#But I think we're talking about different types of comments here

[emilykaldwen]

A long time ago I stopped reading and reviewing your work because you started making these kind of comment posts. I want to keysmash and share my excitement at your work but it began to feel like walking on eggshells so I stopped. You are not just about leaving nasty comments, you explicitly censor anything negatively toned even if it's not about your story. Like if I say in passing I don't like Otto in general you take that as an attack on your story.

Your whole attitude in general is very defensive on here. If people don't somehow align with your personal ethos, you respond aggressively, no matter what it is or if it's not aimed at you. You're extremely critical too and overreact. Your friends are very similar to you. When they express opinions, it becomes just an exercise in gatekeeping or dictating to the fandom. Your post there is a perfect example of telling people what to do because anything else doesn't suit you. Maybe you don't want criticism etc but I welcome feedback of all kinds and review it accordingly. I've learned a lot from critical comments. I know it's not for everyone but that's the point, everyone is different. You want everyone to be like you and follow your rules. You're a tin hat dictator.

This was written because people were going into a fellow author's comments and all they were doing was tearing down the character journeys. That's not constructive criticism, that's just being shitty.

I'm sorry that you feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me, I welcome keysmashing and excitement, but genuinely, I'm not here to read unsolicited criticism (which IS different from feedback) about something I'm doing in my free time. And that's okay. And it's okay if you're explicitly welcoming concrit. But my concrit is curated through my beta readers. If I wanted constructive crit, I would explicitly ask for that.

When it comes to crit, at the end of the day, I don't know you (general you). You don't know me! and we don't have the trust of that kind of talk, and only my beta circle knows the kind of story that I'm trying to tell.

Like I said, it's totally fine if you are someone who is looking for/welcoming that. All my post was saying, as I said up top: this post was in direct response to people being assholes with nothing constructive and hurting people who have worked hard on their stories. It upset me, and I'm allowed to be upset, because it's like people don't understand there's someone on the other side of the screen.

When you leave a comment about wanting x character to die and you hate them and complain about choices the author is making, consistently, across chapters, I feel like we should all agree that that's shitty behavior. It's being mean for the sake of being loud. It's going into someone's inbox and telling them all this effort you put in is all for nothing because I personally don't like it.

And honestly, I've been in this space long enough where I'm just tired of it. This is supposed to be a fun hobby for people: it's why I always say 'if you don't know what kind of comment to leave, just say thanks! or leave a heart emoji'. And yeah, I get upset in my friend's comments because I'm on the other side listening to her cry because every single comment she's getting is wanting characters to die or complaining about plot points. THAT is what this is about. And I think anyone would feel that for a friend who has been working so hard on something that they're excited and passionate about.

Because when someone leaves a comment talking about what they hate/dislike about the story and that's it, with nothing about 'hey I really like this character portrayal or plot', that sucks. That's demotivating. And I'm seeing it happen across the board and driving writers away. This is why people stop writing.

Fic authors, we aren't publishing books. This isn't up for review USA Today. It's on tumblr, or wattpad, or AO3.

There is 100% a difference between well thought out feedback, and just being inconsiderate and unkind in someone's comments and going shocked pikachu when an author says 'I'm sorry you don't like it, but don't do that'. That's all I'm saying.

I'm not defensive about myself, I'm upset and angry on behalf of what I see happening to my friends, and what I see across fandoms as a whole. I'm glad you've found commenters helpful, but I think we're talking about different types of comments.

[madebycloud]

pt 1 | Not Even at All

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, smoking (reader), kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 5.8k notes: because of the age difference, caitlyn is in college that's why she's always on calls.. — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

“BAD REPUTATION”

You pick up at the third ring, hearing a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you picked up.”

It's Caitlyn.

You put the phone down for a few seconds to eat your sandwich, before picking the phone back up. “What now?” you ask through a mouthful of sandwich. “I just woke up, y'know.”

The line is silent for a minute.

Then, you hear Caitlyn clear her throat. “Are you busy right now?”

It's 9am on Sunday, of course you're not busy. “Kinda busy eating my breakfast,” you reply, taking another bite. “Why?”

You hear some shuffling on the other end, some muttering, and another pause before Caitlyn speaks again. “I have… a proposition.”

A proposition already, and so early in the morning? you put your sandwich down, sitting up and making sure you heard that right. “I'm listening.”

Caitlyn clears her throat again, and there's sounds of footsteps and whispers in the background, as if she's moving somewhere more secluded. “…Do you know Jinx?”

It's a strange question. Pretty much everyone knows Jinx. “Yeah,” you reply. “Why?”

The shuffling resumes, a few footsteps, and the murmur of voices. “I'll cut to the chase. I'm asking for your help. I need you to do me a favor.”

You pause, raising an eyebrow. What does she want? “Depends on what it is.” You shrug. “And what I'd get in return.” You take a sip from your glass.

The murmuring on Caitlyn's end of the line stops, and you hear the sound of a door clicking shut. “I want you to take Jinx on a date.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “You want me to what?” you manage to ask between coughs.

“It'll be a fake date!” she says quickly. “If you can make this date go smoothly and… make her like you, even a little bit, I'll pay you a hundred dollars.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. “100 dollars?!” You cough again. “You can't just throw me under the bus like that. You've lost your damn mind.”

“Please just hear me out,” Caitlyn pleads. “It's not like you have to ask her to marry you. Just think of it as a challenge. You get 100 dollars if you can get her to enjoy a date with you. Come on, you're good with girls, aren't you?”

What does she think you are, some suave James Bond-esque ladykilling playgirl? while you've kissed a couple girls, you can't call yourself super suave. 

“Caitlyn, Jinx hates me.” It's common knowledge. Jinx hates nearly everyone, especially people she was in class with. “She's gonna kill me if I ask her out on a date.” You shudder.

“That's why I chose you for this,” she says. “I figured you were the type to face any challenge head-on.”

“This isn't just a 'challenge', it's a mission for the suicidal,” you retort. “You're setting me up to embarrass myself and get ridiculed in the process.”

You hear her scoff. “So you can flirt and tease the whole damn school, but a date with Jinx is the line you draw, is that it?”

You scowl at her comment. You've been known to flirt and joke around with a few people at school, but that’s all it is—meaningless flirting with no strings attached. This is completely different—this is Jinx we're talking about. “You're comparing apples and oranges here,” you protest. “They're not the same, Cait.”

“Maybe,” she replies. “But I've seen how you've charmed your way out of trouble. You're good at talking your way out of things. And that's exactly what I need right now.”

That's true, but that's with a teacher, or a TA, or a store manager who's trying to bust you for shoplifting. Not with Jinx, of all people.

“Caitlyn, c'mon. She's either gonna punch me in the face, or call me a dumbass, or both.”

“Just listen,” she cuts in. “All you have to do is go on a fake date with her. You don't have to actually like her.”

“No, no, no.” You shake your head, gripping the phone in your hand. “No way, no how.”

“150 dollars.”

“You really, really want me to go on a fake date with Jinx?” you murmur. “Are you that desperate?”

“I'm very desperate.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Why are you so fixated on me doing this?”

You hear movement on the other line, like Caitlyn's pacing back and forth. “Okay, look,” she begins. “I… really like her sister. Like really like her. Like…”

This wasn't just a fake date. It was a way to get closer to who she liked. “Oh. Ohh.”

“Yeah...”

Wow. This was a lot more desperate than you initially thought.

“But why don't you just ask her sister out?” you ask.

“I did.” She sighs again. “I asked Vi out last week, and she said she can't go on a date with me until her sister finds someone. Jinx has to be happy before Vi can go on dates, according to her.”

What the hell kind of ridiculous rule is that? “So let me get this straight,” you start. “You want me to go on a fake date with Jinx.”

“Yes.”

“Until she becomes my... girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And then you can date Vi.”

“Yes.”

It sounds crazy, ridiculous, batshit insane. “Holy shit, Caitlyn.” You run your fingers over your eyes, shaking your head to yourself. “All of this just so you can get laid?”

A huff comes from the other end of the line. “Are we making a deal or not?”

“Hey, wait a minute—I'm gonna need the money first,” you say, drumming your fingers against the table.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” you explain. “You know, the whole dating thing. Dates, food, gas, that kinda stuff. You can't expect me to pay for all of that with my own money.”

Caitlyn doesn't respond immediately. You can hear some shuffling, and you can imagine her biting her lower lip anxiously, maybe staring out the wall.

“There's a high probability I won't even get a Harley after all this,” you add. 

Silence.

“So I'm gonna need the money...”

There's a pause, then an annoyed hiss. “Don't you trust me?”

“Oh hell no. Give me the money first and then I'll consider the deal.”

She sighs. “Fine. Whatever, I'll give you the money.”

“All of it?”

“…Yes. All of it. All 150. For your shitty, awful fake date.” She huffs. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

—

You step into the office, finding Caitlyn's mother already hunched over her laptop, staring over the rim of her glasses. You hated coming into this office. It always felt like you were in the principal's office.

“I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual,” Mrs. Kiramman says, staring at you over her laptop. 

“Only so we can have these moments together,” you reply, your mouth already curving into a grin. “Should I, uh, get the lights?”

Mrs. Kiramman sighs, her eyes scanning over the paper in front of her. “Exposed yourself... in the cafeteria,” she mutters. “I seriously don't understand why my daughter associates herself with you.”

“It was for a good reason, I swear.”

“Oh, really?” She raises her eyebrow. “And what reason is that?”

“I was joking with the lunch lady,” you explain, spreading your hands out. “She was being snippy with me, so I started unbuttoning my shirt, it's not like I was actually going to flash anyone.”

Mrs. Kiramman takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, her other hand coming to rest on her forehead.

“But I suppose if we've already looked through all my wrongdoings, you can release me back into the wild, eh?” you continue.

“Just... make it more than a week before coming back here, alright? I don't want to see you in my office every week—you're a walking headache.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. K.”

“And stop calling me Mrs. K.”

—

Jinx kicks the ball here and there, back and forth, side to side. She's taking all of her frustrations out on this ball, dribbling it down the field, passing it to her teammates, dodging opponents.

Her moment of peace is interrupted when a player tries to intercept her pass. She grins, dribbling out of the way and kicking the ball hard into the player's face. 

The coach blows the whistle. “Great practice, everybody!”

Practice over. Jinx tosses the ball aside. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands, a headache thudding against her skull. She bends forward to grab her water bottle from the edge of the field, taking generous swigs from the bottle.

Jinx is the captain of her high school's soccer team. She's good—really good. She has quick feet and a mean kick, and she's scored a lot of points for the team. In games, however… Jinx is aggressive. She kicks hard. She kicks fast. She kicks a lot. She does not pull her punches when it comes to her opponents.

She's halfway done guzzling water when a voice interrupts her.

“Hey there, girlie.”

Jinx pauses, swallowing the last of the water in her bottle. She glances up at you, watching you approach her as you shove your hands into your pockets.

“How ya doin'?” 

“Sweating like a pig actually,” she replies, pulling out a small towel and wiping her face. “And yourself?”

You hum, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I'm good. Just thought I'd come and chat with our wonderful captain.”

Jinx grumbles as she slings the towel over her shoulder.

“That was quite a performance out there,” you continue, raising a hand to give her a slow clap. “You were brutal today. Worse than usual, not-gonna-lie.”

Gathering her stuff, Jinx zips up her bag, slings it across one shoulder, then strides past you.

“Hey,” you say, quickly catching up to her. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think, genius? I'm leaving.”

You huff, following her as she marches out of the soccer field. “Pick you up on Friday, then.”

Jinx makes a face at that. “Oh, right, Friday,” she mimics. “Uh-huh.”

You cock a smirk. “Well, the night I take you places you've never been before.”

“Like where? The 7-Eleven on Broadway?”

“Ha, very funny.” You shake your head. “And actually, no, smartass.”

“Do you even know me?” she asks, not slowing her pace.

You hurry to keep up and shrug. “Yeah, we have the same class on science and english.”

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at you, eyes flitting up and down, up and down. Once, twice, three times. “You're the one that never shows up in Mr. Viktor's class?”

“Hey, to be fair,” you say, putting your hands up. “That's an 8 a.m. class. No one shows up for an 8 a.m. class at ass o'clock in the morning.”

Her expression remains unamused as she shifts her bag's backpack strap further off her shoulder. “Except you're the only one who never shows up. You have the same attendance rate as Mr. Blitzcrank,” she tells you, turning back around to start walking. “Which is absolutely none.”

“What can I say?” You chuckle, jogging to catch up to her again. “I'm very talented. Gifted, even.”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “Talented at being an idiot, more like.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

“Good,” she says over her shoulder. “Maybe don't try to impress me with your shitty grades and your non-existent attendance record next time, then.” Without a second glance, she continues walking, leaving you behind.

“Ouch!” you exclaim. “Rude, by the way!” you shout at her, and you see a flash of a smile over her features.

—

Jinx stands at her locker, gathering her books—a variety of books with names like Introduction to Rocketry, Engineering and Architecture, Chemistry Vol. 3: Chemical Reactions, Organic and Inorganic Compounds and Mixtures, and a few other engineering books, all with worn spines and yellow pages.

“Hey,” you greet.

She doesn't even glance at you as she continues sorting through her books, shoving what she doesn't need aside with a flick of her wrist.

“You hate me, don't you?” you ask, leaning against the locker beside her.

She gives you a side glance but doesn't fully look away from her locker. “What are you, five?” she asks. “I don't really care enough about you to hate you.”

“Rude.”

“It's the truth. As far as I'm concerned, you're better than a mosquito,” she says, continuing with sorting through her locker. “Annoying, but not something worth paying attention to.”

“Mosquito, really?”

She slams her locker shut and locks it. She turns to look at you, adjusting her backpack straps on her shoulders—a backpack that is covered in various patches and colorful pins. “What exactly do you want?”

“Spend Dollar Night at the track with me.”

She arches one eyebrow. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Come on, the ponies, the flat beer... you with money in your eyes, me with my hand on your ass…”

“You covered in my vomit,” she cuts you off. “That's what's going to happen. If I go within ten feet of whatever greasy-ass food joint and cheap liquor you're going to take me to.”

“Damn, you're feisty. I kinda like that.”

She scowls at your words. “And you're annoying. I kinda despise that.”

“Ouch,” you mock. “And you're a bit more than feisty. You're like... feisty on steroids. Are you always like this?”

Her scowl deepens, and in one second, she suddenly has one of your arms twisted behind your back and pinned to your torso.

She leans forward, her face so close to yours. “Maybe, if you stopped annoying me,” she whispers. “I'd stop acting like this.”

You flinch, letting out a low hiss. “Ow, ow-” You try to pull away from her grip, but she only tightens it. “Ow, okay, I get it—let go, let go!” 

She holds you still for a moment longer before roughly releasing her grip. You stagger forward, rubbing the spot where her hand had been. “What-” you gasp “-the hell was that for?”

“Consider it a learning experience, dipshit,”  she snaps, before stalking off, her long blue braid swinging behind her.

“You can't just-” you start to call after her, but she's already halfway down the hall. You huff rubbing your sore arm. 

Yep. Jinx is as prickly as a cactus. This is gonna be harder than you thought.

—

“She's a freaking Ronda Rousey,” you mutter into the phone, massaging your throbbing arm. “She damn near twisted my arm off!”

“Jinx? Did she hurt you?”

“Just my dignity.”

You hear Cait chuckle faintly. “I'll take that to mean it didn't go very well?”

“You could say that,” you grumble. “She's difficult.” You watch your clothes spin around in the washing machine. “I think this may take longer than you think, Cait. Waaay longer.”

“I can't just flirt my way through this,” you go on, moving to grab one of the nearby magazines to distract yourself. “She's smart, witty, and sassy—the whole package. Very pretty, too. But she's rude.” You shift your phone to fit between your shoulder and ear.

“Rude,” you stress again, flipping to a magazine page with random trivia questions on it. “Who the hell is rude these days? It's all sugarcoating, bullshit, and fake smiles.” You glance idly at the question titled 'How Compatible Are You with Your Ideal Partner?'. You scoff, turning the page. “She's downright ruthless.”

“Have you even tried asking her out?”

“Hell yes I have. I even tried asking her to go to Dollar Night at the track.”

“You tried asking her to go to the race track?”

“You don't think she's a fan of ponies and alcohol?” you reply, grinning.

“I think she's a fan of punching you in the face.”

“Yeah, she did not like that idea.”

There's a pause on the line.

“Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the smoothest plan.”

“Or smartest,” Cait interjects. “Anyway, are you reading a magazine right now?”

“I'm at the laundromat.”

“And you're reading a magazine.”

“To pass the time,” you justify.

“Mhm.”

“I'm boooored.” You set the magazine down on a nearby chair, turning back to watch your clothes spin around. “And I'm tired of watching my clothes spin around. It's boring. I haven't had a good date in ages.” You move to rest your head against the glass. “I need something interesting. Someone interesting.”

Your eyes move across the storefronts and streets outside of the laundromat.

Wait… It can't be...

But, yes.

Yes it is. It's Jinx's car.

Your gaze focuses on the shiny blue vehicle before shifting to Jinx, who gets out of the car and walks over to a nearby music store just down the road.

You hear Caitlyn's muffled voice. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yeah, Cait, I heard you,” you lie, taking your eyes off her car to turn your attention back to the washing machine and your phone. “Uh, I'll call you back. I think I just saw Jinx.”

—

Jinx pushes the entrance door open, juggling a small bag of CDs in one hand and rifling through her purse in the other. Her lips form a small 'o' when she finally pulls her keys out...

...and looks up to see you sitting on the hood of her car. She groans to herself.

“Nice ride. Vintage fenders.” You turn around to face her, leaning back against the hood.

Jinx stops a few feet away from you, shifting the bag of CDs to the other hand. “Are you following me?”

“Nah,” you shrug. “I was at the laundromat,” you pause, gesturing to the building in front of the store she just walked out of. “Saw your car. Thought I'd say hi.”

“Hi,” she grumbles.

Jinx walks over to her car, but you quickly stand ahead of her, placing yourself between her and her vehicle. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” she retorts, her nose wrinkling.

“Some people are,” you reply. 

“I'm not.” “Maybe you're not afraid of me… but I bet you've thought about me naked.” You smirk, taking the time to wink at her.

“Am I that transparent?” she mutters. “I want you... I need you... Oh, baby, oh baby.” Jinx rolls her eyes dramatically as she tries to step around you, but you shift your body to block her path again.

“Now, don't ignore me,” you tease.

“Let me pass, I have places to be,” Jinx says irritably, trying to step around you for the third time, only for you to once again move and block her.

“Come on now,” you urge. “Just a few minutes of your time.”

“You're being a pest,” she complains. “What do you want?”

“Just a little bit of your time, that's all,” you answer, holding your hands up in surrender before resting them back on the car. “C'mon. You don't have anything better to do anyway, right?”

“Piss off,” Jinx snaps, reaching out and grabbing the handle. The door swings open, throwing you off balance and causing you to topple forward.

Jinx throws the bag into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and starts the car. She doesn't hesitate to throw the car in reverse, and you have to lunge out of the way to avoid being hit.

RUDE! You scowl in Jinx's direction, watching her drive away. With a sigh, you reach into your pocket and grab your phone, heading back into the laundromat. You begin to dial Caitlyn's number.

The phone only rings once before it's picked up immediately. “Well? what happened?” she starts without any sort of introduction.

“I just upped my price,” you declare.

“What?”

“200 dollars a date.” You stand your ground. “In advance.”

“And why are you increasing the price?”

You sigh heavily, rubbing your forehead. “I told you she's difficult,” you remind her. “She's prickly, short-tempered, and violent,” you explain. “I'm increasing my price because I'm taking a hell of a lot more risk dealing with her.”

“Forget it.”

“Forget her sister, then.”

Silence falls for a heartbeat. Then, reluctantly, she grunts. “Fine. 200 dollars a date. But I want results.”

“No promises,” you warn her. “And first things first, we need to find some way to make Jinx actually want to go on a date with me. How well do you know her?”

Caitlyn hums. “She's Vi's sister, so we have some, ah…” She searches for the correct word. “History,” she finishes awkwardly. “But I'm not an expert on Jinx's inner workings, if that's what you're asking.”

“Great.” That really wasn't the answer you were hoping for. How was it that Caitlyn was apparently able to make this plan without knowing anything about Jinx? “Do you think Vi would have anything?”

“...Maybe,” she responds slowly. “I could probably ask Vi.” She pauses. “Actually,” Caitlyn continues. “I might know someone who... might know Jinx pretty well.”

“Who?”

“Ever heard of a kid named Ekko?”

—

He glances over his shoulder at you, a paintbrush in hand. “What do you want?”

After a bit of searching, you're able to find Ekko at his usual spot—painting the empty space on the school wall. Some of your friends mentioned that he usually hung out here during free periods.

“I want to know about your friend... Jinx.”

Ekko rolls his eyes, resuming his painting. “Yeah, sure, stranger I don’t even know.”

You huff in annoyance. “Alright, listen,” you begin. “I'm not here to cause trouble, or gossip, or any of that. I…” you pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm trying to ask Jinx out on a date,” you explain. “So I thought you might be able to help me.”

That makes Ekko pause. He blinks slowly, slowly glancing back over his shoulder at you. “…You're shitting me, right?”

“I'm not,” you insist. “I'm being serious, alright? and I'm not getting into some of the details, but I…” you pause awkwardly. “I kind of need this date to happen.”

“You need this date?” Ekko echoes, staring at you. “The hell does that mean?”

“I mean,” you reply, avoiding direct eye contact. “I just need it to happen, and for reasons I'm not going to disclose,” you add. “I need it to go really well. You get me?”

Ekko scoffs but nods his head. “Sounds like you're desperate or something.” He sets his brush down, turning around to face you. “Why Jinx, anyway?”

“I…” you start, not really sure how to explain this to Ekko without spilling every detail. “Let's just say my reasons are my own.”

“Hm.” He studies you up and down. “First off, who the hell even are you? how do I know you're not some creep trying to take advantage of Jinx?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then close it and sigh. “Okay, you have a point,” you admit. “But listen,” you soothe. “I'm not a creep. I'm a senior student, like you and Jinx. I want to ask Jinx on a date, and no one really knows her all that well, so I thought you could help me because she's your friend-”

Ekko shakes his head, picking up the brush once again. “Nah we're not that close anymore.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “Jinx and I used to be close friends a few years ago,” he explains, returning his attention to the painting. “But things between us… got complicated.”

Juicy. But that’s none of your business, and definitely not Ekko's place to share. So you move on, clearing your throat. “Right. Um… Okay, so back to Jinx,” you begin. “You still know her better than most, right? you must have some good insight on her.”

“I don't know,” he replies slowly. “Yeah, I know a bunch of things about Jinx. But… honestly, there's just as much that I don't know.” He starts painting again. “She changes her mind like… every five seconds. She's unpredictable. Reckless. Wild. Dangerous.”

“I'm not here to psychoanalyze Jinx,” you clarify. “I just need to know… how the hell to even talk to her one-on-one, without her throwing a pencil at me or something.”

Ekko snorts. “Oh, that's easy.” He glances at you through his eyelashes. “Good luck.”

—

“Of all the places you want to meet up, you chose here?”

You straighten up and glance over at Caitlyn, who's standing off to the side, looking around the place. She looks rather out of place here, especially compared to the other customers in the pub—greasy-looking old men, rough-looking teenagers dressed in leather and denim, and drunken bums hanging around the slots.

Caitlyn grimaces as another patron spits tobacco juice to the floor. “Gross…” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.

You shrug, taking a puff from your cigarette. “You're never late,” you reply. “And this place is never busy. Figured it would give us privacy.”

“Right.” Caitlyn takes a seat on a nearby stool, folding her legs neatly. “So… how's Ekko?”

You line up the cue ball to the 8, taking one last look down the table before glancing at Caitlyn. “Um… he's good,” you reply. “A bit unhelpful, but that's alright.”

You aim the cue ball at the 8 again and give it a good hard smack, watching it glide across the table. It hits the 8 ball, which rolls a few inches before stopping. Damn. You’re just off.

“What about you, how's Vi?” you ask, taking a drag from your cigarette and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke. You set the pool stick down.

Caitlyn coughs, fanning her hand in front of her face to try and clear the smoke away from her lungs. It doesn't work very well. “First thing you should know...” She snatches the cigarette from your hand and drops it to the floor. “She hates smokers.” She stomps on the butt to snuff it out.

“So, you’re telling me that I'm a-” You make air quotations with your fingers. “-non-smoker.”

“For now, yes.”

“Alright, alright. No smoking, got it.” You lean your pool cue on the wall. “Happy?”

“Another thing…” She purses her lips, eyes flicking over your features. “Vi mentioned that Jinx… likes pretty girls.”

Silence.

“Are you telling me I'm not pretty?”

Caitlyn jumps as soon as the words leave your mouth. “N-no!” She gestures at you. “You're pretty. Definitely pretty.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

Caitlyn reaches into her pocket, pulling out a thick sheet of paper with a few bullet points written on it. “Anyways… there's more.” She glances over the list, then looks back up at you. “Jinx likes: …art, drawing, bombs, explosions, tinkering, sweets, plushies, dogs, punk music...” She continues reading down the list. “Dislikes: teachers, school, rules, authority figures, boredom, being told what to do, being ignored…” 

She shoves the list into your hands, and you stare down at the words written in neat, orderly rows. “That's everything that I could get out of Vi.”

A few likes and a bunch of dislikes—what an absolute nutcase.

You look back up at Caitlyn. “So what does that give me? am I supposed to… bribe her with art supplies, draw her a picture, give her some sweets, then blow up a building?”

“Have you ever been to The Last Drop?”

You respond with a nod. You've been there a few times... it's usually filled with shady people, but the alcohol is reasonably priced.

“Letters to Cleo will be playing there tomorrow night.” 

“No.”

“Come on, it's just one night-” Caitlyn coaxes.

“No.”

She gives you a nudge. “Just assail your ears for one night. It's her favorite band, after all.”

It's a stupid idea. Spending your free time in a bar, listening to some god-awful music? It's the perfect recipe for a terrible night.

But if it's what Jinx likes...  “Fine.”

“Atta girl,” Caitlyn grins, clearly satisfied. She pulls out her phone, glancing down at the time as her fingers dance over the screen. “Oh… and I'm throwing a party on Friday night,” she says, looking back up at you. “It's the perfect opportunity.”

You blink. “Opportunity for what?”

“For you to ask out Jinx, of course.”

“…I'll think about it.”

—

Your car pulls up to a stop out front, the engine making a low noise. You step out of the car and start walking towards the entrance when you notice Sevika standing outside.

Sevika looks up, and her lips stretch into a smirk as she sees you. “Ah, my friend,” she greets. “It's been a while.”

You shake her hand. “It's good to see you again, Sev.”

Sevika eyes you up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn't have you pegged for a fan,” she says. “Aren't they a bit too pre-teen belly-button ring for you?”

“Just a fan of a fan,” you reply. 

The door is slightly ajar, and you can faintly make out the music coming from inside.

“Did a blue-haired girl come in by chance?”

Sevika nods towards the door. “Just sent her through. She's with some other gal.”

You nod and head towards the entrance when Sevika calls out to you. “What happened to that girl you brought in last time?”

Ah, right. It has been a few months. “I dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “I just never called her again.”

Sevika chuckles and shakes her head. “That figures.”

You squeeze through the crowded floor and eventually find an open spot at the bar. The music from the stage is so loud you can feel the floor vibrating under your feet.

You flag down the bartender and place an order, then start idly scanning the crowd. You can make out a flash of blue hair, and your gaze lands on Jinx singing along to the chorus of the song.

You rest against the counter and watch Jinx dancing along to the music. She’s happy, and surprisingly, no “attitude” is present—not the usual scowls, or frowns, or cold looks.

Seeing her like this… giddy, with a wide smile and flushed face, makes you find yourself… smiling.

Huh. That’s... something.

—

Jinx, who is thisclose to having her eardrums explode, yells at the top of her lungs, “I NEED AGUA!”

“Sorry, what?” Lux yells over the music.

“I need agua!” Jinx yells again.

“Agua?”

Jinx nods and points to the bar.

“Alright!” Lux yells, but Jinx is already pushing past her through the crowd.

Jinx manages to reach the bar and signals for the bartender. She glances around as she waits, her eyes landing on you a few feet away. 

Shiiit.

Before she can catch your eyes, you look at a random patron nearby, pretending to be looking at something else.

The bartender walks up to Jinx, shouting over the music. “What can I get for you?”

“Two waters,” she responds, casting a glance back in your direction only to find you completely focused on the stage.

The bartender brings out a pair of water bottles from the cooler and sets them on the counter. Jinx fishes out some change and pays, then grabs the water bottles.

She approaches from behind and raps a knuckle on your shoulder. “If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well do it already.”

Playing dumb, you gesture back at the stage. “Do you mind? you're kind of ruining it for me.”

Jinx seethes, but stays where she is. “You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

The music dies down for a while to give the band a rest, so you no longer have to yell over the music. You turn to face her. “I know. I quit.”

“You... did?” Jinx gives you a weird look, trying to figure out your angle here. “Are you feeling alright?”

That's a pretty fair question, to be honest, because for once in your life, you're actively not trying to flirt with someone.

What's even more weird is that Jinx is actually engaging with the conversation. Jinx moves closer to the stool, standing beside you. “Since when?”

You clear your throat, avoiding her gaze. “Since… yesterday.”

“Yesterday? you quit smoking just yesterday?”

“Just yesterday.”

Jinx looks you up and down. “Why?”

You look over at the band, who are currently changing out their gear. “Because... apparently they're bad for you,” you mumble. With a shrug, you gesture back towards the stage. “They're no Bikini Kill or the Raincoats,” you reply. “But they're alright.”

You step into the crowd, and Jinx is surprised enough to be momentarily stupefied. “Wait-” she sputters before following you. “You know who the Raincoats are?”

You stop in the middle of the crowd, spinning to face her. “Why? don't you?” you ask. “I saw how you were dancing out there. I’ve never seen you look like that...”

“I.. well, I-” she stutters, before clearing her throat and collecting herself. “Yeah, I do,” she replies. “I'm into grunge and punk and stuff. Ever heard of Nirvana?”

You scoff. “Of course. Who hasn't?”

Jinx laughs, and you resist the urge to smile when you hear it. “Yeah, fair point. What about... Siouxsie and the Banshees?”

“Love them. But you can't tell me you don't know The Damned?”

Jinx's eyes light up at the mention of The Damned. “Hell yeah, they're awesome,” she exclaims, before frowning. “Wait, how do you know The Damned?”

You give yourself a pat on the back. Nailed it. “Excuse you, I have excellent taste in music,” you reply. “How do you know The Damned?”

“I'll have you know, I'm very into music,” she retorts. “I've got a collection of 1300 CDs. Mostly punk and grunge, but some 70s rock and other stuff.”

Her response is a pleasant surprise to you… and maybe attractive. But you squash that thought down because she's Jinx, and no way are you going to feel your heart flutter at anything this woman does.

You whistle. “Only 1,300? That's cute. I have almost 2,000.” 

“No way.” She shakes her head. “No WAY you have 2,000 CDs. You're bluffing.”

“I'm not,” you insist. “I've got 2,000 pieces of music in my home.”

“Damn. You got me beat, then.” She looks around the club, then looks back at you. “Anyway, I gotta-”

“Come to Caitlyn's party with me. Friday night,” you cut her off.

“-Why should I?” 

“-Because I guarantee you'll have a fantastic time.” 

She laughs at your persistence. “You never give up, do you?” she mutters before walking away through the large crowd.

“Was that a yes?” you yell after her.

Her only response is a middle finger held high in the air.

You cup your hands around your mouth. “I'll see you at 9:30 then!”

This is good. Not great, maybe, but not awful either. You didn't get kicked in the face for asking, so you're taking that as a win.

—

“How did it go?”

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, Cait…” you hesitate, glancing around at the empty street. “How much money does it take to buy 2,000 CDs?”

The line goes dead.

…

After a few minutes of silence, it rings again.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

[wickworks]

Lancer Tactics dialogue layout crisis of faith

(from this month's backer update)

Every so often, I'll run into something in development that eats away at me until it pushes me to a crisis of faith and I have a breakdown, burn down a bunch of work, and build something better from the ashes. These are moments of transformation and we're almost always able to come out the other side with something much better than what we started with.

This all sounds very dramatic until you take a step back and see the issue in question is just, like, the layout of a menu. But if medieval priests were able to have schisms over angels on pins I can have strong feelings about graphic design, dammit!

This month's episode revolved around how we're doing character dialogue. For reference the plan was to do a standard 4-slot visual-novel talking heads layout. I call it a 4-slot because there's usually four positions that characters can stand; two on the left, two on the right:

I had it ingame, and it was working. But... something felt off. Do you see the difference between every one of the above examples and this?

It's all about perspective, baby.

Answer: all the character art in those examples are drawn at a slight angle so they can be flipped back and forth to be made like they're looking at each other.

Trying to do this with the perspective we chose early — straight on — makes for a chorus line of weirdos who are looking directly into your soul as they ostensibly chat with each other. Credulity is strained; the illusion of these puppets interacting in the same space is paper-thin.

(I was skeptical of choosing this perspective for this reason, but we ultimately went with it to make the customizable assets in the portrait maker easier to fit together)

We tried a bunch of different layouts, but they all at least one of these problems:

they'd stare into your soul while ostensibly directing comments elsewhere.

they felt like text messages; this would be fine if that's what we were going for, but we wanted something that could represent face-to-face conversations. (Tactical Breach Wizards was able to pull this style off because they had little 3D dioramas to go along with it)

or, most damning of all, they felt like zoom calls.

So, my heart aflutter and spirit in want, I spent a day doing a research dive into various dialogue layouts (bless the Game UI Database!) to see if any other games had managed to pull this character art perspective off. I ended up with this massive non-chronological taxonomic tree:

(fullsize here)

The type of layout that particularly caught my eye was this style where each character had their own little box. These layouts borrow a concept from comic books called "closure" where the space and time between characters are left blank. Freed from the constraints of trying to simulate a single space, these layouts allow the reader to fill in the blanks with something that feels more true-to-life than anything we'd be able to render ourselves.

I was especially impressed with the dynamism of Tales of Symphonia and The World Ends With You; rather than sticking to single slots they would animate the entire panels moving around to indicate motion an relative position of characters.

So we threw out the old code and copied them. Here's what we've come up with:

We'll be able to have portraits interact, like smacking each other (I felt like a kid hitting two action figures together, lol)

We can also apply effects like princess-leia-holograms and full-screen "lighting" effects like warning banners:

Carpenter and I came up with a number of arrangements that the portraits can smoothly transition between:

I've also implemented support for choices during a dialogue, potentially leading to branching paths.

Overall, I feel SO much better about this system than our initial designs. It might feel a little more cartoony, but I think we're making a cartoony game so that's not a problem.

Whew. We bit a lot off to chew with this project. I feel like I just made a second visual novel game engine inside of the first. Fingers crossed that it all ends up worth it.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 2) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and everyday is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

It's been three days since The Comment™️, and Leila's standing in front of her bathroom mirror trying to make her box braids cooperate while simultaneously giving herself a pep talk about professional boundaries. The Madrid morning sun is streaming through her apartment window, making the gold threads in her hair shimmer like they're trying to show off.

"Just another day at the office," she mutters to her reflection. "A very expensive office with a very beautiful boss who thinks you're just okay."

Her phone buzzes – probably Yolanda's daily check-in. Her best friend had been skeptical from day one about this whole situation.

"Girl, you know how them African men be," Yolanda had said when Leila first got the job, and Leila had immediately jumped to defend against the stereotype because hello? It's 2024 and we're really still doing this?

But now? Standing here in her Madrid apartment getting ready to face another day of Aurélien's casual touches and unconscious flirting that apparently meant nothing? Maybe Yolanda had a point. Not about African men in general – that's still a trash take – but about Aurélien specifically.

Because yeah, he's French on paper, but his blood is pure Cameroonian and she's been around him long enough to see it clear as day. The way he'd shown off during that Bridge show with Samuel Eto'o and Francis Ngannou, like he was just kickin' it with his cousins. How he switches between French and that specific Cameroonian-French dialect when he's on the phone with his family. The way his whole demeanor shifts when his mama's cooking pondu.

She reaches for her most professional blazer – the one that says "I'm here to work, not to pine over you like a teenager." No more of those oversized sweaters he likes to cuddle into during morning meetings. No more letting him play with her braids while they review his schedule. No more melting when he calls her "ma puce" in that rough morning voice.

Her phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from the man himself:

Boss Man AT: Can you bring breakfast today? Missing your biscuits...

Three days ago, that message would've had her rushing to the kitchen to whip up his favorites. Now? She types back a crisp: You have a fully stocked kitchen and a recipe book. I'll see you at 9 for the Nike meeting.

She can almost see his confused face, probably wondering why his reliable source of Southern comfort food is suddenly acting brand new. But that's what he wanted, right? Just okay means just business.

"Keep that same energy," she tells her reflection, adjusting her blazer one last time. No more of this Georgia peach sweetness. If he wants okay, she can give him okay. Professional okay. Efficient okay. The kind of okay that doesn't make him honey brown sugar wings or laugh at his bad jokes or pretend not to notice when he falls asleep on her shoulder during long flights.

The kind of okay that doesn't catch feelings for men who see her as nothing more than a convenient source of soul food and schedule management.

Another text from him: Are you mad at me?

She stares at it for a long moment. Types and deletes three different responses before settling on: I'll have your schedule ready when I arrive.

Because what's she supposed to say? "Yes, I'm mad because you called me okay while I've been over here catching feelings like a whole idiot"? "No, I'm not mad, I'm just heartbroken because I let myself forget that I'm just the help"?

Her mama didn't raise no fool, even if her heart's been acting like one lately. Time to remember that this is just a job. A really good job with excellent benefits and a boss who's unfairly gorgeous and who probably has half the models in Europe on speed dial.

"Just another day at the office," she repeats, grabbing her keys and her emotional support water bottle. Just another day of pretending her heart doesn't do backflips every time he smiles.

But this time? This time she's keeping those backflips strictly professional.

Even if it kills her.

The drive to Aurélien's place feels different when you're trying to maintain professional boundaries. No more stopping at that little café he loves for pain au chocolat. No more singing along to his playlist that she definitely hasn't downloaded (okay, she has, but she's not playing it today). Just straight business, straight roads, straight to the point.

When she pulls up to his gate, she hesitates before punching in the code. Three days ago, she'd have walked right in, probably already planning what to cook for his breakfast. Now she hits the intercom instead.

"Yes?" His voice crackles through the speaker, sounding confused because she never uses this thing.

"It's Leila. Here for the Nike meeting prep."

A pause. Long enough that she almost thinks he's not going to buzz her in. Then: "Since when do you use the intercom, ma puce?"

"Since it's the professional thing to do," she answers, proud that her voice stays steady even though that pet name still hits her right in the chest. "Can you let me in? We're on a schedule."

Another pause, then the gate swings open. She drives up the familiar path, noticing Ocho already at the front door, tail wagging like he's personally offended she hasn't been properly spoiling him these past few days.

Aurélien opens the door before she can knock (because yeah, she was going to knock too – new professional Leila is committed). He's standing there in just his training shorts, hair still wet from the shower, looking like some kind of trap God had specifically designed to test her resolve.

"You're really gonna knock?" he asks, that little furrow between his brows that usually means he's trying to figure out a tactical problem on the field. "At your own house?"

"This isn't my house," she corrects him, sliding past without their usual hug even though Ocho is doing his best to trip her up for pets. "It's your house. I'm your PA."

She sets up her laptop at the kitchen island – not the couch where they usually do morning meetings, because that's too comfortable, too familiar, too many memories of him playing with her braids while they go over his schedule.

"Leila."

"The Nike people want to go over the new contract clauses," she says, pulling up her notes without looking at him. "And then you have that photoshoot for–"

"Leila." His voice is closer now, right behind her chair. "Look at me."

"We don't have time–"

"Since when?"

She finally turns, finds him looking at her with an expression she can't quite read. "Since when what?"

"Since when don't we have time? Since when do you use the intercom? Since when do you not make breakfast? Since when are you not you?"

And that? That actually makes her mad. Because who is he to question who she is when he's the one who reduced her entire existence to "okay"?

"Since I remembered what my job actually is," she says, turning back to her laptop. "Now can we focus? The Nike meeting is at nine and you still need to get dressed. Something professional please, not those ripped jeans you love."

"Ma puce–"

"And stop calling me that." The words come out sharper than she intended. "I'm your PA, not your–"

She cuts herself off because what was she going to say? Not your friend? Not your cook? Not your emotional support Black girl who's been stupid enough to catch feelings?

"Not my what?" Now he sounds almost angry, which is rich coming from someone who's the actual cause of this whole situation.

"Not important," she finishes, pulling up his calendar. "Now about the Nike meeting–"

"Who said you're not important?"

The genuine confusion in his voice almost breaks her. Almost makes her want to look at him. Almost makes her want to explain everything.

Almost.

"Your schedule is updated for the week," she says instead. "I've coordinated with Jules about that charity event, and your mother called about dinner on–"

His hand appears in her field of vision, closing her laptop. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just doing my job. The job you pay me for. Now can you please get dressed? We have a meeting to prepare for and you're..." she waves vaguely at his general shirtless situation, "...distracting."

That last word slips out before she can catch it, and she sees the way his expression shifts, like he's just caught the scent of something interesting on the field.

"Distracting?"

"Unprofessional," she corrects quickly. "You're being unprofessional. Shirt. Now. Please."

He doesn't move, just keeps looking at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve. "Did I do something?"

Yes. No. Maybe. You made me fall in love with you and then called me okay and I don't know how to handle any of this.

"You did nothing," she says, and at least that part is true. He did nothing because she means nothing. She's just okay. "But we're going to be late if you don't get dressed."

He stays there for another moment, like he's waiting for something. Then finally: "D'accord. But this conversation isn't over."

"The only conversation we need to have is about the Nike contract," she calls after him as he heads upstairs. "And please wear the blue suit! The grey one needs pressing!"

She waits until she hears his bedroom door close before letting out the breath she's been holding. Just another day at the office. Just another day of pretending her heart isn't breaking.

She can do this.

She absolutely cannot do this.

The Nike headquarters in Madrid is all glass and chrome and people who look like they just stepped out of a lifestyle blog. Leila follows Aurélien into the conference room, tablet in hand, trying to maintain that professional distance even though he keeps finding reasons to touch her lower back as they walk. Old habits die hard, apparently.

She's setting up her notes when she feels it – that distinct sensation of being watched. She glances up to find one of the Nike interns looking at her like she's a whole snack, and not in that lowkey way she's used to dealing with. Man is straight up LOOKING looking.

He's cute, objectively speaking. Marco, according to his badge. All honey-toned skin and warm brown eyes, perfectly styled dark hair and a smile that probably works wonders on dating apps. Not usually her type – she tends to gravitate toward men built like NBA players, dark skin, the kind of smile that lights up rooms (she's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT) – but maybe Yolanda's right. Maybe she needs to expand her horizons.

The meeting starts, and she's trying to focus on contract clauses and marketing strategies, but she keeps catching Marco's eyes across the table. He's definitely interested, shooting her these little smiles that make her feel seen in a way she hasn't since... well. Since that comment.

She's so focused on not focusing on Marco that she almost misses the shift in Aurélien's energy. Almost, but not quite. Because she knows this man's moods like she knows her mama's recipes, and right now? He's got that same energy he gets when someone makes a bad tackle in training.

"As I was saying," Marco's speaking now, something about social media integration, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"My PA handles all my social media coordination," he says, voice carrying that edge she usually only hears when journalists ask stupid questions. "Leila has final say on everything."

She blinks because that's... not true? Like, she helps with his social media but she definitely doesn't have "final say" on anything. She's about to correct him when she feels his hand on her knee under the table, a touch that would've made her melt three days ago but now just confuses her.

The meeting wraps up, all handshakes and professional smiles, and she's gathering her things when Marco approaches her desk.

"Hey," he smiles, and yeah, okay, maybe she could get used to this type that isn't her type. "I was thinking, you know, for coordination purposes..."

He slides his business card across the table, and she doesn't need to flip it over to know his personal number is on the back. This isn't her first rodeo with smooth corporate boys.

"For coordination," she repeats, trying not to smile too obviously. Behind her, she swears she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight.

"Purely professional," Marco grins, but his eyes say something entirely different. "Although if you wanted to discuss strategy over dinner sometime..."

"Leila." Aurélien's voice cuts through whatever smoothness Marco was about to deploy. "We have that thing."

"What thing?" she asks, because they absolutely do not have a thing.

"That thing," he insists, and now his hand is back on her lower back, more possessive than guiding. "You know, the important one."

Marco looks between them, something knowing in his expression that makes Leila want to explain that it's not like that, that she's just "okay" actually, that her boss just has boundary issues.

Instead, she takes the card, making sure her fingers brush against Marco's just because she can. Just because maybe she needs to remind herself that she's not completely invisible to the male population. Just because maybe she needs Aurélien to see that she can be more than okay to someone else.

"I'll call if we need to... coordinate," she says, and Marco's answering smile is bright enough to light up the room.

She feels Aurélien's fingers flex against her back.

"Great meeting," he says, but his voice suggests it was anything but. "We should go. For the thing."

"Right," she sighs, gathering her tablet. "The very important thing that definitely exists."

She lets him guide her out, very aware of Marco's eyes following them, even more aware of how Aurélien's hand hasn't left her back. The card feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, a tiny rebellion against... what exactly? Her type? Her feelings? The man currently trying to speed-walk her to the elevator like she might sprint back to that conference room if he moves too slow?

"So," she says once they're alone in the elevator. "What's this very important thing we're apparently late for?"

"Lunch," he says shortly. "With my mother."

"Your mother is in Paris."

"Then I guess we'll have to FaceTime her."

She looks at him then, really looks at him for the first time in three days. He's got that jaw clench going on, the one that usually means he's stressed about a big match. But they don't have any games this week, so...

"You're really going to pretend we have lunch plans just because that intern was trying to–"

"He wasn't trying to coordinate anything," Aurélien cuts her off, stabbing the lobby button like it personally offended him. "He was trying to–"

"To what?" She's actually curious now. "To ask out your 'okay' PA?"

His head snaps toward her so fast she's worried about whiplash. "What did you just say?"

But the elevator doors are opening and she's already moving, putting that professional distance back between them. She's got Marco's card in her pocket and a whole new perspective on her "type" and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of her power back.

She feels his eyes on her all the way to his car, and she's not thinking about what that means.

She's not. She absolutely is.

The drive to wherever they're going is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Leila's pressed against the passenger door of his Urus like she's trying to become one with it, while Aurélien's got both hands on the wheel (for once) and is chewing on his bottom lip like it personally offended him. Every now and then he mumbles something in that mix of French and Cameroonian dialect that she's pretty sure isn't appropriate for polite company.

She pretends to be very interested in her phone, definitely not stealing glances at how his jaw is doing that clenching thing or how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

They end up at this little place in the heart of Madrid that she knows for a fact isn't on his approved restaurant list (his nutritionist is going to have WORDS), but she's not about to remind him. Not when he's radiating this energy that's somewhere between "post-loss press conference" and "that time Jude ate his last protein bar."

They're barely settled into their seats when his phone starts ringing, his mama's face lighting up the screen.

"Maman," he answers, immediately softening like he always does for her. "Oui, je suis avec Leila."

"My baby!" His mother's voice carries through the speaker. "Why haven't you been feeding my son, chérie? He's looking thin."

Leila can't help but smile because trust Josette Tchouaméni to get straight to the point. "He has a fully stocked kitchen and knows how to use it."

"Ah, so that's why he's pouting? No more of your cooking?"

"Maman," Aurélien protests, but his mother waves him off.

"Don't 'maman' me. What did you do to make her stop cooking for you? You know Leila only cooks for people she l–"

"How's Papa?" Aurélien cuts in quickly, and Leila pretends not to notice the nervous tick in his neck. "Is his back better?"

They chat for a few more minutes, his mother expertly guilting them both about not visiting enough, before hanging up. The waiter brings their food – definitely not nutritionist approved – and they eat in silence for a moment before:

"I'm headed to Clairefontaine on Thursday."

"Yeah, I know," she doesn't look up from her plate. "I manage your schedule, remember?"

"You should come."

She squints at him across the table. She's only been to Clairefontaine once, before the Euros last summer. It wasn't awful – actually kind of nice, if you ignore how she spent half the time trying not to openly stare at what was essentially a collection of the finest Black men French football had to offer. But still.

"I have a hair appointment that day."

His lips curl into that smirk that usually means trouble. "So catch a flight after. Your girl doesn't close until seven anyway."

She narrows her eyes because how does he know her stylist's hours? "Why do I need to come to Clairefontaine?"

"Because..." he takes a deliberately slow bite of his food, "it's your job, ma puce."

The way he says 'job' makes it sound like something else entirely. She watches him continue eating like he hasn't just completely disrupted her plans for a peaceful Thursday of getting her hair done and definitely not thinking about him.

"My job is to manage your schedule, not babysit you at national team camp."

"Mhm," he hums around another bite. "And since my schedule includes Clairefontaine..."

"I can manage your schedule from Madrid."

"You could," he agrees, finally looking up at her. "But then who's going to make sure I eat properly?"

"The team has nutritionists."

"Who's going to organize my recovery sessions?"

"The physios."

"Who's going to keep me company when I can't sleep before matches?"

"I'm sure one of your many model friends would be happy to–"

She stops herself but it's too late. His eyes sharpen with interest.

"Is that what this is about? The models?"

"This is about maintaining professional boundaries," she says primly, stabbing at her salad. "Something you seem to have trouble with."

"Says the woman who just gave her number to a Nike intern."

"I did not give him my number. He gave me his card. For coordination purposes."

Aurélien actually snorts. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"You know what?" She pushes her plate away. "I don't actually have to explain myself to you. You're my boss, remember? Just my okay boss with his okay PA who–"

"What did you just say?"

But she's already standing, gathering her things. "I'll book your usual room at Clairefontaine."

She's halfway to the door when his voice stops her:

"It has a spa. For after your hair appointment."

She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't keep walking either.

"And Marcus will be there. You know he loves your cornbread."

Now that's just playing dirty. Marcus Thuram makes actual puppy eyes when she cooks.

"And Ibou's been asking about you."

"Stop trying to bribe me."

"Is it working?"

She finally turns to find him watching her with that look that usually means he's about to score a goal. Like he already knows he's won but he's going to enjoy the game anyway.

"I'll think about it."

His smile is immediate and bright. "I'll have the jet ready after your appointment."

"I didn't say yes!"

But he's already back to eating, that satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "Whatever you say, ma puce. Whatever you say."

She leaves the restaurant knowing two things:

1. She's definitely going to Clairefontaine

2. She's absolutely screwed

The drizzle at Clairefontaine is doing absolutely criminal things to Leila's press and curl while she stands next to Didier Deschamps, holding an umbrella and questioning all her life choices. Primarily the choice to listen to Theresa about "giving her hair a break from braids" without checking the weather app first, because now she's stuck in three days of rain before they head to Budapest for their match against IsNotReal (and really, of ALL the teams they could've drawn...).

But it's hard to be too mad about anything when she's got what might be the finest collection of Black men outside of Essence Fest running laps in front of her. Because listen. LISTEN. Nobody prepared her for this part of the PA job – standing here getting a whole panoramic view of what happens when God decides to show all the way out.

The French national team lineup has literally a flavor for every girl's type of man, and somebody needs to preserve this in the Louvre immediately because it's giving museum quality. You want light skins with braids? They got that. Light skins with locs? Present. Light skins with fades? Check. Tall dark skin thicker than a Snickers with fades that look like they could bench press a car? Baby, they got that too. Tall dark skin sprinter built with fades that look like they could outrun your commitment issues? Absolutely. Tall basketball player types with perfect taper fades? (She's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT.) Brown skins that look like they walked straight out of your prayers? Every single shade in the Fenty foundation range is represented and they're all just... running around like this is normal.

Her eyes might be doing a little too much as they jog past, that subtle up-down-up scanning that would have her mama reaching for a switch if she could see her now. But honestly? She's just doing what any person with working eyes would do – appreciating art. Very fine, very athletic art that's currently glistening in the rain like they're being professionally lit by God's personal lighting crew.

And speaking of divine lighting – here comes Aurélien jogging past with Cama and Jules, looking like every single one of her inappropriate thoughts decided to take human form. His curls are getting damp from the rain, skin gleaming, and this man has the absolute AUDACITY to throw her a wink as he passes. Like he didn't just catch her mentally drafting half the national team like it was fantasy football but make it fine as hell.

She rolls her eyes at him because she refuses to give him the satisfaction, but who is she kidding? That smirk he sends back is doing things to her blood pressure that should probably be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"Everything okay?" Didier asks in his heavily accented voice, and she realizes she might have sighed a little too loudly.

"Just thinking about the rain," she lies smoothly, definitely not thinking about how Aurélien's training shorts are a personal attack at this point. "And my hair."

Didier chuckles like he knows exactly what she's actually thinking about, which is mortifying because here she is thirsting over his players like she's running a whole scouting combine.

Another lap, another parade of fine men, and this time Aurélien breaks formation just to jog backward in front of her, showing off because apparently being a whole football god isn't enough – he has to be extra about it too.

"Hair looks nice, ma puce," he calls out, and she contemplates whether hitting him with her umbrella would violate her contract.

"Yeux devant, Tchouaméni," Didier calls, but she can hear the amusement in his voice.

Aurélien rejoins the group, but not before shooting her another one of those looks that makes her want to call his mama and apologize in advance for all the unholy thoughts she's having about her son.

The rain picks up and she can feel her press and curl starting to revert. Theresa really gonna have to catch her hands when she gets back to Madrid because this is just disrespectful. But then the team comes around for another lap, looking like a whole Nike commercial directed by God himself, and maybe... maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

She's just here doing her job, really. Managing schedules. Taking notes. Definitely not ranking every player by fine-ness while pretending to pay attention to Didier's tactical discussion.

But she's absolutely getting braids next time.

And probably need to schedule a confession.

Because the thoughts she's having about Aurélien in those shorts are absolutely not suitable for public consumption.

*************************************

Walking into the Clairefontaine cafeteria with her dinner tray feels like high school all over again, except this time instead of mean girls and math nerds, she's surrounded by some of the finest specimens of manhood France has ever produced. The air is thick with rapid-fire French conversations coming from every direction, and listen – Leila's trying her best out here but her Duolingo streak is only two weeks old. All she's got to work with is what Aurélien's taught her, which is mostly just curse words for traffic situations and terms of endearment that make her heart do stupid things.

She's scanning for a quiet corner to recalibrate after spending all afternoon trying not to obviously thirst over the practice session (and maybe say a prayer for her hair which is somehow still holding on), when–

"Mon chérie amour!"

That deep voice could only belong to one person. Her eyes find Marcus Thuram, all 6'4" of him, looking like he walked off a GQ cover. He's waving her over like an excited puppy, except he's built like a whole defensive line and honestly? It should be illegal to be that fine and that adorable at the same time.

Michael Olise scoots over to make room for her, and suddenly she's surrounded by what might actually be the most attractive table in all of France. There's Ibou with his model face, Ousmane with those big doe eyes of his, Khephren (who definitely got the same genes as his brother), Mike Maignan looking like Black Panther's M'Baku's fine ass cousin (which is exactly why she calls him that in her head), and William Saliba who's just... respectfully fine as hell.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, literally a foot away are Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – who's currently looking at Marcus like he personally offended his entire ancestral line. What is his problem?

"You have to cook for us tomorrow," Marcus is saying, fixing her with those puppy eyes that should come with a warning label. "Please?"

"The nutritionists will murder me," she protests, but Marcus's pout could probably end wars. Actually end them.

Khephren says something in French that makes Marcus flip him off, and she catches just enough to know he's teasing his brother about the puppy eyes.

"Maybe I can make something before we leave..."

"Why does he get special treatment?" Mike cuts in, looking absolutely offended. "What about me?"

And suddenly it's like she's unleashed chaos because they're all talking at once in French, each making their case for why they deserve her cooking, and her head is SPINNING.

"Tranquille!" she yells in French, one of the few words she actually knows how to use properly, and they all freeze mid-argument, looking at her with varying degrees of surprise.

"I'll cook for everyone, okay?" She can't help but smirk at their hopeful faces. "Rice and beans..."

"Yes!" Mike's practically bouncing in his seat.

"Macaroni and cheese, fried chicken..."

The way these men start rubbing their hands together like cartoon villains is sending her.

"And," she pauses because she knows what's coming, "the pièce de résistance... collard greens cooked with smoked turkey necks."

"Oh mon dieu!" William actually looks skyward, prayer hands and all, like she just announced the second coming.

"Wait," Jules pipes up, "no cornbread?"

And then they're ALL looking at her like she just canceled Christmas, a whole table of professional athletes about to riot over the possibility of no cornbread.

"Yes," she groans, but she's fighting a smile. "There will always be cornbread."

Marcus grabs her hand and actually kisses it like she just promised him the keys to heaven instead of some soul food, and she catches Aurélien's fork bending slightly in his grip.

"You're an angel," Marcus declares, still holding her hand. "A Black American angel sent to save us from protein shakes and steamed chicken."

"Si tu ne laisses pas sa main," Aurélien's voice carries over, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, "Vous ne pourrez pas tenir une fourchette pour en manger."

But Marcus just grins wider, because apparently he has a death wish. "Shut up."

Leila looks between them, trying to figure out what's happening, but then Ibou starts listing all his favorite soul food dishes in his accented English, and she's pulled back into what's becoming an impromptu menu planning session with some of the most attractive men in Europe.

Just another day at the office, right?

"The mac and cheese," Mike is saying with the seriousness of someone discussing world peace, "it will have the crust on top, non?"

"Boy, who you think raised me?" Leila puts a hand to her chest, offended. "Of course it has the crust. What kind of woman you think I am?"

"The best kind," Marcus grins, and she swears she hears something snap at Aurélien's table. Probably another fork. RIP to Clairefontaine's cutlery budget.

Khephren leans forward, all earnest eyes and ridiculous cheekbones. "The last time you cooked, Aure brought leftovers to training and wouldn't share."

"Because it wasn't for y'all," Aurélien cuts in, and when did he get close enough to join the conversation? "She made that for me specifically."

"Technically," Jules pipes up because he lives for chaos apparently, "she made it for movie night but you claimed the whole container."

"Speaking of claiming things," William says with a smile that means trouble, "Leila, you free Saturday? There's this nice restaurant in Paris–"

"She's busy." Aurélien doesn't even let him finish.

"I don't remember asking you," William shoots back, still smiling. "Unless you're her secretary now too?"

"I'm her–" Aurélien starts, then stops, jaw working like he's trying to find the right words.

"Her what?" Marcus asks innocently, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Her boss who thinks she's just okay?"

The whole table goes quiet and Leila nearly chokes on her water because how did he– she looks at Jules who suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

"That's not," Aurélien's actually flustered now, "I didn't mean–"

"Because if she's just okay," Ibou joins in because apparently it's National Roast Aurélien Day, "then you won't mind if she comes to Liverpool next weekend? My mama's been asking about her cooking."

"Your mama hasn't even met her!"

"But she will when Leila comes to visit."

"She's not going to Liverpool." Aurelien said flatly.

"Again," William’s grin is wicked now, "pretty sure that's not your decision, mon ami."

Leila watches this tennis match of tension with growing fascination.

"I'm right here," she reminds them. "And I can decide for myself where I–"

"You should come to Monaco," Khephren cuts in smoothly. "Much nicer than Liverpool. Better weather."

"Excuse me?" Ibou looks personally offended.

"The disrespect," William shakes his head. "Everyone knows London is better than both."

"London?" Mike scoffs. "Milan clears."

And suddenly they're all arguing about whose city is better, each making their case for why she should visit them, and she's sitting there wondering how this dinner turned into The Bachelorette: European Footballer Edition.

"I have an idea," Marcus says loud enough to cut through the chaos. "Why doesn't Leila decide where she wants to go?"

They all turn to look at her expectantly, even Aurélien who's looking like he's one suggestion away from tackling somebody.

"I..." she looks around at all these ridiculous, beautiful men and can't help but laugh. "I haven't even cooked for y'all yet and you're already planning my European tour?"

"The cooking is just a bonus," William winks. "It's your company I want."

"Isn't that right, Auré?" Jules adds with fake innocence.

Aurélien stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes against the floor. "We have an early training session tomorrow. Leila, we should go over the schedule."

"The schedule that's already printed and distributed to everyone?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes. That one. Now."

"But we haven't even gotten to dessert," Marcus protests. "She hasn't told us if she's making sweet potato pie."

"Or banana pudding," Mike adds hopefully.

"Or–"

"Now, Leila."

She looks at his face – jaw clenched, eyes intense – and sighs. "Fine. But y'all better not change any of these dinner requests while I'm gone. My grocery list is already looking like I'm feeding a small army."

"An army of fine men who appreciate you," Marcus says just loud enough for Aurélien to hear, and she's pretty sure she sees a vein pulse in his forehead.

"Five minutes," Aurélien grits out. "I'll be in the conference room."

He stalks off like a man on a mission, and Jules is trying so hard not to laugh he's actually shaking with it.

"So," William grins once Aurélien's out of earshot, "about that dinner in Paris..."

"Don't push it," Jules warns, but he's smiling. "Let him suffer a little longer first."

"Let who suffer?" Leila asks, but they all just share knowing looks that make her feel like she's missing something obvious.

"Just remember," Marcus calls as she gets up to follow Aurélien, "I asked for your cooking first!"

"But I appreciated it more!" Mike argues.

"Shut up," Ibou cuts in, "I offered a whole trip to Liverpool!"

She leaves them bickering, shaking her head but smiling. These men are ridiculous and fine and absolutely too much.

But mostly? She's wondering why Aurélien looked ready to commit multiple homicides over some dinner plans.

The conference room feels too small with just the two of them in it, Aurélien pacing like a caged lion while Leila stands by the door wondering what kind of alternate universe she's stepped into. The "okay" comment is hanging in the air between them like an uninvited guest, but he's apparently choosing to ignore it completely.

"You can't date the team," he says abruptly, stopping his pacing to look at her.

She actually chokes on air because WHAT? "I'm sorry?"

"The team. You can't date them."

"I wasn't–" she sputters, trying to make sense of this conversation. "I wasn't planning to?"

"Good." His jaw is doing that thing it does before big matches, all tense and sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll handle them."

"Handle them?" She's really trying to follow his logic here. "Handle what exactly? They were just asking about food–"

"William asked you to dinner."

"As a joke!"

"Marcus kissed your hand."

"Because I promised him cornbread! Are you hearing yourself right now?"

But he's already heading for the door, radiating big "I'm going to fight everyone" energy. "I'll handle it," he repeats.

"Aurélien–"

"Just... no dating the team." He pauses at the door, not quite looking at her. "It's not professional."

And then he's gone, stalking down the hallway, leaving her standing there wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

Because that wasn't about professionalism. That wasn't about team dynamics. That was...

"What the fuck was that about?" she asks the empty conference room, but the conference room, unhelpfully, doesn't answer.

And she's definitely not thinking about how his eyes looked when Marcus kissed her hand. Or how his voice got all low and dangerous when William mentioned dinner. Or how this whole thing feels a lot like...

Nope. Not going there.

She's absolutely going there, but first, she needs to figure out how to keep him from murdering half the French national team over some cornbread.

Being the only PA at Clairefontaine isn't supposed to feel like a big deal, but it absolutely is. Leila's trying not to think too hard about how many strings Aurélien must've pulled to get her here – because thinking about that means thinking about why, and she's not ready to unpack all that before breakfast.

She's good at her job, sure. Got Didier wrapped around her finger from day one. And yeah, okay, maybe she's particularly good at handling high-maintenance footballers thanks to her natural sociability and endless patience.

But still. This is the French national team. These things don't just happen.

Kind of like how it didn't just happen that she spent three whole days before meeting Aurélien practicing his name, saying it over and over. The way his whole face had lit up when she got it right that first time, like she'd given him a gift instead of just basic pronunciation courtesy.

And maybe that was the beginning of how seamlessly she fit into his life, like there'd been a Leila-shaped space just waiting for her to fill it. Like they were made to–

Nope. Absolutely not. We are NOT doing this today.

She pulls on her wide-leg navy sweats and the national team long sleeve she sweet-talked out of the kit manager last night (her smile works wonders on everyone except apparently the one person she actually wants it to work on). Her silk press is still miraculously holding on, pulled up in a ponytail that Theresa would probably yell at her for, but whatever. She's got bigger problems right now.

The cafeteria is already buzzing when she walks in, full of sleepy footballers trying to fuel up before morning training. She spots her usual suspects – Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – at their regular table, and takes a deep breath before heading over.

"Morning sunshine," Cama greets her in English, because he's actually an angel who notices when people are struggling with rapid-fire French at seven in the morning. "Sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can sleep knowing they have to cook for twenty professional athletes in Sunday," she replies, sliding into her seat.

Jules snorts into his protein shake. "More like thirty. Pretty sure half the staff want in on this soul food situation too."

Aurélien doesn't say anything, just watches her over his coffee cup with those eyes that are entirely too intense for this early in the morning. His voice, when he finally speaks, is still rough with sleep and she hates that it still affects her like this.

"You don't have to cook for everyone," he says, and there's that edge again from yesterday. "They can't just expect–"

"Pretty sure she can decide what she wants to do," Jules cuts in smoothly. "Right, Lei?"

There's that weird tension again, crackling in the air between them like static electricity. Cama looks between them all with raised eyebrows.

"Did I miss something?" he asks. "Because the vibes are really off."

"Nothing to miss," Leila says quickly, focusing on her breakfast. "Everything's fine."

"Mhm," Cama hums, unconvinced. "That's why Aure looks like that?"

Before anyone can respond, Didier's voice cuts through the cafeteria: "Allez, allons-y! La formation commence dans quinze!"

The scramble of twenty-something men trying to finish their breakfast at once would be funny if Leila wasn't hyperaware of Aurélien's eyes still on her. She busies herself with her phone, pretending to check his schedule like she hasn't had it memorized for weeks.

"Don't forget your jacket," he says quietly as he stands. "It's supposed to rain again."

She looks up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice, but he's already walking away. Jules and Cama share a look that she pretends not to see.

"So," Cama grins, "about this tension..."

"Don't you have training to get to?"

"Just saying, if this was a show, I'd definitely binge watch it."

"Go. Run. Now."

His laugh follows him out, leaving her sitting there wondering how this became her life – being the only PA at Clairefontaine, planning soul food feasts for the French national team, and trying very hard not to notice how Aurélien still looks back at her before he exits the cafeteria.

*******************************

The water break comes right as the sun decides to make a guest appearance, and Leila's trying not to obviously appreciate how everyone's training tops are clinging in all the right places. She's professional. She's composed. She's–

"Hey gorgeous."

She turns to find William jogging up to her, all six-foot-whatever of him with that smile that probably has half of London in their feelings. She returns his smile because listen – she might be going through it, but she's not BLIND.

"Need something?" she asks, already reaching for an extra water bottle because she's good at her job like that.

"Actually, yeah." He takes the water but doesn't step back, instead leaning slightly closer. "I was serious about Saturday. Dinner?"

"Oh!" The sound escapes before she can catch it. Her eyes automatically drift to where Aurélien is standing with Mike and Jules, looking like he's trying to murder someone with his mind.

William deliberately steps into her line of sight, blocking her view. "You don't have to ask permission, do you?" It comes out like half joke, half question, but his eyes are kind. He gets it, even if she wishes he didn't.

And you know what? He's right.

Because here's the thing: Aurélien really out here talking about "unprofessional" when this man has used her as a human pillow during team flights. Has played with her hair during meetings like it's his personal stress ball. Has straight up demanded morning cuddles before reviewing his schedule because apparently personal space isn't in his vocabulary.

But she's supposed to maintain "professional boundaries"?

Nah.

"Nope," she says, straightening her spine. "No permission needed."

Because she's grown. Because she needs to get over this embarrassing crush on her boss who thinks she's just okay. Because William Saliba is standing here looking like a whole meal, asking her to dinner with that accent that makes everything sound like poetry, and she deserves nice things.

"Saturday works perfectly," she adds, and his answering smile could power half of Madrid.

"Parfait," he says, and even that one word has her feeling some type of way. "I'll text you the details?"

"Looking forward to it."

He jogs back to practice looking mighty pleased with himself, and she very deliberately doesn't look in Aurélien's direction. She doesn't need to – she can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

And you know what? Good.

Let him see what it feels like to watch someone you... to watch someone else get attention. Let him deal with whatever this energy is that has him acting brand new. Let him–

"Cinq minutes!" Didier calls out, and she watches William flash her one more smile before joining the group.

Her phone buzzes almost immediately:

Jules: you really woke up and chose violence huh

Leila: I chose dinner actually

Jules: with Wilo though?? 👀

Leila: what's wrong with Wilo?

Jules: nothing if you're trying to send someone to an early grave

Leila: not my problem

Jules: the violence of it all 😭

She puts her phone away, ignoring the way she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight. Because this is good. This is healthy. This is her moving on from whatever fantasy she'd built up in her head about her boss who clearly doesn't–

"Les yeux sur la balle, Saliba!" Aurélien's voice carries across the field, sharp enough to cut.

William just grins wider. "Oh, ils sont."

And maybe... this is exactly what she needs. A date with a fine man who actually sees her. Who isn't her boss. Who thinks she's more than just okay.

There's something particularly violent about the way Leila's critiquing herself in the mirror right now, turning this way and that like her reflection might suddenly give her different answers. The black sweater dress is doing everything it's supposed to do – hugging every curve, every soft roll, every thick thigh that matches its partner. Her body's built like a direct response to gravity, all hips and breasts with a waist that's not exactly snatched but works with what God gave her.

"It's just dinner," she tells her reflection, but dinner with a whole professional footballer is different than those struggle Tinder dates she's been on. Those guys didn't come with paparazzi risks and teammate drama and a very specific boss who's probably planning murders right about now.

Not that I care what Aurélien thinks.

Her hair's falling just below her collarbone in that middle part that took twenty minutes to get right, makeup subtle enough to look effortless (it wasn't), and she's wearing this new perfume that smells expensive enough to make her feel like she belongs in whatever fancy restaurant William's picked out.

The thought of William has her breaking out in a nervous sweat because listen – the man is fine fine, but she's still very much a virgin and very much not ready to explain that to someone who probably has models in his DMs. What if he expects... what if he wants... what if–

"Get it together," she mutters, grabbing her clutch. "It's just dinner."

The elevator ride down to the main entry hall feels like it takes seventeen years, her heart doing backflips the whole way. She's rehearsing possible conversation topics in her head (please lord don't let her ramble about football statistics) when the doors open and–

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Because there's William looking like a whole meal in his white shirt, jeans, and leather jacket (that gold chain should be illegal honestly), but he's not alone. No, because that would be too easy. Instead, he's surrounded by Mike, Marcus, Ibou, and Jules the Professional Gossip, all of them looking way too pleased with themselves.

She makes her way over, trying to ignore the chorus of French catcalls and whistles (she catches "magnifique" and "sublime" and definitely some words that would make their mothers wash their mouths out with soap).

"Damn, Lei!" Ibou's grin is wicked. "You trying to kill our boy Wilo before the match?"

"The dress is doing God's work," Marcus adds with an appreciative whistle.

"I think you mean doing the devil's work," Mike corrects, fanning himself dramatically.

William rolls his eyes at all of them, but he's smiling as he takes her hand. "Ready?"

She's about to answer when she feels it – that familiar weight of attention that can only mean one thing. She looks back to find Aurélien has joined the group, and the look on his face...

Listen. She's seen this man angry before. Has seen him after bad losses, after red cards, after journalists say stupid things about him and his family. But this? This is different. This is something darker, something that makes her skin prickle even from across the room.

William must feel her tense because he squeezes her hand gently. "You good?"

She turns back to him, forcing herself to focus on this moment, on this very fine man who actually wants to take her to dinner. "Perfect."

He opens an umbrella as they step outside (because of course it's raining again), holding it over her like the gentleman he is. Behind them, she can hear the boys still carrying on:

"Vingt euros disent qu’ils s’embrassent avant le dessert!"

"Cinquante disent qu’Auro casse quelque chose avant qu’ils ne reviennent!"

"Une centaine dit–"

The door closes, cutting off their chaos, leaving just the sound of rain and their footsteps and her heart doing its best to escape her chest.

"They're ridiculous," William says softly, but he's smiling.

"That's one word for it."

They reach his car – another ridiculously expensive SUV because apparently that's issued with the France call-up – and he opens her door for her.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says it simply, like it's just a fact. Not 'okay'. Not qualified. Just beautiful.

And maybe... maybe this is exactly what she needs.

Even if her traitorous heart still skips when she catches Aurélien watching them drive away in her side mirror.

********************************

The media room at Clairefontaine is thick with tension and the sound of FIFA, Aurélien absolutely demolishing the controller like it personally set up his PA's date with William. Jules and Cama keep sharing these looks that say more than words ever could.

"Je n'arrive pas à croire que Wilo ait fait ça. C'est censé être mon pote." ("I can't believe Wilo did this. He's supposed to be my boy.") Aurélien's voice is tight with something darker than just regular gaming frustration.

"Fait quoi exactement?" ("Did what exactly?") Jules asks, careful and measured like he's defusing a bomb. "Inviter une femme célibataire à dîner?" ("Asked out a single woman to dinner?")

"Elle n'est pas juste une femme célibataire, c'est ma puce!" ("She's not just any single woman, she's my dear!") The words explode out of him before he can catch them, and the room goes deadly quiet except for the game music.

Cama pauses the game. "Ta puce?" ("Your dear?")

"Ma PA," ("My PA,") Aurélien corrects quickly, but it's too late. "Je lui ai dit que c'était pas professionnel de sortir avec l'équipe." ("I told her it wasn't professional to date the team.")

"Et c'est professionnel de la câliner pendant les réunions?" ("And it's professional to cuddle her during meetings?") Jules' voice drips with sarcasm. "De jouer avec ses tresses? De l'appeler 'ma puce'?" ("To play with her braids? To call her 'my dear'?")

"C'est différent." ("That's different.")

"Comment?" ("How?")

Aurélien just grunts, going back to destroying everyone in FIFA. But Jules isn't done.

"Tu sais qu'elle t'a entendu la traiter de 'okay' à la piscine?" ("You know she heard you call her 'okay' at the pool party?")

"Mais elle l'est!" ("But she is!") Aurélien protests, then at Jules' murderous look adds quickly, "Dans le bon sens!" ("In a good way!")

"T'es vraiment con, mon frère." ("You're so fucking stupid, bro.") Jules throws his controller down. "Elle est plus que 'okay' et tu le sais." ("She's more than 'okay' and you know it.")

"Je peux pas..." ("I can't...") Aurélien runs a hand through his curls in frustration. "Je peux pas l'aimer comme ça." ("I can't like her like that.")

"Pourquoi pas?" ("Why not?") Cama asks quietly.

"Parce que... parce qu'elle est ma PA!" ("Because... because she's my PA!")

"Des excuses, toujours des excuses," ("Excuses, excuses,") Jules sighs. "On n'est plus des gosses, AT. On est des hommes maintenant. Si tu ressens quelque chose pour quelqu'un, tu dois le dire." ("We're not kids anymore, AT. We're men now. If you're feeling someone, you have to communicate it.")

Aurélien lets out a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. "C'est différent. Je ne l'aime pas comme ça. C'est ma PA. C'est comme ça qu'on se fait poursuivre en justice." ("This is different. I don't like her like that. She's my PA. That's how people get sued.")

"Et si elle ressentait la même chose?" ("What if she's feeling you too?") Jules asks carefully.

"Leila? Avoir des sentiments pour moi?" ("Leila? Having feelings for me?") Aurélien scoffs. "C'est drôle." ("That's funny.")

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning. Jules and Cama exchange another look that speaks volumes.

"Quoi?" ("What?") Aurélien demands, finally catching their expressions.

But neither of them answer, just watch him with this mix of pity and exasperation that makes him want to throw something.

"Elle portait cette robe ce soir..." ("She was wearing that dress tonight...") he says quietly, almost to himself.

"Oui, pour son rencard avec Wilo." ("Yes, for her date with Wilo.") Jules' voice is pointed. "Pas pour toi." ("Not for you.")

"Tu sais," ("You know,") Cama adds casually, too casually, "pendant que tu es là à dire qu'elle est 'juste okay', Wilo est probablement en train de lui montrer à quel point il la trouve extraordinaire." ("while you're here saying she's 'just okay', Wilo is probably showing her just how extraordinary he thinks she is.")

"Je vais le tuer." ("I'm going to kill him.")

"Le problème," ("The problem,") Jules says quietly, "c'est pas Wilo." ("isn't Wilo.")

And deep down, Aurélien knows he's right, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Arrête d'être une putain de chochotte," ("Stop being a fucking pussy,") Jules says, done with the whole situation. "Si tu veux Leila, vas la chercher. C'est aussi simple que ça." ("If you want Leila, go get her. Simple as that.")

"Ce n'est pas si simple," ("It's not that simple,") Aurélien protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. "Elle est ma PA–" ("She's my PA–")

"On a compris!" ("We get it!") Cama throws his hands up. "Elle est ta PA, et alors? Comment tu sais que tu vas tout foutre en l'air si t'es trop chickenshit pour essayer?" ("She's your PA, so what? How would you know if you're gonna fuck it up if you're being chickenshit?")

Aurélien opens his mouth to argue but Cama isn't done.

"Leila est géniale et toi tu te tapes des mannequins pour essayer de cacher que tu craques pour elle. C'est tordu, mec." ("Leila is cool and you're fucking models to try to hide from you feeling her. Twisted as fuck, man.")

"Je ne–" ("I don't–")

"Tu peux la laisser sortir avec Wilo – parce que tu sais à quel point il est persistant quand quelqu'un lui plaît – et être malheureux, ou tu peux régler ça maintenant." ("You can let her date Wilo – because you know how persistent he is with a person he's feeling – and be miserable, or you can nip this in the bud.")

"Exactement," ("Exactly,") Jules concurs, leaning forward. "Tu crois que Wilo va la traiter comme 'juste okay'? Tu crois qu'il va hésiter à lui montrer qu'il la veut?" ("You think Wilo's gonna treat her like 'just okay'? You think he's gonna hesitate to show her he wants her?")

The thought of William showing Leila anything makes something dark appear Aurélien's chest. The image of them at dinner right now, William probably making her laugh, probably touching her hand across the table, probably looking at her the way Aurélien wants to but won't let himself–

"Elle mérite mieux que 'okay'," ("She deserves better than 'okay',") Cama says softly. "Et tu le sais." ("And you know it.")

"Je sais pas comment..." ("I don't know how...") Aurélien trails off, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Comment quoi? Être honnête avec tes sentiments?" ("How what? To be honest with your feelings?") Jules scoffs. "T'as vingt-quatre ans, pas quatorze. Grandis un peu." ("You're twenty-four, not fourteen. Grow up a little.")

"Mais là, tout ce que tu fais c'est regarder un autre mec faire ce que t'es trop lâche pour faire," Cama shrugs. ("But right now, all you're doing is watching another guy do what you're too scared to do.")

Aurélien sits there for a long moment, thinking about Leila in that dress that made his brain short-circuit. About how she looked at William. About how she hasn't really looked at him in days, not since the 'okay' comment. Not since he tried to tell her who she could and couldn't date like he had any right to.

"Elle est probablement en train de l'embrasser maintenant," ("She's probably kissing him right now,") Jules says casually, but his eyes are sharp on Aurélien's face.

The PS5 controller in Aurélien's hands makes an ominous cracking sound.

"Tu vois?" ("You see?") Cama gestures at Aurélien's white-knuckled grip. "C'est ça qu'on appelle de la jalousie, mon pote. Pas très 'professionnel' comme réaction pour 'juste une PA', non?" ("That's what we call jealousy, my guy. Not very 'professional' reaction for 'just a PA', right?")

"Je ne suis pas–" ("I'm not–")

"Jaloux?" ("Jealous?") Jules cuts him off. "Alors pourquoi t'as l'air de vouloir commettre un meurtre chaque fois que quelqu'un la regarde trop longtemps?" ("Then why do you look like you want to commit murder every time someone looks at her too long?")

Aurélien's silence is telling.

"Écoute," ("Listen,") Cama says, serious now. "Wilo est un bon gars. Il va bien la traiter. Il va lui montrer qu'elle est spéciale. Et toi? Tu vas juste rester assis là à te dire que c'est 'pas professionnel' pendant qu'un autre mec fait d'elle sa copine?" ("Wilo's a good guy. He's gonna treat her right. He's gonna show her she's special. And you? You're just gonna sit there telling yourself it's 'not professional' while another guy makes her his girl?")

The controller finally gives up the ghost, splitting right down the middle.

"Putain," ("Fuck,") Aurélien mutters, staring at the broken pieces like they hold some answer he can't find.

"Le choix est simple," ("The choice is simple,") Jules says, standing up. "Soit tu continues à être un lâche et tu la perds, soit tu deviens un homme et tu lui dis la vérité." ("Either you keep being a coward and lose her, or you man up and tell her the truth.")

"Et si je la perds quand même?" ("And if I lose her anyway?") The question comes out smaller than he intended.

"Alors au moins tu auras essayé," ("Then at least you'll have tried,") Cama says. "C'est mieux que de la regarder partir avec Wilo en te demandant 'et si'." ("Better than watching her leave with Wilo wondering 'what if'.")

Aurélien sits there long after they leave, thinking about Leila's smile, about her laugh, about how she's probably giving both to William right now.

And maybe... they're right.

Maybe it's time to stop being a coward, yet first, he owes someone an apology for the controller.

…………tbd

[https-milo]

ILYILYILY YOUR MEGUMI INSTA POST WAS BEAUTIFUL I NOW NEEEEDDDDD A YUUJI ONE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

YUJI FANGIRLS RISE UP!!! indie I LUV YOU TOO!!

DATING YUJI ITADORI INSTAGRAM!

details!

instagram posts w/ comments while dating Yuji Itadori!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

a/n Americanizing this one because my homecoming is next week and I think Yuji would be such a good hoco date

a/n Yuji plays football and track/cross country((idk the difference, sue me)) (GO WITH IT.)

a/n modern!no curses!AU

m. list

aoi.todo replied to your story: the friendzone is a terrible place for my brother. luvfromy/n: huh!?! No way! Yuji doesn't like me like that there's no way!! We're just super best friends! aoi.todo: oh I see. aoi.todo: Say, Y/n, whats your type? luvfromy/n: uhhh well... selfless, enthusiastic, and incredibly kind people. someone who's like the sun aoi.todo reacted "👍" to this message

yuujithetiger replied to your story: No need to thank me for hanging out with my favorite person :DD luvfromy/n: :D Being with you is my favorite part of my day yuujithetiger: same here!!

yuujithetiger · 9w

430 likes Liked by megumi.fushi, barabara, and luvfromy/n

yuujithetiger She was the first to run on the field after I got a PR!! :DD I luv my best friend!

luvfromy/n I luv you too!! I'm so proud and happy for you! yuujithetiger luvfromy/n THANK YOU!!! i think I did better because you were cheering for me... just saying! luvfromy/n yuujithetiger well I'm glad I could help then! :DD

barabara nice job loser

aoi.todo THATS MY BROTHER!! choso.kamo aoi.todo 🤨🤨🤨

luvfromy/n · 6w

1.2k likes Liked by yuujithetiger, barabara, choso.kamo, megumi.fushi, and togetalks

luvfromy/n two weeks before homecoming! Had to cheer yuji on at his practice <3

yuujithetiger i always perform better when you're in the stands luvfromy/n yuujithetiger guess I'll just have to keep coming 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yuujithetiger luvfromy/n guess you do :/// (:DDDDDD)

barabara tell your man to put a shirt on 🤮🤮 luvfromy/n barabara HUH? MEAND YUJI ARENT DATING!?!?!??! barabara luvfromy/n oh! that's interesting...

okkatsuyuta its like hes a machine when you're cheering for him! please keep coming to our games and practices!! luvfromy/n okkatsuyuta wouldn't wanna be anywhere else! I'll always be cheering for Yuji!

luvfromy/n · 6w

1.4k likes Liked by yuujithetiger, megumi.fushi, aoi.todo, barabara, and choso.kamo

luvfromy/n I almost CRIED! I'VE LITERALLY WAITED FOR THIS FOR SO LONG!!!

yuujithetiger MY HEART WAS POUNDING SHOWING IT TO YOU. I'M SO GLAD YOU SAID YES luvfromy/n yuujithetiger WHY WOULDNT I???? yuujithetiger luvfromy/n I THOUGHT I WAS IN THE FRIENDZONE! luvfromy/n yuujithetiger I THOUGHT *I* WAS IN THE FRIENDZONE!!

megumi.fushi finally barabara megumi.fushi literally. choso.kamo barabara listening to him talk about her nonstop was giving me a headache 😭😭

aoi.todo THATS MY BROTHER.

yuujithetiger · 5w

510 likes Liked by megumi.fushi, barabara, choso.kamo, aoi.todo, and togetalks

yuujithetiger the most beautiful girl in the world <3

luvfromy/n the most handsome boy in the world <3 yuujithetiger luvfromy/n homecoming was so fun! It felt like a dream being with you luvfromy/n yuujithetiger NO REAL! I was so nervous the whole time!! but being with you made it better (as it always does) yuujithetiger luvfromy/n I'm glad I could make you feel not so nervous :D luvfromy/n yuujithetiger you really are the sun <3

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[marsprincess889]

Ok so I'm back to bringing you guys' attention to what's going on in my country.

I don't have the heart to tell it all in detail. In truth we're all so familiar with it that talking about it seems comical. But to keep you up to date, there have been massive protests in Tbilisi, Georgia since late November.

On 26th of October of this year, the Georgian Dream party falsifies yet another election and on the 26th of november elects themselves as the ruling party again, despite EU, most of the other nations and all the other parties recognizing the elections as illegitimate. Recently they chose their new president, who was basically the only option. The photo of the literal bulletin from the parliament leaked.

People demand another election, a fair one. Peaceful protests soon turned into police beating up the protestors, even teens and women. They're still using water cannons mixed with pepper spray, in December btw. You can look up the videos, even on here.

The main thing that is painful to me and my generation in all of this is the fact that this is a completely new, modern and different version of the same damn fight. Right now I'm thinking of young men and even women and others who were severely beaten up, about people struggling to make ends meet who have their loved ones in such situations, young people trying to build their future who see less and less hope every day in their homeland but are desparately trying to hold on to the last tiny bit of it, maybe even goimg to protests in that state. Today I heard two girls around my age talking. "We gotta get out of here right?..." "yeah... but who are we leaving it to?" "The country?..."

Being free and sovereign in your homeland should not be an uphill battle or a luxury.

We have been fighting against Russian influence for centuries. For those who don't know, even when the repression isn't obvious, they still attack bit by bit(killing or kidnapping our citizens near the occupated borders??????), often with an old and tried tactic: trying to erase our culture and history, and with it our spirit and identity. And with all the other horrors, this is a huge insult.

My heart sinks everytime I read a random comment on a map or other type of video saying "Georgia is not Europe", "but Georgia is Asia". Not that there's anything wrong with Asia, but those statements mean something different and much deeper than an average foreigner suspects. Georgia never ever was "not Europe" to me. This isn't even about joining EU immediately as much as it is about us voicing our own wishes, opinions and truth as the vast majority of our country.

One thing I want to say to people who are far away from this is this: please do not fall for propaganda. And by that I mean Russian propaganda. If you just try to keep it clean while posting about us or checking sources while reading about us and calling out misinformation, it is going to mean a lot.

I tried to not write about this cause let's be honest, what can I do here?

I hope this will do at least something.

I do have followers so, I'm also asking them🤍🤍🤍 even those who just know me from astrology. Please consider reading and reblogging. 🤍🤍

reblogging(esp with tags) is still support.

Edit, additional info that you should probably know: Georgian Dream is a pro-russian government, they just banned wearing masks and goggles(those protect you from pepper spray by the way). If you walk by the parliament in Tbilisi your eyes and skin will almost definitely start to "burn" and you'll most likely start coughing.

There have been phone numbers calling and cursing at/insulting/threatening citizens, even pre-teens, believe it or not. And since the government passed "the russian law" earlier this year, we are most likely being tracked😐

Here is my post from this spring, written in an angry and tired state.

[blueberry-pride]

hi, can i ask for a part two for this with Floyd,Azul,Riddle,Malleus and Ruggie please?

If u accept request rn?

Don't Deny It Babe~ Part 2

warnings: semi-proof read Berry: I didn't think that the previous post would gain a 2nd part so thank you for the chance! as always, enjoy! <3

"W-wait, are you sure?" Riddle would have a brief mental pause. He'd then have that cute pouty expression when he's embarrassed thus furthering your point. *cue his blush*

Riddle would be a bashful and stuttering mess especially if he's present or within earshot of you talking about his 'cute' qualities to others. He has a reputation of being the strict dorm leader after all!

There would be times that you'd find this young gent to be quiet and a lil timid as you continue to ramble on cuz slowly overtime he'd like this approachable view that you see in him.

Eventually, He'd slowly accept your image of him but I'd imagine you would catch him puffing up his chest as he tries to make himself more refined in the mirror. (Why do I lowkey see him getting "manly" advice from Trey and Cater?) Antics aside, he'd get all warm and fuzzy thinking about your comments, putting a very soft smile to his face whenever he thinks about it <3

If there's anyone who doubts your views, He'd simply watch you debate or argue from afar cuz he enjoys seeing you be so passionate even if the topic is about him. If the others laugh or starts making fun of either you or him tho ...just remember, he IS watching *looks to Ace*

"Uh...what?" Ruggie's ears flattened at the comment. "You think I'm CUTE?" he spoke with wide eyes. I feel like this wouldn't be the first time this hyena was called that compliment. Most likely his grandma. Meemaw Bucchi: *pinches his cheeks* awww you look so cute all dressed up in that uniform!

He'd be the type to ask you the why's, when's, and how's or just whatever type of reasoning you've had to decided out of all descriptions, you chose 'cute' for a guy like him. I see him also being the type to check himself out in front of mirror but in a very confused state.

He'd at first don't want ANY of the Savanaclaw guys hear about this. (he might as well be chopped meat if Leona ever got a word of this) So the moment he'd sense that you're about to go in one your tangents about him, he'd start messing with ya like tickling or hell even spinning you around just to whisk the two of you away from curious eyes and ears.

But I supposed overtime, this hyena beastman would be curious enough to try and use his this 'cute' side to soften people up for opportunities. (Outside of campus most likely) Of course he'd first test it out on you and often times you'd let him cuz after all, who couldn't say no to such a face?

But here's the thing, you're definitely not safe from HIM calling you cute and all~ Imagine he'd playfully steal your pen or something after class and as you try to grab for it he'd give a fleeting peck on the cheek. "Oh would you look at that." He chuckled. "Guess we're both the cute ones now eh (Y/N)~?" goodluck

"eh...HEH?" He stammered. He tries a little too hard to regain his composure afterwards but you'd know that your comments shot through to his classy exterior. Now you're left with a blushing and babbling octo-man.

Similar to Ruggie, our boi also has a lot of questions but the key difference is that he deals with them...internally. You, along with the rest of Octavinelle and even Jamil would notice his scrunched up face at random points throughout the day. A million and one questions running through his mind on why you'd think of him like that.

It was already too late for him because he already overheard you talking about this with the leech twins. He might as well evaporate at that point. You know the gif of the dog smiling while the room is on fire and saying 'This is fine'? That's our boi Azul right there

It takes a while for him to open up to the idea. He takes baby steps by also teasing you and showing you his perceived 'cute' side to you in private just to entertain you and see his precious pearl smile.

Overtime, he'd enjoy it and thinks it's also the best thing ever to rub it in people's face as you talk their ear off especially Jamil. "My precious pearl that is (Y/N) lovingly proclaims that I am the cute one, so that is now law."

"Hmm...You mean" Floyd tilt his head to the side. "Koebi-chan thinks I'm...cute?" He mostly says this out loud to confirm it to himself. After a few seconds he smiles gleefully towards you. Get ready for a wild ride (Y/N)!

Every time he thinks about it or you'd say it again. He'd chuckle and spin you around like as if there weren't any other people around. THAT'S how happy he is. His classmates and the rest of his dorm would find it a lil terrifying seeing this man just humming, kicking his feet in glee during class or in the lounge repeating the words "They think I'm cute~ my Koebi-chan thinks I'm cute~"

I could see him sometimes using this as an excuse to skip his shift at the lounge. Poor Azul cutting his lifespan in half every time he heard Floyd utter the words "Because Koebi-chan said so, wouldn't want to ruin a cute face like mine from all the stress. Maybe you should try it sometime Azul~"

You guys probably already see this one coming but he would be the scary shadow looming over you as you explain your side that your boyfriend is in indeed the cute one out of the two of y'all. 'You dare say otherwise to my (Y/N)?'

Threats aside, I know that Floyd genuinely does love it when you call him cute. I also know that he's clever enough that people would find him scary due to his height and his personality so he lowkey gets all soft when it comes to you, acting all bashfully as he hugs with all the adoration he has for you <3

"Could you please repeat what you've just told me?" He'd ask. "You find me...cute, Child of Man?" Genuinely surprised and has the shooketh or cute dumb-founded expression we all know and love.

This dark Fae overall finds it amusing, chuckles to himself from thinking about it from time to time. The memory of you semi-debating to him, that he, one of the most strongest and formiddable mages in Twisted Wonderland, is adorable.

Diasomnia or just the entirety of NRC is often concerned and question about your state of mind but then you'd shoo them off or rather, they 'unexpectedly have a change of heart and mind' and totally not from the dark aura with horns behind you.

He likes watching you debate about it especially if its his family in Diasomnia (looking at you Sebek) He thinks that when you're like this, he finds it sweet and endearing to defend your case about your judgement of him.

As the mischievous Fae that he often is, I see him doing small tests for you, showing off terrifying magical shi like shaking the ground beneath you, skies littered with thunder and lightning or hell surrounding you in a circle of green flames all to see if you still call him cute afterwards. (GG Night Raven College )

[empyrean-thrones]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

-XADEN-

Dain Aetos is dancing on my last fucking nerve. Between the petty comments he's been making all afternoon and what I'm sure he thinks are menacing glares, I'm ready to lean over and introduce his face to the Montserrat briefing table.

But Violence wouldn't like that, and as satisfying as it would be to hear his nose crunch against the polished wood, I'm not about to do anything that could end this little training session early and jeopardize Imogen's mission, should her squad realize she isn't actually vomiting in the infirmary.

Not that the healer will remember her ever being there, thanks to Imogen's handy little signet. If she's on schedule, she'll be on her way back from delivering the drop I brought with me. The thought makes me reinforce my shields just in case Dain acts on the threat in his eyes. I'm not letting that fucker's hands anywhere near me.

"So all we do is wait for something to happen?" Ridoc Gamlyn asks - by Dunne, did he just put his dirty-ass boots on the briefing table?

"Yes," the older Sorrengail sister answers from the head of the table to mu left, then gestures with her right hand, knocking Gamlyn, on his ass with lesser magic. "And keep your feet off the table."

The taller of the riders stationed here chuckles and updates the battle behind Violet's sister, but his face falls quickly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion when he catches me watching him. I scratch my neck at the top of my collar, right over my relic, and hold his gaze until he drops it.

Shit like that is why I keep my inconvenient feelings about Violet to my damned self, no matter how good she looks today or how delectable she smells sitting next to me, like some kind of citrus that makes me want to bury my face in the side of her neck and see just how pink I can get her cheeks to flush. No, if I did that, every rider in this room would look at her differently, and not in a good way. Leave it to me to fall for the one woman on the Continent I can never fucking have.

Still, I'd put myself right between her and Liam, ignoring his knowing little smirk, when I took the chair closest to Violet. There's nothing going on there, but he can back the fuck up when I'm around.

"Consider this your Battle Brief," Mira Sorrengail lectures as Gamlyn scurries back into his chair at the foot of the table. "This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we'd regularly fly , so normally we'd just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we're in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let's pretend we'd come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border" - she pivots to the map and marks a nearby location with a red flag - "here."

Aetos is too busy glaring at me to look, so I settle back into my seat and do what I do best - stare straight back.

"We're supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?" There's a little snark in Emery Barnes's tone, but I keep my attention on making Dain as uncomfortable as possible just for fun.

"For the sake of argument, this-year," Mira retorts.

Dain's hands curl into fists on the tabletop, and a corner of my mouth rises. He's pathetically easy to rile.

"I like this game," the shorter of the lieutenants stationed here comments from Mira's side.

"What would our objective be? Mira asks. "Aetos?"

Dain startles and jerks his focus to the map. I   win . "What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking haphazard wooden structure ? Or something more substantial?"

At least he asks good questions.

"Like they had time to build a fortress overnight." Ridoc  quips. "It has to be wooden, right?"

"You are all so fucking literal." Mira rubs at her forehead like we're a headache she can't kick. "Fine, let's say they occupied a keep that's already established. Stone and all." Which means there would be civilians or possibly prisoners inside. Wide-scale dragon fire is out. Fine. Liam scouts out their defenses, then I drench the place in shadow for our assault.

Half of us dismount while the other half take out the gryphons  in the air, and I move in darkness below to free the prisoners with Emery directs controlled blasts of fire by air: wielding, using Quinn as a scout.

My mind runs through three other battle strategies, the stutters in a fourth as I glance in Violet's direction and catch her lips pursing in concentration. Gods, that mouth . I dream about that mouth. Fantasize about that mouth. That kiss burned into my memory like a relic, taunting me with what will never happen again, with what I never should have tasted in the first place.

Mira and Quinn start arguing about the scenario's parameters, and I force my attention back to briefing .

"How many of you have been called out as third-years?" Mira folds her arms.

Emery raises his hand, and I lif t a couple of fingers.

Violet's eyebrows rise, but she stays quiet, just like she has been all afternoon. I crack open my shields just enough to sense that wispy silver bond that's been steadily growing between the two of us - the one she hasn't noticed yet.

" I told you, it's been known to happen between the riders of bonded pairs. " Sagely reminds me, annoyance sharpening her tone.

" And has Tairn  told her? " I ask, to which she doesn't bother replying.

Dain turns a shade that reminds me of a tomato. "That's not correct. We're never called into service until graduation."

I bite back a laugh and offer him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

"Yeah, all right." Emery huffs a laugh. "Just wait until next year. I can't count how many times we're the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency."

Atos pales.

If he knew half of what's actually happening beyond the borders, he'd probably pass out.

"Now that's settled... "Mira sets a six-inch model of a stone kept in the center of the table.

"Catch," she warns before throwing each of us a wooden replica of a dragon.

"Yours are better," I whisper under my breath to Liam.

"I know." He grins, running his thumb over the chunky wings of the figure.

"Pretend Messina and Exal don't exist back there, and we're the only squad available to take back that keep," Mira orders. "Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you'd use those powers in unison to conquer your objective."

"But they don't teach that first-years," Liam says like he hasn't been taught battle strategy since we were kids. Lewellen made sure of it once he took guardianship of us after the execution.

Mira's gaze drops to the rebellion relic on Liam's wrist, and I lift my chin. They'd better get used to being in rooms like this, because we're here to stay. At least until we can get Aretia's forge up and running.

Violet clears her throat, and Mira's gaze shifts to her little sister, her eyes flaring before focusing back on Liam.

My chest tightens annoyingly. Whatever look Violet shot her sister, it was obviously in our defense, and damn if that doesn't hit me straight between the ribs.

"They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you're all busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during the Squad Battle, and it's almost May, which means final War-Games should be beginning, right?"

"Two weeks," Dain informs her like  he needs to remind everyone he's still at the table.

"Good timing then. Not all of you will survive the games if you're not prepared." Mira's gaze lingers on Violet long enough to prick my temper. Of all the people in this room, Mira should know how capable Violet is. "This kind of thinking will give your squad - your entire wing - an advantage, since I guarantee your ringleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities."

I roll the dragon figurine over my knuckles and keep my mouth shut, since I'm not supposed to be here.

"So let's do this." Mira back up and I glance around the table, curiosity settling my attention on Aetos. "Who is in command? And let's pretend that I don't have three years seniority on even the highest-ranked of you."

"Then I'm in command." Aetos sits up stiffly, like someone's called formation.

To my credit, I don't laugh.

"Our wingleader  is here." Liam points in my direction. "I would say that puts him in command."

The spy silver bond solidifies, an emotion - pride - dancing down the pathway even though Violet doesn't move a muscle. Holy shit, we really are connected. This could be -

" Dangerous? Reckless? An unaffordable distraction? " Sagely snaps, and I swear I hear her teeth clash.

" Fun ." There's no denying the bond between us when it's shining at me like a fucking mage light. "We can pretend I'm not here, just for the sake of the exercise." I put my figurine on the table and settle in my chair, then wrap my arm around the back of Violet's seat and enjoy the sight of Dain grinding his teeth, "Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves." His jaw flexes, and I leave my arm planted like a battle marker. The command, he  can have.

I'm mildly curious to see what he does with it. But that's the only  position I'm ceding to the spoiled whiner.

"Don't be a dick," Violet whispers.

" You haven't seen me start to be a dick. " I send the words down the bond.

Her head whips toward mine, her lips parting as she openly gawks at me.

It worked . My heart stumbles, and I bite back a laugh. I was wrong. This isn't just fun , it's instantly vital to my existence. I turn towards her letting a corner of my mouth rise, and look straight into those hypnotic hazel eyes. " You're staring. It's going to get awkward in about thirty seconds if you don't stop. "

"How?" She spits out the whisper like an accusation.

" The same way you talk to Sgaeyl. We're all gloriously, annoyingly linked. This is just one of the perks. Though I'm starting to wish I'd tried it sooner. The look on your face is priceless. " I wink and turn my attention back to the seething pot of jealousy boiling over across the table.

"You're. The. Wingleader." Rain chokes on the words and I can't help but wonder if he's submitting to my rank or accusing me of inappropriate behavior with a subordinate.

Not that I give a fuck either way. If it were safe for Violet, I'd be ecstatically guilty of inappropriate behavior. Wickedly inappropriate. In my bed. In hers. On a table in the Archives, in the bathing chamber and every room with a door to lock so no one else can see what's mine. I'd be so decadently inappropriate that her voice would turn hoarse from screaming my name every single day.

But though she'd be the best thing that ever happened to me, l'd  be the worst thing that ever happened to her. The truth of it sinks like a stone in my stomach.

"I'm not even supposed to be here." I shrug. "But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of War Games, you'd be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Travis, which he'd get from me. You'd be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing, so pretend I'm another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos." I withdraw my hold on Violet's chair and cross my arms.

"Why are you even here?" Dain whines. "No offense sir, but we weren't exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip."

" Yes, why are you here? " Sgaeyl doesn't disguise the mockery in her tone.

"You're more than aware that Sgaeyl  and Tairn  are mated." My voice stays respectfully level, " It was your idea to bring the daggers. " I'm careful to only speak down Sgaeyl's bond.

" It seemed a prudent course of action, considering your insufferable intolerance to being separated from the general's daughter. " She hugs.

"Three days?" Dain fires back, leaning in. "You couldn't make it three  days?"

" Insufferable? That's a bit far. "

" Where's Violet now? " She mocks. ““ What is she doing? Is she thinking of me? Is she missing me? Is she getting closer to Aetos? Does she dream about that kiss? How many days until Violet's- ””

" Point fucking taken. " She's going to be unbearable on the flight home.

"It has nothing to do with him." Violet slams her dragon figurine on the table. " That's  up to Tairn  and Gayle."

And there she goes again, defending me. Fuck. I love this woman.

" You never considered that it was you I couldn't stay away from? " I ask her. She jabs the point of her elbow into my biceps and I fight the upward curve of my mouth. I love that she isn't scared of me. That she'll call me out in a way no one else besides Sgaeyl does.

Everything she does - even blatantly elbowing me in front of her squad - turns me on. I'm fucked on every level known to man when it comes to Violet Sorrengail. "Now, now, you'll give our little communication secret away if you can't keep from being so....violent. "

"Of course you rush to defend him." Dain whines yet again. "Though how you can forget that this guy wants  to kill you six months ago is beyond me."

He's not lying, but that was when I hated the idea of her, before I knew her - loved her.

Violet stiffens. "I cannot believe you went there."

The hurt in her tone sets my teeth on edge. "Good job remaining professional Aetos." I scratch the relic on my neck to remind him exactly who the fuck I am. "Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage."

A rider stationed here whistles. "Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster?"

Liam stifles what's obviously a laugh, and I shoot him a sideways look.

" Enough! " The table vibrates as Mira slams her hands onto the surface.

"Oh, come on, Sorrengail," the shorter rider on her left whines jokingly, and both Sorrengails glance his way.

"I mean...the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we've had in ages." Violet shakes her head, clearing having had enough. "Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we're dealing with infantry or gryphon riders."

Excellent point. I hadn't considered Mira in my own calculations.

"Good." Mira sets her dragon close to the castle. "Now let's assume there are gryphons ."

" Speaking of gryphons , ”  I say to Sgaeyl , " Any news from Glane? "

" Still out of range. " she replies.

Sending Imogen an hour south, toward the Draevick border, was a calculated risk given I hadn't much time to get a message to Syrena and her drift, but rendezvousing there was a far better choice than risking her being caught by Cygnus fliers. Cygnus fliers would take the daggers and then kill Imogen to make a point. Stubborn assholes.

"You want to do your job?" Violet's smile practically drips venomous sugar as she turns it on Dain. "I mean, how you can forget you're the squad leader is beyond me."

Fucking love  her.

His knuckles whiten around his figurine. "Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?"

"Yes," she answers.

"Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness." Dain says.

"And have you report   back.  Same with Liam. We'd use your farsight to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps."

"Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate," Mira adds as the two cadets move their figurines, "and Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons."

"So much for blasting the whole place." Ridos mutters.

"You're an air wielder, right?" Dain asks Emery. "So you can shape your dragon's flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians."

"Yes," Emerys answers with a nod. "But l'd  have to be in the keep."

"Then you'll have to get into the keep." Mira's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

Emery's eyes flare. "You want me to leave my dragon and go on foot?"

"Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?" Mira flicks her wrist and Emery's dragon goes flying into the air. Mira catches it, then sets it in the center of the model. "The real question is, how do we get you close enough without getting you killed? Since I'm guessing others will be busy fighting off the gryphons  that launch once the fireworks start."

"What's your signet Aetos?" Quinn asks.

"Above your pay grade," Dain answers.

Does he actually think that? Or is he so brainwashed by Daddy that he doesn't see they're going to use him as a weapon against other riders?

He looks at every cadet except me, then sighs. "Any ideas?"

Violet shakes her head then says, "Sure." She snatches my dragon and pushes it at the keep, flaring her hand so the figurine levitates above the model. I shouldn't be impressed - it's just lesser magic - but damn she's sexy when she takes charge. "You stop ignoring that you have an incredibly powerful shadow wielder at your disposal and ask him to black out the area so no one sees you land."

Spot-on.

"She's not wrong." Mira bites the words out.

"You can do that?" Aetos slowly looks in my direction.

"Are you seriously asking?" I reach for Sgaeyl's power and it pours into my veins.

"Just wasn't sure you could cover an area that-"

I lift my palms just enough to clear the table and summon the cooling softness of the shadows. They stream out from under the table and blanket the room in less than a heartbeat, devouring all traces of light.

Panic skitters down the silver bond.

" Relax. It's just me. " I crook a finger, and a strand of shadow solidifies along Violet's cheek.

"Fuck me," a rider to the left says.

"I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out." I close my hands, and the shadows jolt back to their natural shade, letting light pour in through the windows. Damn that was fun. It was even worth the threat assessment I'm getting from Mira. Violet tenses like she spotted it too. " I hope you didn't get any ideas while we were in the dark there. "

She lifts her middle finger without even looking my way, and a laugh works past my lips as Mira leads us through the rest of the exercise.

"Good job," Mira finally says, checking the time. "Aetos, Riorson and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed."

This should be fun.

She leads the way, then shuts the door behind us once we're in the staircase and throws a blue wave of energy over the doorway. It's an interesting use of power, when I'm more than capable of constructing a powerless one for the sake of privacy.

"Sound shield," Dain smiles. "Nice."

What a suck-up.

"Shut up." Mira pivots a few steps above me, one above Violet and shoves a finger in Aetos's face. "I don't know what bug has crawled up your ass, Dain Aetos, but have you forgotten that you're a squad leader? That you have a very real chance of becoming a wingleader next year?"

Gods help every cadet if  that  happens.

Violet retreats a step in my direction and my brow furrows. Sibling dynamics are something I'll never understand.

"Mira -" Aetos begins.

"Lieutenant Sorrengail," Mira interrupts. "You're blowing it, Dain. I know how badly you want his job next year." She swings that finger toward me. "Don't forget that we've grown up about ten feet apart. And you are blowing it, because what? You're pissed that Violet bonded his dragon's mate?"

Harsh, but I respect her candor.

"He is the worst possible thing for her!" Dain raises his voice.

Huh. Guess we actually agree on something.

"Oh I'm not arguing that." Mira invades his space. "But there's nothing anyone can do about the choice of dragons. They don't bother with the opinions of mere humans, do they? But whatever is going on between the two of you" - her finger flies between Violet and Aetos - is fucking up your squad. If I can see it after four days with you, then they sure as hell can tell.

And if I'd known that you were going to be such a hard-ass with zero flexibility for the things she can't control, I never would have told her to find you after crossing the parapet. You two have been best friends since you were five years old Figure  your shit out." That last part is directed at both of them.

Dain stiffens, then looks Violet's way and nods, which she returns.

An irrational, ugly feeling sours my stomach. They have the kind of history that lingers, the kind that has me really contemplating the word 'jealousy'.

" Glane approaches from the south, " Sgaeyl tells me. " They were successful. "

" Thank you. " Now to get Imogen to the infirmary, and no one will realize she'd ever been missing.

"Good, now get back in there." Mira nods towards the door, and Dain departs heading through the shield. "And as for you." She descends two stars and narrows her eyes on me.

"Is this what she can expect next year?"

"Aetos being an asshole?" I keep my hands off my weapons. Killing Mira might appease the burning need for revenge I've learned to live with, but it's not worth upsetting Violet or dealing with the older Sorrengail sibling either. "Probably."

Mira glares at me, and the resemblance to her mother is uncanny. "Mated dragons typically bond riders in the same year for a reason. You cannot expect your assigned wing or her instructors to let you both fly off every three days."

"Wasn't my choice." I shrug. Lying is easy, except when it comes to Violet. I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

"What are we supposed to do? Tell the giant, flame-throwing dragons how it's going to be?" Violet questions?

"Yes!" Mira shouts, facing her sister. "Because you can't live this way Violet. You'll be the one who ends up missing the training you need, because he's the more powerful of the two of you right now. But if you don't get to focus on your training, then that's how it will always be. You won't ever become who Train can push you to be. Is that what you're after, Riorson?"

My gut twists with anger, and power rushes through me. Fuck it, Violet would get over her sister's death eventually.

"Mira." Violet whispers and shakes her head. "You're wrong about him."

Only in some ways . The beating organ behind my ribs soothes the anger, and my power recedes.

"Listen to me." Mira grabs Violet's shoulders. "He might wield shadows, Violet, but give him his way and you'll become one."

And the power races back in, shadows pulsing at the edges of the stairwell. I'm the one pushing Violet instead of babying her. If Aetos had his way, she'd be smothered in cream

"That won't happen," Violet vows.

"It will if he has anything to say about it." Mira pins a look on me that I don't appreciate.

"Killing someone isn't the only way to destroy them. Keeping you from reaching your potential seems like a great path to the retribution he swore against our mother. Think long and hard. How well do you even know him?"

Violet's swift intake of breath slices like a knife to my side.

"That's what I thought." Mira's expression softens, and I wait to see if she's going to take the Dain route. "Do you even know why he hates our mother so much? Why the kids like him are put on the para-"

Oh, fuck no, she isn't ready to hear half  of what their mother did to me.

"I'm right here." I step up to Violet's side. "In case you didn't notice."

"You're kind of hard to miss," Mira counters.

"You're not listening." I hold her accusing stare and lower my voice. "I. Am. Here. Train didn't drag her back to Basmath. He didn't break through her shields and pour his emotions into her. He didn't demand she fly across the fucking kingdom. Your sister is still right here. I am the one who left my positing and my executive officer in charge of my wing. She's not missing out on  shit ." The truth of the words stings. I might be accomplishing a very risky run, but Style is right. We're here because I couldn't concentrate for shit knowing Violet was this close to the border. I chose Violet over my wing.

"And next year? When you're a brand-new lieutenant? What shit is she going to miss out on then?" Mira asks.

Yeah, fuck if I know. At this rate, they'll have to station me at  Sgiath if I can't get my shit under control and get over -

" Love isn't something you get over, " Sgaeyl reminds me. " Why do you think I flew you all the way out here? "

" To mock me while cavorting with your mate. "

" I didn't say it was without its perks. "

"We'll figure it out," Violet grabs Mira's hand. "Miram he's taken every spare minute he has to train me on the mat for challenges or take me flying in hopes I'll finally figure out how to keep my damned seat without Train holding me in place. He's -"

Mira flinches. "You can't keep your seat?"

Oh shit.

"No." Violet's voice drops to a whisper.

"How the hell can you not ?" Mira's jaw drops.

Fuck. What are the rules when it comes to interfering with sisters? Am I supposed to step in? Let Violet handle it? Lewellen let Liam and me beat the shit out of each other when we fought, but I'm not sure that's the right approach here. I'm also not about to infantilize Violet when her sister is doing a damned good job of it herself.

"Because I'm not you!" Violet shouts.

Mira jolts backwards. "But you...you look so much stronger now."

"My joints and muscles are stronger, because Imogen makes me lift these horrible weights, but that doesn't... fix me." Violet's shoulder drop, and shadows pulse at the edge of the

The color fades from Mira's face. "No. I didn't mean it like that. Vi. You're not anything that needs to be fixed. I just didn't know you couldn't hold your seat. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there's nothing you can do about it." Violet's smile is anything but happy. "There's nothing anyone can do about the way I'm made."

The way she's made? She's fucking perfect . Everything about her is what makes her...

Violet.

When the silence grows awkward, my power ebbs. "She's getting better." I tell Mira, just to get her off Violet's back. "The first few weeks were... disastrous."

"Hey, he caught me before I hit the ground." Violet shoots me a not helpful  look.

"Barely," I admit, then rip my gaze from Violet to face down her sister. "You don't have to trust me -"

"Good, because I don't," she says. "All of that power in the hands of someone with your history is bad enough, but to know your dragons are so tangled up that you can't be more than three days away from Violet is unacceptable in every possible way I can think -" She freezes, her eyes going unfocused.

Unnatural quiet falls, and unease ripples down my spine at the lack of the steady, quiet hum of background noise that always accompanies proximity to stored power. My stomach clenches. The wards are down.

" Drift incoming from the east! " Sharyl snarls.

" Let me guess. They're not friendly? " My gaze shoots to the top of the steps. I can have Violet on the ramparts in thirty seconds or less.

" Definitely not! "

"Fuck! The wards are down." Mira grabs Violet into a hug. "You have to go."

"We can help!" Violet's voice pitches toward panic.

" Is this us? " Wards will only fall this quickly if the power supply is compromised....or stolen.

" No. "

Which means we have enemies within the keep already.

"You can't." Mira's voice cuts like steel. "And if Tairn is using his power to keep you seated, he's diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you'll go so I don't have to worry about you, too."

" Western rampart. " Violet needs to be airborne now.

" Where do you think we're already headed? " Sgaeyl  snaps. " And you'd better be there with her ”

The squad races out of the briefing rooms and hurries down the steps as Mira releases Violet and pins me with a look that's equal parts order and desperation. "Get her out of here."

My head rears back. Did she just tell me to go with her? Fuck that.

"Let's go!" Aetos yells. "Now!"

"Even if you don't trust me, I'm the best weapon you have," I remind Mira in a less-than-amiable tone.

"If what you say is true, then you're the best weapon she  has. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, and Teine thinks we have about twenty minutes until the gryphons  arrive." Her expression shifts to a quick but blatant plea before turning to her sister. "You have to get to safety, Violet. I love you. Don't die. I'd hate to be an only child."

" I can get Violet out and track down whoever brought down the wards- "

" If you stay, so will she, " Sgaeyl growls. " And need I remind you what happens to us all if she's killed while you're off proving your acumen? "

Fuck. Every instinct but one demands I fight, but it's that lone, sharply insistent slice of intuition screaming to keep Violet safe above all else that quickly conquers every other impulse. I breathe in sharply, exhaling pure frustration, mentally shifting to a new plan as I whip my arm around Violet's waist and pull her against my side.

She flat-out fights  me as Mira sprints up the stairs to the roof.

"No!" Violet throws her body weight against my grip, but I hold her. "Mira! What if you get hurt? Tarin's speed could be the only thing that saves you. At least let us stay."

Mira pivots at the doorway to face us. "You want me to trust you, Riorson? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she's dead if she doesn't."

I nod, then shift my grip on Violet's waist, locking my elbow around the delicate curve, and haul her ass down the stairs.

"Mira!" Violet takes her nails along my forearm. "I love you!" she screams over her shoulder.

Her cry rips into my very soul, but I'm not risking her life, even for her sister. Shadows race ahead of use pouring over the steps. If anyone is coming up this direction I'll know before they so much as see  us.

" Close yet? " I ask Sgaeyl as we turn the curve into the barracks' hall.

" Not quite. Glane has rerouted as well. "

Good. Gives us enough time for me to get my pack. If anyone finds the alloy-hilted dagger I keep stored there, I'm fucked.

"Can I trust you to get your own pack?" I ask Violet, setting her on her feet, "Or am I going to have to carry you out of here with whatever you brought?"

"I'll get it myself." She pushes at me, and I release my grip.

Two seconds later, she slams the door to the room she shares with Matthias in my face, and I head into mine just down the hall, finding Liam standing with his arms folded in the center of my room, his pack strapped to his back.

"Was it us?" He says. It's more accusation   than question .

"No." I shove what few belongings I brought into my pack.

"Was it us?" He shouts this time, standing in my way when I turn for the door, like he could actually stop me from leaving if he wanted to.

"No." I repeat, looking him straight in the eye. "I already asked Sgaeyl; we have no operations in the area -"

"Except what Imogen pulled off today," he retorts, his hands clenching.

My jaw flexes. "This wasn't us, Liam. You know I'd never risk civilian casualties by taking down an entire outpost . Imogen carried two dozen  daggers across the border, but even that amount of power wouldn't be enough to affect an outage like this." I sheathe my swords in the scabbards sewn into my pack, then swing it onto my back.

Liam's shoulders dip. "This isn't on us."

"No." I shake my head, then clasp his shoulder. "Get to the roof. We need to mount." He nods, "I'll get Vi -"

"I've got her." I drop my hand and walk past him, swinging open the door to the hallway.

"She's not exactly in favor of leaving. Now, go."

We split at the hallway, and Violet keeps me waiting less than a minute before barrelling through her door carrying two packs and avoiding my gaze as she marches towards the door that leads to the courtyard.

I catch her elbow and spin her to face the correct direction. "Nope. It's too dangerous to leave the fortress walls. We're going up." I hook my arm around her waist before she can even think about fighting me, then carry her to the crowded stairwell before setting her down. "Climb."

"This is bullshit!" Her cheeks flush as she narrows her eyes on me, members of her squad pushing past. "Train could help them!"

And she could die in the process. My resolve hardens to stone. "Your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we're leaving. Now fucking climb." Or so help me Dunne, I will throw her over my damned shoulder right in front of everyone.

"Dain." Her gaze swings to the squad leader just ahead of us like he's of fucking use right now.

He takes Matthia's  pack from Violet. "For once, Riorson and I agree. It's not just you we have to get out Violet. Think of every other first-year. Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death?" He starts climbing and, lucky for me, Violet follows. "Because I'll make it. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer?

You want their deaths in your hands?"

Is it just me or is he already out of breath as we climb through the third floor and out onto the roof?

Emery mounts ahead of us on the annoyingly narrow rampart. The design is great for preventing fliers from doing the same, but it's not doing us any favor at the moment.

"Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air." Liam announces watching Emery launch on his

Brown Clubtail.

I sport Deigh next to Cath, hovering with shallow beats of their wings.

"You're next!" I order Liam, and thankfully for our time's sake, Dain agrees, which means I don't have to kill him.

Chunks of masonry tumble to the bailey as Deigh lands, and Liam wastes no time, taking the rampart at a run just like we'd practiced hundreds of times in Lewellen.

"You next Aetos." My gaze takes the sky for any sign of Train.

" Coming behind you, " the surly behemoth deigns to speak to me. " She's not going to like the method. "

"Vi-" Aetos has the nerve to object.

"That's an order." Just because I loathe the simpering daddy's boy doesn't mean I  want  to be responsible for the death of a younger cadet. Plus, I can't afford Aetos senior making my life hell. "I've got her. Go."

"Go." Violet pleads.

Aetos turns my way and offers me his best impression of a threatening glare. "I'm trusting you to get her out."

I don't have time for this bullshit. "There's a lot of that going around today," I snap . "Now get on your dragon so I can get her on hers."

He heads down the rampart towards Cath, but he's nowhere as fast as Liam.

" What method isn't she going to like? " I ask Tarin, choosing the pathway that excludes Violet the same way he had.

" I'm going to have to... " He pauses, and I note Violet scanning the sky above us. " Scoop her up. It won't be her most dignified moment. "

Oh she's going to love  that.

"I can't do this." Violet twists in my grip, turning those hazel eyes on me. "The others are gone. Call it the favour  you owe me, I don't care. We can stay. I can't just leave her here. It's wrong, and it's something she'd never do to me. I have to stay for her. I just have to."

Fuck. I get it. I really do. Liam and Bodhi are the closest things I have to siblings and I wouldn't leave with their lives on the line either. But this isn't Liam. Or Bodhi. It's her . And we aren't at Basquiat. That approaching threat - and whoever is responsible for compromising the power supply for the adds  - will kill her if given the chance, and that's not something I'll ever let happen.

But damn, her courage has me tripping over my feelings for her.

" Approaching, " Sgaeyl informs me.

" Not fast enough. "

Violet isn't going to leave of her own accord: I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the tense lines of her back. I drop my shields, and her emotions hurtle down the bond. Determination. Fear-

She's going to bolt.

And there's only one way to stop her. I lift my hands from her waist to the velvet-soft skin of her cheeks, memorizing every color in her eyes as I cup the back of her neck, preparing to commit what she'll think is an unforgivable sin.

I kiss  her. It's hard and raw, wild and desperate, and the way she opens for me, kissing me back with abandon, nearly takes me out at the knees. Gods. I'll never get enough of this woman. Her mind. Her tenacity. Her mouth.

I kiss her like this might be the last time she'll let me. Like this is an alternate reality and there's a chance she could love me back.

I kiss her like she's mine .

It's a stolen moment - it can never be anything more - but it's ours.

Wingbeats approach, and I ignore them, stroking my tongue against hers again and again, keeping my hands at the nape of her neck by sheer force of will, denying the urge to explore every curve, every hollow of her tight body. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her, never craved a woman's laugh as much as her touch or needed her trust more than my next breath. Only Violet.

I tear my mouth away, the steady pulse of wings undeniable as Train and Sgaeyl approach.

Wind gusts, catching the loosened strands of her hair as I lean my forehead against hers.

"Leave for me , Violet,"

She stiffens, accusation  filling her eyes as quickly that  I know she's figured out that I just used our attraction to distract her. "I will hate you for this."

Ouch.

"Yeah." I nod, accepting the consequences of my actions. "I can live with that." I can live with anything as long as she's still breathing, so I drop my hands to her arms and force them out at her sides. "Arms up. Hold tight."

"Fuck. You." She hisses out the words a shadow falls over us, and I hit the floor, catching myself with my hands as a black claw fills the space I just occupied, hooking Violet's arms and snatching her into the sky.

"She'll never forgive me," I tell Sharyl as she lands on the narrow perch ahead of me. "Especially if something happens to her sister."

She tilts her head, staring at me with typical impatience as I launch my feet and sprint down the rampart towards her. We're airborne in seconds, her wings pummeling the air before I even reach the seat. "If she can't forgive you for the least of your transgressions, then she doesn't deserve you."

"I don't think she'll see it that way." I get a good grip on her scales and settle in for the flight.

"Then you'd better start praying to your gods that her sister survives."

[tlbodine]

Tips for Talking to Conservative Friends & Family

In the wake of the election, with the holidays around the corner, some of you may be wondering how to deal with friends, family members, coworkers, etc. who voted for Trump and/or who espouse his policies.

This guide is by no means meant to be authoritative and won't work in every circumstance. I accept no responsibility for what happens if you use any scripts and it goes horribly awry. But I did want to share some of my personal experience in this vein, as someone with a great deal of conservative people in my life whom I generally love and respect and would like to maintain a civil relationship with (and, hopefully, bring them back to center if not my side). I've had decent luck with these strategies in the past.

First: Only engage if it is safe to do so.

Do not get into political discussions that might endanger your job, your living situation, your access to care, or your physical and emotional safety. However, do engage if you are able to do so safely and your doing so might help someone in a more vulnerable position. What the fuck is privilege for if not using it to protect people?

Second: Identify your goal.

Do you want to de-escalate a situation so someone can get out of immediate danger? Do you want to establish a boundary? Or do you want to actually attempt to convert someone over to your side? Each goal has different tactics. Be realistic with yourself about what you're going to accomplish. If you do not have a close relationship with the person, you are extremely unlikely to change their mind about anything, and it's frankly not worth the effort. Let someone who is close to them do that work. De-escalate, set a boundary if possible, and gtfo.

But if you do have a close relationship -- if this person generally likes and respects you -- then you might have a shot at challenging their views.

We're going to assume a scenario where you're dealing with people you know and who you can generally count on not to be immediately aggressive. Somebody else will be better-equipped to talk about strategies for dealing with protests and people on the street etc.

De-Escalation & Setting Boundaries

This is your first line of defense against family members acting shitty. If someone tries to start a debate, makes an off-color joke or comment, or is otherwise behaving inappropriately, try:

Let's not talk about this over dinner.

I don't think this is appropriate conversation right now.

That's an awful thing to say.

I don't understand that joke, can you explain why it's funny?

I'm sorry, I won't listen to any more of this (leave the room)

That's not okay.

What you want to do here is make an appeal to correct standards of behavior. You want them to feel ashamed for acting out of line. In order to make this work, it is essential that you:

Remain calm and keep an even, light-but-firm tone of voice. It needs to be clear that you're not joking around, but you also cannot sound upset. (Yes, this is really hard. I'm sorry.) Practice your very best "I'm not angry, just disappointed" tone for maximum effect. If you can manage it, eye contact and a neutral or even slightly concerned or sad expression will make it even better.

Avoid insulting or attacking them. Do not say things like, "Stop being an asshole" or "I can't believe you're acting like this" no matter how much you want to. Do not say "That's racist/sexist/ableist/homophobic." These types of replies, no matter how accurate, will make them defensive, and defensive people shut down and stop listening. If you come off as angry, that gives THEM permission to be angry right back. But if you come off as the normal one, them getting angry makes them look like a dick.

Do not laugh. Avoid the urge to chuckle nervously or joke it off. It WILL feel uncomfortable. It WILL be awkward as fuck. That's the point. They are misbehaving by violating a standard of appropriate behavior, and you are setting down a boundary. The awkwardness will fade and, frankly, they'll often start behaving better pretty much immediately.

Follow through on your consequences. If you say, "Dad, if you continue to bring up Trump, I will not call you anymore," you have to stick to it. Holding firm to your boundaries is HARD AS FUCK but if you don't do it then all you do is teach them that they can wear you down. Think of it like training a dog. Consistency is key.

You're not going to change anybody's closely-held beliefs with this strategy, but you WILL make a case for what is allowable around you. If you model this behavior, and encourage and embolden other people you know to do the same, you might be surprised. A lot of times, people's inappropriate behavior is a boundary-testing mechanism -- they tell the racist joke because they want to see if they can get away with it -- and if you shut them down, they often just...stop. Or at least retreat into their little hole to talk to fellow gremlins instead of you.

Challenging Views, Changing Minds

Okay. You actually want to engage them in conversation. You want to challenge their views and help them change their opinion. How do you do that?

Again, it's essential that you remain calm. If you can't have this discussion without getting heated, it's not the time to have the discussion. If they start to get heated, be prepared to de-escalate and walk away: "I cannot continue this conversation with you right now. Let's talk again some other time when we've cooled off."

But if you can keep calm, here is what actually works (sometimes):

Listen to them. No, really. Hear them out.

Help them feel heard by empathizing with them. Repeat back your understanding of what they said and how that must feel.

Remind them that for other people, THEY are feeling xyz emotion, too.

Ask them questions. Instead of telling them they're wrong, ask questions that will lead them to draw that conclusion themselves.

Make appeals to emotion rather than starting with facts and logic. You'll know what kind of emotion to draw on because you've been listening to them and empathizing. Hint: almost always, bigotry (at the personal level) is rooted in fear.

If this is going well, THEN you can start citing some sources, statistics, and facts.

Invite them to share THEIR sources with you.

Thank them for doing such a good job at being calm and discussing this with you, reaffirm your close relationship, and encourage them to come talk to you about this at any time. It's very possible that you are the only person they might feel safe bringing this stuff up to now and you want to keep that channel of communication open.

Very often (not always, or often), conservative-leaning individuals are people who lack the education or knowledge that left-leaning people do. They may be accustomed to being insulted, yelled at, and made to feel stupid. They are conditioned to believe that folks on the left are smug, holier-than-thou, stuck-up assholes. Whatever you can do to poke a hole in that perception will simultaneously make it easier to talk to them AND cause them to question that rhetoric the next time they encounter it.

This tactic won't always work. It probably won't work at all the first conversation. It's something you'll have to chip away at over time. But sometimes, it's worth it.

And if it's not? Well. As they say.

[miri-tiazan]

Fresh from the archives, new unhinged 00Q chatfic!

So, @cicerfics and have been writing unhinged 00Q chatfics and headcanons back and forth in DMs for uh… going on two years now, and it seems like perhaps the time has come to unearth some of these from the archives and dust them off for sharing. Accordingly, here is the very first chatfic we did, inspired by this comment thread on Ch. 7 of cicer’s delightful fic the warmth of your doorways!

tags: omegaverse, mpreg, weird omegaverse hormone nonsense, menopause

---

miri-tiazan: Oh God. Cicer. Doesn’t even have to be mpreg but…

Omega Bond going into his first heat in decades and just spontaneously deciding that Q’s flat is the Only Acceptable Location to nest in. They’re not even dating! Bond’s just broken in a few times! Q has no idea why this is happening!

Q just gets an alert from his home security system one day and Bond is There and he’s like, refinishing the window trim in the second bedroom or something. And also he won’t leave. Surprise, Q! You have a roommate, and he’s hormonal! Enjoy your new home improvements!

cicerfics: ...Okay, now that we're talking about this, you know what I'm a little bit obsessed with right now? The entire question of menopause in omegaverse. I don't think I've ever seen an a/b/o fic REALLY explore that concept, but now it's fascinating to me!

Like, what if nesting is a thing omegas only do when they're pregnant OR going through menopause? What if Bond (having never been pregnant) never experienced any of these instincts/urges and thought he was impervious to them? What if he hits 44/45, enters perimenopause, and is absolutely BODIED by the urge to:

a) Acquire a nice house b) Renovate, refurbish, and redecorate it c) Learn to cook d) Start a lil herb garden or something and maybe make some pesto??? e) Acquire a lover/companion to feed up and care for f) Acquire some pets/babies/random houseplants/literally anything that requires his protection and nurturing

Poor dude has ZERO experience with these types of urges. But when they appear, they hit him like a TRUCK. And his own flat is way too cold/sterile/crappy/lonely for proper nesting. There aren't even any cats or quartermasters in there!!

So, yes: one day Q gets home from work and Bond has simply annexed his flat/cats/kitchen. There are already overflowing bags from the hardware store scattered around the flat, because Bond has made up his mind that three different rooms need to be repainted, the bathroom needs a complete reno, and oh yeah, he's replacing the sofa because this one simply Isn't Right. The vibes are Bad. Bond Doesn't Like It, so it's gotta go.

Also, there's pasta sauce simmering on the stove and probably a trifle waiting in the fridge, and the cats are wearing new designer collars.

And sorry Q, but if you didn't want a hormonal new housemate/husband who is going through The Change...too bad. You got one anyway! He's here to stay...and no, he doesn't understand what's happening to his body/mind, either. Good luck, everybody!!

Continued on AO3 here:

00Q Chatfics and Assorted Headcanons (2391 words) by cicer, miri_tiazan Chapters: 1/? Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Omegaverse, Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, weird omegaverse hormone nonsense, Menopause Summary: Lightly edited chat transcripts between cicer and miri_tiazan: some live-written fics, some random headcanons, some plot-free fluff, all 00Q!

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

(Question for Cookie's Reaction fic) I have 2 type of reactions in this type of fic (assuming they are self-aware) so I would like to ask what type of reaction would you do. Here's the option I can think of: A. Plot Breaker Basically Y/N being a menace and they talk about the plot which totally gonna break the canon event (like they are watching the gameplay/cutscene and then comment about it), unaware that the cookies heard what they say. This will definitely gonna add drawback to the story since the cookies know what is going to happen in the future and they might do smth afterward. B. The other universe behind the screen It's gonna be our(reader/you) general idea of the cookies see what we are watching/playing with the screen above the sky(don't ask where the screen come from) such as story from other games, cookie run AU, etc... This might be hard decision for you but with the option B, there could be a lot of different scenes with different reaction like this (early leak for my future request if option B is accepted) -Game but let's make it as movie react- *firework fired to the sky and explode* *Someone's footstep* Barry: Hello! I think I got the attention of that ship over there. I can lower this platform and get us down there. Hold tight until I can bring this platform back up. Officer James: Understood soldier, we will be here below. I think this is our chance to get the hell out of this Fort. *French's Infantry translating it to his Officer* Officer Louise: Oui , Monsieur James. Les sapeurs , préparez les defenses. C'est notre seul espoir de quitter cet endroit. (Yes, Sir James. Sappers, prepare the defenses. This will our last hope to leave this place.) [Cookies react/comment what they are watching] <- you write this part *skipping the holdout part* Barry: GET ON THE PLATFORM ! *Barry lowering the platform but suddenly got tackled by human* Barry: Aahh! N-no! H-help me ! *Insert scene where Barry getting mauled alive with him screaming in pain and agony* [Cookies react/comment what they are watching] <- you write this part -This might be long but you can make it as separate part- C. Same as B but without screen (they can only hear what we're talking about. Can't wait to see them get traumatized with CRK AU idea lol) I'm sure there would be more type of reactions but that's all I can think of it for now. You can decide what type of reaction you can do with your own idea. For the B option, I was thinking that you should make a intro post of how the screen spawn above the sky and then the screen start playing with whatever the reader send their request to you. If you want to do both then you should make it as seperate reaction AU so we(reader) can identify what type of reaction we're reading. Note: Please add #self aware crk or #self aware cookie run tag so I don't have to find your whole post to read it again. Thank you for taking your time reading this!

Option A, no doubt about it. I love a good plot break type of story. If you haven't noticed, I have a tendency of making my Y/N cookie a menace

[trainsinanime]

So much of the talk about fanfic comments is bound up in ideas of rules and exchange and trades and so on. Lots of talk about how nobody comments anymore, but also just as lots of talk about receiving the wrong types of comments. I can sort of see why someone, especially someone who speaks English as a second language, might be intimidated by it. But at the core of it, it's really quite simple: Do you like that a fanfic exists? Does it make you happy? You can make the creator happy by leaving a comment that tells them so!

Every other consideration is kind of secondary and arguably misses the point entirely. For example there's the talk about people setting up private discord servers to discuss fanfic, and is that a good thing or a bad thing and do fans deserve spaces to discuss things away from their creators and… look, that's all too complicated. You do whatever you want. But if you love a fanfic, telling its author that you do will make them happy. And as elementary-school as it sounds, we all want to be happy together here in this world.

Can you comment on old fics? Yes. A multitude of polls have proven that there is no fanfic author ever who had a problem with that, and most of them don't even understand the question. Is that a thing on Instagram or something where leaving comments on old works hurts the algorithm or something? No clue. I only use Instagram to get ads for model trains. Over here in the fanfic world, the rule stands: If you like a work, any work, no matter how old or weird or how much the author apologises for it in the notes, if you let them know you like it, you'll make them happy.

Does it intimidate you? Do you think that surely this author of this great fic that rewired your brain already knows how good they are, and your little comment will seem insulting next to it? No, don't worry. Telling them that you like it will still make them happy.

What to comment? Fashions and opinions have changed on this over the years I've been in fandom, and today the general rule is to not include anything negative at all, neither about the work nor "I hate this fandom/pairing/trope except this time" and so on. Telling people to please update soon is right out. But at the end of the day, it's actually quite simple: Tell people that you liked their fic. If you can think of anything specific you like, mention that, if not, that's okay too.

(An aside: I also think fanfic writers could stand with being a bit more tolerant at times. Someone telling you they like your fic in not quite perfect terms is still someone telling you they like your fic.)

There are also people talking about how lack of comments will drive authors out of fandoms or fanfic writing in general, and how more comments may motivate them to write more. To tell you the truth, it's not quite as easy as that, fanfic writers stop writing for all sorts of reasons and many new ones start writing every day. I am not the biggest fan of talking about this in economic terms at all. We're a community. We'd like to make each other happy (which may take different forms depending on what sort of fanfic it is). A happy fanfic writer is its own reward.

The key here is: Don't overthink it. Don't think of reasons why you have to comment, don't think of reasons why you shouldn't be required to. Think about whether the author of the fic that you enjoyed would like to hear that you did so. The answer is always yes.

[rottmnt-residuum]

Any other LGBTQ+ Headcannons that are canon is the comic??;)

*patiently awaits Cupioromantic Donnie*

hmm... had to think about this for a while and talk about it with co-author, but here's what we got. we mostly base this stuff on how plausible it is in show/if there's evidence for it. with a dash of personal experience. This only applies to residuum, btw. I have different personal headcanons for these characters outside the comic.

april: lesbian. this is mostly based off of the fact that most aprils get with their caseys & the comment she said to dale. which could be taken as disinterest in dale specifically, but she seemed more concerned with impressing that popular girl earlier and that reads as more... saphic, i suppose. or at the very least homoromantic.

raph: raph is just raph. we look at him and basically just *tv static*. go crazy. all we got is jokes or stuff that has too little evidence to support. so, yeah, he's whatever you want him to be i guess?

leo: trans. already said my reason in the other post. also, gay. if gay were a power source he could power the entirety of the united states for five months straight without a single power outage. failing power grid notwithstanding (< thats the actual word. its supposed to be mushed together like that. wack.).

donnie: as much as i'd like him to be ace/aro spectrum rep, he just doesn't have the evidence in show for us to apply it to him in this comic. it's funny, for being hc as ace so often he sure is the most outwardly romantic/sexual turtle in the show lmao. one! cherry: "you're so cute, but you're so mean! why do i always go for your type?" two! astrogirl?? (whatever her name is) he is very very romantic with her. he has a type y'all. also just look at those two, he's a leg man lmao (bootyyshaker9000 anyone? ha!) anyway. and with the bromance/instant chemistry he had with that one guy in the purple dragons... Pan. or possibly Omni as he does seem to favor... cute brutal femme... Yeah. Omnisexual.

(you have no idea how fucking bad i want this boy to be ace spectrum. hes got the colors y'all!! The Colors!!!!! but alas... i am bound by my canon plausibility creed for this comic)

mikey: ace. possibly ace/aro. he shows interest in literally no-one. we're aware that the common hc is pan but... we know a pan 13 year old, and let me tell you ahahahaha, kids going through puberty are very uncomfortable to be around sometimes, especially around their partners. or crushes. and mikey... well, that boy is ace behavior personified lmao. aces in the back you get what we mean right?? right??? anyway commiting to aroace

[sweetmariihs2]

Someone in the STF fandom is spreading lies and harassing me ‼️this will be a long post

TW: harassment, c*dfia/cedfia, self harm and suicide. I think the self harm and suicide mentions are fake, but it still can trigger someone so let me put this here.

I'm sorry for writing mistakes, my mind is faster than my typing

I'm going to divide this by titles and topics because this situation is huge.

Some time ago i had a discussion about cedric's age with a blog that didn't had anything in it, not a pfp or other posts, which makes me think that it's a backup blog for someone who wants to send free hate and don't be held responsible for this

The person was very rude and got really upset because I used good arguments about the topic, and they kept reblogging and fighting every single time, I was already tired of it. Then in the last reblog I said "please stop, i'm going to block you" with hopes that this person would understand how rude they were being, but then they accused me of harassment????

This is the person and that's the post i'm talking about:

At first it was a light discussion about Cedric the sorcerer's age, but then the person started to get really rude out of nowhere. I think they didn't liked me because I used good arguments and that made them stressed, I don't know. I went with it because internet fights are common and didn't liked the way I was being treated by them. Everyone in the STF fandom here on tumblr is very nice and polite

I recorded it because there's no way I'm taking so many screenshots. You can pause to read if you want. This situation is so stupid

And that's it, after they said that I blocked them.

They started saying something about harassment, no one said anything about that. The ending really pisses me off because I spent all the dozens of reblogs showing canon arguments, but ok, this is irrelevant right now. I just know that I told them to stop interacting with me and literally let me be (they were doing this for almost like 2 hours? And never gave up on fighting, everytime I said something they kept on fighting)

I don't know, I think I had hopes that they would magically understand what they were doing. But yeah, of course they didn't, and I blocked them. A friend of mine said I should have blocked them from the beggining without even saying anything, she was right 😐

This person have other posts raging about Cedric's age, they can never forget about this discussion, oh my god. The arguments they used will be later mentioned in this post.

TRIXIESTUFFS/CLOVEREARS

Remember that theory I had about this being a backup blog? While they were blocked, I found some blogs in the fandom that had the same arguments as them and were discussing about this again with different people. One day I was scrolling through Cedric posts as always and then in the comments of other blog, I don't really remember which, there was this person in the comments discussing about cedric's age and using the same arguments, specially the "when they were children cedric looked a lot younger than roland, he still had baby cheeks". This person also has the same arguments, typing patterns, never gives up on arguing, just like @agentswibble and I really believe that we're talking about the same person here. That's the blog: @cloverears

The name is cloverears but they also can be called TrixieStuffs. Remember that name

There is also another blog who interacted with me saying that posts about sofia being cedric's daughter figure were weird, and in their profile they had a post saying that they should marry eachother as companions in life in a "non c*dfia way". I actually thought at that time that this was the same person again, but I can't proof that, so I'll leave that out. That post about them marrying eachother and then saying that they don't support c*dfia was weird.

Last minuted edit: I decided to add them later to the post because they also had weird behaviors and spoke about the video in a post I'll talk about later

CEDRIC BEING IN HIS 20'S VIDEO AND CEDFIAENTHUSIAST

I also have a theory about other blog that might or might not be real, and I feel like it would be immoral if I brought that up... but I really need to tell you guys everything I have related to this person or this situation, and I can't cut this off from the post. Months after arguing with @agentswibble I decided to organize all my thoughts and make a proper, calmer post about Cedric's age. I DIDN'T WANT TO DIG UP ANYTHING, I SWEAR, I just wanted to make a more organized post about a topic that I know is recurrent in the fandom. You can find it by searching for "age" or other keywords in my blog, it's not relevant so I won't put it here. But for making that blog, I remember that there was a video on YouTube talking about Cedric's age and saying that he's a rookie in the role of royal sorcerer, and that he's in his 20's. I watched it when I entered the fandom at january 2024. I searched for that video and added the link to my post, so that anyone who's reading can see the arguments about his age being 20something, and later on in the post I would give arguments about him being 40. Normal usual discussion post, respectful, no fights, just me and myself talking about a character age.

But I noticed that every time I saw someone denying Cedric's age being 40 they were C*dfia fans, and I saw that happening 3 times. Went to that famous video on youtube again out of curiosity and... the person who made it is called CedfiaEnthusiast. When I made the post, I remembered the video but I haven't actually rewatched it until the moment I ended writing my arguments and finally, to answer any arguments they used in the video, watched it again. Found out thay they used the same arguments as those people from before "Cedric still had baby cheeks when Roland looked like a whole teenager", these words, always. Started to wonder if they are the same person and searched a bit more to be sure.

I thought I had done a huge discovery, but then I remembered seeing something about this Nick name on tumblr, and I found a blog. Their actual name was changed from CedfiaEnthusiast to @sorcerers-secrets . That is the blog. They write c*dfia fanfiction, honestly I'm not even talking about the shipp here, won't talk about it for long, focus on the blogs. CedfiaEnthusiast is their name on Ao3.

Edit: they only write c*dfia, and I found an oneshot that includes 🍇. Yeah not very nice find

Right now I went to their youtube channel and found this:

And that's another discovery: these short videos are ALL videos made by an account here on tumblr that ONLY posts this. CedfiaEnthusiast on youtube might be just reposting? Yes, but posting each one of these memes (and they're not even funny) makes me believe that they made them. Because CedfiaEnthusiast uses tumblr, they are used with this website and it wouldn't be hard to constantly be here finding/making new posts etc. Their connection to tumblr is very real at this point. And by using the same personal opinion/kinda nonsense argument of "cedric having baby cheeks and roland looking like a whole teenager" (he didn't, in fact his head is so big that he looks like baby fr) makes me believe that it's the same person because there's no way more than one person actually believe that.

Edit: I searched for them. The person who makes them is @cedfiaenthusiast1 . How funny

In the youtube "cedric being 20" video, they also used the same arguments as @agentswibble !! About saying that "just because Craig Gerber said something it doesn't mean that it's canon, and if he said Cedric is something something Dragon ball z and something you would believe him" . Saying that we believe everything he says because he's the writer even when he says stuff that doesn't make sense. But I would like to point out this here. This argument.

Clear as daylight. I firmly believe that they are related. (And just like I said... cedric being 20 is still/once again a c*dfia argument as always, the person who made the video is a c*dfia shipper and looks like the person who's been arguing with me for ages about this stupid age thing is the same person again)

CEDRICTHEWISE ALSO BEING BOTHERED BY THIS PERSON +CEDDY3000

You know, some time ago Disney Jr posted a meme saying that Cedric is 41, and I took a screenshot and posted it because I got genuinely happy that those c*dfia shippers got debunked (but I didn't said anything about that part) and because I was right the whole time. Who never, alright?

@cedricthewise reblogged my post like this. Please don't involve them in this situation, I just wanted to show that there are other people saying the same thing.

In that same post, remember I said that I thought that a blog who posted "cedric and sofia should marry in a non c*dfia way"? So, they also showed up in that post talking about "a great video that talks about Cedric's age on youtube" and denying and denying cedric's age. Very, very weird.

@cedricthewise also posted some of Craig Gerber telling canon stuff to the fans just because it's nice to know about that stuff, and this wasn't related to this situation at all. But then @cloverears appeared out of nowhere and started....

I remember very vividly of them using the "cedric baby cheeks roland teenager" argument but I couldn't find it. I DO REMEMBER IT. I remember that they appeared in one of my posts arguing, but then I deleted those fighting comments after believing that this was the same person as agentswibble. Maybe that's where they used the "cedric baby cheeks" argument. I can't find it and I believe it's deleted, and I don't have any screenshots either :/

I have a looooong chat with a friend that had been lasting months now, and I sent her stuff about this case some time ago. Today I spoke about it again and asked if she had any screenshots, and she said she would search for me. We will have to wait :/

RECENTLY UNBLOCKED PEOPLE, TRIXIE AND ANTICEDFIAWEEK

Some days ago, I don't know if it was yesterday or before, I was cleaning and organizing my blog. I found the "blocked blogs" part and after reading all the names and not even recognizing most of them I unblocked everyone. Maybe not the smartest decision? Probably... but my line of thought was "well I don't even remember these people anymore, none of the reasons I blocked them are relevant then. Guess I'll take them from here. Idk what they did but I'm sure I won't even see them/interact with them anymore and honestly? What if those people changed they opinion about whatever reason I blocked them? I was blocked by an artist I really like for a long time and I never had even interacted with them, now they just unblocked me for no reason and I feel so much better. Maybe someone there feels like that too?" (I swear i'm just so dumb, i don't know if that's innocence or stupidity)

Well, turns out that this person already started doing it's things again. There is a blog that most of you probably know, @anticedfiaweek . I know this blog since it appeared in the fandom but apart from talking sometimes, usually saying just hi or have a good day, we don't know eachother much. Today they sent me tons of screenshots, and that's the reason I'm making this whole post. I'm sorry for the huge amount of images. These were taken by @anticedfiaweek , that's the whole conversation they had

They're talking about a 9 year old called trixie who aparently hurts herself and tried to "delete" herself because of anti c*dfia posts. Trixie is @cloverears actual name and I believed them to be the same person as @agentswibble since months ago. I have no idea of what is happening, I don't know why they are mad at me, I don't harass anyone and barely even fight on tumblr, I don't like fights, specially about cartoon stuff, who wastes time on this??? Cartoons and Internet discussions are made to have fun.

And you know what's funny? Agentswibble saying that they don't shipp c*dfia. Ha. Okay.

At the same time @agentswibble messaged me the same stuff.

ENDING THE POST

Since the beggining I saw agentswibble blog and found it weird that it was empty, I always thought they had more than one account. Seems like I was right :/

I made this post to tell the fandom about what's happening. I haven't done anything to anyone and someone is spreading lies out there saying that I harass people. After I started understanding everything I felt like I needed to organize my thoughts and show them. All these profiles are related and I believe that they're owned by the same person, I will block all of them again and never unblock them - ever. I won't say that you should do the same, you can do whatever you think it's better, just... keep everything I said in mind :/

[vulpixisananimal]

"So. . ."

(You were lying down on a couch. You were doing woodcarving; it was theraputic. Mirabelle had just come over from cleaning up and sat at the other end of the couch.)

"Hello Mirabelle, got any questions for your friendly star~"

(She tittered at that.) "Hehe, maybe a few. Even if it, might not matter much."

"Talking is still nice, ask away."

"Well. . ." (She thought for a second.) "Well are you, doing ok?"

"???" (That took you by surprise. You were expecting something about how the loops worked, or where they came from.) ". . . I'm, well I'm doing great! We've only been doing this for a few loops and that's practicaly No time at all~"

"W-well, I suppose, but I meant more in general."

(You paused carving.) "Hmm?"

"Well, Siffrin said you showed up soon after we beat the King. And, well, I was wondering, has it been alright? I-I mean, sharing a body with Sif and all. A-and like, since we didn't know you were around did we do something that made you-"

"Oh hush Mirabelle." (You twirl your dagger casually.) "It was a lovely time in Bambouche, really! The beach was just so nice, it was a good way to meet Nille too! No need to explain the whole being a star thing~"

"I guess so. . ."

"I will say, as much as I like Stardust," (You lower your tone to a dramatic one.) "Sharing a head with them is agony sometimes."

(She giggles again.) "Is it really that hard? Or. ."

"It's complicated. So, so complicated." (You thougt for a moment.) "Talking to eachother is like. . . Almost like someone else is having thoughts in your own head. And you have thoughts back. It can be hard to tell whos thoughts are whos, but you can 'talk' very fast."

"Because you're just thinking to eachother?"

"In a way~" (You tap your chin with your knife.) "It's hard to explain, but I might to better a better job next time, tee hee~"

(Another giggle.) "It makes some sense, I think."

"From what I've read it's a very complex disorder." (Odiles voice. You turn, she was finding a place to sit down.) "Each person experiences it differently too."

"Complex doesn't even start to describe it. . ." (You decide to just put away your carving.) "Headaches are almost constant."

"With how Siffrin thinks? Well I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Oh the burdens we must bare."

"What burdens are we bareing today?" (It was Isabeau walking in now.)

"The big furry types of course~"

"Ha! Haha!"

"Well you two have something in common."

"Tee hee~"

(You sat up and made room or Isabeau on the couch. He sat down and talked.) "Bonnie and Nille are just putting some leftovers away." (He looked over at Mirabelle.) "You're sure there's no bruising? Bonnie still has a headache."

(. . .)

"I'm positive, I double and tripple checked."

(For the love of Stars will you just tell me what I missed already?!? CLEARLY something happened you're not telling me.)

(I will not tell you.)

(You are infuriating.)

"Kid probably just needs a lie down." (Isa comments.)

"Once this is over we all do." (You say, you still felt exhausted from all this time craft. Will you at least tell me when we're out of this blinding loop?)

(I can agree to that.)

"Speaking of such. Would you mind if we try talking to Stardust now?" (Odile asked.)

(You nod.) "If ever there was a time for it~"

". . . So how do we do this?" (Asked Mirabelle.)

"Well, first I'll get Siffrin back here. It might get a bit confusing for us but don't worry about that~" (You thought for a moment.) "Although, Isabeau, if that mind craft is still afflicting Siffrin, could you try making sure he doesn't do anything stupid?"

"Uh, alright! I think I can do that."

"I'd like to ask Siffrin the questions if that's alright." (Odile had gotten up from her seat and walked over.)

"Of course, and Mirabelle if you could. . ."

"Morale support?" (She suggested.)

"Morale support!"

"Perfect, moral support it is."

(Alright. . . Siffrin. . .)

(You breath in, and out. Stardust, where just where are you Stardust. You were forced out quite abruptly, but you could come back with. . . The thoughts of Isabeau? No no, something bad maybe? Probaly not. What about his favorite foods? Oh well they did love that Pan Au Chocolate-)

(Huh?)

(You feel a bit dizzy. There you are Stardust~)

(Loop? What happened. I was forced out of front by Mal du Pays, I didn't remember much afterwards. You're here because they want to ask you a few questions. Yes? Why though?)

(They're worried about you. Something happened. So if you don't mind. . .)

(You blink a few times, you had a mild headache but it cleared fast.) "Uh. . ."

"Siffrin?" (Huh? Or Mirabelle was at your side. Isabeau and Odile too.)

(You rub your head.) "Hi uh. . . What happened?"

(Mirabelle glanced over to Odile, who started talking.) "Are you feeling alright, Siffrin?"

"Dazed, headache, confused. Did something happen??"

"I'm getting to that." (Odile continued.) "Do you remember what happened?"

"Uhm. . . I was talking to Ramos? Yeah, yeah Ramos came over to see Isabeau."

(You glance between the three of them. Loop what's going on?)

(Mental check in, Stardust.)

"And what did you talk about."

"It was. . . Right! We were chatting about our adventures, how we met Isabeau, and uh. . ."

(You glance at Isa as Odile continues.) "What else?"

"Well, well, they were curious if Isabeau mentioned them at all." (Why was it so hard to remember?)

"And you said. . ."

(You smiled.) "I said 'of course he did!'"

(. . .Stars.)

(Huh? Did you say something wrong? They all looked worried. Isabeau spoke up.) "Are. . . Are you sure Sif?"

"Positive, right?" (You think hard.) "Because. . . Because you talked about them helping you for the Defenders exams?"

(Isabeau looked. . . Sad? What was going on?!?)

"That, didn't happen, Siffrin." (Odile said.) "I'm, sorry but that's not true."

"Huh?!?"

(You could feel your breathing quicken. What do they mean??? Ramos was, was Isabeaus best friend, right? Hadn't you been excited to see them?!? That's why you came here in the first place right???)

(You have a headache. What was going on?!? No, no Ramos was your friend right?)

"Siffrin?" (You turn to Isabeau, he was holding out a hand. You grab it and squeeze. He doesn't even flinch.) "It's. . . Well, just take a breath first, ok? With me? Just like you showed us, right?"

(Right, right, just breathe. In. . . . and Out. . .)

(Feeling better, Stardust?)

(No, yes, maybe. Just. I'm just confused.) "Alright, alright, please tell me what happened, please."

"Siffrin, well, Ramos isn't really, a good person right now, I think." (You turn to Mirabelle as she continues.) "They, well, Loop told us that they've been effecting people with Mind Craft. You included."

(??????????)

(It's a craft type that effects ones memories, ones mind. Your perception of Ramos has been altered, Stardust.)

(Odile talking now.) "It should be reversable, but from what I know it might be more difficult as it may be powered by a wish. If that's the case it could. . ."

"It would just take a while!" (Mira jumps in.) "But! The good news is Loop isn't effected?"

(Your breathing is getting heavy again. What? But, Ramos was a big figure in Isabeaus life, right? There where all those stories! Like, like.)

(You cannot remember.)

(It's a trick, Stardust~ A nasty one at that.)

(You lean into Isabeau, you feel lightheaded.) "A-are you sure? I, I mean. . ." (It. . . It was really hard to believe. You had this feeling, this instinct, that Ramos was a friend, the best, the. . .)

"Sorry Sif." (Isa gently put a hand on your head. You didnt flinch.) "We'll get this figured out, ok?"

". . . Promise?"

"I promise!"

"Of course I promise!" (Mirabelle chimed in.)

"I don't want to see what happens when your memory gets worse. I promise we'll figure it out." (Odile adds.)

(You nod. And sigh.) ". . . Thank you."

(Your head hurts. Loop, can you, can you please just deal with this?)

(Of course Stardust~ It might be better since-)

(Because Ramos might still be able to effect me. Yeah. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone.)

(You breathe in, and out. And in the future, you can take over in a pinch if needed, ok?)

(Same back to you. stars, even for Mal too. Just in case.)

(Thank you.)

(. . . . .)

[You got the Memory of Switching! When equipped, this will make it easier for you to switch out with your headmates, even durring battle!]

(You pause a second before moving. Isabeau is comfortable, he's got a hand on your head. No need to pull away immediatly.)

(Is now really the time?)

(Hush you. Stardust's gone now, let me have this.)

(You took one more second before getting up and stretching.) "Well! That was quite enlightening~"

"Loop?"

"Yes yes, Stardust decided to go for now, didn't trust themself to act rational."

"Aww. . ." (Isabeau awkwardly rubbed his side.) "I can't imagine how he must be feeling."

"Now where have I heared that before." (Odile adds, going back to her own seat.)

"We miss anything?" (It was Nille, she and Bonnie where walking in.)

"Just checked in on Siffrin." (Odile sighs.) "Unfortunatly, the mind craft stuck."

"Crab" (Nille sat down on the ground.)

"Stupid Crabbing mind crab" (Bonnie stormed over to a chair and sat down.)

"Language."

(You laugh.) "You'll never get Bonbon to stop swearing at this rate."

"Oh I will!" (She replied, rolling her eyes.)

"Nuh uh!" (Bonnie stuck out their tongue.)

"Yuh huh!"

"Nuh uh!!!"

"Yuh huh or you a stupid face."

"YOU'RE a stupid face!"

"Gasp!! Bonnie! How could you! Your own Sister!"

(You fail to hold in your laughter.)

(Why couldn't ever day be this simple.)

[whereserpentswalk]

It’s fascinating that you think trans people’s names come to them like wands in Harry Potter, you can’t just culturally appropriate bc you’re trans

Ok, this is about comments I made like a year ago on a comedy bit. While I stand by my feelings that the bit was bad and transphobic, my reasons why are a lot diffrent.

When I first wrote the comments my arguments were very thermian. I treated the story the comic was telling as if it was real and objective. Which feels right for most people, because stand up comedy is often presented like conversation, where we do treat stories like that as real things. But that's not how comedy works, comedians don't tell stories the way we do in conversation, they're creatives, the stories they tell are basically fictional, the art form might look like real conversations but it's not.

Comedians want to make you laugh, and sometimes want to send a message or make you think about things in a new way, but they have no reason to want to portray events accurately. They might be basing some things off of real experiences, but that's true for everyone, Tolkien might have chosen to explore his experience in world war one in lord of things, that doesn't mean we have to argue about orcs as if they're real entities when we're talking about if those books were racist.

So let's actually look at the skit, and analyze its outlook on trans people keeping in mind its a story that a cis man is telling, and not actual events: So the summery of the skit is that a white trans man comes out to his to his family, and he picked a name you'd expect a black person to have. He has older black relatives (who are implied to fully accept him, which would make him possibly the only trans person on earth with a fully accepting family) who refuse to use this name, and instead call him "the boy". The sketch ends with the comedian saying he should pick a name like Kevin, because even if he's trans he's not interesting (keep your thoughts on that last one).

Now, ignoring how this would play out in real life, what does this as a peice of fiction say about trans people:

First off: it's creating a plausible but unlikely situation where the woke thing to do is to not respect a trans person's identity. A lot of political humor exists to call ideas into question with hypotheticals, and the idea being questioned here is the idea that trans people's identities deserve respect.

Second off: it's creating a situation where a trans person is entitled and arogent for wanting his identity respected. In the fiction this trans person is that. But it's promoting the idea that they are in real life. Transphobes will show you a lot of spooky examples of trans identities that are unreasonable to respect, but that's not useally ever what it's like in real life. (An otherkin robotgirl isn't going to demand you communicate with her through beeps and boops, she probably just wants you not to laugh at her.)

Third off: it's pitting minorities agaisnt eachother. Conservatives love this, but it's super common when people try to convince progressives to a specific group from their advocacy. It shows us a world where trans rights and poc rights are at odds with eachother, in the real world they aren't, in the real world they're part of one larger struggle and diminishing one is diminishing the other. A lot of people do this with different identities, lgb types do it with gayness, terfs do it with womanhood, class reductionists do it with class, trscum do it between trans people. But it doesn't help one oppressed group when you shit on a diffrent oppressed group in their name. It's white conservatives who love it the most when trans people and poc at pit agaisnt eachother, and it's trans poc who suffer the most.

Fourth off: it's feeds into a very old myth amoung queerphobic progressives, which is the idea that queer people are privileged people looking to pose as the marginalized to get special rights. This is a myth we really have to get over, because its been internalized by a lot of people, and we get these hunts for fake minorities. This is why the "you're not interesting" line sticks out to me. Most trans people don't give themselves inappropriative names, but trans people as a group constantly get accused of trying to steal other people's struggles. This is a myth that preys on the fact that white skined white colar queer people are more visible, and its one that is based on treating that disparity in visibility as a fact. We have to cut this out, nobody fakes minority status to get privileges because minorities aren't privileged. It's not true for queer people, even the queer people other queer people hate like bi people and ace people. It's not true about mentally ill and ND people, or converts to non Christian religions, or East Asian people, or anyone who gets accused of this. Stop it dearly.

Fifth off: this entire sketch is based in the idea that families can accept their trans kids, but only conditionally, only if they prove themselves to be doing it for the right reasons, and they please their family's whims. This is a transphobic idea, it's a transphobic idea most neolibs hold. Comedy bits are a lot like story books (no shade at either) where a problem is presented at the beginning, and a solution at the end, that the audience is expected to take for their own problems. And the solution here is a form of transphobia, the idea that trans people aren't owned acceptance, they need to earn it. I've seen a lot of trans people tormented by their families over that idea. And when a person of color goes and stage and wraps that idea in racial justice, it's young trans poc who get hurt by it the most.

Sixth off: not a huge point, but I feel like a cis black man, of all cis people, should be the most likely to understand that calling a trans man a boy is dehumanizing and insulting. I guess this goes to show he's not interested in thinking about how trans people's struggles are like his, he stands alongside a lot of marginalized trans people there.

Finally I kind of don't know how to end this. This is long. Really long. I don't know whose going to read this, because its a lot. Hopefully you got a bit of media literacy from reading all of this. Early on in my tumblr career, when I had just moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan, I had read an essay by @wifelinkmtg about a concept called the ditch. The idea was we often argue about media wrong, talking about things in hyper literal cannon obsessed terms, and that was the ditch, the ditch we dig for ourselves when we ignore things like themes and audience experiences. Hopefully this series of words dug less of a ditch than my words did a year ago. Sorry I don't have the actual sketch on hand. Mabye I'm wrong, but if someone wants to prove me wrong I'd rather they do it outside of a ditch. Mabye the ask wasn't even about that post. Mabye I'm tired. Maybe you should be tired too.

Sorry for the long post. Media literacy matters. Black trans lives matter. Goodbye, enjoy your night well.