lifetime, but I don't know how to combat the overwhelming feeling when I cannot keep up with those who I admire, what's left of me, simply as a viewer?

Oh absolutely!!!! I wrote about this in another post around the traditional publishing industry in general and this overwhelming sense of FOMO that’s super evident in both readers and writers (for readers, that they won’t be part of the current discourse and won’t be part of the reading community, and for writers that they won’t keep up with demand and lose their reader base to other more prolific writers or just to new trends in general because to be honest, the constant microtrends in the book community are hard to keep up with even if you are a relatively fast writer).

I think I’m lucky that for some reason I tend to write very fast - I have a solid backlist of ideas, when I do sit down to write it tends to all come out at once, I (fingers crossed) haven’t dealt with a really bad bout of writers block in awhile - but yeah even I sometimes have moments where I feel guilty that I’m not writing enough. I think it’s super easy to feel like people are simply going to forget about you if you take any time off or if you start a multi chaptered fic and it takes you awhile to finish it.

And I won’t lie, sometimes that pressure isn’t just imagined! Most people that leave comments like “more people!” “Part 2??” “I need more of this!!” are simply expressing their love and I understand that, like I’m not completely insensitive to that (some creators tend to take it very very personally and I understand that too but I think we all have to have a little bit of grace and understanding and give each other the benefit of the doubt), but I will say that I have gotten some seriously rude comments before about taking too long to finish a fic. There is a grain of truth to the fear that some readers will lose their patience with you for simply taking your time to write.

I experience this more as a “creator” rather than a reader (tbh I don’t feel much guilt about not being able to keep up with what my mutuals are posting because I know it’s always there for me when I’m ready) - although actually now that I’m saying this, I take that back. I do sometimes feel very very guilty when I don’t have time to get into a friend’s fic. Oh wow yeah that was a huge lie, I DEFINITELY have felt extremely guilty before about not having enough time to read someone’s fic and feeling like I’m letting them down in some way and not adequately supporting them. Yikes. Goes to show ya.

I am hoping that as more and more people become aware of this that people will start appreciating slowness and ephemerality - taking your time to read or write something, starting incomplete fics just to appreciate them even if they’re short lived or never completed, forgiving yourself for not being able to read everything or write everything right now and realizing that you’ll get to it when you get to it. It’s easier said than done and I do feel guilty sometimes about perpetuating this by being a very fast writer, but yeah! Unfortunately it’s sort of on each of us to do this since the very medium of social media demands instant gratification - tumblr and ao3 (the latter by virtue of being an archive) are perhaps the least egregious of them, but it’s definitely in the nature of social media to induce this kind of behaviour.

[invisibleraven]

For the Fluff + Angst prompts:

8. "Wake up dammit!" (for Willex pls, if that's okay)

Alex blinked open his bleary eyes and smiled to himself as he noticed Willie slumbering beside him. Not that he thought he would up and leave Alex in the middle of the night, but it was still a relief.

They had snuck out the night before, after another fight with his parents about all the young ladies he should be spending time with instead of playing with the band or watching Willie skate. How maybe the Christian camp that healed people like him might be a good idea for his summer.

Never mind that he was legally an adult and they couldn't force him. Nor that Sunset Curve had a tour booked throughout California come July, ending with their Orpheum showcase.

Either way, he had texted WIllie, slipped out his window and the two of them took off. Finding a club that took their shitty fakes to dance the night away. They didn't even drink, but it was worth it to sneak in so they could dance together without getting the stink eye for being two men.

After that Willie took them to a little outcropping looking over downtown-his secret spot that he went to when his foster dad was getting on his case about giving up the skating to work at his club. Or applying his art skills to more than graffiti and designing boards.

They might have fooled around a little-a thrill even though they were alone for miles, they were still outside. But Alex had loved it, letting himself give himself over to a bit of wild and crazy.

Afterwards they had mapped the stars, and apparently, fell asleep.

Which would be fine if Alex's parents didn't do bed checks at five in the goddamn morning-an hour soon approaching if the lightening of the sky was anything to go by. Also confirmed by his watch as the hands turned closer and closer to the hour. Meaning Alex had to get home and get home now!

He shook WIllie frantically. "Wake up dammit!"

Willie shot up, eyes flitting from side to side, finally settling on Alex and gave him an easy going smile that melted away to concern when he could see the anxiety painting Alex's features. He then took in the oncoming sunrise and swore. "Fuck, we fell asleep."

"Yup, and if I am not in my bed by the time five hits my parents may murder me!" Alex exclaimed, looking about to make sure they had everything. Secure they did, they raced down the hill, jumping on their bikes and pedalling like crazy.

The wind whipped through their hair as they biked through the relatively empty streets, heading towards the Mercer house as the time clicked closer and closer to five.

Alex could barely breathe as his legs pumped overtime. But he wasn't sure how much of that was his anxiety ramping up and how much of it was how hard he was working to make his bike go as fast as humanly possible. He glanced at his watch, hissing as it ticked over to 4:58 as his house came into sight.

He tossed his bike into the shed, climbing his trellis, and looked down to where Willie was watching. "See you later?"

Willie nodded, then waved him onwards, tapping his watch. Alex blew him a kiss-fuck the time.

He rolled into his window, and under his covers just as the door opened. He hoped he wasn't breathing too hard to make his mother suspicious. Though he heard her little harrumph as she stalked over, shutting and locking his window. She never approved of him sleeping with it open, even though he ran hot and she refused to let the AC run.

With that she stalked out again, not bothering to close the door behind her-she never did. She expected Alex up at six, regardless of the day so they could attend the early church service before he got on with his day. He took micro naps during the sermons-having perfected not looking like he was sleeping long ago.

It wasn't until he heard her go down to the kitchen that Alex let himself relax. They had cut it too close this time. Which meant no more midnight sneak outs any time soon. He reached over and popped his Ativan, letting himself bask in the memories of this time, since they would have to last him.

It was just until graduation anyways-they he and Reggie were going to leave their awful families behind and join Luke in living in Bobby's garage. Then they were off on tour, and after that he and Willie would have enough to get some place of their own.

A place they could be themselves, no sneaking out or secrecy involved. A place where they could be finally free.