#cancelled fanfic

[aweirdoandhisfanfics]

Cancelled MLJ x Overload fanfic

It got cancelled because I didn't really liked the direction where the fic was going, I don't think i'm going back to writte it, since I have much bigger projects to do, so i'll be posting here the ideas and the general plot of the fic for any writter looking for ideas to what to writte next, you have my permission to use it.

(TW: small mentions of overdose and drug use)

MLJ full name was 'Marvin Luke Jackes', and if you noticed it, te name sounds really similar to 'Moves Like Jagger'.

Overload civilin name was 'Ash', I don't remember why I picked it, but I think it was because it sounded similar to 'Astley'.

MLJ started his music career really young, at 16 after he won a 'The Voice-esque' show together with his friends, Rasputin, Dario (DARE) and Valencio (Viva Las Vegas).

I never really decided what the name of the boy band would be, but I always called them "The YMCA Boys".

At the start, the TYMCAB, started great, but after some time, things started to get sour between MLJ and Valencio, MLJ wanted to make more "artsy" music, while Valencio really only cared about doing music just to win money, which lead to creative divergences between the two, but Rasputin and Dario were there to keep them together.

Everything changed after Dario's death, MLJ couldn't support the loss of his friend and leaved the group, Rasputin leaved shortly after, and with that the TYMCAB was over after 6 years, and everyone followed their own paths.

The reason why Dario died is a thing much discussed by the Danceverse media, since much of it wasn't revealed for privacy reasons, but the most accepted answer was that he died of overdose.

Ash in the other hand worked in a coffee shop (yes, this was a coffee shop AU).

Ash/Overload worked together with a team of superheroes with Money Man (Alfonso Signorini) and Comics Girl (Break Free).

Money Man is the Batman/Bruce Wayne of te Danceverse, he doesn't have any powers, and uses gadgets and oter equipments to fight crime, as a civilian he works as a TV show host, and as a politician.

Comics Girl is te Wonder Woman of the Danceverse having superhuman strenght, flight, superhuman speed, super durability, etc. As a civilian, her name is Artemis, and she is a college student.

Now for the general plot.

Some months after the death o Dario, MLJ is in a bar grieving when he meets Ash, they talk a little, they exchange numbers, then they part ways.

One year later, MLJ is walking to Dancity cemetary where he goes to place some flowers over Dario's tomb, he encounters Rasputin and Valencio there, there's a minor disagreament between MLJ and Valencio who Rasputin is quick to separate, and they place their homages to Dario, and they part ways

Meanwhile, Ash and Alfonso are discussing superhero things when MLJ enters the coffee shop, Alfonso goes to sit down while Ash and MLJ talk, Ash says sorry because they had a date last night, which Ash didn't showed up (superhero things), MLJ says that it's fine, and they talk a little more, when MLJ was exiting the shop Alfonso stops him and gives him an offer, a friend of his wants to create his own band and he needs members, MLJ accepts which leads to the "Moves Like Jagger" map that we have.

Some months later, MLJ and Ash are fighting, because that's the fifth date in sequence that Ash doesn't come and he is starting to get out of patience, Ash thinks about revealing to MLJ about his secret identity, but he doesn't want to leave his own life and MLJ life in risk, so he runs away, and MLJ tries to run at him, but he's not able to reach Ash and he leaves.

Ash then flies to Artemis appartement since it was the closest nearby in search of what to do now, while MLJ is discussing what just happened with Levi (Moves Like Jagger C1).

This is pretty much everything that I had for the fic, again, if you want you can have this ideas and the general plot for yourself, just don't forget to credit me.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

purity and cancel culture make people think artists who write, draw, sing or make things about subjects that are (rightfully) considered disturbing and socially unacceptable — as well as fans who like fictional things that are (rightfully) considered disturbing and socially unacceptable — are “red flags”, “predators”, “deserving of having their hard drives checked”, etc, when in reality people can like or make fictional things about subjects that are (rightfully) considered disturbing and socially unacceptable without condoning these things in real life.

artists who create (fictional) contents about triggering subjects aren’t automatically “predators who condone these terrible things in real life”. artists who create (fictional) contents about triggering subjects are just artists who create (fictional) contents about triggering subjects.

people who like (fictional) contents about triggering subjects aren’t automatically “predators who condone these terrible things in real life”. people who like (fictional) contents about triggering subjects are just normal people who like (fictional) contents about triggering subjects. for reasons that aren’t nobody’s business but their own.

(as long as they don’t act out these things in real life and hurt real people, they’re normal people like you and me, and 99.99% of people who like fucked up fictional things are normal people who don’t hurt anyone in real life.

if someone watched a fucked up movie and acted out the antagonist’s crimes in real life, then it still meant that this individual was already fucked up and a predator, and they would have done terrible things whether or not they watched a fucked up film; the art itself don’t make people do terrible things.)

art has never been restricted to only rainbow and sunshine and unicorns.

art is also about the depiction of macabre, things that are disgusting, unpleasant, violent and unacceptable. (as long as nobody in real life actually gets hurt.)

you can’t claim to “accept art and artists” and then say “but if you write fics about (X) or if you like this movie then you’re a red flag and are disgusting 🤢”

it’s absolutely okay if you personally hate these types of fictional works that revolve around triggering subjects that are (rightfully) disgusting and socially unacceptable, it’s okay because it just means these types of works are not for you (no one forces you to watch, read or listen to them), but it’s not okay if you start harassing artists who create or people who enjoy art you personally hate, just because you hate them and therefore you believe other people must hate them too or else they’re terrible people.

you are a terrible person if you harass anybody in real life over fictional things that aren’t real.

you are the one who aren’t able to separate fiction from reality.

[justaz]

king arthur getting swamped with work and burying himself in his responsibilities until his exhaustion creeps up on him and falls asleep at his desk. merlin comes in to find him slumped in his chair, arms crossed over his papers, and light snores coming from his mouth. he carefully, gently, and tenderly rubs arthur’s back and hair, softly calling his name, until he sorta wakes from his slumber though he is still half asleep. merlin pulls him to his feet and guides him into bed, tugging off his belt and boots before tucking him in - arthur already out like a light.

merlin then sits at his desk and works through some of the issues arthur had been dealing with, he’s stood behind arthur at practically every council meeting so he has a good idea of how to deal with things. then people start coming to the door and knocking, requesting the king’s attention. merlin ensures arthur is still asleep before cracking open the door and slipping outside. he claims that arthur is extremely busy and cannot be bothered and tells them to run any issues that require arthur’s attention thru him

then its messenger after messenger coming up to merlin with problems that need attention and merlin is striding thru the castle dealing with one after another. he carries some of the parchments from arthur’s chambers around to deal with those as well in the moments where he doesn’t have fifteen people complaining to him. after a few hours, arthur wakes up comfy in bed, staring into the blazing hearth, and a good chunk of his work has been dealt with and he feels refreshed and relaxed

[unidentifiedlyingobject]

Dead Boy Detectives was set in 2023

Now it's 2024

that means things in the agency will have been changing for an entire year so here's the thing:

if it took one cat for Edwin to realise he was gay and one crow for Edwin to realise he was in love with Charles...

Charles will have absolutely seen a cat and a crow since Port Townsend, so yeah they are now in a fully realised relationship and they're all sorted now

and somewhere on the second floor of an abandoned building in a side alley off of Oxford Street, two ghost boys are in their beloved office dancing to music from a vinyl record player. Charles' arm is around Edwin's waist, Edwin's is arm placed on Charles' shoulder, and they are twirling and gliding and laughing. and it's up to us what music they are dancing to, not netflix

each and every one of us can imagine what song they are dancing to, and we know that they are feeling so much joy and they are free

[verminvamp]

SomE oF thE arT I’vE donE foR thaT cringY fuckinG dancestoR interneT dramA humanstucK aU I mentioneS iN thE DamarA post>,..,<

[creamecafe]

ACTUALLY STOP IT RN IM SO EXCITED!!!!

And you do notice something here? I don't see a racist pervert groomer here *cough* *cough* 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖞

Source: wednesdaynetflix on Instagram & pttbcc on TikTok

[kawowoa]

CANCELLATION — three

cw : death n suggestive jokes

a/n : my third time trying to post this almost threw my phone !!!!!!!!

>>> back to masterlist

tag list (comment to be added 27/40) : @zoaqttz @misorastars @sukunaspillow @ourfinalisation @yuhig-blog @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tojirin @priestlydoll @kvsdrls @lulumi1u @soxocs @tyigerz @catobsessedlady @carohhline @ag33nt @44ina @digitaltrippers @heartsforkento @khoiyyu @lemonnotade @yourmommylol @loriisheart @kaemaybae

[dreaminofu]

Happy anniversary <3

Credits: x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x

[localemofreak]

Would y’all judge me if I made a fic about Joost Klein to The Color Violet by Tony Lanez..

Idk man, crazy frog Europapa man has taken over me 😖

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

what people think pro ship means: dangerous people who want to harm children in real life and/or think taboo subjects in real life are justified

what pro ship actually is about: the belief that people are allowed to enjoy fictional thing however they want, as long as it's fictional and no one in real life gets harmed or harassed in any way, and as long as they tag their trigger warnings properly.

most pro ship folks I've come across are just "hey, you like this fucked up thing that is fictional? okay, cool. you do you, man. I myself don't even like this thing that you like, but hey, it's not real. and I trust that you know the difference between fiction and reality, so you do you. if it ever gets too much for me, I will just block or mute you and move on with my life, but that doesn't mean I think you're a horrible person in real life because of the fictional thing you like, it just means I'd rather not see or engage with this thing that can make me uncomfortable. I still want you to have fun doing what you love, and I still think you're cool as fuck. love and respect, dude"

meanwhile most anti ship I've seen are like "omg you like this fictional thing where fictional children are harmed??! Red Flag Red Flag. put this gross piece of shit behind bars immediately!!!"

and I'm just ????? I don't normally engage in fandom wars, but I think, as long as you don't harass anyone in real life and as long as no one in real life is in danger or is harmed, how you enjoy fictional things is none of my business. and I'm not gonna make any "call out post" where I encourage my followers to harass you because you like fucked up fictional things that I personally don't like or believe is wrong either.

I mean, from personal experience, I was exposed against my will to thing I didn't want to see from anti's screenshot of fanart or fanfic where they encourage their followers to harass this person whose fanart or fanfic, that was screenshot and spread by them, was originally tagged properly with all the trigger warnings so that people who didn't want to see it wouldn't get exposed to it. until anti screenshot it and flaunted it around in the name of being morally superior while also, at the same time, advocated for the witch hunt against someone who just wanted to mind their own business. so... the irony. lol

fandoms used to be more peaceful before Fandom Police starts their witch hunting, but it's a good thing we can just block these people and keep on enjoying our blorbos however we want to enjoy them.

and I'll always encourage every artist to write whatever they want, draw whatever they want. don't let people who think they're "morally superior" tell you you can't make art this way or that way. my best advice would be to block and ignore and keep on creating what you want. they may be loud, but at the end of the day they're just noises and they're not worth your attention x

[thebl4ckstar]

anytime all the young dudes play on my spotify the closer I am to killing myself

[saiyan-angel-blue]

its finally happened..... again

yes i have become that person who sits on page 1 of A03 edward/charles and refresh the page every day (every hour really) for the latest fics, im dying of thirst here peoples i need more stories of our boys 👻🧐🥰

[smiths-fan--13]

guys anybody who writes angst is getting kissed cos i can confirm i do NOT enjoy a story that doesnt have angst. wheres the yelling? wheres the shouting and cheating and lying? okay good now kiss and make up 🤑

[scuttling]

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 1

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 4,471 Tags: 18+, NSFW in later chapters, it's gonna get real nasty Summary: Sookie's cousin returns to Bon Temps, and Eric wants her... to work for him. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

When Camila Reyes steps out of the taxi, she is met with a billowing cloud of cigarette smoke, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots, and thick, humid air unlike anything she’d ever felt in Chicago. She takes in the old farmhouse, her home for much of her childhood, and feels guilt and regret settle over her when she remembers the last time she set foot in Bon Temps—the day of Gran’s funeral.

She pays the driver, tips him well even though he chain-smoked the entire ride from the airport, and lifts her bags from the inside of the trunk; when he drives away, leaving her standing in a cyclone of dust, she takes a deep, fortifying breath and strides to the front door. 

Confident is the last thing she feels—helpless, dejected, and unmoored are the first things that come to mind—but she pastes on a self-assured smile and raps her knuckles on the metal frame of the storm door. A short woman with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail looks at her quizzically through the screen, and then gasps and throws the door open, nearly knocking Cam off her feet.

“Camila Reyes, is that you? I haven’t seen you in, what, ten years?” the woman asks, wrapping her arms around Cam. They’re around the same height with similar builds, but whereas Cam has dark hair and naturally tanned skin, she is all bright yellow curls and skin like a porcelain doll, the gap in her teeth as endearing as it was when they were teenagers.

“Sookie! It’s been a long time, a really long time. You look so lovely,” she says, pulling back so she can look her over at arm’s length. She wears a pair of yellow gingham shorts with a flowy white tank top and white Keds, and something about that is so quintessentially Sookie that it immediately fills her with fondness. Sookie grins.

“So do you – and you’ve even lost your accent,” she says in a way that’s almost accusatory, but she’s smirking playfully. “Now you sound all classy and sophisticated and I’m the only one with the podunk twang.” Cam shrugs and laughs; she didn’t set out to lose the accent at first, but it became clear that her colleagues in the big city didn’t find the Louisiana drawl as charming as television had led her to believe.

“Ten years will do that to you,” Cam says lightly, doing her best not to reflect on the last of those ten years and how everything she’d worked so hard for circled the drain. “Now, I know you weren’t expecting me, and I hate to do this…” she begins, but Sookie brushes her off with the wave of a manicured hand. 

“Don’t you even start,” she says, and then she reaches down to grab one of Cam’s bags and holds open the door. “This is your home too, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, you know that.”

Cam grabs the other bag and follows her through the house, up the staircase that had seen better days many days ago. “I brought wine, if that’s any consolation,” she says, though she knows Sookie means it, that it’s really no trouble for her to stay with her in this big, empty house, “and now you can borrow my shoes any time you want.” 

Sookie glances back and smiles at her. 

“Wine is always good, and your shoe collection is even better, I know that for a fact.” They stop outside what is now a guest room, but which used to be Cam’s room, and she is grateful to see something other than the pale purple wallpaper of her childhood adorning the walls. The room is now bright and airy, painted robin’s egg blue, and its look suits Sookie more than it ever suited Cam. “But the best part is having my favorite cousin back home after all these years.”  

Sookie walks into the room, sets the suitcase on the chair beside the bed, and Cam does the same. Her returning smile is sad; she knows it had to be difficult for Sookie to be here… not alone, but without one of the few people in Bon Temps who really understood her, who saw her for the girl she was instead of what they thought she should have been. Guilt makes her stomach twist. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t see me at Gran’s funeral,” she says—because technically, that’s true. Sookie hadn’t seen her, because she hadn’t made it past the front seat of her rental car. She never even told Sookie or Jason she was there. Sookie frowns, but it’s sympathetic and kind. 

“That’s okay. I know how hard funerals are for you. What matters most is that you’re here now… and that there’s someone I want you to meet.” Cam is grateful for the change of topic, and the flirtatious smile Sookie sends her way has her suddenly very, very curious. 

“Is this someone a man?” she asks, eyes wide and faux-incredulous. Sookie slaps her arm gently and nods her head. 

“Yes, it’s a man… his name’s Bill, and he’s my… Well, boyfriend doesn’t feel like the right word, but I guess that’s what he is.” Her hands move to her hips, and she looks over Cam’s hair, her outfit, and apparently deems it suitable. “Why don’t you freshen up a bit, and I’ll treat you to dinner at Merlotte’s so you can meet him. It’s near-dark anyway.” Cam smooths the hair at the crown of her head, certain she’s got frizz and flyaways no hairspray can contain, and nods. Sookie starts toward the door when Cam calls out after her. 

“You’re treating—does that mean he’s a modern man who lets his lady pay for the meal? How progressive,” she teases—Gran never liked boys who took them out and didn’t offer to pay, and it was a joke between them and their friend Tara; Sookie chuckles like she’s holding in a joke of her own. 

“No, he’s really old-fashioned, actually,” she says thoughtfully. She taps on the doorframe before she steps into the hall. “It’s just that, well, he never eats a meal.”

Bill is a vampire because, obviously; Sookie wasn’t exactly being subtle, but it took Cam nearly the entire drive to Bon Temps’ finest bar and grille to put the hints together anyway. She blames it on the jet lag, even though she never actually left her own time zone. 

They meet him inside, and he’s already seated comfortably in a booth, but he stands to greet her when she and Sookie approach him. Cam is all but attacked by Tara, who hugs her more tightly than even Sookie did, and they make a promise to catch up later when the bartender’s not up to her neck in two-dollar drafts. 

“It’s so nice to see you comfortable here,” Cam comments to Bill later, when he is handed a bottle of Tru Blood by a smiling, if slightly neurotic looking red-headed waitress. He seems familiar with the clientele, greeted Sam and Tara like friends; she has to hand it to her hometown: she would have guessed they’d be way behind the national average when it comes to human-vampire relations. Bill takes a sip and offers her a smile. 

“Thank you. That’s mostly Sookie’s doing,” he admits, and then he glances over at her, at her lovestruck smile. The two of them are so cute it actually makes Cam’s teeth ache. “People weren’t exactly welcoming me with open arms at first, but she has this way of making people listen to her, even when they don’t want to.” 

“It’s a gift,” Cam says, dropping her own hint, but Sookie shoots her an unreadable look and she takes a sip of her beer instead of following up on that. She changes tracks. “I don’t know if Sookie told you, but I’m a lawyer, and I specialized in vampire rights back in Chicago. If you ever need something, legal advice or support, you have my number now.” 

“That’s so kind of you; I will keep that in mind,” he says gratefully, fingers wrapped around the glass bottle. “And I have to say, I appreciate you doing that kind of work. I know not everyone is progressive when it comes to vampire rights, and I’m sure it’s a difficult occupation.” Cam nods. 

“It has its moments. I’ve experienced more than my share of tragedy, had many clients executed by radical humans before we could attempt justice.” She suppresses a shiver at the thought of some of the things she’s heard, things she’s seen. Across from her, Sookie tuts and shakes her head. 

“Executions. What a terrible thought,” she speaks through a frown. She takes a sip of her iced tea, and after a moment, Bill stiffens in his seat beside her. Cam, familiar with vampire microexpressions, clocks the change in his disposition, and so does Sookie; she tilts her head in confusion like she wishes she could hear his thoughts.

Just then, a man approaches their booth, tall and broad, with short blond hair and a peaked complexion that outs him as a vampire immediately. Dressed all in black, he looks especially pale, and shadow falls over the three of them as his hulking silhouette blocks out the overhead light.

“Sorry to interrupt. Hello Sookie. Bill.” The man turns to Cam, his lips curving up into a polite smile as he gives her a tasteful once-over. She can see that his eyes are silvery blue, a cool, icy, complex color that captivates her instantly. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Sookie’s cousin, Camila. She’s visiting from Chicago,” Bill says with a tone that indicates the man is unwelcome at the table they share. He pays it no mind and reaches out to take her hand, to lean in and place his lips there in the semblance of a greeting kiss. It makes Cam flush hot, and she hopes it doesn’t rise to her cheeks for all to see.

“I’m Eric Northman. What a pleasure it is to meet you,” he says, eyes drifting over her face now that there’s less distance between them. He pauses there briefly to look into her eyes, curiosity in his stoic gaze. “I see some of Sookie’s features in you.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Eric, thank you,” she replies, though with her dark hair and complexion no one has ever drawn a similarity between her and her fairer cousin. Cam’s mother was Gran’s daughter, Sookie’s aunt, and Cam’s father was of Cuban descent, fresh off the boat he rode in on—and out on, just as quickly as he’d come. “Will you be joining us?” 

“He will not,” Bill supplies in the same clipped tone he’d used previously. He looks incredibly serious, more now like the vampire he is than when it was just the three of them; Eric stands, drops her hand, and flicks an irritated glance in the other vampire’s direction. 

“I do not wish to impose, but I do need a moment with Bill here, if you ladies don’t mind. Business deal,” he adds, and then he looks back to Cam and Sookie, his features more polite. He winks at them. “I promise it will only take a minute.” 

Bill thinks it over—though it doesn’t seem like a request to Cam—and seems to decide it best to accept the invitation and step away from the table; he glances over at Sookie with a brief apology and walks toward the door, and Eric follows him, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he goes.

“Now there’s a man that makes me think terrible thoughts,” Cam murmurs when she expects he’s out of range. “Over and over and over.” She says it partially because it’s true, but also to earn the scandalized laugh Sookie shares as she slaps Cam on the arm.

“Oh my god, Cami!” Cam laughs back, playing indignant. Not that you’re wrong, but…

“Well he does, all climbable and big and strong. And those eyes—you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s handsome.” 

After a brief stare-down, Sookie huffs a sigh.

“Objectively, yes,” Sookie says, with a playful roll of her eyes, “but he’s also Bill’s sheriff, and… I don’t know, rival, I guess?” Pain in the ass is more like it, she thinks, though she’d never say it aloud.

Cam drains her beer and narrows her eyes at Sookie, leaning in. The objectively shit doesn’t throw her for a second.

“Sookie Stackhouse, do you have both of those gorgeous men battling for your attention? I swear, sometimes it feels like blondes do have more fun.” 

She rolls her eyes again, chuckles like the thought of earning Eric’s attention is laughable. She probably still sees herself as the awkward teenage girl Cam remembered her as and not the Southern bombshell she is now.

“I think Eric is interested in things he can’t have, that’s all—not me in particular. And he really likes getting Bill’s goat.”

“So you’re saying I should play hard to get?” Cam teases, but despite the lightheartedness of her comment, the atmosphere changes drastically and Sookie’s face becomes serious.

“I’m saying you should stay far the hell away from him. He’s–he’s, cold-hearted and mean. Cruel. He does underhanded things to get what he wants.”

Cam has always found herself amused by Sookie’s naivety, but hearing her speak so judgmentally about Eric, about vampires, gives her pause. 

“I’ve been in the company of vampires, Sook, I know how some of them can be.” Sookie sits back, tilts her head to the side, and Cam narrows her eyes. “What?” 

“You’ve been in the company of vampires?” she asks, brows raised, and for a moment she is that naive teenage girl again. Cam simply waves a hand.

“Chicago is very different from Bon Temps, or even Shreveport, so yes, I’ve been in the company of vampires. Plus, they’re the only ones that truly quiet my mind, you know?” she adds as an aside, and Sookie shushes her, looks toward the door and back with wide eyes.

“Keep it down. I haven’t told Bill you’re a telepath too, or anyone, for that matter. Next thing you know you’ll be dragged into vampire business, and that is not somewhere you want to be, trust me.”

She can sense the sincerity in Sookie’s voice, so she does soften to a murmur, unable to be heard among the din of the chattering crowd.

“It’s my secret to keep, or not keep—and it was a big help during some of my trials, even if my colleagues didn’t know all the details. I get that you’ve always hated your ability, but it’s an important part of me. I don’t try to hide it anymore.” The thing about Bon Temps, love it or hate it, is everyone knows everyone else's business, and although Cam’s never felt fully herself in this town, she’s not about to hide for anyone else’s comfort. Sookie frowns, contrite.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… not something I’d be doing, if it weren’t for Bill. Eric holds things over him and I’m stuck in the middle trying to make peace.” She doesn’t say any more, because the vampires walk back in, and when Bill takes his seat Eric claps a hand on his shoulder firmly, in a way that could seem friendly but that looks more like a show of power than anything.

“Told you I’d bring him back,” Eric says to Sookie, who suddenly becomes very interested in her manicure; she drags the edge of her nail through the condensation left behind by her glass. Eric pays her no mind and looks to Cam again. “Before I leave, I want to extend an invitation to you. I own a bar in Shreveport called Fangtasia, and I would love for you to come by for a drink some time so we can get to know each other better.” 

The word drink makes her think of the vampire’s unique diet—something completely normal, not usually something she’d normally fixate on anymore than she’d be intrigued by a pescetarian—and she quickly tamps down the flash of interest that jolts through her body at the associated imagery.

“That sounds nice, Eric, I’ll be sure to take you up on that,” she says with a smile, and as she does something tugs at the back of her mind arbitrarily, something she can’t quite put her finger on. She clears her throat. “Bill has the details, I’m sure.” 

Bill appears grateful for her inclusion of him—she figures he’s probably feeling emasculated by the more senior vampire, the way he speaks with a double meaning under his tongue—and he assures Eric he will pass on the information.

“Well then, I’ll let the three of you get back to your evening. Thank you again, Bill,” he says without inflection, and he looks over at Sookie, then Cam. “I look forward to seeing you soon.”

He leaves, and Sookie looks Bill over, runs her hand up and down his back in a comforting gesture. Cam’s not sure if it’s meant for her eyes or not. 

A few moments later, the red-headed waitress returns to take their dinner orders, and Cam orders a massive salad and another beer and asks Bill what he misses most about the 1800s. It proves to be a good distraction, and by dessert his features seem to have softened again. 

When Sookie drives them back to the farmhouse, the twinkling stars in the cloudless blue sky remind her of the depth of Eric’s eyes.

As Cam walks into Fangtasia for the first time, she notes that it’s exactly what she expects: a small, dark, loud nightclub packed with the moving bodies of humans and vampires alike. Some of the humans are hoping to find a community of their peers, folks with tattoos up and down their arms and more piercings than one would think possible; some are there to see their first vampire or try to initiate contact with one; and some are there just to say they went, buying overpriced drinks and t-shirts and taking selfies with the crowd. 

She feels about middle of the road in a navy silk camisole, black pants, and her most comfortable black heels, and she breezes over to the bar and buys herself a martini, finds a table toward the less crowded back of the room and slides onto the stool nearest the wall. 

It takes all of five minutes for Eric to approach her, looking as gorgeous as he did when they first met; this time he is wearing a tight black tank, black jeans, and damn, if she thought she was climbable before…

He quirks a smile as he sidles up to the table. 

“Camila,” he greets warmly, and when she stands he leans in to mimic a kiss on her cheek. She feels that same strange tugging sensation at the back of her brain that she did at Merlotte’s, but the memory leaves her as quickly as it had returned. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I had to see what all the fuss was about; your bar is very popular among the travelers passing through Bon Temps these days,” she mentions, thinking back to a strange vampire that had given Bill a hard time at Merlotte’s the other night as they were getting ready to leave. Apparently not everyone was as enamored of Vampire Bill as others. 

“And how do you like it?” he asks, resting his hand on the table top, palm flat, fingers spread. She looks at his broad hand for a moment—a second longer than she should have, maybe—then glances up to look at his face.

“How embarrassing would it be if I said it’s… fangtastic?�� she asks with a shrug of her shoulder. Her joke earns a laugh from Eric, and she feels silly for the warmth that flushes through her at his approval. 

“From you, I’ll take it as a compliment. I’m sure the establishments you frequented in Chicago were a little different from this one.” She hums thoughtfully; she’s had her fair share of meetings in swanky hotel bars and fine dining restaurants, but vampire clubs aren’t hard to find anywhere in America.

“Not so different,” she tells him honestly, “though there were fewer eyebrow piercings. I like it here, though, it’s… comfortable,” she adds with a sip of her drink and a tilt of her head. 

It is comfortable, despite the blaring music and the crowd of people talking over one another, because about a third of the bar’s patrons are vampires; she’s used to walking into a room full or half full of them and sighing involuntarily, the weight lifting from her shoulders when she doesn’t have to work as hard not to read the cacophony of their minds.

“That’s an interesting word,” Eric says, eyes roaming over her face. A pretty young waitress in a minuscule black dress steps up beside him, then, and places another martini on the table for Cam. She smiles up at Eric, who does not acknowledge her, and walks away before Cam can thank her for the drink. “On the house,” he tells her, and though she’s only half finished with the one she purchased, she lifts the glass and takes a long sip to show her gratitude.

“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me,” she adds, and when she looks up to meet his gaze she feels that mysterious pull again, then a faint buzzing like white noise on a television screen, or her ears popping at high altitude. “That’s you,” she says slowly, reality dawning on her, and though his features are frozen in surprise, she can see something curious shift in the set of his eyes. 

“Pardon?” 

“Sorry, I—I appreciate the drink, but I already know what you want from me. You want to know if I’m like her.” If I can hear what the humans are thinking, she doesn’t say, but she knows he understands. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’ll admit I am curious about that, but it’s not the only reason I invited you.” It feels like he’s telling the truth, but she’s still unfamiliar with him, and she’s met several vampires she believed to be honest until they showed their true colors at the end. The only reason humans don’t have the same effect is because she can hear their lies before they have a chance to really develop.

“Then why did you invite me?” she asks firmly, because while she’s not ashamed of her ability she does not enjoy being singled out for it, no matter how good looking the other party may be. Eric pauses, then sighs as though she’s forcing him to show his hand.

“I’ve looked into you. Heard about your reputation,” he says, and he takes another long look at her, lingering over her bare shoulders and throat. “You don’t look like a human rights—excuse me, people’s rights—attorney, I have to admit… unless I’ve just been doing business with the wrong attorneys.”

She takes another sip of his drink, because he’s done his due diligence and she’s always appreciative of someone who isn’t afraid to dig through some tough sources. Her firm had never exactly publicized the fact that one of their lawyers was taking vampire rights cases, so he must have pulled some strings to get the information. 

“I was a people’s rights attorney. Now I’d be lucky to try a case in traffic court.”

“Because of your defense of vampires?” he asks, and she can understand why that’s the way he’d see it; she didn’t defend them, technically, because they weren’t and still aren’t able to be held accountable in a court of law, but she did advocate for their civil rights and against forced assimilation.

“Because I don’t treat vampires like animals or humans like they’re superior,” she offers in summary. She taps a finger against the tabletop. “Say I was like her. What would that mean for me? Would you threaten me until I agree to help you? Manipulate me so I do what you want?” 

He sighs again, and this time it feels like an attempt to appear wounded by her question, though she can’t imagine there’s anything she could say to cause this man any type of emotional concern.

“I would ask if you would be interested in doing some… consulting for me. You would be under no obligation to do so, of course,” he says, showing his palms. “Sookie has helped me in the past, but she does not seem interested in continuing that relationship.” 

His contrived description of their relationship forces a huffed laugh from Cam’s lips.

“You instigate problems between her and Bill – or Bill and you, and it puts her in the middle. That’s why she’s not interested.” 

“Is that what she told you?” he asks, leaning in again, this time on crossed forearms. It brings his face closer, and despite her irritation, she kind of likes it. He’s not bad to look at, either way. “I tend to think of myself as a problem solver, if anything.” She leans in too, as much as she can, looks him directly in the eyes.

“I’m familiar with vampires like you—men like you. Everything’s a pissing contest, you’ll do whatever it takes to assert your dominance, and nothing else matters.” If he’s surprised by her assumptions, he doesn’t show it. “Sookie is my family and she has my loyalty. Flirt with her if you want to, that's your prerogative, but I’m not going to stand around and watch you toy with her to get under Bill’s skin. I’m sure you can find a way to do that all on your own.” 

He stands tall at that, brow furrowed like she’s just said something insane. 

“I don’t flirt with her, I just… enjoy exposing Bill’s weakness,” he explains with a shrug. Cam hums, unconvinced, takes the toothpick out of her glass and pulls the single olive off the stick with her teeth, eats it.

“Like all men, I can promise you he has more than just the one,” she says with a smirk when she’s finished chewing, and she downs the rest of her drink in one smooth sip. “That kid’s underage, by the way—the one by the bar with the pink streak in her hair? One of your bouncers didn’t do a very thorough ID check. She’s been freaking out about it since she walked in.” 

Eric turns to glance at the girl, who is saying nothing aloud but does look almost comically on edge, and then back at Cam. She smiles politely, her professional smile, and stands, pushing in her chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“I’ll think about the offer, if you think about what I said. Thanks again for the drink.”

[kawowoa]

CANCELLATION — four

cw - suggestive jokes

a/n : haha .. r we surprised i didn’t stick to my schedule. bummy chapter but we r finally starting the actual plot!!!!

>> back to masterlist

taglist (comment to be added, 27/40) : @zoaqttz @misorastars @sukunaspillow @ourfinalisation @yuhig-blog @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tojirin @priestlydoll @kvsdrls @lulumi1u @soxocs @tyigerz @catobsessedlady @carohhline @ag33nt @44ina @digitaltrippers @heartsforkento @khoiyyu @lemonnotade @yourmommylol @loriisheart @kaemaybae @elegancefr @seternic @goryfawn

[veggieharumaki]

Balm & Burn

“You are made to protect Prince George,” his mother says in their quarters on the edge of the left wing, “and one day, you will become his personal knight.” Dream quirks a brow, approaching the chair next to her. “Personal knight?” Her fingers wind between threads, needle in hand. “Yes,” his mother pokes the end of a piece of fabric, eyes slightly closed, “a knight, to stay by Prince George’s side at all times, to protect him from all evils.” Dream stares at her blankly. That doesn’t sound right. “I don’t want to do just that.” ... In a world where soulmates have marks appear on their skin at nineteen, Dream and George don't have enough time.

link here! Royalty + Soulmate AU