#between all the fandoms that are vying for my attention

[madbard]

If I had a nickel for every time my favorite character from a given piece of media tried to strangle their double but ultimately couldn’t go through with it, I’d have two nickels, which somewhat concerns me.

[fullmoonandstar]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for the adventurer's attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

*Drops this and runs away*

Evening among Wolves

Raphael x afab!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 2.4 k CW: 2nd person pov, vaginal sex, desk sex, mentions of drinking

My Masterlist

The dress pinched in all the wrong places, and you shifted your weight with a stiff smile plastered on your face. How did noble women survive a whole evening in these shoes? They forced your toes into an unnatural position, and the pain was slowly giving way to numbness. The young man across from you blatantly stared at every centimetre of exposed skin, and you looked away, a ball of emotion forming in your gut. There were only three things that were good about now, the elegant way your hair was pinned up, the smell of the perfume you had put on and the drink in your hand.

The woman next to you was only marginally at hiding her stares than the other son of a noble across from you. You had been swarmed the moment word had spread that the hero of Baldur’s Gate had arrived, and you have been stuck in conversations for what felt like an eternity. Any battlefield would be preferable to this pit of vipers. This may look like a party, but in reality this was a minefield, and you had to survive until the end of the night without being stuck in an arranged marriage or having started an all out war between the factions of nobility. Both of which were very real possibilities.

A shadow passed in the periphery of your vision and a warm hand hovered over your exposed back so close you could feel the warmth but not touching. A velvety voice purred in your ear: "Good to see you again, little mouse."

Your head snapped in his direction, and your eyes confirmed your ears. Raphael hovered over your shoulder, and he flashed a smile at you before turning to the irritated nobles.

"I hope you don’t mind, dearest lords and ladies, but we have some urgent business to attend to."

The nobles in the circle grumbled, and all eyes were on you. What was he doing? You looked up into the devil’s handsome face, one eyebrow raised with the same question as everyone else. This was a way out. These nobles were irrational in their whims, at least with Raphael you knew what you had to expect.

"Yes, of course," you smiled stiffly. Raphael gestured to the left and you followed. He left the ballroom into the hallway where the crowd was noticeably thinner, and you took a deep breath. The atmosphere in there had been suffocating you.

You followed Raphael around a corner and up some stairs.

"I don’t think we’re supposed to be here." you warned.

"Since when has that stopped you?" he shot back but smirked.

"Fair enough."

He stopped in front of a door, and you heard a click before Raphael pushed the door open. It looked like a library, but Raphael didn’t stop in the room but opened the door to the balcony. The lights of Baldur’s Gate lay beneath, and the sound of the party downstairs wafted up. You just had to smile at the view over your home. The citizens had worked hard to rebuild in the past year, and soon the city would be back to former glory.

You glanced to the side where Raphael was leaning on the baluster looking out over the city. The black clothes were embroidered with gold and red, and he looked the more like nobility than all the people downstairs. You had never told anyone about the way your stomach twists when you look at his face, they would call you mad and they would be right. Raphael was in the business of charming people out of their souls, and given the status he had risen to despite being half mortal, he was exceptionally good at it.

"If you stare at me any longer, you might burn a hole in my face." he taunts softly.

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment, and you focus on the city again.

"Do you know why I’m so effective at what I do, pet?" he asked.

Because you bamboozle people with your charm? You thought, but out loud you said: "You talk a lot."

A soft laugh tickled your ear and you stiffened. Your whole body tingled with how close he was to you, and you felt stupid for the warmth that spread between your legs.

"I know exactly what everyone wants."

His fingers ghost over the exposed skin of your arms, and you hold your breath, waiting for his skin to make contact. It never comes. Raphael takes a step back and motions for you to follow.

The balcony leads to other rooms on this floor, and Raphael opens the door to one of them. A huge desk dominates the room and the high-backed chair rounded out the ensemble.

"Fielding's office." You breathed. "What are we doing here?"

Raphael stepped closer to the monstrosity of a desk and turned to you. In the faint light that fell in through the windows you could only make out his sharp ever so slightly lighter than the darkness behind him.

"I told you, little mouse, I know what you want."

You crossed your arms.

"And what’s that?"

"Let me paint you a picture." - you rolled your eyes, but Raphael continues -"Lord Fielding, one of the most influential people in Baldur’s Gate since Baldurean himself. He swayed the election of Gortash to become Archduke, he orchestrated the embargo 5 years ago that cost countless lives in and around the city. He does his best to keep the weak where they are, poor and dying, and widens the gap between them and his elite."

"Isn’t that right up your lane?"

A chuckle reached your ear.

"This is not about me." he said. "You hate him."

You didn’t argue with that.

"You want to get back at Lord Fielding, but doing anything drastic could make you plenty of enemies and plunge the city into chaos for the next decades."

"The evil you know," you said.

"Yes."

"So, what is your suggestion?" you ask.

"You can’t move against him, but that doesn’t stop you from doing something disrespectful."  You could hear the smirk in his voice, even if you could not see it.

"And what has that to do with you?"

"I’m going to participate."

With a step, he entered your personal space, the smell of his perfume, sweet and spicy, tickled more than just your nose. You wished you could blame the drinks for the wetness that pooled in your underwear, but alas you could not. His fingertips ghosted over your cheek and leaving a trail of heat.

"What do you say?" he asked.

You didn’t understand what he was saying, you were too focused on the feeling of his hot skin against yours. Blood was rushing in your ears and your heart hammered in your chest as if you were an adolescent again. You swallowed heavy.

"What kind of disrespectful thing do you mean?"

His face was close enough that you could see his eyebrow creep up his forehead. Raphael pushed the chair to the side. His hand gently held on to your hip, and you followed as he manoeuvred you to stand between him and the desk. You yelped and grabbed the fabric at his chest as he lifted you up onto the free space on the desk and his hips touched your knees, but Raphael didn’t force himself between your legs. His hands rested on the sides of your thighs. Your heart beat in your throat and a warm wave rolled over you.

"I see." you said. His thumbs gently rubbed over the fabric that still covered your legs and waited for your answer. Fucking on Fielding’s desk was indeed disrespectful, but doing it with Raphael?

Every nerve in your body tingled with awareness, the heat from his skin sank into yours and boiled your blood with a need you only ever allowed yourself to feel at night when you were alone. Something had to be deeply wrong with you that you were so attracted to him, but your mind had no part in the decision your body made. You crossed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, crashing your lips together. For a heartbeat, Raphael was frozen in place and a flash of anxiety and disappointment rushed through you. In the next moment, his hips pushed between your knees, and you spread your legs for him. The half hard erection pressed against your clothed core, and you gasped, the perfect opportunity for Raphael to slid his tongue into your mouth. He explored your mouth, mapping it out as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Heat was rising in your veins, and you tangled the fingers of one hand in his soft hair while the other slid down. Ever since the first time you had seen him, you had wondered how his body would feel like. The lines on his face made him look like a middle-aged human, and you had expected him to be a bit soft, but the chest under your palm was firm muscles.

A sharp pain in your lower lip drew a yelp out of your throat. Raphael had nipped at your lip while pulling back.

"You’re quite handsy, little mouse."

He took half a step back, and you managed not to whine in disappointment.

"I’m not leaving." The taunting tone could not cover up the reassurance in his words.

In the dim light you could not see what he was doing, and you wished you could light a candle in here, but if anyone saw the flame flicker under the door, your time alone with the devil of your dreams would be cut short.

His hands were back on your thighs and his hips between your legs. Your hands landed on his chest, but this time hot skin met your palms. Your legs twitched in response, and Raphael smiled against your cheek before his mouth moved along your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

His hips pressed into you and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Someone’s eager."

His breath fanned over your pulse point and a shudder shook your body.

"Yes," you admitted, earning you a growl from Raphael. He pushed the skirt of your dress up your thighs, removing a barrier of fabric from between you two. His mouth moves along your collarbone, and for the first time that evening you were thankful for the low neckline. The biting and sucking only tightened the coil of your need, and you wanted nothing more than have him inside you. Your hands ran down the hard muscles of his body, reaching the ham of his trousers, and gingerly proceeded further. You held your breath as you traced the outline of him through the fabric, your mind spinning with the half moan, half growl that escaped his throat.

"I got the message." he pressed out between his teeth, his hip twitching into your palm once.

His hands found your underwear, you lifted your hips, and he pulled them down your legs. You hoped he didn’t just drop them on the floor for someone to find in the morning. He slid between your thighs again and your hands were on his trousers, ready to push them down. Raphael didn’t stop you.

His length was heavy and hot in your hands. The world shrank to the size of the space between you two, even the sounds of the party downstairs faded, and his rugged breaths were the only things you could hear. You could not think. The only thing you wanted was him inside of you, and it was within your power to make that a reality. You guided the tip to your entrance, and Raphael inhaled sharply.

His hand cupped your cheek, and he breathed: "Who knew you were so needy, pet?"

A flash of fear ran through you. What if he left you right now?

"I’m going to give you everything you want."

He pushed in with a single hard thrust, and you gasped at the sudden stretch. His hands grabbed your breasts and his hips set a slow, harsh rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed your lips shut, trying not to make too much noise. Raphael’s hands kneaded your breasts just right, and you whimpered after a well-placed thrust, then his hands were gone. The thrusts cease coming, and he moves something behind you.

"What -?"

He pushed your back to the desk, and his strong hands loosened your legs from around his waist. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses from your knees to your ankles before holding, resting your legs against his body. The position made his length inside you feel even more of a tight fit, and he resumed his thrusts. Your nails scratched against the wood of the table, unable to do anything else while his hips collided with yours again and again. The pleasure in your body was like a kindling ready to ignite.

"Please." you breathed, not sure for what you were pleading.

Raphael chuckled and it sparked anger in you. You pushed your upper body up from the desk and snarled: "Don’t you dare laugh."

He planted a kiss on your ankle and let your legs fall open, leaning in until you felt his hot breath on your face.

"Don’t worry, my little mouse, I won’t tell anyone, you begged me to fuck you into oblivion."

You could only guess that there was a smirk on his face, and you let out a disapproving huff. He must have felt how close you were to just shoving him off you and leaving because his fingers slipped between your bodies and his lips caught yours in a heated kiss. His fingers stroked your sensitive clit in time with the stroke of his tongue, and his thrusts changed to a delicious angle. You moaned into his mouth, so close to breaking.

"You feel downright sinful, my dear, quivering around me."

His low voice made all the hairs on your body stand on edge. Your fingers grasp for him and your nails dig into his biceps. Your whole body tensed, so close.

"So strong, so powerful," he cooed, every thrust, every stroke of his fingers could be the one.

"But right now, you are mine, little mortal."

His breath fanned over your heated skin.

"Let go for me." he said, and you shattered.

[crooked-wasteland]

Hey there! I remember seeing your blog somewhere and here we are. I like your banner image of Todd (it really resonates with me). I also like how you're one of those people who are willing to speak out and call out anyone if necessary. Sorry for the long ask:

To be honest, people like Viv just pushed me to do better than her. When I say better, I mean try to be a good person and not treat people like crap because she reminded me of myself -- insufferable, stubborn, and just a basic know-it-all.

I wanna be a good writer so I binge-watched her shows and then moved on to the good ones. I also once stumbled upon a post here that is like a reimagining of Hazbin Hotel but a crossover with Detective Conan.

It's a weird crossover but the fact the author imagined the show following a mysterious murder of an Exterminator as Charlie and the gang try to solve it in hopes of saving the hotel. But noooo! Even with the best writers on board her team, Viv still decides to fumble with it and I wish she just let the writers cook. Writing isn't even her forte to begin with and I remember she used to be an animator.

I hate how the stans would only talk about her and her shows, claim it's the best out there. I don't hate her as a person but her attitude alone. I don't want to see her suffer several lawsuits and controversies in the future unless she starts to change.

Hello! Thank you for stopping by.

I think you have a very good point about other people's character that I've been picking apart as well. Mainly how our society is intentionally designed for us to dehumanize each other. And it's something I see often on Twitter (of course). People will logically deconstruct someone's behavior with the intent to excuse if they see that person as valuable to them.

And that's this sort of parasitic dynamic we see between Medrano and her fandom. Just as Medrano has a repeated pattern of using people and discarding them, her fans similarly are zealously supportive of her because she is the basket they have put their eggs in.

There are plenty of factors for why people are behaving this way. From the severe parasocial dynamic Medrano has with her cast and crew in so far as them being useful for her own material and social gain to her fans believing they can be her friends and/or employees. Essentially begging for their "loyalty" to be rewarded with money and bragging rights.

I work for a large scale corporation that is extremely Anti-union. And it fascinates me how people in my area are so uneducated about unions that they are openly hostile to them, despite most being considered liberal. The desperation caused by financial stress and fear of destitution is enough to garner loyalty from people who are frankly being exploited.

And it's the same thing here. The majority of the fandom demographic are underpaid in their "real" jobs, if they are even employable, and are vying for a better life. But their plan is to get Medrano's attention to achieve that. Whereas Medrano is someone who has a fetishistic fixation in power dynamics. And all these people who are begging for her to just look their way are feeding this monster inside of her. Because while Medrano is not ultra wealthy in the least, honestly she counts as comfortably middle class, her fans are disenfranchised, disabled, and desperate.

In fact, her shows target these people specifically. People who genuinely feel victimized by the system in a way that they believe sets them apart from every other person also struggling to get by. It's why we see social politics and Oppression Olympics run rampant through the community. Because that's what they think Medrano cares about based on the fact that is what her story seems to be about.

And this is what leads to conspiracy theories. This hypersensitivity to patterns that may not exist. Unintentional subliminal messaging is a constant in art and media creation. So it's always important to do a little navel gazing as an artist.

My apologies, this probably isn't anything you care about. But you mentioning how you recognized similar traits in yourself through Medrano and put in the effort to change made me think of how, I believe, everyone who is attached to the show sees themselves in that space. Be it Medrano herself or her shows. And I haven't seen such fervent uniformity since I studied German History.

This world is a hot bed of socio-political fascism, and no one is safe from it.

[sickofthistoxicshit]

To be honest the way part of the fandom has treated this Tommy character as a god makes me dislike him more. Unfortunately the Buck bi arc was tainted for me because it all feels force. Also what doesn't help is that Eddie was to much involved in that storyline.

The way people are acting like it's a perfect relationship and yet we barely saw them together feels just weird.

Also I don't like how some literally push Eddie away for this new white man.

This is Taylor Kelly all over again. The sad part is that the season is short and people wAnt to to spend their time giving more to the new guy.

I hope him and Marisol are gone, but I'm afraid. These two characters took the joy out of the Buck and Eddie storyline for me.

The fandom, I think, in this case, is definitely the problem here,

Lou is completely unassuming and enjoying the process and being a buddie shipper just like us - if one actually bothers to read the interviews and not just pick and choose what to talk about.

That is what makes me like Lou.

The fandom has somehow glorified Tommy's character after a couple of episodes and yeah it rubs the wrong way, because, what about the story we had so far?

Is season 7 a reset to 911? and everything that came before that doesn't count? Why not just make it 911 abc pilot then?

I don't think that's the case, but I think the last minute switch between Buck and Eddie kind of ruined it for the Tim because, yes, in a way it feels forced and out of left field.

Supposed that Buck was indeed vying for Tommy's attention, why do it like that? and why involve Eddie in the first place?

I have a lot of questions and my main problem here is not that Buck is experimenting with Tommy, it's the way they practically propelled this ship off the cliff into a dangerous spin, they went from zero to 200 in a second. - That is not how you build a relationship.

You don't try to figure out what you want, mess up the first date, then invite said date to an apology coffee and then invite him to family wedding on the way. It just doesn't work that way.

I may be straight, but I have gay and bi and lesbian friends, neither one of them has ever brought a second or even a third date to so much as a friends get together before they were sure that this is something that would last, before they brought the intended victim to be judged by friends and family.

And people who talk about Tommy as being established in the 118 family, that is not true. He has a connection with Chimney in that that he owes him his life and an acquaintance with Hen, who is clearly not very fond of him, because of obvious past she had with him and their old house before Bobby came into the picture. - Remember - Chimney was her ONLY lifeline in that house.

Tommy was not a liked character before.

Arguably Buck had more history with Taylor than he did with Tommy (which is none at all) - But Taylor is a strong opinionated and often self-serving woman (not unlike Buck mind you), emphasis on woman. - That is the only reason she never stood a chance. Because the writers could have made her and Buck the greatest love story this show has seen, but they continuously managed to ruin any fondness for any female LI to ever grace that set.

And this season is short, to bring in a new LI kinda defeats the purpose of re-establishing the team and this show, because it does feel the same as any of Buck's old relationships that were being pushed for the benefit of 'god forbid Buck actually learns how to be alone and healthy and happy' - the only thing that changed in Buck this season is his sexuality and nothing else, and that vexes me.

My problem is not with Tommy, it's the perpetuation of 'poor baby Buck' society. - I love Oliver and I love Buck - I am tired of the ever repeating pattern of forgiveness for his self serving ways without any accountability that we keep seeing.

I don't think Buck's or even Eddie's firsts or you know what? even seconds should be each other, I am more than happy to make this journey with them, but let it be a marathon not a sprint to the finish line - they knew they would get renewed for another season, they could have written and built it better than what we got - because the moment they switched gears after the second episode, the story became written in the same messy last minute way both S4 and most of S5 were written.

There is no grand plan, at this point they are merely winging it and see where the wind takes them. - And that is idiotic, they had SO MUCH TIME to make this a well written story with the strike and long break after that, to write as they film is lazy and stupid and mostly childish.

And yes this is Taylor all over again, not in that they are the same type of people, but that Buck is jumping head first into a relationship without actually knowing how he got there. - Bobby said that himself - and it is the same, because who in their right mind invite a second (kinda) date to a family event? Like dude have you ever dated before? Do you how this works?

It is a LOT of pressure and not even for Buck himself - because he brought this on himself - but rather for Tommy (aka the intended victim) to be first introduced to the family after a couple of dates when he himself has no idea where he and Buck are standing.

Marisol, has indeed sucked the joy out of the Eddie's story, I don't get why do either of the boys had to be in a relationship starting this season to begin with. Like, she is literally a handbag, the token hetero symbol, so to speak, what she is doing there? is beyond me.

The catholic guilt of her being a nun is bullshit, and as Bobby said himself, Eddie has no problem committing to certain people/things. She serves no purpose this season other than a seat warmer/ glorified babysitter since Buck is otherwise engaged.

They could have gone for Eddie finding his way in the department, Eddie dealing with his mommy issues, Eddie trying to figure out what and who he wants in his life, Eddie trying to navigate Chris' terrible teenage years.

They could have explored the fact that a guy going with his supposed gf/wife in the golf course checking Eddie's hot ass (6X17) - Oh wait, they were going to... the ground for Eddie's coming out was all laid out and they took a sharp turn to left field in the second episode of S7 and made it all about Buck again, because the Natalia actress couldn't come?? what kind of a weak ass reason is that?

And yes, the cliche of receiving the odd white man out (who played a controversial role in early seasons) rather than the regular casted poc male or the guest starring woman, for that matter, better is all kind of f-ed up, but no one would talk about that, of course. 👀

Anyway, I am hoping that whatever is coming next will be worthy of our time and attention because so far we got about more of the same as far as Buck and Eddie are concerned - except that Buck has just broaden his variety and has a bigger pallet of mate choosing at his disposal.

I have two very close bi friends, so I know how their minds work, because God knows they share with me more than I ever wanted to know lol. And one of them is watching 911 with me and she is happy for the rep as well, but unhappy with how it was developed too.

At the moment, I have decided to put any Buck and Eddie topics aside and just want to get the LONG AWAITED Madney wedding, if anyone deserve a happy ending, it's them. ❤️

[ghoultrifle]

Which BBC Ghosts would be friends with which Ghouls!

This is a real obscure one for the weird crossover between my favourite ghost fandoms akdjlajfs british people come get your food <3 more under the cut!

Rain and Fanny. They're both proper ladies who need everything to be done right (and done for them).

Phantom and Robin. The poor ghoul follows Robin around like a lost dog and most of his topside knowledge comes from Robin. Safe to say Phantom is completely clueless.

Cirrus and the Captain. They both like to take charge when the group is looking for a leader, but they also both think they're better at it than they really are...

Cumulus and Julian. Hear me out okay? They both have tendencies to get a bit too excited and overstep boundaries (thinking about the time lus sent a nude to the groupchat) so they're accountability partners to help keep each other in line. plus cumulus has easy access at all times

Swiss and Thomas. Both madly in love with an unattainable object of desire, Thomas with Alison and Swiss with Rain. They write poetry about their loved ones and recite it to each other, it's sweet really.

Mountain and Mary. I think Mountain was around when Mary was burned. He watched as she went up in flames, a (probably) innocent woman. I think Mountain helps Mary with her speech when she gets frustrated and can't find the words.

Aurora and Humphrey. Aurora is a ghoul that needs a sense of purpose, so early on when she wasn't on the chore rota she took it upon herself to be Humphrey's personal assistant. Helping his body find him, carrying his head around, and sometimes using him as a football

Dew and Kitty (KittyDew aww). They're the ultimate drama queens, vying to be the centre of attention at all times. But unlike Rain and Fanny, no one really cares. The pack/ghosts entertain them sometimes but mostly just to placate them and keep them happy.

Aether and Pat. Just some middle aged northern guys doing their thing tbh. They talk caravan holidays and which chippy is the best and they LOVE gossiping about small town drama <3

Bonus from @marsohthree: Sunny and Mike because they're both absolute Messes but everyone loves them anyway

[reminiscentrainclouds]

On another note, it feels like all my interests are vying for my attention at once right now, so I'm kinda just jumping around between fandoms and drawing whatever I feel like. But AUuuuAgh too many fun ideas to draw! I am so normal about fictional characters. <3

Really what I want to be doing is writing fanfiction!! Or doing a comic or animation or something!! But I don't have the time/patience for that right now......... Maybe sometime in the future.

[mamamittens]

Bite Me (I Will) +18

Day #5 of Spooktober!

Fandom: One Piece (Regency-ish AU – Look, I’m not a historian, consider this like… Romance Novel Regency Era)

AO3 link ;)

Ship: Vampire!CrocodileXF!Reader

Warnings: blood kink/play, biting, breath play, oral sex, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, unsafe sex, dom/sub undertone (That probably turned into overtones, my bad), overstimulation, aphrodisiac, begging, and light somnophilia implied (reader wakes up to oral). Oh! And implied future corruption kink and sex in a church (threat or a promise, you decide).

Word Count: 5,029

@tardiiart

Perhaps the illustrious ballroom would be more impressive if you hadn’t seen at least a dozen just as opulent in the past three months. This season had been particularly busy compared to the past few years, though you aren’t sure why exactly. Well, actually, you do know why. But the probable reason was ridiculous enough you refused to acknowledge it out loud or even in your head.

See… it might be your fault. Sort of.

You fiddled a little with the black lace sleeve of your dress. The height of fashion and just a bit ahead, the dark red dress was bold against the white marble and golden hallway. Tucked in close to your chest with a corset with layers of fabric that fanned out around you, you were quire fond of the design. Elegant and just a little spicy with the lacy cover that prevented a clear view of your breasts. Many men had given you’re a second glance tonight… it was a shame your thoughts rested with none of them at all.

No, you were thinking of only one man. And the source of your busy dance schedule this season.

It started late last season when the illusive and reclusive Earl of Alabasta, Lord Crocodile, finally deigned to appear at the party of a Duchess. Presumably as a favor of some kind since he was famous for refusing any invites to all functions not directly related to his duties or business obligations. The man cut quite the figure among a group of tittering young ladies vying for his attention. Suit immaculately tailored with crisp lines in a color so dark you were only somewhat sure it wasn’t actually black. It contrasted greatly with his famous gold hook—which he received in an incident many years back that the rumor mill still could not pin down to this day. Dark hair slicked back as he stared, bored as shit, with a fat cigar clenched between his teeth and a thin scar stretching over his nose and cheeks in a seamless line.

The man looked so sullen to be there you decided it wouldn’t hurt to bring him some wine. Hopefully getting a little tipsy would improve his night. He seemed appreciative at the time, eagerly accepting the glass and excusing himself to the balcony area—much to the disappointment of the hopeful young ladies that gave you sharp glances for the interruption. If Lord Crocodile had been looking for a wife, it would be the talk of the city. So their time would honestly be better spent looking elsewhere. You, at least, were quite happy without a husband. Your fortune firmly your own and no family close enough to have a say in the matter, you were free to do as you pleased with no plans to change that.

Naturally, you were quite surprised when Lord Crocodile asked you to join him in a waltz not an hour later, wine and cigar free. There was a slightly awkward pause as you took in his request—and another when you tried to puzzle out how to hold his hook. But, thankfully, Lord Crocodile found your hesitance amusing rather than insulting.

“Grip the base, if you must, my lady.” Lord Crocodile suggested with a sly smirk. You huffed, startled as your face heated up for a moment before wrapping your hand around the base of his golden hook. You stared up at him with narrowed eyes, tipping your chin up with your own smile.

“I suppose it will have to do, so long as you don’t falter in this dance, Lord Crocodile.” You challenged. His smirk fell for a second before growing back with an arched, smug brow.

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t disappoint, my lady.” The Earl suggested before sweeping you onto the dance floor. Despite his famous shut-in ways, the waltz was precise and breathtaking. Lord Crocodile never failing to dip, swing, and lead you around the floor in time with the music. His height actually proved to be more of a challenge than his hook, leading you to stare firmly at the buttons of his jacket or demurely glance up through your lashes.

When the orchestra finally ended, you were almost breathless and giddy. It had been ages since you’d danced like that. Still, you could hardly allow the smug bastard to win completely.

“It appears you are quite… adequate of a dance partner, my lord.” You laughed, attempting to step back, but his grip on your waist didn’t falter.

Lord Crocodile slowly removed his hand and stepped back. Pulling his hook, and your hand still firmly gripping the warm metal, to his lips as he bowed. His lips brushed your gloved knuckles softly, breath seeping into the fabric as he chuckled.

“As are you, my lady… perhaps I shall have to find you on the dance floor again?” he suggested lightly with burning eyes. Shocked at his forwardness, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Perhaps.” You acquiesced.

Ever since then he’s danced with you at every ball at least once. Each time with vague innuendo that you coyly responded to without addressing the lewdness of his phrasing because unlike him, you were raised better than that. Incorrigible bastard that he is.

This ball was the same as the others in the end. Glittery finery abound, eager young ladies seeking a husband, gossiping old ladies on the sidelines, and him. Striding across the room to ask for a dance he knew you would accept. Still immaculately dressed and cocky as ever, you had half a mind to turn him down despite the improperness of such a request just to wipe the smug look off his face. And then, for once, there was a break in routine.

A handsome young man cut in front of you.

Eager and bold, he asked for your hand in a dance and too surprised to turn him down, you agreed.

He wasn’t… a terrible dancer. Though you once teased Lord Crocodile of being ‘adequate’, you grudgingly admitted that this young man fit far better than the Earl. A bit too unsteady, hands just shy of improper and loose, you couldn’t quite lose yourself in the waltz. He also used far too much cologne, which was unfortunate since this particular waltz required you to keep close to the young man. You actually had enough room to think about how awkward it was going to be to ensure this young man never sought your hand for a dance again once the music wound down.

Thankfully, just like any other time in a dance, Lord Crocodile didn’t let you down.

Just before the young man—did he even give his name? How improper of him—could speak, a gold hook wrapped around your wrist and gave a slight tug. Shocked by his boldness, you nevertheless allowed Lord Crocodile to pull your hand up to be kissed.

“My apologies, my lady. I almost didn’t recognize you in such a lovely dress… I hope you still have the energy for one more dance?” Lord Crocodile asked coyly, dismissing the unfortunate young man with a glance. Though he sputtered, the young man left without comment. “You appear quite… unsatisfied with your previous partner’s performance.”

“And you believe you can rectify that?” You asked, just as coy. Lord Crocodile merely smiled and took your hand, sweeping you into a wide arch for a much more invigorating waltz.

“I haven’t left you wanting yet, have I?” Lord Crocodile asked, leading you flawlessly as you instinctively rested your hand just below his hook.

“What if you have left me wanting, my lord?” You tipped your head back with a sly grin. Lord Crocodile paused for a heartbeat before grinning.

“Then I’ll have to rectify that, won’t I, my lady?” Crocodile leaned down and whispered into your ear. You gasped, shocked and delighted in equal measure. A subdued cologne mixed with whiskey and ashes tickled your nose.

Flushed with heat and feeling unusually faint in your tight corset, you laughed.

“Oh, promises, promises my lord.” You tittered softly, “You should be more careful with your words. Someone might misconstrue them into something perverse.” A puff of warm air tickled your ear.

“No need to misconstrue anything if that’s exactly what I mean. You really do look ravishing in that dress, you know.” Crocodile whispered, “And I find myself compelled to your side with every dance.”

“Oh, I’d say you must tell every lady that, but it shocks me that you find your way to the dancefloor at all.” You teased, letting your dress flare in a spin Crocodile eagerly allowed.

“Perhaps I can’t stand to be called merely ‘adequate’, my lady.” Crocodile teased back as the song slowly drifted off. You were both on the edges of the dance floor now as he lead you to the back door where a few party goers were slipping out to enjoy the gardens. “If you’re not exhausted, I thought we could enjoy some fresh air?” he asked.

You smiled, nodding eagerly.

“The gardens sound quite nice, actually.” Of course, it wasn’t just the garden that you were both intending to enjoy. The air was crisp tonight outside of the ballroom. The rose bushes and flowers immaculately tended in clear paths that lead to a hedge maze. Pumpkin lanterns decorated the way and provided ample light further out.

As a gentleman should, Crocodile offered his arm for you to hold. Something you eagerly took advantage of, enjoying the warmth and firmness under your hands. The quiet walk was serene, interrupted only by the clack of your heels on the paved pathway and the sound of leaves brushing your dress as you walked by. Crocodile, a man you were beginning to suspect of incredible deviancy, lead an almost straight path to the maze. Where neither one of you could be seen from the outside.

You snorted, Crocodile giving you a sly glance. You merely batted your eyelashes and smiled.

“You’re a bold man, my lord.” Crocodile grinned, showing more teeth than you’d ever seen before. Sharp, too… unusually so.

“And to think this is only the start, my lady.”

“You promise?” You asked demurely, teasing him. Crocodile paused just after the first turn in the maze and leaned down to whisper against your temple.

“I’ll do much more than make promises for you, my lady. I’m a… man of action. Promises are sweet, pretty things meant to tempt you. And I intend to offer much more tangible delights in my seduction. If you think you can handle me.” You gasped, shocked as his breath curled around your hairline. Your heart raced and you loved it. “I want to hear you say it, my lady. I want more than just that pretty heart beating for me.”

“Oh? And what do you want to hear me say, my lord? That I enjoyed dancing with you? Greatly?” You pulled away from his arm and spun around, laughing as you walked back further into the maze. “That I find you quite scandalous and bold? And that I like that about you very much?” You challenged.

Crocodile narrowed his eyes dangerously and smirked, stalking forward as you tried to move backwards faster. You only managed a few dizzy turns before your back met a prickly wall of shrubbery.

A dead end. With Crocodile standing tall before you, his body coated in moonlight as he confidently walked closer to you. Until you had to bend you neck to look up at him. Cold, golden metal nipped at your chin as he tilted your head up more.

“Well, my lady, I think…” Crocodile leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, whiskey and wine mixing between you both, “That was a very good start.” You smirked, reaching up to grasp at his tie.

“Right… you’re a man of action. I almost forgot.” You yanked on his tie hard, sending his lips crashing into yours. Bold and drunk on the illicitness of your actions, you swept your tongue between his teeth and hissed as something nicked you. Blood tainting the kiss as Crocodile groaned, cradling your head with one hand as he deepened your shared passion. Chasing your tongue with his own eagerly.

A soft, plaintive sound slipped out from you as you clutched his suit, answered by a sharp growl that vibrated on your lips. You laughed a little, reaching up to tug on his hair, peaking through your lashes to find his eyes bearing down on your hungrily. They seemed to glow red hot the longer his lips slid over yours, as though he was finally sating his desire and you were thrilled to be there for it. But unfortunately, you couldn’t lose yourself under his heady kiss forever.

You started to pull back when his hand slipped lower, thumb sliding over your throat and squeezing. You gasped, swallowing hard against the pressure as Crocodile growled, resuming the kiss with a harsh nip to your bottom lip. Your breath became labored under his attention, every inhale hard earned under his firm hand. Your eyes slid shut as you leaned into his chest, mewling as the motion briefly dislodged his hand and cool air rushed down your throat. He huffed softly, tongue slipping back further as he dropped the pretense and gripped the column of your throat.

Your heart throbbed, blood racing against his firm grip as you struggled to breath, dizzy. Suddenly, almost as fast as it started, Crocodile pulled back. His tongue slow to leave as lewd strings pulled and snapped with every heave of your chest. He panted, smirk evident as he took in your debauched state.

“I knew it.” He whispered, licking his lips. “You taste like divine perfection… We should stop. Shouldn’t we? You’d be utterly ruined if I gave into what your eyes promise here and now.” Still lightheaded, you laughed.

“I thought you didn’t like promises? And why would anyone need to know you take my breath away?” You giggled. Crocodile smirked.

“Well, neither one of us would have a choice when you start screaming.” You arched a brow.

“And you’d let me?” you challenged. Crocodile sucked in a harsh breath and scoffed.

“What a troublesome young lady, you are. So eager to throw it all away for a moment of pleasure.” Crocodile brushed his hook against your cheek and you leaned into it.

“Only a moment?” you scoffed back, “And here I thought you were a man of action, my lord.” He narrowed his eyes at your, light flashing unnaturally in their depths as he leaned over to whisper against your ear again.

“If you really are so eager for me, leave your window open tomorrow night.” You laughed, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

“Like naughty schoolchildren, my lord?” The smile Crocodile gave you, despite all his pretty words, promised something dark and dangerous.

“Oh, I’m so much worse than a randy young man could ever be.” You tipped your head up to smile at him.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Crocodile briefly softened then, brushing his thumb over your cheek and giving you a chaste kiss.

“I would never disappoint a lady.”

Naturally, you parted ways after that, barring the few moments you both took to set things in order. And you feigned a fever the next day, choosing instead to set out two glasses and a bottle of wine after the sun slipped over the horizon. As tempting as it was to dress up, you decided that there was no point in wasting any makeup or time prettying up your hair. Nor was there any need for a fancy dress.

Windows wide open to the night air, doors locked and staff dismissed clear across the estate, you poured yourself a glass. Your white nightgown was barely enough to stave off the chill in the air. The sheer white thigh high socks a last-minute addition once you realized it was only getting colder. And then you waited.

But not for long.

The sound was soft. Like satin brushing against your skin as a breeze swept through your room. The windows softly locking shut. Startled, you turned to find Crocodile there, elegantly dressed as always. Silently, you offered him a glass.

“How kind of you, but I’m afraid I desire something with more body.” Crocodile stalked across the room and tipped your chin back, “Are you sure you want this, my lady?” Crocodile asked.

Instead of replying, you set down your glass and pulled him close, licking his lips as he groaned in surprise.

“I thought you were a man of action?” You taunted him.

Crocodile was briefly shocked before he grinned, scooping you up into his arms and tossing you onto the bed. He parted his lips wide, showing off his teeth—so sharp in the light you gasped.

“Some would say that it’s debatable I’m a man at all.” Crocodile purred, “But if you’re still unafraid, you have my word that tonight will take your breath away.”

He deliberately hovered over you, bracing his hook on your bed as his hand squeezed your waist. You didn’t bother thinking too deeply on the matter. Questions could come later. You wanted him now.

You shoved your thigh against his burning erection.

“Feels like a man to me, Earl.” You breathed, “But maybe I need a closer inspection?” Crocodile allowed a satisfied grin to overtake his features as he roughly shoved off his clothes.

“Perhaps you do.” Crocodile declared, removing his buckle and releasing his cock. Proudly, he stepped back and grasped it in his hand. “Kneel. You wanted to inspect it, did you not?” Breathlessly, you slid off your bed to your knees. His dick inches from your face. You slipped your tongue over the weeping head and he groaned, hips thrusting forward instinctively.

“Certainly seem to taste like a man.” You whispered, slowly allowing the head to slide between your lips. His hand rested on your hair in a firm grip, pulling you in close.

“Hn. Better be sure. That’s it. Take it in deep.” Crocodile groaned, thrusting his hips forward to shove his cock down your throat. You swallowed hard, Crocodile snarling as he yanked your hair. “Hardly a lady right now, are you? Taking my cock so well, are you a whore? Certainly my whore now, aren’t you?” Crocodile growled, fucking your mouth in shallow motions. His dick made your jaw ache, the hot length thick and hard on your tongue. Long enough to dip down the back of your throat. Cold metal hooked around the back of your neck and forced you to bury your nose in his crotch.

A very unlady-like moan vibrated his cock, another stifled snarl slipping past his lips. Suddenly, he yanked your head off of him.

“If you want my seed, you have to earn it, my lady. Get on the bed. It’s time for your own inspection.” Crocodile demanded, “Do you taste like a lady?”

You scrambled back on the bed as he laughed at your eagerness. Teasingly, Crocodile ensure you laid down flat by running his hook up your body, the sharp tip brushing over your clothed thigh and breasts until he caught the collar. Then, with a harsh jerk, he cut it clean in half. You gasped, attempting not to arch your spine for his roaming hand as he cradled your breast. Pinching the delicate skin with a pleased hum.

Crocodile licked up your belly and nipped the underside of your breast, pressing his tongue hard into your skin until he found your nipple. Curling around the stiff peak, playing with your body, Crocodile suddenly opened his mouth wide and bit down. Fangs sinking in deep as you attempted to scream, the sound cut by his hand grasping your throat. It felt like fire spread through your veins as you shuddered, gasping for air as he sucked in greedily.

Drinking your blood like the finest wine. After only a few moments, Crocodile drew back with a bone-deep growl. His eyes were red, glowing in the subdued light of your room. Blood dripped down his lips as he licked them away. He ripped away the torn remnants of your nightgown.

“Mine. You taste like you’re mine.” Crocodile growled, launching forward to bully his tongue down your throat. He tasted like hot iron and desire as he ate away what little gasps of air you could manage. Your blood was still on fire as he shoved his hand between your soaked lips, teasing your clit as you squirmed. His fingers slipped down lower with ease, sliding into your cunt and spreading your body wide as you keened brokenly. Body quivering as the fire burned hotter.

Despite the absence of his hand on your throat, you found it no easier to breath as moans and pathetic whines slipped onto his tongue. And he ate them all down eagerly, even as you drenched his hand. He shoved your thighs apart as he slid down your body, pausing to lap at the beads of blood that dripped down your breast before kissing your exposed cunt. Licking up your slick mess as eagerly as he drank from you. And when your pussy was clean, he turned his head, brushing down the lacy top of your thigh-high sock and bit into the silky skin freshly exposed, finally allowing you to scream breathlessly as more fire was added to your body.

This time he didn’t drink so heavily, merely sipping from your quivering thigh, choosing instead to smear it up to your cunt to mix the liquids together. The moan that slipped from his lips was sadistic and hedonistic. Pleased and eager as he lapped at the growing pool of bloodied cream. Over the wet smacks you could hear a distinctly damp rhythm further down. What sounded like Crocodile angrily fisting his cock to your taste as you came again with a broken cry.

Snarling, Crocodile flipped your body over, shoving your thighs apart and ass up.

“P-P-Please, O-Oh! I-I want you so bad—my lord please g-give me your cock I’m burning alive—take me! T-Take me-Oh~!” You keened as Crocodile loomed over your body, cock burning against your dripping cunt. He slammed into your ass, hook slipping around your throat and pulling your head back. Crocodile sneered down at you as he fucked you, panting and snarling as you cried. “C-Cro—hng~!” He deliberately pressed his hook against your throat, cutting you off.

“I never said you could have the honor of using my name, slut.” Crocodile snapped his hips furiously, splitting open your sopping wet cunt mercilessly, “It’s lord to you. Not that titles matters when your moaning like a whore. My whore that likes it when I squeeze your throat, don’t you? Go on. Answer me, my lady.” His hook left only to be replaced by his firm hand.

You gasped and moaned for air between his thick cock breaking your body and his harsh grip around your throat.

“Y-Yeee—ahn-hngh~ mmmmm—aaahh-hah-oh! Oh~!” You jerked as his cock brushed over a sensitive spot again. Crocodile laughed harshly, finally letting go of your throat as your orgasm rushed through your body, soaking his thighs. “YES! AH-hah-Oh! Oh! M-My lo—aaa-hah~!—Lord! Mmmmm-my lord—yes, please! Please, harder—Yes! Yes! Y-Yess—oh!” Crocodile’s grip on your hip was bruising as he drove his cock into your body harder. Just as you asked.

“W-What a polite lady I have the pleasure of having tonight. So pretty on my cock. My wanton little whore~” Crocodile cooed, still fucking you hard. “What a waste of a cute little cunt—empty until I came along. Aren’t you thankful for your lord? Providing you with everything you could never have before?” You nodded, drunk as another orgasm built up in your body. Blood burning bright still.

“Y-Yes, I-I’m so grateful to y-y-OooooH~!” You threw your head back with a sharp moan, “M-My lord—Please! Please give it to me—I-I’m still burning up I need more~!” You keened attempting to bury your head into the mattress.

Swiftly, Crocodile slammed into your cunt. Arms winding under your thighs as he picked you up against his chest. His hand fixed back around your throat like it belonged there. He squeezed as you cried out at how deeply his cock rested in your body, your moan turning into a strained gurgle as he bounced you on his length.

“You’ve hardly earned that, lovely. Only ladies get what they want. Whores make do.” Crocodile squeezed hard as he thrust up into your body ruthlessly. Using you for his pleasure. “Feel that? Not me fucking your pretty pussy��that fire? It won’t stop until I say so. Because this body? Mine. These lips? Mine. This tight cunt? Mine. And you have to earn it. Batting your eyelashes won’t get you anywhere with me. Beg.”

Like a fucking monster, Crocodile squeezed your throat harder. Cutting off any attempt at communicating before you could start. You could only weakly moan and bear down on his cock as he fucked you stupid. Hoping that he would take mercy eventually. He couldn’t go forever, could he? You jerked uselessly in his hold as you squirted. Every orgasm hitting you harder as he kept your from even screaming.

Anytime he slowed down he started to ease up on your throat, tempting you to speak. And you barely managed to let his title slip before he rammed his cock into your body and squeezed you again. And again. Dragging you over the edge repeatedly as you lost all sense of time. There was only the ever intensifying burning fire in your blood as you creamed.

Finally, you’re cock-addled brain had a different idea.

“B-Bite me! Bite me!” You yelped just as his grasp tightened. He faltered, his thick cock throbbing hard in your walls.

“What did you say?” Crocodile snarled into your hair, releasing your throat.

“Bite me. T-Take everything—I want it so bad. Your fangs-your cock—I-I’m yours, right? Then bite me.” You begged breathlessly, gasping for air while you still could. You screamed when his cock was ripped from your overstimulated body. Your knees shoved onto his shoulder as he hovered over you with a manic grin.

“I will.” Crocodile dipped his head down as you exposed as much skin as possible. Slamming his cock into you as his fangs pierced your flesh. Hard and faster than humanly possible, your lord railed into you. Your cunt slapping against his thighs with harsh, wet slaps.

Crocodile raced against your beating heart, attempting to drain you dry before you came again on his cock. Drinking down your blood with a heady moan as you screamed, jerking under his body as he slammed into you. Thrusting softly as hot, thick cum filled your abused cunt. Cooling the fire as he groaned into your neck. Panting, you weakly pet his hair. Eyes sliding shut as he slipped his tongue over your pulse with a groan.

Birdsong and a burning fire in your stomach greeted you. The curtains were drawn tight, only the barest streams of daylight visible. Something hot and slick slipped into your cunt as you moaned softly. Weak and dizzy, you could only roll your hips into the sensation. Firm lips pressing into your clit as thick fingers crooked into the walls of your pussy. Your orgasm swept by gently, but you got the distinct impression you fainted for a moment.

When you opened your eyes properly, you nuzzling into a firm, bare chest. Head tucked on a muscular bicep as someone stroked your hair. The scent of a cigar was thick in the air, along with sex and blood.

“Go back to sleep, little lady. I’ve sent for a hearty breakfast—you’ll need every drop you can get.” Crocodile groaned low in his chest, “You taste fucking divine.” You curled your fist against his chest and hummed. Pausing at the unfamiliar weight of metal on your ring finger.

“Hm? Wha—hng—what’s this, my lord?” You asked, pulled back slightly to take a look. It was a gold wedding band with delicate carvings along the side and studded with red gemstones. A large diamond on the top the obvious centerpiece.

“I know I fucked you hard, little lady, but I know you know what a wedding ring is.” Crocodile laughed, exhaling smoke before removing the cigar from between his lips. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re mine, remember? We’ve eloped. How scandalous of us, huh? Papers already all in order. We can throw a big to-do about it later if you’d like. Might make you work for that though… hmm… then again, fucking you against a pulpit before our wedding sounds nice. A vampire and his pretty, innocent bride, bent over in a wedding dress…” You laughed softly.

“Not sure I’d be considered very innocent now.” You admitted, pressing a kiss to his chest. “…Vampire?” You asked, causing Crocodile to scoff.

“Of course! What kind of a weirdo do you take me for? Or did you think I was a kinky fucker that liked blood?” You peaked up at him from under your lashes with a sly smile.

“I distinctly remember you finally cumming inside me only after sinking your teeth into my neck, my lord.” You nipped his chest, “So I’m pretty sure you’re a kinky fuck regardless of your mortality.”

Crocodile gave a sharp bark of laughter, yanking your head back and sneering around the bud of a cigar.

“Yer a sassy little fucker, ain’t ‘cha? I’d fuck it out of ya, but I don’t think you’d be conscious for most of it righ’ now.” Crocodile said from around his cigar, speech muddled somewhat.

“You can try. What’s mine is yours, after all.” You taunted. “I don’t think I imagined you drinking from my cunt earlier this morning either.” Crocodile snorted.

“Damage control. My spit makes pretty little ladies like you heal faster.”

“Oh, so does that mean you’ll have to give me more bruises later?” You blinked innocently. Crocodile snarled softly, but his eyes were bright with promise.

“You know what? I think I just might.”

[azusawrites]

IKEMEN FLASH EXCHANGE

FANDOM: Ikemen Vampire

CHARACTER(S): Arthur Conan Doyle/F!Reader

THEMES: Winter/Pet

This is my part of the exchange for the lovely @venulus! Thank you so much to @lorei-writes for having organized this fun event!

“Tomorrow shall be the first day of the month,” Arthur says as he nears the gate. Little white clouds surround them for a brief moment, then quickly wash away in the cold December weather. “Do you know what this means?”

“No,” she admits, clutching to the woollen scarf wrapped around her neck. “But I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”

He laughs. The squeaking of an old iron gate swallows the sound and he lets her pass first. “Very astute of you, my love! And absolutely right!” He leads her by the elbow towards the door, and there’s the sound of a dog barking. “It wouldn’t do not to let you know! I wouldn’t want to rob you of any potential luck that might be bestowed on you.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He struggles out of his coat. Vic is shoving against his legs, vying for his attention but Arthur reaches out to help her take off her own coat first before bending down to scratch it behind the ears. “I am nothing if not the very soul of politeness. That’s why I’m advising you to prepare yourself accordingly, and make sure that the first thing you do in the morning is to think of white rabbits!”

“White rabbits? You mean the animals?”

“Oh? So you heard of them too?” He’s smiling, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. They light up at the pout that forms on her face. “How fortunate! I was just about to ask Vic to go hunt one for a demonstration.”

“That’s grotesque!”

“No, he’s a dog.”

There’s a flutter, something soft that passes for a laugh between them. Then she says, “So I only have to think of white rabbits?”

“Only white rabbits! First thing in the morning! Even before you think of me, though I won’t blame you if you can’t. It’s very hard not to think of me first thing in the morning.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I promise,” he mutters, words slowly drowned out by the whining of the kettle as it comes to life. He watches as the water boils, and spills open in little bubbles of air and steam. There’s a sort of cosiness that is only achieved through the scent of coffee late in the day. “That I am nothing if not malleable with you. That is why I urge you to keep it in mind, my love. White rabbits are said to bring about fortune.” There’s a pause, then, “And make for wonderful muffs!”

“Arthur!”

There comes the familiar surge of laughter, the quiet abandon and the smell of coffee permeates the room. When she looks at the sugar cubes staked on the saucer, she realizes they all look like white rabbits up close.

[somethingthatsaysbubbles]

THE RIPPING CASE OF MS. DELIA RODWICK | Chapter Nine: Eternally Yours

WARNINGS BY CHAPTER:  MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Flashbacks. Brief Fluff. Major Angst. Explicit Vomiting. Police. Crime Scene. Smoking (Cigarette). Mentions of Love Marks/Hickies. Angst. Mentions of Past, Original Character Death (Adult and Child/Infant). Implied Violence. Kidnapping. Blood. Descriptions of Corpses and Death. Letter from A Serial Killer. Malicious Evangelicalism/Catholicism/Religion. Explicit Discussions/Descriptions of Murder and Serial Murder from Perspective of a Serial Murderer. Bible Verses. 

Word Count: ~3.5K

Fandom: The Alienist

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x AFAB GN!Reader

Insert Guide: (Y/N) = Your Name. (Y/B/N) = Your Brother’s Name.

A/N: I apologize for last chapter’s cliffhanger. Thank you for your patience, and thank you so much for all of the love and support! In this chapter, the reader wears period-accurate, assumed-masculine clothing. As always, let me know if you catch a typo, missed warning, or you would like to be added to the taglist. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies and my inherent religious trauma. Enjoy!

Masterpost

Your hands trembled between your knees, clasped together so harshly that your hands grew numb—a cup of chamomile tea left untouched on Laszlo’s coffee table. You didn’t remember who retrieved it for you, but Sara sat to your right—her hand held securely between your shoulder blades—over the good doctor’s green suit jacket. After Stevie managed to shake you from your dissociated state, he called Ms. Howard and Mr. Moore while you tried and failed to pull yourself together. Your trousers and shirt were in desperate need of ironing. Your waistcoat was barely buttoned, your tie was askew, and you fully forgot your suspenders. Moreover, while you wore the same jacket that Laszlo brought to Bellerose—wrapping yourself in his uniquely sweet scent—it didn’t offer you any assistance in keeping your friends’ prying eyes away from you and your lover’s more illicit activities. 

Commissioner Roosevelt’s posture matched yours from his place on the piano bench, his usually stern and steeled expression warped by worry. Beneath the commissioner’s feet, Laszlo’s handkerchief—the same one stained by your makeup—laid over what was left of the wine you spilled last night. “My men have already canvassed the area, Ms. Howard. There is no trace of him. No blood. No—”

“—body,” you mumbled brokenly, your eyes fixed unseeingly on the sleeve of Laszlo’s coat. 

He isn’t dead, you assured yourself—flinching as some small, sadistic part of you ran the image of Laszlo’s blood-soaked robe through your thoughts.

  Sara gripped your shoulder surely as she addressed Mr. Roosevelt. “I don’t want your men to stop searching until they find Dr. Kreizler. Canvas all of New York, if you must.” Roosevelt moved his mouth to protest—determined that he didn’t have the resources, but he was silenced by Sara’s cold, calculating gaze. Nodding, Mr. Roosevelt rose to his feet. 

“I trust you know what you're doing, Ms. Howard,” the commissioner said before settling his gaze on your fragile form. You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing on your feet instead—your neck bent forward for an executioner’s blade. Sighing, Commissioner Roosevelt collected his coat and left Laszlo’s home to be overwhelmed by a wave of reporters who converged on him like rabid hyenas. 

Mr. Moore, who volunteered to entertain the press, fought to be heard by the horde of people vying for the commissioner's attention. “Gentlemen, please—”

You jumped as the door slammed shut behind Roosevelt, and Sara squeezed your shoulder in response. She turned to Stevie, who lingered in the sitting room’s doorway. “Can you check on the Isaacsons for me,” she asked with a soft, urgent smile. Stevie nodded, walking toward the kitchen-made-crime-scene where a sound similar to a muffled gunshot rattled the air with every photo the Isaacsons took.

“(Y/N),” Sara whispered, and you hiccupped—holding back a sob as her cool, confident voice was eclipsed by pity. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“You already know everything,” you hissed, anger filling in the empty spaces between your heartache and anxiety. Your hands clenched, your knuckles white with exasperation. “I was in the bath. Laszlo was making breakfast. The tea kettle was screaming, and when I opened the bathroom door, I smelled smoke.” A quivering breath clawed its way through your throat, and you wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to quell your quaking chest. 

Sara bit her tongue as her gaze focused knowingly on your neck. The bruises Laszlo left under your ear burned beneath her scrutiny, and you blushed—drawing the collar of Laszlo’s coat up higher around your neck. Sara sighed. “I meant before that,” she said, her voice taking on the tone of a mildly disappointed mother. “Did anything happen in discordance with routine—anything that diverged from the ordinary?” 

You turned your face, angling yourself away from Sara as your nails sank into your arms—your stomach turning with something akin to shame. It’s all my fault, you thought. Maybe, he’d still be here if I—

Sara removed her hand from your shoulder, interrupting your inner panic by lighting a cigarette. Taking a long, leisurely drag—she said, “I don’t know what you would call us. I would like to refer to you as a friend, but I don’t have many friends.” Smoke billowed from her mouth as she sighed, and your eyebrows furrowed curiously as your eyes caught her profile over your shoulder. There was something soft and insecure hiding in her eyes, locked behind a door of her own making like Laszlo’s self-loathing. You couldn’t quite place what haunted her, but it made her mouth twisted with revulsion. “Laszlo cares for you,” she stated simply, and you faced her fully—blushing. 

Is she jealous of Laszlo and I, you asked yourself. No, I’ve seen them interact—there’s nothing more than friendship there. Sara met your eyes, and her gaze grew tense with righteous determination—her lips drawn into a thin, defensive line. Oh, your mind offered. (Y/B/N) made that face when I was being bullied. 

“We will find him,” Sara promised, protective anger overtaking every inch of her face. “But, I need to know everything. Every detail, no matter how small, may help us.” You took a deep, burning breath and nodded. Your hand searched for Sara’s, squeezing the fingers of her left hand between yours as you tried to speak.

After several aborted sentences, Sara offered you her cigarette. You laughed joylessly, plucking it from her fingers and drowning your lungs in a drag of cleansing smoke. “We spent the night together,” you said, and Sara smiled encouragingly. “In his bed. He...” 

Handing the cigarette back to Sara, you whispered, “He told me he loved me.” Her gaze grew soft, and you bit your bottom lip—blushing. “I love him too,” you admitted, “I—”

You froze. 

“—L'elisir d'amore...”

Sara’s hand held yours tightly, her knees knocking into your own as all the blood drained from your face—your fingers growing numb. “What?”

Your voice trembled, tangling in the air as it left your lips. “The gramophone,” you mumbled. “It was playing L’elisir d’amore.”

“I don’t cook often,” Laszlo said, leisurely flipping an egg. “Given my—” 

The alienist cut himself off, absent-mindedly gesturing to his right arm. “However,” he continued before you could say anything. “I’ve always enjoyed the sound of someone cooking.” Laszlo turned to admire you over his shoulder, smiling sweetly. “It’s the little things,” he whispered in a way that made glee climb up your throat, bubbling into childlike laughter on your lips. 

“Laszlo made me breakfast,” you said urgently, your nails pressing into Sara’s palms as you shook away the memory—your eyes wide with fear and fragile excitement. 

“This morning,” Sara asked, matching your mood.

“No,” you nearly shouted. “I mean—” 

Clearing your throat, you continued, “Laszlo made me breakfast about a week ago. He told me he enjoys eating with music, but prefers to cook in silence.” The sitting room grew tense as you trailed off, struggling to make sense of your racing thoughts. “Why would he—”

“—He may not have,” Sara said before calling towards the kitchen. “Marcus! Lucius!” After a brief clatter, the Issacsons rushed into the room. Sara addressed them, cool and confident in a way you almost envied. “Have you ascertained how the kidnapper entered the house?”

Lucius fidgeted with his hands, his mind fumbling over their findings. “The back door’s window pane was broken,” Marcus offered on his brother’s behalf. “That much is certain, but—”

“—we believe that was how he escaped,” Lucius interrupted. 

“What do you mean,” Sara asked, eyeing the twins in interest.

Lucius paled under Sara’s piercing gaze as he explained, “There’s glass on the snow outside, but not in the kitchen—”

“—which means it was shattered from the inside,” Marcus offered. 

Sara’s eyes narrowed as she sat up, snuffing out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. She stood, mumbling to herself before asking, “There was nothing else out of the ordinary?” 

“None,” Lucius replied. 

“Have you checked the upstairs windows,” Sara inquired, and the Issacsons looked at each other in quiet confusion. Ms. Howard’s gaze hardened with a calm, controlled sort of emotional distance, and Marcus and Lucius urgently headed upstairs.

“If he broke in upstairs,” you whispered worriedly. “I would have heard it.”

“Not if he entered through your bedroom window,” Sara replied. “Not if you were with Dr. Kreizler when it happened.”

A sick chill snaked up your spine. “You think he—”

“—It’s possible,” Sara answered, and your stomach turned—your tongue suddenly hot and heavy behind your teeth. You gagged, holding your hands over your mouth; Sara gasped, grabbing a nearby waste bin and wrestling it into your arms. 

Mr. Clayton. He was here last night. God, what if he heard us. What if he— 

Collapsing to your knees in front of the couch, you cleared your stomach into the waste bin—faintly registering the weight of Sara’s fingers as she brought them to the back of your neck—massaging the muscles there. 

You didn’t realize the front door opened until John’s voice echoed around the room. “Well, the wolves are satisfied for now—My God, what happened?” The sound of your pained retching pressed a scandalized frown into John’s face.

“Get some water,” Sara demanded, and John rushed to meet her request. “Cold water and a damp rag,” she called before turning her attention back to you. “Breathe,” she cooed while rubbing your back. “Just breathe.” You nodded incoherently as you hiccupped, vomit dripping from your nose. 

After a moment, John returned—resting a glass of cold water in Sara’s waiting hand before setting the wet rag on the nape of your neck. His gaze landed, wide-eyed, on the love marks Laszlo left on your neck. Both he and Sara held a silent conversation above your head as you collapsed back on your ass—holding your hand over your nose and mouth. You gestured weakly, whimpering in John’s direction, and he offered you his handkerchief—grimacing as you cleaned your nose on its cotton surface. 

“No broken glass,” Marcus hollered as he and Lucius hurried down the stairs and into the sitting room. “Though the guest bedroom’s window is open, and some of the paint has been chipped off the frame.” The taller Issacson twin froze as the smell of your vomit hit his nose, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

Lucius left his brother by the stairs as he entered the room. “We suspect it may have been forced open,” he explained.

“With what,” John asked, baffled by the situation he stepped into. 

“Any sharp knife would do the trick,” Marcus ventured, his voice uncharacteristically nasally without the use of his nostrils. 

You bit back another bout of retching as you handed John’s handkerchief back to him. “I want to read the letter,” you announced as John tossed his handkerchief into the trash. Sara slid a glass of water into your outstretched hand, and you took a long, slow sip as John looked you over with worry. “I heard you discussing it,” you said before he could say anything against the idea. “Mr. Clayton left a letter confessing to his crimes, and I want to read it.”

“That would be highly inappropriate—”

“—I may not be an alienist,” you hissed, seething as you slammed the glass of water down beside you. “Or a detective, Mr. Moore, but I knew Augustus Clayton.” Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you whispered, “I knew him, even if I didn’t think him capable of murder.” The room was quiet, cautious of kicking you while you were down. You sighed, looking toward Sara. Her fingers dug firmly into your shoulder, and you laid your hand over hers—squeezing it as tightly as your trembling body would allow. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.” 

Sara inhaled sharply, turning her attention to her childhood friend. “John…” 

“You can’t seriously believe this is a good idea!” Sara’s eyes narrowed, and John grumbled—getting to his feet. Walking to Laszlo’s desk, he pointed an accusatory finger at Sara’s smirking face. “For the record, I don’t approve.”

“Yes, John,” Sara teased, transferring the ruined waste bin to Lucius who took it to the bathroom—giving his brother a wide berth. “We know.”

You watched as John pulled a folded letter out from a stack of papers strewn across the good doctor’s desk. A soft smile flickered across your face as you reached back, dragging the damp rag along the base of your skull.

“You’re so meticulous,” you teased, trailing your fingers along the abundant books within the library of Laszlo’s institute. “You’re careful. Considerate…”

Laszlo huffed, glaring at you through the rounded glasses embracing his nose—frustrated by your endless attempts to garner his attention. He was beyond busy today, so—it seemed—you made it your life’s purpose to impede his work. First, you pouted until he was persuaded to take you with him to the institute. Then, you refused to wait in the receiving room—deciding to distract yourself by languidly poking around Laszlo’s office.“(Y/N),” he growled, his pen bleeding from how firmly he pressed it into his paperwork.

You giggled, finding glee in the good doctor’s annoyance. “Look around you, Laszlo!” You hummed, your hands lost in haptic wonder as you made your way toward his desk. “There is not a single inch of unloved space in this office. Every object is dusted, polished, and carefully placed. Every place is filled with a sensible, well-founded object—perfect for a studious, well-learned doctor of psychology.” A soft blush tainted Laszlo’s cheeks as you praised him, your fingers nabbing a nearby teddy bear with a red ribbon wrapped around its neck. “Or a child,” you offered, moving the bear’s arm—waving at the alienist. 

Laszlo rolled his eyes, an entertained smile threatening his lips while you rounded his desk. “While I appreciate your observations—”

“—it makes me wonder,” you interjected, giggling as the good doctor’s jaw tensed in irritation. You dropped onto Laszlo’s lap, and he grunted—his face turning tomato-red. You smiled, lifting the bear in front of your face. You moved its arms while you spoke, your voice taking on a silly-sweet tone. “Why does every desk you own look like a pig-sty?”

Laszlo’s agitation evaporated like early-autumn dew on dry grass. He smiled, laughter tickling his lungs as he took the bear from you and held it in front of his own face. Speaking through it as you had, he said, “You promised me you’d behave.”

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” you answered, your giggle silenced by a sharp squeak as Laszlo pinched your elbow. You gasped in faux shock before launching your fingers forward, digging into his sides—his laughter echoing off the walls of the institute.

John averted his eyes as he handed you Augustus’ letter. You took it from him with heavy hands, and nobody said a word while you read it:

My Dearest (Y/N),

I will not seek forgiveness for my good work; it was borne out of love for your eternal soul. The press may call me devil and butcher, but I know mine is the work of the Lord. I was called, upon my birth, to cleanse this filthy country of her sins. I was called, as one of God’s willing soldiers, to purge her of all offenses made unto the Lord and His will. I am the second coming of Christ. I am His wrath. I am the great flood. I am The Plague of Blood, called upon by the staff of Moses to bring mankind to heel and offer salvation. 

I do not enjoy my good work, but I find pleasure in the knowledge that it is the will of the Lord to purge the abominations of hedonism and sexual immorality from the streets of New York. 

Impurity. Depravity. These are what I have been sent to save you from, for “It is God’s will that you keep away from sexual sin as a mark of your devotion to him” (1 Thessalonians 4:3-4). “Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body” (1 Corinthians 6:18). You have sinned, Angel. You have fallen from the Lord’s grace; I watched you. I tried to save you. I tried to bring you salvation, but you sought comfort in the embrace of His enemy. Though, I know it was not your fault. Like Adam, you were tempted by an evil, adulterous woman “for the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her seductive words are smoother than olive oil” (Proverbs 5:3-5). 

The Lord told me to purge her from this earth and bring her to Him in Heaven for judgment, and I obeyed for who am I to ignore the will of God? The Lord told me to burn out every snake in the Garden of Eden, so I obeyed. The Lord gave me Cara Murphy. 

She was so young; I will admit I hesitated. I had not yet accepted God’s plan for myself; I was sure I could save her by means other than blood, but then she placed her filthy hand on my thigh. I slit her throat and watched her turn the Hudson red. Then, God gave me Eula Marcello. 

I watched her sell the good Lord’s daughters into prostitution and adultery; I watched her do this for weeks without remorse. God was pleased when I bore her to Him. I carved the sign of the cross into her flesh to cleanse her, and she screamed as I imagined my brother screamed when He took up His cross. 

Marissa Ellis and Bernadette Reed were inconsequential. Our Father in Heaven told me to take their lives, so I obeyed. I was as powerless to resist His will as a poet is to resist the will of his muse. I took the greatest pleasure in the murder of Delia Rodwick. 

She fought me, and I enjoyed the way she begged for her life. I found pleasure in the act of sinking my knife into the face that tempted you. She, more than any of the devil’s wives, deserved to die for the sin of corrupting your soul. Don’t you see? I saved you.

The Lord told me to cleanse this country’s soil with the blood of His forgotten, so I obeyed. The Lord told me to protect your good, kind soul from the will of Satan, and I obeyed though you resisted me. You spurned the good Lord’s will! You spat in God’s face! He tells me you are too far from His light, but I know you are not lost to me, little dove. You are not lost to His grace! You are not lost to the Lord! You are not lost to me!

Repent, Angel. Repent, and I will know that my work is good and righteous. Repent, and the Lord will spare you. Repent, and I will love you. I will love you as the Lord intended. "Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD” (Song of Solomon 8:6-7). I will love you, and the Lord will bless us with every happiness. I will love you, and you will bring me salvation.

Eternally Yours,

Augustus Clayton

A lump of dread settled in your stomach, a stinging numbness spreading over your arms as you held the letter so tightly that Sara worried you would rip it to shreds. “It’s him,” you whispered, your admission low enough for only you to hear.

“Pardon,” John asked, his shoulders tense as he looked toward Sara who was just as on edge as he was. Sara removed the rag from your neck, setting it aside.

“Have you found something,” Sara asked, and you blinked slowly—the sitting room blurring around you. Your eyes burned as your heart hammered against your ribs, a clapper careening widely inside a church bell. 

Your response was as cold as a gust of winter wind, the kind of cold that freezes lake-fish and swallows the sun—the kind of cold that claws its way, year-round, through graveyards—the kind of cold that grew in your mother’s belly when the men of the world decided that her worth was weighted entirely in her womb—the kind of cold that bled from your brother’s eyes as his body wasted away under the hands of an incurable disease—the kind of cold that stole the life from your father’s lungs. “Augustus didn’t write this.”

Marcus’s eyebrows furrowed as he focused his gaze on his brother. Lucius moved closer, his tone taking on a note of panic. “Are you sure?” You nodded hazily as you handed the letter off to him.

“If Mr. Clayton didn’t write it, then who did,” John asked incredulously. 

“It has been too long, little dove,” he said with a soft, concerned smile.

“The only man who’s ever called me little dove,” you offered, your eyes searching Sara’s. “Father Sanctor.” 

The priest smiled. “—Please, (Y/N). Mass is over. You may call me Mortimer.”

TAGS:  @scuttle-buttle @bruhlsbees @apparrio @livvyshmiv @ajeff855 @imalsonotsure @bubblegum28universe @frozenhuntress67 @uncomfortablebagel​ @janine-007​

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[Next Chapter]

[sugalaritae]

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

oh luce! thank you for this because i have been meaning to make a rec list but here we go, some of the ones that i remember or have stuck with me (also the majority of these are all sort of sad because i turn to sad things for comfort, i'm working on it with my therapist...)

how to mend with gold by spudcity on ao3 - this fic is just an incredibly journey of self love and trying to figure out where and who you are after a horrible event (plz PLEASE pay attention to the tags on this fic). spudcity is one of my all time favourite authors in this fandom and i think about this fic all the time when i'm being hard on myself, i even brought it up to my therapist today because it had stuck with me so much and i had felt so deeply connected to it. sweetener by @taegularities - rid managed to write one of my favourite yoongis ever. i just absolutely love and adore this fic so so so so much. sometimes i think of the visuals that this fic made me think about while i was reading it because rid just writes visuals that sit so well in my little adhd brain.

weightless by @vyduan - listen the way that vy writes trauma and deals with it in her 'HER' series is just breathtaking. i don't think i've cried as much as i have reading any other fic. this is currently my favourite fic of the series but that's because i'm a fucking sucker for a confused and mature af taehyung. sh. by @wwilloww - this series has done so much for me and my sexuality. i'm obsessed with it and the way that willow writes imagery because it's absolutely mind-stoppingly beautiful (i made up that word and i don't care). friendly fantasies by @missgeniality - this was one of the first taegi fics i ever read and it had me floored. sometimes i still turn to it when i need a little pick-me-up. the switch between the discussion and the action is beautiful and siya has managed to write consent unlike i have ever read.

[companionjones]

Santa Claus Is Going To High School With Ethan and Y/n

Fandoms: StarKid, Black Friday, Santa Claus Is Going To High School

Pairings: Ethan Green x Reader, Chris Kringle x Reader

Summary: In the beginning, you were just a loner in high school who had a huge crush on one Ethan Green. You’re a big fan of escapism, and a certain kids movie brings you lots of serotonin. The teenage version of Santa Claus is more attractive than one might think. What happens when you and Ethan get sucked into the kids movie you’ve grown to love, and Chris Kringle starts vying for your attention? Will Ethan actually get jealous?

Warnings: This is long, cursing, speaking of cursed, I AM SO SORRY I MADE THIS

*******

    Ethan Green would have rather been at home, smoking weed. Instead, he was at Lakeside Mall with some kid he was babysitting. He took the job because he needed the money for his jalopy that was in the shop. He didn’t mind the kid all that much. The boy, a nine-year-old named Tim, was nice enough. The only problem was that Tim wanted to see a very annoying-looking kids movie in theaters called Santa Claus Is Going To High School.

    “Thirty bucks for two tickets? Are you kiddin’?” Ethan griped as he stood outside of the Cineplex. “Fine. But I want a refund if the kid doesn’t like the movie.”

    The half-asleep cashier responded detachedly, “We don’t do refunds here, sir.”

    Ethan groaned, “Yeah, whatever,” and pulled the kid inside.

    In Theater 4, the previews were still playing. All the seats were empty save for one. Ethan recognized the girl in it. He knew her from the hallways at school. It was you.

    Silently, you were thankful no one else was in the theater with you. That way, you couldn’t be judged as a teenager seeing a kids movie...for the fifth time. Yes, you were kind of obsessed with Santa Claus Is Going To High School. So what? That was your business, no one else’s. Or, at least, it was until--

    “What the hell are you doing, seeing this movie alone?” Ethan Green, the last person in Hatchetfield you wanted to sit next to you in that moment, decided to take a seat.

    At a loss for words, you were trying too hard to think of something to say. “Ethan! I...Um...I--”

    He chucked, “Relax. I’m not gonna make fun of you or anything. Just because something isn’t my style, that doesn’t mean you can’t like it.”

    Completely in shock that someone your age wasn’t going to judge you, you just gaped at him.

    Ethan didn’t notice. “Plus, it kinda rocks that you’re here. I thought I was gonna have to watch this movie with just Tiny Tim here. But it doesn’t seem so bad now with you at my side.”

    You cursed yourself for giggling. It was always like that with Ethan. You two would get paired together on a school project or something, and he would casually flirt with you like it was nothing. You would fall for it, you two would get really close, then the project would be turned in. After that, whenever you would go up to Ethan in the halls, it would be like the two of you had never spoken before. You hated it, especially after you developed a huge crush on him.

    And it was all starting again.

    When the movie began, you watched out the corner of your eye as Ethan fought to stay awake. He lasted ten minutes into the movie. Honestly, you were exhausted, too. You were just getting out of a double shift of waiting on tables. You thought you could get through the movie before crashing at home. You fell asleep not three seconds after the leather-clad boy.

    Ethan was woken up by a school bell ringing. He found himself sitting in a desk. Disoriented, he looked to his right to find you staring at him in alarm.

    “What the hell...” Ethan was able to mumble before the teacher called out to him and you to not be late for your next classes.

    He and you stumbled out into the hallway.

    Once out there, you whispered to Ethan in distress, “We’re in the movie. We’re in the fucking movie!”

    “No. Fuck. No,” Ethan adamantly disagreed, “We’re dreaming. This is impossible. This can’t be real--” Ethan immediately went to help you up when you ran into one of the other students.

    The boy you ran into beat Ethan to it, however.

    “Oh my god...” you voiced, completely in shock, as the stranger helped you to your feet.

    Right in front of you, holding your hand was the reason you came back to watch the kids movie over and over again. There was your #1 comfort character, your biggest crush since Ethan.

    He smiled warmly at you. “Hi there. Sorry about bumping into you...Say, you must be new here. What’s your name? I’m Chris Kringle.”

    “I know,” you blurted. Upon seeing Chris’ slight confusion, you backtracked, “I mean...You’re all people talk about around here. You must be the most popular kid in school, and you’re almost as new as I am.”

    Chris responded charmingly, “Well, that just means that you have a chance at becoming just as popular as I am, and probably even more so because you seem like you’re at the top of the nice list.”

    You felt your moth fall open and cheeks heat up from the flattery.

    Ethan cleared his throat in an attempt to get Chris’ attention off of you. He didn’t particularly like that Chris Kringle thought it was appropriate to be that friendly with you upon only just meeting you. Chris was also yet to let go of your hand.

    He didn’t let go when Ethan got his attention, either.

    Ethan had also gotten your attention. “Um, I’m Y/n, and this is my friend, Ethan. This is our, uh, first day.”

    “Oh, well you two probably need some friends around here, huh? You’re both welcome to come sledding with us. We’re heading off now,” Chris cheerfully invited.

    Ethan answered, “Uh, we actually have something--”

    “We’d love to!” you interrupted.

    Chris beamed, “Great! Let’s go! Oh, and don’t worry, people always bring extra sleds.”

    “What the hell are you thinking, Y/n?” chastised Ethan. “If this isn’t a dream, which I don’t think it is anymore, ‘cause you seem pretty self aware to me, then we gotta figure a way outta here!”

    “I don’t think we can get out of this until the plot of the movie plays out to the end, which is this Friday at the championship game against South Heights. I think all we can do is wait it out.”

    Ethan blanched, “Friday?! But I left Tim alone in that theater!”

    “Haven’t you ever seen a movie like this?” you questioned, “Jumanji? Teen Beach Movie? I’m almost positive no time will have passed once we get out of this.”

    “So what? You just want to go sledding with Chris Kringle until the game on Friday?” Ethan questioned.

    Lamely, you answered, “...Yes.”

    Ethan was rendered defeated by your hopeful eyes. He huffed out, “Fine.”

    Happiness overtook your face. “Thank you!” you celebrated.

    Ethan avoided your gaze due to how adorable he thought that was. Then, a new idea caused him to smirk, “Wait, how do you know how the movie’s going to play out?”

    “I...might’ve seen the movie more than once,” you explained. It was your turn to avoid your friend’s gaze. “...Four times, not including this one.”

    Ethan’s eyebrows shot up, “Four times?! Why the hell do you like this movie that much?” Just then, he followed your gaze to Chris Kringle. It clicked in his head. “Oh...”

    Your gaze dropped to the ground. You bit your lip, embarrassed.

    Both you and Ethan followed Chis to a large hill where a bunch of students had gathered to go sledding. You were able to borrow two extra sleds from a couple of students. After the first few trips down the hell, you and Ethan finally got used to the fact that the two of you were sledding in a Christmas movie with Santa Claus. Or maybe, you two had finally given into the insanity.

    You were standing at the top of the hill, waiting your turn with Chris when he asked you, “So, what’s the deal with you and Ethan?”

    “Me and Ethan?” You were shocked that someone besides yourself could see you and the Green boy like that. “Oh, no. We’re just friends.”

    Chris wondered, “Is there a chance at something more?”

    “Definitely not. Sorry. I guess I fucked up my Christmas wish, huh Santa?” Fuck. You did not mean to say that.

    Kringle panicked, “Wait, you know I’m Santa?!”

    “I, uh--Yes. I do, but you didn’t tell me, so Father Christmas’ spell is still intact. Tell Jingle and Jangle that before they freak out.”

    “YOU CAN SEE MY ELVES TOO?!”

    “NO! No, I can’t!” you assured, trying not to stress out Chris anymore.

    He furrowed his brow, still breathing heavy. “Then, how’d you know I’m...”

    “I...just got that vibe from you?” you lied, cringing because you couldn’t think of a better explanation than that.

    Somehow, Chris bought that, but he still had another question. “Then, how’d you know about Jingle and Jangle?”

    “Well, I see you talking to them all the time.” That actually wasn’t that much of a lie. Chris was pretty bad at talking his elves on the downlow all throughout the movie.

    Chris bit his lip. “Oh. Um, you won’t tell anyone about my secret, will you?”

    He had stepped closer, and your heart had sped up in response. You gazed into his eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I won’t, Chris.”

    “Are you two going to actually sled, or just stand up here talking?” Ethan asked as he approached you and Chris.

    Chris, oblivious to the pissed off look on Ethan’s face, laughed and answered, “Sled.” He hopped on his sled and flew down the hill.

    “What the hell was that for?” You angrily questioned Ethan.

    He played dumb. “What are you talking about?”

    “Interrupting us like that? We were...in the middle of something, Ethan.” You were glad you stopped yourself from saying ‘We were having a moment.’ That would’ve been embarrassing.

    Green argued, “Didn’t you say the plot of the movie’s supposed to play out?”

    “Yeah. So what?”

    He wondered, “Doesn’t Chris have a love interest somewhere?”

    “Her name is Noelle,” you answered.

    Ethan sighed, “Of course it is...Y/n,” he got your attention again. “Are you sure you want to get in the way of that?”

    Your mouth slammed shut and your jaw clenched.

    Chris got you to turn to him by shouting your name from the bottom of the hill. He motioned you to join him.

    Glancing between him and Ethan, you chose to ignore the latter for the moment. You sledded down the hill.

    You successfully steered clear of the leather-clad boy for the rest of the time you spent sledding.

    That annoyed Ethan, but he knew you couldn’t avoid him forever.

    When everybody headed back home late that night, you and Ethan didn’t have a home to return to. The two of you decided to head back to Northville High. You and Ethan got lucky. The window to the staff lounge was open. The two of you slid in, and the school was yours.

    “Okay, so we have to find a place that we can sleep in where nobody will accidentally find us tomorrow...” you thought out loud.

    Ethan was still hung up on your conversation earlier. “Are we not going to talk about--”

    “Can we just worry about where we’re sleeping tonight?” you urged.

    Ethan sighed, knowing that talking about it was also something you couldn’t avoid forever.

    Eventually, you and Ethan found the boiler room. Ethan agreed with you that it was secluded enough that no one would catch you. The two of you got lucky again when you found that there were enough sweaters and blankets in lost-and-found for makeshift beds.

    At one point, you asked Ethan, “You cold?”

    He was shivering. Ethan was probably the least prepared clothing-wise to spend hours sledding on a hill. He was feeling the effects of that then. Not that he’d ever tell you. “N-no. I’m g-g-g-good.”

    “Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes before waling over to the boiler and turning it on.

    Ethan’s cheeks tinged in pink. “T-thanks.”

    “No problem, Ethan.” You approached your bed again and covered yourself in blankets. “You know, you’ve always had issues with asking for help.”

    “How the hell do you know that?” Ethan didn’t mean for that to sound as mean as it did.

    That didn’t seem to affect you though. “The school projects we worked on together,” you explained, “I always had to find all these covert ways to help you out ‘cause you wouldn’t let me do it directly.” A faint smile was playing at your lips, like you were remembering those things fondly.

    Ethan never noticed how much you’d helped him. He didn’t like to admit it, but he had a really tough time in school. As he thought about it, however, Ethan realized that when he did projects with you, the material he was learning didn’t seem as difficult as it normally was. You made things easier for Ethan to understand. That was really nice of you, he thought. He felt bad for never thanking you before for all you did. “...Thanks for turning on the boiler...” Ethan tried. He figured it was a start.

    “Any time, Green,” you smiled before turning away from him and settling into bed.

    The next morning, you and Ethan snuck into the halls when school started. Chris quickly found the both of you. He’d brought you both pumpkin spice hot chocolate.

    “Oh, wow,” you commented when Chris handed you the beverage. You were truly surprised and flattered. “Thank you so much, Chris! This is so nice!”

    He brushed it off. “It’s really no problem. I got them from the cafeteria. We’ve got pumpkin spice for days here at Northville High.”

    You actually giggled at that. Then, you promptly got lost in Chris’ eyes again. You would’ve been embarrassed if you were even paying attention.

    Well, apparently Ethan was. He scoffed, causing you to look at him, and he grumbled, “I guess I should leave you two to it. I...gotta get to class.” He practically stomped off.

    Your eyes followed Ethan as he went. You wondered what in the world was wrong with him.

    Chris got your notice again when he asked, “So, what’s your first period class? I’ll walk you to it.”

    “Um...what’s your first period class?” you asked quickly.

    He shrugged, “Statistics--”

    “No way! Me too!” you lied. “Let’s go,” you suggested before he could become suspicious.

    “So tonight, everyone figured we’d go ice skating. You wanna join us?” he offered, “Ethan can come too if he’d like.”

    “Uh...thanks! We’d love to go,” you smiled, cursing yourself in the back of your head for speaking for Ethan again. You bit your lip, knowing what you had to ask. You weren’t exactly looking forward to knowing the answer. “Is Noelle going to be there?”

    He furrowed his brow. “You know Noelle?”

    “Um, yeah,” you lied, “I’ve seen her...in the halls.”

    He believed it. “Oh.”

    “She’s um...pretty. Isn’t she?” You hated that you were talking up someone else to your crush, but you also knew that Chris was destined to end up with her.

    Chris’ eyes widened in slight realization. “Oh. I didn’t know you swung that way. Do you...like guys?”

    Huh. Santa’s an ally.

    “Um...” Shyly, you nodded. You felt your cheeks thinking about the implications of his question.

    He just smiled. “Good!”

    You spent the whole day following Chris to his classes. It was a dream. Chris kept freezing your desk with his powers and doodling little snowflakes and Christmas trees on it. It reminded you of Jack Frost in Rise of the Guardians. It was really cute too. The teacher had to tell you to quiet down several times because you were giggling too much.

    At the end of the school day, you ran into Ethan again.

    He’d spent the day mostly in the boiler room. He figured that he was spending enough time in regular school. He wasn’t about to spend more time in a fictional one.

    When he saw you again, and you awkwardly brought up that you had signed both you and him up to go ice skating, he said, “Whatever,” which meant he’d go. The main reason he agreed was because he preferred anything over the blank cement walls of the boiler room.

    He just didn’t consider one thing.

    “Ethan, do you know how to skate?” you wondered, skating over to the boy hugging the wall.

    “Psh, of course I do,” he lied shakily, tightening his grip on the solid, non-slippery surface. “I just, uh...like it better over here.”

    You laughed. “Come here.” You took his hand.

    Ethan panicked. “Whoa, whoa. What’re you doing?”

    “Relax. I’m not gonna let go of you,” you assured. “Just one foot after the other, like this.”

    Slowly, you started leading him around the rink.

    For a little while, Ethan felt like he was actually getting it. One bad step though, and he started to freak out again. “Whoa, whoa!” he shouted.

    “It’s alright, it’s alright!” you tried to say, but it was too late. You stayed true to your word, though. You didn’t let go of Ethan. You went down with him.

    He was mostly scared of the act of falling down, so after that part was over, he was mostly concerned with the pain in his backside.

    Ethan looked over to you to complain that you had let him fall, but he found you losing yourself in laughter. He forgot what he was going to say. Watching you, Ethan felt his heart speed up and a smile growing on his lips. Soon, both of you were laughing your asses off.

    Eventually, you and Ethan had gotten your shit together enough to stand up. The two of you went over to customer services at the rink to get ice packs for your fresh bruises.

    “Sorry, I guess I should’ve told you that I...uh...” Ethan trailed off.

    You finished for him, “You’ve never been ice skating before in your life?”

    “Yeah...” Ethan smiled because you started laughing again.

    “It’s fine,” you shrugged off. “I guess I should’ve asked you if you knew how to skate before volunteering you for something against your will...again.”

    Ethan was about to say he didn’t mind. He was about to say that the past couple days with you had been the most fun he’d had in a long time.

    But then, Chris approached the two of you. “There you guys are! I’ve been looking all over for you! Y/n, I was wondering if you’d like to skate, um...with me for a bit.”

    “Oh! Um...”

    There it was. Chris was going to come along, yet again, and sweep you off your feet. You were going to say yes to Santa Creep, and Ethan would be left alone for the rest of the--

    “Ethan and I are actually gonna head back home,” you replied to Chris, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts. “We’ve been skating for a while, and we’re both pretty tired. I’ll see you tomorrow though, okay?”

    Chris seemed a little disappointed by your words. Ethan tried not to become too happy from the look on Kringle’s face.

    “Oh...okay,” Chris replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow...”

    Back in the boiler room, Ethan was still stuck on what had occurred at the ice skating rink. “You know...you didn’t have to come back with me...”

    “Hmm?” You turned to Ethan and furrowed your brow.

    He went on, “You didn’t have to come back with me ‘cause I don’t know how to skate. I coulda come back by myself. You could’ve kept having fun at the rink...with Chris.” Ethan had to physically push those last two words out.

    “Nah, I didn’t really feel like it,” you answered with a shrug. “I’m probably not going to be skating for a while with these new bruises you gave me,” you teased, but your voice grew softer. “Plus, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

    Ethan’s heart stopped. He looked away from you in an attempt to hide the growing blush on his cheeks.

    “Goodnight, Ethan,” you bid before turning over in your makeshift bed, and laying down to rest.

    Ethan’s last thoughts as he fell asleep that night was how the four concrete walls of the boiler room didn’t seem that lifeless with you there.

    The following day was Friday. For the students of Northville High, it was the last day ‘til Winter Break, and the championship basketball game was that night. For you and Ethan, it was the last day of the movie. Santa Claus Is Going To High School was supposed to end after the big game against South Heights.

    You and Ethan ran into Chris in the cafeteria during breakfast. He had more pumpkin spice hot chocolate for the both of you. “Hey guys! I forgot to tell you last night, but since it’s the last day of school, there’s caroling in the halls today. Students who join don’t have to go to classes. Do you guys wanna carol with me?”

    To prevent yourself from immediately responding “Yes!” you bit your lip. You looked to Ethan. You didn’t want to speak for him again.

    He glanced to you, and it looked like he was about to reject the offer, but then he thought about it for a second. “You said it gets us out of classes?” Ethan asked.

    Chris nodded.

    Ethan sighed, “Yeah...okay.”

    A smile broke out across your face. You couldn’t help but hug Ethan. “This is going to be so fun!” You felt Ethan’s body stiffen, and to it to mean that he thought it was weird that you were hugging him. You quickly separated from him.

    You dismissed the pink painting his cheeks as you seeing things.

    The actual singing part of caroling was pretty boring. The group of students you were with would just stop at random places in the hallway for a song or two. People in nearby classrooms would come out to watch you guys and get a little time off from class.

    What made caroling so much fun though were Chris and Ethan. Between stops, the three of you would mess around in an effort to make each other laugh. Well, while you were trying to make both Ethan and Chris laugh, it had turned into a bit of competition between the two of them to get you to laugh. Personally, you didn’t notice any malice between the two of them, but you were too busy laughing to notice much anyway.

    Throughout the day, everyone held their own books that had in them all the carols everyone was singing. Chris stole your book, and you had to go through the whole song and dance (no pun intended) of trying to get it back. Chris easily dodged you every time you went for the book.

    At one point, you tripped over your feet while going for your book. Chris caught you before you fell, and for a second he just gazed at you with wide eyes. Then, something insane happened.

    Chris Kringle kissed you. The boy, the fictional character you’d had a crush on since his movie came out, liked you enough to actually kiss you. You were frozen to your spot.

    Kringle must’ve taken that as a negative reaction. He parted from you.

    “Y/n...”

    You heard a shocked voice behind you before you could say a word to Chris. You turned around and saw Ethan’s highly concerned face.

    Suddenly, the bell rang. It was signaling the end of the school day. The sound made you jump.

    “...I...I have to go, Y/n,” Chris told you. “Coach said he wants us in the gym as soon as the bell rings.”

    You were reminded of the championship basketball game. “Right. Go,” you encouraged.

    “Come to the game later. We can talk there,” he offered.

    “Okay,” you nodded.

    Chris left. You and Ethan were suddenly alone in the hallway.

    Ethan stated, “I can’t believe he just kissed you.”

    “I can’t believe he just kissed me either.” You exhaled for probably the first time since Chris’ lips were on yours. You couldn’t stop a small smile from forming.

    “You don’t want to kiss him again, do you?”

    The question made your smile vanish. You avoided Ethan’s gaze.

    “Y/n, you can’t want any of that. None of this is even real!”

    Your face started burning from embarrassment and anger, but you fought back anyway. “So what?” you shouted. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen?”

    Ethan clearly hadn’t expected your voice to raise as well.

    “Dammit, Ethan,” you really didn’t care anymore, “I’ve liked you for such a long time, but you never noticed me! The only reason you sat next to me in the theater was because I was the only person there. You had no other option. But Chris, he had all the options! And he chose me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

    You had shocked Ethan into silence.

    “Look, I’m going to the gym to watch Chris practice. Come, don’t come, I don’t care.” It was true. You didn’t care. At that point, you didn’t care that the movie was supposed to play out a certain way. You left Ethan alone in the hallway and headed toward the gymnasium.

    It took Ethan about a minute to even move. So many thoughts were running though his head. He was right to be mad at you, right? The movie had to end a certain way, or else you and him ran the chance of never going home. But then, there was the revelation that you had just unloaded on Ethan. You liked him? Like, liked him, liked him? The more he thought about it, the more obvious your crush became to him, and worse he felt about how he treated you in the past.

    Ethan also started to realize that, maybe he liked you like that, too. Maybe he wasn’t just worried about the movie’s plot. Maybe he was so concerned about Chris’ behavior around you because he was jealous.

    And that brought Ethan back to how he had acted around you in the past. Had he really been so bad? Yes. He’d been so concerned about his bad boy image that he pushed you aside whenever the two of you were around other students. He couldn’t imagine doing that after all you two had gone through in that movie. Ethan didn’t want to be away from you at all anymore, and that included right in that moment as well.

    Ethan knew he was going to have to admit a lot of things to you to get a chance at getting you back. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. He glanced up at a clock in the hallway and realized he only had ten minutes ‘til the game started.

    Meanwhile, you were looking at the same time on a clock in a hallway outside the gym.

    “Y/n.” Chris came jogging up to you. “Thank you so much for meeting me here.”

    “Uh...Hey, Chris,” you swallowed, dread filling you. You’d had some time to think since your argument with Ethan. You were still very angry with the leather-clad boy, and you still cared about Chris a lot, but Ethan was right about one thing. The movie needed to play out a certain way. You had no choice but to get out of the way of that.

    Chris noticed your unease. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

    You took a deep breath, preparing to let Chris down easy. “Um, we need to talk, Chris--”

    “Wait,” he interrupted you, “I know what you’re going to say. Y/n, I’m sorry I kissed you. It was pretty naughty of me to get in the way of the movie.”

    You blinked. Completely disregarding that ‘naughty’ line, you asked, “How’d you know that?”

    At that, he just smiled, “I’m Santa Claus, remember? It’s also how I know it was your Christmas wish to start dating Ethan.”

    “Wait, you’ve known this whole time that we’re in a movie? Why didn’t you tell me?”

    He chuckled, seemingly embarrassed. “I was trying not to mess up the plot. Stay in character, you know? I guess I really fucked that up, kissing you.”

    “Wow, I never thought I’d hear Chris Kringle curse,” you laughed.

    “You just came out of no where, Y/n. Quite literally. I had no idea I’d...like you this much when I brought you here.”

    Eyes nearly popping out of your head, you almost yelled, “You brought us here?!”

    There was an echo. It was Ethan, who had just arrived on the scene. “Why the hell would you do that?” he frantically asked.

    Chris just smirked, “You two will find out soon enough.”

    The buzzer in the gym sounded, signaling the game was going to start soon.

    Chris turned to you. “Y/n, I want you to hang onto my jacket for me.” He handed you his letterman. “Don’t worry about the plot of the movie, I’ll take care of it. I’m...really going to miss you, Y/n. Ethan, you got very lucky with this gift. Be very nice to them.”

    He kissed you on the cheek and ran off before you could say something in return. You absentmindedly put on Chris’ letterman and turned to Ethan. Your plan was to try and explain away Chris’ leading last words to Ethan, but before you could:

    “I really like you, Y/n,” Ethan blurted.

    Your words got caught in your throat.

    Ethan quickly continued, “I’ve only really noticed how I feel in the past couple days in this movie, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t liked you for a long time. I’m sorry for acting like such an asshole. I really don’t know how you continued to be nice to me after all that...”

    He continued to ramble on, but some twinkling above your head caught your eye. You smiled when you looked up and saw it. “Hey, Ethan?”

    Your voice immediately shut him up as he gazed at you.

    “Look up,” you quietly prompted.

    Hanging above the two of you was a beautiful little mistletoe.

    “I...uh...” Ethan swallowed. “Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”

    You smirked, “Well, I guess that depends on whether or not you’re a good kisser.”

    Ethan’s face broke out in a grin as well. He hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close enough where your heads barely had to move at all to kiss.

    You were woken up in the movie theater by the kid Ethan was babysitting—Tim, as Ethan had called him—cheering because Chris Kringle had successfully used the ‘Santa Swap’ to win the championship game against South Heights. At least, you thought Ethan had called him Tim. Did Ethan only say that while you and him were trapped in the movie? Was any of that real at all?

    Dread filled you when you started to think that Ethan had never actually kissed you, it had been a dream. That dread doubled when you realized that you had fallen asleep on Ethan’s shoulder.

    You slowly started to raise your head because you had a feeling that Ethan had fallen asleep too, and you thought maybe you could save yourself some embarrassment.

    However, as soon as he could, and at the same time Chris kissed Noelle in the movie, Ethan kissed you too. “I just had the most amazing dream,” he whispered to you once you parted.

    Several thoughts raced through your head. Was it a dream? Is it possible for two people to have the same dream? Yet, you quickly realized that it didn’t matter because Ethan had just kissed you. He liked you! You finally got your Christmas wish.

    As you and Ethan walked out of the theater hand-in-hand, Ethan asked Tim, “So, nothing seemed weird about that movie, kid?”

    Tim shrugged it off. “Nope.”

    “Huh,” Ethan turned to you, you guessed probably to ask you how much you remembered, but Ethan gasped when he saw what you were wearing. “Holy shit.”

    Following Ethan’s eyeline, you spotted what had freaked him out so much. “Holy shit,” you repeated.

    You were still wearing Chris’ letterman.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[potteresque-ire]

Hi! I have been reading your posts and responses to anonymous and I am inclined to comment on your broadly realistic views and detailed analystic answers and let us not forget your ability to be warm in putting forward your opinions. I am truly a huge fan. Thank you for being a station for various answer seekers.

If you have time and patience, please elaborate on the situation GG is still facing post 227. Recently I read various comments insinuating GG copied DD for Douyin night which is absurd but the implication that only one party is still being targeted unnecessarily raise hackles of a lot of solo fans. And I, under any circumstances, DO NOT believe the involvement of the other party. Firm believer of BJYXSZD.

My point is what is being done to stop these antis from targeting GG. Since one of the motive to target GG is to severe the relationship of GG and DD, IMO at least. Does constant attack (external stimulus) on GG (belittling him by comparing him to DD) may have the possibility to effect their relationship (internal reaction)? Objectively yes, but given your perception of their relationship, what is your opinion in this matter, however subjective it may be?

Moreover, how much extreme and sometimes irrational analysis done by bjyx community can lead to harm to both of them especially GG?

Also, I have seen DD being the captain of BJYX in various circumstances but also throwing off people from their old predicted/maintened theories especially in case of Kadians. I am not sure how much to trust these 'candies' since he has a reputation of not giving a f*** of others opinion. So why would he post GG related or non-related content with same kadians. I mean if he posts private content with GG related kadian then why post promotional content with GG related kadian. Does it imply that kadians are related to GG or not or he doesn't care and we are thinking too much. I am not sure what I am writing now, maybe multitude of thoughts poring out here. I am extremely sorry for that.

I do not know whether people believe or not but 1st post by GG yesterday had initials YB in the circle. Not at all explicit, and depends on believers but I felt like he was just trolling BJYX, it may be good naturedly but after his promotional brand picture of shrimp in bunny's hand. I do not know I just felt, dissappointed/bitter/unsure about all of this. I think it is normal to feel this way from time to time even for SZD because along with emotional investment we have rational perspective which is necessary to scrutinize evidence(maybe) from time to time.

I whole heartedly apologize for writing an essay length ask, this is the reason I wanted your patience 😅.

If any other blogger wants to add or comment on this please feel free to do so. Your suggestions are highly welcomed. 🙏

Hello Anon!

I take it that your questions about safety are concerned about the behaviour of c-solos and c-turtles? International fans aren’t likely to put Gg and Dd at any risk. That said, however, frequent fighting among i-fans would likely drain Gg and Dd’s international fanbase, as many fans do not enjoy being a combative atmosphere (I, for one, will run away as quickly as a turtle can run!). Lost i-fans can’t be easily replenished, whether they’re turtles or solos ~ The Untamed, as a foreign language show so beloved that fans are willing to scale tall language and cultural barriers to understand it, isn’t something that comes around often. (stanning Gg and/or Dd does take a lot of work!)

About the arguments. I probably only know about a fraction of them since I do not interact directly with fans outside Tumblr . As far as I can tell, however, recent arguments among c-solos and c-turtles have been ordinary fights, and also, fairly “bi-directional” between the solos (ie. I don’t think Gg or Dd has been relatively exempt from attacks compared to each other). 

These arguments can be heated and some of the attacks may sound vicious, but there’s nothing much to worry about from a safety angle, as they haven’t caught the attention of those outside the fan circles.

The theorising by turtles are also not inherently dangerous. c-turtles have mostly been careful about keeping their discussions among themselves. The only risk it may lead to in the future, that I can think of right now, is the associated YiZhan content on China-based websites (ex. Bilibili, Douyin), which has become fairly plentiful. YiZhan candies used to be relatively obscure given the guidelines of CP fans to keep them among themselves (they call this practice 圈地自萌, literally, drawing a circle on the ground and have fun in it by oneself). These days, however, anyone who’s curious can get a good sense of YiZhan’s story by browsing Bilibili. 

This probably contributes to the continued growth of the turtle population; however, some of this content is created by non-turtles who seek viewership and have little concern over Gg and Dd’s safety. They are the ones who re-upload the BTS, for example, despite the repeated pleas and warnings by the “站姐”s—the superfans who take/purchase these videos—as well as the turtles to not do that. If these content creators go overboard, there’s a possibility that YiZhan content may get caught in the government’s “Eradicating Pornography and Illegal Publications”（掃黃打非) movement. The movement originated in the mid 2000s, and its recent waves have been used as pretext to remove LGBT+ and BL content on line (I will eventually set up a post re: those events). Just last month (2020 Dec), Bilibili has been explicitly named by the government for hosting questionable materials, which means it’s already under scrutiny. Sweeps performed on an entire website are usually broad-based enough that no specific individuals are targeted; however, the government also encourages, with financial incentives, the reporting of specific content and has set up a dedicated website for doing so. While all YiZhan content has no direct relation to Gg and Dd, removal of such content may cause an over-reaction from fans, which can, in turn, lead to accusations of poor fan management by Gg and Dd. Most people will also assume the YiZhan content to be created by turtles.

(Another example of how an alleged turtle mis-step can get the YiZhan fandoms and Gg and Dd tied to the 掃黃打非 movement: a few days ago, a Weibo post showed a photo of a hardcover version of an explicit BJYX fanfic, reportedly sold for profit, and GG haters were calling for an arrest for “illegal publication.” So far, there’s minimal noise on the issue, so it isn’t something to worry about. It can also be fake news, which is so bountiful on the platform and on every aspect of daily life that most die a very peaceful, very well-deserved death.).

Whether fan arguments / theories may affect Gg and Dd’s relationship (assuming they’re in a relationship) … my guess is, not much. Gg and Dd are busy people, unlikely to closely follow their fans’ discussions. Again, I expect effects to be felt only if the arguments get out of hand ~ as in, if they begin to involve the public and/or the government.

As for the question about what is being done to stop Gg being targeted: fan wars are incredibly common in China (as in everywhere else), and Gg and Dd’s aren’t special in that sense ~ it’s just that as turtles, we know about those surrounding Gg and Dd and they feel significant to us. No individuals can stop a fan war ~ all we can do is to not join these wars ourselves.

Personally, I think the international fan base of Gg and Dd, as solos and cpfs, have more chance to achieve peace than its Chinese counterparts — if they choose to want that. Popularity in China is not only quantified (which is likely true everywhere, by marketing departments), but very visibly so. Sales numbers, votes, traffic attributed to each idol are frequently released to the public, possibly to foster competition among fans and drive these numbers further upward. c-turtles’ demonstrated strong performance in pushing these metrics has made them a target to those who wish to have usurp their consumer power. They, therefore, have good reasons to be wary of anyone who try to sway them from their “turtle-ship”, whether to turn them into solos or to lure them into an entirely different fandom. The swaying messages are also not always obvious, not always a direct “your cp suck”.  They can be subtle, many even come from netizens who appear to be fellow turtles, who may say “oh, maybe we (turtles) are wrong” or “we have to be realistic; Gg and Dd will never look at each other publicly again”—messages that cast doubt and sink morale in a fandom that’s already running an uphill battle. Remember: traditionally, CP fandoms are not expected or welcomed to last, and solos have been happy to (correctly) point out that the BTS, the origin of the most solid “evidences” of BJYXSZD, are getting older by the day. c-turtles can’t expect anyone else to help defend their ship if something happens, given CP fandoms’ lack of respectability, given YiZhan being a real person M/M pairing that is often frowned upon. So it’s understandable, to me at least, why c-turtles are on guard, and occasionally, clash with those who they feel may be trying to take away what they love.

i-turtles, I feel, don’t have that many reasons to fight. We don’t really have other fandoms (for example, the up and coming danmeis—the adapted BL dramas) vying for our attention (and wallets). No one can put an expiration date on the YiZhan communities except ourselves.

Another way to see this is: we—as in, the combined Gg + Dd international fanbase, the solos + CPFs—are lucky in a way the fans in Gg and Dd’s home country are not. Collectively, we’re much further removed from the pressure to perform as fans, which is immense in China with their fan circle culture and fan economy. i-shrimps and i-motorcycles ~ some of you are reading this, I think? (hello!) ~ here are my humble thoughts: the solo/turtle ratio of Gg and Dd’s international fans doesn’t make much of an impact on Gg and Dd’s star status, on the popularity metrics that matter. Our spending power is limited outside China’s borders, and while Gg and Dd likely love us equally as fans, our adoration for them doesn’t really matter much, if at all, to the production/media/commercial companies that control the trajectories of their careers. 

Along this line, the turtles’ “double loyalty” doesn’t have much of an ill effect, because there are few popularity contests here that mean much; few times (if any) when the turtles must face the dilemma of whether to vote for Gg or Dd because only a single vote is allowed; few situations where they have only x amount of dollars and must split it equally between Gg or Dd’s endorsements. There’s also much less cause to worry that i-turtles may draw the attention, or ire of the Chinese government ~ the whole international fanbase is too far away, too spread out to destabilise the regime in any way.

What the turtles do have in common with you, the solos, is their knowledge, their love for Gg/Dd. Knowledge, in particular. The people who know about Gg/Dd are still far and in between—at where I am, at least, and my guess is, it’s likely true for many of you too. Think of the turtles as people who you can talk to about your favourite star in places where few people know about him, can help promote The Untamed  far and wide—many people still haven’t heard of the show, and they deserve to.

For the turtles ~ no one can take away our turtle-ship identity, as long as we don’t give it away. No one can report on the our communities to the government and get them dissolved. Our votes, our spending habits are no one else’s business but ours here.

So, Anon, here’s what I think, and these are all very personal opinions, very personal decisions on how to navigate fandom …

I truly hope that we, as the international fanbase, can try to use this luck that we have. Make our communities not mere copies of their (combative) Chinese counterparts but something different, something with our own flavour, something with more peace and less fighting.

Specifically, I see little cause to try to persuade/dissuade anyone to be a solo/turtle. I find them… not the best use of time. Why? Because frankly, neither solos nor turtles have a better grasp of who Gg and Dd are. Neither solos nor turtles have a truly good grasp of who Gg and Dd are. These discussions are therefore bound to end up with more ill will than conclusions, since both sides are short of facts.

We’re all short of facts as audiences, who’ve all only seen a tiny sliver of who Gg and Dd are as human beings.

I don’t mean Gg and Dd’s star image is fake ~ it’s just that, their star image is their “work face”, and even I, a lowly turtle, must act somewhat differently in my own office. It’s part of being professional.

Gg and Dd’s star image are their professional face, and no professionals worth a salt truly ignore other’s opinions, especially when the profession is being an entertainer whose job is to face and hold the attention of the public. 

This is true for Gg; this is true for Dd.

Social media accounts are also part of Gg and Dd’s professional face ~ whatever is posted on there will be scrutinised by millions of fans, and they know that. The posts do provide some insights about Gg an Dd’s personalities, but they can’t be expected to show a complete picture. No parts of these posts, therefore, whether it’s the content or the kadians, are sufficient evidences for / against any aspect of their personal lives (especially as private an aspect as their romantic lives). Anon, you mentioned promotional marketing materials, and here’s my understanding of them ~ ambassadors such as Gg and Dd have minimal control over their design. The shrimp-holding bunny you’re referring to, for example, is very likely provided by the company.

However, may I also add this? Please try to not think of the shrimps / motorcycles as enemies of the turtles. Millions of people are behind each of these labels, and true for any group of this size, a fraction of its members are bound to be annoying. A small fraction may be awful, even. But they don’t represent the entire group. The shrimps are not only Gg’s fans, many of them have supported him longer than any turtle (since turtle-ship can’t be older than 2018); they’re also the reasons why Gg is in the industry ~ they voted for him in X-Fire. Likewise, a subset of motorcycles have been with Dd since UNIQ; they were there when the Korean ban effectively dissolved his group; they stuck with him when he was attacked for taking on the role of LWJ.

We’re all Gg and Dd’s fans, if you ask people outside the fandom. Remember: few outside China understand why heated arguments can occur between a bunch of shrimps, turtles and motorbikes. (It sounds a bit kafkaesque, just typing it out.)

It’s important not to lose sight too, that Gg and Dd’s social media accounts, where many new candies are found, primarily function as bridges of communication between them and their fans. These accounts do have different degrees of “professionalism” ~ Weibo and the official accounts being more formal, and Oasis, Douyin being more laid back and intimate; still, they all serve similar purposes. They’re not candy generators, or a script Gg and Dd have an obligation to follow to confirm / refute BJYXSZD.

Also: these accounts are accessible and watched by the public, not all of whom are friendly to Gg and Dd.

Re: Gg’s drawing on Oasis. He used the account as it’s intended for—to interact with his fans (the caption of the first draft was an unspoken invitation to shower him with ideas) and maybe, to show off a little (it was a very nice piece of artwork ~ a comment that I, sadly, haven’t seen much of). I doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted fans to carpet-search for traces of Dd in it (even though he probably expected that would happen); I very much doubt he posted his drawing because he wanted his fans to fight over scratch marks or black dots.  

If these fights keep happening, I can imagine a possible outcome. He’ll stop showing us his drawings. His social media accounts will become less and less personal, as they already have.

I’ll share with you my thoughts about candies too, while I’m at it. These are probably not-so-popular opinions, so please take them all with a grain of salt.(Salted caramels? 😊 )

I haven’t looked at why candies are called candies, but I find the name appropriate for how I think of them ~ candies are 1) neither evidences or truth, 2) sweet, 3) treats (non-essential, not like the main course).

The first point is, perhaps, the one I try the hardest to keep in mind. There are posts out there claiming the candies as made-beliefs—generated from edited pictures or videos, exaggerated translations, and their interpretations forced by “guidances” in the annotations/narration. There are also posts claiming that turtles are deceivers, or have been deceived by brainwashers who maliciously created these make-beliefs. A turtle may assume these posts are all lies, all made by antis. 

But, speaking turtle-to-turtle, I’d venture to say this … there’s some truth in the *first* statement. Many candies do, indeed, taste different if their taster returns to the original source—not necessarily unsweet, but less sweet. Candies, remember, are generated by fans like you and I. Same for c-candies ~ they aren’t endorsed by Gg and Dd, aren’t necessarily closer to the truth just because of the relative proximity of their birthplaces to their leads. 

Candy generation is The Tradition of CP fandoms. It’s a celebrated skill, and who doesn’t want to generate a candy that will be talked about, that will be part of the BJYX canon, for as long as the fandom lasts? Some fans are, therefore, also more … efficient in the “marketing” of the candies they generated — in persuading others that their candies are evidences, the truth. “Guidance” photos and videos (which pinpoint the place to watch, sometimes with appropriate sound effects for emphasis) have come about that way, and because they’re easy to digest—especially where language barriers exist—they end up spreading to i-fandoms.

These photos and videos may look more professional / trustworthy, but they often have an additional layer of subjectivity ~ on top of the already subjective opinion of what makes a candy. Translations (of BTS, fake rumours house content etc) also introduce a subjective element. Word choices can significant modify the tone of a conversation; speakers of different Chinese dialects may also have different interpretations of the same phrases. Example: I, as a non Chongqing/Sichuanese speaker, can guess the literal meaning of the “puppy” term Gg used for Dd — 狗崽崽 (gou zai zai) — but I also had to rely on others to tell me how endearing the term is; me being a Chinese speaker actually doesn’t make my interpretation any more valid, or authoritative, in this scenario, because my dialect doesn’t use this term at all. 

It doesn’t mean the people who’ve put in the work have any less-than-good intent; the vast majority of them come from a place of deep love. It’s just that we all carry our own perspectives, and as fans, our strong emotions in our fanworks.

This is why candies are often insufficient as good “points” for arguments, why they fail to convince non-believers, sometimes to the disappointment of some turtles. As evidences, they aren’t objective enough; they’re also often touch upon the assumption that’s mark the fundamental difference between solo and cp fans — the assumption that Gg and Dd are (not) together. Take, for example, this segment from a (polite) ask I got from an anon solo:

All the matching clothes, jewelry, shoes etc. Stopped being valid candy when I realized that the brands have popular stars "endorse" their products. The lightning pendant? Other actors have also worn it. Does that mean they are in a 3-way with (Gg) and (Dd)? Probs not.

Solo anon was correct! Brands have star endorsers, and other entertainers have, indeed, worn the same lightning pendant. The implied argument is also valid: people who don’t care about, don’t even know about each other can wear the same things. Most of us do that on a daily basis with our mass-produced garments.

However, a counterargument can also be made to the statement above, and easily: even the most precious, most beautiful wedding rings (say, from Tiffany!) are not exclusive to the first RL couple who bought them. It doesn’t mean the first RL couple is sleeping with all the couples who bought the same rings afterwards, doesn’t mean those rings aren’t significant to every one of these couples as romantic mementos. More often than not, couples wear matching things not because these things are exclusive to them—because how often can one find things that only exist as a single pair in this world? They wear matching things because they want to see something on themselves that remind them of their significant other and so, as long as the things aren’t so prevalent that everyone is wearing them, they can already serve their purpose.

But you see, Anon, that arguing over this would’ve been a waste of time? Because the solo came in with the assumption that Gg and Dd were not a couple, and the counterargument was made with the assumption that they were. The pendants alone are insufficient to prove either side correct or wrong. No one knows why those pendants ended up on Gg and Dd’s necks, except Gg and Dd and their teams. If I were to argue with anon solo, we can go on and on and on until we’re both left with bitter tastes in our mouths and WWX-red in our eyes, and forget the one thing that really matters: we’re both Gg’s fans.

(We could’ve spent the time talking about how that scene in The Wolf with Ji Chong throwing Zai Xing in the water is ❤️.) (I can’t believe the script waited 30+ episodes to do it. 😂)

This leads to my second point, Anon. Candies are meant to be sweet, and they’re meant to be sweet for you. In Chinese, a term for an expert candy person is a 嗑學家 (the candy-eating in CP fandoms is called 嗑糖 (ketang) ��� with 嗑 ke denoting a specific form of eating that requires breaking something open first with teeth—such as watermelon seeds; a 嗑學家 is a 嗑 (ke)-ologist). A 嗑學家 isn’t someone who can recall the longest list of candies, or spread the most candies around, or convince the most people that the CP behind the candies is real; they are those who can find their own candies in a source material, and be overjoyed by the sweetness of their discoveries without outside help. To me, at least, this term encapsulates the subjective nature of candies ~ what’s right for you may not be right for me and vice versa, and that’s perfectly all right. In other words, there are many candies out there but you’re not required to believe in all of them; instead, you’re free to choose candies to your own liking, compose your own version of the BJYX canon that you love, that you find sweet.

Wait, but you may say. Doesn’t that make my canon fantasy? Yes and no, because candies are based on real events. They’re interpretations, which sit somewhere between reality and fantasy. They’re like … opinion shows on news channels.

But what if I need to convince people of my canon —

Your “opposition”’s canon is as fantastical, and as real as yours — maybe it isn’t, but neither of you have a way to prove it one way or another.

Wouldn’t solos call me delulu, or clowns?

Maybe. But one step outside the fandom, and all of us fans—solo and cpfs—are delulu, clowns.

(That’s why while I’ve used the cpn label, I haven’t called myself delulu, or a clown. Anyone who thinks I have the truth about the love story about a pair of idol I haven’t met from thousands of miles away … the joke’s probably on them, don’t you think?)

Of course and again, Anon, this is only my take! I like candies precisely because I like to watch the real-time generation of candies, which ones different people claim as their own, which candies fall away and which stick around in the fandom over time. As a fic writer, this ship has gifted me with a treasure trove of information ~ what do people think of as romantic gestures, as give-away signs of love? The fun/amazing part of BJYX is that candies are available for so many different answers to these questions. Some people think of longing gazes and sweet smiles; some think of touches that can’t be helped (the many, many, many “fights”); some think of service (buying foods, designing clothes); some think of caring about the other’s well-being (throat candies and dumplings + noodles + crackers); some think of being The Other’s One and Only Exception (Dd being so talkative around Gg, Gg being so … fussy around Dd); some think of expressions through the arts (songs, drawings, dances); some think of grand gestures (the wave heart in the ocean); some think of matching clothes and symbolic accessories (rings); some think of birthdays and anniversaries (314, 622, the first snow); some think of sharing life’s hassles and small tidbits (fake rumour house); some think of … just looking VERY good together. Etc etc.

Some think of a subset of these, some think of all of these…

(Personally, I’m a very picky candy eater. I know about many of them, but only a small fraction impresses on me.)

(Still, I love watching candies. I love watching the joy of people sweetened by them ~ or, when c-turtles exclaim kswl! — the short form of ke si wo le! 嗑死我了! I “ke”ed so much I’m dying!)

This gets to 3), Anon, and I apologise to you too, for answering your not-essay-at-all with an essay! Candies are, to me, treats, and I don’t expect them to come at any frequencies higher than treats do. The reason isn’t because I don’t like candies ~ I enjoy watching them, as I said, even if I don’t eat many of them; the reason is because I don’t expect anyone’s romantic love to leave a trace in everything they do. For example, if I truly find myself in a SZD/SJD discussion re: Gg’s drawing, I’d say the lack of Dd in Gg’s self-portrait doesn’t really mean much. Even if Gg and Dd were head-over-heels in love with one another, Gg doesn’t have to put Dd in everything he touches. Likewise, Dd doesn’t have to present a consistent, or decipherable story with his kadians. This is true for the real-life couples around us too, isn’t it? They don’t perform every single act in life leaving a noticeable trace of their significant other. And the misunderstanding that couples do that — that their romantic lives take over who they are as individuals — IMO, partially explains why people who choose to not to date or marry, people who’re aro-aces, often have a difficult time convincing others that they’re complete humans. Romantic love is, of course, very, very important and can be life altering, but it also isn’t everything about a person ~ especially not if a person who has a career as exciting as Gg’s and Dd’s. Gg and Dd who also have friends, family, (many) talents and interests …

(And lots of ugly icons on their cell phones. Yes, I’m talking about you, Gg. That long-armed Pepe from your 2018 snowless Beijing post will give me nightmares…)

[phoenixtakaramono]

Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’

This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!

TL;DR

Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?

A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.

Context

In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.

(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)

(SVSSS donghua - ep1)

I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.

I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)

Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:

(Excerpt I - ch2)

Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.

(Excerpt II - ch2)

(Excerpt III - ch2)

Contrarian Tendencies

You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.

A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.

In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.

For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).

The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.

But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.

AO3 Comments

Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:

(Comment I- ch3)

(Comment II- ch4)

(Comment III- ch4)

Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.

I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.

On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[lordsisterxotome]

Reward (Napoleon Bonaparte x Reader)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Napoleon Bonaparte x Reader

Prompt:  école / “En garde!”

Warning: None

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 1,180

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: This is for day two of @kissmetwicekissmedeadly​‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompts 2020. I already have a couple more of the days finished, but it’s taking me a while to type, sooo... I’m determined to keep typing even though my left arm is in a cast.;D

Tag list: @puffpuff300​ @nad-zeta​ @jiyuu-chan​ @i-sleep-like-napoleon​ @kisara-16​ @cheese-ception​ @cailannuesugi​ @vespeshadowmoon​ @ravenarld​

Let me know if you would like to be (un)tagged!💜

       “En garde, Napoleone!” The dull clack of the wooden swords echoed over the cobblestones, a small crowd of children watching in rapture as one of their own faced their teacher. 

       The little girl in your lap, Élise, gasped in awe as Napoleon blocked the strike the boy aimed at him. “So cool!” she whisper-squealed, little fingers digging into your arms around her. You smiled, sharing in her excitement. He really was as cool as they came, dashing even with a simple wood training sword in his hand. Your lips broke into a bashful grin when your lover shot a glance your way. His signature smirk dazzled you as he winked, bringing a blush to your cheeks. 

       Next to you, Isaac sighed, shuffling uncomfortably where he sat on the ground. “Did he have to distract everyone with this?” he grumbled, “We’ll lose the daylight before we get to latin and geography.”

       “Why not?” you giggled without tearing your eyes away from the duel. “It was time for a break anyway.”

       “Shhh!!” Élise hushed, giving you a fierce look as she held a small finger in front of her lips. You bit your bottom lip to keep from chuckling, turning your attention back to the duel. 

       It happened often that one of the young boys of Napoleon and Isaac’s école would challenge the former emperor to a match, eager to impress the man they so looked up to. Even now there was a determined glint in the boy, Edmund’s, eyes as each of his strikes was blocked or dodged with ease, desperate for his teacher’s approval. 

       Of course, the matches never lasted long, and as you watched, a quick spin of the heel sent the boy stumbling forwards, feet knocked out from under him. He landed on his hands and knees, wooden sword clattering against the stones. With a defeated sigh, Edmund turned to give Napoleon a rueful look. “I lost.”

       “Yes,” Napoleon replied, reaching down to lift the boy back onto his feet, “but now you can get better. Your body won’t always be so small. One day soon, you’ll be considered a man with all the expectations and responsibilities of being a man. It’s important that you make mistakes and learn now so you can be better in the future.” His gaze darted to you, the soft look in his eyes spreading warmth through your chest. “So you can protect the person you love.”

       Edmund blinked at Napoleon, but he just smiled knowingly, ruffling the boy’s hair to lighten his words.

       “Teach me how to do that, Napoleone!”

      “No, me first!”

       A herd of small bodies rushed around the two, released from whatever force of rapture had been holding them in place until now. Élise jumped up from your lap as you stood, dusting your skirt off. The warm sensation in your chest spread through the rest of your body, leaving you feeling light and bubbly as you watched Napoleon interact with the children. He smiled and laughed as they crowded around him, faces shining with adoration as he took the time to answer each of their questions. As you watched, he lifted Élise into his arms, indulging her as she stretched her tiny hands up at him. The little girl squealed in delight, wrapping thin arms around his neck, and you were once again reminded of what a great father he would be.

       It was all too easy to imagine, a tiny version of him or you held so lovingly in his embrace, family snuggling late into the morning, picnics in the countryside as your children played in the field…

       You didn’t notice he was looking at you until he started making his way toward you, wading through a sea of children still vying for his attention. As he came closer, you gave him a questioning look, opening your mouth to ask, “Napoleone? What is it?”

       “I’ve come to claim my reward,” he spoke with a smirk.

       You blushed, knowing exactly what he wanted, but Élise just looked at him curiously. “Mademoiselle (y/n)’s going to give you a prize, Napoleone? What kind of prize? Can I have one too?”

       His smirk widened and he started leaning closer to you. “I hope she will,” he murmured, and your hands were already reaching to cup his face, your body leaning closer instinctively. “I’d love it if she did,” he breathed against your lips, half-lidded green eyes filling your narrowing vision as your lids fell shut and the little distance remaining between his body and yours closed. 

       Élise squealed and squirmed between the two of you as you kissed your lover, smiling lips meeting and lingering against yours. The other children “ooed” and “awed” dramatically, a few giggles, hacking sounds, and exclamations of “gross!” punctuating the group.

       Your lips released his with a loud smack and Napoleon licked his lips as he pulled away, satisfied. Little Élise cupped her cheeks, fits of giggles wracking her small body. “Mademoiselle (y/n) and Napoleone are in looovvveee!!!”

       “Noooooo!!!” a couple of boys screamed, running away as a few of the girls gave chase. Isaac shifted his feet nearby, his cheeks dusted a light pink and looking like he just wanted to get back to teaching as children tumbled around him.

       “Wait!” Edmund stomped up to Napoleon, his chest puffed out. “I want a rematch!” he demanded. “If I win, I want a reward from Mademoiselle (y/n) too!”

      “Me too! Me too!” A couple of boys joined in, jostling Edmund as they came forward.

       “Now, hold on.” Napoleon frowned as he set Élise down. “(Y/n)’s rewards are all for me. No one else can have them.”

       “That’s not fair!” they whined, turning to you for help. “Mademoiselle!!”

       You giggled, leaning into your lover as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “Sorry, boys. All my rewards are for Napoleone.”

       Two of the boys made disappointed “aww’s,” but Edmund tilted his head, lips twisted in hard thought. The boy gasped a second later, coming to a realization. “When I’m big, I’ll marry Mademoiselle (y/n) and then she’ll only have to give me her prizes!”

       You and Napoleon were silent a moment and then you felt him stiffen. “...snrk!” His shoulders trembled. “Ahahahahaha!” And he burst into laughter, burying his face against your shoulder as he gripped his sides.You couldn’t help laughing too, covering your mouth with a hand as Edmund frowned.

       “Not - ha! - going to happen!” Napoleon managed, chuckling.

       “Why not?!”

       Strong arms wrapped around you, tucking you against your lover’s chest protectively. “Because the only one who’s going to marry (y/n) is me.”

       More squeals and coos erupted from the other children. “Napoleon wants to marry Mademoiselle (y/n)!!!”

       “He has a crush on her!”

       “And have lots of babies!”

       How babies came into the mix you didn’t know, but as Napoleon added, “That’s right,” you couldn’t help but enjoy the fuss. Laughing, you fell into your emperor’s waiting arms, your own wrapping around his neck as you rewarded him again, this time simply for being him.

[hydrangeasimagination]

Crossover Crush Competition

Wherein which our dear characters meet their rival for your affections.

The twist is that they're from somewhere else.

Another universe!

I've been writing a lot of BNHA but we need some more love for the two other fandoms I write for!

But let's get into the contestants.... Shall we?

Thoughts in quotes are italicized.

In Kusuo’s case, words spoken through telepathy are bolded and italicized and are in quotes. 

~ Dari

Round 1

Saiki Kusuo VS. Manuda Kaede (Saiki K & Kakegurui)

"It seems this is a running theme."

The thought was drier as the would-be tone used. Saiki's eyes didn't leave the bouncing form in the distance, the blur of two figures coming closer and becoming more clear with every step.

He'd wait though.

Always for you.

With that sweet as sugar smile he silently admired, you practically sang, "Kusuo!!"

His gaze drifted to the tall boy beside you. Just barely able to keep his expression neutral when he felt the onslaught of unpleasant thoughts from his head.

"So, this is the one that Jabami mentioned... I don't quite see what the fuss is."

Saiki nearly cringed, catching himself before he'd rolled his eyes.

It seems brooding megane were the type you attracted.

"What a pain."

"Kusuo, this is my friend from school," You gestured "Manyuda - senpai, this is Kusuo! My childhood friend."

Violet clashed with onyx, gazes hardening once they've crossed.

The psychic nearly considered taking off his own lenses, but with you there, he couldn't risk it.

No matter.

"Nice to meet you." The white haired male stiffly greeted. "I will be joining you both on this study session."

Kusuo just nodded.

Slowly, dark eyes flickered to give him a once over whilst the dialogue in his head played out. "There's nothing noteworthy of this Saiki Kusuo, seemed I was concerned for nothing. I don't understand why there's nothing but pictures of him in that notebook."

A fury blazed under his skin once those thoughts reached him, it'd apparently started showed in his face as he sees Manyuda narrow his eyes in return. But he didn't let him get the satisfaction for losing his temper for no good reason. Especially not in front of you.

"Ku?" The chime of your voice was filled with concern, making butterflies come alive in his stomach to overtake the anger.

"Let's go, my mom probably set out snacks."

Pointedly, he made eye contact with Manyuda and reached to take your hand.

A smug smile threatened to pull at his lips as he saw his shoulders tense.

"... Perhaps he is more of a threat than I thought."

Oh, he had no idea.

Round 2

Teruhashi Kokomi VS. Bakugo Katsuki (Saiki K & BNHA)

Teruhashi had a problem with Bakugo Katsuki.

He was a brute would be her first gripe.

Crude, rude, mouthy - not to mention cocky, self-righteous, and just straight up arrogant. It'd made him completely immune to her charms, even though he'd never hope to match up to her beauty.

Though she begrudgingly admitted he is good looking, though not enough to act how he does.

But that wasn't the root cause of the issue.

He was smart.

So much so that he could tell that she was putting up a front the entire time. It was frustrating how observant he was as it'd made him call her out even at risk of his own reputation.

Though it's clear he didn't care what people thought about him anyway so he has nothing to lose. He looked through her like it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

But that wasn't the problem either.

Even though he drove her nuts with his indifference to her, his annoyance at her very presence.

How he'd branded her a “fake” and an “extra” boiled her blood.

She was tough - as thick skin was something she had to have as the pretty and perfect girl.

Bakugo Katsuki is a menace.

A handsome, smart, talented, menace that knew what he wanted.

They'd be a powerful pair if it weren't for one factor...

Her problem was him being around you.

Her crush.

You were lovely! So charming and soft, there's no pressure to be perfect around you because of that sugary aura and lovingly accepting nature. That tendency to fire back and match a flame makes you terribly alluring...

Much to her dismay, she wasn't the only one that thought so.

She sees how he looks at you.

How different he treats you to the rabble...

It makes her skin crawl.

"Hello, Teruhashi - san!" Chirpy and upbeat, bright eyes and all, the requisite greeting she'd grown endeared to.

"... Faker." Bakugo hissed, eyes suspiciously trained on her smile.

He stood unnecessarily close to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sagging pants. She could tell he was itching to hold your hand, not unlike her.

The two of them were prideful though.

Unwilling to back down.

"Shall we go? That sweets shop isn't going to be open forever." Kokomi beamed at you nonetheless, radiance pouring from her.

There was no stares of envy directed at them, likely having been scared off by the explosive blond. Knowing of his dislike for her helped in that case too.

"Sounds good." You hummed, unaware of the tension between your friends.

Carmine met sapphire.

Bolts of electricity shot between them, competitive and fiery.

It pained her to admit that he was a worthy rival.

But there can only be one victor.

Round 3

Saotome Mary VS. Uraraka Ochako (Kakegurui & BNHA)

Carefully setting teeth, careful not to grind. Withholding from speaking ruinous words lest favor is tipped differently. Peals of jealously curled deep in her gut, only barely offset by the feelings of affection blanketing her in warmth.

Uraraka was simply too cute.

Too nice.

There's no way she could be this naive, right?

Mary teetered on that fine edge, unable to tell the motives of her apparently oblivious rival in romance.

She'd barely able to keep herself composed when it came to matters of the heart. Her quirk went haywire, turning so red that she'd match the blazer Mary donned.

Sutbly nonexistent in Uraraka's dictionary, plain and simple,

But her suspicion remained, ever looming and growing.

Then there was you.

Genuinely oblivious, charismatic, kind, and so endearingly stupid... No wonder the both of them vyed for your attention so readily.

Though it seemed to be unknown to Ochako that Mary was even competition.

Her thoughts buzzed, "Or...."

Biting the inside of her cheeks, golden gaze narrowing into pinpricks.

A wash of irritation.

"She didn't think I was noteworthy enough to be considered."

Not until today.

Today would be the day.

"Uraraka Ochako."

The brunette looked startled, standing betwixt her friends. Of whom were surprised to see Saotome standing before them, her head held high with a burning fire in her gaze.

Uraraka suddenly felt uneasy, judging by her look.

Both of them knew of each other, yes, but only because of associating with you.

"C - can I help you, Saotome - san?" She squeaked out, confused.

Plantings her hands on her hips, the girl in question straightened her back and stared right at her.

Between parted pink lips, dropped a bomb, "This is a declaration of war."

"E - eh? Saotome - sa -"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, not even you can be that much of an airhead." Mary scoffed gently, reaching her hand up and sweeping her pigtail back.

Her friends were unable to speak, unable to believe that this was in fact happening.

"For..."

The blond fixed her rival with a gaze, a little vindicated to watch her flinch back at the syllables of your given name. Nothing but a determination lined her eyes and she was going to make good on the promise she made.

"The rules are there will be no sabotage," She plainly stated "and we will be happy no matter which one of us wins out."

Uraraka still stood, gaping and red in the face.

Mary didn't stay for her answer, turning on her heels and knowing exactly where to find you.

This was her day after all.

She didn't turn her head, just kept walking.

Distinctly, she wondered if she'd been mistaken.

Ochako's shout made her pause mid-step, made her wait to make sure it was her rival that spoke...

After this night, there will be no mercy.

"... Let's do our best!!"

"Let's go to war."