#it should be transparent. if it isn’t. I’m going to throw objects.

[10-59]

uhhhh fan i helvete and all that

[prythiansprincess]

be my baby.

if you know how to by my lover, maybe you can be my baby hold me close under the covers, kiss me boy and drive me crazy

author's note: happy valentine's my loves. in honor of this day, please have this sweet, toothache inducing fluff of our favorite bat boys. the lil cas cookie cutness is dedicated to my darling @writingsbychlo to hold her over until i finish a smuttier cassian piece 😈 song inspiration: be my baby by ariana grande

The High Lord tapped his fingers.

The Illyrian general narrowed his eyes. 

The shadowsinger crossed his arms. 

The three brothers watched one another in quiet contemplation, waiting for the others to break the silence. 

In true Cassian fashion, the male sighed and succumbed to his impatience. “So, what’s it going to be?”

Rhysand’s fingers hovered over his ornate desk, scanning the room. “It appears that we find ourselves in a conundrum, brothers.”

Azriel nodded as his shadows curled over his shoulders. “We have to make a decision soon. The day of hearts is coming up.”

“Well the solution is obvious, isn’t it?” Cassian stated. “One of us should just ask her.”

“Yes,” Rhysand agreed, “But which one?” 

“Since I’m the one who even introduced her to you two idiots in the first place, I should be the one to ask.”

The High Lord crossed his arms. “Just because you met her first doesn’t give you some sort of claim,” Rhys objected. “Besides, it’s obvious that we have the most chemistry. Did you see the way she looked at me during dinner?” 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Everyone was looking at you, Rhys. Who wears a godsdamned cape to a restaurant? You looked like one of those bloodthirsty vampyrs from the north.”

Cassian snorted in response while Rhys glared at him. “Like you were any better, Cas! Don’t think we haven’t noticed that all of the sleeves on your tunics have suddenly disappeared. We get it, brother. You have biceps.”

The shadowsinger bit back a smile. “It was a bit exhibitionary for my taste.”

“Not all of us can be dark, brooding, mysterious pretty boys, Az.”

“Did you just call Azriel a pretty boy?” Rhys mused. 

“That’s besides the point!” said a frustrated Cassian. “Who is going to ask Y/N to be her date for the day of hearts? All three of us obviously like her so how are we going to decide?”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Azriel mused. His brothers inched closer, eager to hear the shadowsinger’s solution. “It should obviously be her decision. Each of us will come up with our own strategy to ask her out this week. Once she chooses, then we put this rivalry to rest.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully. “That works for me.”

Rhysand smirked, pleased by the challenge. “May the best male win, then.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I intend to.”

Rhysand was the first of his brothers to try. 

It was early in the week when he invited you for a day out in the city. Never one to turn down brunch and a shopping spree, you found yourself walking down the sunny, cobblestone streets of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. You squeezed the High Lord’s arm as you strolled side by side along the Sidra River, throwing your head back in laughter. 

“You’re absolutely vicious, Rhys,” you chastened in a teasing tone. “You almost gave our poor waitress a heart attack from all your shameless flirting.”

Violet eyes twinkled with mischief as he recalled the eventful breakfast. The two of you had indulged yourselves in pancakes, eggs, bacons, and bottomless mimosas, laughing and joking as you regaled each other with your most expensive purchases. Not unlike yourself, Rhys had a penchant for the finer things in life, often splurging on expensive silks and luxurious velvets. The most exorbitant of which was a shirt made of spider silk, which cost nearly a month’s worth of your wages. 

Still, Rhysand had nothing on you. One of your shoes had diamonds the size of a fist encased in a transparent heel and the High Lord’s eyes had widened at the damage it had inflicted upon your coffers. It was worth every penny. As the drinks flowed, the more boisterous the both of you grew. The tables around you kept casting amused glances in your direction and your waitress, a pretty little nymph, had nearly fainted as Rhys sent her an apologetic smile. 

“It’s not my fault that females find me irresistibly charming,” he retorted with a wink. 

“And unbelievably humble, too.” You retorted dryly, “Is there anything you can’t do, High Lord?”

“Pull off a cape, apparently,” Rhys exclaimed with an exaggerated sigh.

You burst into a fit of giggles. “It was an interesting choice,” you mused, earning you a fond eye roll. “But you should really run your more experimental ventures by me first, Rhysie.”

“I won’t make the mistake of not seeking out your expert fashion advice again,” his lips quirked and an easy smirk spread across his devastatingly handsome face. “Though I know you prefer me shirtless and sweaty.”

His words drew the attention of the crowd around you, making you blush. You lightly pinched the inside of Rhysand’s arm. “Silver-tongued Rhys,” you said with an incredulous shake of your head. “One of these days that wicked mouth of yours will get you into trouble.”

“Trouble is the least of what this wicked mouth can get into, darling.”

You rolled your eyes in response and tugged him into one of your favorite stores. Tease or not, you weren’t about to let Rhysand distract you from the goal of this outing. You fully intended to shop until you dropped today. Luckily, the High Lord was more than happy to oblige. 

The shopkeeper had a rack of the newest arrivals waiting for you at the back of the store. You were a frequent and loyal customer to the point that the female sequestered the largest dressing room for your use every time you dropped by. Today was no exception. Although now another rack filled with elegant suits and sleek shoes sat beside your own. 

You plopped down on the cushioned seat in the middle of the dressing room, swirling a glass of champagne in your hands. “No capes this time, Rhysie.” 

The High Lord rolled his eyes before picking out a few choice pieces and disappearing behind a thick privacy curtain. You perused through the dresses the shopkeeper had laid out for you, running your fingers through the fabric and setting aside the clothes that you were most excited to try on first. 

Caught up in the beautiful garments, the sound of the curtain being drawn back registered a beat too late. You turned, mouth gaping and hand clenching around the stem of your champagne flute at the sight before you. 

Mother save you.

Rhysand emerged from the dressing room clad in a lavender silk shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. The cut of the garment was seamless, accentuating every delicious inch of him. As was his custom, the High Lord left the first few buttons undone which granted you a generous view of his golden brown skin and the intricate tattoos swirling through his chest and shoulders.

Your mouth suddenly felt as dry as the desert. 

He cocked his head to the side, waiting on the answer to a question you couldn’t recall hearing. A devious smirk spread across his face as he crossed the room. Rhys pressed something into your hands, his fingers brushing against your palm. 

“Would you be a doll and finish me off, darling?” 

You were pretty sure that your face was as scarlet as the famous locks of the Vanserras. “W-what?” you stammered. 

Rhysand raised an amused brow. “The tie, dear.” You looked down at the slip of fabric in your hand. “I’d love it if you tied me up. You were always better at knotting than I was, if I recall correctly. A most useful skill to have.”

“Charming,” you muttered in bewilderment. 

The arrogant, attractive, delicious…stop. You took a deep breath to center yourself before approaching the smug male before you. Rhysand was grinning as you looped the tie around his neck, focusing on the intricate knots. He watched as you worked, his fingers caressing the inside of your wrist. The touch was distracting and you had to re-loop the damned tie three times before you finally got it right. 

“You’re quite good at that,” Rhysand mused. “I wonder if it translates to other uses as well.” You tightened the bow around his neck while glaring at him for making you blush so furiously. The High Lord only laughed. 

“I’d stop your teasing if I were you. I’m half tempted to cut off your circulation.”

Rhys winked. “Who says I’m not into that, darling?”

Before you could respond, he strolled through the dresses you set aside and picked out a stunning, silver number that glittered against the light. “Shopping for something special?” 

You swatted him away and grabbed the dress from his hands. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Rhysand sprawled out on the velvet settee, sipping on champagne and watching you over the lip of the glass. The scrutiny of his gaze awakened a horde of traitorous little butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Flustered, you drew back the private curtain and busied yourself with putting the dress on. 

“I am curious,” Rhysand said from the other side. “The day of hearts is coming up, you know.”

As if you could ever forget. You’ve only been fretting over it for the past month. Mor was convinced that Rhysand was going to ask you to spend the holiday together and while the thought was extremely flattering, you couldn’t say yes. Not because you didn’t like Rhysand. Quite the opposite, actually. 

But you’d also grown fond of Cassian and Azriel, which only served to complicate the situation. The last thing you wanted to do was get in between the three brothers. You valued their friendships too much and it would break your heart to lose any of them. 

The safest route was to establish clear boundaries. You were friends. Just friends—even if a part of you craved more. 

You slipped on the dress and straightened, reminding yourself of the same motto you’ve been drilling into your mind over and over again for the last thirty days. Just friends. 

Rhysand’s head darted up as you exited. Your heart dropped as soon as your eyes met. The way he was looking at you…that wasn’t how friends looked at one another. 

You wrung your hands together, turning your back on him and surveying yourself in the mirror. Attempting to busy yourself, you absentmindedly tugged at the zipper of the dress. It snagged halfway up your spine. 

“Here,” Rhysand said softly. “Let me.”

The room fell silent as he stepped behind you. His reflection was one of hesitance, but he gingerly swept your hair over your shoulder and gently pulled the zipper up. Your breathing was shallow as he worked, the back of his knuckles brushing against your skin as your eyes met in the mirror. 

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, twirling you around. The dress flared around your ankles like soft dusk and the diamonds embedded into the fabric glittered like stars as you swayed across the plush carpet. 

Rhysand smiled. A bright, genuine smile that caught you completely off guard. 

Beautiful. 

Rhys was so beautiful. 

“Have you gone into shock, love?” he asked with a low chuckle. You blinked, unable to speak. The High Lord tucked a stray strand of hair behind your pointed ear, his thumb caressing the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “No one would blame you if you did. I am quite irresistible.”

You snorted, swatting his hand away. “Careful, Rhys. If your ego grows any bigger, you won’t be able to fit that fancy little crown of yours.”

“Then take me down a notch,” he said smoothly, sliding his hands inside those perfectly fitted trousers. “Be my Valentine and spend the day of hearts with me, love.”

Eyes widening, you stilled as panic seized you from within. You wanted to say yes—so, so badly, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. It would be utterly selfish considering how you felt about Cassian and Azriel.

Plastering on a half-smirk, you turned towards Rhysand and cocked your head. Boundaries. You had to draw boundaries. “As enticing as that would be,” you said softly, “I already have plans for that day.”

If Rhysand was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. Instead he gave you a sly, easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Oh? Anyone that I know?” His tone was casual, but you could hear the curiosity that he was trying to reel in.

“No.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. You planned on spending the day cooped up in your flat while reading one of the steamy romance novels that Nesta had lent you and Rhysand technically didn’t know the brooding silver-haired elf prince on the cover. 

“Well, whoever it is,” Rhysand drawled, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror, “I hope he knows that he’s a very lucky male.”

The afternoon passed quickly after that with you and Rhysand indulging in more shopping and champagne. With your pockets lighter and your head swimming, the two of you strolled side by side along the Sidra River as you walked home. Like a true gentleman, your friend insisted on carrying your shopping bags for you though the starlight dress wasn’t among your many purchases. Mostly because you couldn’t get that look on Rhysand’s face off your mind and you realized that you didn’t want to wear it if you didn’t get to see the twinkle in those violet eyes of his as you twirled. 

The High Lord bid you goodbye and kissed your cheek. Before he winnowed from your quiet street, Rhys handed you your bags and departed with a wink. 

You didn’t think much of it until you were putting away your purchases. Tucked underneath the skirts and corsets that you’d splurged on was the starlight dress. It was neatly folded and tied with a lavender ribbon. A note with familiar handwriting snagged your attention and you bit back a smile as you slowly unraveled it. 

It would have been a shame to leave this at the store. Promise to wear it out even if I’m not there to witness it. A beautiful dress like this deserved to be worn by an equally beautiful female. Go outshine the stars, darling. 

Yours, 

Rhys

The smile that spread across your face remained even as you turned in for the night.

Cassian’s plan was foolproof. 

The Illyrian general approached the task of asking you to be his Valentine with a well-thought out strategy, considering the pros and cons of each idea with the perspective of a battle hardened warrior. In the end, he settled for a simple yet effective plan. 

“You do know that the goal is to actually bake the cookies, right?” you stated, batting Cassian’s hand away from the bowl of cookie dough. 

Your flat was filled with the sweet smell of chocolate as you whisked the mixture in your hands. For all his preaching about maintaining a balanced diet, Cassian had devoured nearly half the bowl of cookie dough and you hadn’t even decorated the first batch. 

He snatched the mixture from you and stirred faster, his strong arms flexing with each movement. “Says the female who devoured half a cup of chocolate chips when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

You gasped, feigning an affronted expression. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to shame a female for her eating habits? Someone should really teach you some manners, Cas.”

Cassian smirked. “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatched the bowl back and hip checked the Illyrian general as you rolled out the dough. Cassian fell into place beside you, watching intently while you worked. Despite his sweet tooth, he managed to stay on task and follow your instructions. It was highly amusing to watch the large, heavily muscled warrior squint in concentration as he rolled the dough between his rough, calloused hands. 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as Cassian’s brows furrowed in concentration. The two of you had always shared a love of cooking, having met at a master class in the city. The instructor had assigned you as partners and by the end of the night, you and Cassian managed to prepare a six course meal and strike up an instant friendship. 

You’ve been crushing on him since then. 

There was something endearing about his gentle manner, the softness that came out when he was doing what he loved. It was the complete opposite of what you’d expect from a battle hardened warrior, but it made perfect sense at the same time. You watched with a fond smile as Cassian leaned over the counter, his wings pressed tightly across his back, a pastel pink apron tied around his midsection, his shoulder length hair haphazardly thrown into a half bun with a few strands framing his ruggedly handsome face. Rich, hazel eyes were laser focused on icing the cookie in front of him. 

You hadn’t realized how intently you’d been staring until Cassian looked up at you. He lifted a brow, the slit in the middle rising as he shot you a smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

You stuck your tongue out, making Cassian chuckle. “Actually, I was critiquing your piping methods. It looks a little sloppy if you ask me.”

“No one’s ever complained about my piping before,” he said with a suggestive tone, “But you’re free to correct my form if you’d like.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, but you weren’t about to back down now. Not with the challenge dancing in Cassian’s molten gaze. “Let the professional show you how it’s done, Cas.”

Before you could think better of it, you grabbed his wrist. You tried not to gape at the obvious disparity of your hands, the way your fingers barely covered his palm, the roughness of his skin against your own, the warmth of his touch as you directed the piping bag over the surface of the cookie. 

With shaking hands, you drew a sprawling shape with the red frosting and Cassian chuckled behind you as he beheld your creation. “Wonder what that could be,” he mused. 

The rendering was a little off, but that was to be expected thanks to Cassian’s effect on you. Under the conditions, you thought you’d done a rather great job at imitating those giant wings of his. 

“Looks awfully accurate,” he continued. “Been thinking about my wings quite a bit, have you?” 

“It’s kind of difficult not to when they literally take up half the room.”

“I’ve been told they’re bigger than average.”

Fire snaked across your belly. “But not the biggest, right?” you said with a smirk. “I believe that honor belongs to Azriel.”

Cassian scoffed. “My brother has yet to prove that claim. Az refuses to measure.”

You giggled as your friend took the bait. “He doesn’t have to,” you said with an innocent smile. “Az just has big wing energy, you know?” 

“Big wing energy?” Cassian repeated. His confusion made you burst into uncontrollable laughter. He rolled his eyes once he realized that you’d been toying with him. “You’re devious, you know that?” 

“Perfectly aware, thank you very much.” 

The Illyrian general chuckled to himself as you returned to your own pile of cookies. Pink, red, and white frosting were spread out across the marble countertop and the two of you worked in silence, wrists flicking in the air as you drew hearts, arrows, and other decorations befitting the upcoming holiday. 

“Do you remember when Varian asked us to teach him how to bake a cake for Amren last year?” you asked, adding frills to your sugar cookie. 

Cassian snorted at the memory. The Prince of Adriata was good at a lot of things, but baking was not one of them. With Amren’s newfound ability to actually consume food, he wanted to gift her with something of his own making. Though he did purchase a diamond the size of Cassian’s fist in case the cake went horribly wrong, which it did. 

It would’ve been fine had Varian not insisted on making the entire thing by himself while the two of you watched. You had suggested something easy like a plain vanilla cake with strawberry filling, but the Prince was dead set on a molten chocolate lava cake, which was considered a generally advanced bake. 

In the end, the desert that he had presented to Amren looked more like a heap of ash than anything remotely edible. Cassian had to give it to the Tiny Ancient One, though. She limited her grimace to two side eyes directed at the both of you before fixing her expression into a reluctant smile. You nearly wet yourself from laughing so hard. 

“I honestly thought we were done for,” Cassian remarked. “Amren looked like she wanted to stick us in the oven after that first bite.”

“It’s not our fault!” you exclaimed, “Varian was adamant about doing everything by himself.”

“This is why the nobility have private chefs and cooks. They’re all helpless when it comes to cooking. No offense, duchess,” he added with a smirk. 

You scrunched your nose up in distaste. While the noble title had technically passed to you upon your parent’s passing, you rarely used it outside of your emissary duties. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Not as much as Amren hated eating that cake,” he responded dryly. 

The two of you doubled over in laughter. Wiping your tears away, you chuckled softly. “Love makes you do strange things, I suppose. Either way, it was a day of hearts that Amren will never forget.”

“Speaking of which,” Cassian said, training his voice into a casual tone, “The big day is coming up. Do you have any plans?” 

He kept his eyes on his own cookie, the writing almost finished as he placed one final loop over the question. Cassian angled it towards you, the culmination of his plan coming to fruition. This was it. The big moment. The final play. 

“I—um, well I—” 

That was not a good sign. Cassian perked up at the hesitation in your voice. In all the time that he’s known you, you’ve never faltered. You were sure, decisive. It was one of the many qualities that he found incredibly sexy about you. 

But now you looked like a deer caught in faelights.

Retreat. Fall back. Abort mission.

“Well, I’ve actually already got plans,” you declared in a rushed whisper. 

His heart clenched in his chest. Of course. Of course he’d been too late. One of his brothers probably already asked and you’d said yes, which would explain why you looked so uncomfortable. 

Cassian’s eyes widened as your gaze landed on him. He immediately looked down at the cookie and the silly question he’d carefully frosted over its surface. 

Be my Valentine? 

The pink and red cursive of his own handwriting mocked him. Cassian had to get rid of it. Now.

You stepped closer to him and any second you might look down and see his pathetic little question. Cassian only had one choice to make. 

The Illyrian general stuffed the whole cookie into his mouth.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening at your friend’s sudden outburst. “Cas?” you asked incredulously. “What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna choke on the damned thing!”

Cassian coughed, wincing as fragments of the cookie scratched the back of his throat. Still, the embarrassment he felt in this moment paled in comparison to what he would’ve felt if you’d seen the writing. 

He smiled sheepishly. “I was hungry,” he said, swallowing the last bits of his botched plan. 

You furrowed your brows in concern before Cassian wiped his hands on the front of his apron. He grinned, elbowing your side. “So, you’ve got plans, do you?” he said even though pain lanced through his chest at the words. “Whatever you do, don’t bake him a molten lava cake.”

The two of you broke out into another conspiratory grin before you looked down at the cookie before you, angling it away from your friend. The wings you drew earlier flared out with the help of your magic and as they fluttered, you flicked your wrist to wipe away the doodles that you added. 

Tiny pink and white hearts that matched the striped apron Cassian was wearing. 

Unlike his brothers, Azriel didn’t see the need to resort to gimmicks. 

The shadowsinger had always been meticulous about every goal he set his sights on and asking you to be his Valentine wasn’t any different. His best chance would be during your weekly meetup in the city and he was fully prepared to execute his strategic ten step system until he’d walked through the coffee shop to find you seated at your usual table. 

Then you looked up at him and smiled and he forgot all about the damned system and nearly tripped on his feet trying to get to you. Before he knew it, a half hour had passed and he still hadn’t built up the courage to ask you the pressing question, but instead rambled about the mystery novel he’d just finished reading. 

Not that you minded one bit. 

One of the things you adored most about Azriel was your shared love of reading. 

While the shadowsinger was by nature a silent male, he came alive when you talked about books. You loved listening to him talk passionately about a new novel he’d discovered, watching as those brilliant hazel eyes glowed golden, his shadows darting excitedly around his shoulders as though they too, found the change in his reserved behavior entirely enchanting. 

That was the Azriel that greeted you in the cozy alcove of your favorite coffee shop, his beautiful face animated, his hands gesticulating as he explained the plot twist of his newest read, his normally cool, dark voice filled with warmth and excitement. Your friend was a brand new male and you were grateful to be able to witness such a breathtaking sight. 

Azriel cocked his head, a smile toying at his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You shook your head, forcing yourself out of reverie. “Nothing, you’re just cute when you’re passionate.”

The shadowsinger narrowed his eyes. “Cute? I’m the High Lord’s Spymaster. I can rip a male’s spine out without blinking.” He crossed his arms, clearly affronted. “I am not cute.”

“Yes, yes, you can be quite terrifying, shadowsinger.” He pouted as you reached across the table and tapped his nose. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re absolutely adorable when you get excited like this, Az.”

The Illyrian male playfully flicked your wrist. “You’re lucky I like you, angel. No one else would dare to speak to me like this.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting. “Just drink your damned hot chocolate before I hex your nose off.”

Azriel stuck his tongue out, but did indeed take a sip of his hot drink. It was a little known fact that the shadowsinger had a vicious sweet tooth, which was yet another similarity that you bonded over. You’d won him over by inviting him to Deja Brew, a little hole in the wall coffee shop tucked into a quiet street at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf. 

The shop was quaint and homey, part coffee shop, part bookstore, complete with the most delicious hazelnut latte you’ve ever tasted and a collection of books that rivaled your own shelves. By far its best feature was its privacy. Within its walls, you never had to worry about being viewed as the shadowsinger or the emissary. You were simply two friends eating, reading, and laughing without worrying about garnering unwanted attention. No one even looked at you twice in here. 

And the silence—comfortable, glorious, silence enveloped you like a warm hug. 

You basked in it and you knew Azriel did too. As much as you loved your friends, the two of you were introverts at heart. Sometimes all you wanted to do was sit in a quiet room and read until the sun disappeared over the horizon. Thus, Deja Brew became a sacred haven for you and the shadowsinger. 

Once a week, you had a recurring date to simply sit in silence and read. Most days, you barely spoke a word to one another aside from the initial greeting. It didn’t matter who arrived first. Your designated spot underneath a hidden alcove towards the back of the shop was supplied with the usual. For you, a hazelnut latte and an almond croissant. For Azriel, a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll the size of your head. 

The elder dryad who owned Deja Brew brought another refill of your drink, her kind eyes appraising you as she set the latte down. “Thank you, Esme,” you said with a smile. 

Esme grinned back. “Anything for my two favorite customers.” She set a heart shaped danish between you and Azriel, a knowing look on her face. 

“I don’t think we ordered this,” Azriel murmured. 

“It’s on the house, dear.” Her eyes flickered over his face as a deep flush turned the tips of his ears pink. “In celebration of the day of hearts. I’m experimenting with some of my recipes. If you two don’t already have plans, you should stop by during the holiday and try some of the other pastries I have in store.”

It was your turn to blush. “That’s quite sweet of you, Esme. We’ll keep that in mind.”

As the dryad winked and disappeared beyond the alcove, silence settled between you and the shadowsinger. A different type of silence. A tense, adrenaline inducing silence that made your body crackle with electricity. Hazel eyes darted towards your direction and suddenly, your mouth felt as dry as hay. 

Azriel gave you a lopsided grin, shrugging his shoulders in such an endearing way that you were almost tempted to close the gap between you and kiss him right then and there. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you reigned those feelings in and focused on your book instead. Except you couldn’t focus on a single word. Not with the way Azriel was looking at you from across the table. 

Hiding behind the safety of your book, you allowed yourself to sneak a glance at the shadowsinger. Azriel’s cheeks were a lovely rosy color, warm from the heat of the crackling hearth, its hazy red glow kissing the elegant planes of his face. His scarred hands, as beautiful as the rest of him, toyed with the spine of his book as the bright emerald green and soft earth of his irises swirled to combine into the most stunning color. The golden flecks in his eyes gleamed brighter as his shadows swirled around his wings. 

They were moving about excitedly. One curled around his ear to whisper something. Azriel’s head snapped up, smiling as he found you openly staring at him. 

It was one of those rare Azriel smiles. A smile that had taken you months and months to coax out of him. The force of it would have knocked you off your feet if you had been standing. 

“I love it when you look at me like that,” Azriel said quietly. His voice was barely a hoarse whisper, but the words reached the depths of your soul nonetheless. 

“How do I look at you?” you asked, curious. 

The shadowsinger held your gaze. “Like you see me. All of me.” Something unreadable flickered in his expression. “And you’re not afraid of what stares back.”

You grinned, feeling your chest tighten with emotion. “I could never be afraid of you, Az. When I look at you, I think about books and cinnamon rolls and comfortable silence. I think about our secret little spot, away from the crowds, away from the noise. It makes me feel…safe.” 

So much for containing your emotions. The revelation settled between you, but you didn’t regret saying them. Azriel deserved to know. He needed to know what this friendship meant to you. 

The shadowsinger’s expression softened. He stared at you, weighing his words. “And should I expect to see you in our secret spot for the day of hearts?” 

Your heart fluttered at the question, but you quickly tampered it down. First Rhys, then Cas and now Azriel. Every rejection felt bitter in your mouth, but you had no choice. You were not going to let your selfish desire ruin the wonderful relationship you had with each male. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to miss out on Esme’s new creations,” you said with a small smile. “As I’ll be indisposed during the holiday.”

Azriel’s expression revealed nothing, just mild curiosity. He smiled back, but it wasn’t like before. It was guarded, masked. Hiding layers of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. 

“Very well, then.” Azriel stated in a cool, even voice. It might’ve made your stomach twist into knots had he not followed it up with a sly grin. “That leaves more sweets for me.”

Grateful to settle back into the comfortable silence, you spent the rest of the night reading. At least, you attempted to. You weren’t sure you retained any of the plot of the novel in your hands as you and Azriel walked through the empty streets of the quiet market square. While you usually would’ve winnowed while Azriel flew back to the House of Wind, neither of you seemed keen to end the night quite yet. 

It was only when your flat building came into view when Azriel bid you goodnight. You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thanking him for—well, everything. For being him. 

He descended down the stairs leading up to your front door, turning back at the last step. With his wings spread across his back, he looked at you over his shoulder.

“Y/N?” 

“Yes, Az?” 

Azriel pinned you with his gaze. “You make me feel safe, too.”

With that, he shot into the skies, flying across the city of starlight and taking your heart with him.

On the day of hearts, the three brothers gathered. 

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys agreed not to reveal your choice until the morning of the holiday. The Illyrian warriors gathered at Rhysand’s office in the House of Wind, surveying each other with quiet contemplation. 

This was the moment of truth. 

“So?” Cassian prompted, “Which one of you did she say yes to?”

“Not me,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes shifting to the shadowsinger. 

“It isn’t me, either.” Azriel declared. 

A brief silence settled through the office. Cassian paced, his expression twisting into confusion. “If it’s not any of us, then who is it?”

“Maybe someone from the Day Court?” Rhysand theorized, “She was helping Helion out with his nobles during her last mission.”

“It can’t be,” Azriel said. “My spies would’ve reported any activity, friendly or otherwise, with the nobility.”

“Maybe it’s someone from Velaris, then.” Cassian interjected. 

“Do you think she’s meeting up with him in the city?”

Rhysand tapped his fingers against his chin, a devious glimmer in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out, brothers.”

“What?” Cas sputtered, “You mean spy on her?”

“We can’t do that,” Azriel argued. 

“Why not? You’re the Spymaster, Az. It’s literally your job.”

The shadowsinger rolled his eyes at the High Lord. “I said we can’t, not that I can’t. You two are about as stealthy as two bulls in a china shop. I’ll scope out the situation and report back with my findings.”

Cassian snorted. “There’s no chance in hell that we’re staying back while you spy on Y/N. We want to come, too.” He cocked his head to Rhysand, who nodded in confirmation.

Azriel sighed in resignation. There was no use in arguing. His brothers would make a right mess of things if they attempted this on their own. 

That was what the shadowsinger repeated to himself as the three of them staked out your flat from the rooftop across the street. Just a glimpse, Azriel thought. A glimpse of the male so he could go home and research every single fact about the poor bastard while sharpening his beloved dagger. 

Rhysand and Cassian seemed to hold the same sentiment as they leaned over the railing, surveilling the empty street below. One misstep and his brothers would be hurtling towards the cobblestone steps. Azriel rolled his eyes. 

“Cas, if you lean any further you’ll tip over,” Azriel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Rhys, stop pacing back and forth. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Wait!” Rhysand declared rather loudly. Clearly, the High Lord was not at all used to fading into the shadows. “There he is. Walking up to her door, right now.”

The three Illyrians hunched over, watching as you opened the door. You greeted the male with a bright, cheery smile. He seemed to be carrying a present of sorts. You gladly took it and Azriel waited for you to invite the male inside, but instead you placed a gold coin into his hand and bid him goodbye. 

The shadowsinger moved, watching as you plopped down on the couch and tore open the box. He clenched his fist, only to release it a few moments later when you produced an array of food. Azriel recognized the logo of your favorite restaurant written on the takeout boxes. 

“Is she…eating?” Cassian asked in confusion. 

Rhys blinked. “This doesn’t make any sense. She said she had plans.”

You curled up on the couch, an egg roll in one hand and a romance novel in the other. 

“Maybe she’s waiting for her date?” his brother said, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe he didn’t show?” 

Azriel snorted. “If a male stood her up, do you really think Y/N wouldn’t be on her way to tear him to shreds rather than laying on the couch?”

Rhys chuckled. “Az is right.” He tapped his chin, “Besides, she never actually said she had plans with a male. We all just assumed. There must be another reason why she turned us all down.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “Well I’ve had enough of sneaking around. I say we go in there and ask her ourselves.”

“What?” Azriel asked incredulously, “You mean to march in there and demand answers from her? She’ll hex the three of us into the next century.”

Rhys grimaced. “You may be right brother, but at least we’ll know.”

“This is a terrible, horrible, idiotic idea.” Azriel grumbled his disapproval under his breath, but followed his brothers across the street.

He came to a stop behind Rhysand, who was watching Cassian knock on the door with a wary expression. A few moments later, you came to the door and gaped at the three males gathered outside of your flat. 

“For the record, I tried to stop them.” Azriel announced in greeting. 

Your gaze flickered from Cassian to Rhys to Azriel before you sighed in resignation as though you were expecting to face this exact situation. “Come in, boys.”

The three Illyrian warriors followed you into the cozy flat, settling into your couch. Rhysand crossed one ankle over his knee, Cassian sprawled his long legs in front of him, while Azriel leaned against the cushions, watching you. 

“So,” you started warily, “I assume you’re all here for a reason.”

“We…were just stopping by,“ Cassian started. “Scoping out the mysterious plans you had for the day.”

You raised a brow. “By that, you mean you were all spying on me from the roof.”

Azriel groaned. He knew his brothers would give them away.

“We weren’t spying, darling.” Rhys said, cowering a bit when you glared at him. “We were simply satiating our curiosity.”

“I’ll satiate more than that if you don’t wipe that damn smirk off your mouth, Rhys.”

Cassian snorted. You turned on him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even get me started on you, Cas.” 

“And you,” you said, settling over Azriel’s calm expression. “I expected more from you, Az.”

He sighed. “Trust me, I have no idea how I got roped into this either.” Azriel offered you an apologetic smile. “Despite our questionable methods, we really just wanted to make sure that whatever lucky male you decided to spend the holiday with was respectful.”

“Imagine our surprise when you decided to ditch us for egg rolls and an elf prince,” Rhysand teased, nodding to the romance novel on the table. 

You rolled your eyes. “At least elf princes don’t spy on me.” Pacing the living room, you pinned the High Lord with a withering glare. “Give me one good reason not to transform you into a slug.”

Cassian chuckled. “You wouldn’t dare. You like looking at our pretty faces too much.”

At that, you cracked a smile. “Idiot,” you said fondly, smacking Cassian’s knee. “You’re lucky that I have a soft spot for foolish Illyrian warriors.”

“Speaking of that,” Rhys said, segueing into the reason why they gathered here in the first place. “Why did you reject all of our offers? Though I was banking on myself as your favorite, I thought you’d at least choose Cas or Az once you turned down being my Valentine.”

You sighed. “It’s…complicated.” 

“Try us, angel.” Azriel said softly. 

“I said no because I wanted to say yes.” The three brothers exchanged a confused look, but waited for your explanation. ���I wanted to say yes to all of you. Because I like all of you, but obviously I could only pick one and…I can’t. You all mean so much to me, in different, unique ways and I couldn’t bring myself to choose.”

Rhysand stared at Cassian and Azriel, seemingly conveying a mind to mind message. Cassian grinned while Azriel nodded in confirmation. 

“Who said you had to choose?” Rhys said with a wicked smirk. 

“W—what?”

“We all like you, too.” Cassian provided, “And we all want to make you happy. Nothing should stand in the way of that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Azriel grabbed your hand and caressed your knuckles with his thumb. “What Rhys and Cas are saying is that we’re more than open to explore between the four of us.” A mischievous smirk slid across that handsome face. “Besides, we’re all quite good at sharing, aren’t we?” 

Rhys and Cassian grinned. The Illyrian general pulled your other hand while the High Lord twined his arms around your waist, enticing you in. 

“What do you say, darling?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes flashing with desire. “My brothers and I are all on board with the idea, but the choice is up to you.”

Cassian nodded, tracing soothing circles on your palm. “Think about it, sweetheart. This way, you can have your cake and eat it too.”

You shivered as his words snaked down your spine. “How would this even work?” 

Azriel chuckled, his gaze settling on Rhys. “Like this.” 

You watched in suspense as the shadowsinger leaned in and pressed a hungry kiss against Rhysand’s lips. The High Lord responded with equal fervor, twining one hand through Azriel’s hair while the other gripped your right hip. 

Not one to be left out, Cassian winked at you before palming Rhys through his expensive trousers. He twisted and kissed Cassian’s neck, eliciting a low growl from the Illyrian general. 

Azriel chuckled as you bit your lip. “What do you say, angel?” 

Rhys pulled you between his legs. “Make us the happiest males and be our Valentine, darling.”

Cassian brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Put us out of our misery, sweetheart.” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’d like to be your Valentine.” 

The three males smiled at you, but it was Azriel who tugged you into his lap and tilted your head back to give you a proper view of Cassian and Rhys as they continued kissing.

"I think you'll find that all three of us are more than generous Valentines."

A shiver went down your spine and you laid back as Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys pounced.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[theseerasures]

Re: that anon who asked about the shuffle step of the themes of sacrifice

I also found the ideological shift in the volume very interesting, and I think she most interesting bits are with Team RRAYNBOW. Like I think the dynamic between Yang and Ruby and their respective missions this volume is very interesting (if maybe a bit underdeveloped, atm at least). You said a little about it with Team JOYR in Chapter 7. Do you have anymore thoughts about the "shuffle step" in regards to that?

i’m gonna admit upfront that i find this question kind of perplexing, because i don’t know what “ideological shift” it could be alluding to when imo our heroes didn’t so much pivot (or shift, or shuffle step) ideologically so much as make a series of context-specific decisions according to what they felt in the moment they could live with, or would die for (don’t make me tap the sign, etc).

what i DO think might be helpful, though, is to lay out what was at stake in each of the weighty choices/discussions our heroes took part in, from the very beginning of the Long Night to the end of volume 8, to see what (if any) throughlines persist or change. so:

Cordially Invited (7.8) to Out in the Open (7.10): our heroes are all in accord. transparency (telling the truth to Robyn) and collaboration (working with/helping Mantle) are paramount, and Ruby specifically takes steps to remedy her own wavering in that earlier in the season, by letting Oscar tell the whole truth to Ironwood. what’s key about this run, though, is that our heroes aren’t calling the shots yet. they advocate for certain actions when advising Ironwood, but they still trust him to take charge of deciding Atlas/Mantle’s fate.

Gravity (7.11): the Big Shift in terms of status quo. our heroes (JNR more implicitly) remain in accord--abandoning Mantle is the line in the sand they refuse to cross. but what does RWBY advocate for, if not Ironwood’s plan? they all agree that the best thing to do is to stand their ground, but for what? Blake and Weiss are comparatively silent on that front, but Ruby and Yang are more explicit. Ruby makes her plea about Amity--that if they hold out long enough, they can do what they always planned, and unite the world, and get help. Yang’s argument is that Huntsmen and Huntresses don’t back down from a fight. (she’s also the first person to suss out that Amity isn’t ready for launch.) this difference is going to come up later.

The Enemy of Trust (7.13): Oscar makes his last individual plea to Ironwood. his reasoning, much like Blake’s (and presumably Weiss’), is simply that abandoning Mantle is a sacrifice of such magnitude that it becomes unconscionable. it’s wrong because it’s wrong, and Ironwood’s rebuttal that it’s pointless to argue about philosophy when Salem’s right on their doorstep, is dickish, but not incomprehensible. Oscar is still looking to retain the advisory capacity that Team Unwieldy Acronym has had for the entire season, and guide Ironwood to making the right call, but that bridge has already been burned. they have to decide the fate of Atlas/Mantle now if they want to save both.

Divide (8.1): The team is no longer in accord. Ruby and Yang recognize that though they agree about Ironwood, their reasons for not abandoning Mantle are different. Ruby’s looking at the big picture, both in terms of what they have to do for the world, and what the world can do for them. Amity looks to be the only obstacle to getting both and saving everyone. Yang thinks it’s pointless. Yang didn’t want to abandon Mantle because that’s just not what you do, but she has no expectation of fighting toward any good outcome. she’s gonna do what seems more readily achievable, which is saving whatever lives can be saved. Ren and Nora split along similar lines more acrimoniously, because Ren at this point is desperate for tangible success and Nora is...just as desperate for total consuming optimism. Blake throws her lot in with Ruby, Weiss abstains, remaining the most quiet on the fate of Atlas/Mantle despite being Atlesian. Jaune and Oscar, though they go with Yang, mostly go for pragmatic reasons.

Refuge (8.2) to Midnight (8.6), Yang’s Team: the plan to help with Mantle is almost immediately derailed when the Hound kidnaps Oscar. i’ve talked about JYR’s plea to Winter in War, but that of course is not the first time that team chooses the few over the many; they do that IMMEDIATELY after Oscar is kidnapped, when Fiona calls for their help and they--without even verbally consulting with each other--go for Oscar instead. in that moment the more proximal thing they can and need to achieve becomes rescuing their friend, whose captor was still in view. but crucially: as soon as they lose Oscar in Fault, and especially after they discover the Grimm River in Amity, JYR had been on their way back to Mantle, and presumably, back to the less impossible thing to do, the thing they promised the Happy Huntresses they’d help with. running into the AceOps and Salem’s invasion throws a monkey wrench into that plan. suddenly rescuing Oscar becomes possible (though not probable)...

War (8.7), Yang’s Team: but not if Ironwood blows up the Whale, whereupon the equation changes again because now doing nothing for Oscar means leaving Oscar to certain death. tbh the confrontation on the airship is about like fifteen different things at once, because the variables keep changing and everyone is having their own argument over whether to rescue Oscar, and why. Yang’s response once she hears about the bomb is mostly you can’t; it is once again just not what Huntresses do, with some personal stakes thrown in. for the AceOps it is about the weighing of lives, and how they can’t put the mission to save Atlas on hold for one life. Jaune is the one who thinks of an idea where they might be able to do one without delaying the other (the second time this season Jaune has suggested the “go for both” option), where they would be the only ones risking their lives, and no harm comes to the greater good. only then does Ren jump in and shift the argument to caring and friendship; that is to say, after the stakes have been lowered so it’s not Oscar vs. Atlas anymore. i don’t think it takes away from his big moment, though: we know from Fault that Ren has taken Yang’s challenge of “let’s do what we can do” and run with it, and come up with “and what we can do is nothing because we’re not ready and we get everything wrong,” so him vowing to do whatever we can here is important. the point is clear: Team Hero draws their strength from their friends, and they’re willing to die for each other...but the question of if they’d let the world burn for their friend is put off for now.

Strings (8.3) to War (8.7), Ruby’s Team: in contrast to Yang’s plan faceplanting at the first hurdle, Ruby’s plan...works. they accomplish their primary objective! but they had to pay a steep price, and the only immediate consequence of that victory was entirely negative. Nora threw so much of herself into Ruby’s optimistic gamble that she now has lasting scars, and if they had never gone to Atlas Command Penny would not have been hacked (so easily; she might have been regardless). Ruby successfully put the ball in the world’s court, but that the problem: the ball is in the world’s court, and the longer it stays there the less sure she is that help will come. and it IS just about the help they’ll receive by War; Salem batting away Atlas’ hard light shields has shifted the goalposts from “hope the other Kingdoms can prepare :/” to “BLAKE’S PARENTS CAN YOU PICK US UP???” the question of Atlas or Mantle rears its ugly head for the first time since Gravity, and this is the first time Weiss is the first one to advocate, and she says we can’t leave--which, not coincidentally, is also what RWBY said to Ironwood in Gravity. May’s argument, of course, is driven by far more compassion: the need in Mantle is greater, and having finished facilitating Ruby’s (and Robyn’s) plan she’s going to do what Yang decided to do, what Joanna wanted them to do, which is fight for every last life. there’s no longer any big wheels to turn, nor any big powers to convince; all they have to do is decide what they themselves will do, and who to fight for. and Weiss finally shows her hand here. she believes in not leaving Mantle behind, but when it comes to the faces she’d fight and die for, Weiss’ are still in Atlas. Blake and Ruby are the ones to abstain this time, and notably when Ruby tries to argue that they’re all in this together it’s much less effective, because...there’s nothing left for them to do together. Ruby is out of concrete solutions.

Witch (8.9): what goes easily missed here that in retrospect is very important is...Oscar kills Hazel. (which means that an Ozcarnation killed BOTH of the Rainart twins.) we all thought he doubled back to make a sacrifice play, and he did, but not for himself. he received Hazel’s verbal consent, and Hazel would have died regardless, but the point still stands. he had to kill Hazel to neutralize Salem, to buy them the time they desperately needed. an unsettling portent for what comes later, innit? it highlights what his own kidnapping, Nora’s injuries, and Penny’s hacking already illustrates, which is that they are now risking every inch of their body and souls in this fray, and it also illuminates the other part of that, which is that by continuing to throw themselves back into this conflict, they now control the fates of other people as well. Hazel trusted Oscar to make the right call, but Oscar had to make the call.

Risk (8.11): where we ultimately land with the splitting of teams is that: Yang’s team went out to achieve the easily graspable, and they ended up forging alliances they never anticipated and dealing a devastating blow to Salem. Ruby’s team went out to achieve what should have been much more difficult, and they did, but with little palpable impact beyond the negative. what comes out and blends exquisitely with their conversation about Summer is that yes, Ruby sent out the call to warn the world, because she believed in humanity and unity, but Ruby sent out the call because she wanted help. she wanted people--say, parental figures--to save her and tell her things would be okay, and she wanted back the innocence to believe them. Ruby didn’t ask to be the face of the war against Salem, and she most certainly does not want to be in charge of it; she has lived with the material consequences of her family being the centerpiece of that war for her entire life. the Hound reveal is the final twist in the knife of Ruby’s childhood, because now the figure on the highest pedestal in Ruby’s mind has been perverted to a malevolent specter, and if that’s the case there are no more adults. THEY have to be the adults now, and look what a terrible job she’s done with that. Yang’s response is that Ruby is not alone--either in her traumatic fall into adulthood, or in her choices not panning out as expected. all they can do is the best they can in the moment, and Yang’s probably going to keep defaulting to what feels more tangible to her, but that doesn’t mean she wants Ruby to stop going for pie-in-the-sky options, either. Summer is still Yang’s hero, which means Ruby is too. what matters most is that they remain responsive to the moment, and don’t get bowled over by despair when something inevitably go off the rails.

so given all these developments, what are we to make of the plan from Creation (8.12) to The Final Word (8.14)? we start with the archetypal Third Option, as championed by Ruby and Jaune: use the Staff to save Penny and Mantle, and Atlas along the way. but the priorities of the plan--civilians first, presumably even before the Relics or the Maiden powers (though the question of one of them or a Relic is really only answered by Winter, who does not speak for Team Hero)--have Yang all over them. we have to do this for Yang isn’t just because Yang’s gone, it’s because they know it’s what Yang would have wanted, and they will respect that. they made a Ruby n Jaune style Big Plan, but when that plan fell to pieces there was no time to think of a fourth, or fifth, or sixth option that would get everyone out, so they had to improvise and double down on what they all agreed was most important. the choice between their friends or the people could no longer be deferred, or augmented, so they chose. civilians, then the Relics and the Maiden powers, then each other. and when any of them wavered--Blake, Ruby, Jaune--someone else checked them, reminded them to trust and respect what they all committed to. they’re still drawing strength from each other, still dying for each other, but they acknowledge that they are not directing just their fates with their decisions anymore. they took a huge desperate gamble to save Atlas/Mantle, and it worked, but what they gambled with was their own lives. and they made themselves make peace with that--that they’d have to do what they can, everything they can, without hoping for salvation for themselves, even from friends or family.

in the end, what comes across just from doing a close reading of these moments is that RWBY’s views on sacrifice, logic vs. sentiment, the greater vs. the few, etc can’t really be plotted on a solid line. that’s why i can’t really think of what happened this volume as a palpable shift--because so many of these choices were context and character dependent. what i DO think happened with our heroes’ ethical beliefs (or “ideology” ig) is that they were tested across a sequence of stressful and traumatic situations, and as a result they had to compromise on a few things they hoped to never have to compromise in order to shore up defenses on what they were certain they could not live without, or would die for (or both! in the case of six of them). if they have to die like every other Huntsman in history so be it, but they refuse to be so cavalier with the lives of others. none of that is meant to be definitive, however: in-universe RWBY is far from over, and Team Hero is going to get to re-litigate and reexamine these questions from lots more angles, out-of-universe...RWBY is far from over, and the point of the show is not to provide an ethical rubric against which the audience can judge themselves and the characters. there are things--like y’know. genocide--that this show will always consider to be beyond the pale, but in terms of grayer complex questions it is content to simply feel out what is and is not allowable in each particular instance, without trying to resolve all options into One Correct Option.

because sometimes you do just have to sit with the discomfort of there not being one right choice or one golden rule, and sometimes you are awash in the consequences of not only your own actions but the actions of others. and then you have to keep going.

[symptoms-syndrome]

Alters and Race in White-Bodied Systems

I said I was going to write something up, so I’m going to try. I will try to make this as easily understandable as possible, so please let me know if parts are unclear. This will be a little long because it’s a complex topic, but I hope you try to read it if you can. I’ve broken things up into chunks and made the text large for each header so that it is more ADHD-friendly, and tried to use layman’s terms whenever possible.

Things I’m going to be talking about in this post will be:

What is race?

What are the types of racial oppression?

How do people in DID communities/spaces perpetuate racism?

How can I check myself and avoid perpetuating racism?

Final notes

When I can, I will link to sources. For transparency, I am a nonblack/indigenous, Korean-American mixed race person with diagnosed DID. When I use the term “DID” in this post I am referring to both DID and OSDD.

#1: What is Race?

Race is a social construct, created by white people. It is not based in any science, as science has disproven there are significant genetic markers that differ between different races. “Whiteness,“ especially, has been an idea that has changed wildly over time. (A good book to read about this is called How The Irish Became White.)

Socially, people are divided along lines of race, which are blurry at best. Things like “the one drop rule“ make it so that no person of color (POC, a noun not an adjective) can fully claim whiteness. Whiteness is primarily defined by “not being a POC.”

‘Whiteness,’  like ‘colour' and ‘Blackness,' are essentially social constructs  applied to human beings rather than veritable truths that have universal  validity. The power of Whiteness, however, is manifested by the ways in  which racialized Whiteness becomes transformed into social, political,  economic, and cultural behaviour. White culture, norms, and values in  all these areas become normative natural. They become the standard  against which all other cultures, groups, and individuals are measured  and usually found to be inferior (Henry & Tator, 2006, p. 46-47).

(In layman’s terms: Whiteness is created by society, and is now defined as “normal” and “default,” while actively oppressing people of color. People of color, by not being white, are seen as inferior. It’s a catch 22 of not being enough, and when you ARE enough, you’re not considered a person of color anymore, which is exactly what happened to the Irish.)

#2: What is Racial Oppression?

“Oppression” is a word a lot of folks throw around these days, and is commonly defined by what are called the “four Is of oppression.” These four Is are:

Internalized: This is oppression instilled in POC. Thoughts like “if I am more like my white peers, I will be more respected,” “I’m not like those people of color,” and pitting different POC against each other are all examples of internalized racism.

Interpersonal: This is oppression that is between individuals, and the most recognized form of racism. Interpersonal racism can look like calling people slurs, expecting POC to conform to stereotypes, etc.

Institutional: This is oppression built into the society and systems we live in. It can look like schools with higher percentages of POC getting less funding, differing descriptions for the same behavior (hyperactive white children being described as “outgoing” while a child of color is described as “disruptive”,) income inequality, and police brutality.

Ideological: Probably the hardest for people to recognize, ideological racism exists within our very thought processes. White people are told, directly and indirectly, that they are harder working, more deserving, more capable, more advanced, and so on. The inverse is applied to POC. A good example of this is the idea of “welfare queens,” or the idea that someone only got to where they are “by playing the race card.”

All of these interact with each other. Ideological racism is the basis of institutional racism, institutional racism is enforced by interpersonal racism, and progress towards liberation is inhibited by internalized racism, which is instilled in us by all of the above. Oftentimes, these are perpetuated in ways white folks don’t even notice or intend. Offhand comments and other microaggressions (more about those here, in a 2 minute video) can reinforce racism in ways that seem small or insignificant.

Now, onto the part folks are most likely here for:

#3: How Does This Relate to DID?

In DID, alters form for all sorts of reasons, and can look like anything. From demons to angels, fictional characters to animals or objects, the ways parts form can tell someone a lot about that parts beliefs, particularly when they differ from the body. In The Haunted Self, an example is given of a part that believes they are Superman because they cannot be hurt.

When race is involved with this, ideological biases come into play. Though you may not consciously make the decision to have an alter appear a certain way, ultimately, an alter is created by your brain and your brain alone (apart from, of course, the society that your brain/body exist in.) When you are a white person, and your brain creates an alter that appears to be of color, there is a reason. Even “positive” reasons can carry racism, such as splitting an Asian-appearing alter to help with schoolwork. Oftentimes, even without knowing, that reason is due to biases regarding race.

When an alter is created, it does not magically gain the experiences of someone who would actually live in that body. An alter that appears to be a POC has no idea what it’s actually like to be a POC, has no experience with racism, and does not experience any racism. Any racial experiences they may seem to carry with them are a white person’s perception of them, it’s a lot like claiming you know a show because you watched it through a neighbor’s window.

#4: How Can I Check Myself?

So, how do you never do anything racist ever again?

I’m sorry to say, but it just isn’t possible to be 100% non-racist. Even POC cannot be 100% non-racist or anti-racist, because we unfortunately live in a society that is constantly upholding white supremacy and white supremacist beliefs.

However, the next best step is being an anti-racist! Checking yourself for biases you’re upholding or racism you’re perpetuating is an important first step. This is an often uncomfortable and confronting process, and one that never has an end, but an important one. There are a LOT of ways you can do this, but I’ll just list a few that are relevant to DID.

Familiarize yourself with common stereotypes.

The easiest way to find where your internalized biases are with alters that appear to be a different race is familiarizing yourself with common stereotypes and ideas that our society has about POC. These are often tied to things like violence, hypersexualization, drug use, and other negative attributes, but can also be things that on the surface appear to be positive, such as being studious, people-pleasing, or frugal. Regardless of whether the stereotype seems positive or negative, either way it’s still perpetuating racism.

Ask yourself: Is my POC-appearing alter more sexual than others? Are they aggressive? Is my POC-appearing alter a monster (such as a demon or a zombie,) or otherwise less human, like an animal?

Keep an eye on your language

Obviously, if you follow my blog, I don’t support talking negatively about my parts. But in addition to this, when race is involved, it’s even more important. Words like “feral,” “aggressive,“ “sassy,” “soft,” and others can have a more racist impact when used on POC than when used on white folks. Additionally, your POC-appearing alter is not an actual person of color, so avoiding language like “my Asian alter”  and replacing it with (when race is relevant,) “my alter that appears Asian” can be also a helpful change. Lastly, and I would hope this goes without saying, but language like AAVE, slurs, and “broken” English are not yours to use if you have a white body. If you wouldn’t let a white person say it, you should not let an alter in a white body say it.

Ask yourself: Would I use this word if this alter appeared white? If I saw another white person talking like this, would I be okay with that?

Avoid cultural appropriation, be aware of culture

A lot of this may seem obvious, such as not wearing native regalia if you are not native, but other aspects of cultural appropriation may not be as obvious. Asian names, for example, are both incredibly personal, important, and significant in Asian culture, and stigmatized against in white society. I don’t know of any Asian folks who do not have a white name they used in school because teachers literally refuse to try and learn our real names. The issue of cultural appropriation is, at its core, that white people are treated differently for doing the same things that POC do, even when it’s originally something that POC created.

Ask yourself: Would someone of x race be treated differently from me doing this? Is this something that POC have been told they cannot do, even though I can?

#5: Final Notes

As I say whenever I do equity workshops, learning does not end here. I encourage you, if possible, to do more research on your own about racial equity! Clicking the links I’ve included throughout my writing would be a good start, and those links may lead you to others. Getting involved with local activism groups, meeting diverse groups of people with varying ideas, and reading would also be excellent ways to further your learning at your own pace.

Reading this may have made you uncomfortable. You might’ve read something and cringed, thinking to yourself “oh no, I do/did that!” in which case, forgive yourself. Learning is always a process, and no one is ever perfect. As long as you keep in mind what you’ve learned going forward, you are not a bad person for having done something racist in the past. We live in a society that at best doesn’t punish, and at worst rewards upholding the racist beliefs we all live with. Discomfort is a part of learning, and if you were uncomfortable and kept reading, I commend you. That’s hard.

This is all written by one person, with one experience and one life story. You may at some point in time talk to someone with an entirely different experience who may say totally different things than me. Use your best judgement.

If you read all the way through and found something useful, and you can spare any change, my cashapp is $beepollen98. Money would be used to prepare for my upcoming gender surgery! Obviously no pressure, I hope you learned something and feel a little more educated, and maybe even enjoyed reading!

As always, my DMs and asks are open if you found anything confusing, and/or have suggestions/questions.

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 18

Without a moment’s hesitation, Futakuchi bombarded his shoulder into the door frenziedly – his face the epitome of panic. Relentlessly. Not ever stopping to take a breath, nor recognising the fact that he was probably injuring his shoulder beyond relief. Furrowing his brow, he wiped at the sweat accumulating on his forehead from the sudden rush of adrenaline, and the fact that he would simply not give up. “Hey! Takanobu! Please, just listen to me. Stop whatever you’re doing… Right now.” Kenji commanded, heaving unsteadily, wincing at the discomfort from his shoulder. “Please… You’re my best friend.”

Right then, I witnessed something I never believed I could set my eyes upon, the stoic yet master cajoler, Futakuchi Kenji shedding a tear. His desperation to see his truest friend unharmed taking precedent over everything else.

Gathering his remaining strength, he gulped down his nervousness, his Adam’s apple bobbing in inhibition. With the force of a wrecking ball, he collided into the door, shouting out in agony he clutched his marred shoulder, his face writhing in anguish – but alas, the door had finally been opened.

Behind it was a greatly dishevelled Takanobu, in a crumpled heap on the floor, various objects from the medicine cabinet strewn about it. However, what concerned me immediately was the unscrewed bottle of bleach, clumsily set next to the trembling wreck. Darting right to Takanobu’s side – I cupped his lolling head with my unsteady hand, firmly grasping his shuddering palm with the other. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Trying to muster the calmest, unwavering voice I could, I tried to reach out to him, but all to no avail – no matter how hard I tried, there was no response. Almost as if he was drifting away to another plane of being. He didn’t even shed a single tear.

Right at that moment, the mood snapped, as did Futakuchi. Not caring that the bleach bottle was entirely unscrewed, he yanked it from the floor, his eyes seething with an emotion that I couldn’t quite place into one category. But there was one thing I could see: desperation. “Takanobu,” he spat between gritted teeth, “How much did you drink?” No response. “HOW MUCH DID YOU FUCKING DRINK, TAKANOBU? YOU NEED TO TELL ME!” Takanobu flinched, burying his head into the crook of my neck.

“Futakuchi.” I said, my tone laced with warning. “Calm down.”

“NO, (Y/N). I CAN’T CALM DOWN. IF YOU HAVENT NOTICED, MY BEST FRIEND IS DYING AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING LIKE THE SELFISH BITCH YOU ARE! SO JUST SHUT UP AND HELP ME.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to ascend to his level of anger, “Kenji, I-“

“Do you even care about him?” he spat, venom adorning every inch of his words.

“Of course, I do.” I glared back at him, “But, Kenji – now really isn’t the time for this.” I sighed heavily at the floor, “You should know what your priorities should be in this moment in time.”

Faintly, Takanobu whimpered into my collarbone, Futakuchi taking an instant notice to it. “You’re right.” He deadpanned, his voice still swarming with fury.

Taking my free hand, I gently cupped Takanobu’s face, lifting it so we were eye to eye. “Hey…” I nearly whispered, “How much did you drink?”

Burying his head in his shoulders, Takanobu stifled a cascade of tears. “Only a little.” He answered, his voice gruff and hoarse from the pure agony he was experiencing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I smiled, trying to distract the snivelling wreck from his sombre thoughts. “Just don’t try to vomit, okay? Or if you feel like you need to, tell me. It’ll only hurt you more and we don’t want that at all.”

“What’re you talking about? Leant against the bathroom wall, arms folded, Kenji scowled once again, “You’re hurting him more by not making him throw up.” He glowered, returning to his cynical mood.

I turned towards him, careful to not let my anger get the better of me, “Futakuchi Kenji,” I scorned. “Trust what I say, I do know what I’m talking about, after all.” Pausing to take a breath, I attempted to cool myself down against the riling heat of the cantankerous Kenji. “Please could you go and call the ambulance? We are going to need it either way.”

With a little more volume lacing his steps than usual, Futakuchi sauntered out of the room, leaving just Takanobu and myself. Once his footsteps were no longer audible, a tonne of tension rose out from Takanobu’s body, letting him finally have a moment of ‘peace’ for the first time in a while. Despondency woven into his demeanour, he clung onto my arm, sinking his face into it – desperately trying to hide his wounded expression. “Don’t listen to anything he said, okay?” I averred, partially cradling the dejected person in my arms, “I don’t know why he acted that way, but just know that that isn’t Kenji, that isn’t your best friend.”

Feebly, Takanobu nodded into my arm, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.” He croaked, “So, so sorry.”

Reassuring him, I softened my voice, “Don’t apologise, Takanobu. You did nothing worth an apology, so don’t worry about me leaving. I’ll always be there, do you understand?”

“I do, (Y/N). Thank you so much…” He paused, “For everything…” His last words barely perceptible, he began to drift off, and to which plane I didn’t know, and that petrified me.

A few seconds I waited with bated breath, anticipating his. Soon they came, albeit pained and wheezing – but at least they were still there, even if only by a fraying thread. Repeatedly, I caressed my hand up and down Takanobu’s back, as if to reassure myself that he was still existent – he hadn’t disappeared yet.

The faded sound of the phone ringing partially distracted me from my preoccupations, if only by a miniscule amount. As it continued to ring, Kenji began to curse in both anticipation and fear, his guise wearing thin, from vague translucency to complete transparency.

Quite the substantial amount of time passed before the phone was connected to an emergency service worker, which Futakuchi seemed to take notice of – he certainly wasn’t any world close to cloud nine. “I need an ambulance to my current location,” He paused for a second, presumably listening to the person on the other side of the line, “Of course it’s urgent, that’s why I fucking called you.” A second-long plateau, “No, I can’t calm down, just send the damn ambulance. My best friend just drank bleach, okay?!” With a bucketload of vigour, he slammed the phone down onto its holder, virulently cursing under his breath. Damning the poor operator who was only doing their job.

Letting out a fevered scream, he writhed in the turmoil of both his internal and external quandaries, not bothered if anyone within a galaxy’s radius could hear him. He had not a single clue how to present himself or even what to think – his worst nightmares made starkly apparent to myself and everyone around.

Seemingly after having calmed himself down, he trudged up the staircase, but not into the bathroom – his action acting as some sort of repentance, and for the first time in his life – reticence. The mercuriality of Kenji knew no bounds. His head in his knees, his body flush against the wall, he sank to the floor, mirroring Takanobu. A metre away, but somehow a lightyear.

The air stagnant, not a single muscle twitched until the ambulance’s siren came into earshot, they blared, startling Takanobu from his dreary state of something close to slumber.

Was, he thinking straight? I don’t know. Was he having a newfound revelation? I don’t know that, either,  but what he said after he awakened made every one of my heartstrings snap like those of a tragic harp.

“(Y/N)… I don’t want to go.” His voice as shaken as a petrified child. “I’m scared.”

“I know…” I averred, careful to choose my words wisely, “But, Takanobu – you’re not going anywhere where I’m not right there by your side. Just hang on a little longer…”

With great care, I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pulling him in closer than humanly possible until his head was close to merging with my shoulder. Running my fingers through the snowy peaks of his hair, I had to refrain from my next action. So badly, I longed to kiss him upon the forehead, to let him know that everything would turn out just fine. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the time nor place, it seemed that never would have been the perfect time, having to curtail my feelings for his sake, for Takanobu’s sake. After all, I couldn’t risk hurting him even more.

While I sat, marinating my thoughts, the ambulance’s blaring sirens halted, finally parked outside the house, paramedics cascading through the door, unto the stairs – their stretcher hurtling up behind them.

It was all a blur. Takanobu being hurled onto the stretcher, away from my grasp – his eyes never leaving mine, a heart wrenching look of longing upon them – and that was when I finally saw how broken he truly was. Sclerae crimson from tears and turmoil, yet somehow dull and dejected, as if nearly all life had been sucked out of them, only the tiniest wisps remaining. Sockets sunken into the skull, skin being the only thing that separated him and a skeleton. And even though he stood above 190 centimetres tall, he cowered like a mouse, burying away from its predator, absolutely petrified of being eaten. No longer the stoic mountain I met on a bus a mere 20 days ago – such a short amount of time for him to become completely intertwined into my life – and I into his. Almost “a pair of star-cross’d lovers”, but I the Petrarchan, the love unrequited, never to see the light and freedom of the daytime.

Before I knew it, the stretcher aboard the ambulance, Takanobu finally on the way to achieve some sort of salvation, but not that of his sombre standard. But with it all being outside of my hands, the world felt to be crumbling to pieces, dust to crumbs, to stones, to boulders, to asteroids.

A paramedic turned to address both Kenji and I, “I’m sorry, you two but there’s only room for one of you to accompany the patient to the hospital. So, make a decision between yourselves about who’s going to go.”

Without a second thought, Futakuchi piped up, “You should go, (Y/N).” he muttered, his tone utterly monotonous.

After taking a step towards the ambulance, I halted, “You’re sure about that, Kenji?” I questioned.

Silently, he nodded, taking the spirit of his best friend upon himself, gesturing for me to get on the vehicle. Once sat, I writhed my hands together, inhibitions taking the best of me – which was when one kind paramedic, her face calm and understanding, rubbed my back, reassuring me that things could only get better from that point forward. She then poked her head out of the back side of the ambulance, somehow noticing Futakuchi’s sullen mood without even seeing his face. “Hey, kid! Come in here, you can take my seat: I don’t mind standing up for a bit!” She smiled, bringing a miniscule amount of light unto the situation.

Silently obliging, Kenji hopped upon the vehicle, taking the seat opposite me, but his face in his hands, distancing himself from everyone in the vicinity. For what reason I didn’t know, but I presumed penitence for his actions barely ten minutes before.

The benevolent paramedic held out her palm out towards me, “Hinode Megumi.” She introduced, a small beam upon her face.

Giving my palm to her, I responded, “(L/N) (Y/N).” That handshake we shared was strangely yet vaguely comforting.

She did the same for Kenji, yet he didn’t bother to lift a finger, or even his line of sight. “Futakuchi Kenji.” He sighed, making only eye contact with the floor. Seemingly having entered some kind of trance-like stupor.

“Is there anyone you need to call?” Hinode asked, eyes fastened with concern.

I nodded, immediately fumbling inside my pocket for my phone – dialling Ejiri’s number with shaky hesitation, only apprehending as something inside me told me she’d become enraged with me, having been unable to keep her nephew safe. However, not in a single circumstance would that be the reality, Ejiri seemed to be the forgiving type, hardly the choleric person.

When her voice met my ears, the instant worry in her words became apparent, “(Y/N), is everything alright, has anything happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry Ejiri, but it’s not me.”

“Okay…” She sighed; inhibition twined into her dialogue, “Can you tell me what happened, dear?”

Gulping, I sat with bated breath, unable to let those next words escape my lips, “Well… Takanobu tried to kill himself. He drank bleach…”

“I see,” Her voice cracked, petrified. “I trust that you’ve called an ambulance?”

“Mhm.” I hummed, voice beginning to waver, “We’re in one now, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

“Thank you, Ejiri” I barely whispered. Unable to say goodbye, I hung up the phone.

At the mention of her name, Takanobu seemed to stir, only slightly, just enough for me to see. He never opened his eyes, though – as if he was unable to face the world that he felt a burden to. And so, after what felt like a millennia, we finally arrived after the hospital, rather shaken up by the rickety ride. And just as she had promised, Ejiri stood at the ambulance bay, arms outstretched and running as soon as the door to the ambulance opened, but not for her nephew, no, but for me – scooping me up in a long-awaited embrace that I could have taken residence in.

Before I could take a second breath, the stretcher Takanobu lay upon was rushed into the hospital’s interior, far away from me in more than the literal sense. Sensing that unease, Ejiri hugged me tighter, citing the words, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Without a word, Kenji loitered behind us, eyes sunken with dismay, following closely behind me as Ejiri and I waited outside the room where Takanobu was having his   stomach pumped.

The noises exuding from that room were close to unbearable, squirming, sobbing, retching. I had half the mind to become the next Vincent Van Gogh. But I couldn’t show that, it wasn’t my time to be vulnerable, all I could do was wait, wait unable to blockade the tirade or abhorrent sounds oozing from the walls behind me; and to not let a crack appear in my exterior, Takanobu’s infamous stoicism having transferred unto me. I didn’t even notice Ejiri sat at my side, averring many statements, trying to release me from my tenterhooks, but they were just background radiation compared to the nuclear meltdown in the room in my posterior direction.

As that debacle carried on, Kenji was nowhere to be found, perhaps having walked away when I wasn’t paying attention, whether her was simply around the corner or loitering in another end of the hospital, I didn’t know – but what I did know was that I could probably never see him under the same rose-tinted light I was used to. The way he turned almost feral at the snap of a finger was utterly astounding; obscenities blurting out from his mouth, words so contrary to his usual snarky persona I could have sworn he had been possessed by a malevolent spirit. I wondered if I’d ever be able to see the real him again.

I do not know how much time passed before the doctors finally exited Takanobu’s hospital room, but after waiting what felt like several eternities and after being given the all-clear to be able to see him; I rushed straight towards his bedside, almost crumbling at the sight of his body trembling in fear.

My legs buckling under me, I collapsed into the chair next to where Takanobu’s head lay, facing away from me, completely passed out from exhaustion – not even stirring the tiniest bit as I smoothly brought his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers, unconsciously gripping so hard, unable to let him out of my grasp once more. Pressing the back of his hand onto my lips, tears began to prick at my eyes, but couldn’t fall. No matter how much they welled up in my eyes, as though I had lost the ability to cry, or I simply wouldn’t let myself.

Out of reflex, my voice close to breaking, I acquiesced my feelings to Takanobu’s sleeping body. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel like I need to apologise to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, Takanobu. I should have made you stay by my side… And then, none of this would have ever happened, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now – you exhausted from coming from the brink of death, and me a mess over a person I met not even a month ago. None of this feels real. To think that you could have changed my life completely in such a short amount of time. Normally, I would have thought that… Falling in love with someone so quickly was strange and shallow, but it’s the deepest feeling I’ve ever felt for anyone: my parents, my friends or even celebrities on the television.

Originally, I was bitter about the move from Hokkaido, but now, I don’t think I could ever move back. My life is here, with my family, and most importantly… You.

And I’m sorry that I’m not saying this to your face, or your conscious face at least, but I don’t want to heave all of my feelings onto you. You deserve some time to yourself, to better yourself, not worrying about me… Of course not.

There is one thing I want to say to you however, because I know I probably won’t ever have the courage to say this to you directly. Aone Takanobu, I-“

Abruptly, I was cut short at the most agonising time by the brooding figure of Futakuchi bounding through the doorway, his jacket slung over his forearm, hair unkempt and his eyes uncharacteristically red and puffy. Seemingly out of his previous disposition, he shot me an apologetic look from his strained eyes, his expression truly repentant.

Sitting down on a stool at the foot of the bed, he slouched over the sides of it, once again avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry about earlier, (Y/N), I really am. I don’t know what came over me.”

Giving him only a mirthless laugh in return, I looked down at mine and Takanobu’s entwined hands, feeling only a tiny flash of warmth radiating from his.

Kenji paused, quietly scoffing to himself at my reaction. “I’ll rephrase that, I lost control of myself, I let my fear turn into anger and I let it out on you and Takanobu, my biggest mistake yet. He definitely hates me now. My best friend, who I’ve known since I was a child – I might have lost in an instant.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I interrupted him, “You know he won’t hate you. If you’ve been friends for as long as you say you both have, he’ll knows that wasn’t the real you.”

“I guess so.” He sighed, “I want to apologise to you too, (Y/N). What I said to you was unacceptable, and once again, I’d lost control of myself and let the heat of the moment take the driving wheel – which isn’t an excuse at all. What I said was so fucking disgusting, and I promise it’s not a representation of the real me.”

“I know that you idiot.” I cajoled, trying to lift the mood away from the stagnant food looming in the room. “You don’t think I already know the real you? You’re not that hard to miss, Kenji. You don’t think I’ve seen your scheming smirk enough times for it to be burned into my retinas? You don’t think I’ve seen how happy you make Takanobu? You are his best friend Futakuchi Kenji, and I don’t think that will ever change.” And with that, I finally managed to crack a smile out of the previously vacillating man.

“Thanks, (Y/N). I needed that.” He chuckled, straightening his posture.

Neither of us spoke for a while, the silence harsh but oddly comforting. While I leant back in the hospital chair, having let go of Takanobu’s hand, resting my eyes while ruminating my thoughts. Sure – I’d forgiven Kenji, but I still hadn’t forgiven myself.

Futakuchi sat on his phone, presumably texting his parents about his location, typing away in silence, while I drifted off into the realm of slumber. And just as I was about to pass the brink of falling asleep, Kenji spoke up. “Why didn’t he come downstairs rather than going to the bathroom?” He asked. He blamed himself too.

“He probably didn’t want to bother us.” I answered groggily, rather annoyed about being disturbed.

“He wouldn’t have bothered us though! God, why didn’t he just think it through?” He questioned, his voice rising in volume.

“Quiet, Kenji – let Takanobu rest. And besides, he was going through a lot, with losing Shiro. The straw that broke the camel’s back, in my opinion. Unable to get that thought out of his mind, he couldn’t think of another way to escape it. We probably weren’t a part of that thought process.” I said, my tone closer to a whisper.

“I guess you’re right. I just want him to know that I’ll always be there for him.” He exhaled, hopelessness emanating from him.

“I know… And so do I. But I think its best to leave him for the moment.”

However, right as those words escaped my mouth, Takanobu stirred, groaning meekly and shifting around in the bed. My whole body froze in a second, my longing to be there for him took over, springing to action immediately, I hopped to his bedside, hoping to see his face with the smallest semblance of life’s vigour.

In a second, all hope was diminished as Takanobu ceased to move once again, his stirring only being an unconscious movement in the realm of torpor.

Kenji didn’t seem to take much notice of Takanobu’s small movements, but he did take a great interest, seemingly, in my reaction. He leant towards me, even though he still sat near the foot of the bed and I near the head, a quizzical expression upon his face. The expression of a great detective. “You like him, don’t you?”

I shot my head in his direction, my eyes widening slightly, then immediately turning back to Takanobu, giving him no verbal response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And with that, he stood up, hands upon his thighs, exiting the room, leaving a great imprint in the air.

(A/N) And here’s Chapter 18… published on the one-year anniversary of this story’s birth. I want to thank everyone reading this for your immense support, no matter how long you’ve been following this story. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart.

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCXXV

the best thing about working overnight (besides the fact that I'm nocturnal) is that I get to wear sweats and fuzzy sweaters if I want. and I want. I also get to wear a wrist brace but there's a whole crew of us who do that so whatever.

before I go off to work I checked the owlery for any new packages and found this one from @spacetimewraithwrites

haze (dying paper life, 2011)

Under haze of mountain mist Can you scent the distant anger that sits rotting in the air? This story, this single page Of the book that wishes never to be written in again Never to be carved Never molded Never put under glass Let it fall free among the ancient trees Who welcome it to make its final resting

pass (youth story/the stray spirit crossover)

Nyks didn’t quite frown, just looked a little thoughtful. “Sometimes I’m not solid. Sometimes I’m half-solid. Sometimes I pass through objects and people and sometimes you can barely see me. I don’t really have control over it, though. I’m strongest when I’m around my friends and then I’m a real person.”

Aspen sneaked a hand into Nyks’ and squeezed it, their face serious. “Of course you’re a real person, even if you’re see-through. But I’m glad you have friends.”

“You can be my friend, too, if you want.” Nyks smiled again, and Daniel was not sure he wasn’t just going to faint on the spot from the cuteness overload.

injure (beating hearts)

“Did you find me by listening for my heartbeat?” Pangzi sounds genuinely curious and Liu Sang wishes he could just shut up, but he’s always talking, especially when he’s injured. At least he isn’t putting up a fuss like he usually does, so there’s that.

But Liu Sang keeps his own mouth shut and doesn’t answer, unwilling to acknowledge that yes, he’d frantically listened for the reassuring sound of Pangzi’s heartbeat as he’d scrambled to find his body in the dark. Liu Sang keeps his gaze on the wounds on Pangzi’s head and hands, cleaning them off efficiently despite the owner’s protests of pain. Only the head needs a bandage to keep it from bleeding again and as soon as he’s taped one on, Liu Sang slithers away from Pangzi, coiling into himself as he puts away his supplies.

Pangzi, for his part, only grumbles a little and without real vitriol. He pats the sand beside him. “Sit closer, Jinx. We’re both wet and we should share our body heat.”

“No.”

mean (youth story d0)

"What did R do to you now?"

Is what Irina says to him as soon as he walks in the door and Mark wonders how transparent he has become if even the person who knows him the least can read the turmoil of his soul on his face at a quick glance.

Then Cal turns to him, a bright spark, and Mark notices that there are no lamps turned on, only this sweet boy's smile, and clarifies, "R texted me. He said he might have offended you."

"Which we took to mean that he definitely offended you, because he's R and if his mouth is open he's offending someone." Irina sticks her chin out at Cal. "What?"

cross (shots)

“Halstead didn’t throw away your birds,” Antonio said suddenly, while they waited to cross a street. “Adam wouldn’t let him, also.”

Lexi’s brows raised first in surprise, then in wonder and then because she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “I don’t care if he throws away my sticky note swans,” Lexi said, laughing. “I won’t be offended.”

“Lexi,” Antonio said, stopping short before finishing whatever the rest of that thought was.

She hummed, listening.

He held up a single hand, like he was expecting an outburst. “Don’t kill me for asking.”

“I will not kill you for asking a question, Tony.”

“Are you really okay? After yesterday, I mean. And look, I know that you’ve been through some stuff, but I’ve seen a few different sides of you and you’re not made of stone. Maybe you’ve been through this before, but it’s never a bad idea to just take a step back and talk to someone. I know if it were me, I’d hate to hear this, but I’d be grateful someone cared enough to say it when I needed to hear it. And I’m not gonna tell you to do anything, ‘cause I know that wouldn’t work, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here for it. That was more than I was gonna say,” Antonio said, a rueful chuckle making him duck his head for a second. “Just tell me: are you okay?” He looked at her so earnestly that Lexi couldn’t be mad at him for mentioning it.

She smiled, a softness for the detective overcoming her usual amount of frustration when someone tried to get her to talk, about anything. “I’m okay.”

table, chair, couch/sofa, bed, door. BONUS: kitchen, hallway. @homesteadchronicles @ettawritesnstudies @stuffaboutwriting @writings-of-a-narwhal @zmlorenz OR ANYBODY or nobody

[magicalgirlsandcerulean]

Episode 9's blog post (Spoilers under the cut!)

This post by Balletta is dated 8th June 2021. It apparently took him 8 hours to write...which is why I took so long putting this post out. (I had to skip a lot of the descriptive stuff and it still took me over 4 hours to do this post...)

There are also some tweets from Hishida below, including one regarding ep. 10. If you don't want any info about ep. 10 until you get to it, skip reading tweet 2.

Due to the nature of the ep., there is a mention of suicide below.

Hishida's tweet 1:

そういえばF蘭９話でゲスな男の久ニさん役で鳥海浩輔さんが出演してくれました。僕��とっては初監督作の陰陽大戦記でタイザン役を演じてくれたとても恩のある方です。ありがとうございました。そして明日放送の１０話でも非常にお世話になった方が登場します。これも逃れられない縁なのでしょうか！？

Now that you mention it, F-Ran episode 9's male sleazebag Kyuji was voiced by Kosuke Toriumi. For me, he had the role of Daizan in my first directorial work, Onmyou Taisenki, so I have a big obligation towards him. Thanks a lot. Also, episode 10, which is airing tomorrow, has a person who's taken extreme care of me. Is this an inescapable fate?!

(Who is this he's talking about? Read on.)

Hishida's tweet 2:

まさか福山潤くんに会えるとはね。りっくん、生まれ変わってギャンブラーになってました…w #フィクションです

Unexpectedly, I was able to meet Jun Fukuyama, huh? Rikkun was reborn as a gambler...LOL #ThisIsFiction

"Rikkun" = Riku Tachibana, protagonist of Onmyou Taisenki.

Hishida's tweet 3:

美梨香ちゃん、プリチャンのルルナ…。僕はキャスティングには関わっていません。

Birika-chan is Pri-chan's Luluna...My casting has not changed.

Pri-chan = Kiratto Pri-chan. Luluna and Birika share the VA Hibiku Yamamura.

On to the post (note Balletta goes backwards and forwards in time a lot in this post, so with that on top of my omissions, it's a bit hard to keep track of):

Post's name: "The Perverted and Slightly Sad Episode 9". (You know why it's perverted, but the "slightly sad" will be revealed later on. Balletta specifically uses a word for "slightly sad" used by teenage girls, ぱおん.)

Balletta starts by giving various greetings (this matches last time's), asks if everyone enjoyed Fairy Ranmaru ep. 9. It's Uruu's second turn, so he's going to give real-time thoughts and comments on the ep.

The ep starts with Uruu painting "blue roses" (according to Balletta). "収録の時に、第3話の時みたいにうるうくんの英��から始まったらどうしよう…と台本貰うまでドキドキしてたのはここだけの秘密です…" - "It's a secret between us that when we were recording, I was nervous until I got the script, wondering what would happen if we started with Uruu-kun's English like in episode 3..."

Balletta goes on to discuss how people call Uruu "Blue Rose" (from Tiger and Bunny). People have been making this connection ever since the key visual (the one with the fairy forms) dropped. Even now, when watching the anime on Nico Nico Douga, he'll think: "Hi, Blue Rose's older brother!").

He skips to Uruu's mother's suicide scene. Her wings are broken like glass and Balletta thinks this is when Uruu's heart was broken too. This is also where he thinks Uruu's ideal of "always be proper" was born.

The blushing Homura, being healed by Bakkun and reading an article on Shiina's manga, is "transcendently cute".

It's at this point where Balletta starts introducing quotes from the discussion with "ワン！トゥー！！スリー！！！" ("One! Two!! Three!!!") (<- For the curious, there are 6 of these in the post, but they're not entirely the same.)

Balletta wonders in small text if there was tongue or not during the CPR scene...

"この時のうるうくんの表情が完全に悪役の悪い顔になってて、正直自分もアニメ見てて「うるうくん！顔わるいなぁー！！」ってなりましたね！" - "That time Uruu's face looked like a villain's, and straight up I also saw in the anime, 'Uruu-kun! You're making a bad face-!!'"

Balletta is relieved Homura has been revived.

The sloth's lump is moving...

Balletta introduces Birika and the plot of the week. "不倫！ダメ！！ゼッタイ！！！" - "Adultery! Don't do it!! Absolutely don't!!!" (he repeats this through the post and counts the times he says it - the editing Chesarka from the future says he ends up with 3 instances of this)

Balletta recaps that Uruu is good at painting, as we know from ep. 1. It seems to be the same painting, but then he puts red paint on top. This made Balle-san think of Homura so much, he couldn't concentrate on the painting. In short, FIRE (insert flame emoji, obviously referencing Homura's shirt).

5 to Heaven synced up on how they thought during recording. When Uruu is talking to Birika and she says "心が清廉だからだよ" ("Because you have an honest heart."), they all thought, "心が清廉、どうも清怜うるうです。" ("You have an honest heart - thank you, Uruu Seiren.") Balletta thinks they increased their bonds as a result. (Note "honest" in this case is "seiren".)

Some descriptive bits later, we get to this sentence: "第1話から今回の第9話までに、うるうくんの心情や見えている世界が大きく変わったことを意味しているのではないかと自分は思いました！" I thought from ep. 1 until ep. 9, the world he is seeing has changed greatly!" A bit further down: "先程も話した、第1話から第9話にかけて、うるくんの心情や見えている世界が大きく変わってきていると言ったもう一つの理由がこの言葉なんです！第1話では世界に対しても常に正しくあるべきと考えていたうるうくんが、第9話に至るまでに色んなことがありました。

過去のトラウマ、火焔族への憎しみ、焔くんに対しての嫉妬。" - "That's another reason why I said earlier the world Uruu-kun sees has changed greatly from ep. 1 to ep. 9! Ep. 1, where Uruu-kun thinks everything should be correct about the world, to the Uruu-kun in ep. 9 who has had various things happen. Past trauma, the hatred of the Ignis clan, the jealousy which he feels towards Homura."

Balletta can't believe how Birika's mother came back and had a kiss mark on her neck. He gets so angered he starts making puns on his own name (bareru means to leak a secret, while barebare means a transparent lie) and ends with "あ、どうもバレッタです。" - more along the lines of "Ah, sorry, I'm Balletta" than the previous "thank you"s - before returning to the previous discussion.

Some more description later, Balletta mentions the appearance of Sirius. "素晴らC！いや！すばらシリウス！！！" - "SubaraC (shii)! No! SubaraSirius!!!" (subarashii = wonderful) He then discusses Sirius's musings.

End A part. Balletta stops for a bit to note "You only noticed all this incredible impressions and comments are [for] the A part? Didn't you see the previous post?" He also comments Hori's post was short and that was fine. "ま、イケメンだからいっか！！！（うるうくん達が）" - "Well, they're handsome, so what?!!! (Uruu-kun and co. are)"

Now to the B part. Balletta notes there's a piece of art that is a pot in the art gallery. Pot quota: check.

Some description (and more yelling about how adultery is bad and unforgivable) later: we get to the kiss scene. This transformation is voiced differently to the one in ep. 3 in terms of the pan upwards part and the sound effect of boots scratching you can hear during the "Taboo rescinded! Love! In abundance!" callout. "自分もリアルタイムで第9話見てて、「あれ！？ボイス変わってるし、音が追加されてる！凄い！！」ってテレビの前でなってました！ありがたい限りです！" - "Even when watching ep. 9 in real-time, I was in front of the TV, going, 'Huh?! The voice changed and a sound was added! Amazing!!' I'm nothing but grateful!"

Hotel Tsubo returns. "なんかもう毎回このアニメをリアルタイムで見るたびに「今回はどこに壺が隠れてるかなぁ〜♪」ってなってる自分がいてビックリしますよ笑" - "Basically every time I watch this anime in real-time, I'll be like, 'Where will they hide the pot this time~?♪', so I'm surprised. LOL"

"そしてそんな「HOTEL壺」では、美梨香さんの母親と久二さんがS○Xしてるシーンが出ましたね。申し訳ないけどもう一回だけ言わせてくださいね…

ふざけんにょ！！！" - "Also, at that Hotel Tsubo, Birika-chan's mother and Kyuji have a scene where they're having s_x. I'm sorry for saying this, but please let me say this once...stop screwing around!!!" (The "screw" pun is intentional on my part.)

Enka scene. Balletta calls Uruu "sexy & beautiful" because of his black lace wings and strong gaze.

Head back to Bar F. "バックンはこのアニメの癒し…

いつもありがとうバックン！" - "Bakkun [being] in this anime is healing...thanks as always, Bakkun!"

Some description later, around the part where Uruu's mother says Uruu is just like his dad...you can see germ-like objects that look like water fleas and Uruu gains some damage from them sticking themselves down his throat. There are various versions of this scene and after all the yelling from recording them, he felt considerably more passionate.

Some more description later, Balletta doubles back to the scene slightly beforehand. where Ranmaru and Chilka are in the same place.

Balletta then continues for a bit about the plot and is at the scene where Kyuji is relieved he's free of the old hag when he goes, "ワン！トゥー！！スリー！！！ 「エヘッ、ぱおーん！」 こんの野郎ーーーー！！！ぱおーんじゃねぇんだよぉー！！！！！ガオーってライオンだらけの檻の中にぶち込むぞぉーーーー！！！となったのはこのブログだけにそっと記しておきますね。" ("One! Two!! Three!!! 'Ehe, that's kinda sad!' These bastards---!!! This isn't 'kinda sad'!!!!! I'll throw you into a cage full of roaring lions----!!!...This blog became a place where I can quietly write this precisely [because I can], huh?")

Balletta discusses the final scene and then draws attention to Takara's scene by going, "「あっちゃー、もう一山残っちまったかぁー」 えっ！？何が残ったの！？" - "'The worst is yet to come.' What's coming?!" (<- Translation using the CR line)

He then tells everyone to look forward to next time's Fairy Ranmaru ep., says he's finished, that was ep. 9's comments and impressions, apologises for his long post again and puts some promotional stuff I've already covered on magicalgirlsandcerulean (in order: character song CD, the live show in Sept., Sweets Paradise, Vivid Army, Otasuke Heaven, BD/DVD 1, the curry plate, Bakkun plush, key necklaces, Fairy Ranmaru's official Twitter + YouTube). He then ends by saying he's done (again) and he's Yutaka Balletta, who voices Uruu.

Takara's comment: "原稿用紙40枚やで～気合い入れて読んでや～" - "You took 40 sheets of genkou youshi~. We read it with effort." (referencing the line where he apologises for his long post: "今回また2回目の当番回だったというのもあって気合い入れまくった結果やっぱり長文になってしまいました！ご容赦くださいまし！！" - "This time was the 2nd time I was in charge [of the post], so the result was, of course, me putting in effort! Please forgive me [for my long post]!")

Update: Minor fixes for accuracy and clarity.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Inflated Egos” (Rated G)

Summary: When Kurt takes one of his students to compete in their first competition after landing their Axel, Kurt is confronted with the conundrum of choosing good sportsmanship or doing anything you can to win...

And Sebastian and Blaine are of no help whatsoever. (2080 words)

Part 69 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3. 

“I wanna add the Axel!”

"I know you do, Kevin. It's exciting to land your Axel. But we can't add it to your routine last minute."

"Why not!? I know the perfect place for it!"

Kurt sighs, steering his precocious pupil down the corridor that leads to the ice, rehashing this conversation they've had close to a hundred times over the past three hours.

“You can't add the Axel because you're competing at a level that doesn't include Axel."

"But this isn't a technical competition!" Kevin argues, the words tumbling around his mouth as if they don't belong. "I'm skating spotlight artistic! I can have an Axel in my program. They just won't score it!"

"Wow. You have such a firm grasp of the rules and qualifiers for a ten-year-old. Almost as if someone fed them to you... " Kurt shoots his boyfriend a dirty look. Sebastian shrugs, but he doesn't look the least bit guilty.

"It might be considered bad sportsmanship, and that could lower your score,” Blaine adds, inching in on Kurt's side of the argument. He has nothing against Kevin adding the jump. It would add pizzazz to his program. But judging at the ISI level can be ambiguous, to put it nicely. Not like in higher levels where it's required to put real-time scores on a readily available screen throughout the performance for transparency. If a judge doesn't like your music or your costume or your coach or you in general for whatever reason, a skater can lose fractions of a point. 

And those add up.

Most ISI judges coach competitors, and they tend to favor skaters in their own skating clubs. Scratches magically disappear if a coach happens to know the performer, knows that they've done better in the past, and cuts them some slack. 

It happens more often than the casual onlooker may think.

Kevin is a talented up-and-comer who hasn't ruffled anyone's feathers (that Blaine knows of), so he doesn't see how one little Axel could sully his reputation. And Kevin is correct - it's not technically against the rules for his event class. 

It's just frowned upon.

But if Blaine joins the Kevin-Sebastian tag team, that would be three against one, and that wouldn't be fair to Kurt. Kurt is looking out for his skater like any good coach would. Bad scoring won't tank a judge, but bad sportsmanship can kill a skater's career before it starts.

“I know the kids at the rink love this event, but I've never competed in spotlight artistic," Kurt admits. "Only technical. So I don’t really know what to expect.”

"I didn't either," Blaine chimes in. "My coach was adamant that it was a waste of time for serious skaters."

“I did a few," Sebastian says, "when I was part of Elite."

Kurt peeks over at his boyfriend, lips twisted behind his mask in an amused grin. "Why? That doesn't seem like Elite's cup of tea."

"Because coach wanted our names on the board for every event possible - technical, spotlight, shoot-the-duck, spirals... "

"What sort of routines did you do?"

"Nothing too impressive. Not like my technical programs. I was a big Avengers fan, so I stuck with that. I was Thor one year. Had a Mjölnir with lightning coming out of it and everything."

"Oh, please tell me there's a video of this somewhere!" Blaine begs, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I would pay good money to see it!" 

"You can't afford it," Sebastian says, blowing him off without a glance. "You had to have a prop for spotlight, but coach always said it was about the skating, like every other event. Or it was." He raises an eyebrow at a tractor prop covered in LED lights, quietly questioning, "What the hell song is that for?" as it drives by. "Something tells me that may have changed a tad.”

“Ya think?” Blaine chuckles, pointing to three skaters dressed in inflatable T-Rex costumes pulling an animatronic Indominus Rex the size of a VW bus behind them.

Kevin gasping diverts their attention to a podium covered in holographic wrap, a giant "diamond" mounted on top spinning slowly, throwing colored beams across the floor, pushed by a young lady dressed as a one-eyed spy. "These props are awesome!" he says, his own small prop clutched in his right fist.

"Maybe next time, we can wrap you up in Christmas lights and glue drones to your shoulders to make you fly," Sebastian suggests. "Eh, Kevin?"

"Can we?" Kevin asks, bouncing on his blockers, excited at the prospect of taking his hand-made Elvis costume to the next level.

"No! Kevin doesn't need any bells or whistles," Kurt declares, unsure what Christmas lights and drones have to do with Elvis. "His routine is about his skating. Props are just gravy. We don't need more. One is enough."

"Yeah. Right. Okay," Sebastian and Kevin grump. Even Blaine looks disappointed. 

So when Kurt hears a chuckle, his ears prick up, and his head turns.

Everyone he sees around them seems focused on their warmups. No one is paying attention to them. But off to his right, he spots a brown-haired woman, her smiling green eyes darting their way, then back to the ice. When she looks back and notices Kurt watching her, she knows she's been caught and waves their way.

"I'm sorry," she says, trundling over. "I didn't mean to overhear, but I was wonderin'... are you fellas new?"

It's not often that Kurt walks into a rink in Ohio and isn't immediately recognized. But unlike Sebastian, he enjoys the anonymity.

"Let's just say I am," Kurt says. "What am I missing?"

"A lot." She laughs again so hard, she snorts. "I'm sorry. Saying it's about the skating is admirable. That's what it should be about. But it's not. Not in this category. It's about the props. The bigger the prop, the better. You have to use every advantage you have if you want your skater to come close to winning a medal."

"Not everybody thinks that way," Kurt argues.

"Oh no? Do you see that boy over there in the gold crown?" She motions with her head past the crowd to where a boy slightly older than Kevin, dressed in pale blue and gold brocade, warms up. "That's Michael. He's skating as Tommen from Game of Thrones. His dragon prop is programmed to roll around the ice on its own. It even breathes fire! And at the end, he's going to jump out a tower window."

"Wow," Sebastian says when he catches sight of said tower. It has to be made of styrofoam. The skaters are responsible for getting their props on and off the ice by themselves. There is no way this kid would be able to push his tower around unless it was constructed out of foam. But it looks like stone. It stands at least six feet tall with a platform roughly three feet up and outfitted with a cushion for Michael to land on, painted to look like a cloud that will blend in with the ice. "Kurt, you're super dramatic and stuff. This sounds right up your alley! How about we sign you up for the next go-'round? You can do an excerpt from Wicked. Or Phantom of the Opera! We just need to find you a cape, a mask, and about seven dozen candles! Whaddya say?"

"I say it depends on which testicle you want to lose," Kurt mutters, hoping the bubbly stage-mom dressed in head-to-toe flair doesn't hear.

"Look, it may not be my place to say," she starts. "You are his coach and all, but... uh... " Her eyelids narrow. "What event is your skater in?"

"Thirty-seven," Kurt says.

She sighs, looks strangely relieved. "Okay. My Maggie's in twenty-three."

Kurt's brow furrows. Then he rolls his eyes, realizing she asked to make sure Kurt's skater wouldn't be competing against her daughter after she imparts this valuable nugget of information.

"If you want some advice, let him add the Axel. His prop is a little... well, it's a little... " She glances down at the object Kevin is strangling in his grip, searching for a polite word to describe it "... puny. He'll need a little oomph. Ooo!" She yelps so suddenly, all four boys jump. "I almost forgot! I have a boom box in my trailer from Maggie's last spotlight! It's got a detachable disco ball and flashing strobe lights! It would go great with his costume!"

"Is it big?" Sebastian asks, infuriating Kurt by getting caught up in this woman's prop propaganda. 

"It's the size of an Irish Wolfhound!" 

"And they're big," Blaine concurs, sharing a nod with Kevin, then Sebastian.

"Oh, I couldn't put you out..." Kurt tries, but she shakes her head, refusing to let him turn down her offer.

"Nonsense! I'm parked right outside the loading doors! It'll take five minutes to get!"

"It couldn't hurt," Blaine says, having the good sense to move away after.

Kurt can't reach him, but he fixes him with a glare that could melt glass.

"You can't honestly believe the skating doesn't matter?" he says, not directed at any one person.

"Of course, I believe the skating matters," Maggie's mom says. "But in this event, you have to have some sort of edge. Especially when you're up against stuff like that." She points past them, her eyes traveling up, way up, and Kurt's heart sinks into his stomach before he even turns around.

”Jesus Christmas,” Sebastian moans, staring at the monstrosity traveling their way - the biggest, gaudiest, parade-style float he has ever seen indoors, decorated to look like a six-year-old girl's dream: the base wrapped in tons of fluffy pink tuille intertwined with hundreds of white twinkle lights, crystal baubles and gold balls hanging from fishing line so they look like they're suspended in air, no less than three machines spewing bubbles straight up, a hidden fog machine obscuring the view slightly with pink mist, and in the center, a whole family of inflatable rainbow unicorns on an elevated platform, each one rotating independently, all surrounding a cocoon of pink satin pillows where a skater sits, carried onto the ice by this cotton candy throne. “I’m not even skating, and I’m suffering from some serious prop envy.”

Kurt stares at the thing as it passes by, its smug passenger waving at them like they're peasants waiting for crumbs of stale bread, until the image is burned into his retinas. He looks at Kevin and his pathetic prop - a lime-green inflatable guitar his mother bought for five dollars at the last county fair. There's something wrong with it. It keeps deflating at the neck. Kurt brought a hand pump with him, one he uses to put air in his yoga ball. One of Kurt's jobs as Kevin's coach is to fortify the thing before Kevin takes to the ice. He tosses it about three seconds in to his routine anyway. 

Because it's not the star of the show. 

Kevin is.

Kevin could probably skate circles around half these kids, but if what Maggie's mom says is true, he doesn't have a chance simply because they didn't think to look for anything larger for him to hold than this defective pool toy. Kurt finds it horrible that Kevin has lost before he even begins because his prop is less in-your-face than everyone else’s.

Excuse him for thinking that a skating competition would be judged on skating!

Kurt isn't necessarily proud of his next few decisions since they play into the "anything to win" mentality. But later, Sebastian will convince him he wasn't elevating Kevin so he could win. It was leveling the playing field so he had a chance.

And Kurt can live with that.

"Sebastian? Blaine?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Blaine debates calling Kurt babe, too, if for no other reason than to rankle Sebastian, but now might not be the best time. "Yeah?"

"Could you please escort this kind woman to her trailer and retrieve the enormous boom box she has graciously offered to lend us?"

"On it," Blaine replies.

"Yessir." Sebastian gives Kurt a playful salute, then hurries away, led by the now effervescent woman who couldn't be more thrilled than if they were outfitting her daughter. 

“And Kevin?”

“Yeah, coach?”

Kurt puts his hands on Kevin's shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze as they watch that grotesque, bubble-spitting giant take the ice. “Add the Axel.”

[secrets-of-the-library]

This is a fan-created stowaway island. I always want to try and push the edge on what can be built on the Sims 4 and one of those is ships/houseboats/etc. I’ve always wanted to do a pirate ship and with the help of stage props it was certainly a reality in this one. We’re super into Spuk/Engspa and their pirate arc is a huge one for us so these two things went hand-in-hand. The Sims doesn’t really have ‘deserted island’ packs for like, showers and toliets, etc, so that was a bit harder to do. It’s all off-grid though or the items that are ‘on-grid’ don’t function and are for looks only. Remember: This is fan/headcanon created. I build for fun and am not a professional. I do not build with the intention of having it livable/non-clashing. If something clashes it will be up to you to fix it because I build for the pure aesthetic and not functionality. I own a lot of packs so if you don’t own all the ones used in this there might be issues. You ARE able to board the boat. I had to test that much. That works just fine. Your Sims may be confused for a minute but it works. After the cut here I will provide a visual walk-through via screen captures. You’re more than welcome to download it and look at it for yourself. My username on Sims4 is Shinoshallbugyou.

This one is about as old as the home I created for Arthur. Boats are NOT A THING in the Sims 4 so this is my attempt at a rigged pirate ship. Of course this is located in the Sulani area... Naturally. There isn’t as much to cover in this one. The two main areas are the boat (Two levels) and the island.

First I’ll focus on the boat. I tricked the ‘walls’ underneath it into disappearing though it leaves a strange blue hue from its transparency. It’s believable enough. The ladder is rigged there as well to board it- That’s not a normal feature and has to be forced in. ‘Rounded’ features are also hard to do. The stage props helped a great DEAL in this to make it a reality. The anchor is previously a monument that I’ve just pretended they’ve dropped on a ‘rock’ next to it. There is no way of putting the boat out further because of the small map size but I liked this one in particular for its isolated island.

Upper-deck

Mid-deck. To the left goes to the ‘brig’ and to the right in the bigger doors is the Captain’s quarters.

Upper-deck with a steering wheel. I just now realized that the wallpaper is messed up on the Captain’s Quarter’s windows bu that is an easy fix with the eyedropper tool on the rest of the boat onto that section.

We’ll go to the left room first... The Captain’s Quarters. I originally had a neat table with a spread-out map here but the custom content got removed with an update so I settled to throw in some regular items instead. I think the sink won’t work and that’s on purpose. I really tried to hide that ‘fridge’. Just pretend it is storage for food and not a normal fridge. The lighting for both the Captain’s Quarters and the Brig wasn’t working or ‘coming on’ for some reason so I threw in some quick small ceiling lighting so you could see the details.

Alright- The other room. The Brig. I REALLY wanted something like this in there and it was hard to figure out how to put it in there. Things like ‘They’ll just try to break out of the window and jump out’ came to my mind and had me settling on putting it in the middle with a chair for someone to watch/talk to them. I relented and put on a toilet, bath, sink, and etc in this area too. Those should be off-grid and work.

The ‘bottom’ layer of the ship isn’t much and I never utilized it at all. If you really feel like it you can figure it out and put a crew’s cabins and storage or something down there but I kept this all rather simple, actually. Let’s move onto the island portion of this! I wanted to pretend that they’re stuck on this island and started to build a life on it. There are a few activities to do, places to prep food, old ruins, etc.

‘Gazebos’ aren’t really a thing on the Sims 4 much either. I man made this one with a lot of effort and raising objects. I’m actually unhappy with the bed because I wanted it to look ‘made’ and not manufactured. Again, the Sims doesn’t have ‘castaway’ objects and I needed somewhere else to sleep on the island so I settled for that one.

This is a big inspiration from our larping/rping of Spuk/Engspa where both England and Spain are turned on by their men (Or maybe France helped/was-behind this... Who knows?) and are essentially left stranded on an island. In the span of time that they were left there they actually formed a better relationship than they had up until that point. Something of a couple. But when they got off of the island and forced back into their regular lives they both started to resent each other, thinking that the other ‘forgot’ about all of that and wanted to move on. England, in particular, was really irked by this. In our rping/larping they got back together officially in the 1970′s after Spain emerged from a dictatorship and they both look back rather fondly on the time they were trapped on an island together. The boat wouldn’t have been there technically but I wanted to try it so I kept both. That way my fiancee could play around with them on the island or on a boat. There’s tons of stuff around for them to play around in too! We were having a good time making them swim towards a waterfall and etc.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Three years later it becomes clear: squid-boys never stood much of a chance breathing on land.

''Is he awake? The tranquilizer is loosening. Oh, he moved. Did you see? Left fingers.''

Your shoulder – right, you hit a rock. A set-up of metal walls glistens in the corner of your vision. You can't move. Some wetness in your throat makes you despair, makes you cough, involuntary and chokey and wet. Your muscles just don't move the way you want them to.

''Hey. Are you awake? Back away, I think he's scared.''

''Binary gender is a construct,'' a voice says, light, somewhat serious, somewhat self-aware.

''Oh, I'm sorry. Are they awake.''

Fuck you, you think. This happened just fifteen minutes after waking up. If this were to happen later, maybe you would be less out of it and more situation-wise, more windbreaking skin. More teethful. Wetness should be at your side and not pool where it shouldn't. Wetness should drown things when you willed it to.

They carry your limp body into the metal box, as you knew that you would, carried to the truck door and packed away neatly. Your body feels particularly insensitive, even when gloved hands touch it, maybe in the enlightenment of death, or something death-like.

In the box, the only way to look is upwards at the glass cover plate. It doesn't move when you push against it, and none of the other walls do. When the light in the space of the truck is cut off, you stop pushing at the upper plate, because it makes you feel flattened, or something that can be flattened with force, in the way of soft-tissues invertebrates. It makes the air in your chest twist into impossible illusion shapes, looped into themselves.

And then the truck screeches to a stop. When it does, abrupt in the way of accidents, you think of the gods you've been learning to despise in the practise of eighteen years. You would think your spite is more polished by now, better refined, with how raw and disgusting it has felt. But now your ears are ringing with divine working in one's life shall become apparent as an ineffable experience; divine working—

Your ears are ringing with Andrew and eyes burning with the image of the hell-made saviour of him. You hear shouting. The truck sways with the force of something, and you go with it, like unrooted watergrass. If this is Andrew, he must be sating the hunger of his hyper-grin. A new image blazes into you: out of water, in the air of land, bloodied hands remain bloodied. You are used to water washing blood from your skin, the skin remaining stainless, shedding impurity and grime and violence right off. If this is Andrew, he must look like a terror.

But there is a godly part in this. If this is Andrew, he has brought what you have always wanted: difference without novelty and novelty's stomach-digesting discomfort. The truck sways again and you are still holding your breath.

*

It has been over a week since Andrew removed his arm from around your shoulders, and you both fell in the water of a flooded basement, comrade-like, collapsed and breathing fast in the aftermath of things. He dragged himself to the staircase and spread over the length of a step, legs up on the railing, the weight of his cement-bag body sagging. The thump of his head falling back against the wall made you want to urge forward. But you didn't. His clothes were soaked past his waist, black jeans abyss-black. His head lolled to look at you and you felt all too transparent, like he could see right through your skin and muscle, liver and intestines and all your soft organs. You were still spiked-up, body still ready to rush. Too tender when he was looking like this.

It has been over a week of you dragging your body through the ecosystem of the basement. The water is shallow enough to make the basement a crawl-space. You crawl around the pillars, wondering if you can do it in an utterly random pattern. Don't think too hard. You think you're going crazy. From aloneness. All the other beings in the flooded basement are small and timid. Don't think too hard.

Andrew comes every day, every second day, every few days. Irregularly. He brings stacks of food.

''It's not this dark outside,'' you tell him the next time his boots settle with your eye level, ''The windows are tinted. It's darker in here.''

He brings you a flashlight. You don't use it. To what, target yourself? A predator with nothing to prey on. A predator with nowhere to go.

He sticks his feet in the water and reads with your flashlight. He brings you games of multiplication and these little metal wire shapes to disentangle. You get better than him at chess quickly. It surprises him. It doesn't surprise you.  You have been thinking about mathematical perfection and formal proofs your whole life. You have spent your whole life over-chewing your people's stories; it makes you a good social learner; a learner from mistakes, yours, others'.

''I am going to promote my pawn,'' you observe. He brings his hands up, all fingers meeting in a point aligned with the centre of his chest and then he pulls his hands apart and spreads his fingers into something open and empty-handed.

''I don't care,'' he says, then huffs and laughs meanly until he swallows it down, and then bolts upstairs. You can hear him rage there, the thumping of what you imagine is hands hitting the frame of a doorway as he enters a room, pushing empty drawers shut, throwing himself on a bed. You don't understand his theatrics, or his rage.

Most of the time he is gone, though. It would be okay, that nothing ever happens, if nothing happened inside of you, too. You just feel disused, as a person. Your skin is pale without bruises and your head is empty. Andrew has brought you a waterproof phone, a metal little thing. He's been gone for days, and you've been existing amongst clutter, a being in the ecosystem, an object in stasis. This water tastes different. It leaves a dirty taste in your mouth that you try to get rid of by licking your lips. It doesn't work, but you keep catching yourself doing it anyway.

You call him.

''I feel sick,'' you say.

He brings you aspirins, more food, a radio.

He hasn't been saying much. This isn't what satisfaction looks like, you think as he expressionlessly tears a second packet of salt into his food box. His quiet leaves you feeling alone in un-novel ways, even though most of your aloneness is new. To be fair, you have only found dissatisfaction to be unkind; not intrinsically, not out of necessity, but out of something more spiteful – maybe stubbornness. Anyway. Anyway, maybe you shouldn't think of quiet as unkind. What else can you expect. Being low-maintenance feels kind of right.

*

Somebody is in the house.

When the steps come, they come slow, and with foreign wilfulness. You still. You watch your breath skate over the surface. You know that you wear suspicion the way Andrew wears the relaxed slope of his shoulders, but you're right, you're right.

You are right. After minutes of soft thudding, a corrosion-of-a-boy appears at the top of the basement staircase and deflates in front of your eyes. He peeks downwards quickly, then half-turns, his eyes again jumping around in the way of sweeping: thorough and clearing. The semi-dry sepia shrubs outside the window, the unopening front door of abandon, the end of the hallway you only saw once. He stops. He deflates. He exhales, exposing the wear of him, then covers his eyes with his wrist. He stops like that.

You are watchful. You make yourself unseeable and now that he doesn't see you by how he continues walking downwards. You watch as he crouches his anaemic-looking body on the last step above the water, looking around in a glazed way, with clumsy attention. His eyes are shadowed by the downwards tilt of his head, so you set your gaze to the tight pull of his shoelaces and the triple knots of them. Slow enough to be soundless, you lift some more of your body out of the water.

''Psh,'' you say, and the boy stills. Stops breathing, until he leans his head forward, a little, squinting, and you think about a fish hook.

''Merman?'' he asks, stupid.

He looks a thought away from bolting, a distraction away. Haunted? you wonder. Fast as someone would be if they had something sharp snipping right by their neck. For a moment, you worry that Andrew has installed cameras, but he wouldn't.

''Are you with Andrew?'' you ask, and have him scrambling up – and it rolls a terrible terrible sense over you. A sense of Andrew's hyper-grin. A sense of his red-dripping hands. An unpunctuated question of things Andrew could do.

You don't want him to go. ''Wait, wait. Do you have an aspirin?''

He stops in something surprise-like. Continues looking undecided. He looks like a person who only trusts himself. Who wonders whether he himself is trustworthy.

''Black hair,'' you address him. It seems to stagger him further.

''I don't,'' he says, then clears his throat. ''I have needles. Some alcohol?''

''Alcohol is a very ineffective drug.'' Drugs know you, you know drugs. You say this to skirt the edge of things, because some basicity is growing inside of you. Psychotropics have always meant skirting things, for you. People have always only responded to the wrong ugly aspects of you using them, and they have responded in an ugly way, when they did.

''Is he the one keeping you here?'' the boy asks lowly, with horror. Andrew wouldn't. The boy probably doesn't know Andrew specifically. He is probably just wary. Trustless. He absently wipes a hand under his nose and looks at his hand as it comes away clean.

''No, no. He helps,'' you say, throat wound up in a familiar way.

The boy's gaze doesn't linger on the un-land-suited parts of you. What must you look like? Hiding in a vacated house, now un-vacated, now a whole new ecosystem. You dragging your body around it purposelessly in the manner of dethroned kings. In religious stories, evil is described along the image of decadent, scorching beauty, or ugliness, never ordinary. What are you? Stale, now; touch this – this; ah, pfh, in the hold of gloved hands. Are you ordinary. Can you be unordinary in a good way. Please. Suddenly, you feel the crash of some alien plea, fully, mouthfully in a way extraneous things can't be.

The boy stands up, scanning the basement around you, the misplaced wooden boards and pillars and the handles of some exercise equipment above the water level. The place you scavenge. The place where electronic devices make your eyes hurt. The boy shakes his head.

''Does Andrew—'' he starts, then reconsiders, ''did Andrew—'' stares at you wordlessly, before he glances over his shoulder and grips the strap of his bag with both hands.

''Are you in a hurry?'' you ask.

His eyes are a little wild when he turns back to you, and his nodding is shaky. ''He will be back, right. Andrew.''

The air isn't right. You twist your arms under the hunch of your shoulders. ''Are you really?'' you ask after a moment.

''I don't know how to tell the truth differently,'' he evades the question; you notice things like that. You stare. You stare. He sharpens under your gaze. His grip on the strap tightens. His eyes narrow when yours do, and his face is tightening up with something wild and exposed and almost breathless.

''Look, I'm just asking, okay?'' you roll the words out carefully. ''You don't have to, I won't— It's just me here, okay? But are you— are you—do you know Wes—''

''No. No. I'm. I'm Neil and I don't know anyone here,'' he says, then runs back up the stairs, and you think: fuck.

*

''What have you done,'' you accuse Andrew right as the door at the top of the staircase gapes wider, more late-afternoon orange light seeping in. You don’t know if you should tell him about Neil. Andrew halts and untenses with a controlled exhale before he even fully tenses. He turns his head before he turns his body, the slit-eyed mechanism of it.

You watch him pull down his large brown-knitted sweater from where it has creased at his waist. This is the softest you have seen him. In his mechanical way. He walks down.

''What do you mean,'' he asks blankly. You lift your eyebrows. You don't want to prompt his answer. You want to squeeze out his hiding space until he is forced to expose himself. Something tells you he has not been sufficiently challenged, lately, that he has been glaring his way through people's curiosity until they took their questions back.

''I will stay here now. I needed the foster address to get a job. I don't need it anymore.''

''You work?'' you ask, dumbfounded.

''Warehouse stock control. I'm getting machinery training. Forklift truck. Vroom vroom'' his tone mocks himself. He doesn't answer your question. He lifts his mug above his open mouth and nothing pours out, which he must have known before he lifted it and did it anyway.

''So what did you do,'' you ask. You imagine he squints his eyes, but he doesn't do anything, really, you just see the questioning of it.

''I left and now I'm moving here. What do you think I did? Oh thee who inquires with an accusatory tone.'' He sits down, then stands up enough to pull a pen from the pocket of his black jeans. ''What will you charge me with, officer?''

''Okay,'' you say carefully, raising your hands. ''Were they bad? Wherever you were staying.''

''Sure.'' He gives a not impressed look at your raised hands, then pulls a sudoku from this jacket pocket, and you think: how can this be the thing that bores you the least. He has this unasking about him: he doesn't wonder about your life, or about its past, or about its pastness. How you sometimes wanted to be one of the little beings that scuttle inelegantly, instead of a self, and how you now drag your body around in patterns. You still don't know to where he disappeared for two years, and he doesn't ask about the gelatinous ways in which life unfolded in that time. He doesn't bite into pasts. It's very uninviting.

''So why were they bad?'' you ask, then watch him build things inside of himself. Stories, lies, napkin-houses that fold the dirty sides inwards.

''They don't read social cues,'' he says, finally. You wonder how carefully crafted this answer is. But who are you to judge? You haven't told him about Neil.

''And I read things fine, for you?'' you ask.

Andrew's eyes trace the line of your shoulders. You turn a little, into something more invisible, and Andrew nods a little.

''You wear your body like it's soft,'' he says.

You feel a strike of something pulpy. You look down at your body, water surface wavering around it. The stricken feeling is illusionary; it reminds you: Andrew's curiosity is just selective. Just one of the on-off things he switches, like his energy and benevolence. It's selective in the way of not knowing things that are easy to know, like knowing to list your body organs, and on the other hand saying, you wear your body like it's soft.

''This doesn't work,'' you say. Twitching your head sideways to indicate the space of the basement.

''I know,'' he says after a moment, taut. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.

''I can't even move.''

''I know,'' he says. I'm sorry, he doesn't say.

*

Andrew should be sleeping upstairs when you hear a crash, some crashing, and then quiet. An accident, you imagine immediately, your mind attuned to likely narratives, bad things, extrasensory things.

''Andrew?'' you ask tentatively. It's something bad. It's always something bad. But then the quiet is broken with more crashing, scrambling, the noise of something desperate. The sound has moved down the hallway, where you can hear more clearly. Andrew is saying something through his teeth, softly, melodically, always teethfully. You hear a gasp.

''Neil?'' you say.

''Neil?'' Andrew pronounces carefully. He pushes the weight of something unwilling to the basement door. A hand in Neil's hair is pushing his hand backwards, harshly, and a knife glistens by his throat artery. Andrew isn’t grinning, but you can’t unsee him grinning.

''Why did you come back,'' you say to Neil, who is forced to look at the ceiling, one hand around each of Andrew's arms.

''Come back,'' Andrew repeats blankly, looking between you and Neil.

Neil uses both hands to push at the arm with the knife and suddenly knife is held by them both, away from their bodies and struggling for a swing, both breathing hard with faces sharp. You imagine red-dripping hands. You don't want the knife to swing. You don't want it fiercely.

You open your vocal cords in the right way and a shrill blooms from the resonating spaces in your cheekbones, outwards, hitting Andrew and Neil with the force of soundwalls breaking. It's piercing to your ears, too, and you know it doesn't even compare. You're the predator, then, and they are prey-like. Neil falls down the stairs. Andrew falls to his knees and elbows, hands closed around his ears.

Neil is staggering, touching his ears, spitting water away from his lips, wild. You offer a hand and he stares at it, then moves further back. He bumps into a pillar and startles, before walking around it to take another step back.

Andrew cracks his neck sideways, both sides, glaring at you, then slowly takes two steps down to pick up the knife.

''Neil came back, Aaron? Is there something you aren't telling me? Try not to lie.''

''What,'' Neil asks, then covers and uncovers his ears again, panicked, looking between Andrew and you. His hearing. It probably hurts. It's probably disorientating.

Andrew snaps his fingers three times. Neil doesn't respond. Andrew keeps snapping rhythmically; the more times he does it, the higher up the clog of eeriness in your throat climbs. Neil pushes his hair out of his face, breathing hard at his reflection. He's cupping his ears, shaking his head, shaking the ringing out, until he looks up at Andrew, and Andrew stops snapping and drops his arm.

''What?'' Neil asks again, quick, twitchy. Andrew tilts his head. Neil takes another step back. ''Who are you on the market? Are you resistance? Is this how you know?'' he looks at you.

''The market. Food?'' Andrew says, just as you ask, ''Criminal?'' Neil is talking about the criminal market. He is talking about prized items like you. You know from stories; you just hear big names, as a lesson for avoidance. There is nothing familiar about the way Neil looks. But his hauntedness; it might look like something familiar.

''Liars, liars,'' he Andrew smiles, syllable by syllable. ''You're staying, then,'' he says to Neil. ''You have overshot your runaway runway, huh? We have something to talk about. I see we'll be dining finely tonight. The plentiful company of the three of us.''

Andrew carries himself like a punchline, when he talks. It's annoying.

''He's patronising to everyone. Don't think you're special,'' you tell Neil.

Neil smoothes his hair back and wipes the water off his face. ''Who are you?'' he asks tautly. ''Resistance? Nobodies don't hide Others in abandoned houses.''

''Your turn to share, squid boy,'' Andrew says, both reappearing and coming down. Neil is in Andrew's clothes, dark and monochromatic. Andrew ceremoniously offers a metal fork to Neil, and then hands out a plastic one to you. You pull it out of his hand.

''We are not. You both. You both say these statements. As if you knew. Nobodies don't do this. Nobody knows anything for sure, okay? Tentativity can be enjoyable sometimes.''

''Pescatarian, anyone?'' Andrew asks, pleasantly. ''Come, Neil. You can't stay in wet clothes. We'll talk.''

They disappear upstairs. In the way of denouements, you feel a resolution unfolding. Or hoping for one, anyway. You press the feels of your palms over your eyes. They will probably talk about you, too. And then Neil will appear in Andrew's clothes, dark and monochromatic, and it will make you think of the cosiness of monochromatism, of how homewise it is. It will make you think of when your cousin was glancing at you with a frown and your aunt told her, leave him, he's just brooding, and the cousin still went to him, calling out Aaron Aaron Aaron.

They keep sneaking glances at each other. Neil's dark hair and Andrew's face so much like your own make you think back in time, back to the few days before the metal box and dismal circumstance. I like your hair, you signed to the girl the name of whom you had been trying not to think, drawn to things that are too dark to shine. She was lingering by the mosaic in front of the growth of your rock opening that you had deliberately let become overgrown, something one pushes through with spicy feeling. Thank you, she signed, I like your face. That sounded like a really bad comeback. I do like it, it's very symmetrical.

Neil and Andrew's eyes meet, and you think: you two assholes are too self-absorbed to not do this staring contest.

*

Andrew's phone rings. He turns to bore into Neil's eyes. He moves the phone away from his ear, and says: ''Nathaniel?''

And Neil panics.

In the way of narrative complications, the three of you end up in Andrew's warehouse car.

You are in the backseat, covered with two blankets, feeling yourself frown as you readjust your grip on the four two-litre water bottles you are hugging to your chest.

''This is clearly idiotic,'' you inform them, again, because apparently neither of them senses the threat of a looming climax. The so many things that will go wrong, because nobody has any sustainable plans.

Andrew is loosely gripping the wheel with faux laziness and Neil glances around full-bodily, alert, before returning to zooming in on google maps on a new phone he just had in his bag. He destroyed Andrew’s.

''This doesn't work,'' Andrew repeats your words so wholly blankly that it is no-doubt mockery.

''Not nearly the stupidest thing I've done,'' Neil mutters. Andrew flicks his eyes at Neil. You squint as you flick your eyes between them. Andrew is tapping his fingers on the wheel. Neil is hunching low in his seat, scowling at the screen. Andrew reaches over to Neil's side to pull sunglasses from the glove compartment, and Neil leans away to make space without looking from the screen.

''So you two are friends now?'' you ask, something strange and foreign tinting your tone. ''Or have you guys started—''

''He's a benefit,'' Andrew interrupts. The sunglasses render his thoughts further invisible. He is a thing of well-fitting black placed within American-spaced property and nothingness. He evades the friend part with his answer. Like so often, he is making himself into invisibility and insinuation.

''You smell like excitement,'' you tell him and watch as his face jumps a little.

''You can smell feelings now?'' He snatches the phone from Neil's hands, maximally zooming into the location that Neil has been inspecting for minutes. Neil keeps looking in the empty space of the phone, hands hanging around phone-shaped air, before he drops them and buckles his seat belt. And you think: theatrics on the road.

You shrug. You can still sense Neil's panic.

''You smell like wet,'' Andrew retorts, looking who knows where. Having learnt from exposure, you know Andrew looks down on things he feels, and you soak in them. Leave him, he's just—

''Just start the engine,'' Neil says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099911/chapters/35012867

[trilies]

an argument for AO3

So I’m in a conversation with someone who is kind of in the “against AO3″ camp, and they asked me a couple of questions. Namely, who wouldn’t be uncomfortable with pedophilia? Isn’t it sketchy that a beta website is asking for so much money despite reaching its goals?

And my answer became so long... I figured it might as well become its own post. Please bear in mind that this is cut from a whole conversation.

But here it is.

------

No. It doesn't seem sketchy to me at all. Why would it? I know we make jokes about how much money tumblr has cost the various sites which purchase it like Yahoo, but there's some truth there: it's really expensive to host a website to thousands and thousands of people. It's why we see so many tumblr owners trying to shoehorn in ads or make people buy services, or why Photobucket tried to pull that truly atrocious bullshit a year or two back. Without image hosting capabilities (tumblr and photobucket's big thing), the strain isn't as huge.... but AO3 is MASSIVE. It is hosting literally thousands of accounts, millions of stories. That's massive on a server scale alone, ignoring all the other work they do. Yeah, it's in beta... but that's because it's trying to reach a goal of being as good a fanfic archive as they can be, and they don't believe they've reached that goal yet. Being in beta means they can better listen to their uses on shit like tagging systems and make those changes. Not to mention, again, they are INCREDIBLY transparent. If you are worried about where the money is going, you can go on the site and they have all their stuff up there.

As for the pedophilia subject matter.... Please give me a moment. because there's honestly a lot to say on that particular issue, if nothing else. This will take a while, so if you see this and there hasn't been a reply yet.... I'm still typing lmao.

To start with, of course people are uncomfortable about pedophilia. However, there are a lot of problems with how pedophilia is viewed or *used* as an accusation in the current fandom climate.

For example, in honestly EXTREMELY recent times, I was told I was "defending" pedophilia because I disagreed that a character (an immortal food gijinka) was "minor-coded" or "designed as an underage teenager". (As a note, an argument for this view was that the character's breasts were too small.) When I pointed out, hey, that's kind of a fucked up accusation to throw at a complete stranger, especially as I am a CSA survivor, I was told "You have to be lying about that, then, because a real CSA survivor would understand."

c o o l

That's just my personal experience that happened within a couple of months. Other people have talked about running into people who think that a character turning 18 means they're a pedophile for still dating a 17 year old. Or running into people who think a 40 year old dating someone in their 30s is pedophilic. Or believe that even SHIPPING characters who were not yet 18 was pedophilic if you yourself were over 18.

(Of course, you also have the kinds of people who try to use Moral Purity as a way to bash ships they don't like. I once saw someone try to claim that a popular mlm ship, A/B, was pedophilic because one half of the equation looked young.... when some other artists drew him... Of course, on the side, this person liked to also get angry that *their* favorite ship, a dude/chick ship composing of A/C, wasn't more popular. So. You know.)

So that's one half of the problem: the word "pedophile" being so warped that a lot of people now have no idea if the person using it has a genuine concern or if the accuser is trying to smear someone who doesn't ship the same thing. FFnet and Tumblr have gone with the "burn it all down" approach, which hasn't actually helped anyone and is, to boot, sloppily moderated. So we know from history, from experience in cases like mine, that it doesn't help in that area.

The other half of the problem is... How far is too far?

This is where "anti" culture begins to find similarities with the whole Warriors for Innocence thing. If you completely and blindly block an entire tag, or anyone associated with it, you have to ask: who are you hurting? Warriors for Innocence hurt actual rape victim, and queer folk, and a whole lot of others. Far as I can tell, anti culture is on the route to the same thing, because I have yet to see appropriate answers to a lot of issues.

If one says "anything with underage sex in it is bad and should be banned", what about fics that tackle it in a serious manner? The young adult novel "Speak" deals with rape of an underage girl and how she works through that mental trauma; are fics with stories equivalent to that allowed? Do fics with underage sex have to focus purely on how it is Horrible And Bad to be allowed? Does only a chapter have to be allowed? A paragraph? An author's note? A tag? Or are we allowed to never explore dark subject matter?

Is fic with underage content in it only horrible if it's someone over the age of eighteen who writes it? Can a teenager write smut (terribly written as it may likely be) between teenage characters? Can a teenager write smut between a teenage character and an adult character? For the record, i did in fact, over the summer, run into someone who said that teens/minors "shouldn't even know about NSFW", which is asinine to me, because Abstinence Only is a terrible thing to put in schools, and somehow worse in a way when you try to put that into effect in fandom. If the answer is 'yes', what are you going to do, demand to see people's birth certificates in fandom?

(As a note, I think this is a terrible message to put into fandom for teenagers because I believe it will inevitably lead to self hatred and a warped view of sex. If you make the extremely simplified black-and-white statement of "teens and sex should never go together ever in any way", that's going to mess up teens who are starting to experience arousal in their bodies. The message, whether intended or not, ends up as "NSFW things are bad, which means my brain which thought NSFW thoughts is bad, and my brain thought those thoughts because my body had these feelings". )

(This is bad for any average teenager. This will be especially worse to CSA and rape victims, along with queer youth who, in a lot of places, are still struggling with their bodies and/or feelings because the world is still pretty damn queerphobic.)

Speaking of CSA and rape victims, what about those of them who write/read underage ships or dark content as a way to cope with what happened or Just Because? That's a thing lots of us do, especially those of us who don't look like the Perfect Victims people can use as an excuse for whatever crusade they're waging. I've heard anti types go "Well, it's an unhealthy way to cope" or claims that CSA/rape victims who write such dark content are "just as bad as their abusers"... But are they psychiatrists/therapists? Are they the psychiatrists/therapists of *those specific people*? Will you moderate this kind of content by forcefully interrogating CSA/rape victims to out their trauma to a complete stranger? Will you demand to speak to their therapists? Over fanfic?

When I was a teenager, I wrote all sorts of stuff. I wrote dark dub-con fic, because I liked to explore those dark feelings in the process and the aftermath separate from myself. I wrote a fic with a fairly young teenage girl (what age was kh2 kairi? who even knows, I sure didn't) falling for a MUCH older man built like a brick shit house so that there was never any doubt to him being an adult, even giving him her first kiss, because they were my favorite characters, I wanted both of them to have a moment of happiness (that i promptly ruined but hey), and, *in this fic*, I knew it would be alright. I knew the girl would always be in control, she'd be the one making moves, that the guy was nonthreatening and kind and protect her and work alongside her.

(and then I began the process of killing him off in the next paragraph through him saving her life, but, like. Drama (tm), baby)

This was all good for me. At an age where I was young, vulnerable, and figuring out weird shit like arousal and romantic feelings, it was *invaluable* to have a space where I could explore all of that while relatively safe from actual danger, even if the stuff I wanted to explore was a little messed up. This whole thing against AO3 wouldn't have helped me, and I'm pretty sure it's not helping a lot of other people too.

There is an issue with underage people and sex stuff- not just in fandom but in culture at large. We have Hollywood dressing up young girl actresses in super slinky or revealing clothes. We have schools saying girls basically should never wear shorts, and capitalism fucking this up further by only selling SUPER SHORT shorters. We have media of all sorts giving us adults, whether in real actors or character design, in the roles of young people. (See: "how do you do, fellow kids") We should probably take more care about fandom spaces, so that people of all ages don't feel pressured to engage in sexual shit they're not 100% game for or into, or just have it shoved into their faces without consent. It's a complex issue... and it's not stuff that can just be 'banned' and have that fix it.

AO3 has on its plate a very complex problem that will, if we're all honest, never have a perfect answer. It has given us the best that can possibly be asked for. It obeys the law by not having actual child pornography on it (aka visual proof of actual real children, defined by us law as such), which is closest to "objective" we can get at the current stage in humanity and state of fandom. It has a very comprehensive and moderated tag system, so that people can post warnings along their fic so that people don't stumble onto shit they don't need to, and so that people can moderate their own reading experience to some degree.

If some people aren't comfortable with AO3, that's fine. However, most of us are getting annoyed not with those people, but with the people who just blindly say "AO3 supports child porn and is probably stealing money" (statement simplified for the purpose of this post). It shows an ignorance of the fandom history that lead us here, no understanding in either AO3's practices or how expensive it is to run a site, and no consideration for how complex this problem can really be. It would be great if this was a black and white issue, if there was an easy answer as just "banning" certain kinds of content... but there isn't. And that's where I am.

[hwallout]

our little secret - csy (iv)

summary: as a CEO of one of the country’s most powerful companies, you had your secrets to success. no one ever gained power without ruthless, filthy and unfair play, it’s all okay if no one knows right? well, what happens when your little secrets fall into the hands of someone you can’t get rid of that easily?

words: 7,1k

genre: angst, drama, some fluff if you squint

warnings: language

early an: honestly,,, is this worth continuing?

first part

second part

third part

The remark had different meanings for the both of you. Seungyoun was speaking his thoughts, but not exactly clear enough to be understood immediately. There was a hidden message behind the strong wall of his words, but the heir wouldn’t allow it to be known before the time’s right.

You looked at him with attentive eyes, pupils slightly dilated due to the sudden change of light. The moon carefully caressed Seungyoun’s features, making his skin glow bright. It seemed as if the heir wanted you to interrogate further, and with the curiosity that tickled your mind, it was only natural to do so. For whatever reason, the tiny voice whispered that it might just be what you were expecting all along - the door through which one would be able to regain control.

“What do you mean?”

“The drinking. I’m not an alcoholic, yet look at me” Seungyoun blurted out. There was a quiet but audible laugh coming from his end, which contrasted your sudden disappointed expression. Little did you know that Seungyoun wasn’t laughing because he was amused. The male was in disbelief, because even in such a state, he managed to hold his ground and lie.

The heir poured himself another glass of wine, the big black bottle now empty. He reached underneath the table and pulled out two things – another smaller bottle and one more transparent glass. Once opened, the aroma from inside of the bottle entered your nostrils almost immediately. It was strong and alluring, just tempting to reach for and taste. Seungyoun filled your glass and stood up, grabbing the other bottle by the neck and walking inside to throw it away.

The song playing changed but a new melody followed the same feeling. Calm and slow notes only immersed you more in the view, a rustling city that seemed so little and easy to crush from this high up.

Once Seungyoun came out, there was a little bluetooth speaker in one of his hands, while the other held his phone. A sincere smile caused by emotion one could only be able to describe as pride, was a rare sight on his features. The man sat down and sighed out loud after placing the two objects on the table.

“You know, this isn’t exactly where I saw myself a couple of years ago. Simply said, I still can’t see myself in a position of a future CEO”

This time though, as if some drastic change happened, Seungyoun approached his thoughts from a different angle. The tone used was unlike any other you’ve heard before. It wasn’t stern or emotionless, no, on the contrary, it was full of a certain something. You took a sip of the dark liquid, shivering at the taste.

“I always wanted to do music” He mentioned and you nodded along, already familiar with the fact. It wasn’t rare that the media pulled out that card when speaking about the heir. Blamed for being uninterested in business or praised that he’s doing well despite wanting to pursue a music career. Sometimes the only emotion one could feel while reading those was pure pity for the man. Could he really not do what he loved?

The melody changed pace. Your body unconsciously swayed back and forth, carried by the rhythm. The piece was so beautiful that it caused sadness, for you’ve been missing out on it for so long. Every beat was hitting just the right places in one’s mind and heart, awakening a thousand other feelings as it progressed. Unintentionally, your eyes closed and you relaxed back into the seat.

Soon, a soft voice accompanied the melody, and with careful, beautful words, only made the song better. The male singing had a mesmerizing voice, hushed and breathy to fit the current rhythm. Visible goosebumps formed on your arms, a smile sneaking up to beautify your facial features.  

Then, out of nowhere, that exact voice - just a little bit louder - sounded only a meter away.

It didn’t take long to catch up on the fact that Seungyoun was singing along. What took a moment to process was that Seungyoun’s voice matched the one in the song. Every single note, pitch, whisper was the exact same. Shivers ran down your spine in realization, but you didn’t dare interrupt the showcase just yet.

Once the last few beats faded away, the male turned around and locked eyes with yours, a huge smile on his lips, pearly white teeth bidding their hello. His happy expression contrasted yours, which was one of pure surprise.

“I made that” Seungyoun whispered. Short silence enrolled right after, but it wasn’t anywhere near uncomfortable. It was just a moment you dared take to properly swallow down the information that Seungyoun was actually seriously working on his music. A certain feeling welled up in your chest, caused by pure admiration for the man who still pursued his dreams, despite everything else.

“That was... pretty good if I’m being honest, Seungyoun. Good job” You replied, praising the other for the first time. The male looked at you staggered, as if the compliment was something much more serious, and maybe, for him, it was.

Without any more words exchanged, you stood up, taking hold of your glass and walking towards the railing. Leaning against the handrail, you continued staring into the distance, still mesmerized by the overall view. Silence once again filled up with a calm melody, you heard Seungyoun shuffle in his seat, before standing up to approach you. Taking a generous sip of the strong beverage, you felt another shiver overtake the body. The drink was something you’ve never tasted before, for it had a pretty strange, sour, yet addicting taste.

“You know...my father and I... I was always a disappointment for him” The heir spoke with a calm and collected words, which was somewhat surprising due to the amount of alcohol he consumed. Seungyoun didn’t look at you, but he was well aware that his every word was being listened to.  

“I was the creative kid, with a great voice and feeling for composition. I’ve never really been interested in what my dad was calculating or making business calls for late in the night. It never appealed to me”

You listened, although not exactly interested in the topic. Truthfully, you paid attention not to be rude more than anything else. In the end, the man was speaking about an emotional and serious experience for him, so really the least one could do was listen. Taking another sip, you looked at the other, noticing the little frown on his lips.

“When I wrote my first song and presented it to my parents, it’s an understatement to say they weren’t pleased. My mother had to shield me from his harsh words of discouragement. I still remember every single thing he has said” Seungyoun’s voice broke at one point, but he tried to cover it up with a forced cough. The heir was a decent businessman, but actor? Not so much.  

“You can imagine how a kid with broken dreams feels like” At that, Seungyoun broke a smile. A pitiful, weak smile, that still held that certain, hidden emotion behind it.

“I’ve built this empire, expecting it to grow stronger in the future. I didn’t throw away my whole youth to not have a responsible heir take after me! I’m not going to accept my son screech into the microphone when he can rule the world!”

Seungyoun’s words suddenly seemed to hit a certain spot inside of your heart. Gulping down what was left in the transparent glass, you went to pour some more before returning. The little ‘break’ allowed you to take a few deep breaths and calm down the heart that was unreasonably getting sad and empathic. It took Seungyoun a few seconds to continue with his talk, the man playing insecurity about continuing further which you dismissed with a soft hand gesture.

“Over time, you learn to be silent and take it. There’s no other way, really. You’re obliged to follow up and continue what someone else has started in such a situation. But... it hurts more when you’re guilt tripped into it as a child”

Another long moment of silence enrolled. The chill wind grew stronger, caressing the warm surface of your skin in a hurried manner. The alcohol flowed freely through your bloodstream, already having a strong effect on the heartbeat that quickened and mind that opened. You’ve never been someone who can handle a lot of alcohol well, but still far away from a lightweight. Often, you’d drink just enough to feel just a little carefree, but that line seemed to have been passed long ago. Surprisingly, it took two glasses. Who knows what kind of wine Seungyoun had at home.

A feeling of guilt bid its hello. Suddenly, the weight of words became far too important and noticeable. You remembered the times you’ve intentionally tried shaming the man in front of his father, not aware of the consequences they had. One voice whispered that those were asshole moves, something you should be apologizing for, while the other yelled that you shouldn’t be backing down and caring so much. The mind was walking a path that branched into two and it had no idea which one to take.  

The one that whispered appeared close and intimate, speaking slowly, softly, yet louder as you took another sip. The second voice seemed more distant as time went by, it yelled and tried to warn of the possible consequences, but it was so, so far away.

“I... I’m sorry...” You muttered quietly, unsure if the words should reach the heir’s ears. Unfortunately, they did, for Seungyoun turned to face you with one eyebrow lifted and a smirk on his lips. There it was, the true emotion surfacing. You could’ve left it at that, but without much reason, decided to continue.

“I must’ve affected and fueled the fire with my words in the past... I’m... I’m really sorry, Seungyoun” Your free hand moved and took a hold of his, feeling the contrast in temperatures between the two bodies. Seungyoun’s look turned more curious, but only to hide the sly one hiding behind. Despite it all, his chest squeezed tight, the space inside becoming way too small for the erratic heart. It encouraged the man to act up on the emotions he’s trying to dismiss and replace with something fake.  

Seungyoun finally found the hole that allowed entrance to the space of your mind and heart, yet restrained himself from acting on it. So far, the heir was managing just fine, finding out what were the exact weaknesses of your being, and using them properly against you. Manipulation – his face contorted in disgust at the word.

Of course, there was that voice that yelled at him for playing the game in such a way. Just your tentative hand on his forced the heir into rethinking all of the planned steps. You weren’t supposed to give in so quickly, to show the hidden, caring fragments of personality he never saw. Seungyoun suddenly felt guilty, although he tried fighting it off. The immediate battle inside of his mind, housed two worlds that clashed against each other. It was either he stuck to the plan until the end, or let fate do its job. It was either he won the game immorally, or accepted the guilt and opted not to ruin the life of someone he cared for. Success or possible elimination.

Sighing out loud, Seungyoun threw the dice and let them fall however.

“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it” That was such an asshole reply, and the male was aware of it. This way, he indirectly confirmed that you did have an impact, causing your heart to ache.  

Seungyoun both did and didn’t deserve this. There were many reasons that stood behind both of those statements. He was the one who approached the whole thing incorrectly, and although blindly, added yet another problem to his plate. On the other hand, Seungyoun had a proper and overall pure cause for his initial actions. The son only wanted what he thought was the best for his father, something that would finally get him the smallest bit of appreciation from the older.

After all, Seungyoun never once used the knowledge to his advantage. One call, click, or talk would do so, so much irreversible damage and it was that easy. You always jumped over it so carelessly, thinking that Seungyoun wasn’t dumb enough to ignore your threats and put his own head on the gambling table.  

But that simply wasn’t the case. Seungyoun has been putting something else on the table, something that made him look like an even bigger fool. The heir wasn’t scared of your threats and power, for he knew you just couldn’t put a bullet through his head no matter what.

The worst thing was, that you were aware of it too. You were aware of just how strong Seungyoun’s check mate was.  But it was your pride and ego that always tried pushing those thoughts somewhere far, far back, or under the mat.

The alcohol once again did its thing, blurring your thoughts and causing yet another unnecessary question to spill out. At this rate, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into tonight...

“Don’t use my question as encouragement but...” The words were quiet once again, but the eyes that looked into Seungyoun’s were far stronger than before. Your irises focused on his, as if searching for something that would wake you up from the current state of mind.

“Why aren’t you using what you have against me?”  

“Why would I?”

Seungyoun’s reply was met with hush and a dumbfounded expression from his partner. Why, he asked? The man had the power to end the whole INVICTA empire, the power to prove the elder that his son was no little kitten. Yet... why?

You remained silent, afraid of giving away any ideas. But there was no need.

“Do you not realize my goal is not destroying your company?” The tone Seungyoun used to say those words appeared a bit too harsh. Visibly taken aback, you took a step away from the other, a breath you weren’t even aware of holding in, coming out in a form of sigh.  

“My goal is gaining my father’s trust. Everything else is just a part of the plan that will help me accomplish it” His face was surprisingly emotionless while speaking. The words seemed to have an effect on the organ inside of your chest, for it squeezed tight once before letting go. The revelation of being used was never a pleasant feeling, but you swallowed it down shamefully, tasting its bitterness.

Seungyoun turned around, facing the city and away from you. This were the facts and his selfish nature that occasionally surfaced as a defense mechanism. He didn’t want you to know the proper, complete truth, and decided to choose the rougher path to walk on. The not so irrational fear of losing you so quickly was too strong.

Maybe it was the better for you to know partial truth, which in most cases was better than none. Or, may haps it wasn’t, because from now on, there will always be that heavy feeling of being used hanging just above your head.

“I’m sorry that you were the one who got tangled into all of this, though”

The atmosphere was quiet for a little while. Both took time to take in the situation. With gazes trained far away, the two souls got lost in imaginary world. Chilly wind continued caressing the hot skin of your face, a light reminder of the present, but not strong enough of a sensation to begin sobering you up. That exact breeze messed Seungyoun’s hair up, strands flying in all directions, making him seem a little more boyish than usual.

The man wasn’t physically holding you back. He never did. You were allowed a chance to go home, rethink the whole deal over, change the gaming plan. Yet, for the first time ever, there were invisible chains pulling your legs down, making them too heavy to move. You couldn’t step away, and the other was well aware of that.

“If only you knew how delighted my father was when the news of us came out. He was so happy to see that his passive son found someone who’d maybe pique his interest for business” Seungyoun laughed pitifully and spoke with a voice that was much quieter than before. He resumed staring at the disappearing car lights in the distance.  

His words once again hit the soft spot. They had you thinking about your own parents, with a heavy heart. Losing both parents was the worst trauma you ever had the chance of experiencing; but even with that behind you, it wasn’t possible to imagine the pain of losing their support. Being distant emotionally with someone so close was on another level.

Seungyoun, intentionally or not, was playing all the right cards to awaken the emotional and trusting person that you tried so hard to hide. Especially in front of him.

This was the first time the two of you had a serious conversation about personal topics, which was a surprisingly pleasant change. It allowed you to get more comfortable and intimate with the other.  

On top of everything else, looking at the heir was a different sensation tonight. The stray strands that flowed freely through the breeze, occasionally covering his dark eyes. His skin glowed under the moonlight, the straight nose bridge emphasizing his beautiful side profile. And the soft, rosy lips that were just slightly parted, calling out to have a finger caressing over them.  

As if the desire you’ve been hiding for a while decided to come out and play with your already fragile mind. It suddenly fought all the pitiful emotions felt before, giving you all the different new ideas you’d usually be vary of.

It was the alcohol. The unknown, dark liquid that tasted better with each sip that made you feel such ways. With feelings all over the place when drunk, you were prone to sudden and drastic changes of mind. But even the tiniest pieces of sober mind weren’t making an effort at preventing your actions this time.

“Take a picture, it will last longer”

“I’d rather enjoy it live, thanks” ��

Seungyoun’s cheeks rose higher, lips lifting upwards as a flustered giggle escaped through them. His hand came up over his mouth, trying to hide the smile that was too hard to control. After a few seconds, the heir glanced at you, noticing the hazy look in your eyes. Slowly, but surely, your body slowly rocked back and forth, as if carried by the wind.  

At one point, it looked as if you were going to stumble back, but Seungyoun was quick to step closer and prevent it from happening. A wide grin spread over your soft features upon feeling strong hands on your waist. The dilated irises only now proved your drunken state, as if the alcohol only now intensified its effect.

“Seungyoun?” You whispered, the grin never once disappearing. The heir hummed along, never once weakening his hold. A free point finger traced unknown patterns on his chest, the sensation slightly ticklish for the other.

“What if I... willingly helped you with the plan...” Seungyoun’s eyes widened at that, head moving backwards for an inch. It was impossible to believe that those words left your lips and entered his ears properly. The finger moved upwards, tracing a line over the male’s exposed collarbones, your gaze never once decreasing its strength. Even in such a state, you had Seungyoun on his toes.

“But!” Of course, there was a condition.  

“You have to... get rid of all the evidence you have against... me. No bullshit because I will find you out”  

At such a proposition, the male didn’t need a minute to think of an answer. Immediately, he let go of your waist, extending an arm with a smile.

“Deal” Seungyoun replied, watching the way your gaze fell to look at his hand, before they travelled back up with a mischievous grin. In a blink of an eye, your bodies were pressed against each other, fingers gripping the neckline of his loose t-shirt, pulling down lightly.  

“I’ll rather sign this way” Closing in the last piece of distance, your lips pressed against his in a hurried manner. Seungyoun was quick to reply, fingers once again positioned on your waist, trying to pull the two bodies even closer. Eventually, with one hand situated just behind your neck, the heir controlled the kiss and allowed it to grow more heated as time ran by.

Seconds turned into minutes, kisses into bites, sighs into moans. Seungyoun carried you back inside, opening unknown door and entering what you supposed was his bedroom. The man sat on the bed with you now placed on his lap, hands wandering beneath the thin shirt and over his back.  

Hungrily, Seungyoun’s lips trailed down, leaving light kisses on your jaw, before moving to the sensitive skin of your neck. Moving around, you allowed more space for the sinful bites, that the heir left behind with each kiss.  

Eventually, your fingers threaded through his thick strands, pulling with the slightest bit of force, just to have Seungyoun crane his neck back. He looked at you with hooded eyes, lips curving into a wicked smile, a silent laugh escaping through. Diving down, you excitedly began returning similar marks on his neck, listening to the most beautiful sighs and sounds that the man produced.

All while, your hips dragged down over his, but neither made an effort to take everything just a step further. Shirts were thrown down on the ground, but nothing more. It was the mutual understanding that although the moment was heated and tense, both parties were drunk, mind clouded and driven by more factors than just lust for each other.  

Therefore, the night continued with the same feeling. The only sound inside of the room were lips smacking against each other, sighs and occasional, slipup moans.

The morning brought a slight headache with itself. It was kind of unusual, for you appeared to have a mild hangover because of just two glasses. Truthfully, who knew what it exactly was that Seungyoun offered last night – probably something with a high alcohol percentage.

Your eyes opened a few seconds later, studying the small view of the dimmed room. The surface your head was pressed against was much firmer than a pillow, and it moved. Needless to say, it took a confused moment to process that you were laying down on the heir, who was still deep asleep.

Raising your head as high as possible, you studied the male. His face looked puffy, lips pouting slightly and eyelashes falling beautifully over his soft cheeks. Seungyoun’s hair was disheveled and sticking in many directions, alluring calling for a hand to run through and fix it.  

He looked like a sleeping beauty.

As your eyes travelled down, towards the man’s exposed neck and chest, you found a few deep purple marks. With eyes shut and brows furrowed, you sighed out loud, remembering the whole timeline of last night’s events. There was no doubt that similar purple rings would appear on your own skin too; a low curse perishing into thin air.

The plan on how to stand up without waking Seungyoun up demanded a few minutes of thinking. In the end, you decided on moving as slowly and lightly as possible, freezing up the moment the other moved.  

It took about ten minutes to execute, but in the end you managed. Once on the other, free side of the bed, you rolled down in an ungraceful manner with a slight thump. Laughing quietly, you stood up and looked around the room. It was huge, with similar aesthetics to the rest of the apartment. The curtains allowed only the slightest bits of light inside, making the space look incredibly dim, but light enough to see and navigate through properly.  

Although usually clean, the floor was now a mess thanks to your clothes. Despite remembering not doing anything too scandalous with the male, you looked down in panic. Thankfully, your body was covered up with an oversized shirt. Upon investigating what’s under, you noticed that fortunately, the underwear was still there, in its place.  

Opening the door of the bedroom, you clumsily navigated towards the bathroom. Locking the door behind, you stepped inside the shower, opting to take a refreshing shower. Cold water felt arousing to the hot skin, body moving in different directions to seek more feeling. The sensation elicited a soft moan and you froze, hand coming up to prevent any more sounds from escaping. You supposed the towel from the bunch of neatly folded ones in the cupboard were clean, so that’s what you used to dry off.

There was a big mirror above the sink, showcasing just what type of mess you currently were. Although clean, your hair needed good grooming, which you solved easily using a small black comb placed right beside the sink. Next, and also big reason for worry, were the expected purple marks. Fortunately, none were too high up, most of them decorating your collarbones and lower neck. Unfortunately, there was nothing but clothes you could hide them with for now. That was a job for later.

Without a toothbrush, you chose to take a little bit of the Seungyoun’s red mouthwash on the cupboard. The liquid burned the mouth, and you spat in out quick after a few seconds. Although not perfect, the mouthwash effectively dealt with horrible morning breath.

At that moment, you felt like a parasite living off Seungyoun’s necessities. Oh well.

When you walked back inside of the bedroom to pick up all the clothes scattered on the floor, there was a quiet but sensual melody playing. The small bluetooth speaker from yesterday was placed on the bedside table – exactly where the sound was coming from. Seungyoun was obviously awake, but his eyes were still closed.  

“Good morning” You chirped, faking charm while coming over to sit next to the heir. A hand came up to caress the man’s forearm. Soft fingertips touched the outlines of his bicep tattoo, before moving down to trace the circle on his inner elbow. The action tickled Seungyoun, eliciting a quiet but childish giggle.  

“Good morning, I’m surprised you’re still here” He answered, voice hushed and groggy.

“I can leave?” You answered, jokingly sitting up with intention of walking towards the door, but the man was quicker to grab your wrist. Almost stumbling forwards, you gasped, but Seungyoun was there to prevent the fall from happening for the nth time. Once you were safely situated back on the bed, he replied.

“Stay for breakfast at least?” Seungyoun’s eyes finally opened, immediately scanning your beautiful appearance. Despite the room being dimly lit, his irises shone with their own kind of light. The organ inside of his chest skipped a beat, noticing all of his marks on your skin.  

“I was planning to, but thanks anyway” At that, you stood up, breaking out of the light hold without much force. Picking up the heir’s shirt that still rested on the ground, you threw it back at him. The cloth barely flew through the air before it fell on Seungyoun’s face.

“Go shower, I’m gonna prepare us something to eat”

“Don’t burn the kitchen down!”  

“So, let’s set this clear, now that both of us are awake and sober” You said, chewing on a smaller bite of omelet with bacon. Seungyoun took a sip of yogurt, before taking a bite of his own omelet. The male hummed in appreciation at the taste, and although it was a rather simple dish, you felt happy that he enjoyed something you made.

“I will do what’s in my power to help your situation and you will get rid of any form of evidence you have against me and my company” While speaking, you lowered the fork and knife down, looking at the other with serious eyes. Seungyoun swallowed down with an audible gulp, choosing to imitate your actions and become more serious. Still, there was a smudge of yogurt left on the corner of his lips that made your façade break into a slight smile.  

Reaching out, you wiped it off in a quick motion. Seungyoun nodded and coughed to hide the embarrassment he felt.

“Yes. You said that you’ll have me found out if I don’t” The heir laughed, but it wasn’t because he found it funny, rather because the tension started to build. Your gaze turned sharp, warning the other about the situation still being quite serious.  

“How can I know that I can believe you, though?”  

“Well miss, you’re a businesswoman, a CEO, you’re supposed to know which deal is worth taking, no?” Seungyoun bit back, raising one eyebrow at you. Honestly, it should be expected that the heir will take whatever chance he gets to tease. You leaned back in the seat, sighing out loud with arms crossed. The other coughed again and straightened his posture.

“Okay, okay... how can I be sure you’ll help me though?”  

“Because I already am, although unwillingly. It wouldn’t be a problem for me to put in more effort. We’re only bargaining for 25/75 here. You’ll get my whole support and won’t have to act like a piece of shit to get what you want, while I guarantee safety for my own company. You’re getting more than you lose here”

Seungyoun acted as if he thought it over. The reasons seemed perfectly legitimate. Of course, the male didn’t have a problem with the whole proposal, from the moment it was suggested last night. It was only that he wanted to see you in action, negotiating the best possible outcome for INVICTA.

“You mentioned your father loving me. Just imagine what I can do with that information, Seungyoun. Winning the game is just a decision away from you, but so is losing. Think about how much impact I have on both outcomes. Confirm that INVICTA’s secret database won’t be in your possession, or anyone else’s for that matter, and I’ll play an angel”

The heir cocked his head to the side, prolonging the anticipation of the outcome. He watched your eyes grow more nervous, and it was almost possible to hear your hurried heartbeat. The scene was unbelievable, almost as if both of you weren’t aware that the deal was approved last night, almost as if the night didn’t mean anything.

But it did. It meant a lot. In many ways.

“Deal” Seungyoun said confidently, standing up and extending an arm over the dining table. Pleased with the answer, you did the same, accepting the handshake with a strong hold.    

After breakfast, you decided to leave. At the doorway, Seungyoun pulled you into a quick kiss, not leaving much time to process the situation, before you instinctively kissed back. The act lasted only a few seconds, but it left you feeling dumbfounded once finished. Looking at the man with dilated pupils, you bid a quick farewell and stormed towards the elevator.

It was almost 10am, which meant you a small amount of time to stop by the apartment and fix your appearance up. The Porsche roared as it glided through the streets slightly past the speed limit, the pleasant sound all too familiar to your ears. Thankfully, you arrived in a matter of twenty minutes, all but teleporting out of the car and inside of the building.

Changing into a new set of formal clothes didn’t take long, for you already had them ready in the wardrobe. Makeup took more time though, the marks on your neck appearing a bigger problem than you initially thought. The clock was ticking and you decided on covering only the ones that were higher up. Rest of the purple bruises will be hidden by the buttoned-up shirt, anyway.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you hummed in satisfaction, before heading outside.  

While driving towards INVICTA, an unknown fatigue blurred your vision. Shaking it off and turning on some music to wake up, you slowed down, entering a gear two levels lower for safety precaution.  

The strange energy continued to fluctuate even as you walked through the glass entrance of the expensive building. Every single employee seemed to be staring with a curious look. It wasn’t every day that their boss was late, therefore such circumstance piqued interest. The obnoxious sound of heels clicking against the ground served as a great distraction and stimuli to keep grounded. Which was funny, because in your eyes, the ground was slightly shaking, and in no way completely steady.

The inside of the elevator was covered in mirrors. There, you leaned against the metal rail that went around the walls, sighing out loud. It was hard maintaining a straight and stoic posture, especially during days like these. Looking at the completely normal, clean reflection in the mirror, you wondered what exactly it was that had everyone staring. You’ll hear the rumors fast if there were any, anyway.

With a soft ding, the elevator door opened in a swift motion. Eunha was standing right outside, as if she’s been waiting for the boss’ arrival all this time. Your frowned slightly.

“Good morning, Miss” She chirped and walked alongside you. The assistant had a vibrant smile on her face, an expression much different than the ones you’ve encountered at the entrance. She made no remarks about your timing, which you deeply appreciated.

“Good morning, Eunha” You replied with an unusual tone. It lacked energy and the usual upbeat. Time was barely morning, almost eleven o’clock, but it still seemed like the most appropriate way to reply to her greeting.  

Only when you flopped down into the comfortable leather chair, did your mind begin to blur. Seeking more air, you unbuttoned the collar of your shirt, head leaning back against the backrest. Eunha watched carefully, contemplating whether or not to ask about your state. Something happened to deter her from doing so, for she knew you’d tell her if it was anything serious.  

But that tiny purple patch on your now exposed collarbone perfectly triggered her curiosity. The assistant could only hope you’re going to speak up about it.

“A few people called, but no one who I couldn’t have rescheduled, not knowing you were planning on showing up today” She said, standing straight and swiping over the sensitive screen of a big tablet. Her pencil skirt was an unusual color of baby pink, different from her normal black, and instead of listening to the list of calls, you focused on the refreshing change.  

Your eyelids started dropping the more she went on, and all that you’ve picked up from the presentation was that working overtime tomorrow is a must. Currently, it didn’t matter because all that you wished for was another nap, being just millimeters away from dropping down and taking one on the desk.

“Miss? Should I leave and then come back later?” Eunha interrupted, immediately collecting all attention on herself. She was close to the desk, but ready to leave. Her head was cocked to the side while gentle hands held the tablet tightly against her thighs. You looked up at her and tried signaling something with a weird hand gesture.

“I’m sorry” You whispered, watching the other’s expression turn surprised.  

“Why, Miss?”

“I’m not feeling that well...I feel drained...” You continued, opting to massage your temples, hoping it would somehow help the situation. Eunha placed the big device on the desk, crouching down to be eye-level with you. The female had her own assumptions about your state, eyes still occasionally wandering down your neck and towards the little mark.

“Should I bring you some water or coffee? Aspirin maybe?” She questioned, tone nothing else but caring.

“You’re a sweetheart, please do” You answered, head finally lowering onto the two crossed forearms. It was a makeshift pillow, that you hoped would at least help make the short rest more comfortable. Eunha giggled at the passing compliment, whispering a quick ‘it’s my job, Miss’ before heading outside.  

Just when the fatigue was slowly getting the best of you, eyes steadily closing shut – your phone vibrated. The screen turned on, a colorful background now blurred, with a notification of a new message. With a sigh, you moved to throw a quick glance on it, interest immediately piquing at the name of the sender. It was Seungwoo.

Clumsily pressing in the four-digit passcode, you unlocked the device, reading the message in a hurried manner. Even though the man wasn’t anywhere near, you still heard him through the text, voice soft and cheerful.  

------

Snoopy – 10s ago

Hey, how about we go to our café later today? I’ll wait outside when you finish, I got discharged early.

Me

Can you come pick me up in twenty minutes? I don’t feel well and I don’t think I can drive home. We can pick up something on our way back. It’s on me.

-------

With the way your state keeps worsening as the day progressed, you didn’t want to risk driving home. At the same time, you couldn’t have asked for a better-timed moment to meet the other. Time with Seungwoo was extremely limited and rare nowadays, both being way too busy with work.

Often, the male appeared whenever you needed help. It was strange because frequently, Seungwoo didn’t do it intentionally – much like today. Sometimes, you wondered if he had a special sense that detects whenever you’re feeling even the slightest bit wronged. Those thoughts would usually paint a shy smile on your expression, easing off the tension felt at the moment.  

Without any questioning, Seungwoo texted back, saying he’s already out and will be waiting. Unconsciously, you cooed at the other.

Eunha walked in, carrying a glass with water with a dissolving tablet inside. The sound of tiny bubbles travelling up from the bottom filled the quiet room. Once the drug dissolved, you chugged down the liquid, eyes opening wide afterwards, as if to get yourself to shake of the never-ending daze.

Just then, upon a quick glance at the assistant, you noticed the direction of her eyes. Looking down at your chest, it didn’t take long to connect all of the dots. With a half-hearted, more so pitiful laugh, you motioned towards the chair. There were still fifteen minutes until you had to head out, there was just enough time for a quick recap. Eunha was quick to follow orders, hands neatly placed in her lap as she waited for the boss to talk about last night’s interesting events.

Maybe it really was the aspirin, or the excitement of meeting with Seungwoo, but you appeared more awake.

Putting on the usual stoic expression, you walked with much more confidence, greeting everyone with a strict nod and gaze. The employees bowed politely, going back to their usual work without much eye contact with their boss. No one dared to stare anymore.

Outside, Seungwoo stood leaned against his car, eyes travelling all around the place. The man wore a red silk shirt, fitting black jeans and black shoes. Needless to say, without much effort, Seungwoo was the center of everyone’s attention.

His hands were tucked inside of the jean pockets, long fingers occasionally coming up to sweep through his dark hair. It only took the man ten seconds to lock eyes on your approaching form, immediately noticing the slight sway of your hips.  

Pushing off the expensive Aston Martin, Seungwoo leaned in for a hug. Strangely enough, his arms lingered on your body way short, hold similar to a light breeze. Throughout the years, you got used to warm and strong hugs, ones that lasted a lifetime from the other. Therefore, the sudden and drastic change was nothing but unpleasant and disliked.

Swallowing the annoyance down and opening the door, you lowered down into the comfortable leather seat. It was as if you heard the white Porsche weep while you drove away in another car.

“So, what’s up?” The male asked, head tilting in your direction as he spoke. The pure, raw sight of him right now would arouse anyone. Seungwoo’s gaze was sharp but friendly, an eyebrow raised in curiosity and lips forming a teasing smirk. One of his hands was comfortably placed on the gear stick, while the other rested on top of the wheel.  

“Ah, I don’t know what has gotten into me...” You sighed, relaxing further back into the cozy seat. “I’ keep feeling more tired as the day goes on, I was late to work too. That never happens?”

While shuffling to a more comfortable position, the white shirt underneath your blazer moved, exposing that annoying hickey you haven’t covered. Seungwoo’s eyes absentmindedly moved to that area, immediately picking up the sight of it. His brows furrowed and the male reached out to pull the shirt back up, effectively covering the mark up. At least from his own eyes.

“It’s quite obvious what has gotten into you. Just tell your boyfriend to be a little bit less obvious next time” Seungwoo noted, with a voice he rarely ever used. You never caught onto its meaning, despite being good at reading people.  

The male locked his sight on the road, making sure to drive under the speed limit. The streets were bustling with people, and usually you’d look outside, enjoy the urban city, yet this time you couldn’t. Of course, it was only to the closest of friends, but why have you been so eager to tell Seungwoo that Seungyoun wasn’t your boyfriend? Why were you silently hoping that he’d speak up just so you could dismiss his statement?

“Seungwoo, he’s not my boyfriend” With a certain kind of pride, the words escaped through your lips. A tentative hand reached out and patted Seungwoo’s arm, feeling the tension of his muscles. As if externally sensitive, they visibly flexed underneath the careful touch.

“The mark on your neck doesn’t agree” The other spat again, this time with a noticeable amount of displeasure. Choosing the moment to tease the other and ease the tension, your hand that was previously on the man’s arm, moved to his sharp jawline. Your fingers gently caressed the soft skin.

“Is that what’s suddenly bothering you?”  

Seungwoo looked at you as he came to a red light, different emotions flashing inside of his irises. They were dilated, while his lips parted slightly, just barely showing traces of shock. He was ready to lie and disagree, but your thumb and point finger moved to grasp his chin.

“Would you feel better if it was yours?”

A/N: Hi! Uh this took... a lot of unreasonable time to write, I’m sorry. I was confused about what I want to do and what to write, and honestly I hope you guys still remember this fic and wanna keep up haha. Please be careful and stay healthy!

[soulangel]

Octobpalooza Day 7-Seventeen

Group: Seventeen Ghost!Hoshi x Investigator!Reader

Genre: fluff, crack

Warnings: About a ghost, so a dead person? Other than that none

Prev x Masterlist x Next

    You couldn’t help jumping a little when an object was knocked to the ground, a familiar giggling sounded around you as you turned towards the sound. “C-Come out from hiding! This isn’t funny!” You whined, pouting your bottom lip while shining your flashlight around yourself quickly.

    Before long, an apparition appeared in front of you, causing you to yelp and back away from it out of reflex. You tripped over the doorway and landed on your rear painfully hard, wincing as your butt throbbed in dull pain. “Ah….ow…” You groaned, rubbing the sore spot a moment before a transparent hand appeared in front of you.

    His smile caught your attention and helped you calm your racing heart as you made to stand up and dust off your pants and shirt. “I’m sorry for scaring you. It’s just so fun. And no one reacts the way you do.” He explained as you finally looked up at him.

    You rolled your eyes and sighed quietly. “Sometimes I wish you were alive so I could HIT you.” You grumbled, hiding the smile trying to make its way onto your face as he started whining at you.

    His eyes lit up when he glanced down at your bag and spotted a device you could use to help him communicate with others. “Is that what I think it is?! Will it help me yell at-I mean speak to people?” He asked excitedly while you slid down the wall to the room you tripped into.

    You chuckled and nodded your head, grabbing the device out and setting it down in front of you. “Just move close to it and see if you can manipulate the wavelengths around the antennae. You should be able to create words or sounds with it.” You explained, waiting patiently for him to fiddle with it.

    He floated over the top of it-just to spite you-and started moving his body around it like a madman, causing the machine to go haywire. Screeching loudly and making you want to throw the thing out the nearest window. “Hoshi I swear! I will leave!” You huffed out, glaring halfheartedly at the ghost in front of you.

    He grinned innocently and stopped with the crazy sounds, controlling his energy and sending one word through the device to make sure you could hear it as clearly as if he said it with his own mouth...or….energy you see? 

“Thanks.”

    You blinked in surprise and looked up at him for a minute, seeing the genuine smile on his face. You couldn’t help smiling back at him and nodded your head in response. “You’re welcome. That’s like the most genuine thing I’ve ever heard. You couldn’t have said it yourself?” You sulked, gaining a mischievous grin.

    The device lit up again as he focused more energy into it. “Technically. I. Did.” The thing responded one word at a time.

    You smirked when you saw the drained look on Hoshi’s face. “That’s really tiring….I….need a nap….to recharge….” He mumbled, dropping to the ground beside you.

    You nodded your head and laid down on the ground, letting him lay down in front of you, the both of you facing each other. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to work tomorrow. I’ve always wondered how a ghost sleeps.” You teased, seeing his unamused look at your jab.

    You grinned finally and laughed, unable to hide the happiness in your noises as he continued giving you that unamused look. “For starters, we normally don’t rest like this. I’ll be disappearing in a little while because even showing myself to you is a lot of energy. I just wanted to be nice and stay with you a little longer, like a human again.” He pouted.

    “But you’re not normal. You’re PARANORMAL.”

    “Okay you can leave now…”

~~~

Taglist: @plutosnebula​​ @joong-littlelove​​ @weuschoiceheart​​ @strawb-lix​​​ @anonymousuno​​​ @takua43​​​ @kpop-in-new-albion​​​ @introverted-red-panda​​

[vannahfanfics]

Live

Category: Romantic Fluff, Angst

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Lucy Heartfilia, Gray Fullbuster

Requested By: FlyingPegasus7 (Ao3)

The air echoed with screams, explosions, and the rumbling roars of dragons as Gray dashed through the cracked cobblestone streets of Crocus. The earth rumbled beneath his feet, making his steps unsteady. He fumbled over the ground as it heaved and writhed, the road beneath him fissuring at a rapid rate. As the earth in front of him hurled up a good two feet, Gray screeched to a stop to avoid tripping over the suddenly raised ground. Hastily, he skirted around the risen section of the street to resume his feverish pace, lest he become prey to the dragon skulking through the buildings behind him. 

Gray rounded the corner and pressed against the brick, pausing to catch his breath. His chest heaved with gulping breaths to suck in as much oxygen as he could as quickly as possible; after several minutes of sprinting, his body was becoming deprived, and his vision fuzzed gray around the edges. As he peered around the corner of the building, he blinked rapidly to force the blurry image to clear. The ground trembled underneath him, and the quake slowly rose in intensity as a horned head rose over the roof of an apartment complex. Poison dripped from its jaws, which were also encrusted in ice from Gray’s feeble attempts to overpower the giant lizard-like monster. As the acidic substance puddled on the building and the road, the hard surfaces dissolved into mush. Thankfully for Gray, the massive beast shambled off in the opposite direction. He breathed a small sigh of relief. 

He then growled and slammed his fist into the brick wall. The harsh surface shredded the skin of his knuckles, and blood smeared crimson against the mute red. What the hell am I doing?! Running away with my tail between my legs… This isn't how a mage of Fairy Tail should act! he cursed self-loathingly. Still panting slightly, he peered around the edge of the building to watch the wisps of smoke rise from the dissolved building. He said that, but what could he do against such reckless strength and hate? His fist slowly uncurled as his clenched muscles comprehended the sheer depth of his powerlessness. 

Gray gasped as a chorus of frightened screams pierced the air. Instinctively, he turned his gaze heavenward to see massive blob-shaped objects falling to earth. The had been expelled from the body of the dragon circling the city. The ground rumbled beneath Gray's feet as a handful of them crashed into the nearby buildings and streets with sickening splatters. One of them collided with the apartment building against which Gray was taking shelter. The ice mage cried out and lunged forward as the roof split, sending bricks and wood beams tumbling towards him. He landed flat on his belly on the cracked cobblestone, covering his head; dust, wood bits, and brick chunks rained over him, coating his dark cloak in white powder. Somehow he escaped significant injury. 

Gray pushed himself onto his elbows with a small huff and shook his head to clear the debris from his dark blue hair. As he slowly dragged himself to his feet, the half-destroyed building shuddered and groaned behind him. Water gushed from a burst pipe, rapidly forming a puddle next to the mage that lapped at the toes of his shoes. Gray turned around, brushing the chalky dust from his clothes, just in time to see a dragonoid form clawing its way out of the rubble. Gray's eyes blew wide as it snarled at him to bear razor-sharp teeth and a forked tongue. 

As the creature leaped at him with a demented screech, Gray reacted on instinct and used the water beside him to freeze it within an ice wall. Its black form scowled at him from within the transparent, ridged block of ice. Before it could use brute force to escape, Gray dashed off the side street and back onto the main road. Half a dozen of the beasts prowled through the buildings, bending streetlamps in half and overturning café tables with savage headbutts. One of them took notice of his presence and hissed, jumping down from the awning it was ripping apart to shamble towards him.

Gray back-pedaled with frantic gasps, his ice magic swirling around his hand. Suddenly, the small dragon crouched down, and its slimy back bubbled grotesquely. Gray barely had time to throw himself into an alleyway as several white pointed spikes shot out of the creature's body and rocketed toward him. They collided with the brick wall above his head, burying themselves a foot deep and sending cracks rippling through the surface. 

If one of those hits me, I'll be impaled! he thought before jumping on top of the dumpster and freezing the monster as it nosed into the alley. Two more of its brethren came climbing over the ice wall, screeching while Gray skirted around the corner. 

I have to pick them off one-by-one! he thought as he dashed through the labyrinthine array of alleys. If I let them overwhelm me, I'm dead! It was all well and good in theory, but much harder to exercise in practice. The creatures were tenacious in their hunt for the ice mage, and obviously preferred pack pursuit. As soon as Gray encased one of them in ice, three more would replace it, shooting the white spears at him. The constant guerilla warfare was daunting, and Gray soon bordered on exhaustion. Several of the spikes had grazed him, leaving bleeding and burning abrasions over his chest’s bare skin (because at some point he'd flung his cloak to the wind). After another attempt to overpower the small dragons only to become outmatched, Gray collapsed against a dirty alley wall, sliding into a crouch and applying pressure to the small tear in his side.

"Fuck," he whispered softly as his unfocused eyes spied the trail of ruby-red droplets betraying his location. The dragons would sniff him out in due time; he could already hear the scrapes of their claws against the street and their high-pitched weals rising in volume. "Have to get out of here," he groaned and used the small ledges in the brick to haul himself into a standing position. Using the wall to bear most of his weight, he half-limped, half-jogged deeper into the alley, just as a hulky form blotted out the light seeping in from the street. The dragonoid's screech bounced in the small space, ringing in Gray's ears like a death knell. 

Gray's eyes widened as a disheveled blonde girl darted into the alley ahead of him, ducking behind some silver trash bins. A few seconds later, one of the monsters skittered by the alley’s entrance, snuffling like a boar as it passed. Gray watched, frozen, as Lucy peered out into the street to ensure it had left before exhaling deeply. When she turned around, she caught sight of him. 

"Gray!" she hissed and darted over just as he slumped against the wall. Her hands fluttered around his wounds but never touched, not wishing to pain him accidentally. "You're hurt…"

"It's nothing. They just grazed me." Gray looked frenziedly over his shoulder as the metallic bang of a trash bin falling on its side clanged in the passage behind him. "We gotta go." He grabbed her hand and tore away from the wall with a grunt. A smear of blood marked the place where he had leaned against the brick. For the sake of not alerting the nearby beasts to their position, Lucy stifled her protests. After taking fervent glances down both sides of the street, Gray pulled her out into the open, intending to take shelter in the half-destroyed bakery a few yards down the road. We need to regroup. Fighting these things on our own is a suicide mission! If I could find Juvia or Erza or anybody, we'll stand a better chance…! 

"Gray, look out!" 

Lucy's blood-curdling scream cleaved through the night air like a blade. Something knocked into Gray and sent him staggering a few paces to the left on unsteady, wobbly knees. He whipped around as he crashed into a brick wall, and then time slowed down to an agonizing pace. He watched the air warp around the razor-sharp spikes as they sailed towards Lucy, who still had her arms outstretched from pushing Gray out of the way. He watched the blood explode from her skin as the jagged points made first contact, biting into the meat of her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen like carnivorous beasts. The air vibrated with Lucy’s high-pitched, agonized wail that seemed to last hours in Gray’s roaring ears. Ruby liquid painted the cracked cobblestone, grotesque abstract artworks that only the disturbed would find beautiful. Gray watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as Lucy landed on her belly in the road, unmoving with the blood slowly pooling around her in a shining red lake. 

“N-no,” he gurgled suddenly. A hard lump made it challenging to speak and release the choking sobs bubbling up in his body. He staggered towards Lucy, but his legs had gone numb. With a haggard cry, he fell on his hands and knees. Those also failed to support him, making him flop uselessly onto his belly. Groaning in agony, he forced his battered body to move. His fingernails cracked as he scraped them harshly against the cobblestone in an attempt to gain enough traction to drag himself forward. His muscles screamed in protest, but Gray managed to crawl a few feet forward where Lucy lay. The blood saturated his skin and clothes, hot and sticky and reeking of iron. Gray pawed at the girl, rolling her over onto her back, and nearly fainted with relief when he found her barely clinging to life. 

“Guh… Gray…” Her whisper was but a ghost of a breath. Gray hauled himself to a sitting position with a pained cry. After a few seconds of panting and fighting back the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, he settled Lucy’s head into his lap. 

“Lucy. Lucy, you’re gonna be okay,” he croaked. He stroked her dirt-caked, frazzled blonde hair with trembling fingers to brush it away from her pale, sweaty face. “We’re gonna get you help, Lucy. We’re gonna get you help.” She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids open to gaze at him with hazy, unfocused eyes. 

“You can’t help me.” When she uttered that, Gray shattered. With a low, mournful moan, he curled over her body. The blood leaching from her wounds filled his breaths with the disgusting metallic tang and his skin burned where the red liquid smeared over it. “You can’t help me,” she repeated in a quiet, tired sigh. Tears poured from Gray’s eyes, dripping down onto her ghostly white face and neck. 

“No. Don’t say that, don’t say that,” he began babbling nonsensically. “Help, gonna get- gonna get help, Lucy, don’t die, don’t die!” His violently quaking hands struggled to cup the small frame of her face. “Lucy… Lucy, I love you… Please, don’t go, don’t leave me, I love you, I love you!” His mind began to swim with fierce regrets. I should’ve told her sooner. I shouldn’t have let it end like this! I should’ve done something, I should have saved her! It should have been me! It should have been me! “Lucy… Lucy…” he crooned in broken whispers as the light faded from her eyes and her body grew still with death. The ground trembled with a rising quake, and in the near distance, Gray heard the unmistakable hiss of a dragon. 

He didn’t care. He continued to cradle Lucy’s body, lamenting every bit of warmth that slowly faded from her skin. His body began to bounce with the intensity of the dragon’s weighty steps. He didn’t care. 

What can a man do in such a moment, aside from embrace death? 

Reality splintered. Gray had the odd sensation of floating in space as time warped around him into fractured, unfocused momentary blips. Voices echoed around him, but he couldn't understand any words. Gray closed his eyes, feeling like his entire being was falling apart, and then-

There he was, standing in the middle of the street again, holding Lucy’s hand. Gray’s hazy mind couldn’t process what had just occurred; it only became dominated with the incredible urge to act. He whirled around and tackled Lucy to the ground, causing her to squeak in surprise. In the next second, several of the white spikes sailed overhead. They crashed harmlessly into the nearby building, sending the brick wall crumbling. Without hesitating, Gray slapped his palm down and blasted a massive ice wall in the direction the spikes had come from. There were a few pained squeals, and then nothing, nothing aside from the rumbles of the ongoing war around them. He looked down to see Lucy gawking wide-eyed at him, her chest heaving with gulping breaths. 

“Gray, I… I…” Her hands roamed her body, searching for the grievous wounds but finding her skin unmarred. She swallowed thickly and then whispered, “I died.” A hard lump formed in Gray’s throat. He couldn’t force out words, so he just nodded forlornly. Lucy’s fingers dug deep into the meat of his upper arms as tears flooded her eyes. “And you… And you…” Her eyelashes fluttered, sending the droplets coursing down her cheeks- cheeks rosy with the flush of life, not pale white with the oncoming of death. “I love you too.” 

Kissing in the middle of the battlefield probably wasn’t the best idea, but Gray went right ahead and did it anyway. 

His lips smashed against Lucy’s in a fierce, passionate, emotional kiss. Lucy’s fingers carded into his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp as he ravished her mouth with a tenacity. She fought for dominance for a few seconds, but soon yielded to the waves of passion rolling off the ice mage, allowing herself to be swept up in the tsunami. When she sighed wantonly, Gray took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. The hot muscles swirled ardently in a feverish dance, spreading a warmth and love that Gray had never known through his body. It lasted only a minute or so, but to the impassioned mages, it might as well have been an eternity. No matter how much they wanted to ignore the rumbling and roaring around them, they could not ignore the fraught dangers of their reality forever. 

As Gray pulled away from Lucy, he grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her into a sitting position. He pressed another searing kiss to her forehead and then cupped her face. 

“After this, I swear on everything that I’m taking you on a damn good date,” he promised. Lucy blinked, then smiled warmly, for she heard the unspoken order hidden within the vow: live. Gray stroked her cheeks with his thumbs to catch the tears that leaked out of her eyes. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” You live too, her eyes beseeched. He pressed his forehead to hers, confirming their promises with a single glance. 

Live, so I can love you properly.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @searchfortheonepiece​

[badluckbee]

the last of us part 2 opinions that no one asked for but i need to get out of my system !!SPOILERS!!

i literally don’t give a shit if the story is for you or not, art is subjective. BUT i think that there are some fundamental misunderstandings about what makes a good game or not?? idk you’re welcome to disagree but people are throwing around a lot of “i didn’t like it, therefore it is bad” ideas & it’s not sitting right with me. there’s gonna be spoilers in this post you’ve been warned.

i loved this game. it challenged me and even though it has its issues, it was still really good it still made me think and feel things so some of these reviews have seriously made me go ??!??!?!?!??

if you didn’t like tlou2 and want to argue with people that did like it about how bad a game it is i’m not going to do that,, you can go play the first game again i’m not stopping you from not liking and not playing this game. this is simply my perception of the game and the most common criticisms i’ve seen.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

if the only reason you don’t like the game is because boohoo they killed my favourite character,, literally as someone who has had the majority of my favourite characters die, they didn’t disrespect joel by killing him & ppl being THIS babyish about it & calling for them to rewrite the whole story is immature and embarrassing as fuck. that’s my biggest problem with the “fanbase” right now, we all knew that joel did a bad thing in saving ellie and we know that he’s done a ton of bad things before that, remember “we’re shitty people, joel, it’s been that way for a long time”?? tess wasn’t wrong, it makes sense that someone someday would come back for him and they did. if that’s what you’re mad about lol get a grip it’s not like we don’t see him throughout the whole game. (also i thought we all knew he was gonna die from the first trailer anyway) (also also did you guys not pick up on it when there was a song where the first line was “if i ever were to lose you, i’d surely lose myself” they laid out the whole game for you right there lmao)

things i’ve seen in reviews repeatedly that didn’t sit right:

1) joel and tommy wouldn’t have trusted abby.

joel and tommy have been living in a close knit community for four years with friends and family, there’s already a false sense of security. as far as they know, this is just a group passing through, they had no reason at all to believe that there was any malicious intent after not only saving abby but abby returning the favour and helping them out. they’ve never met them before, up until ‘the moment’ they’re very nice and welcoming, they also needed abby to trust them if they were all going to get out of that mess of infected alive. (ppl also forget that in the first game joel was, although hesitant, still perfectly willing to trust and travel with people, including henry and sam, who were kids just like this group so don’t play the ‘first game’ card)

2) ellie should have killed abby.

you’re seriously trying to tell me that killing abby would magically cure ellie of her ptsd??? if you weren’t blinded by your love of joel you’d know that’s not true lol literally the point is that killing her wouldn’t bring joel back it would only leave lev alone and vulnerable like ellie was and the meaningless violence would continue. literally none of the killing the characters did in this game made them feel remotely better, that’s the point. abby moved on from her pain by finding lev and looking after him, not by killing joel, just like ellie needs to begin to heal, not kill abby. if you wanted that fight to have a choice of whether you could kill abby or not i could POSSIBLY accept that but i would absolutely choose to spare abby every time. that last fight didn’t feel right anyway imo, i wanted to let her go before they even started.

3) ellie should have ended up with dina.

this game is shouting at your face that your actions have consequences!! no other ending made sense, if ellie killed abby and went back to find dina & jj still at the farm waiting for her there would be no lesson learned and no character growth!!

3) you shouldn’t have played as abby.

this is a grey one to me, i absolutely think you should play as abby but i think that the order was a little off, no one would be rooting for her over ellie after she killed a favourite character but if you have an open mind abby’s section of the game is really really fun and has some of the best moments in the game. i have some thoughts about what i personally think would have been super cool and i’m going to put it at the end of this post on the off chance that someone reads it but i totally get why they did it the way they did and it worked very well from abby’s day 2 onwards!!

4) it’s too violent?????

tell me what i’m missing here??? nd was as transparent as possible that this is a violent game centred around revenge and hatred that would feature brutal violence, smart ai and devastating cutscenes. yet there are people complaining that the game is too violent WHILE describing how bad they want to fuck up abby???? i understand not enjoying the violence, i wasn’t too bothered bc i’m pretty desensitised & i use way more stealth anyway but there were moments when it didn’t feel right & that’s okay?? that’s what they warned us about???

5) it’s just pushing an agenda, it’s too sjw.

people exist that are not male, white, straight and cis. stop crying about it.

i know no one will read this but i had a thought about a way to order the story to connect more with abby & needed to put it somewhere:

ok imagine for a minute if they had marketed it as a spinoff not a new game with new characters & no ellie or joel. you start as abby from her first day in seattle, forget everything before that for now!! imagine playing from there through to day 3 as normal, there are some very vague references to her dad dying and to her finally finding the killer but nothing that’s a giveaway for who her dad was or what happened in jackson. then we get to day 3 and that sniper scene (which was fuckin spectacular btw) and we see that it’s tommy there and it’s like ??!??!?!?!!??!? but we have to let it go for now to move the story on until we get to the theatre and we see eLLIE ?!???!??!?!!?!!?!!!!? and that’s where it cuts off and we go back and play as ellie and we see what abby did

i’m not a writer and i know that there would be problems with doing it that way but wouldn’t it be such a plot twist if we had been playing as abby from the start and connected with her and her friends more before finding out that ellie and tommy are even in the game never mind on their way to kill us??? i get why they didn’t do that though lol no one would have played it.

anyway this post isn’t attacking people for not liking the game or thinking that there are issues, this post is specifically about the people that claim that it’s objectively a bad game because they personally don’t like it.

here are some fuckin good awe-worthy moments that people are conveniently forgetting about:

- this is personal but tommy is one of, if not my favourite character, at least to me he’s one of the most interesting so seeing jeffrey pierce get more screentime was a big win for me!!

- jesse, yara and lev are DELIGHTFUL i love them v v much

- the museum i cried so much it’s so cute

- the acting!!?!?!?? especially ashley, the scene where ellie forced the truth out of joel is my favourite scene in either game acting-wise it BROKE me

- i said it before but the sniper scene was incredible

- the rat king!!! i'm a wimp it was so scary but man that reveal was fantastic

- abby’s fear of heights,, HELLO that scene on the bridges!!! i’m not scared of heights but it really got me

- the hotel!! how does nd manage to make hotels so scary

- the switch between playable characters was a plot twist and a half!!!! i gasped it was so unexpected i loved it!!!

- actually showing that the characters aren’t invincible and struggle with what they’ve been through,, showing ellie’s ptsd was so important!!!!

- ok idk why but the scene in the first game with david in the restaurant makes me so nervous every time,, i start shaking and sometimes i cry when i finish it bc that’s the definition of horror to me i HATE it it’s too scary. so when i got to that parallel with ellie and abby at the theatre and ellie was ‘the david’ of that encounter i had to sit and think about it for a long time, that scene shook me and i love nd for doing that!!

there’s probably more but this is already the longest post i’ve ever made & i’m tired (i’m not the best at getting my points across as well so if there’s anything that’s worded weirdly that’s on me)

[writeradamanteve]

Credit and Inspiration

(Please get comfortable, as this is going to be a long one)

I had a discussion with a friend last night, and it was riveting, upsetting, emotional, funny, and caring. It had to do with my latest work, Daemon Bound, and how it had similarities to a novel called Disenchanted & Co. by Lynn Viehl and that it would be appropriate if I credited this novel as inspiration for Daemon Bound. 

Specifically, in the interest of full disclosure: Victorian Steampunk America, a heroine that is a private investigator who specializes in spirits, how her investigations are impeded by a sexist society, she dressed up as a boy once, she impersonates a prostitute, a ward was placed by a dead family member, a netherworld that only the magic wielders can see, she carries her dead father’s magic pocket watch, her love interest is dark, brooding, magic wielder.

A couple of things immediately happened when she pointed out the similarities of this novel to my story:

1) I was truly upset. My head started pounding. My neck felt like it was expanding and blowing up. 

2) I was incredibly mortified. It sounded exactly like I copied this story and did not give credit to this author. 

But there are also a couple of things that are true as I was feeling all this:

1) I have never read Disenchanted & Co. Last night was the first time I ever knew it existed. 

2) The Daemon Bound story you are reading now is a reworked version of itself and nothing else. It was not based off another fandom. It is not material from another fandom. Everything about Daemon Bound--originally titled “Marked”, at some point “Lost”, even--was 100% from my imagination. I can produce all 21 chapters of it right now if you ask me for it.

So my friend and I, we kept having this conversation, and she mentioned how I had left in the name Lucien and this book happens to have a main character with the name Lucien, and I seriously wanted to die. I did write in Lucien by mistake, mainly because in the first version of this story, Lucien Armentiers is a “cousin” in Jughead’s new household, whom he suspects is not his cousin. I had taken a snippet from my original version (Chapter 5), where Betty is already in New York and Lucien is there, causing mischief. 

Lucien is not scheduled to make an appearance in Daemon Bound anymore. I’ve scrapped Lucien’s character.  Hell, I scrapped the characters of two other ghosts that were supposed to be in Betty’s house--Martin and Francis, a thief  from the Brick Break gang who was murdered in cold blood and a little boy, who drowned in a river and whose father was driven to drink and ruination because of his death, respectively, because Laura did everything for Betty’s character that all three of them were supposed to do, combined. 

At this point, however, I was ready to throw in the towel. I contemplated giving up on this story, because what was the point? It seemed like someone had written something like it already. I wasn’t going to take it down, because I have nothing to hide. This story is 100% mine. I am willing to let people read Disenchanted & Co. and compare it to my story, and let everyone see that everything is different. But something inside me was dying and it was beginning to feel like writing this story is futile. 

Guys, the amount of effort I am putting into writing Daemon Bound--it is far more challenging than anything I’ve written. I take note of every line of dialogue, of whether the objects and occupations and technology--even the made up ones--can exist in this world. My original version sounded far more modern than the world I am writing now in Daemon Bound. I sit writing for a couple of hours and I realize that I’ve only written 500 words. It’s so hard to write this story, but I love doing it, and to find out that I’m not even that original--it’s painful. I was going to give this up. 

But you know, when a friend comes to you with these hard conversation from a place of caring and sincerity, and the lines of communication stay open, the discussion wasn’t going to end at that. In spite of my friend having papers to write, homework to finish, she kept on talking to me, and she said that these similarities were superficial details and that the core of the novel was different from mine. 

As a quick reminder, my friend’s aim wasn’t to shame me or catch me plagiarizing, it was to call out inspiration from an existing work.  

So if I hadn’t read the book, she advised that I do. I’m not gonna lie--I don’t want to read the book. I don’t. I’d rather give up writing this story.  But should I continue, I don’t want this book influencing me in any way, shape or form, because this book did not exist in my mind until my friend pointed it out. But because she is sincere and had no intentions of killing my inspiration, she offered to tell me the gist of the novel, and she did, and the points above are where the similarities to the novel ended.  The main characters and their personalities are different from Betty and Jughead, the main plot is different, the romantic development is different--everything else is different.  So at the end of our conversation, where Dawson’s Creek and Veronica Mars was brought up, even, my friend was wholly successful in bringing back to life what was on the verge of death. 

She is a true friend and I am grateful that it was she who brought this conversation to me.  If it were someone who didn’t give much of a shit, I think it might have been the end of my fanfic writing career.  Not exaggerating. 

ALL THAT SAID, this novel exists and I’m not going to pretend it’s not there. While I have never read this book, I’m going to point out that this novel and my story have these similarities. I can’t lie and say this novel inspired me, because I’ve never seen it before this, but I should be able to point to it and say, “Listen, you can think that I was inspired by this book, and that’s okay.” 

We all get inspired by tropes and similar material, whether it’s done consciously or some cosmic, collective ether of creativity. This writer and I--we probably worship in some similar cognitive temple, and I dig that. We were inspired by the same things--romance, daring, adventure. There isn’t a quarrel here and I don’t want anyone thinking that I am not giving credit where credit is due.  

Because truly--I have been writing stories for 30 years, and I believe that I’ve lived by the purest of fanfic codes, which is to credit the source material.  I don’t have to tell anyone that to NOT plagiarize is the barest minimum of writing. It doesn’t take a hero to do that. You don’t get a medal for not plagiarizing. But it does take a bit more effort to give credit, to call out what inspires a story, and to tag your work appropriately.  

So this is what I have to write and this is what I have to give.  Take from it what you wish. I respect everyone’s thoughts about this, good or bad. 

My promise remains the same--if I get Anonymous trolling, it’s going nowhere, buddy. I’m deleting that shit. Put your name on your comments and I’m more likely to reply to it as respectfully as possible. If you put your name on it and your comment is likely to hurt my feelings, you’ll just have to put up with the reality that I may not reply to it, but I won’t delete it. I don’t even think I can.

I don’t know what’s going to happen from hereon, but I want to be completely and utterly transparent.  I hope you all have a wonderful day.