#fanfiction commentary

[twopoppies]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DC2ReTAIlCF/?igsh=MW13bXFqd2x3MDRiag==

i think you’ll find this interesting!

i wasn’t expecting the harry mention in the end 😭

Yes! This is exactly what we were talking about yesterday. It’s so nice to see fanfiction get the respect it deserves. There are so many “real books” that could fall into this category. I know RPF has an additional layer of complexity to it. But I think there are so many examples of fanfiction that only use characteristics and perceived personalities to create their characters. For me, it’s really simple to differentiate between the actual humans and the book characters. I mean, there are “real“ books of fiction (or movies) that are entirely imagined scenarios and have real people included in them. Is there really a difference?

[jester-of-fools]

Been seeing a lot of confusion on what the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” is supposed to mean, so I made a fic in honor of a clearer explanation for those who may still have some confusion.

Dead Dove

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Major Character Death

Category: Other

Fandoms: Original Work, No Fandom, Arrested Development

Character: Dove

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, image

Language: English

Summary: There is a dead dove inside a bag. This fic is the bag. Open the fic to look inside the bag.

Open for suggestions on how to make this any clearer and more understandable for those who may still need a helping hand :)

[shyjusticewarrior]

At some point "fanfic can be as good as professional writing" became "fanfic should be as good as professional writing" and that's caused major damage to fandom spaces.

[proseverence]

Thinking about Cassandra and Cullen. Their friendship. How Cassandra knows Cullen—knows him for his achievements, his capabilities, his leadership—and doesn't question how that slots in with the insecurity churning just below the surface. The self-loathing he confides in her, the doubt he feels in himself—how she sees this, accepts it, and then compares him to a god. Finds beauty in his duality and dubs it holy.

She doesn't coddle him. Her love isn't soft and laced with empty platitudes. She sees Cullen's struggles—empathizes with them—and confronts them with a brutal concern that offends the lack of care Cullen shows himself. Her love is raw and sharp and packs a punch.

And I think it's what Cullen needs. I think it's that direct honesty that makes it harder for Cullen to dismiss her words when she says he's worth his weight in gold.

[girllookingoutwindow]

Colin tried to sleep but he was lost in his inner thoughts. Seeing her, at night, so beautiful and dreamy. Her lips, her body, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He tries to remember how it felt to touch her, the softness of her skin. Her breath close to his. He's full of desire for her. He always wants to be close to her. Now she feels so close and so far away. He wanted so much to touch her, to kiss her.

Why he can't stop thinking about it? Why he couldn't do the only one thing that feels right to him?

He was hurt. And even if he feels ashamed of himself, he can't deny he wanted to hurt her too.

Her words suprised him. And making him come back to the room. She looks so pretty. She's talking but she's not really looking at him. It takes him a moment to understand what she's saying.

Her voice sounds sad, distant. He wanted to punish her. Making her feel sad. But now, he doesn't recognise himself through that feelings.

Before he can even get up she's gone. His body feels attached to her. The room feels so empty now.

She said something of him not wanting to be close to her. She doesn't know?

He follows her, he doesn't know why. Honestly, that's not true, he knows why. Because his body feels more at easy close to hers. Because everytime she goes away he feels his heart goes tight and he cannot breath. He miss her so much when she's not there. Life without her it's not a life. He feels like he's dead inside.

Why she doesn't know?

Maybe is his fault. He wanted to punish her. But why doesn't feel right? He's angry with her. But he's more angry with himself.

Perhaps he can try to write. Through words his feelings came more easy to the surface. But lately his words don't feel 'his' anymore. It was possible he was a little jealous of her. He needs to find an answer.

Penelope letters were the reason because he started to write. Everytime he read a letter from her, life felt more easy, more peaceful, more vibrant.

He couldn't stop himself to connect this feelings with his words. Words came a place to being his true self. So, he could find a purpose. A better version of himself. Pen made him believe he could be a better man. The man he wanted to be for her.

He recognises her letters. The first time he read it. The way he missed them whe she stopped to write to him.

He remembers the warm she made him feel. Her letters made him feel close to home. She was his home. She's his home. It's always being her, sweet and kind. But at the same time smart, sassy and funny. That's her. That's his Pen. The Penelope he always loved. He can recognise her now. He can hear her voice through her letters. And she always was her. Lady Whistledown, Penelope Featherington. They were the same. Both were his Pen.

[ivorydragoness44]

@where-dreamers-go Welcome to my 90s Robin commentary 🤣

A costume party?? Cool.

No suitable pockets? Poor Reader.

No, no, you deserve that third cupcake. Enjoy it.

Robin remembered so much about Reader, and took extra care to make sure they didn't fall or trip over his bike 🥹

[“No…just feels like you casted a few spells on me already.” He wet his bottom lip. “Have you casted spells on anyone else?”

“Not a soul.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

Robin smiled with an air of soft satisfaction.] 👀

[I really owe them. Big time. You thought as Robin walked beside you. What even is this friendship?] SAME. I'd be happily confused, to be honest.

[“Hey, I’ll get you home safely.”

You got closer and examined the bike. “And in, what, two minutes?”] When I tell you that I laughed. It sounds like something that I would say 😆

[You wrapped your arms around his middle and kept the goodie bag against him there.] I think the candy is safe. Very safe.

[“Tricked with a treat,” he mused.] Hehehe, got 'im.

[Wow.]

[“Trick or treat.” Robin held up a handful of candy triumphantly.

What? You glanced down to your bag then gawked at him.] 😧 Sneaky Robin!!?

[What is even happening?] I too ask this very question.

~~~~ ~~~~

All in all, I loved it. Great job, Erica.

Series maybe???

"Lucky Treat" Dick Grayson x Reader

(A/N: This is a part two for “Things Happen” with 90s Robin. What happens when Reader has good luck all day?

Warnings: Use of (Y/N).

Word Count: 1,952 words)

~~~

Friday night. Friends and family dressed for a fun filled night full of candy. Others dressed in their spooky best for scares or music-filled delight. A costume party!

You were having a great day! A spook-tacular day, in fact. You managed to find a coupon for candy and stocked up on your favorites. The weather was clear and cool.

Perfect for a night of chilling spectacles or more specifically—your friend’s costume party. Costumes were highly encouraged. They didn’t have to tell you twice.

So a small cape and pointed hat you wore, spellbound accessories for your black costume. Classy, comfortable, and quite flattering on you.

Too bad any ‘pocket’ wasn’t good enough to hold any more than your apartment keys and small candy bar.

The party at your friend’s home was as lively as it was full of candy and treats. They had planned it weeks in advance.

That was Gotham City for you.

Night life was as busy as the daylight hours.

Your night had led you to return towards the ever hauntingly, delightful dessert table. All done up with cobwebs, tiny pumpkins, candy, and themed treats.

Cupcakes this small shouldn’t be this good, you thought. Maybe it’s because they look like cute pumpkins. Or because my friends work magic in the kitchen.

So obviously, you didn’t feel any guilt for eating a third cupcake. It was made with love. And a hint of seasonal spices. Much as most of the treats that were set out.

All in all, the party was a success. Fun, joyful, and a little loud.

Nothing you couldn’t handle over by the treats.

“Are these poisoned apples yours?” A voice inquired from the corner of the table.

Looking over to the source of the voice, you were surprised to see a familiar dashing heroic man with a long cape.

Butterflies filled your stomach for a moment.

“Robin?”

Your eyes did a once over on him. Taking in his suit, dark mask, and smile. You didn’t think your chances of seeing him again were that great.

You laughed, “My friend wasn’t kidding when they talked about inviting you.” You stepped closer to him. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Curious to how you’ve been. No more cake accidents?” Robin inquired as he leaned closer, the bass of a song trying to disrupt all conversation.

Grinning delightedly, you answered, “All cake has survived.”

“No puddles or doorways to worry about?”

“Not lately. No.”

The amount of smiling between you both gave you a sneaky suspicion that you left a much deeper impression when you first met.

Say something funny. Ask if he’s busy. Offer, you glanced at the table, candy corn? You looked to the table behind him.

“May I offer you a potion?”

He tilted his head. “A potion of what exactly?” Robin peered over his shoulder.

“Fruit juice.”

“Sounds safe.”

Walking passed Robin, your cape swayed behind you. If it wasn’t for the fact that you had walked blocks and talked with him on your birthday, you’d be much more nervous. As many fans of his would be.

You poured him a cup of juice while becoming more aware of his presence behind you.

Easy does it. He’s being friendly. No spilling.

As careful as you could, you turned around and successfully handed him the cup. No accidents. No problem.

Oh, you thought as Robin’s lips touched the cup. Your mind ran through the night of your birthday when he kissed you. When he held you to him. All as a birthday gift. The highlight of a poor, clumsy day.

Robin did not hide his knowing smile.

“So how was the rest of your birthday?” He asked. “Any more surprises or gifts?”

Fingers fiddling with your costume, you shrugged.

“Anything?”

“Well, okay, the small cake was delicious.” You answered with a laugh. “I almost didn’t have the restraint to leave leftovers.”

“A sweetheart with a sweet tooth,” he mused. “Maybe you should’ve dressed as a character from Candy Land.”

“That would be much brighter colors, mister dark hero suit.”

“True, but your costume right now is really bewitching.”

“It’s nothing scary.”

“No…just feels like you casted a few spells on me already.” He wet his bottom lip. “Have you casted spells on anyone else?”

“Not a soul.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

Robin smiled with an air of soft satisfaction.

The cup of juice was soon emptied and songs led the party onward through the night. Dances were shared along with laughter. Sugar rushes were made as excuses for others’ silliness. All was a safe and fun night.

Stepping away from the center of all dancing, you took a breather and checked the time.

After eleven? You thought as you made sure your keys were still in your pocket. Time really does fly.

“I didn’t tire you out too much, did I?” Robin asked as he came to stand beside you.

“A little, but I did dance before you showed up.”

You patted his arm and glanced around in an attempt to locate your friend. Surprisingly, they were near the front door.

Cool. Okay. But now to tell Robin.

Meeting Robin’s gaze still lit a warmth in your chest. A reminder of both your position as a fan of his and the friendliness you two shared.

You weren’t even sure what to call it. He was a hero and you were a citizen.

Did he know I’d be here?

You blinked.

“Need something to drink?”

“Ah, no. Actually, I have to get going.” You pointed to a clock.

“I thought you’d like the witching hour.”

“I do, but gotta get home like Cinderella without a carriage.”

“Do you need a ride?” He asked, setting jokes aside.

Shaking your head, you said simply, “I walked.”

“You live in Gotham City, you know that, right? And it’s dark out.”

“Yup.”

Robin sighed, “Can I take you home?”

“It’s more than a few blocks.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t walk here.”

“Oh. Okay, cool. Let me just tell my friend I’m leaving.”

Robin waited patiently. A face of heroics and charm as other guests greeted him once they realized who he was.

Prompted to leave with raised eyebrows from your friend and a small party favor bag pushed into your arms, you stepped outdoors.

I really owe them. Big time. You thought as Robin walked beside you. What even is this friendship?

Leading further away, Robin said, “I hope you like going fast.”

Light reflected off of clean metal and sleek framework.

“Oh.” You stopped.

Motorcycle.

Robin swung a leg over and sat on his ride.

“Um.” You weren’t quite sure what to say or think without images of closeness distracting your mind.

He patted the space behind him on the seat.

“I don’t know what I was expecting.” You admitted honestly.

“Hey, I’ll get you home safely.”

You got closer and examined the bike. “And in, what, two minutes?”

Reaching his gloved hand out for yours, he added, “We can take a scenic route.”

“Maybe another time. When I’m mentally prepared.”

“I thought you knew I had a motorcycle.” He steadied you as you sat behind him. “You still have the Robin bracelet, don’t you?”

“Yes. Are you gonna search me for it or question my authority as a fan?” You wrapped your arms around his middle and kept the goodie bag against him there.

“No. I trust you.” He started the engine.

“Because I didn’t step on your feet earlier?” You joked into his ear.

He sent you a grin over his shoulder. Charming and a little cheeky.

Heat rushed to your chest and neck.

Here we go.

The initial rush upon first speeding down Gotham’s streets by far exceeded your expectations. It was fast, precise. Technology more advanced and fully under the control of Robin.

One of the best kind of thrills.

In a matter of minutes, hardly a few, your destination was in sight.

Maybe we should have taken the scenic route, you thought. And he still remembers where I live. Should that tell me something? Does he do this for other people? Other fans?

Preoccupied with your thoughts and the muscles of Robin’s suit, you held on a little tighter as the bike pulled into the building’s lot. A few outdoor lights illuminated the area in an expanse of an almost blue hue.

Engine silent, neither of you moved.

“So, uh… May I walk you up to your door?” Robin asked over his shoulder.

“Sure.”

There might not had been any talking on the way over, but Robin’s actions spoke much louder.

Again, he steadied you. Made sure you were back on your two feet before he even got off his motorcycle. He followed you up the stairs without a comment on how many.

What an incredibly unique experience to be having again. Robin taking you home safely.

Would it be the last time?

Considering he accepted your friend’s invitation to their party and spent the majority of his time with you; you were confident you’d see Robin again.

You turned away from your door.

“Robin, trick or treat?”

The question seemed to visibly wake him. He stood taller. The details of his suit were on full display.

“It’s not Halloween, but—treat.” Said Robin with a ghost of a smile.

Your own smile appeared tenfold as you further questioned him, “Would you like a Kiss?”

“Only if you’re offering.” He smirked and eyed your lips.

You hummed teasingly, mischievously.

Perhaps you were enjoying it too much. Inspired and wrapped in the excitement from the party.

Hands hidden behind your back, you stepped into Robin’s space.

His eyelids slowly closed.

Oh, it would be so nice. But…

Quietly, you reached into the bag and pulled out the treat you had pictured. Its shape recognizable even through touch.

With a gentle tap, you had the wrapped chocolate touch the tip of his nose.

On contact, Robin opened his eyes with surprise and amusement curving his lips.

“Tricked with a treat,” he mused.

You couldn’t help nor hide your grin.

What would he say next? What would he do?

The play on words you two were having was increasing with cleverness and fun. Opportunities opening.

“Trick or treat?” Robin countered your mischievous actions.

You made an exaggerated thinking expression. Gaze elsewhere for a couple of moments.

“Trick.” You decided. Whether boldly, bravely, or in a challenge, you did not truly care which. You were interested in what Robin would do.

Leaning in, Robin kissed your nose.

Oh goodness. You thought with a smile.

“What a terrible trick, Robin.” You said in mock offense. “Making one think they’ll get a proper kiss.”

He smirked.

Heat rose to your neck. Perhaps you knew what was coming. You sure hoped you did.

Robin then, passing his hand around your waist to your back, pressed an extensively long kiss to your lips. One that sent your mind into swirls of color. A kiss that could knock the air out of you.

You gripped at his suit feebly. The firmness of it sent your knees trembling as Robin brought you in even closer. It left little to the imagination.

His lips left for only a second before giving one last kiss.

Wow.

He smiled before his blue eyes sparkled.

“Trick or treat.” Robin held up a handful of candy triumphantly.

What? You glanced down to your bag then gawked at him.

Smirking, he tapped your hip and stepped back. Out of your arms.

“See yah later.”

You snickered, “Bye sneaky candy thief.”

He sent a wink. Proud.

You watched him leave out of sight before heading indoors. Your heart racing as you considered how perfect the night went.

What is even happening?

~~~

Best wishes and happy reading.)

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

coffee

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @

DC Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[xypheris]

Introducing the Writer Kinks:

1. The comma (,)

2. The semicolon (;)

3. The em dash (—)

4. The Overused italics

5. The Fragments (Because. Drama.)

6. THE ALL CAPS

7. The Ellipses (...)

Honorable Mentions: Long metaphors, parentheses (bonus thoughts) and repititions.

Because why write a concise sentence when you can string together 37 thoughts into one grammatical monstrosity.

[sofiadragon]

Hey fanfiction loving friend!

AO3 has the ability to turn off comments, moderate comments, restrict comments to logged in users only, or let anyone comment on your story. Most other fanfiction hosting websites do not allow comments to be turned off and in the case of some (wattpad) highly encourage comments even on individual paragraphs.

Over on reddit, someone said it is an unwritten rule of fanfiction that you should never leave a negative or critical comment on a story. This was countered most strongly by many arguments. Despite many people asserting that their stance was the one truth and that there was no debate on the topic - there was a lot of debate about what criticism even is and where the line should be for if giving concrit is alright.

So give this some thought:

If you have tea to spill, examples or an argument you want to make, please do. I have some that go both ways, but I'm going to wait for a few responses so I don't pre-empt the results. I'm not going to vote myself for a while, either, so I won't know which way the poll is leaning when I do pour my tea. I tried to cover all the flavors of debate I've seen in the many "definitive" posts I have read here and on reddit. Please reblog for a wider sample!

[yaoigoddess9158]

I never thought I would need a Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe friendship but this is amazing lol

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/41498634/chapters/110233330#workskin)

[waning-star999]

Awahhfjsjfnajnfnsjfnjwb wtf why is this so sad 😭

I’m going to read every single Shen siblings fic in existence istg

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825120/chapters/42237356#workskin)

[doodlejoltik]

grass knot

[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]

Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.

A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.

(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)

-

“Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.

After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.

The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.

Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.

What does Arceus want? 

‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?

Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”

All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now. 

“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”

“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”

His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —

He whirls around.

Volo is here.

He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself. 

Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.

“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures. 

“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.

“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.

The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.

“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”

“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”

“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely. 

Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading? 

There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?

He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.

(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)

“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?” 

“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?” 

At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi. 

He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.

“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”

“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks. 

Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”

“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes. 

At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent. 

Especially with Volo.

Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”

Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.

Does he know something they don't?

“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.

Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders. 

“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.” 

“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”

Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”

Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.

“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”

“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.

Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience. 

Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed. 

There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?

“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”

“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”

Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.

There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery. 

Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo. 

The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”

“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself. 

Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s. 

He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them. 

Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion. 

It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same. 

Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone. 

(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)

It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost. 

He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready. 

The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his. 

Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time. 

His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.

Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.

Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it. 

But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)

There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides. 

His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.

Cynthia, maybe? 

He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion. 

“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating. 

He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate. 

“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”

A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.

What sort of answer does Lance expect? 

“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”

Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out. 

Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.

“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that. 

“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again. 

He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't. 

(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)

Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it. 

Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.” 

It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.

Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.” 

He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.

“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”

And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.

(Does he really understand, himself?)

But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that. 

It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms. 

“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly. 

There’s no twisting his way out of this one.

Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?” 

It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land. 

But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last. 

There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”

“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.

Nothing world-ending. 

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow. 

Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.

He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.

Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?

Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”  

Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out. 

The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.

Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.

He doesn’t run.  

(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)

It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.

That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.

Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.

Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.

He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull. 

What is he supposed to do with that?

Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.

Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.

One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable. 

They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.

Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.

Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?

He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.

Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare? 

He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.

He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too. 

He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.

He has friends. He has bonds.

Why can’t that be enough?

The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong. 

But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.

(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)

He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all. 

It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends. 

Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops. 

The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.

For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along. 

The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there. 

Wouldn't that be for the best?

He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.

There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this. 

After that? Only Arceus knows.

One step at a time. 

He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.

(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)

[twopoppies]

Oh good I didn't know if I was too bitchy about the bus girls. Like Gina, I don't mean to hijack your shit here but I am afraid for the world right now for the first real time in my life. The things that are happening frighten me, they're dystopian. They feel unreal and impossible and they are neither. What the fuck is going to happen I can't say but I am dreading it. I'm only in my 30s and I'm scared!

And like, I can still access that Mean Girl I was until maybe.....24? 25? That's when I started to get over myself. I'm not proud. Sometimes I still catch myself having smartass ugly thoughts as my first reaction and I have to remind myself to choose to be a better person in the moment. I know what it's like to be the judgmental bus girl. Spoiler: it's shitty. It's not edgy, it's not cool, it doesn't make you better than other people. Shitting on someone else or someone's work or making it the butt of the joke is a very low bar anybody can clear. It doesn't make you clever, it really just makes you unpleasant. People will realize you can't be trusted with their secrets and private joys because you can't be, you're probably gonna be snarky about them for a cheap laugh. You will not know real intimacy romantic or otherwise until someone believes they can trust you. Grow up. Make a modicum of effort to be a good person and learn how to talk about shit that makes things better and good and kind and happy. I'm guessing they're fans of Harry or Louis? I'm gonna use Harry here: Harry would hate that you said that shit about fic. He would hate you. Listen to the words he says, he has pleaded with his audiences to choose kindness because "the world needs it." Is it calculated? Maybe. But maybe he has seen a lot of shit and he means it. I'm gonna choose to believe him on this. Building things up is so much harder than tearing things down but I promise you I don't miss being a Mean Girl. I'm amazed I always had friends but they would have seen through me one day like I started to see through myself.

Sorry I'm really annoyed about these bus girls right now. And full disclosure, I'm sorry I too used to think fic was lame because I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about and someone should have said something even meaner to me to shut me up. I would have deserved it.

And obviously you don't have to post this I just wanted to say it to someone and like, own up and also express that I'm annoyed on behalf of all fandom creators. Fucking bus girls, shut up.

Not only am I posting it, I want to give you a hug because I fully appreciate your bus girl rant.

In reference to this and this

[readingasoiafachapteraday]

THE WORLD OF ICE & FIRE

Reading Order & Thoughts Apparently

//Investigative read with the aim of finishing a fanfic <SPOILERSGALORE>

~this is not intended to be useful in any way shape or form do not construe as such but laughing at it is ok~

The Dawn Age

-dragonglass arrowheads found in giant ribs could be from children-giant war but also cud just as easily be wight giant

-brandon the builder was taken to a secret place by the children when he sought help to build the wall hmmmmmm okk

-“the manner in which Brandon learned to comprehend the speech is a tale in itself and not worth repeating here”?????? WTAF fuck u condal i mean yondel tommen loves stories

-greenseers can see distant events AND COMMUNICATE?hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmplotdevice

-wolfcontrolling skinchangers maxxx common, separately called wargs? stark blood fuckfest much????

-Seastone chair on old wyk wo any ppl SUSSAUCE

The Coming of the First Men

-alleged timing 8000-12000 yrs ago hmmmmm if ww are 6000 yrs ago it’s almost halfway hmmmmmmm

-what they running from? first men possible valyrian ancestors upset w the animalxhuman experiments? conveniently vague time periods

-first settled on DORNE that goddamned desert summins up w ur magic stone i will find u

-greenmen antlermen same same????

-arm of dorne, marshes, all considered natural disasters but w doubt so why not children cause doom of valyria possible??

The Age of Heroes

-ringforts this ringforts that fist of first men this infrastructure that

-find thenn constr. & every single built structure NotW

The Long Night

-do monkeys and elephants have anything in common

-Barth’s “fragmentary treatise” everything shat out by Barth & Munkun makes me want to kms

-Fomas ur understated & prolly right u religious fuck

The Rise of Valyria

-new power in east right after LN recovery, what festive timing gee i wonder if these events r related

-first empire ofc ofc just after old ghis & Qarth & YiTi & Asshai but those r “claims” yea we don’t talk bout that look dragons! blood sacrifice!

-five great wars w ghis “when the world was young” hmmmmmmmm

-Shadow texts say dragons tamed by “people who had no names” hmmmmmmmm

Valyria’s Children

-Qohor&Norvos founded following religious schisms? Only Qohor smiths still know to rework VS

-way way way too many mentions of wealth & human flesh needed in the mines

-fire vs water

-sus that andals & rhoynar both fled from Valyrians but in the second coming “the gods” spoke to the HS while the waterbenders fought both times

-is the long night just fire vs water 2.0?

Arrival of the Andals

-wtf is a fucking swan maiden

-writing the lines of the hugor hill story backwards is not as great a puzzle as u seem to think

-Urron Redhand ruled IIs by “axe&sword” for 1000 yrs, throwaway name? I think the fuck not.

Ten Thousand Ships

-Nymeria of Ny Sar SUS naming

-“few wish to dwell beyond the sound of her eternal song” faith close to old gods

-wtf r the orphans of the greenblood upto

-davos dayne my new OC, forgive me as i project onto u for the forseeable future

-seriously tho the best part so far, need a movie for THIS not whatever fart pudding they baking

The Doom of Valyria

—wtf is the difference between the 14 fires & R’hollor summins weird

-accidental poisoning of one of the flames? like pollution but magical bywaste pollution

-red clouds rained down dragonglass???? and black blood of demons which cud just be dragon blood as they pop in the air from toxicity

-dothraki & sellsword companies both popularised only in the power vacuum

-the conquerer’s attention lay west even as a child hmmmmmm

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ganondorf discovers his greatest enemy

Ganondorf took a sleepy breath as he shifted a little to get more comfortable. Link had been groggy at best and downright unresponsive at worst, but the healer had said it was likely due to the amount of blood he’d lost and the medicine Ganondorf had been instructed to give him. In either case, it delayed the inevitable conversations that would come, that had to come. Ganondorf would gladly take this time to just hold the sweet boy and not think about how much pain and potential hatred Link held for him, because of him.

The look in the boy’s face when he’d turned to see Ganondorf, neck pouring blood like a faucet, eyes terrified, had yet to be wiped from the Gerudo’s mind.

He really didn’t want to address any of it. It was a cowardly sentiment, and he despised that he felt it, but for just a little while longer, all he wanted was to hold Link and protect him from everything, including himself.

Link sniffled sleepily, tucked between Ganondorf’s arm and his chest. He’d hardly moved, and the peaceful look on his face quieted the anxieties in his guardian’s mind.

The door to the bedroom opened slowly, catching Ganondorf’s attention. He saw his other child of destiny peeking in, green hat missing from his golden head. He must have been out riding, given how his usually perfectly quaffed hair was windswept and messy.

“How’s he doing?” the captain asked, approaching with soft footsteps.

“He’s sleeping well, at least,” Ganondorf answered. The little king in his arm scrunched his nose a bit at the sound before rubbing his cheek further into Ganondorf’s tunic to get comfortable.

The elder Link hummed thoughtfully, observing his predecessor, before holding out a booklet. “I found this in the market. It’s quite popular among the—well, it was recommended to me for someone who might be homebound caring for family. Good way to pass the time and all.”

Ganondorf looked at the booklet curiously. He wasn’t much of a reader, honestly, but he supposed he could be kept entertained for a little while. He could just leave the captain to watch the younger Link, but he didn’t want to let the child go.

Child. He’s far from that. But he really wasn’t. Not in Ganondorf’s mind, at least. In either case, he didn’t want to leave him, so this would be a nice distraction while the younger one slept.

When Ganondorf glanced at the booklet, his eyes widened a little. He glanced at the captain. “The Secrets of the Imprisoning War? Who would have such information?”

Link just smiled sweetly. “I heard it’s an engaging read. Perhaps there are some truths in there that even you do not know, old man.”

Ganondorf squinted. There was something mischievous in that smile. He knew this boy well enough by now, loved him and cherished him and simultaneously wanted to knock his head into a wall. While his younger hero was quiet and seemingly passive off the battlefield, his older one was brazen, charismatic, and cheeky. The captain could be as cold as ice and serious when he needed to be, but when he didn’t…

He’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now. “We’ll see.”

The older hero nodded a little, opening the curtains a bit more so there was better lighting on the bed. The room in which they were staying was a large one with a balcony, so perhaps Ganondorf could just carry his charge outside and they could relax and read there. He’d just stay here for now - it was only late morning. He opened the booklet and began reading.

The Imprisoning War: An epic time in Hyrule’s history, from ages so long past that scarcely a fact is known about it, filled to the brim with fantastical legends that all come to the same conclusion: the Hero victorious, evil banished away for the rest of eternity, a primordial curse shattered into pieces. But what do we know of the players in this epic quest? What if their struggles, their losses, their secrets and loves? This is their story, ranging from the Hero’s steamy relationship with the Sacred Diplomat to the secret love life of the incarnation of evil himself.

Ganondorf choked on his spit. The—the secret—WHAT?

What did that boy—what was—

Din’s Fire this was—now he had to read it to figure out what the hell this was all about!

Naturally, Captain Link was still lingering outside the room with his friend, cackling when the former terror of Hyrule exclaimed, “I DID NOT HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH A—WHO WROTE THIS??”

“Okay, okay, wait,” Lana wheezed. “Do you think he got to the part where he had a steamy moment with the dragon queen or was it the unsuspecting perfectly beautiful peasant woman?”

“With that much insult in his tone? Definitely the peasant,” the captain answered between laughs.

“I CAN HEAR YOU TWO!”

With that singular warning, Lana and Link fled the area, breathless with amusement.

[polyhexianbirb]

Yp so it's late and I can't post this Swap Au thing to Ao3 until the morning, so here's a sneak peak. Thanks to @dexterkronos and @kingskelly123 for the ideas that are used in this. This is just the little ending sneak peak btw :3

Timothy Stoker was never arrested. However, there is still a lot of suspicion on him. I might talk to Barnabas, see if he can get Tim to come in for a catch-up interview. Among… other things I have to talk to him about… some of which could probably wait until after work. Yeah. The workplace isn't a good place to discuss our private life, huh?

...

[Sigh]

I'm talking to a tape recorder. I need to talk to him before this gets out of hand.

*click*

[girllookingoutwindow]

Colin was angry with Pen before this moment. But he was physically and emotionally hurt. She was reading his diary and he felt naked. She knew now a part of himself that he was trying so much to hide to the world and he felt betrayed. He started the diary to forget his loneliness, but now she reading it, make him to feel more lonely than ever.

Then, she touches him. She's taking care of him. She's always so kind. And she's too close, her skin, her smell, he's feeling warm. Like he always do when she's around. He can't grasp why.

But he likes this feeling. That's the reason because he always wants to be close to her. He doesn't feel alone when she's there. And she feels so soft, so he close his hand just to feel her a little more close to him.

He's not sure about what to do. His other hand moves close to hers without him even noticing. He needs to touch her with both of them. Being a little more closer. He doesn't have the courage to do so.

Pen talks about his writing and he really wants to know.

She's the only one person who he enjoyed to write. Her letters were always so personal, smart and sweet.

They made him feel like someone understood him. He could wrote to her about his thoughts and desires without hesitation. But then, the letters stopped and he felt so empty.

Pen says the writing it's very good and he feels like he melts.

He didn't know how much he wanted to hear that words. How much mean to him. Maybe she read the letters he sent to her after all.

He missed her. He missed her so much, he didn't even know how. His heart feels tight. So much that he gets a little scared.

Maybe she can see through him.

He remembers for the first time where he was. And breaks the bond between their hands. But he didn't like it. He feels alone again.

He needs to know if he's going to see her again.

He 'wants' to see her again.

And then when she goes he gets close to the diary and he feels a little surprised.

She looked a little embarrassed but not enough. Maybe what he wrote was interesting to her some way?

He's intrigued. She feels the same but somehow different. Like she changed. Maybe is more of Pen that he saw before?

Some parts of her that she doesn't let nobody knows. He's not the only one who hides himself. Perhaps they're more alike that he really noticed. He's curious.

He would see her again, tonight. She would be there and he would know.