#connecting author and reader

[celestial-sphere-press]

ahhhh I'm happy it made it to you safe, and that you love it!! I had a great time making this binding for these stories that are very near and dear to my heart. (and yessss success (happy) crying IS the goal omg)

(reblogging here bc it's the fanbinding sideblog)

@desmothene DID A FAN BINDING OF GRAD VULCAN AND SENT ME A COPY AND SCREEEEEEAAAAAAM ITS SO BEAUTIFUL????? I KIND OF CRIED A LITTLE?????? AAAAAHHHHHHH

[ladygojooo]

Neither Did I, My Dear (Nanami x Reader)

Synopsis: Five years - the amount of time you've been single, in university over in the States, and out of Japan. The amount of time you had to get over your ex.

Somehow, it wasn't enough.

Pairing: Kento Nanami x reader

WC: 2.3k

Content: exes to lovers, alternate universe - no powers, spiraling thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst, angst to fluff, fluffy ending, reconciliation (possibly OOC Nanami)

A/N: I tried, guys, I really did, but no guarantees that Kento is in character. I'm hoping that the more I write JJK fanfics, the easier it'll become to slip into their skins (metaphorically, lol). AO3 link here.

After five years in America, you’d forgotten how light Japan got in the springtime.

You didn’t really know how to put it, exactly, but it’s like you could see the sunbeams between the buildings and trees. You saw all the pastels and lighter colors of passerbys, the bright colors of the stands, the cherry blossoms - all of it was something you lost when you moved overseas for university. America had its vibrancy, sure, but it often was overwhelmingly grey. 

Even the peaches were softer and sweeter back in your home country. You smiled at the man running the stand, dropping the money into his hand and walking away with your find. Maybe you could make a nice peach cobbler, that was always your favorite dessert to eat when in the States.

Or, you thought as you were pushed and watched your peaches go flying into the air, maybe it would be better to force the person who ruined the peaches to pay for a new round.

“My apologies,” a baritone voice said, “I didn’t see you there.”

You looked up in spite of the unpleasant leap in your stomach to find him there.

Kento Nanami.

Valedictorian. Salaryman. Wannabe emo.

…and ex-boyfriend.

“It’s no problem,” you said, keeping your head down and gathering your peaches. “I’m not the best at watching my surroundings.”

He stayed quiet for a few moments, and for a brief second, you thought he’d move on and continue walking to wherever he had to go.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But, much to your chagrin, your name came forth from his lips, and all hope of walking away from this encounter without further interaction was dashed spectacularly.

“Nanami, hey.” Your smile felt more like a grimace, but you’d practiced in front of a mirror long enough to know that it would look fine. “How- how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well.” He bent down and picked up the last peach, putting it in the bag from whence it came. “I’ve been working for the past few years. It’s monotonous work at its finest, but there’s not much to complain about.”

“I’m glad work isn’t too much for you,” you said, keeping the strained smile on your face. “I know you worked hard to get to where you’re at.”

You both stood, letting the noise of the people moving around you fill the void that was your history.

He looked good. The lanky frame he had in high school had properly filled out, his hair had been cut and made him look professional, and the sunglasses - well, the sunglasses simply added onto the charm.

Not that there was any charm anymore. No. No, absolutely not. None.

“Would you-”

“I’ve gotta-”

You both stopped, caught off guard by speaking at the same time. “You first,” you insisted.

Nanami nodded in thanks. “Would you like to get coffee sometime? I’d like to catch up with you, if you’re willing.”

Your heart screamed in dread and delight at the proposition. It was everything you’d hoped for since he’d told you that the relationship was over, sure, but-

You’d spent five years trying to find some semblance of normal in the wake of the damage he left behind. Would intentionally meeting up with him undo all of that hard fought progress?

“I-” You cut yourself off and sighed. Who were you kidding? You still couldn’t say no to him, not even after all this time apart. “I’m free next Saturday.”

~~~

After exchanging numbers, texting back and forth sporadically, and figuring out a coffee shop which you both wanted to go to, you finally made it to the following Saturday.

You felt like you were going to puke.

Your nerves felt two seconds away from lighting on fire, which was a stark contrast to your deep and even breaths.

You felt like you were going to puke.

You leaned forward, your forehead touching the top of the steering wheel. Your eyes closed as you breathed yet again. How was this going to go? How could you stand in front of Nanami - purposefully - and not lose all the progress you made in moving on? Have you even moved on?

You felt like you were going to- 

“Alright, that’s enough, out of the car,” you told yourself, forcibly yanking your mind out of a downward spiral. You told Nanami you’d be here, and so help you if you skipped out of it because you were afraid of some stupid feelings that should have died a long time ago.

The shop bell chimed brightly as you walked in. It was a quaint little place, one recommended by Nanami himself, and one that you were quite taken by. Maybe you’d swing by here another time by yourself to enjoy it without the dread of talking to your ex hanging over you.

Speaking of, you heard him call your name from off to your right. Situated in the corner away from the other patrons was Nanami, two cups of coffee in front of him.

You waved, and as you drew close to the table, you spoke. “Hey, thank you for getting us a spot. I hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

“No worries. I wanted to make sure we had a spot that wasn’t in the midst of the shop. If I recall correctly, I know we both value peace and quiet.”

You were able to blame the way your eyes darted away from his on hanging your backpack on the back of your seat. It had been over five years since you last had any meaningful conversation with him, how in the world did he still remember that about you?

“I appreciate it, Nanami, thank you.” You smiled politely at him, hoping against hope that you weren’t blushing. “And thank you for the coffee. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense, I was the one to initiate this outing. It’s only fair that I cover the cost.”

You nodded once and took a sip. Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Is this a muddy mocha?”

“Yes. It’s still your favorite type of coffee, correct?”

You didn’t have an excuse to break eye contact, but your eyes still glanced down at the table for a moment. Goodness, you hoped your polite poker face extended to blushing as well. “It is, yeah.”

“Good,” he said. You looked up at him through your lashes again, catching the way the side of his mouth ticked up the tiniest bit. You answered his grin with one of your own.

~~~

Much to your surprise, you two had fallen right into conversation like no time had passed. Tales about university, dead end jobs, and daily life were exchanged freely. You got to tell him about your friend group over in America, and Nanami got to disclose all the details about what his friend group in Japan was up to (you dutifully ignored the pang in your heart as you remembered that they weren’t your friends anymore).

“And that’s,” he said chuckling, head tilted back ever so slightly, “how Haibara ended up getting the number of a convict.”

“Oh my gosh,” you laughed, hand covering your mouth so as not to disturb the rest of the cafe with how loud you were. “If you would have told me that sweet, innocent Yu would one day get the contact information for a lady who’s been arrested multiple times for public drunkenness, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“I still don’t.” Nanami’s voice sounded warm and inviting, just like-

Your laughter turned to sniffles and cries in an instant, and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just remain happy. Why did you always have to do this to yourself?

You heard Nanami shift in his seat. “Are you okay?”

His question, so full of concern for your wellbeing, only pushed you closer to tears. You stood abruptly, gathering your cup and your backpack in a few seconds.

“This was a bad idea, I- I’m sorry, Nanami, I have to go,” you whispered, hand still over your mouth and half over your face as you tried to conceal your sudden shift in mood. You hurried over to the trash can by the front door and threw away the empty cup.

“Wait-”

His voice cut off as you pushed open the door, fleeing as quickly as you could.

You idiot, you knew that coming out was a bad idea, but noooo, you just had to go ahead and screw yourself over. All that progress, and for what? An outing you deluded yourself into thinking was a date?

“Stop.”

You didn’t have time to wipe your tears from your face as Nanami cornered you against the wall. The alleyway in which you two stood was abandoned, just like it was the day he broke up with you.

“It isn’t like you to burst into tears like that,” Nanami said, eyes creased with worry. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Let me go, Nanami,” you whispered, your head turned to the side so you didn’t look at him.

“Not when you’re upset like this.”

You laughed bitterly. “What makes you think you have the right to try to soothe me? Why start now?” Silence answered you, and you couldn’t help the splinter of your heart. “Just let me go, please.”

“Let me make this right,” he murmured, drawing closer. You shook your head.

“You can’t.”

Only a few seconds of silence passed before you felt his fingers gently take hold of your jaw and turn your head toward him. Two more tears dropped down your cheeks when your eyes met his. He wiped them away and settled his thumb along your cheek, letting it glide back and forth.

“I-” He sighed raggedly. “It hurts me more than ever to see you in pain. What did I do, and how can I fix it?”

You laughed around a sob stuck in your throat and tilted your head back, moving out of his grasp. His hand landed on your neck instead. Your eyes closed.

“For a moment,” you mumbled, “for a moment, I felt normal again. We used to do this all the time, back when we were in school, and for a second, it-”

You paused and breathed before you started crying harder. You already hated that there were tears streaming down your face, but the prospect of breaking down further terrified you. This was the same man who walked away after shattering your heart. You didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him again.

“Kento,” you whimpered, body betraying you as more tears slipped down your face, “for the first time in five years, everything felt bright again. I felt at peace for the first time in so long, only to remember that this is going to end. We’ll both leave the coffee shop and go back to our regular lives, and that’s ok - it is - but-”

“Breathe, darling,” he said as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. It had always been a tried-and-true method that he used back in high school to calm you down, but after so long of not having him, it only made you fully burst into tears.

“It’s been five years, Kento, why do you still hold my heart captive?”

You couldn’t see the look of devastated longing on his face through your tears, but you could feel him guide you into his arms again. You felt his warmth and strength hold you as you fell apart for the first time in a long while. You felt him rock you back and forth as your tears soaked into his shirt.

You felt whole again in the arms of the man who broke your heart, and you hated it just as much as you loved him.

Only when your cries turned into the occasional sniffle did he speak again.

“I suppose we’ve both been holding each other captive, then.”

You couldn’t understand what he was talking about. “What?”

Kento shifted, drawing you the tiniest bit closer. His breath was warm where it fanned against the crown of your head. “I’ll be honest - I asked you out today to see if there was a chance you’d allow me to date you again. Ending our relationship was the worst decision I’ve made.”

You pulled away from his chest to look at him, hoping that your face didn’t appear pathetically hopeful. “What?”

His hand came once more to rest on your cheek, eyes flitting between yours. “My heart has always been yours, I just didn’t realize it until you disappeared the week after everything ended.”

“Kento…”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, touching his forehead to yours, “let me win your heart over once again. Let me be yours.”

With his plea came two distinct paths.

The first? You could keep the walls you’d painstakingly built, back away from Nanami, and walk away. The path of your future would be blank and wide open, and you could mold it any which way you wanted. You could pursue further education, found a charity, rescue a dog or two - any and all of it, it was open to you.

And it seemed terribly unappealing.

The second? 

Well, you could lean forward and feel the warmth of his lips once more. You could spend more nights together, making dinner and watching tv before leaving for your apartment. You could hold his hand, exchange warm glances, and pepper his face with kisses. You could one day have and hold him, until death did you both part.

And so you leaned forward ever so slightly, bridging the chasm that stood between the both of you.

His lips, slightly chapped though they were, felt so much like home that it took an embarrassing amount of strength to keep standing and not fall completely into him. Kento’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he reciprocated.

“I never stopped loving you,” was the first thing out of your mouth when you pulled away. 

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Neither did I, my dear.”

[blindmagdalena]

really obsessed with soulmate au’s recently and it got me thinking… what if john’s soulmate was part of the boys? a girl trying to kill him with an entire group of people also trying to kill him… and he’s fated to her? could picture him finding out and just putting his hands on his hips while turning his back to her and doing that click chuckle thing. just in utter disbelief but it is definitely on track for fate’s little play with him and his life lolol

Oohhh, you know, I've never played much with the soulmate au concept, but this struck me just right because I can so clearly see the slow, building meltdown that strikes him when that reveal drops.

The mirthless laugh, shaking his head, the hapless gesture to the ceiling before his hands drop. "Of course. Of course it's you. Why wouldn't it be? I mean—Christ, it makes sense, doesn't it? Every single person who was supposed to love me has-has fucked it, so why—" he keeps cutting into this escalating, unsettling laughter. There's nothing funny about it: you're sure that you're watching someone lose the last shred of their sanity in real time. "Why would my 'soulmate'-", he says, miming big, dramatic quotation marks. "-be any different?" That manic grin has shifted into tight baring of his teeth, a vicious sneer. He closes in on you, stands so near you can feel the heat of his breath when he hisses, "I should put you in the fucking dirt with the rest of them."

It should be terrifying, but it's hard to focus on anything other than the glassiness of his eyes. The sheer devastating heartbreak of it all, telegraphed clear as day in the way he carries himself. His eyes flare red, sizzling up the tears before they can fall. "And then you really will be all alone," you say. Maybe it's the hopelessness of the moment, maybe it's the shock of learning for yourself that he's supposed to be your one and only, but you feel numb. Frayed in a way you didn't know you could be. The crimson light of his eyes disappears in an instant, revealing surprise, followed by a wounded kind of look, before that familiar seething rage returns. "We'll see about that."

[heartofstanding]

Did Edward I have a serious tendency towards violence towards Edward II?

I highly recommend reading Hannah Kilpatrick's article "Edward I’s Temper" in The Medieval Chronicle, vol. 12 (2019, doi) if you can find it because not only is it brilliant but because my entire answer will based on it. The short answer: probably not, because our main sources for Edward I being violent are two accounts that have been mistranslated or mistranscribed.

In a way, it's understandable. Edward I has frequently been understood as the ultimate embodiment of the brutal, dark and hyper-violent Middle Ages and the story that he physically assaulted his son both not only feeds this image but is likewise fed by this reputation. It becomes cyclical: we know Edward I was violent and angry because we know he assaulted his son and we know he assaulted his son because we know he was violent and angry. The actual story of this assault is goes something like this: the future Edward II foolishly petitions his father for an earldom for his unworthy and unpopular favourite Piers Gaveston. The king erupts in a fit of violent temper. He swears at his son, tears out handfuls of his son's hair and then throws him to the ground and kicks him.

This account is a conflation of two contemporary accounts, one found in the chronicle of Walter of Guisborough (where Edward II's hair is pulled out) and the other in the Fineshade chronicle (where Edward II is thrown to the ground and trampled). Kilpatrick argues, quite convincingly, that both accounts have been misread - mistranslated or mistranscribed - and offers corrections wherein Edward I's violence is directed at himself (he pulls his own hair out) and the physical copy of Edward II's petition, not his son.

On Walter of Guisborough:

But here is no assault. Walter of Guisborough never claims that Edward I tore out his son’s hair. ‘Et apprehensis capillis vtraque manu dilacerauit eos in quantum potuit’, he writes, following Edward I’s last speech, literally: ‘And seizing hair in each hand he tore it out to the extent that he could’, with no possessive pronoun. In English, of course, we cannot leave the ownership of a body part ambiguous—we would have to say ‘his own hair’, or‘his son’s hair’—but this construction is perfectly possible in Latin. In fact, in the absence of grammatical indications to the contrary, it should be assumed to refer back to the subject, as in Latin’s modern descendents—and as we see here with reference to the hands (‘manu’, not ‘manusua’).

In short, an alternative, more plausible translation of the original Latin is that Edward I tore out his own hair in a rage at his son's request, not his son's hair. It is violent, but violence directed to the self rather than at his son.

In regards to the Fineshade chronicle, Kilpatrick argues that George Haskins's transcription of the scene features an error. That is, he silently expanded the abbreviated pronoun, ipm, to the masculine form, ipsum:

For reasons of grammar and syntax, I argued that ipm should, in fact, be expanded to feminine ipsam: in other words, it is the petition which is flung to the ground and crushed underfoot (‘peticionem importunam ferens, indignanter ipsam ad terram deiecit pedibusque conculcauit’). The most recent masculine referent is the king himself, preceded by Gaveston; and it would be syntactically awkward to have to reach back past so many clauses to a previous sentence, when a more immediate and logical referent is (as it were) directly to hand.

So, rather than Edward I flinging his son to the ground and kicking him, Edward I flings the petition, an inanimate object, to the ground and tramples it.

To me, Kilpatrick's alternate readings of these chronicles are more believable. Seymour Phillips also has rejected Walter of Guisborough's account as "exaggerated" and either inaccurate or unable to be confirmed, but without reassessing the chronicle accounts that Kilpatrick does. The acceptance of this story speaks to what Kilpatrick calls "modern preconceptions of medieval emotionality" - the tendency to read the Middle Ages as a place of casual and excessive violence and to stereotype medieval individuals as being unable to control their emotions.

This accounts, Kilpatrick goes to argue, also use "public emotionality" or the public performance of emotion - in this case, lordly anger - to make a point. That is, that Edward I's anger serves a political and social purpose:

...public demonstrations of anger had a paradoxically crucial role in mending social bonds (particularly between a lord and his dependent), by 'announcing to all that the current situation was unacceptable and that social relationships would have to be restructured'. This would (ideally) initiate the process of negotiation and reconciliation.

Both writers use this display of lordly anger in different ways to achieve different messages in their writing but both are "interrogat[ing] the idea of effective kingship". Walter of Guisborough's account is more critical of Edward I, whilst also anticipating problems in his heir's reign. In contrast, the Fineshade chronicler is writing in the last decade of Edward II's reign and is more concerned with the failures of Edward II's kingship in comparison with his father's more stable reign.

So, Walter of Guisborough depicts Edward I's anger as dysfunctional, showing Edward as embodying Ira, uncontrolled and self-destructive rage while Edward II's lack of response to his father's anger is problematised because Edward II should be filled with a shaming anger that drives him to correct his fault (the favouritism of Gaveston):

In the scene as written, the king enacts a powerful and very public demonstration of the extent of the prince’s transgression against both his own role and his father’s, and of the serious breach in the relationships between father and son and between the realm and its future king. He attempts to solve it by trying to prick on his son to be the honourable knight that he ought to be. He fails—he does succumb to a violent, uncontrollable passion—not because he is a medieval man, but because Walter of Guisborough was critiquing specific flaws in his kingship. His transgression is not physical violence but violence against social norms governing acceptable emotional display: not the uncontrollable outburst of a passion that ought to be contained, but a failure to embody what it is to be a king, to engage and empower the emotionality of his followers.

In Fineshade chronicler's narrative, Edward I is idealised as the representation of "the stability and the link with the past that his son rejects" which renders the idea it depicts Edward violently assaulting his son even more suspect. Instead, the petition is trampled in an appropriate display of royal anger: "the transference of royal violence onto the petition (and the imagined Gaveston) rather than the body of his son allows the king to make a powerful performance of his fury without violating the feudal bond in return."

In brief, then: our evidence for Edward I's "serious tendency for violence" against his son comes from one event that has likely been misread (mistranslated, mistranscribed) and show Edward's violence enacted on his own body or an inanimate object rather than the body of his son. Seymour Phillips and Kathryn Warner both point out there was no serious breach between father and son, no suggestion that Edward I was disappointed with his son and, while there were conflicts between them, they were not unusual for a king and his son (n.b. Warner believes Walter of Guisborough's account is accurate, Phillips does not). The chronicle accounts may not have be a truthful depiction on what happened but a reflection on what made a good king and the function of lordly anger in kingship.

Of course, there's great difficulty in proving a negative. We know very little about the personal/private relationship between father and son (this is not unusual) and whether Edward I was ever violent towards his son (and if so, whether this would be seen as excessive or as indicative of a serious tendency towards violence) is something we don't and cannot know.

But what we can say is that our understanding of their relationship and the likelihood of its violence has been driven by our own tendency to stereotype history. Typically, the Middle Ages is seen as an extremely violent and backward time and Edward I as the ultimate representation of these impulses. Thus, he has been stereotyped as a particularly brutal and barbaric figure who would naturally enact excessive violence on his similarly-stereotyped son, read as a effeminate failure of kingship and manhood trapped in the "wrong time". Kilpatrick argues, quite convincingly in my opinion, that the supposed evidence or "proof" of Edward I's excessive violence and temper towards his son is no such thing. The reality of their relationship was undoubtedly much more complex.

Again, I really recommend you read the full article because this is only a summary of the broader points made.

(Also, I apologise if the quotes have mistakes in them. When I copied and pasted from the PDF I have, somehow the spaces between words didn't register so every word was smushed together. I've attempted to fix it but there may be some things I overlooked.)

[northern-passage]

one thing i find really difficult about navigating the IF space is the direct line of contact between readers and authors. we share the same space, and i think that plays a big part in this weird blurred line we have in this community and overall lack of boundaries.

for a lot of people this is a fun hobby and while i personally try to keep it... semi-professional most of the time, it's easy to get wrapped up in having fun on tumblr (or the forums, or reddit, wherever it is that you mainly post/interact) and have a lot of personal interactions with both readers and authors alike - which is fun! i like it more often than not, but i also think that's why a lot of comments in this space can end up being really entitled, over-familiar, and inappropriate.

it's no secret that most authors get really weird messages on here, and while this is also a problem on social media at large and not just specific to IF tumblr, it is still definitely a big problem in this community.

and to be clear i'm not saying that you can't be friendly with authors or readers (i've become friends with a handful of readers myself) and i definitely don't mean to imply that there needs to be a huge divide between us; that's silly - again, most authors are readers, most readers are authors, we’re just people on the internet sharing the same space. but all of us deserve to have our boundaries respected. this is my story, and we are strangers. as a general rule of thumb: if you wouldn't say it out loud to someone you just met, you probably shouldn't be saying it to a stranger online. especially anonymously.

[captainkirkk]

If a fic author deletes their work, what’s your take on people who’ve previously downloaded the fics sharing their copies? I’m personally torn on it - I can understand both sides, but was wondering what others think.

This might be a controversial opinion, but I think it's fine to share downloaded copies of fics in certain situations. For example, if a friend mentions they have the fic and another friend asks them to email it to them. Or someone is desperately looking for their all time favourite fic that was deleted and asks for it on tumblr, I think it's okay for someone else to answer and offer to email it to them. I think, as authors, we need to accept that we give up a certain level of control when we publish a fic. Anyone can download it, even if we later delete the fic.

ALTHOUGH, I think posting it in a more public setting for other people to access (e.g., sending a link to a massive discord server) is probably a no-go?? Also, if the author has come out and explicitly asked people not to share downloads, then I'd say respect their wishes!!

[child-of-hurin]

.

I'm 50% into My year of rest and relaxation and the question is: when does this book get provoking/disturbing/interesting/the vehicle of at least a single original or inspired aesthetic effect

[nessiithatsme]

Unexpected Connection - Logan Henderson

Chapter 5

Logan

The restaurant was casual and relaxed, the soft lighting casting soft shadows across the table, the wine in our glasses a deep red, reflecting in the candlelight. We sat together, the boys and I, as if nothing had ever happened, as if we had never stopped on this crazy journey. And somehow it was. We had been through a lot in the last few years, but now it was that familiar, exuberant mood that had always connected us – just like in the old days.

"I swear, the best days were always when we were just hanging out together," Kendall said and downed the rest of his red wine in one gulp. 'Do you remember when we hid the cameras and Logan was convinced the crew would never find them?"

I laughed and raised my hands. 'Hey, I really thought that was genius. Those things were tiny – at least for the first twenty minutes."

Carlos shook his head and started snickering. "Logan, you ruined the entire shooting schedule with that stunt! I remember how the director almost had a nervous breakdown. In the end, we had to apologize collectively to the whole crew – and all because you absolutely wanted to play hide and seek!"

"Oh, come on, you were all in on it," I defended myself and clinked my beer with Carlos. 'We all survived it and kept our jobs, didn't we?"

"Yeah, because Carlos went down on his knees to the producers like a madman,' James interjected, pulling a grimace. "That was, I think, the moment when I first considered just punching you in the face, Logan!" James added with a laugh.

"I just made sure that we all continued to get work and didn't sabotage ourselves right from day one," Carlos countered with mock outrage, but couldn't stop laughing. "But Logan, with you it often felt like you saw yourself less as an actor and more as a chaotic ringmaster on set."

Kendall laughed and raised her glass to Carlos. "Honestly, Logan, you were the king of chaos. Script? Pff, what for? Stunts? Let's do something more dangerous! Crew mad? No problem, see you tomorrow! You kept everyone on their toes with your ideas."

"A little creativity never hurt anyone," I said innocently and shrugged.

"Creativity? Logan, sometimes what we allowed ourselves was borderline," Carlos shook his head and grinned. "And then I always had to pretend that I was the responsible one in the group."

"Yes, exactly!" James snorted. "Carlos, you never slowed us down! At most, you pretended to slow us down, just to kick ass at every after-party yourself."

Carlos rolled his eyes, but grinned crookedly. "Come on, I had to make sure that none of you did any nonsense on your own. If we're going to spread chaos, then at least do it together – team spirit and all that."

We all burst out laughing, the confusion of our voices blending perfectly at that moment and taking us back to the old, wild days for a brief instant. "All right, okay, we definitely overdid a few jokes," Carlos admitted, "but it was the best time, right?"

"Absolutely," Kendall said, raising his glass. 'Sometimes when I think back, I feel like we produced more chaos than content."

"That was our secret!' James interjected. "The show was really just an excuse to wallow in chaos 24/7."

We all laughed and clinked our glasses again before I took a deeper sip from my glass. I could feel how much we had all enjoyed that time that evening. And yet I knew that we would also get lost in conversations in which we would tease each other.

"Speaking of..." Carlos said, putting down his glass and looking at me with a curious look. 'Did you notice that Lydia wasn't in a good mood when we left?"

"Yeah, I noticed that too,' Kendall said, who had apparently picked up on the situation in the same way. "She was really tense when we said goodbye. What was going on?"

I sighed and leaned back, looking thoughtfully into my glass. I knew that the moment would come eventually, that they would bring it up.

"Hm... I guess it could be me," I finally said, shrugging. "I had a little run-in with the hotel manager today – Emma White. She was pretty... well, direct."

"Direct?" Kendall repeated, and I could already see the sharp grin on his face. 'I don't think that's enough to piss her off that much. What did you do, Logan?"

"I complained a little bit about my room. She wasn't too thrilled about it,' I said, trying to make it sound casual. But I knew that no matter how serious the situation was, it would always make the guys smirk.

"The hotel manager stood up to you, Logan?" Carlos' voice sounded almost too surprised to be true. "That's almost... an enlightening moment."

"Do you feel like you've finally found a woman who can really stand up to you?" James asked with a broad grin that almost made him look a bit too mischievous. "That must be it! It sounds like she's the first person who really knows how to put you in your place."

"What?" I said, trying to play it down. But it was too late, the damage was already done. The guys looked at me like they'd found the holy grail.

"Oh man, you really need to explain what happened," said Kendall, sitting down a little further. "You can't just say that a hotel manager gave you an announcement and then act like it's nothing. You somehow managed to always show us a little bit that you were the big guy. But here... she probably stole your show."

"Great, now you're telling me about the woman who stands up to me,» I said, leaning back in my chair to appear more relaxed. "She just gave me a little... advice on how to do things right here at the hotel. End of story.»

"Oh, Logan, you're amazing,» James laughed. "You never really realized that not everyone is impressed by you, did you?"

"Oh, give me a break," I mumbled while the guys laughed. 'It really wasn't that big of a deal."

"I don't know, Logan,' Carlos said, grinning from ear to ear. "It almost sounds like she threw a wrench in your plans a little bit. And now you're here trying to tell us she didn't teach you a lesson?"

"Guys, seriously, stop. She didn't teach me anything," I said, even though I knew that was exactly what they were doing. "It was just a... little discussion. But if you all enjoy it so much, then enjoy it."

"Do you know what this means, Logan?" Kendall said, winking at me. "It just means we found a woman who matches your level of skill. Now you have to ask yourself if you're ready to finally look at yourself in the mirror."

I rolled my eyes and tried not to get too involved in the conversation. But inside, I knew that they had hit the nail on the head. Emma White was definitely not the kind of woman you could easily overlook. And something about the way she had stood up to me didn't let go of me as quickly as I would have liked.

Emma

As we entered the Italian restaurant, I immediately felt the tension of the working day melt away. The familiar warmth, the smile of the waiter who greeted us – all of this made me feel at home. It was the perfect place to clear my mind, and to be honest, I couldn't wait to relax with Eliot. 

There was a pleasant lightness to the evening. Eliot and I sat at our table, surrounded by the familiar scent of Italian food—fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil wafting through the air. The wine was good, and we talked about old times. About my childhood, the chaotic days with my parents, and our little quirks that always made us laugh. 

Eliot took another sip of wine, swirled the glass, and then looked at me with a mischievous grin. "Remember when I wrecked Dad's car?"

I felt my face change instantly as the memory came back. "Oh God, stop it, please. You mean the car that you treated like a race car when you were 17?" I asked, with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"Yes, that's the one!" he laughed, leaning back. 

"And do you remember how you took all the blame even though it was really my fault?" Eliot grinned when he saw the look on my face, which immediately darkened.

I let out an annoyed sigh and looked at him. "I can't believe you're bringing that up now," I said, taking another sip from my glass to organize my thoughts. "And I was still so stupid and took the school on myself. I got three months of house arrest and a cell phone ban because of you!" 'Hey, who was your slave for half a year and did everything for you?' Eliot defended himself, raising his hands in supplication. 

"That's right!" I laughed. "And it was the best six months of my life. You really took care of me."

We laughed some more, as we always had. It was one of those intimate, relaxed evenings that you rarely get – and even more rarely enjoy when you're always in the hustle and bustle of life.

After a while, the conversation became a bit more casual, and Eliot, never at a loss for a joke, brought up the topic of something that visibly threw me off track.

"By the way," he said suddenly, glancing at the restaurant, 'when are you finally going on a date again?"

"Eliot,' I said with a sharp look. 'Not now."

"Come on,' he grinned. "You know I always keep an eye out for possible candidates for you. Look at the guys here – there's bound to be someone here who meets your standards."

"What do you mean by 'my level'?" I raised an eyebrow and took a swig of wine. 'You're not serious, are you?"

"Yes, sure,' he said with a smile that I recognized immediately. He pointed with a finger in the direction of the table directly behind me. "There, for example..."

I turned to the first man he pointed to. A guy in a dark blue suit who seemed a bit too perfect to me. The way he adjusted his glasses had something of a law clerk who had just made it out of college.

"Oh yes, sure," I said dryly, 'he's a bit too businesslike for me. And do you know that I don't feel like talking to someone who's always talking about stocks and taxes?' I then turned back and tapped my glass. 'Not for me."

Eliot laughed. 'You're impossible. But okay, we'll keep looking."

He pointed to a second guy sitting by the window, sipping an espresso. "You might like this one. He looks like an artist, a bit mysterious, don't you think?"

I had to admit, the guy had this mystical aura – he was short, wearing a striking leather jacket and a strange cap. The look in his eyes seemed to come from a completely different world.

"It's really not my style, Eliot. He looks like he talks about artistic topics all day while smoking expensive cigarettes. No, thanks," I said with a wry smile. 

"Really? He has exactly the right flair for you," he just said and kept laughing. "Okay, okay, but you won't be able to deny that there is a lot more choice here."

As he said this, I realized that he had let his gaze wander through the restaurant again, and then he pointed to another table, this time in the corner of the room. I turned slowly and looked where he was pointing without really thinking.

And then my heart stopped for a moment.

"What?" I said in a whispering tone and almost dropped the wine when I saw him. 

"Over there. The one in the middle. What do you think of him?" Eliot grinned as he pointed at the table.

I just stared – there sat Logan. My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly the room was a bit too loud, the atmosphere much too dense. Logan, together with his band colleagues. 

I could have recognized him anywhere, but it felt completely different to see him now. He was sitting there, smiling and with a glass of red wine in front of him, his bandmates next to him, laughing, enjoying themselves. But he – he looked like he recognized me right now, just as I recognized him. And that's exactly what I didn't want.

"Oh God," I murmured. "He's here."

"Who? The guy with the band?" Eliot asked, apparently unaware of what was going on inside of me.

"Yes," I said, forcing myself to remain calm. But inside, it felt like my heart was racing through my chest. "He's the... the guy I told you about."

"Ah, you mean Logan Henderson?" Eliot grinned even wider. "Oh, that's interesting. And what are you doing now?"

I ignored him. My eyes were fixed on Logan, who now seemed to be looking at me too. In that moment, I knew that there were no more ways out.

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

man what do you mean i actually have to think about how the plot will progress. what do you mean i cant just wait for the author to figure it out and present it to me. (i am the author)

[quatregats]

possibly it would make more sense to send this to catilinas but I was on your blog when I thought of it and I thought you’d be interested. Aeneas also loses his first wife (Creusa) (LITERALLY loses, he is escaping the burning city of Troy and doesn’t realize he’s left her behind) and marries a second wife (Lavinia) who Symbolizes Everything He’s Worked For. Lavinia and Barbara don’t have much in common besides that narrative role. But I’ve always thought of Maria as a Creusa figure - the first wife who represents everything the hero has to move beyond, through no fault of her own but literally just because she was there first. Probably Marie and Dido as well but I’d have to reread her books

Ohhh interesting! Yes, I know I've read a fic which is drawing the Marie-Dido parallel, but I didn't know that both of the other Women In His Life also had Aeneid parallels -it sounds like that's at least part of where Forester was getting the narrative ideas from, which is fascinating :0

What I'm getting from all this is that I need to read the Aeneid and also reread/read the actual entirety of the Odyssey.....but not being a classicist it's probably much more fruitful to see your guys' analyses haha

[mejomonster]

Oh also when I start dropping the Red White and Royal Blue book quotes expect a FLOOD I'm highlighting the fuck out of this book

[vashti-lives]

I'm not going to argue with that person anymore about bookmarks because it's clear we have core philosophical differences and I don't think there's a point in spending anymore time on it when I flatly disagree with their foundational premise.

But I do think it's funny to watch something hit the intersection of "I don't actually do this" and "it's fine if people do this" in my own belief set.

[collisvng]

I feel like I'm so insecure on here lol

Like I always feel bad bc I have a hard time replying to people bc I have like this fear of being repetitive.

There is also like this thought in the back or my head that no one cares my account unless I'm writing something.... idk.

I'm just shy and feel like like I am not worthy of talking to people on here sometimes maybe, I dunno.

There are so many cool authors on here I'm wayyyy to intimated to speak to but if you guys tag me in stuff or wanna talk I or comment or whatever I am always happy, I'm just smol and tiny and I suck okok🚶🏻‍♀️

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

Gonna already decide on a new year's resolution now and be better about replying to comments on my fics. I haven't replied to many lately which is a bummer because I feel really happy when people take the time to comment. Also I don't want to be one of those authors who ask for constant feedback and then don't even reply back a thank you for it.

So if you've commented on my fics recently, possibly expect a random reply later on, if all goes well! Hopefully!

[chaoslynx]

I see you a a great parent figure

I will never tell you who I am but you are slay

Damn y'all really need better adult role models huh? Standards are LOW out here.

Starting to feel like that trope of the disgruntled old man who keeps accidentally adopting teenagers. Like I am BEGGING other adults to tell the kids in your life that you're proud of them. Please. Do it for my sake. I can't keep adopting teenagers!!

(This is all lighthearted and I am absolutely here to help y'all in whatever ways I can!)

BUT. That being said. Please try to understand that like ... me saying I'm proud of you, or letting you infodump, or giving my honest experience on something in an age-appropriate way, or WHATEVER the hecking fuck I did to make you think this? Literally the bare minimum you should be seeing from the adults in your life.

Like ... to be frank, I know there's a reason that a lot of you (especially the kiddos) are drawn to Banana Fish in particular, and also that there's a reason you're spending so much time in fandom spaces online, etc. etc. But just ... please know that you deserve better? Even if it's not feasible for you to actually HAVE better right now.

I'm not saying that every adult has to like kids or whatever. But I AM saying that ever person has to treat others with the respect that they deserve, and that kids and teenagers deserve exactly as much default respect as adults -- and that that respect is to be delivered in a way that is age-appropriate, but not inherently Less Than.

This turned into a bit of a ramble and idk where I'm going with it honestly. I'm honored that you think I'm slay, but just. know that you deserve better than a 25-year-old writer on the internet who is Trying Really Hard

Honestly like ... I'm sorry that a lot of y'all ever had to turn to my writing -- or to canon bfish -- to begin with. If you're just here for the stories, that's amazing, and I'm happy you're here either way. But if you're finding yourself in them, like ... I'm sorry.

[un-local]

Hello! Same anon here, I read through your reply and I noticed that you said that she would have either brown or gray eyes. Would her having gray eyes perhaps remind Rogier of Lorens in a future scene?

Ah, nice thinking anon!

Honestly, I was going with another type of imagery all together:

It might drive Rogier a little crazy, after a certain point. (Post-Radahn... When things don't work out the way he wants them to...)

But that's something I haven't figured out a satisfying resolution to yet, sooooo... I haven't committed to it.

As of right now, her eyes are whatever color you'd like them to be!