#i write and the characters just sort of happen

[katsu2ji]

fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored the it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of your laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[rodamned]

✨ Conclave (2024) @ao3org Fic Overview & AWARD SEASON – As of Feb 4, 2025✨

TOTAL FICS:

Conclave (2024) → 208 fics

Conclave - Robert Harris → 52 fics

Conclave RPF → 7 fics (the authors here are braver than the marines)

Fandom Shipping Report

We are a M/M hellhole (in Vatican? who’s shocked? not me) with 159 fics in that category. Gen (56 fics) is holding on like a Victorian child, and Multi (6), F/M (5), Other (2), and F/F (1) are basically cryptids.

Top Ships

Vincent/Thomas (98 fics) – Winning by a landslide. "I can fix him" meets "I can break him."

Aldo/Thomas (41 fics) – They’re divorced, they’re yearning, they’re devastating.

Vincent & Thomas (22 fics) – Oh, you don’t ship them? You just think about them 24/7? Okay.

Aldo & Thomas (11 fics) – Relying on the worst emotional support system imaginable. My boys...

Aldo/Goffredo (9 fics) – This one’s for the toxic, nasty little freaks (respectfully as I'm actively one of you)

Thomas/Raymond (9 fics) – …ok, og book shipers <3

Thomas/Goffredo (8 fics) – Why is Thomas collecting these flawed men like Pokémon?

Aldo & Vincent (7 fics) – YES & "We don’t talk about it."

Aldo/Vincent (6 fics) – Oh, but some of us do.

Aldo/Vincent/Thomas (6 fics) – So you want to destroy three men at once? Good. The Holy Trinity for real!

Ratings & Warnings

General (72 fics) – Congrats, some of you are sane.

Explicit (54 fics) – And some of you really, really aren’t.

Teen & Up (52 fics) – Angst hours.

Mature (17 fics) – "I could make this smutty, but what if I made it devastating instead?"

Not Rated (13 fics) – The wild west. No rules, just vibes.

Warnings:

No Archive Warnings (142 fics) – We are a people of peace.

Chose Not To Use (60 fics) – You don’t want to spoil the suffering.

Major Character Death (7 fics) – But when it hits, it hits. (RIP)

Graphic Violence (7 fics) – Vatican MMA when? 👀

Rape/Non-Con (3 fics) – ...

Character Leaderboard

Thomas Lawrence (172 fics) – Poster boy, poor little meow meow, king of suffering.

Vincent Benítez (138 fics) – Beloved. I will haunt you even in death.

Aldo Bellini (84 fics) – Doing so much and nothing at the same time.

Goffredo Tedesco (36 fics) – Problematic fave, menace behavior, probably gives people ulcers.

Raymond O'Malley (30 fics) – Short king <3

Sister Agnes (24 fics) – "Guys, can you be normal for five seconds?"

Cardinal Sabbadin (11 fics) – Our 🇬🇪 king of "I have three scenes, and you’re gonna make it your entire personality."

Joseph Tremblay (11 fics) – Exists. Oh Canada. Alexa play 'Money Money Money'.

Original Characters (9 fics) – Love a good self-insert. Or just any sorts of unhinged creativity!

Joshua Adeyemi (8 fics) – Sir, you are so underwritten, but we got you.

Top Tropes & Tags

What’s the Conclave fandom obsessed with?

Post-Canon (29 fics) – "So anyway, what happened AFTER?"

Character Study (27 fics) – Read: brain rot with love <3

Hurt/Comfort (20 fics) – It’s never just hurt. We need a little fix-it.

Pining (20 fics) – They will NEVER be normal. They swore not to after all. Collars and all...

Angst (17 fics) – The pain is the point.

Fluff (12 fics) – You’re lying to yourself, but okay.

Pre-Relationship (12 fics) – 40k words of slow burn eye contact.

Pre-Canon (11 fics) – "Before the disaster, before the trauma…"

Religious Imagery (10 fics) – Bible study, but make it ✨gay✨

Religious Guilt (9 fics) – These numbers feel low, honestly.

Longest Fics (Congrats, You (We) Win at Word Count)

Some of y’all (us) are writing entire novels.

1. Crown of Thorns (183,786 words) by rodamned – An actual brick. A thorn in my ass (disrespectfuly).

2. 21 Syllables (49,116 words) by Piersanti - “I have nothing to grieve for.” 👀 I'm still speechless here.

3. Everything’s Alright (44,016 words) by rodamned – No, it’s not <3 Jesus Christ Superstar reference, whoo?

4. Divine Revelations of Love (27,606 words) by Piersanti - We are kept all as securely in Love in woe as in weal, by the Goodness of God. - Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love 🥹

5. Stories from the Vatican (25,602 words) by Lost_In_Ace – Fic drabbles but make it THE saga 🫶

Most Beloved (Kudos Kings) 👑

Fanart Collection (Kudos: 601) – 1848/YOSB owns us all and we're grateful <3

Canticle (Kudos: 546) – Marie (VampireSpider) supremacy.

Like a Heathen Clung (Kudos: 467) – unrealshrike is making everyone insane.

Oldest vs. Newest ⌛🕰️⏳

📜 Oldest Fic:

Uncertainty by funnybabyvideos (Nov 11, 2024) – They were first, respect, love, thoughs and prayers!

🆕 Newest Fic:

Iliw (longing) by A_Retired_TimeTraveler – We love fresh pain.

🏆 CONCLAVE (2024) AO3 WINNERS (so far) 🏆

🏅 Most Popular Ship (aka ‘Fandom’s One True Pair’)

🏆 Vincent Benítez/Thomas Lawrence (98 fics)

You guys saw two old men making intense eye contact, one (1) single date by the turtle fountain, and collectively decided this is a love story now. Good.

🥈 Runner-Up: Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence (41 fics)

The divorced vibes were too strong for you to ignore. The ultimate work husbands. The blorbos of the year!

🔥 Most Unhinged Ship (aka ‘Why Are We Like This?’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco (9 fics)

Oh, so we looked at Aldo Bellini, the most emotionally repressed man alive, and said “give him a nemesis with unresolved tension”? Okay.

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco (8 fics) – same thing, different font.

Special mention to:

Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco/Sister Agnes (one fic) - literal perfection 🫶

😭 Most Devastating Tag (aka ‘Fandom Pain Olympics’)

🏆 Pining (20 fics)

Half this fandom is just writing 30k of two men not touching.

🥈 Religious Guilt (9 fics)

No one is enjoying their romance here. They are suffering through it.

💀 Most Tragic Fic Trend (aka ‘How Many Times Must A Man Die’ Award)

🏆 Major Character Death (7 fics)

Seven people said, "this isn’t sad enough."

🎭 Most Likely to Be an Accidental Bible Study

🏆 Religious Imagery & Symbolism (10 fics)

"Oh, it’s just Vatican aesthetics!" No. You’re writing 4,000 words about a man standing under a stained-glass window, questioning his faith and his love for another man. This is Bible study.

📈 Fastest Growing Ship (aka ‘The Dark Horse’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence

Started from the bottom, now we’re here. This ship DOUBLED in the past month. Aldo/Thomas truthers are rising. Hi :)

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco

I don’t wanna ask why, but I feel like I should. I have some reading to do.

🫂 Most “Just Kiss Already” (or don't) Pairing

🏆 Aldo Bellini & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (11 fics)

These fics are like "they are JUST FRIENDS," but also, he looks at him with tears in his eyes.

🥈 Vincent Benítez & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (22 fics)

I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s still fruity (respectfully).

⬇️📚📈

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Conclave%20(2024)/works

[cripplecharacters]

I write fanfic, and have some concerns about MC's baby. Baby (Hope) was made in lab and has genetic differences. Currently, I consider something like Down Syndrome?

~

Background:

In canon: character mourning his best friend (an alien), and try to clone him. (Alien later later in story come back to life)

My thoughts: When you clone someone, but use DNA from 2 people, it's actually a baby...

Since they are different species, I consider having their child being either triploid (3x chromosomes) or tetraploid (4x).

Which can be genetic issues. And disabilities. I sort of base on Down Syndrome, but also different.

~

Things I thought issues:

1. Should I just have the kid have Down Syndrome? At least it's familiar, and unrepresented. But also DS is only 3rd 21 chromosome, not all chromosoms are 3.

2. Issue about the kid being a baby. Since initialisation is a big problem for ppl w disabilities, DS especially.

3. Dad 1 (the scientist) has a "what have I done" moment. It's before the beby is born, and before her differences are showing, but can be problematic. I try make it clear this is problem bc Dad goes 1) my dead friend didn't agree, 2) i shouldn't make a kid, 3) I'M HAVING A BABY!?!?

4. Also, I don't know if there's problem with "made in lab and different"? (Like it's "punishment", or something about mutations? Idk I'm not from USA nor Christian, but I know people who are has weird issues).

To be clear, both dads love their kid. They call her their light and "our little miracle". Though can also be issue?

Thank you!! I hope it make sense?

Hi!

First, I want to clarify some points from a biology perspective:

Humans are really bad at handling the wrong amount of DNA, and really bad at cross breeding with non-hominids.

A cross-breed between two species with different numbers of chromosomes may or may not be viable (best chance is when the species are closely related), but the hybrid is nearly always sterile.

A haploid (1x) from each parent can make a new human. Most organisms also work this way. But some organisms produce sex cells with multiple copies of the genome--for example melons can be made to have 2x seeds.

Aneuploidy (3x or 4x) is lethal to most species. Some (plant) species are more resistant, but still sterile--a normal 2x melon and a 4x melon produce a seedless 3x melon, for example.

Monosomies and trisomies are not always fatal, as evidenced by Down Syndrome among other chromosome disorders.

If you want to follow biological constraints, I think having Hope be a hybrid is not the best choice.

But you can do whatever you want, and model off of any chromosomal disorder you want, since you're dealing with fantasy biology.

I think the most important/constant aspect of chromosomal disorders is intellectual disability. Hearing and vision loss are also very common.

Infantilization is not so much a worry with an infant character. It's okay to have children in a story. It becomes infantilization if the character is routinely treated as far younger than their age.

I don't think being made in a lab is a problem. Genetic disorders happen, whether chromosomes are combined in a lab or in a body.

And I also think it's normal for your character to have all sorts of emotions about having made a new person. Just like when someone is pregnant. You're clearly showing it as his complex emotions regarding his actions, not disdain for baby Hope.

Mod Rock

[sweetiemiller]

MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT. kind of.

Joel Miller!AU x Reader.

hi again! so im doing it! ive read over it a million times and if there’s any mistakes please do forgive me. but here’s the full chapter of the start of my spiteful fic lmao.

kidding. im actually really excited to try something different and being embraced by a lot of you has been so great. so thank you everyone who sent a nice word or even just liked the post!

this will probably NSFW at some point. im still deciding when and how it’ll happen in the story but it’s going to be a lot of fun. the POV’s will jump around from chapter to chapter.

thanks to @highinmiamiii sending me the fic i was looking for! thank you! like i said before this fic is heavily inspired by https://www.tumblr.com/tokkiwrites/771944052123959296/game-show-hostjoel-miller-x-contestant-f

and the enjoyment of au!writing. it’s so freeing and let’s us explore characters in different ways. everyone please go read this story, it’s so good and they deserve every single bit of support.

ill stop yappin now and just post it!!

warnings— swearing. referring to killing Tommy Miller (will happen a lot), little bit of fluff for now. future warnings to come!

enjoy—

Chapter 1.

Joel’s POV—

Tommy Miller is a dead man. Joel thinks as he promises to whoever and whatever is above and below that he will personally kill him with his bare hands.

Those same bare hands that are clasped together so tight behind his back as he stands at the top of the aisle. His eyes were boring into Tommy’s who is currently standing up from his seat in the front row with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Yeah. He’s going to kill him.

The lights and the cameras are starting to make the skin on his neck prickle. The people behind the camera’s making him feel tense as his eyes flicker around the room.

He can feel jaw ticking and clenching as his eyes keep looking around the room and catching a few of the eyes of seeing the unknown bride to be’s family are staring at him too. Looking… well, friendly enough. For now anyway.

He can see their eyes scanning him.

Up and down, up and down.

From his slightly greying hair that is just sprinkling through his thick coarse hair. Right down to the black patent dress shoes on his feet that a woman named Jane from production had brought him along with this black three piece suit.

He thinks he looks good. But—

He doesn’t really care and if he was asked to give an honest answer right at this second he’d say exactly that. However, for the first time in a long time he willing to admit that he doesn’t look that rough around the edges.

Which is good, because in about 30 seconds his new wife is about to walk down the aisle.

Not legally of course. But for the sake of the show, he’s contracted to act like it is.

26 seconds.

Why Tommy thought that signing him onto goddamn Married At First Sight he’ll never understand. But the promise of a new Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 and 60% of whatever income from the promotion the construction company will get from being on the show is more than enough to go along with it.

For now anyway.

14 seconds.

He just hopes whoever you are, you’re not one of those absolutely insane people who go on reality television just to cause drama. Because he will walk, cameras and contracts be damned.

He’ll buy his own Harley.

If he’s lucky he’ll get matched with someone who wants to promote their business as well and maybe they can come to some sort of agreement about this whole thing.

9 seconds.

Because who actually goes on a television show to look for love? Who genuinely believes that anyone could even fall in love under these conditions. Cameras. TV therapists. A group full of people who are desperate for their 10 minutes of fame.

It’s just not realistic.

5 seconds.

Joel snaps out his thoughts as he spots Tommy giving him a look. A look that Joel knows means, ‘Dude’, his eyes flicker back and forward before Joel realises what he’s saying. You’re coming down the aisle—

1 second.

Joel hears the doors cracking open and the music starting as soon as his eyes meet the huge white double doors at the end of the room. His hands clenching again as he keeps his focus on the door that’s opening and revealing who he is going to be stuck with for as long as he can handle in this absolutely ridiculous situation his brother has landed him in.

He see’s you walking through the doors. And he genuinely feels his breath get caught in his throat as he see’s your face for the first time.

Your eyes almost immediately meet his as you walk into the wedding hall with who he presumes is your mother. An older woman who’s eyes don’t even attempt to look at him, focused on you.

You look nervous. Terrified even.

Which, to his annoyance, makes him feel something in his chest as he watches you slowly making your way down to him.

He has to admit to himself. You’re genuinely beautiful.

And with that thought, all of a sudden he feels himself starting to panic. He realises wasn’t really expecting to find you attractive. He was fully preparing himself to be putting on his best face and foot forward during this process. His mind focused on that moment he has his first ride of his new Harley-Davidson the entire time.

But now, he’s going to have to focus on that damn bike to stop himself from doing anything goddamn stupid.

The closer you get to the bottom of the aisle, the harder he’s having to hold back a glare that is itching to aim straight for Tommy. But he doesn’t. Because he knows his pain in the ass little brother is going to have an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face now that he’s seen you.

It’s not until you’re kissing your assumed mother on the cheek and whispering something to her that he finally see’s you up close for the first time. His eyes feeling like they’re bouncing around his head as he takes you in.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph— he’s fucked.

The hair. The eyes. The nose. The goddamn lips. The white dress.

It’s not at all what he was picturing. He was fully imagining you and expecting you to go all out and look like princess cake topper. The show is paying for everything after all.

But no, you’re dressed in a long flowing silk dress. With little cap sleeves and the front of your dress making your tits look round and soft—

He has to stop.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But you’re already beating him to it with the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

“I like your suit,” you say, the words falling from your lips like they were dragged out of you. Which admittedly— is very cute.

He lets a short puff of air escape his nose as he doesn’t quite laugh but, almost an amused look crosses his face as he looks down at you.

“I like your dress,” he says back, quietly but loud enough for you to hear. Or that least he hopes you do. Because he does like your dress, he likes it a lot actually, which surprises him.

He’s not a man to even care about dresses. Or anything stupid like that. A woman is a woman, he doesn’t care what they’re dressed in. But this dress on you? He’s struggling. Badly.

He watches you blush a little as you look down at your dress, running a hand over the front of it. The silk moving under your finger tips, almost hypnotising him for a moment before your soft laugh breaks him out his trance.

“Thanks. They gave my mom free reign in the dress shop,” you say with a soft, nearly genuine smile as you jut your thumb over your shoulder towards the woman who was walking you down the aisle now sitting in the front row behind you.

Ah, so he was right.

Joel smiles a little as he nods his head at your mom, being respectful for as long as he can handle this experiment.

Oh God he’s going to have to actually interact with your family.

He looks back at you, watching as your other hand is clutching your bouquet of sunflowers so tightly he’s actually a bit worried the stems might snap in half right here.

“She has good taste,” he says as his eyes travel back up to your face. He feels something twist in his chest again as he sees how nervous you look, and before he can open his mouth to give you just a little reassurance.

Knowing that the cameras and lights are probably making you just as nervous as him, someone clears their throat. Making you jump a little as his head turns almost too quickly to the sound tensing up a little until he see’s it’s just the very real officiant for this very real wedding.

God, what is he doing?

He hears her asking the both of you if you’re ready to begin and he just nods. He looks down at you and taking the chance to grab your free hand just right there. Temping him already.

He smiles a little bit as he sees the warmth spread on your cheeks and your almost wide-eyed facial expressions looking up at him.

Beautiful. He can’t help but let the thought sit at the front of his brain for a moment.

“You ready?,” he whispers to you, his own eyes going a little wide too from how fast his heart rate is going as he tightens his grip slightly as he watches you nod and breath out a soft, yeah.

He nods back as he turns back to the wedding officiant, taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on what the woman is starting to say, her very real speech.

Oh sweet Jesus, he needs to read the vows that Tommy wrote him.

This is going to be a nightmare.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A huge THANK YOU for the fantastic writing advice and resources you are creating and sharing. I'm reblogging almost all of your posta on my side blog, which is for storing writing advice, so I can easily come back to your wonderful pieces of advice whenever I need them. I can't begin to tell you how helpful your posts have been for me!

May I ask if you happen to have any tips on writing dialogue, where the POV character is not taking part in the exchange?

For example, Kali, the POV character, is in the room when Brim and Sheila have a conversation. Or maybe all three of them are having a conversation, which at one point becomes a conversation between Brim and Sheila, while the POV character is sort of left out of whatever affairs they have to discuss.

Do you have any advice or good practice examples on how to build such dialogue scenes so that it doesn't feel as if the POV character is too passive and in simply in the scene for the reader's convenience (so that the reader may listen in to what is being said).

Totally understandable if you don't have time for this and decide to disregard the ask. :)

Again, a million thanks for your wonderful blog!

Additional detail from your private message: "The POV character is narrating in third person. It's a close third person POV."

Close Third Person POV Dialogue

Third-Person Limited Point of View

(Often called a “close third”) When an author sticks closely to a single character but remains in third-person.

The narrator can do this for the entire novel or switch between different characters for different chapters or sections.

Allows the author to limit a reader’s perspective and control what information the reader knows.

Used to build interest and heighten suspense.

It is the most common POV choice in modern literature.

This narration adheres to a Sympathetic POV the way first person does, getting the reader inside that character's head but also allowing the depiction of reactions or other things the character isn't aware of.

If the pronouns could be changed to first person without losing any comprehension, this is the POV you're in.

Learning from The Classics. E.g., George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four:

The dialogue that follows between two men, and later, a third, does not include the POV character, who is reduced to a spectator:

After the altercation, we return to the POV character, Winston, then the narration provides more context on what just transpired:

Another Example: Lois Lowry's The Giver

The dialogue that follows among Lily, Father, and Mother, without the POV character's involvement, but we are aware that he is in the room, listening to the exchange:

After the dialogue, we return to the POV character, Jonas:

Examples from George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire:

Daenerys is an interesting example. Reading about descriptions of her from some other characters (who have mostly only seen her from afar or heard rumors and second-hand accounts about her), she gets painted as a bloodthirsty tyrant who has left Slaver's Bay in ruins and is possibly as mad as her father. Reading her POV, we see she's sane, albeit naïve, and is truly compassionate and well-intentioned in her actions; unfortunately, her good intentions tend to horribly backfire due to mistakes or sheer bad luck.

Cersei is actually something of an aversion; while the audience finally gets a look at the childhood prophecy which has shaped her entire life through fear, we also get a look at her utter hostility — such as her silent fury during the marriage of Tommen and Margaery and her paranoid beliefs that anyone who opposes her is working with her enemies. Even in her own POV, she comes across as petty and selfish at best, and outright psychopathic at worst. Even as a child of ten, she was capable of arranging the murder of one of her best friends.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

With these examples, we see how some writers utilise similar techniques. Even though the POV character is not taking part of the interaction, they don't feel passive to the reader. We still feel their presence as an observer (like Winston in 1984 and Jonas in The Giver). In that moment, the POV character and the reader seem to merge. The authors simply allow the conversation/interaction to flow, thus writing the dialogue as normal, including more context either before or after (or both) the dialogue/interaction.

More: Writing Tips & References on Dialogue

Thank you so much for your kind words, really warmed my heart! You are so lovely. In addition to these examples, you can also look for sample dialogues in this POV in your favourite novels, or the ones you wish to emulate, for further inspiration. Hope this helps with your writing :)

[floofiestboy]

Aoyama's Let's Talk Day 2025 Translation [Official Source]

They've released the official transcript for Aoyama's yearly Let’s Talk Day, a day when a lucky few audience members chosen by lottery have the chance to ask him questions. The official transcript has a lot more (haha)s, but I translated it regardless.

Generally, there was no new Conan information in the official transcript compared to my unofficial sources translation, but some of the discussions Aoyama had with the audience members were described in more detail compared to tweets about the event.

The official transcript redacted questions that were considered "secret". Some of these questions were reported by unofficial sources. For simplicity, I've included a list of these questions with their sources at the end of this post from my original translation.

Without further ado:

Q&A with Aoyama Gosho-sensei

Questions from Middle Schoolers and Younger

Q. Will the Kuroba family and Kudo family ever properly meet each other?

Aoyama: Huh? In the future?

Questioner: Yes, in the future.

Aoyama: Ah, well… they won’t, but do you want to see it? (haha)

Questioner: I want to see it. (haha)

Aoyama: Then I’ll think about it. (haha)

Questioner: Thank you very much. (haha)

[The audience claps.]

Moderator: “I’ll think about it,” is a great answer, sensei (haha)

Aoyama: Right? (haha) It really is great (haha)

Q. After appearing on Kōhaku Uta Gassen [T/N: A music show that traditionally airs around New Year’s in Japan], do you have plans to write a case based around it?

Aoyama: Ah.. (haha) Right. (haha) Well… I wonder, there’s NHK to worry about. Ahaha… 

[The audience laughs.]

Aoyama: They might not allow it. (haha) Well, I did think something like a music show case might be fun, but it might also be troublesome. (haha)

Moderator: What if you changed the name? Like, a West vs. East tournament.

Aoyama: Right… a music show murder case. (haha) But yes, I’ll think about it. (haha)

Q. What will happen with Momiji now that Heiji and Kazuha are dating?

Aoyama: Right… Momiji herself hasn’t given up, so. (haha) I’m sure she’ll be doing her best in the background somewhere. Something like that. (haha)

Moderator: So you’ll have her do her best. She’s like, a woman who doesn’t give up?

Aoyama: That’s right. (haha)

Q. Why can you think up so many different characters?

Aoyama: I have no idea. (haha) It kinda just pops up in my mind. I guess I’ve uh, watched a lot of movies?

Moderator: If I recall correctly, last year you mentioned that a large number of criminals have appeared but you’ve never drawn the same person twice. That you change them in some way every time.

Aoyama: Mm… yes. (haha) That’s right. (haha) I watch lots of movies and dramas and manga. (haha)

Moderator: So it kinda just pops up in your mind. That’s amazing.

Aoyama: It kinda just pops up. (haha)

Questions from the Entire Audience

Q. Do you plan to write a Police Academy-related case where Chihaya-san and Furuya-san meet, or cooperate to solve a case?

Aoyama: Ah, so Chihayafuru, you mean. (haha) Right… it does sound a little interesting, so I’ll think about it. (haha)

Moderator: “It sounds a little interesting”? Don’t tell me you stole that idea just now. (haha)

Aoyama: Ahaha. 

Q. What’s your favourite case among those you’ve written until now?

Aoyama: Ah, that would be Ran GIRL and Shinichi BOY of course. [Detective Conan Vol. 87] Not to toot my own horn, but I do think it came out well. (haha)

Moderator: Every year you talk about how you love Ran-chan, romance, and love comedies after all.

Aoyama: That’s right. (haha)

Q. [Asked by a small boy] How did Kogoro become a detective when he’s not good at deductions?

Aoyama: Ahahaha.

[The audience laughs.]

Aoyama: Yes, well… it’s true he’s not good at deductions. (haha) But he has all sorts of other things he’s good at, like Judo… (haha) And like how he’s strong at Judo. And… well, he’s got Conan with him, heh heh. Everything works out. (haha) Yes. (haha) That’s all. (haha)

Moderator: That was a fun question. (haha)

Q. When in September is Nakamori Aoko born?

Aoyama: September, right… (haha) I haven’t decided. (haha) When would you want it to be? (haha)

Questioner: Huh…?

Aoyama: If you give me a date, it might become true.

Moderator: Amazing, it’s your choice.

Questioner: Wait a sec… then… Since Kaito is born on the 21st… maybe the 12th…?

Aoyama: September 12th? Is that good with you?

Questioner: Ah… um… yes…

Moderator: They say that they’ll leave it to you, sensei.

Aoyama: I’ll think about it at least. (haha)

Q. What does Ran-chan usually talk about with her karate club friends?

Aoyama: Huh…? (haha)

Questioner: Do they talk about romance?

Aoyama: I’m sure they do? (haha)

Questioner: I’m happy.

Aoyama: I think everyone is interested to know how things are going with Ran’s love life. (haha)

Questioner: I almost want to join them myself.

Aoyama: Ahahaha.

[The audience laughs.]

Aoyama: Then I’ll think about it including that kind of scene if anything comes to mind. (haha)

Q. Do you ever plan to draw the moment Kazuha-chan fell for Heiji?

Aoyama: Oh…? (haha) Do you want to see it? Then I’ll think about it. (haha) But this… well, I might just actually draw it. (haha)

Q. After the scene where Heiji-kun confesses to Kazuha-chan at Abeno Harukas, they come back down holding hands. Should we interpret this as Heiji-kun taking the initiative to hold hands, and do you plan to ever draw how that happened?

Aoyama: Right… (haha) Well, I think Heiji was the one to try and hold hands. (haha) I don’t know whether I’ll ever draw it, but I’ll think about it. (haha)

Questioner: Please do.

Aoyama: Um… if you go to Conan Tanteisha [the hometown museum], you can see a coloured illustration of something similar. (haha) Please go see it. (haha) I recommend it. (haha)

Aoyama: It’s very fun. (haha)

Q. At Kōhaku Uta Gassen, were there any artists that made you go “Woah, this singer is amazing!” other than aiko and B'z?

Aoyama: Huh…? Oh…? (haha) Hey hey. (haha) No, no… yes, yes… (haha)

[The audience laughs.]

Questioner: Fukuyama-san is also forbidden.

Aoyama: Huh…? (haha) I wonder who I can go with…?? (haha)

Moderator: They’ve zeroed in on all of your answers.

Aoyama: That’s right. (haha) I liked them all? Ahaha. The main thing is that B’z was amazing. The stage was pretty dark to us in the audience, you know. It was pitch black, and I was thinking “I wonder if anyone’s there? I can’t tell…” and then B’z showed up on the screen and I was all like, “Wooooooah!!!” (haha) It was amazing!!! …My choice is B’z. (haha)

[The audience laughs.]

Questioner: Thank you very much.

Q. Are you thinking about a spinoff featuring Hattori Heiji?

Aoyama: A spinoff? Like Zero’s Tea Time?

Questioner: Um… more like Hanzawa-san. 

Aoyama: Ah, Hanzawa-san. (haha) H-How are they different? Ahaha.

[The audience laughs.]

Aoyama: We don’t have any plans for that right now. (haha) I apologize. (haha) Did you want one?

Questioner: Yes, a manga where Hattori is the star…

Aoyama: Right… (haha) We don’t have any plans for that right now, so I’ll leave it at that. (haha)

Q. Last year, Heiji-kun and Kazuha-chan were the main ship to have romantic developments. But if you plan to have romantic developments for any other characters moving forward, which ones should we keep our eye on?

Aoyama: That would be Kansuke and…? Something like that? (haha)

Questioner: And…?

Aoyama: Well, um. (haha) A ship I shouldn’t mention just… floated up in my head… (haha) It’d be bad to say. (haha) Well, that’s about it. (haha)

Q. I’d like my question to focus on Gin. I imagine Akai-san and the rest of the FBI are constantly on his tail, so he must travel around to many different places. Does he have safehouses across the nation, or does he stay in hotels like Mary-san and Masumi do? But it might be bad to leave any clues behind, so he wouldn't use the hotel amenities, and would pay for everything himself of course…

Aoyama: Ah… (haha)

Questioner: I really want to know if Gin-san would wear hotel bathrobes, so please tell me if you can.

Aoyama: Ah… (haha) Is that so? (haha) Um…? But I think they’d sleep in their cars or something, right? (haha)

Questioner: They wouldn't look for lodging?

Aoyama: Lodging… right, they probably stay somewhere no one would know about. (haha) Else, maybe Organization-controlled apartment buildings, or getaway houses. I’m sure they have them all over the place. (haha)

Questioner: So he flits from place to place to keep himself from being caught by the FBI…

Aoyama: Right, without being caught. He’s probably not caught. (haha)

Questioner: Does he wear bathrobes?

Aoyama: Gin? (haha)

Questioner: Yes!

Aoyama: Right… (haha) Ah, well, of course he does. (haha)

Questioner: I think it fits him!

Aoyama: I think he probably struggles to wash all that hair too. (haha)

Q. I came from Hokkaido. Last year’s movie was set in Hakodate and if I recall correctly, even had the clock tower show up. I’d be happy if Sapporo tourist attractions showed up next. Are there any plans for that?

Aoyama: Well, it’d need to be a long time from now. (haha) Right? (haha). We might. Where would you recommend?

Questioner: Right, um… maybe Oodori Park?

Aoyama: Ah… (haha) Yes.

Questioner: Um… we have romantic spots too… like the TV Tower, yes.

Aoyama: Yes, then well I’ll think about it. (haha)

Q. I have a question about Azusa-san. I’d like to know how long she’s been working at Poirot. 

Aoyama: Azusa? I wonder? (haha) I don’t know. (haha) Well, hm, but maybe since her high school years…?

Questioner: Since she was a high schooler… thank you very much.

Aoyama: Of course. (haha) It was totally off the top of my head though. (haha)

Moderator: It’s interesting to find out what people want to know about.

Q. I’m born and raised in Tottori. Are there any plans for a movie set here?

Aoyama: Huh...? (haha) None right now. (haha)

Questioner: I’d love to see one if ever possible.

Aoyama: I used Tottori dialect in one of my works before, but I was told it was incomprehensible. (haha) Osaka dialect, Hakata dialect, etc. are pretty easy to understand, but Tottori dialect is hard. If we did do a Tottori movie, I’d want to have people speaking Tottori dialect, right… so… (haha) I’d have to find some kind of solution. I’ll think about it. (haha)

Q. [Per a previous question] you said that Momiji will do her best even now that Heiji-kun and Kazuha have gotten together, but will her butler Iori continue to stay by her side? Will he have to leave perhaps because of issues related to his old job?

Aoyama: Ah… no, well, I think he’ll be by her side forever. I think he’ll stay by her side until the day Momiji dies. (haha) I think he’ll keep protecting her.

Questioner: Thank you very much.

Q. I’d like to ask about Conan cafés. I know that you love curry rice, but is there anything else you’d like to eat at a Conan café?

Aoyama: What do they serve at Conan cafés again? (haha)

Questioner: It changes year by year.

Aoyama: I don’t know what the current menu is, but I like dishes like naporitan spaghetti that children like, so. (haha) Also, hamburgers and hamburg steak. (haha) That’s what I like. (haha) Sorry it’s so vague. 

Q. Did you meet in advance with aiko-san to plan for the moment where you shot her with a tranquilizer watch? [T/N: Aoyama mock shot aiko-san with a tranquilizer watch at the end of her song on this year’s Kōhaku Uta Gassen.] Or at least, that’s what I wanted to ask, but there might be stuff you need to keep secret…

Aoyama: We had a lot of meetings about that! At first, I uh asked whether I should say “Funya?”, but that was shot down. (haha) [T/N: I don't know enough about aiko to say what "Funya?" might mean. Maybe a catchphrase?]

Questioner: I’m a aiko-san fan so I’ve gone to a fair number of her concerts, so I’ve watched the video of her song on Kōhaku Uta Gassen. Did any murder cases come to mind after seeing aiko-san?

Aoyama: Ah, well, hahaha. No, I can’t say any did. (haha) Do you want to see one? (haha) I’d feel too bad to kill off a singer, but, well, I’ll think about it a plot that would have a singer involved. (haha) aiko-san was very cute. 

Q. Since Akai-san was raised in England, were there any sports he was forced to play aside from Jeet Kune Do?

Aoyama: I wonder? But Jeet Kune Do… he probably learnt it from his father, so I think he wouldn’t be interested in any other sport. (haha) But he seems like he’d be good at cricket. (haha)

Questioner: Maybe baseball in America…? Too?

Aoyama: Right, right. (haha) I think he’s good at cricket.

Q. I live in Kurayoshi. The Kurayoshi phone number area code is fairly important in your work, but what kind of role will Kurayoshi play in Conan in the future?

Aoyama: Ah… no, it’s just a coincidence. (haha) Kurayoshi, well… Kurayoshi residents would get mad at me, so. (haha) It would be difficult to use the city. (haha) It’s just a coincidence, I apologize. (haha)

Q. Do you have any New Year’s memories from when you were little?

Aoyama: Memories? Usually my family would ask me to visit a shrine with them, but I’d stay at home since it was too much of a pain. [T/N: In Japan, it’s tradition to visit a shrine on the first day of the new year.] That about sums up my New Year’s memories. (haha) But I always go these days. For my health. (haha) “Um… I’m counting on you this year again.” (haha) That’s what I go to the shrine to pray, basically. (haha)

Q. There was a scene in a chapter the other day where Hiro faces off against a criminal, but did he always have experience with martial arts?

Aoyama: I’m sure they learn uh… self-defence techniques and martial arts at the police academy, so he might not have any experience originally. But Hiro is strong. Though he’s weaker than Kyogoku. (haha)

Q. I’d like to know about Kyoto’s Inspector Ayanokouji’s personal life. Please tell me his hobbies, or what he does in his spare time.

Aoyama: Ah… (haha) Maybe he feeds Maro-chan and such. (haha)

Questioner: Does he have no other hobbies?

Aoyama: Hobbies? (haha) He loves Maro-chan, so that. (haha) Hey, what do you think would be good?

Questioner: Maybe archery…

Aoyama: Archery?! (haha) A bow?! Huh… (haha) Well, I’ll think about it. (haha)

Q. Do you have any plans for a triple date with Shinichi-Ran, Heiji-Kazuha, and Kyougoku-Sonoko?

Aoyama: Not at all. (haha) A triple date, huh? (haha) Ah, well, I see. (haha) I’ll think about it. Ahaha.

Moderator: You aren’t thinking about it at all, aren’t you? (haha)

Aoyama: I apologize. (haha)

Q. I watched your Professional interview. Since you were eating a lot of curry, I went out to eat at Curry Bondy too, and it was good. I’d love to hear about any other meals you enjoy while working, or food you’d highly recommend.

Aoyama: I wonder if I have anything to recommend…? (haha) All I eat is cheap stuff, so. (haha) I’m really into the beef don mini-pack from Yoshinoya- it’s a pretty small portion, so um, it’s good.

Moderator: The portion size is good?

Aoyama: Yes. Oh, any curry from Coco, of course. (haha) I like it.

Moderator: Sensei, you’re very economical.

Aoyama: Well, yes. (haha) It tastes good.

Q. I live in Saitama. Even though it’s so close to Tokyo, no Saitama detectives have made an appearance… 

Aoyama: Ahaha. I apologize. (haha)

Questioner: I’d like you to draw a case set in Saitama.

Aoyama: Ah… yes. (haha) One day. (haha) Yokomizo did show up in Saitama at first, but um… he transferred to Shizuoka. (haha) I apologize. (haha) So, I thought to have Yokomizo transfer all over the place, but I was told that almost never happens. (haha) Right… then, I’ll draw Saitama… one day… (haha) I’ll think about it. (haha) I apologize. (haha)

Moderator: Which is it? You’ll think about it, or you’ll draw it?

Aoyama: I’ll think about it. (haha)

Q. Does Kazuha-chan have anything she likes aside from aikido? 

Aoyama: Ah… she does like Heiji. (haha) Right, I think she’d like cooking [like others like her would.] Um… also cooking… and uh, I wonder… I hadn’t thought about it at all. (haha) You sure asked a tough question. (haha) What would she like… do you have anything in mind yourself?

Moderator: What she would like? It’s up to your [the questioner’s] imagination…

Questioner: …

Moderator: The questioner says that they wanted to hear it from you.

Aoyama: Right. (haha) But well, I handed them the power to choose, so. (haha)

Moderator: If they think of anything, it might become true, after all.

Aoyama: Does anything come to mind?

Questioner: …

Moderator: Then, please think on it, both of you. (haha)

Aoyama: Well, then, it’s fine. (haha) I’ll think about it. Me. (haha)

Q. I’m Taiwanese, but I currently live in Japan. Aside from the movies, Conan-kun has never been to any country but England. Are there any plans to have him visit other foreign countries? Like Taiwan…

Aoyama: His passport is an issue for him, so… (haha) Um… so he can’t really go overseas, um… because see, he doesn’t have any options aside from being stuffed into luggage by Kaito Kid, so. (haha) Um… going overseas would be difficult. (haha) Well, if he returned to his original body, he could go, but well, in his current situation it would be hard for him to go. (haha) I can’t use the same plot twice, so.

Moderator: It’s more about [the questioner's] feelings of wanting him to go to Taiwan.

Aoyama: Ah, is that so. I’d like to visit Taiwan too. (haha)

Moderator: Huh? You do?

Aoyama: Yes, yes, yes. (haha)

Moderator: Please do. (haha) Make some time. (haha)

Q. Organization codenames are so cool. I love them. I’d love to see new codenamed members appear, but do you have any plans for that?

Aoyama: What kind of alcohol would you like to see appear?

Questioner: To be honest… ●● [the name of an alcohol] or something, perhaps… (haha)

Aoyama: ●●…? Don’t tell me- are you ●●-san?

Questioner: Huh?! You could tell?!

Aoyama: Really?!

Questioner: Yes…! Thank you very much.

Aoyama: Amazing! So you managed to win a Q&A slot in the lottery… you’re the one who loves Koumei…?!

Questioner: Yes…! That’s right!

Aoyama: I’m happy for you. (haha) Koumei will play a big role this year, so. (haha) Please look forward to it. (haha)

Questioner: Thank you very much!

Aoyama: Please do your best. (haha) Ah, wait, I’m the one who needs to do their best. (haha)

Moderator: ?

Aoyama: Amazing… they’re someone I always receive fanmail from.

Moderator: Ah, I see! So that’s why you got so excited?

Aoyama: Yes, yes. (haha)

Moderator: I feel like everyone was out of the loop there. (haha)

Aoyama: Ah…! (haha) I apologize. (haha)

Moderator: I’m sure they’re happy they were noticed by you. (haha) Sensei, onto the next question…

Aoyama: Ah, right. (haha) I was too focused on ●●-san. (haha)

[The audience laughs.]

Q. Do you plan to draw Shinichi and Kid facing off?

Aoyama: Ah… right. I’d like to draw it. (haha)

Questioner: I’ll look forward to it.

Aoyama: Ahaha. Shinichi, huh…

Q. My name is Hattori. I grew to like my name thanks to Detective Conan.

Aoyama: Ahahaha. Wait, wait, wait. (haha) What about Hanzō? [T/N: A famous samurai was named Hattori Hanzō.]

Questioner: Please tell me what last names you like, or would like to have, in your works.

Aoyama: Ah… Kudo. (haha) I do really like the Kudo-chan that Matsuda Yuusaku played in Tantei Monogatari, so if I could I’d love to become a Kudo. (haha)

Q. Heiji and Kazuha deepened their relationship in the most recent chapters at Abeno Harukas. Had you already decided to an extent what would happen even before Abeno Harukas was made? [T/N: The building opened in 2014.]

Aoyama: From before it was made…?

Questioner: From before it was completed… did you already think of… a story where… he confessed, or well conveyed his feelings, somewhere high up…?

Aoyama: Ah… no, I thought it up after its completion. (haha) When was it completed? 

Questioner: So essentially it wasn’t a plot you had planned for a long time. 

Aoyama: Yes… right, it was after it was completed… But well, I did think that I definitely wanted to include Kazuha’s mother. I thought I’d trick you all. (haha) I wanted to make everyone think, “He’s gonna confess to her mother, right?” then pull the rug under you when he actually confessed. (haha) I had that planned for a long long while. (haha)

Q. Who’s stronger between Kogoro and Ran?

Aoyama: Who’s stronger?! (haha) Right… (haha) I wonder… hm.. A tough question. (haha) But well, Kogoro is strong! But, Ran is catastrophically strong too (haha).

Moderator: Catastrophically, huh? (haha) That’s true.

Aoyama: Well, I think it’s hard to say. (haha) But well… if they did fight, Kogoro would probably hold back since he’s her dad. That would probably be how it ends. (haha)

Q. My hometown is in Kyushu. When I go to Tokyo for work, I can really feel the cultural differences. Could you write a case related to that kind of thing?

Aoyama: Ah… I do want to write a case that incorporates dialects somehow, but it’s tough. I do want to do it one day though. 

Questioner: Please do it in Kyushu.

Aoyama: Kyushu, huh? Right, right. (haha) With Hakata dialect?

Questioner: I speak Saga dialect though.

Aoyama: Saga dialect?

Questioner: Saga dialect.

Aoyama: Ah, so there’s a difference?

Questioner: Yes, it’s a little more hickish.

Aoyama: Ahahaha. Right, yes, I understand. (haha)

Q. Tottori has a Mystery Tour. If you have any memorable locations or tourist spots you’d like to include in that tour, please tell us.

Aoyama: Huh…? I wonder? It’s been a long while since I moved to Tokyo. (haha) Odaiba is quite near here, so maybe something that used that… I wonder. Aside from that, hm, Tottori makes you think of crabs, and uh, apple-pears. That kinda thing, I guess. (haha) I have no clue how you’d make use of it though. (haha) All I talked about was good food. (haha)

Q. Who’s the tallest among all your characters?

Aoyama: Tall characters? Right… Gin or Kyogoku.

Questioner: I heard that Date-san is over two metres tall…

Aoyama: Ah…! Date then, maybe?! (haha) Gin and Date might be close in height. Kyougoku might be a little smaller than them. Well, the point is, the three of them are big. Um… it’s definitely not Kazami. (haha) In my heart, Kazami is about the same height as Amuro. (haha) Well, Gin or Kyogoku or Date. (haha) That’s the top three. (haha)

Redacted Questions

These questions weren't mentioned in the official transcript, only by unofficial sources. As with before, I can't guarantee their veracity. Questions with multiple sources are likely more trustworthy.

Q. What can you tell us about this year’s movie at this point? Q. What’s the best part of this year’s movie? [T/N: I'm fairly sure these are referring to the same question.]

Aoyama: When I told Rikiya Koyama [T/N: Mouri’s VA] that Kogoro is the main character this year, he told me he was nervous. Once he was done, Takayama-san [T/N: Conan’s VA] told him he sounded cool. I'll be drawing a key frame for it.

Sources:

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875104022316892638

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875236204511424575

Aoyama: I can’t say, but I think you’ll be shocked.

Sources:

https://twitter.com/brainwashednerd/status/1875109428812460351

Q. What is Furuya's family situation like?

Aoyama: Secret, as I haven’t decided for certain just yet- it might still change.

Sources:

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875104027354309115 [just that it's secret]

https://twitter.com/furu_rei0/status/1875126654412177457

Q. Who will be the star of next year’s movie?

Aoyama: I can’t say, but it’s already been decided as well as the stage.

Sources:

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875104031993155584 [just that it's secret]

https://twitter.com/brainwashednerd/status/1875109428812460351

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875236220017766594 [just that it's secret]

Q. Any information on Akai and Amuro’s chat nine hours later?

Aoyama: I can’t say. It’s a truly mysterious tea party (haha)

Sources:

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875113952285434164

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875238401630466510

Q. Akai and Amuro infiltrated the Organization and know about Sherry, but don’t know of the existence of APTX4869?

Aoyama: They do not. There’s a reason why the details of her and her parents' research can't be well-known in the Organization, but that’s secret. Even parents wouldn’t tell their children about it in the Organization.

Sources:

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875118685008097627

https://twitter.com/brainwashednerd/status/1875109428812460351

https://twitter.com/yuki_det_con/status/1875121733193306289

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875261566855344132

https://twitter.com/44_mcs/status/1875132311219634602

Q. Do you have any special tidbits for us aside from what you’ve already told us?

Aoyama: That's definitely secret! But take a good look at the illustration I drew for the Conan Tanteisha store as well. [Reportedly, it said that Kansuke and Yui and Koumei’s childhood will appear in the movie.]

Sources:

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875333448682107358

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875177696680108100

Q. Will Miyano Shiho and Kudo Shinichi ever star in the same case?

Aoyama: Ah, I can’t tell you that. Whoops, I almost let something slip (haha). It’s a secret!

Sources:

https://twitter.com/44_mcs/status/1875119113670144425

https://twitter.com/brainwashednerd/status/1875109428812460351 [just that it's secret]

[inkedobsidian]

ok but

we're writing it.

fuck it beginning under the cut! (im like 1k words in and im no where near done I fear)

It wasn’t strange for the people across the ship to follow the holidays of their homes while travelling on the SR-2. Most humans celebrate the same holidays across the board, but they can differ depending on where you live and believe. However, when someone happened to mention that Halloween was a few weeks away back on earth, there began a strange buzz around Normandy. Jane decided pretty quickly that they were going to celebrate it. After everything this team had done with the collectors, they could at least take one night to pretend to be different people in a world far away from this.

There had been a few stops here and there to pick things up, the bar was plenty stocked but people needed time to get an outfit unless they just went dressed as each other. There was also a very sly stop to a certain information brokers base, they couldn’t leave her out after all of this. Mess Sergeant Gardner was spending his time setting out the different “Halloween” themed drinks and also sorting them into dextro and levo, tonight was not the night for an accident like that.

The crew had already begun filtering out of the quarters in their outfits and drinking away the horrors of the past few months, there was no better remedy for a bunch of soldiers. A couple of laughs were shared as people realised a lot of them had similar outfits, it wasn’t like there was much choice on the few small stations they stopped off at for provisions.

The buzz even extended to the non-humans on the Normandy, Grunt was already walking around with the foam spikes stuck around his suit collar and one big one on his head proudly declaring he was a ‘trycertops’ no matter how many times someone tried to help him pronounce triceratops. It would be a miracle if those foam spikes stayed stuck the whole evening.

Mordin had found himself a trench coat and was going around introducing himself as Sherlock and then telling people disturbingly accurate things about themselves, of course, he did his research on human pop culture to choose an appropriate costume. He’d even helped Thane choose a costume, opting to put him in a regular suit and draw something that resembled a human bar code on a piece of fabric and helped tape it to his neck proudly proclaiming he was ‘hit man’. It took a few moments of explaining from Mordin for Thane to realise that was what the character was called and not another one of Mordins weirdly accurate descriptios.

It wasn’t long after the drinks started flowing that the rest of the team had made their way down from the Captain’s quarters. All of the ladies had decided to get ready together considering 3 our of 5 of them had never heard of this holiday before.

Both Liara and Tali were so enthusiastic about participating in the human celebration that they thought it would be hilarious to go as each other. Liara had helped build a headpiece that wrapped around her hood with the back resembling her scalp crests. Tali had even changed her suit wraps to be blue. Jane had to admit that it was an amazing bit of costume. They had gone one step further for Liara by buying her an armour helmet that resembled Tali’s as best they could and wrapping her in the usual purple fabric for Tali’s suit.

It took some research to find a character Jack was comfortable with until they stumbled upon Leeloo from an old movie called ‘The Fifth Element’. They had found her an orange wig at a costume shop on Omega that was definitely for the girls who worked at the Afterlife. After that it was just white bandage fabric; one long piece that went directly from the white collared neck down and around her body in a straight line, then horizontal pieces to cover her breasts, her stomach and across her hips. It wasn’t too dissimilar from home she dressed already and that she was happy with.

Jack had been the one to find the costume for Miranda, although no one knows how she found this character but she loudly proclaimed it was perfect for the ‘Cerberus princess’ and after Tali and Liara saw the character there was no dissuading them. So now Miranda was dressed as Lara Croft standing in a tight tank top and short shorts with old-school gun holsters and a harness with her hair in a slick back ponytail. She wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was a damn good choice.

Then came the time to decide what Jane was going to wear. At first she tried to protest saying that this was for the crew and they needed time to let loose without the boss there. That argument lasted all of about 3 minutes until a stern look from Liara and a lecture from Tali about Shepard deserving to have fun she had already caved in. The issue came when she really didn’t know what to wear, this whole time she’d planned to not turn up so she never got an outfit on the stop to Omega. The air almost shifted as Tali turned to face Jane, she couldn’t even see the Quarian’s face but she was already regretting whatever was about to come out of her mouth.

“Why don’t you go as Garrus?” Tali asked she tried to keep her voice as light and unassuming as possible. Liara glanced over to Tali with a knowing glance, luckily Jane was not facing her or she might have caught on to the situation she was about to be put in.

“Is that not a bit weird?” Jane laughed lightly at the thought of it but she really didn’t want to offend him in case it was one of those weird cross-species miscommunication things. They’d spent so much time talking about each others cultures and home life but it’d dawned on her she’d never spoke about the concept of Halloween and dressing up.

“I mean me and Tali are going as each other! It would look more like a group costume than anything weird.” Liara chimed in from behind Jane. As Jane spun around to face Liara she missed Tali raise a hand to her mask in a gesture to cover her mouth from shock, one of the many human gesture she had picked up from travelling with the Normandy for so long.

“If you’re sure this won’t lead to some horrible cross-species miscommunication,” With hearing this it took all of Liara’s composure to keep her mouth from twitching, “Maybe I’ll follow him around with sarcastic commentary to give him a real taste of his own medicine.” Jane says as she walks over to her armoury in search of a blue armour set. It would be a really bad first step if she didn’t even have that. She was halfway through asking how she’d do the colony marks when Tali pulled out a small bottle of blue face paint.

“And you have a pot of blue face paint because?” Jane let the last syllable of her words hang for a moment to let her confusion hang in the air. Tali was lucky that her face was hidden behind a mask or her expression would’ve given her away in that moment, however, the stammering was also about to give it away.

“I bought it to paint the headpiece,” Liara said nonchalantly from where she still stood behind Jane, interuppting the Quarian’s stammering. The conflicting emotions from the two made Jane stand in the middle staring for a quick moment before she decided to trust the calm voice of Liara that this is fine.

This could full well take me 3 months to write but fuck it we ball.

(Also literally any suggestions or anything are more than helpful! I'm very new to Mass Effect writing so I feel like im googling shit 24/7 just to write this accuratly)

ok but imagine (for whatever reason) they have a Halloween aboard the Normandy and Shepard thinks it'll be funny to go as Garrus (face markings and all) and he is flustered as it is normally a marriage thing (bonus points if they're not together yet he would be a fumbling mess)

[sergle]

man, you know, nobody asked me, but I have such conflicting opinions on some of the fat falin art, where on one hand: it's always nice to see A Fat Body in fanart anywhere + it's being done in positive ways, for funsies and on the other hand, there is something so familiar about how you are automatically The Fat One if you are a woman simply standing next to a more petite woman, bc I've had a 0% hitrate in seeing people change Marcille's body type and keep Falin's, or change both of them. it's just Falin

[dykedvonte]

Honestly a sorry from Curly would mean nothing to Anya.

I’m not saying she wouldn’t want to hear it, it’s a hollow vindication. She told him and he couldn’t hear her. He saw it and he couldn’t understand it. They both experienced it and he should apologize that it took that for him to get it. She already knows he’s sorry but what’s the point if neither of them can do anything about it? It’s earnest but at the same time what she wants an apology for is what Curlu can’t apologize for.

He can’t be sorry for what happened to her even if he is. Even if he carries that guilt with him until the day he dies it’s not all his to bare. The most heinous parts aren’t his weight even if he tries to balance it. A part of her bitterness is the fact he can’t be sorry for it all. She can’t just direct it all towards him even if she wants to. She was failed in so many ways by all of them. It hurts with him the most cause he had the power but they all did nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The one person who should apologize would never and could never, it’s not something you can be sorry for. She wants an apology, she needs one but what would it fix?

[sentientcave]

Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[fandom-susceptible]

I've had a lot of thoughts of my own on this topic and I've posted about it just a few minutes ago, but yeah, I'll add onto this because I have thoughts specifically about this analysis too.

So, I do have one small disagreement, which is that I don't think Ezran was burying the hurt when he found the shadowhawk arrow. He says he'd bandaged it and let it heal, and I really think they meant it that way, because that's a narrative statement, not in his thoughts or dialogue. Grief never goes away, obviously, and the pain of losing Harrow will never be gone, but the wound can heal, and I think that's all they meant there. It's not raw and open anymore; finding the arrow just scraped at it. I will come back to this in a minute though.

As far as Rayla's perspective goes, I do agree with what you said, but I also think an important part that keeps getting left out of this conversation is that she is not human. I keep seeing people applying human values and human perspectives to her character, and it happens within the show too (Callum calling her prideful for wanting to stay at the Storm Spire in Season 3 is a prime example of this), because she's so sympathetic to the humans that they forget that she isn't one of them. She is coming at this situation from a very different cultural background.

Her culture, for one, does not see death as an end. Harrow has just moved on to the next phase of his spirit's cycle. Death is a more merciful end than what she was granted for helping Ezran, so while she knows Ezran is human and doesn't outright accuse him of betraying their friendship, it does sort of make sense that her instinct would be to feel betrayed. In her culture, standing by her family and her people are more important than life itself. She's already betrayed those values once to save Ezran and Zym, in a way that resulted in her banishment and, according to Chasing Shadows, her death, culturally speaking. Ghosts aren't just banished, literally her identity as a Moonshadow elf is considered to be worse than dead by her own people, even her name is banned, and she's been grappling with that for years. Now, she has the chance to stand by her father, to finally do something that aligns with both her wider world values and her cultural ones, and Ezran has become an obstacle. She's also well-established as being less than careful with her words when she's distressed.

Callum's role in this also rings very true to me. I see the point about how he maybe shouldn't have led with calling his brother a jerkface - but as an older sibling, yeah, that tends to be how you get the little shit's attention if they're being particularly assholish. Heavens know my brothers and I have said far worse. Whether it's the best approach is highly debatable, but as a writing choice, it felt really good to me because it made the brotherly relationship feel very real in that moment, especially since that's a word we've already seen them use.

Overall, I agree with pretty much all of the OP's points about Callum's arc here, but I'd like to point out that he's falling prey to the same thinking as what's left the fandom startled by Ezran this season. He describes Ez as "not himself" and is convinced the anger will cool with time, and I just don't know if it would have. I'll get back to what I think Ezran actually needed in a moment, too. Callum has tried to talk Ezran down and make peace between them at every turn, even promising Rayla he wouldn't drive a wedge between them to help her, and I do think that people who call him a doormat for Rayla are missing that bit. He didn't just betray Ezran, he betrayed Rayla's trust as well, even if it was to help her in the immediate moment.

Callum also explicitly makes sure to tell Ezran, even while he's defending the elves' retreat, that he will always be there for him as a brother. All Ezran has to do is ask. He is leaving because he cannot stand by Ezran's actions as a king, which I think is a really important distinction to make, and I think it's a driving force of what helps Ezran forgive him later. It's one of the bits of evidence that will eventually build into Ezran realizing he's working towards a mutually assured destruction plan rather than one of peace, and I just don't think Callum could have gotten that message across with a less drastic reaction. He's also not abandoning Ezran on his own; Ez is a fully realized king with Soren, Corvus, the Council, Zym (who he also identifies as a brother) and more to support him emotionally.

Speaking of, I do actually want to point that out about this whole situation as well, is Soren's role. He mentions that he wishes he hadn't seen the elves escaping, but his loyalty outweighs his sympathy. I think it's also very important to why Callum was willing to leave; because he and Soren have come a long way, and Callum knows he's leaving his younger brother in very capable hands. Soren is also an older brother, and one who takes a very personal joy in being one and helping Ezran have moments of just being a kid. Callum knows that.

Finally, to circle back around to Ezran, I don't think that he buried his feelings about Harrow's death. That said, I do think that his background including his father's death and taking the throne far too young heavily affects his reaction to having his home destroyed. What happened in Katolis was terrorism, a mass murder and destruction that would shake anyone, and it challenges everything Ezran has been fighting for since Harrow's death. From Ezran's thesis of forgiveness and how all violence spirals, the attack on Katolis is senseless, because there was nothing recent to trigger Sol Regem's revenge - which is why his anger gets turned on Runaan, because Runaan also challenges Ezran's beliefs about violence.

Rayla defends Runaan in the early seasons by saying "It's a job" about assassination, and Runaan himself in Bloodmoon Huntress says "I kill people. I don't judge them." That puts him in a very different category than say, Zubeia, who acted out of grief and rage, or Pyrrah, who retaliated against an attack on her, or Harrow, who acted out of personal grief, or even Avizandum, who acted in defense of his people, or even further back, Viren and Harrow and Sarai and Annika and Neha who acted to save theirs. All of them made choices driven by emotion, by some variation of love, whether it be living love or grief and anger. Runaan isn't like that. Runaan just takes without personal bias, which challenges Ezran's whole worldview and puts him in the same category of senseless violence as Sol Regem.

And that's why I think Runaan's tearful apology and confession in the end actually got through to Ezran, and why I don't think anything less than the breakdown with Callum and that confrontation would have done it. Ezran needed to see that Runaan has values and reasons, even if they're not good ones, and that he's willing to lay them aside to prevent further bloodshed. Rayla knew, of course, but she's been making a point to avoid the topic of their fathers since Season 1, and we've seen no evidence she broke that habit, so Ezran doesn't know Runaan the way we do even through her. I think it was less about Ezran needing Runaan to take accountability (we certainly haven't seen that from Zubeia) and more that he needed to know that Runaan wasn't the exact sort of threat he's supposedly meant to combat. Andromeda, one of the other assassins, explains in Bloodmoon Huntress that sometimes they know, without a shadow of a doubt, that a person brings more pain and violence into the world than they do love, and that's when their death becomes more valuable than their life. Ezran made his peace with that very concept during this season because of Aaravos. He imprisoned Runaan at first due to his own values against murder, but he still didn't understand why Runaan could do what he does. I think the final confrontation with Aaravos, coming after him with the Nova Blade, was Ezran's turning point and why he's able to understand Runaan's choices in the end. I don't think a confrontation earlier than that would have worked out - not with Callum as a mediator. (Soren or Amaya, with their backgrounds a soldiers, might have better luck.)

Also, I want to briefly touch on Runaan's behavior during all this too, because he surrendered himself to this consequence. He took one look at Soren, most likely recognized him, and knew it wasn't a fight he could win, so he didn't bother trying. He also is notably nervous about their escape, but goes along with it because like Rayla, he isn't human, and his cultural values drive him home more strongly than his personal choice to take the punishment he's being given, because he's only just begun the mental deconstruction that continues to drive him throughout the season. His cultural values got challenged by his love for Rayla in Season 1, and seeing the consequences of those actions in Katolis started his whole worldview to crumbling. But that's only just happened at this point, so when given the chance by Rayla, he goes for it, clutching at his dedication to his home and family as a shred of stability in the worldview he's just had broken apart. But he never once defends himself, physically or verbally, against Ezran's accusations or the soldiers, which is pretty telling.

So all in all, I agree that it was a complicated situation, and none of them were wholly right or wholly wrong morally. I do think it was actually pretty well in-character for all of them individually.

Season 7 Conflict between Ezran, Callum, and Rayla: Who’s Right and who’s wrong?

Or perhaps...

I feel like this has been a topic of heavy debate across the fandom and I guess I wanted to share my own perspective on this as well. I wanted to try to dive in and explore each of these characters’ stances on things, since in my opinion, each of them had valid points. Long post ahead!

Starting with Ezran, we’re all mostly used to him being an innocent, kind and sweet cinnamon roll that’s so quick to forgive others who have wronged him. And it’s not just us, but even the characters in the show too, which in some cases can be used against him (which I won’t get to here since this isn’t the point of this post). But I’m mentioning this here because this is major trait of his that we saw being challenged this season.

Well, I would argue maybe even since season 6:

Which not gonna lie, that was both surprising but also very satisfying, especially after all Viren has done in arc 1, especially in season 3, you could argue it was well deserved, and even Viren himself saw that. But getting back on topic, I feel like we start to see a more vengeful side of Ezran this season, especially after the trauma of having his whole kingdom that he’s ruling, his own home, be completely destroyed.

This itself was traumatic enough to change Ezran completely, especially after finding out that it was Sol Regem that destroyed it in a matter of minutes. And not only that, but also seeing Runaan, the very assassin who ‘killed’ his father that same day, lead him to push all the blame onto him. That everything changed since the night Harrow was ‘killed’ by him and Ezran was eventually forced to pick up the burden of being king and live through all of this.

Now I get that there’s alot of people in the fandom pointing out the hypocrisy of “how come he forgave Zubeia, who was the one that sent Runaan to kill Harrow, but he couldn’t forgive Runaan?” Which I would argue narratively, that is the point and it was something called out by Callum. I do personally think that perhaps, if Ezran may have crossed paths with Runaan at some point before the destruction of Katolis, he could have had a different response? Not necessarily saying it would be positive but perhaps, not as vengeful or angry?

I also wanted to point to something interesting in the short story Deep Below, which is set right before season 5 in the storm spire when he went to get the siren stone:

The screenshots above are on Ezran’s reaction to seeing the shadowhawk with the red blood ribbon that confirmed Harrow’s ‘death’ and the emotions he felt. But not only that, it also felt like he chose not to let himself properly deal with that anger and instead bottled it up for the sake of keeping the peace that he fought so hard to keep. But of course all of that came tumbling down after the destruction of Katolis leading up to the immense change in Ezran’s behavior. We see him letting out all of bottled up anger once he saw the assassin who was involved in the direct killing of his father that lead to the complete change of his life.

Now moving onto Rayla, I think it’s important to remember that for over two years, she had no idea what happened to her birth parents or Runaan but only that Viren had something to do with their disappearances. Then by the end of season 4, she received the coins that contained their spirits and since then, it’s become one of her primary goals to free them, even if she had to set that goal aside for the sake of saving the world. Then getting to the end of season 6, she was forced to let go of her birth parents after she finally reunited with them after many years, just so that she would let them be together in the afterlife, while choosing to bring back Runaan so that she can finally reunite him with Ethari.

Now I know that ideally, she shouldn’t have brought Runaan with her to Katolis, but because she made a promise to Callum that she wouldn’t leave without him again and Runaan was still recovering and more desperate than ever to reunite with Ethari, she couldn’t leave him on his own. I also think it wasn’t the best idea to let Runaan walk around freely in Katolis but I’m guessing none of the characters were expecting Ezran react in anger since they were mostly used to him being so forgiving.

Now we get to the next episode where Rayla, who was finally able to bring back one of her parents, has had that parent taken away from her once again. We see Callum trying hard to convince her to be patient and give Ezran some time to process everything that’s happened and that he would eventually forgive Runaan. But then we get to the council meeting where things get especially heated.

While I do think that Rayla didn’t bring it up or address this in the best way, I do think she made some really valid points:

And I know many people in the fandom have been arguing that Rayla was 'unsympathetic' towards Ezran but honestly, I think an argument can also be made that no one was sympathetic towards Rayla wanting to bring her family back together except for Callum, and I will talk more about him in detail later.

I also think another important detail we need to remember is that when it comes to this conflict, there’s a major power imbalance here. While yes, Ezran is a traumatized 12 year old kid dealing with the destruction of his kingdom and seeing the face of his father’s killer, he’s also the king who has the final say in everything. It’s his words and his orders against anyone else’s objections that get followed. He also has the backing and loyalty of the council, crownguard and all of the Katolis guards too, while Rayla only had the support of Callum in this situation.

And because of how things went at the meeting and seeing how Ezran wouldn’t listen to her and forgive Runaan right away, she decided to break Runaan out, despite Callum trying to convince her to be patient and give Ezran more time, to which then she responds:

Which then Callum fully accepts her decision and even offered to help (which again, I’ll talk more about later). But while the ideal thing for Rayla to do was to be more patient give Ezran time to do the right thing, which he eventually did at the end of the season, it’s also understandable why she couldn’t stay patient. Because after years, she finally has the opportunity to reunite what remains of her own family again.

Now I get to my last point, Callum. Despite seeing a lot of hate being directed towards Rayla and Ezran for their different stances, from what I’ve seen, I feel like Callum has been getting savaged a whole lot by different parts of the fandom, despite being caught in between both sides and torn between two people he loves. I feel like more people are willing to look at the complexity of the situation when it comes to Ezran or Rayla, but when it comes to Callum, his stance is more often reduced to: “he’s a terrible brother who betrayed Ezran because he doesn’t sympathize with him” or “he’s a doormat for Rayla who unconditionally worships her even at the expense of others or the greater good” while leaving out so many details, events and aspects of his overall character. Now I’m not saying that Callum handled things perfectly with Ezran and nor am I saying that he wouldn’t do reckless and crazy things for Rayla, but I feel like there’s so much more to him that just gets heavily ignored.

So as I’ve said before, Callum was caught in between rising tensions between Ezran and Rayla. While he did support Rayla and wanted to help her reunite her family, I just think it’s wrong to say he was “unsympathetic” towards Ezran because:

And that to me isn’t what unsympathetic looks like. Not to mention he kept trying to convince Rayla to be patient and give Ezran time, and even when Rayla went to break out Runaan, Callum still went and made an attempt to talk to Ezran. And like I don’t think it was right of him to call his traumatized brother a jerk face when he went to talk to him lol, but we know how Callum can be when he gets frustrated, and he even apologized immediately and changed his tone afterwards. We then see Ezran open up to Callum about how his life completely changed after Harrow was ‘killed’ and he was forced to take up a heavy burden at a young age. While ideally I do think that Callum could’ve verbally expressed more understanding towards what Ezran was feeling and dealing with, I do think he made a valid point when he brought up that Ezran forgave Zubeia despite her being the one who sent Runaan after Harrow. Now getting to my next point, this scene in particular:

What he said here made me think back a lot to arc 1, particularly, some of the stuff Harrow said in his last conversation with Callum:

And some things he told Rayla when she told him about her mission to avenge Avizandum and the dragon egg that was initially believed to be destroyed:

I also thought of some of the things Harrow told Callum in his letter:

And lastly something he said to Rayla in season 3 in their conversation after looking at Avizandum's stoned body:

I think it’s important to remember that yes, even Callum himself is aware of the violent cycle between the humans and Xadia and actually wants to end it. And while yes, Ezran grieving Harrow’s death and feeling so much anger towards Runaan was completely valid, I truly believe that Callum was also motivated in trying to convince Ezran to not take part in this cycle of vengeance. The very cycle that killed their mother, that lead Harrow to kill Avizandum in vengeance, which he himself even regretted and recognized was a mistake that lead to Zubeia sending the moonshadow assassins to kill him. And this was something that he brought up to Callum in both his last conversation and his letter, hoping that Callum and Ezran would break this cycle and not repeat his mistakes. And this was what Callum was attempting to do with Ezran, having even reminded him that this was the cycle of violence he was fighting so hard to end. And it did seem that Callum was getting through to him, and I do think that if their conversation didn’t get interrupted by Soren calling out and maybe in a short amount of time, Callum would’ve succeeded.

Of course next thing we see after Rayla and Soren’s duel along with Corvus’s intervention, was Ezran approaching them with a bunch of guards and he had no hesitation in ordering them to attack an outnumbered Rayla and Runaan. It was only in this situation, when literal violence was about to escalate, that we see Callum fully take Rayla’s side and go against Ezran. Not having succeeded in getting through to his brother and seeing that he was still set on getting his revenge, was when Callum decided to step down as high mage and leave with Rayla and Runaan.

Now I’ve seen a lot of people criticizing Callum for leaving his traumatized brother in this situation, which like, yes it was a betrayal at a bad time and it hurt Ezran a great deal. But I also think it’s important to keep in mind that if Callum were to have stayed behind, he would’ve been arrested and have not been able to do anything or even help Ezran in any way, especially with Ezran later becoming hellbent on building weapons of mass destruction, even with Zym becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and hardly listening to anyone aside from Aanya. In fact, I think this would’ve lead to a far bigger strain on their relationship and less of a likelihood to reconcile and repair the rift created between them.

But anyways, this is my opinion on this whole topic. I personally think there wasn’t one person in this that was entirely right or wrong in this situation, each of them had valid stances that just all came clashing together and lead to this massive fallout. But I’m glad that in the end, they were all able to work it out and be able to reconcile things between them. And I know I made this super long but I guess I just wanted to dump out all my thought here.

Anyways, what do you think? Anything you wanted to add on to this?

[al-luviec]

something simple to try to get out of art block (it didn't work)

[bisexualmcqueen]

alright this one's a little different

its a thumbnail comic of a scene from a silly fic i have YET to write (but i have half of it plotted out/partially written). was a fun choreo exercise. additional context at bottom.

had to omit some plot details for simplicity's sake, but the basic premise is as follows:

"sort of crack taken seriously in that a freak weather event occurs in radiator springs. the green and white cars are just random tourists who lightning is helping evacuate. he's borrowed one of mater's towing cables… but alas he is not a tow truck. also i throw rocks at him! {he doesn't break his powertrain [axel] just a link arm + a few other suspension bits. it's to nerf him for later to let another character do a good deed in his place} {also he has the tow cable because he was closest to rescue the tourists but everyone got separated}"

the tourists also were NOT supposed to be out exploring carburetor country, there were weather warnings posted, but they lied and went anyways and lightning had to find and rescue them </3 (and then they get detoured and This happens</3)

[subliminalbo]

Alphas has been one of my most popular series since I began writing it in 2016, but honestly, it's not high on my list of personal favorites. The original run is plagued by early era Subliminalbo (at the time my handle was thedude11111) mistakes that I've worked to fix over time. It's a sloppy detective mystery without a mystery where our main character has no direct influence on the plot and just sort of sits around waiting for things to happen. Maybe the worst thing about it is that I don't really do anything with the concept of a brainwashed house full of sorority sisters.

And that's where Quick Hits comes in. With this series, I'm able to explore random vignettes within the Alphas house. I still think that these vary in quality (some of the stories feel very samey to me, but that's the nature of writing quick flash fiction), but I've tried to focus on more of what made the idea so attractive to readers, to tell the story that I should have been telling eight years ago.

Quick Hits #4: A Moral Victory

Maybe it would just be a consolation for her old self, but Gracie fought hard. Harder than any of the original twelve—the upperclassman Alphas who Madison first targeted to bring the sorority completely under her control. Gracie had witnessed what Madison's technology did to her friends, seen them transformed into sycophantic followers of Madison's vision.

On the surface they were your regular, vapid sorority sisters. But Gracie knew that they were so much more. Alex was studying marine biology, she wanted to move to Australia after college. Kristy was working on a nonfiction novel for her senior thesis, a memoir of her life growing up between American and Vietnamese cultures. Devin was a pre-med, but she harbored a secret dream to design clothes, imagining that one day Fleur-de-lis models would walk the runway in her designs.

And maybe all that wasn't gone. They were still themselves in some way. They still had individual interests and aspirations, but now the Alphas were united in one all-consuming desire: to serve and obey Madison Wells.

When the visor slipped over her eyes, Gracie knew that she'd lost. She knew that when it came back up, she'd be just another smiling, obedient Alpha. But the moral victory was that she'd give Madison hell. She'd fight harder than any of her friends had. If Madison wanted to shape her in her own image, Gracie was determined to make Madison work.

And when it was all over, Gracie hated herself for it.

[lord-squiggletits]

One of my favorite parts of phase 2 (and indeed one of the few moments I resonated with IDW Prowl) was when the neutrals were coming back to Cybertron and Prowl said that he refused to let Autobots be pushed aside and overruled after they were the ones who fought for freedom for 4 million years (the exact wording escapes me atm).

And I mean, that resentment still holds true even once the colonists come on bc like. As much as it's true that Cybertron's culture is fucked up, and as funny as it can be to paint Cybertronians as a bunch of weirdos who consider trying to kill someone as a common greeting not important enough to hold a grudge over.... The colonists POV kind of pissed me off a lot of times, as did the narrative tone/implications that Cybertronians are forever warlike and doomed to die by their own hands bc it just strikes me as an extremely judgemental and unsympathetic way to deal with a huge group of people with massive war PTSD and political/social tensions that were rampant even before the war?

Like, imagine living in a society rife with bigotry and discrimination where you get locked into certain occupations and social strata based on how you were born. The political tension is so bad there's a string of assassinations of politicians and leaders. The whole planet erupts into an outright war that leads (even unintentionally) to famine and chemical/biological warfare that destroys your planet. Both sides of the war are so entrenched in their pre-war sides and resentment for each other that this war lasts 4 million years and you don't even have a home planet any more. Then your home planet gets restored and a bunch of sheltered fucks come home and go "ewww why are you so violent?? You're a bunch of freaks just go live in the wilderness so that our home can belong to The Pure People Who Weren't Stupid And Evil Enough To Be Trapped In War" and then a bunch of colonists from places that know nothing about your history go "lol you people are so weird?? 🤣🤣 I don't get why y'all are fighting can't you just like, stop??? Oh okay you people are just fucked up and evil and stupid then" ((their planets are based on colonialism where their Primes wiped out the native populations btw whereas the Autobots and OP in particular fought to save organics. But that never gets brought up as a point in their favor)) as if the damage of a lifetime of war and a society that was broken even before the war can just magically go away now that the war is over.

Prowl fucking sucks but he was basically the only person that pointed out the injustice of that.

And then from then on out most of the characters from other colonies like Caminus and wherever else are going "i fucking hate you and your conflicts" w/ people like literal-nobody Slide and various Camiens getting to just sit there lecturing Optimus about how Cybertronians are too violent for their own good and how their conflicts are stupid, with only brief sympathetic moments where the Cybertronians get to be recognized as their own ppl who deserve sympathy before going right back to being lambasted.

Like I literally struggled to enjoy the story at multiple points because there was only so much I could take of the characters I knew and loved being raked over coals constantly while barely getting to defend themselves or be defended by the narrative so like. It was just fucking depressing and a little infuriating to read exRID/OP