#just the excerpts I wanted. I read it completely in another language.

[babyrdie]

Paris and Vanity

[This is an extensive text of my opinion about the character of Paris. These are just opinions, not some super deep analysis! ALSO: I think it's interesting to mention that I use English editions because the post is in English, but I didn't read these editions in full, just the excerpts I wanted. I read editions in another language. So I'm not saying that I recommend any of these editions!!]

I find it interesting how the characteristic of Paris being vain makes perfect sense with his myths, regardless of the version (in this case, the Greek myths. I haven't read his Roman ones yet). Characters in Greek mythology tend to change their essence a lot depending on the version (I think one of the most obvious example is Menelaus), but Paris in his constant vanity always made sense to me.

The best-known version of the birth myth of Paris is the one in which Hecuba dreams that she will give birth to the one who will destroy Troy and, because of this, Paris is left to die on Mount Ida. But he is saved by Agelaus and grows up as a shepherd, unaware that he has Trojan royal blood.

Growing up as a shepherd, Paris did not have the status or wealth of royal lineage as his sibilings did. He was strong, but it's not like he had such grandiose adventures that would be enough to give him glory and fame. But there was something he undeniably had: beauty. Among Priam's children, Paris stands out for being very beautiful and, even when he thought he was a plebeian, this was already notable in him. At a time when he didn't have the power, the fame or the wealth, Paris had the beauty. I'm not surprised he became attached to his vanity. That was something of his, and it never stopped being his even when he wasn't a prince.

[3.12.5][...]The first son born to her was Hector; and when a second babe was about to be born Hecuba dreamed she had brought forth a firebrand, and that the fire spread over the whole city and burned it.227 When Priam learned of the dream from Hecuba, he sent for his son Aesacus, for he was an interpreter of dreams, having been taught by his mother's father Merops. He declared that the child was begotten to be the ruin of his country and advised that the babe should be exposed. When the babe was born Priam gave it to a servant to take and expose on Ida; now the servant was named Agelaus. Exposed by him, the infant was nursed for five days by a bear; and, when he found it safe, he took it up, carried it away, brought it up as his own son on his farm, and named him Paris. When he grew to be a young man, Paris excelled many in beauty and strength, and was afterwards surnamed Alexander, because he repelled robbers and defended the flocks.228 And not long afterwards he discovered his parents.

(The Library. Translation by James George Frazer)

Then once he was called to be a jury in the dispute between Athena, Hera and Aphrodite to decide which of the goddesses was the most beautiful. Each of them, in an attempt to gain his favor, offered him a different reward if she was chosen. He chooses Aphrodite and, as a reward, Paris has the most beautiful woman in the world: Helen of Sparta, already married to Menelaus.

[E.3.2] For one of these reasons Strife threw an apple as a prize of beauty to be contended for by Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite; and Zeus commanded Hermes to lead them to Alexander on Ida in order to be judged by him. And they promised to give Alexander gifts. Hera said that if she were preferred to all women, she would give him the kingdom over all men; and Athena promised victory in war, and Aphrodite the hand of Helen. And he decided in favour of Aphrodite51; and sailed away to Sparta with ships built by Phereclus.52

(The Library. Translation by James George Frazer)

I often joke about how Paris's choice is really dumb to me because I would never choose the most beautiful woman over Athena and Hera's other much more interesting gifts, but I actually think it makes sense. A woman so beautiful that she's desired by everyone, that she is known for it, that she elevates her husband's status just by being with her? I think Paris chose Helen over the other options because she had a different status, much more than choosing her because he was out of simple lust. There are different wealth and achievements out there, but he couldn't specifically have the most beautiful woman in the world if he didn't choose her now as she was already married. And since he's already so aware of his beauty, I wouldn't be shocked if Paris felt entitled to the most beautiful woman because he's so handsome. And then discovering that she has the divine blood of Zeus? Helen represented even higher status.

Even in The Odyssey, Proteus makes it seem like the main reason Menelaus is destined to go to Elysium is that he's Helen's husband and consequently this makes him Zeus's son-in-law. Of all the things he could say to Menelaus, the one he chooses to use to assure him that he will have Elysium is his marriage. Helen, as a wife, actually elevated Menelaus' status in a way beyond just marrying her putting him into the lineage of Sparta (which was already a big deal). She elevated him to the point of guaranteeing a good afterlife for him, at least in the Homeric tradition — this, of course, is not a fixed tradition in the myths because almost nothing is; Helen is not always married to Menelaus in Elysium, Pausanias even offers a version in which she is married to Achilles.

So I spoke, and he in turn spoke up and made answer: “That was Odysseus son of Laertes, who makes his home in Ithaka, whom I saw on an island, weeping big tears in the palace of the nymph Kalypso, and she detains him by constraint, and he cannot make his way to his country, for he has not any ships by him, nor any companions who can convey him back across the sea's wide ridges. But for you, Menelaos, O fostered of Zeus, it is not the gods' will that you shall die and go to your end in horse-pasturing Argos, but the immortals will convoy you to the Elysian Field, and the limits of the earth, where fair-haired Rhadamanthys is, and where there is made the easiest life for mortals, for there is no snow, nor much winter there, nor is there ever rain, but always the stream of the Ocean sends up breezes of the West Wind blowing briskly for the refreshment of mortals. This, because Helen is yours and you are son-in-law therefore to Zeus.”

(The Odyssey. IV, 554-571. Translation by Richmond Lattimore)

In The Iliad, unlike what usually happens, Paris has his consort status tied to Helen instead of her having her consort status tied to him. He who is "fair-hatred Helen's consort". It's she who gives status to Paris, and not the other way around.

Hesiod, for example, generally puts the active role in the masculine character. It's the husband who takes a wife, it's the man who takes a woman in his bed. But he doesn't seem to do this with Helen. In the fragments we have from the "Catalogue of Women", where Hesiod describes a lot of female characters from Greek mythology, it's the male suitors who want to be something for Helen. It's Helen who has the choice of choosing who she will take — when, in the myth of the Oath of Tyndareus, Helen chooses Menelaus, he is the one being given the honor of being her husband.

FRAGMENT 6838 - SUITORS OF HELEN (translation by Evelyn-White, H G.)

Berlin Papyri, No. 9739:

(ll. 31-33) to horse-taming Castor and prize-winning Polydeuces, desiring to be the husband of rich-haired Helen, though he had never seen her beauty, but because he heard the report of others.

(ll. 34-42) And from Phylace two men of exceeding worth sought her to wife, Podarces son of Iphiclus, Phylacus' son, and Actor's noble son, overbearing Protesilaus. Both of them kept sending messages to Lacedaemon, to the house of wise Tyndareus, Oebalus' son, and they offered many bridal-gifts, for great was the girl's renown, brazen . . . golden ((lacuna)) . . . (desiring) to be the husband of rich-haired Helen.

Berlin Papyri, No. 10560:

(ll. 52-54) . . . sought her to wife. And after golden-haired Menelaus he offered the greatest gifts of all the suitors, and very much he desired in his heart to be the husband of Argive Helen with the rich hair.

(ll. 63-66) But from Euboea Elephenor, leader of men, the son of Chalcodon, prince of the bold Abantes, sought her to wife. And he offered very many gifts, and greatly he desired in his heart to be the husband of rich-haired Helen.

Having talked about how Helen for me was more a choice of status than of desire, let's return to another aspect of Paris's vanity. Agamemnon contemptuously mentions how pompous Paris was on his visit to Sparta. 

"[...]Then there came to Lacedaemon from the Phrygians the man who, Argive legend says, judged the goddesses' dispute; in robes of gorgeous hue, ablaze with gold, in true barbaric pomp; and he, finding Menelaus gone from home, carried Helen off, in mutual desire, to his steading on Ida.[...]"

Iphigenia in Aulis. Translation by E. P. Coleridge.

Considering that this happens in Iphigenia in Aulis, the same play in which Iphigenia even says "and it is right, mother, that Hellenes should rule barbarians, but not barbarians Hellenes, those being slaves, while these are free", this could just be a stereotypical and xenophobic portrayal of the Trojans. Or Agamemnon could be exaggerating, after all he has more than enough reasons to want to throttle Paris. But, in this specific case, I think that's really how it is. Having spent years as a shepherd and then suddenly returning to being a prince, Paris would certainly show off his wealth much more than the other Trojan princes and princesses. This is because others were used to wealth and status, they had it since birth. Paris, however? This was all very new to him, and he was going to overdo it to the fullest.

As to how Helen was taken, sources seem to disagree. Homer seems to be going the way she was kidnapped and didn't want to go, judging by Helen's behavior towards the war, Paris and Aphrodite. Some versions place the Helen who was in Troy as not even being the real Helen (such as the play Helen, by Euripides). Some versions seem to reaffirm that she went because she wanted to, like Iphigenia in Aulis. Others are too ambiguous to know who to trust, as is the case with The Trojan Women. Etc etc.

Here I will be taking an excerpt from The Trojan Women. Helen tries to defend herself to Hecuba and Menelaus because Menelaus is convinced to punish Helen, while Hecuba is convinced to try to get her punished, as she sees her as one of the reasons for her misfortune. With each explanation that Helen gives for being innocent, Hecuba finds a way to counter it in a way that would be convincing enough for Menelaus to take seriously.

Faced with Helen's argument that she was taken by force with the help of Aphrodite, who gave her as a prize to Paris, Hecuba says:

"[…]You won’t persuade people with sense. You say Cypris —that’s a laugh—came to Menelaus’ house with my son. As if she could not have stayed peacefully in heaven and brought you and Paris, Sparta, Amyclai and all, to Troy? My son was preternaturally handsome and your mind, on catching a glimpse of him, was turned into Cypris. All that mortals lust for becomes Aphrodite to them. Even the goddess’ name has come to suggest immodest desire. When you saw him in his exotic foreign attire shining with gold, you went mad with lust. You had little luxury in Argos where you lived, but once rid of Sparta you hoped to overwhelm the city of the Phrygians flowing with gold with your sense of style. The palace of Menelaus was too puny for your extravagance to run rampant […]"

(The Trojan Women. Translation by Cecelia Luschnig)

Paris' expensive clothes are mentioned again, this time by Hecuba (considering that Agamemnon's previous speech is from a play by Euripides and that this play is also by Euripides, this similarity makes sense). And also, once again his beauty is reinforced. Right after Hecuba gives reasons why Hera and Athena's beauty dispute is an absurd idea (the reasons: Hera is married to Zeus, Athena is a virgin goddess), she gives explanations why it doesn't make sense for Aphrodite to help kidnap Helen. One of the reasons is that Aphrodite could simply make her appear in Troy, the other is that Paris was immensely beautiful, well dressed and something new in Helen's boring life and that's why he was seductive.

I got the impression that, although Euripides leaves it open-ended as to what happened, he was trying very hard to frame Helen as being guilty as well. However, regardless of whether she was kidnapped as she says or not as Menelaus and Hecuba think, the point is that Paris here is once again characterized as a portrait of opulence and beauty. More than that, here his characteristic as "exotic interest that seduces a married woman out of her life" is made even more evident than in Iphigenia in Aulis. Paris being the typical character archetype of a person from a foreign land, with immense beauty, seductive personality and exotic air is something common for his character. It's not like only Euripides imagined him like that.

In The Iliad, other characters constantly highlight Paris' vanity as a flaw. Hector mainly, but not only. For example, Diomedes uses this as immediate offense after being hit by an arrow from Paris. And throughout the Iliad, we see how Paris has a chance to give up Helen and end the war, but doesn't. He was too proud to give up what Helen meant in the first diplomatic contact between Achaeans and Trojans years ago, and after ten years he is even more immutable in his opinion.

It's been ten years, why give up now? Menelaus surpasses Paris in status, being a king while he is a prince, and in power, being stronger than him and having almost defeated him if not for Aphrodite's intervention. Menelaus may not be the favorite of a specific god, as is the case with Hector with Apollo or Odysseus with Athena, but he also receives divine help. The only "thing" Paris now has that Menelaus doesn't is Helen, and he won't give it up.

So Paris's vanity being something consistent is something that makes so much sense! Paris grew up as a plebeian with the distinguishing characteristic of being very handsome will be very aware of this. Consequently, he sees in beauty something that he has more than other people. Being so different, he is entitled to have more. When the goddesses offer him 3 reward options, the status Helen offers is seductive to him. Beginning to rise in status with Aphrodite's favor and his return to Trojan royalty, Paris is fascinated by wealth and status, so he acts like a peacock. As a prince, he is still concerned about always maintaining his beauty, as this is the only characteristic that has been with him his entire life and the one he trusted most. When Troy is threatened by his actions, Paris refuses to give in because he is too proud to give up what Helen means.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) While on assignment at another glamorous event, Quinn takes the opportunity to have some fun. Though it doesn't quite go the way she'd hoped.

Chapter Word Count: 8K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, tones of jealousy and possessiveness, fake event, op-ed excerpts contain graphic imagery. Quinn back at it again with her nightmarish antics. Readers must be 18+

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Julia would bounce her knee when she sat at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, the heel of her Louboutin slingback clinking against the table leg with an irritating rhythm. You were sitting across from her as she read your final draft, your gaze focused on the blood red sole of her shoe, the remnants of the discount sticker she hadn’t fully peeled off. 

She placed the papers on the desk and cleared her throat. You looked up at her, only then realising you’d been making a face; eyes narrowed, lip curled disdainfully. It wasn’t intentional, your face just settled that way sometimes. So you softened your edges, rounding your eyes and relaxing your jaw as you waited for her to speak.

“Quinn…” she sighed.

Your thorns quickly returned; lids turning heavy with indignation as you rolled your shoulders and pressed your back into the chair.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she continued with a patronising smile. “It’s well written, there’s no denying that, but it’s not going in the mag.”

“Why not?” you asked bluntly. 

She picked up the papers and licked her thumb, using it to flick to the second page where she began to read aloud. “I just wanted those men to stop looking at me. I wanted to erase myself, piece by piece, I imagined my face sloughing away, then my arms, my breasts, until there was nothing left but a pool of flesh and marrow where I’d once stood. But then, I thought, would they even care? Or would they still find pleasure in my remains; dig their hands into the slurry and let it slip between their fingers. And that scared me more than disappearing altogether...”

You blinked at her, waiting for her to explain the problem. But the way she was looking at you made it seem like you should have already known. 

“It’s quite graphic,” she said.

“It’s a metaphor.” 

“Yes, obviously I understand that. But it’s not the most pleasant of visuals, is it? Really, the topic of the op ed on a whole, it’s- It’s dark, heavy-”

“It’s about gender, sex, inequality, how I’ve learned to navigate society as a woman, it’s not meant to be all bubblegum and rainbows. And it’s not like the magazine hasn’t shed light on these kinds of topics before.” You shrugged.

“Yes but not this… Brutally.” 

You furrowed your brow. 

She sighed, flicking to another page. “I thought sex was supposed to make me human, make me whole. But in the end, he was just a prop, an object. They all were. I could always tell they wanted me to love them, and they thought I might if they gave me everything. But nothing ever seemed worth taking.” She looked at me. “You can’t seriously think Draft would publish this?”

“It’s an op ed,” you said, your tone growing snippy. “It’s supposed to be personal, subjective, opinionated-”

“But there’s a fine line, Quinn, between sharing your views and experiences on important topics and oversharing to the point where it becomes disturbing and completely indigestible for readers.”

“Disturbing?” You breathed out a laugh. “So this, a woman’s real, lived experience of men and sexuality and emotional connection is ‘disturbing’, but the piece we let that dick head comedian write back in August where he said Hitler ‘wasn’t such a bad guy’ was okay?” 

“It was a joke he made in poor taste and a retraction was published almost immediately.”

“Still made it to print though.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good piece of writing. Because it is. I know you’ve been working on it for months and it shows. It’s important and it’s relevant, I get that. But we have to give readers balance; some escapism, y’know. And that’s the job of our staff writers, to uplift the magazine with stories about celebrities and fashion and lifestyle and-” She sighed. “We have the hard hitting stuff covered. What we need from you is-”

“Fluff.” You inhaled sharply through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I just thought after the Benedict Cumberbatch interview and how well it was received I might finally get to write something with more… substance.” 

She let out a single, clipped laugh, shaking her head at you condescendingly. “Quinn, one feature on a big name celeb doesn’t fast track you to serious journalism. You wrote about his films, his love life, what he does in his spare time. It wasn’t exactly an exposé.” 

You bit back a retort, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the office through the glass wall. “What did Ellen Ford say about it? The op ed.”

“I haven’t shown her. And I’m not going to.”

“Julia-”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Quinn. I was given this position permanently because I know what I’m doing. Ellen trusts my judgement and my judgement is that this piece is a no go. If you want to write something for the next issue then you can cover the London Arts and Culture Gala tonight. Kate was supposed to be going but she just called to say she’s sick.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers into your eyes. “Why do you keep sending me to fucking galas?” 

She tutted sarcastically, pushing out her bottom lip. “Getting dressed up to have free food and drink while rubbing shoulders with celebrities all night, how evil of me.” 

You glared at her. 

“I hear Benedict Cumberbatch is on the guest list,” she said, a slight snarkiness in her tone. “Maybe you can cosy up to him, get yourself a follow up interview. Not exactly Pullitzer material but hey, it’s another step towards those doors you’re so desperate to open.” 

You already knew Ben was going to be there. You wanted to tell her that you knew; that he’d told you about it as you lay together in bed last night - still not having sex, to your utter dismay - and that you’d scoffed when he asked if you were covering it for the magazine. You wanted to punch her for suggesting you cosy up to him, as though he was nothing more than a rung in the ladder of your career. 

“The last editorial assistant that suggested I get ‘cosy’ for a story ended up escorted out of here by security,” you said with a cold, flat smile.

She held your gaze, her foot bouncing more quickly now. “I know you like to think the world’s against you, Quinn. But I actually think you’re a good journalist. Hence why I keep sending you to fucking galas…” 

You paused a moment before finally giving in and standing up with a huff. “Can I get another dress?” 

 “I’m sure you have something at the back of your wardrobe you could wear.” 

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and snatching your papers off the desk before turning to leave her office. 

The back of your wardrobe had provided you two options: the first was a short, bright chartreuse dress with a boned bodice and sparkly straps. It was awful. So awful that you grimaced when you pulled it out, wondering what kind of fugue state you’d been in when you bought it. But then you noticed the tag was still attached, realising you must have come to your senses and decided to never let it touch your body or see the light of day again. 

The second option was plain, black, high neck and sleeveless. It hugged your figure like a second skin, skimming just above your ankles as you stood on your tiptoes in front of the mirror. You wondered why you’d never worn it before. Then you remembered you’d bought it for a funeral, only to get it home and realise your dead uncle’s family probably wouldn’t appreciate being able to see the outline of your arse at his wake. 

You put your hair up and did your makeup, feeling pangs of excitement in your stomach at the thought of seeing Ben’s face when you arrived. You hadn’t told him you were coming, much preferring the idea of him spotting you from across a crowded room, having to hide his surprise and keep his cool, to pretend he barely remembered your name. You slipped into a pair of heels, stuffing your ticket and press pass into your bag alongside a notepad and pen, your fully charged phone and the perfume he always complimented. 

When you arrived at the Claridge’s hotel, you stepped out of the cab to a mob of flashing cameras lining the carpeted entrance. There was something humbling about being unimportant, being able to weave through a sea of celebrities and influential figures like a ghost as paparazzi screamed for them to stop and pose for photos. It was comforting, almost, to be overlooked. 

You made your way inside, the grand hall warmly lit with ornate chandeliers, large round tables covered in pristine tablecloths and floral centrepieces. The room buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and reserved conversation, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne and dainty canapés. You took a glass from a waiter with the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen, unable to resist a glance at his backside as he walked away. 

The press table was at the other end of the hall. You took a large swig of champagne and began the long walk, meandering through tables and crowds of famous faces you never got used to seeing in person. Olivia Colman was at a table to your left, close enough for you to reach out and touch her - and you thought about it, just for a moment - but you resisted. 

You hadn’t been watching where you were going, an elbow almost knocking the drink from your hand as you walked right into it. You looked up to see an actor you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, his surprise softening to a friendly laugh as he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted by Olivia Colman.” 

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” he replied. 

He was tall, smartly dressed, with a crooked smile and reddish hair. He’d been in a TV show you watched. Or was it a movie? God, what the hell was his name? 

You gave an awkward laugh. “Sorry again.” 

He waved his hand, as if telling you not to worry. You smiled appreciatively and turned to walk away, but his voice suddenly made you halt.

“Benedict! How’ve you been, man?” 

You glanced back over your shoulder to see him pulling another tall, suited man into a hug, the pair smacking each other hard on the back in that weird way only men ever seemed to do. The corner of your mouth curled, threatening a smirk when you saw the side of Ben’s face.

You tilted your head, waiting for him to notice you. And when he did, it was as delicious as you’d imagined it would be. It began with a flicker of recognition, followed by the slow widening of realisation, his expression changing so subtly that only someone who knew him as well as you did would notice.

He composed himself quickly, giving the man he’d been hugging a final, firm pat on the back before stepping away with a slight smile. You kept your face neutral as you stood in his eyeline, as if seeing him was no big deal, as if you hadn’t spent the majority of your evening fantasising about this very moment; the way his eyes travelled down your body, his jaw clenching as he lingered on your curves. You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow sip of champagne, never looking away from him as he tried to engage in polite conversation. 

It didn’t take long for him to excuse himself, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he stepped around him and made his way towards you, his long strides closing the distance far too quickly. You’d wanted to make the moment last, to savour it, make him sweat a little while longer.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and warm as he came to a stop in front of you. 

“Benedict,” you replied coolly, giving a slight nod.

He glanced around before returning his gaze to you. “You said you weren’t coming.”

You smiled, giving a casual shrug. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

He gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. Then his eyes flitted down again, taking you in once more. “You…” He trailed off, his gaze returning to your face, and for a second you thought he might lose his composure. “You look… Nice.”

“Nice?” you repeated, feigning offence. 

His mouth twitched, his voice darkening. “Very nice.”

You could feel his restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to touch you, to close the distance between you.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re here for the magazine?” 

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking another sip of champagne. “Mhm. Julia, the editorial assistant, completely shat all over my piece, decided I was more useful rubbing shoulders than writing anything of actual substance.” 

His brows came together for a moment with a sympathetic smile. “Well clearly she’s an idiot.”

“Tell her that.” 

He leaned in slightly. “I’ll tell her, if you want.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, that’ll go down well; getting the guy I’m fucking- sorry, not fucking, to pull strings for me at work.” 

He smirked, dropping his head and fixing the cuff of his blazer. “Just say the word.”

“Stop it,” you laughed, holding back the urge to push him playfully in the chest. 

“Well I suppose there’s worse assignments you could’ve ended up with.” 

“Yeah.” You looked around at the glitzy hall, the man he’d been talking to finding his seat at a table. “Oh my god, what’s his name by the way? It’s been driving me mad.” 

He looked over to where you’d pointed before turning back and opening his mouth to speak. But before he could, a sudden presence appeared at his side. 

“Benedict, good to see you again!”

You recognised Leo McGrath immediately. He was a documentary filmmaker, award winner, known philanthropist. Yet it was his recent appearance at the Oscars that had shot him to sudden, unexpected internet fame. You wondered what it must feel like, to be so unbelievably attractive that just standing there on a red carpet could send the whole world into a frenzy. To have millions of people suddenly know you, not because of your work, but because they fancied you. 

It was true, he was undeniably stunning; green eyes framed by masses of dark lashes, full lips and thick wavy hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, his imperfect teeth giving him a charm that made it hard not to swoon, even just for a second. 

“Ah, Leo,” said Ben as he shook his hand. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been?” 

“Good, yeah, it’s been… intense.” He breathed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“I can imagine.” 

“Well I suppose you don’t need to imagine, you’ve been there too. What did they call you? The Internet’s Boyfriend?” 

Ben rolled his eyes, nodding with a laugh.

Leo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lighting up as if he hadn’t noticed you until now. “Sorry, I’m so rude!” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Oh, of course, sorry. Leo, this is Quinn Armitage. She’s a writer for Draft.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he said, looking you up and down, far less subtly than Ben had.

You shook his hand with a smile, catching a fleck of irritation on Ben’s face. “Likewise. And congratulations on your Oscar win.” 

“Ah, thank you very much.” He took a step back, his eyes bouncing between the two of you. “So are you here together, or?” 

“No,” Ben replied, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the speed of his response. “Quinn wrote a piece on me at the end of last year. We were just catching up.”  

“Oh right.” He seemed pleased to learn you were there alone, his interest in you piquing, attention lingering on your face. “So you’re here for work then?”

You nodded, watching Ben’s jaw tighten from the corner of your eye, like he was grinding his teeth. You held back a grin; the sight of him ruffled was a rarity, and you couldn’t help but take some pleasure in it.

“Well you should join me at my table,” said Leo. “It’s near the front, a much better spot for you to get some good material.” 

You glanced up at Ben, the slight flush in his cheeks, how hard he was having to work to stay calm. He was jealous. You liked it. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That sounds good, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you did, meeting Ben’s gaze as you stepped aside and began to walk away. You couldn’t hold back the smirk as you watched his eyes darken, a silent warning etched on his stony, unamused face. 

You followed Leo to his table, the weight of Ben’s eyes heavy on the back of your neck. You couldn’t help but feel excited, perhaps even satisfied; Leo’s sudden interest in you was undeniably flattering, and Ben’s barely contained jealousy made it all the more enjoyable.

He pulled out a chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The view was indeed better from here; the stage only feet away, every guest visible with the turn of your head. He took a seat beside you, getting comfortable as he chatted casually to the other people around the table. 

Then he turned to you, snatching you out of a daze.

 “So is this what you do for Draft then?” he asked. “Report on parties and events and stuff?” 

“Well I’m a staff writer, so I pretty much just do what I’m told,” you said, your voice laced with cynicism. 

He smiled. “I sense some… unrest.” 

“You could say that.” You drank down the dregs of your champagne, twirling the stem of the flute between your fingers.

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head as he looked at you with narrowed eyes, an amused smirk creating a deep dimple in his cheek. “Let me guess, you’re trying to work your way into serious journalism, but all they’re giving you is celebrity gossip and… listicles.” 

You pressed your lips together, exhaling a laugh through your nose. “I wrote this piece - it’s my best work to date - put it forward for an op ed but they weren’t interested. Sent me here instead.”

“Y’know, this industry is… brutal. You fight to be heard, to have your work taken seriously, amplified, given the platform you know it deserves. Then you finally get recognised for that work after years and years of graft, and yet somehow it still ends up overshadowed by how fuckable women on the internet think you are.”

“You are quite fuckable though, to be fair,” you replied bluntly.

He dropped his head to disguise a laugh, before composing himself again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He stretched his arm along the back of your chair to lean in closer, speaking quietly. “What I’m saying is that no one in this industry gets anything without going over heads and stepping on toes. It’s a fight. And even when you get to the top, you have to claw at it if you want to stay there. It’s like… the Hunger Games but for losers who watched the news too much as kids.”

You gave a slight smile, allowing a quick glance over your shoulder to Ben’s table where he sat fidgeting with his hands, watching you beneath a heavy brow. You looked down at Leo’s arm draped behind you, your smile quickly turning into a smirk. 

You leaned in closer to Leo, mirroring the intensity of his gaze. “So you’re saying the only way I’m going to transition to serious journalism is if I… play dirty?” 

“Exactly,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“How do you suggest I do that?” 

He thought for a moment, running his tongue across his top teeth. “When I first started making docs, I got turned down by every production company, every channel and network. No one would give me a penny, wouldn’t even agree to broadcast. So I said fuck it, went out there with my camera, whatever money I had in my account and I made them anyway. Then when these companies saw that people actually gave a shit about the things I was documenting, they came running to me.”

“So you’re saying I just go rogue?”

“Potentially.” 

“Hm. There’s just one problem with that; there’s this thing called rent, and erm… needing to eat…” you said sarcastically.

He laughed. “I’m not saying you go and quit Draft and start a fucking blog or something. I’m saying… check out. Quietly quit, as they say. Attend the fancy events, write the fluffy articles, do whatever you need to do to keep your affiliation with the magazine and use it to your advantage.” He reached up and took your chin between his finger and thumb, turning your head towards the sea of tables behind you. “See all of these people? Actors, producers, investors. You have direct access to them all right now. You could charm and persuade and get numbers in your phone and your name on people’s radars. And all you have to do in exchange is write a silly little article about their clothes and how they spend their evening.” 

You turned your head back to him slowly; his insight like an epiphany, turning the banality of your surroundings to an abundance of possibility. Ten minutes ago this man was a stranger, yet now here he was with his face inches from yours, giving you the best advice you’d ever heard.

“Let me interview you,” you said.

He leaned back, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

“What? I’ve made a connection and I’m using it to my advantage.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?” 

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Fair play. Though, an interview… with Draft…” He scrunched his nose with scepticism.

“I won’t write anything about your looks. Won’t ask a single question about anything other than your work.” 

“It’s tempting,” he replied with a hum. 

The lights of the hall dimmed as a single, bright spotlight illuminated the stage. A woman stepped up to the microphone holding a stack of cue cards and clearing her throat. Leo turned away from you to listen, and you felt your chest heave with a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. He was intense. Beguiling, even. 

“Welcome everybody,” said the woman, her voice creating a screech of feedback through the speaker. She took a step away from the mic with an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you so much for coming…” 

Your phone buzzed inside the clutch bag on your lap as the woman continued to speak. You dug it out and opened the message waiting on the screen. 

I know what you’re doing. 

You subtly turned your head, giving Ben a mischievous wink from across the dark hall. 

What am I doing? you replied. 

Flirting. Stop it. Now. 

Your stomach fluttered as you pictured the tension in his fingers as he typed each word, the firmness of his jaw as he grit his teeth.

Flirting??? 

Quinn. I’m serious.

Not my fault he fancies me. I’m actually quite enjoying the attention. 

As if on cue, Leo turned his attention back to you, leaning in to speak directly into your ear. “What’s so interesting on your phone?” His breath was warm against your skin, his hushed tone filled with playful curiosity. 

You looked over at Ben again, smiling as you put the phone face down on the table, turning your attention back to Leo. “Nothing.” 

“Good. I’d hate to think I was losing your attention so soon.”

The woman on stage continued her speech, her words fading to a muffled hum as you lost yourself in the game you couldn’t resist playing. 

“You haven’t lost my attention,” you said, keeping your voice low. “I still want that interview.”

He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But I don’t think a formal interview is what you really want from me…”

Your heart began to race, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the hunger in his eyes. If this had been a year earlier, you were sure you’d have ended up in Leo’s bed by the end of the night. But instead, you found yourself more thrilled by the idea of Ben watching you; the power you wielded to make his blood boil from across a crowded room.   

“What else could I possibly want?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly towards Leo, your lips nearly grazing his cheek. 

He let out a low, throaty laugh, his hand sliding from the back of your chair to your thigh. You wondered how far you could take things before your actions became indefensible, before the flirting verged beyond a game and evolved into something less playful.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot of things you want.” His touch was soft yet bold, his fingers tracing swirls that tickled, even through the material of your dress. “Some I might be able to… help you with.” 

You bit your lip, unable to hold back a smirk, before leaning in close. “And here I was, thinking you invited me to sit at your table because you wanted to do a good deed for a struggling journalist.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Turns out you just wanted to fuck me.” 

He turned his head to look at you, his face so close you could feel his breath. “Can I not want both?” 

“You can,” you replied simply. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get it though.” 

The room erupted with applause, quelling the tension between you as you turned your attention to the stage. A young woman made her way to the microphone with a guitar in hand. She smiled shyly as she waited for the clapping to fade, before pressing her fingers to the strings and beginning to play. 

Your palms were beginning to itch; every speech and performance receiving a lengthier round of applause than the last. You had no choice but to join in with it, no matter how boring or mediocre you thought it was, putting down your little notebook and pen with a quiet groan to bring your hands together in feigned appreciation.    

You’d been nursing your second glass of champagne for most of the evening, knowing it was your last and taking small sips to savour it. Julia warned you not to get drunk, and you’d taken offence to the insinuation that you couldn’t be trusted to stay professional. But when you realised Leo’s arm was still draped along the back of your chair, you thought perhaps she’d had a point.

The last wave of applause rippled across the room as the host made her way offstage; the spotlight dimming, chandeliers regaining their warm glow as the atmosphere began to relax, the hum of conversation drifting through the air like a sigh of relief. You skimmed over the pages in your book, trying to decipher the chaotic notes you’d scrawled in the dark when Leo turned to look at you. 

“Get everything you need?” he asked, nodding to your notebook.

“Eh, I’ll probably have to employ some creative writing here and there,” you replied as you looked up at him. 

He smirked. “You weren’t paying attention to any of it, were you.”  

“More than I would have if I were back there at the press table.” 

“Well it’s a good job I had a spare seat.”

“Mm.” You allowed your gaze to flit from his eyes to his lips and back again, just enough to keep him interested. “I better do a few rounds, get some quotes from people before they start to leave.” 

Mingling had never been your thing, the idea of approaching strangers or interrupting conversations creating a pit of dread in your stomach that made your skin clammy and your mouth dry. Usually you came with someone else; dragged Nick along or found yourself on assignment with another writer who would do most of the talking. This time, you had no choice. . 

You moved around the hall, weaving through a maze of tables as you searched for targets. And with each interaction, it became easier. You took quotes from a table of theatre directors, had surreal conversations with celebrities, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to Olivia Colman, the only thing you managed to write down was ‘aaahhhh’. 

You took a moment to breathe, scanning the room to see Ben still at his table, deep in conversation with another actor you vaguely recognised. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his usually easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how he kept brushing the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip. To anyone else, he seemed happy, comfortable. But to you, it was clear he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.

You made your way over, navigating the scattered chairs and waiters topping up champagne until you were close enough to hear their voices. 

“...and everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said I should do it,” the other man was saying. “But it’s just such a big commitment.”

Ben nodded, his eyes flickering in your direction for just a moment. “It is a lot. But you’ve just got to weigh up the pros and cons…” 

He trailed off as you finally made it to their table, turning his attention to you as though he hadn’t known you were coming. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” you said as you cleared your throat and held up your notebook. “My name’s Quinn, I’m a writer for Draft Magazine. I was hoping I could steal you for a second to ask a few questions?”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment before returning to the actor beside him. “Sorry.” 

“Ah no worries, duty calls.”  

“But if you want my honest opinion, I think you should go for it.” 

The man smiled appreciatively as he rose to his feet, raising his glass in a mock salute before walking away.

You quickly sat in his place; the seat was still warm, turned towards Ben at an awkward angle. You shifted it further to face him, leaning back with the notebook in your lap. 

“Hi,” you finally said, holding back a smile.

“Hi,” he replied, his face calm, tone unreadable.

“So, the question I have for you is…” you flicked to another page. “Do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary-”  

“What the fuck was that?” he interrupted quietly, gesturing subtly towards Leo’s table across the hall. 

“What was what?” you replied casually, defiantly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he mirrored your posture, leaning back in his chair and lowering his chin slightly, his eyes darkening beneath the shadow of his brow. “His hands were all over you…” 

“So?”

“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You cocked your head, widening your eyes to feign innocence. “What was I doing?” 

“Trying to piss me off.” 

You pushed out your bottom lip. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous-?” He exhaled a laugh through his nose. But there was no amusement in it. Then he lowered his voice. “I was jealous when I saw him eyeing you up. I was jealous when he invited you to sit at his table. But now? I’m not jealous, I’m furious.” 

You regarded him for a moment, taking undeniable pleasure in his silent rage. But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, a hand on your shoulder made you still. 

You looked up to see Leo standing at your side, glancing down at both of you with a charming smile.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Quinn, my team and I are heading to an afterparty at the Edition. I wondered if you wanted to join me?” 

“Oh, I…” you looked at Ben, then back up to Leo. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m still working.”

“Your boss doesn’t have to know…” 

You breathed out a laugh. “No really, I think I’m going to be good for once and actually do my job.” 

“Or you could come with me to the afterparty and start being good tomorrow…” 

“She said no,” Ben interjected firmly. 

It caught you off guard, raising the hairs on your arms and sending a shiver down your spine. It was his unexpected harshness paired with a friendly smile, the restraint it was clearly taking him to keep his cool. 

Leo seemed taken aback too, turning to him with raised brows and parted lips, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. He eventually gave up with an understanding nod, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. 

“Give me a call some time,” he said as he handed it to you. “If you want, of course.” 

You took it with a smile, waiting for him to walk away before turning your attention back to Ben. 

“That was rude of you,” you said.

“Sorry… Rude of me?”  

You rolled your eyes and slid the card between the pages of your notebook. 

“Are you really keeping that?” Ben asked. 

“He’s a documentary maker, I’m a journalist. It might come in handy.” 

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he continued to glare at you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking when you said you were furious…” 

 “No. I wasn’t. I told you the mind games and manipulation wouldn’t fly with me. I told you that.” 

“You are taking this way too seriously.”  

He leaned forward suddenly, his movement sharp, teeth clenched. “Too-” But he stopped himself, pressing his lips together and looking around the bustling hall as he slowly reclined again. “We’re leaving.” 

You furrowed your brow as you watched him stand up. “Did you not hear what I just said? I’m working, I can’t leave yet.”  

“I said we’re going.” 

You hadn’t seen him like this since the first night you met. You’d almost forgotten he was capable of it; the hard angles and stern tone, the dominance of his demand sending a flutter through your core. The thrill of it was undeniable, but his anger was palpable, making you stutter as you tried to speak. 

“Ben, I’m- I’m not-”

“Now.” 

You yielded with a sigh, shoving everything into your bag and tucking it under your arm as you rose to your feet. Your heart was pounding as you began to follow him, almost tripping over the leg of your chair as you went. He didn’t speak as he made his way to the exit of the hall, his fist opening and closing at his side in a steady rhythm, face brightening with a polite smile whenever someone greeted him as he passed. 

He gripped your wrist as you neared the exit, leading you out into the large, echoing foyer. The indelicacy of his touch surprised you, flooding you with a fleeting rush of panic, like a child preparing to be scolded once their parents got them home. 

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, your quick, uneven footsteps struggling to keep up with his long strides as he walked you towards a quiet, hidden corner.

“Don’t you need to tell people you’re leaving?” you asked. “Like your publicist or whoever you came with?” 

“I came alone,” he replied, stopping once you were out of sight.

“Really? Why?” 

“Because I drove here.” He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the paparazzi as they waited outside. “You’re going to go and wait for me by the car. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.” 

You did as you were told, emerging into the mild spring night and slipping through the chaos with ease. When you got to Ben’s car, you waited with your arms folded over your chest, watching from a distance as an explosion of camera flashes illuminated the darkness like fireworks. 

You pressed your lips into a straight lined smile when he finally reached you, hurrying around to the driver’s side without a word. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. You raised onto your tiptoes to look at him over the top of the car, breathing out a laugh when he almost scowled back. 

“Are you seriously still annoyed with me?” you asked. 

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I can barely look at you right now.” 

He slipped into the car and pulled the door closed. You paused for a moment before deciding to climb into the back seat instead.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?” 

“You said you didn’t want to look at me,” you replied brattishly. “You don’t have to if I’m back here.” 

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Get in the front.” 

You thought about defying his demand, but you quickly gave in; choosing to clamber arduously over the centre console instead of getting out, purely to annoy him that little bit more. You settled into the front passenger seat, turning to look at him as you dragged the seatbelt across your chest. 

He drove in silence at first, the journey ebbing and flowing between heavy traffic and dark, deserted streets. You’d been waiting for him to speak, but with each silent wait at a red light, you found yourself growing impatient. He turned his head towards you, and you glanced back at him hopefully, only to realise he was looking past you, checking the road was clear before driving across it. 

You huffed. “Fine, you win, I apologise for flirting with the sexy man, alright? Can you stop acting like I slapped your mum now?” 

“You really don’t get why I’m pissed off, do you.” 

“He was just giving me career advice-”

“Career advice? What career advice requires him to touch you like that? To whisper in your ear, run his hand up your thigh?” 

You couldn’t resist; the old Quinn taking over with a shrug and a surly glare. “I was just having a bit of fun-”

A deep growl rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Nothing about that was fun.” 

“Maybe not for you…” 

“Quinn. I swear to god.”

 You threw your head back and let out a groan. “It was flirting, Ben. He clearly fancied me and I took the opportunity to tease you, wind you up-”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure you got no pleasure out of it whatsoever,” he quipped cynically. 

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Y’know, it’s almost like I haven’t gone the past four months without sex because the man I’m seeing refuses to touch me anywhere below the fucking neck. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been masturbating so much I could give a teenage boy a run for his money; forgive me for indulging in a bit of physical affection for one night.” 

“So you did like him then...”  

“No, Ben-” You stopped yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and letting out an exasperated breath. But when you composed yourself again, your brows came together in sudden realisation. “Actually, what if I did?” 

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at you in confusion.

“What right would you have to tell me I couldn’t flirt with him? Couldn’t let him touch me?” You sat up straighter, turning your body towards him. “What if I wanted him to do that? What if I enjoyed sitting with him and decided I wanted to go to that afterparty? What authority would you have to tell me I couldn’t?”  

He rolled his eyes.

“What if I went with him? Danced, drank, let him take me home, undress me, kiss me…” 

Your words were getting to him; crawling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he was trying to shrug the image away. 

“I mean, you said it yourself to whatshisface back at the gala; I’m just Quinn, the journalist you met once back in November. Why would you care who else I fuck?” 

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car into a layby with a sudden stop. It was dark, void of streetlights, thick trees lining both sides of the road. You jerked forward as he broke, the seatbelt pressing firmly against your chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Ben.” 

He shut off the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “You know full well that neither of us want people to know about this. You don’t get to use it against me to justify flirting with someone else.” 

“I flirted with him to annoy you. Clearly it worked… A bit too well.” 

“But why? Why would you think I’d find that amusing?” His voice was raised, his hands moving in time with his words.

“I didn’t. I thought I’d find it amusing.” 

He growled, letting out a hot angry breath through his nose. “You are the most infuriating fucking person.” 

“Then why have you stuck around for this long?” 

“Why have you? If taking it slow and doing things right has been such a fucking chore for you then why are you still bothering?” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance, unclipping his seatbelt to lean in closer.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you know I’m the only man who’s ever been able to handle you. Who sees you for who you really are and likes it.” 

Your heart began to race, your back pressing against the passenger door. He was right, and you hated it. 

“Because even though I haven’t touched you in four months, you still aren’t bored of me.” His voice was dangerously soft now, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because even as another man threw himself at you tonight, you still found yourself looking for me.”

“So if that’s what you think, why do you care that I let him touch me?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Because I don’t like watching someone else touch what’s mine.” 

You swallowed hard, your defiance faltering as his words sank in. He was so close now, one arm outstretched along the back of your seat, the other holding back the urge to reach out and touch you. 

Your eyes flitted from his face to his crotch then back again. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you…”

His gaze flickered with something dark, primal. He exhaled slowly, the angles of his face sharp with anger, partly with you, but mostly with himself. 

A rush of excitement flooded through you as he reached out to cup your face, pulling you into a sudden, intense kiss. You could feel his possessiveness; the way his lips moved with a firm pressure, tongue sweeping impatiently into your mouth. 

You fumbled for your seatbelt, unfastening it quickly and letting it snap back against the door, your hands immediately snaking around the back of his neck, pulling yourself into him. His hand dropped to your side, his touch rough, almost painful as he pressed and squeezed his fingertips into your waist. You felt him pulling you closer, his body radiating a heat that almost made it hard to breathe. His hand travelled lower, pushing up the material of your dress and allowing his fingers to graze the bare skin of your thighs. He ran his palm over the place Leo had touched, as though he was cleansing you of it, wiping it away and replacing it with his own. 

You’d been starved for so long that even his hand on your thigh made you tremble, a soft moan escaping your parted lips as he kissed you. The sound stirred something in him, and in moments you found yourself straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. 

He was hard. You could feel it straining beneath his trousers, pressing against your centre as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths hot and heavy, anger and lust fogging the windows like steam. You rolled your hips, the steering wheel letting out a short, loud beep as your backside knocked against it. But neither of you paid it any attention, giving in to the fevered, passionate release you’d been denying yourselves for so long. 

His hands settled on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed himself against you, the friction drawing a satisfied groan from his throat. You’d missed those sounds, the way it felt to have him desperate to fill you. But you knew he was losing himself, intoxicated by his own frustration. You were in a car, parked on the side of a quiet, winding road. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and you weren’t sure it was how you wanted it to be either.

You broke away, letting your head fall back as he began traipsing hot, hungry kisses down your neck. “Ben,” you whispered breathlessly. “If we go any further I won’t be able to stop.” 

You felt him pause, his lips still, breath tickling your skin. 

“This isn’t how you wanted it to be,” you said softly, masking your disappointment. “We need to stop.” 

He lowered his forehead to rest on your collarbone, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with lust. 

He pulled away from you, his hand lingering on your waist for a second longer before finally letting go. He sat back, his head tilting against the headrest as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. 

You slid off his lap, climbing back into the passenger seat and fixing your dress. You looked over at him, watching him in silence, fearful of what awaited you when he finally opened his eyes. You’d spent four months wanting nothing more than to see him break, to give in to you, and if it were anyone else, you would have taken full advantage of this lapse in judgement. But you couldn’t. 

The silence was awkward, moonlight casting a soft glow through the steamy windows, your slowing breaths providing the only sound. When he finally looked at you, there was a clarity in his expression; his jaw softening, eyes rounding. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

There was something about the way he said it, like your restraint had renewed his faith in you, shifted something inside him.

You nodded slightly, reaching behind you for your seatbelt.

He nodded back, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before finally starting the car again. The engine rumbled and he leaned forward to wipe the windshield, using his sleeve to clear it. 

The tension remained as he drove, but it was different now. He was no longer angry, and you no longer cared to push his buttons. After a while, you gathered he was taking you to his house, and it filled you with a sense of relief you couldn’t quite explain. 

The road was empty, quiet, yet still the traffic light turned red. He slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the gearstick as he waited for it to change. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “About Leo. I really was just teasing you. I never would have-”

He reached out and took your hand in his without a word, giving it a gentle squeeze. You relaxed back into your seat, looking down at your intertwined fingers as they rested in your lap.

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[acescorazon]

Title: Changes

Chapter: 13

Rating: M

Word count: 3614

Warnings: Crocodile and Mihawk are being dicks, ANOTHER damn flashback, language, minor violence.

Chapter Excerpt:

It's been blatantly obvious from the start that Mihawk and Crocodile want nothing to do with him. He doesn't know why he even tried fixing their relationship, they were never going to be three people who got along.

This isn't the Oro Jackson and he's not dealing with someone like Shanks, nor is he dealing with a random stranger or even a member of his own crew. He should have realized all his efforts would go in vain and that Crocodile and Mihawk came to the island with a deep-seated hatred and lack of respect for him embedded in them already. Whatever, it's fine. Buggy's not mad or upset or even disappointed. He's completely fine.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|Ch11|Ch12||

At this point, Buggy is unsure of what he can do to improve his relationship with Mihawk and Crocodile. He's tried throwing them a dinner, but that didn't work. He's also tried giving them gifts, but that was another failure and it turns out they're a lot more difficult to please than Buggy thought they'd be. He's at a loss and is unsure what to do at this point to make his two new 'subordinates' like him.

Perhaps his best option is to just be direct and try to talk to them, even though every time Buggy tries to speak to them or do something nice for them, they just push him away or reject him. He can't just leave his relationship with Crocodile and Mihawk as it is though, that'd never work and surely it'd grow tiresome sooner or later.

Buggy decides to make his move the next time Cross Guild has a meeting. He waits patiently for Crocodile to finish going over all his plans as well as announce any progress the newly formed group has already made, remaining silent the entire time so he doesn't annoy Crocodile any. After Crocodile wraps everything up, Buggy quickly clears his throat and speaks up before Mihawk or Crocodile can leave, "Uh," he mutters, his voice trembling slightly, "Can I talk to you guys about something?"

At the sound of his request, Mihawk and Crocodile turn towards Buggy and narrow their eyes at him, giving him a judgmental look. Neither of the two say anything but the look they have on their faces says it all: 'What now, clown?'

Buggy chuckles and finds himself growing uneasy by the other two's hardened glares. He shifts in his spot slightly before continuing,  "So, uh... look, guys. I'm just going to come out and say it. I know you're probably thinking I'm being so annoying by constantly trying to be you guy's friend but I want you to know I'm really trying my best here!" He states and afterwards he tries to read Mihawk and Crocodile’s expressions, but there's not much he can decipher about their mood.

They look as irritated as usual.

"I don't want to fight with you guys all the time or have you guys hate me or anything like that!" Buggy explains, "Look, everything has pretty much been out of my control. I don't know why everyone thinks I'm the boss or whatever, but I never wanted that spotlight and I still don't. What I really want is for us all to get along and for Cross Guild to be successful!"

Mihawk and Crocodile continue to stare Buggy down, but they're silent. No bitter insults, no rejections, no fighting. Just silence. The two don't even leave the room immediately or tell Buggy to go away. Perhaps this is them willing to finally give Buggy a chance?  "I'll just go ahead and say I'm sorry if I've made you two mad or offended you in the past. I promise I can change and that I can be someone useful to you, so... Uh, can we maybe give being friends a chance?" He asks, giving them both a sheepish grin.

There's a long pause after Buggy finishes speaking, and with every passing second, he can feel his anxiety growing in his body.  This is the first time that he's actually been listened to by either men, and this really feels like his one and only chance to make things right.

The three of them don't even have to be best friends, Buggy just doesn't want to be constantly threatened or beaten up, but if they could develop a close relationship that would be perfect because Buggy realizes with his newfound status as emperor of the sea he needs all the allies he can get. "Uh, what do you guys think?" Buggy asks when Mihawk and Crocodile fail to answer him.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Crocodile asks and then afterwards he begins to laugh. His loud, mocking laughter booms throughout the meeting room and Buggy's ears, "I already told you this, but I guess you forgot. I don't need no friends, especially useless ones like you." He tells Buggy, and it's like a stab to the chest. "How would being friends with you benefit me? You're penniless and weak, and you can't do even the simplest task. The only thing that you have going for you is your status as an emperor, but to tell you the truth, I don't care about that."  

Buggy's face begins to heat up and he wants to argue. He wants to tell Crocodile that he definitely isn't a useless clown like he's always saying he is. Buggy has done so much in his lifetime and yet everyone always underestimates and belittles him. Buggy isn't weak and useless, there are people out there who actually fear and or admire him. 

"Your title really is just for show," Crocodile chuckles, "You're nothing compared to Red-Haired Shanks or Blackbeard. Hell, you're not even on the same level as that brat with the straw hat."

Being compared to the other emperors of the sea makes Buggy want to scream. Okay, but... He's at a loss for words. His pride is telling him to fight back and not let Crocodile put him down like this, but another part of him is saying that Crocodile’s right.

No, no, that's not right. Buggy's accomplished too. He traveled the Grandline as a child, he studied under dark king Rayleigh... He took over Orange Town... he... he almost executed Monkey D. Luffy, the same Monkey D. Luffy Crocodile is comparing him to, in Loguetown... He.... He was in the war...(not that he fought in it.)... He started Buggy's delivery service... He...

Maybe he didn't defeat a previous emperor for their spot and maybe he's not always causing a stir like the other three are, but... Buggy’s done things too, and it's not fair to compare him to the other three...even if his status does seem more or less like a fluke sometimes.

Buggy bites his bottom lip, "You haven't given me a chance to prove myself," he says, but for some reason, he doesn't deny Crocodile’s previous statements...maybe he is right. "I've purposely been lying low and doing my own thing. I-"

Crocodile cuts him off, "Bullshit. You haven't been lying low, you just can't do anything. You're useless both as a leader and as a potential friend. In fact, the only reason why I haven't snapped your neck is because Hawkeye here thinks you're a good little distraction." He snorts, "But the government hasn't tried to attack us yet, so who knows? Maybe you can't even keep a few measly Marines distracted."

Buggy takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. He should have realized trying to be Crocodile's friend was pointless. He’s such a cruel, foul mouthed man who cares about nobody but himself. He doesn't want a loving supportive friend, he wants someone he can boss around and use for his schemes. If you don't prove your worth to him, you're useless...

Crocodile’s thought process goes against everything Gol D. Roger taught Buggy to believe in. Buggy’s former captain always told him that a friend is someone you should love, appreciate, and support unconditionally. Our friends may not be related to us by blood, but they’re just as important as family and should be cherished as such because life is so short. A friend is someone who you can depend on and won’t judge you or leave you behind during your toughest battles. It doesn’t matter how rich, smart, or powerful your friends are, what’s important is their heart and character.

Eh… Now that he thinks about it, his beloved former captain was always a bit cheesy and sentimental, but that’s besides the point. Buggy wouldn’t treat Crocodile as if he were just some pawn in a scheme or some glorified bodyguard. He doesn’t need Crocodile to prove his worth (but it certainly isn’t bad that he’s a well-known and very powerful pirate), and Crocodile shouldn’t need Buggy to prove his worth either, that’s not how a genuine friendship works. Whatever, though. Buggy’s over trying to be friends with that self centered prick.

Buggy forces himself to look away from Crocodile and turns to Mihawk. He swallows hard, "...Hawkeye," he calls out in a small voice, and, oh, how he hates how vulnerable he sounds right now. "You don't feel the same way, do you?" He asks, clinging onto hope that Mihawk really is the lesser of two evils.

Mihawk remains quiet for another painfully long moment before finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting ended, "More or less." He says in a cold, blunt voice. Oh, of course he feels the same way as Crocodile, Buggy thinks bitterly. "I won't waste my breath belittling you, but I don't need any friends either." Ah, that's Dracule Mihawk for you, he's always so cruel and direct.

"Okay, we don't have to be friends." Buggy states, looking between both of his fellow members of Cross Guild, "But could we at least treat each other with respect?!" He begs, more than willing to settle at this point.

The laugh that Crocodile lets out when Buggy asks him to do something as simple as give him a little respect is disheartening to say the least. "You actually think I'd respect a gutless coward like you?" He mocks.

"I..."

"Get fucking real!"

"I...I…" is all Buggy manages to stammer out because he feels more embarrassed than before. Crocodile treats him like he's nothing but a tacky, piece of gum here for him to chew up and spit out when he's ready. 

Somehow Mihawk's reaction is the same as Crocodile’s but different. He raises an eyebrow at Buggy, and if Buggy had to guess he'd say Mihawk's probably thinking something along the lines of: 'ME? Respect you? Respect is something you earn, and you definitely haven't earned my respect.'

"Forget it." Buggy mutters, "I'm just going to get back to work." He tells the other two men before lowering his head and rushing out of the meeting room. As he leaves he can hear Crocodile continue to mock him: "Did you hear that shit, Hawkeye?!"

Okay, Fuck them. Fuck Cross Guild. Fuck Buggy too for being so stupid and for even trying to be on good terms with Mihawk and Crocodile. It's been blatantly obvious from the start that Mihawk and Crocodile want nothing to do with him. He doesn't know why he even tried fixing their relationship, they were never going to be three people who got along.

This isn't the Oro Jackson and he's not dealing with someone like Shanks, nor is he dealing with a random stranger or even a member of his own crew. He should have realized all his efforts would go in vain and that Crocodile and Mihawk came to the island with a deep-seated hatred and lack of respect for Buggy embedded in them already. Whatever, it's fine. Buggy's not mad or upset or even disappointed. He's completely fine.

Why would the great and mighty Captain Buggy The Clown let two assholes like Mihawk and Crocodile determine his worth? Why would he let them get to him? He hasn't, he's fine. He's totally fine and he doesn't care what happens moving on. He'll just try his best to coexist with Mihawk and Crocodile and try not to get on their bad sides or whatever.

He says that he wants to live peacefully among Crocodile and Mihawk, and yet he does the one thing he probably shouldn't. He finds someone to angrily vent to, Cabaji and Mohji always listen to him without judging him and they always offer up the upmost support and advice, but Buggy doesn't need advice. He just needs to rant, and so maybe that's why as soon as he sees his two most trusted crew-mates, he disregards his current location and begins to air all of his grievances about both Mihawk and Crocodile.  

Buggy's mouth runs a mile a minute as insults, complaints, and anything you can think of come flying from between his painted lips. He tells the two other men how frustrated he is that Crocodile and Mihawk just can't play nice, and how they think they're the boss of him and can push him around. He tells them that they're both so stuck up and rude that it's unbelievable and that he's never met two people as insufferable as Mihawk and Crocodile. "I really tried!" He complains, throwing his hands up.

At this point his face is beet red and he's more furious than he'd like to be. "But nothing I do makes them happy!" He tells Mohji and Cabaji for what has to be the hundredth time. The two try and calm Buggy down but at this point he's a lost cause. "Can you believe they're acting this way? And for what reason? Because the world government made me an emperor and not them? Because they're stuck in some shitty organization with me? I didn't ask for any of this!" He tells them as his voice continues to steadily rise.

"But whatever. I don't care." Buggy laughs bitterly.

"Capt-"

"No, seriously I don't give a fuck anymore! I'm done trying to be nice to those two assholes. They said they don’t do friends, but is that the real truth? Do they not have friends because they don’t trust anyone and they’re too stuck up, or is it because they're both two insufferable assholes who no one wants to be friends with in the first place? I mean, really, who’d want to be their fucking friend? They’re two extremely bitter old men who can’t hold a conversation let al-"

"Captain Buggy..." Mohji calls out in a shaky voice, but Buggy continues to rant and rave about how much he hates the situation he's in. He hates that the world government takes him seriously and considers him to be a big enough threat to be an emperor of the sea, but that Mihawk and Crocodile think he's some weak, small time pirate. He was fine being just an errand boy before but now he's genuinely frustrated that Mihawk and Crocodile see him as beneath them and won’t treat him as an equal. "What gives those assholes the right?!"

"C..Captain..." Cabaji and Mohji stammer out at the same time. There's an intense look of fear on both of their faces that Buggy failed to realize before. He stops his rant long enough to give them both a confused look, "...What?" He asks, and when his two crew-mates gesture to something behind him with their heads, Buggy realizes just how badly he fucked up in an instant.

Buggy inhales a deep, shaky breath. Please tell me they aren't standing behind me. He thinks, about ten seconds away from pleading with the universe to just cut him some slack for once in his miserable life. Of course, though, Buggy has nothing but worst luck. In fact if he didn't have the most vile, atrocious luck imaginable, he probably wouldn't have any luck at all.

Buggy slowly looks over his shoulder and his stomach drops. He really has no luck at all, but perhaps this has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with the fact that Buggy foolishly trash talked Mihawk and Crocodile as soon as he got the chance to and in public.

Mihawk is the first to speak, "No, don't let us interrupt you. We want to hear more of what you have to say, Buggy The Clown." He tells him in an eerily calm voice, "By all means. Please elaborate why you think that we're insufferable and stuck up some more."

Buggy doesn't even know what he should say at this point. He laughs nervously, "Hawkeye....Crocodile...when did you two get here?" He asks, feeling like he's seconds away from hurling. Actually now that he thinks about it, maybe it's better if he doesn't know when Crocodile and Mihawk came and how much they heard.

Buggy realizes he's in deep shit, but he still takes a step back and raises his arms up in the air, "Oh, you know I didn't mean any of that stuff, you guys. I'm a clown, remember?" He laughs but no one laughs with him, "I like to joke around! I didn't really mean all those things, I was just joking..." he lies, feeling trapped.

"I for one didn't find your little joke amusing." Mihawk says and Buggy can notice the subtle shift in his expression and how irate he looks with him right now. "Did you, Crocodile?" He asks.

Crocodile's expression isn't any better, in fact it's ten times worse because Crocodile never hides his emotions, especially not ones like anger. "Of course i didn't." He replies with another mocking laugh, and it's at this point that Buggy realizes that he probably shouldn't try to talk to them anymore and that he should instead just run away.

So that's what he does, he takes off in a sprint, trying to put as much distance between him and Mihawk and Crocodile as possible even though he knows that it's pointless. He can't outrun Mihawk, the world’s strongest swordsman is too fast, but even if he could, he still has another man after him. Crocodile may not be as fast as Hawkeye, but he’s good at cornering Buggy and trapping him in a cloud of sand, and Buggy knows that he’s no match for either of them no matter how much he runs, ducks, and hides.

 

They catch Buggy with ease and once they do, they unleash all their anger, frustration, and pure hatred on Buggy. Their assault isn't just physical, it's verbal as well, of course it is. Crocodile and Mihawk’s cold, cruel words hurt a lot more than their fists do sometimes, depending on what’s being said, and Buggy finds himself quickly feeling overwhelmed as tears pour from his eyes.

"I knew you were just spouting a bunch of bullshit in the meeting room."  Crocodile hisses as he punches him for what has to be the tenth time, and Buggy wishes he were exaggerating when he says that. Crocodile’s wrong, though, Buggy was being one hundred percent genuine when he said he wanted them all to get along and treat each other with respect, it's just that he grew frustrated with Mihawk and Crocodile’s constant rejection and coldness towards him.

What else was he supposed to do? How else was he supposed to feel? He’s hurt and frustrated, can’t they see that? Buggy tries several times to explain himself, but it’s no use, Mihawk and Crocodile just continue to beat his face in and mock his every cry and scream until they finally get tired and storm away, leaving Buggy to lie on the ground a clobbered mess. 

Buggy’s entire soul feels shattered into pieces as he lie there, crying his eyes out. Mohji and Cabaji rush over to his side just as soon as Crocodile and Mihawk leave (He never expected them to intervene and if they did, it’d only cause more pain for him.) “Oh my god, captain, are you okay?” Cabaji asks.

No. 

Buggy doesn’t have the heart to respond to the question and the moment he realizes that Cabaji and Mohji are be his side, he tries to hold back all his pain and suffering. They sit him up gently and tell him that they’re going to get him all patched up and softly mutter how much they hate Crocodile and Mihawk just as much as Buggy does, and how Buggy is so brave and strong for putting up with them.

…Is he, though?

Buggy doesn’t feel very brave and strong, he feels like a loser who has no control over his life, but he doesn’t tell Cabaji and Mohji that, how the hell could he?

Things become more hostile between Buggy and Crocodile and Mihawk after that. It seems that his one little slip-up was enough to make Mihawk and Crocodile’s disdain for him grow ten times worse, but then again, maybe it doesn’t matter what Buggy said or did. Maybe things would have always ended up like this, after all Mihawk and Crocodile have absolutely no respect or sympathy for Buggy.

[bruisedboys]

LITTLE WOMEN—

“ there is a little bit of you in all the words i write. maybe you’re the language of love my heart speaks. “ with remus!!

roma coming through with the remus request yes!!!! tysm baby xxx

summary: remus writes poetry about you

fem!reader 0.5k words

Remus shows you an excerpt of a poem he’s written and you’re sure it’s about you. As much as you don’t want to assume, because that would be totally self-centred if you’re wrong, you’re pretty sure he’s written it about you. It’s good. It’s really good. He writes about sunlight in the colour of your hair. He writes about a birthmark on the hip of a girl with your skin tone. He writes about the lanterns at the Thai place you’ve been to together a million and one times.

He stands behind you while you read it at the kitchen table, waiting for your reaction. When you’ve taken too long to respond, he asks, “What do you think?” almost self-consciously.

You stare at the notebook in your hand, the words he’s scrawled that describe, however vaguely, you.

“It’s good,” you say weakly, but that’s not enough, so you say, “It’s brilliant, Remus. Really. But I— um. It’s not about me, is it?”

You cringe the second you say it. Remus doesn’t. He laughs.

“Of course it’s about you, dove,” he says gleefully, squeezing your shoulder with his big hand. He squeezes down your arm until he reaches your hand, weaving your fingers together with his. He rests his cheek on your head. “That’s why I showed you, silly. Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it,” you say, breathless. You like it so much you feel dizzy with it. “I love it. I’m just … well, I didn’t know you wrote things about me,” you finish shyly.

Remus squeezes your hand. “Are you kidding? There’s a little bit of you in all the words I write,” he says, and you feel like your heart might give out.

You blink. Look up at him, sick as a dog in love. “Remus,” you say, chiding.

Remus looks at you like you’re the crazy one. As if. He’s the one writing poetry about you.

“What?” He laughs, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. “I’m serious. You’re in every little thing I write. Maybe you’re the language of love my heart speaks.”

You gape at him. You can’t tell if he was joking or not with that last line. But he looks like he’s being completely serious, eyes all brown and melty, which is even worse than if it was a joke.

“That’s like, sickeningly poetic,” you say, a poor attempt to hide how he’s making you feel. Like you’re the only girl in the world. You think he can probably see right through you, anyway. But it’s worth a shot to avoid boosting his ego. “Did you make that up yourself?”

Remus’ grin is staggering and a tiny bit taunting. Yep. He can definitely see right through you.

“You like it?” He asks mischievously, and now he’s just rubbing it in. “Maybe I should write poetry about you more often, hm?”

He plucks his notebook from your hand and you’re left sitting there, knowing if he ever writes another word about you, you’ll probably die on the spot.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Pairing: Chrollo x Reader

Summary: a smutty excerpt from my full-length Chrollo fanfic. However, I think that it can be read standing alone as well. Enjoy!

Warnings: smut, language, some fluff at the end <3

It was quite nice to have something that could be dubbed 'home.'

Over the past few years, you had stayed in many places, but none of them earned the title. They lacked certain qualities that one might include in this category.

There was no breath of relief when you walked inside, only a looming forecast of some new threat approaching. There was definitely no feeling of contentment, the expectation of moving ever-present. The penthouse, on the other hand, possessed many of these traits, though you weren't certain it was because of the building, rather the person you shared it with.

Safety and comfort were easily achieved when you pulled into the parking lot, two check marks on your mental list considering this issue, but there was something else present as well.

The air seemed hollow. It filled your lungs, leaving an empty feeling in your stomach, waiting to be appeased.

You should let him kiss you at the party.

Fuck you, Hisoka Morow.

This feeling followed you into the elevator, a phantom of satisfaction just begging to be exorcised. It's ghostly voice tickled your own vocal chords in a masquerade of confidence.

"You can..." You cleared your throat, but the sound that came out was still annoyingly quiet. "You can, um, kiss me now. Only if you want, I mean."

With a ding, the doors opened. Chrollo glanced down at you before stepping out into the hallway, making you avert your eyes immediately. "I don't know. I really should start making dinner."

"Are you serious?" You whined, following after him into the penthouse. Usually, the tone would have made you cringe internally, but enough of his antics had been endured tonight. He silently waited until you had gotten inside before closing the door and locking it behind you.

With a discontented sigh, you reached around your back to begin taking off the confining gown. While beautiful, it had become uncomfortable after a while, as most pretty things did.

Your hands never made it.

Instead, they were snatched midair, completely forgotten as Chrollo's lips crashed against yours. You gasped, but he captured the noise easily, dropping your hands in favor of cupping your face with one of his. Another found its way around your waist, offering a bit of support as you began to melt further and further into his arms.

The feeling of Chrollo's mouth against yours was captivating, possessing a siren-like allure that overpowered your corporeal need for oxygen.

If this was what asphyxiation was like, you would gladly suffocate under his control.

Backing up, you attempted to find something, anything, to lean on, scared that if this continued your legs might turn to putty. Thankfully, he followed, keeping a constant hold on your frame.

A wall hit your back, prompting another startled exhale. He took advantage of this one too, running his tongue against the rim of your bottom lip in a wordless request. The air in your lungs seemed to dissipate as you allowed his tongue to meet yours, clinging to his touch like it was your only lifeline.

Every bit of contact was felt in your abdomen, a quiet spark that had you sighing in delight.

So when he finally pulled away, you couldn't help the quiet, pitiful whine that left your throat.

His breathing wasn't anywhere near as quick, but as he rested his forehead against yours, the ardent look in his eyes seemed to be quite the indication as to what was running through his mind.

"Is this okay?"

Oh.

Oh.

And you immediately decided that it was. Your words back at the party were nothing but honest.

You wanted him.

You wanted to be his, in every way possible.

Regardless, your fervent nod didn't seem to satisfy him.

"I'm sorry, dearest, but I'm going to need you to use your words." Using a finger, he tilted your chin upward, urging your gaze to meet his. "Now I'll ask again; Is this alright?"

"Yes." You breathed. "Please keep going."

At your acceptance, he closed the distance between you once more, the kiss turning hungry and desperate.

Every moment was pure bliss, but it was never enough.

You could feel his hand inching across your back, searching for the zipper to your dress. He found it quickly, allowing the garment to fall to the floor.

Red fabric pooled at your feet like a fiery sea. The chilliness of winter air attacked your body, now only protected by mere undergarments.

His lips slipped from yours, trailing downwards to edge your jaw before descending again to place a line of kisses across your exposed collarbone. Your breathing accelerated when his mouth found a sensitive area and, based on the way he smirked into your neck, you were quite sure he noticed too.

With gentle guidance, Chrollo led the both of you towards his room, kicking open the door with minimal regard as he shrugged off his suit jacket. It was discarded as your body fell into the silk sheets of his bed.

Coat off, he positioned himself above you, fingers undoing the first few buttons of his shirt as you were left to squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze.

You had never been so naked, so vulnerable, in front of someone else. The idea of having your bare body on display sent heat to your already burning cheeks.

Instinctively, you moved to conceal yourself, but he was quicker, grabbing your hands to pin them above your head. Ebony locks fell over his eyes as he looked down at you, ever so slowly releasing his hold on your arms.

"Say the word and I'll stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes." You murmured, apprehensive about whether or not your voice would actually work, but desperate for him to continue.

He nodded, sneaking a hand behind you to release your bra with measured precision. The clasp was undone and the garment tossed away, leaving your upper half completely exposed to the man hovering over you. Insecurities immediately flooded your mind as you tentatively forced your line of sight to meet his.

Somehow, you had continuously failed to notice completely enamored Chrollo was with you. Unbeknownst to you, he had already pretty much come to the conclusion that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, regardless of the fact that some parts of you had been left a mystery. And although patience happened to be one of his more noteworthy traits, he would also be a liar if he didn't admit this moment had frequently taunted his restraint for the past few weeks.

And damn, if the wait wasn't worth it.

He sucked in a sharp breath, steel eyes once cold and uncaring, now ablaze with desire for you.

"Fuck."

His mouth found yours again before following a route similar to the one before, descending past your jaw and toward your neck. This time, however, he continued downward to your chest. Skin still frigid, his lips were sparked fireworks with every touch.

You gasped sharply when he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud while his free hand found its way to your other breast, gently kneading the flesh. He pinched your nipple, pulling a whine from your throat as your thighs clenched, desperate for friction.

At some point, he backed away, continuing the assault on your neck like it was the last time he ever enjoyed human contact. You didn't notice the withdrawal, much too distracted by the feeling of his hands on your chest.

However, you definitely noticed when his touch found its way below your abdomen, pressing softly against your clit through the fabric of your underwear. Your back arched into his hold as you absentmindedly realized you had never hated any object quite as much as you did right now. Self-consciousness had completely faded away, replaced by the need of his direct contact.

Chrollo nudged the cloth to the side, a smug grin spreading across his features before he yanked it off completely.

He ran a finger across your slit, examining the wetness that followed it with pure satisfaction.

"Fuck, I've barely done anything yet."

Slowly, he inserted a finger inside, pumping at a steady pace before following with another, making sure to keep his thumb trained to your clit in a tortuously slow rotation. Pleasure coursed through your body, forcing a moan from in its wake. You quickly slapped a palm against your mouth, hoping to muffle the embarrassing sound, but his ears were too sharp.

"Uh-uh." He chided, grabbing both of your arms with his free hand. "I want to hear you."

"Good girl."

"I'm not... shit, your dog." You complained, but the soft spark of pleasure of his words were undeniable.

"You sure whine like one."

The mere sound of his voice was audible bliss. Your body had seemed to betray you, clenching around his digits at the tantalizing tone.

"Hm." He appraised. "Praise and degradation. Noted."

"I'm not-"

Your denial was quickly cut off when he inserted another finger, curling them against your core until the only sound you could emit was a low groan. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught that. Would you mind repeating it for me?"

Anywhere else you would have been happy to call him out for feigned ignorance, but you were much too far gone in the way he was able to heighten the warmth in your core. It grew steadily with each pump of his fingers until you were ready to burst.

Soon, Chrollo had you unraveling upon his hand. Ever attentive, he continued to stroke the ever sensitive bundle of nerves, leisurely helping you down from your high as he unbuttoned his dress pants.

Your eyes immediately trained down towards his waist once he was done, inner walls clenching around nothing. The empty, hollow feeling left you even more unsatisfied than before. It was a relief to not be the only one exposed, but fuck was he gorgeous.

He quickly noticed where your line of sight had traveled, letting out a dark chuckle that only heightened your desire. "Pervert."

Brain still on sensual overdrive, the taunt did nothing but spur another flicker in your core. The embarrassment only seemed to push your need further. He seemed to notice your stare and the pleading expression across your features.

"What did I say about using your words, darling?"

"Please." You mumbled, hoping against hope that he would take pity on you.

He carefully aligned himself at your entrance, its soft, steady beat still present and yearning to be satisfied. "Anything for you."

With a slow, antagonizing pace, you waited for him to finish entering you. Slight pain followed with every inch forward, but nothing compared to ache you felt for his touch. Soon, the soreness melted into satisfaction and you found yourself unconsciously lifting your hips to his, desperate for some kind of tension.

Thankfully, he understood your wordless plea, beginning to rock his hips into yours at a steady pace that had you internally begging for more. His thumb found your clit again, rotating around the nub in slow, gentle circles. He reveled in the moans that were pulled from your lips.

The heat continued to intensify, filling your core to the brim until all the only emotion running through your brain was need.

With an increasing rhythm, he continued thrusting into you until pleasure had completely overpowered your senses, leaving you a moaning puddle of satisfaction in its wake. Every kiss to your cervix tightened the coil more and more until it was unbearable. The bliss was excruciating, bright and hot and wonderful all at the same time.

He caressed your overstimulated clit in a way that made you want to burst, and with a few final pushes, you did.

Euphoria flooded over every crevice of your body. Your walls fluttered around him as your high was met, offering a soft convulsion that allowed him his own release. Your eyelids fluttered to a close, heart on overdrive and mind still abuzz from pure ecstasy.

He slowly pulled out, careful not to jostle your form too much before gently picking you up and carrying you towards the bathroom. The difference in light made you cringe slightly, but, although spent, you were still curious.

Damn, it's nice in here.

You marveled as he set you down on the counter to start a bath.

The past hour, and probably the trials of today as well, had left you tired, the next few moments no longer memories, but foggy sensations of bliss.

His voice echoed amidst the rushing water, muttering kind praises that were extenuated by the soft tingle of his lips against your skin. The soothing warmth of the bath soon replaced them, then the soft cotton of a shirt that was much too large to be your own.

Next, the cool sheets, somehow new and folded neatly, cocooning around your body. You did remember reaching out, searching for his own figure against the bed. You also remembered the quiet laugh as he met your grasp, allowing you to easily wrap your arms around his torso. He mirrored your embrace, placing a final kiss on your temple.

In the past few weeks, you had fallen asleep in Chrollo's grasp multiple times. However, as the world faded away, you were able to coherently recognize that this way was most definitely your favorite.

[undertheopensky]

Heart And Soul Asunder: Whumptober 2023 Director's Cuts

A collection of fun facts, director’s comments, and deleted scenes.

Day 1

Fun fact! Most sign languages incorporate a completely separate grammar system to their ‘spoken’ forms (English to BSL, ASL and Auslan, for example). For fluency purposes, I (and most other people for that matter) write the signed text as ‘English translations’, just like you would any other foreign language.

The alternative, ‘glossing’, is writing the words as they are signed, and is generally considered a poor written representation of sign language because it ‘reads’ as very simplistic, without the associated body language, facial expression, gestures, and emotional indicators that are purely visual.

Italics is in fact not the preferred method for indicating signing in prose, as the Deaf community rightly regards it as just speaking and needs no other punctuation than “”. However I’m still trying to figure out a visual and storytelling balance when non-Deaf individuals are switching back and forth between speaking methods.

Day 2

Fun fact! Every line of Sky’s ‘dreaming’ dialogue is shit I have said in my sleep, to the general horror and consternation of my sister. She was mildly displeased to be asked for ‘the creepiest things you’ve ever heard me say while unconscious’.

Sky’s inaudible blood comment would have been either “It’s said that only those plants that are fed on blood will bloom red” or “Under the blood, what do you have left?”

Day 3

This one wanted to be much longer, but didn’t have any material to fill it, and I didn’t have time to let things grow organically. I feel like the pacing suffered for that.

Day 4

Fun fact! I had over 1000 words of ‘scrap’ material by the time I was done with this fill.

I’ve had difficult works before, but this one took it to a whole new level. It got to the point where I was writing individual sentences as their own separate entities and then frankensteining them together with joining words or sentences or pieces of another pre-written sentence. I was deeply impressed it turned out as coherent as it did.

Day 5

Due to deadlines and me attempting to keep a handle on my plot pacing, this one had several minor plot points cut from the original. I was very disappointed but also it was long enough as it was…

Here’s an excerpt from the most complete of those cuts.

Blue wakes to pain searing through his torso. He tries to jolt upright; can’t, the cord of pain through his ribs binding him in an agonised hunch. He’s winded, he recognises – Blue scrabbles away – The man lunges – Then trips and falls seemingly through the floor. Blue can’t get up immediately. Pain still lashes through him with every gasping breath. He knows straightening out will help. Can’t make himself do it, not with a red ribbon of agony tying his lungs to something in his core. Instead he curls in a little more and uses his feet to shuffle away from the spot the guy had vanished. He’d thought he’d seen – a flash, except the opposite; a sudden moment of night-sky darkness – but now the grass just looks… normal. Slowly springing up again after his weight had squished it down, a few broken blades sticking up at awkward angles. Blue’s tempted to poke it with his stick. He refrains – he doesn’t want to lose his best tool, if whatever ate the guy decided wood is tasty too – and after marking the closest tree, he limps towards the river. He’s never touching that patch of grass again.

Day 6

*buries face in hands*

Feel like I owe everyone an apology for this one – there was so much screaming in my inbox. And it’s still trying to develop itself into a long, involved torture fic. I had a whole fucking outline written before realising it was way too long and involved for a daily prompt, and mercilessly cut it back. But the outline exists… and could be used…

*head on desk*

Day 7

The reason Warriors was so grumpy was that he’d already taken a keese to the face from an earlier vire. He thought Legend had seen and was teasing him.

Wind was annoyed with Twilight for chasing Legend off. “He was going to TEACH ME SHIT, you asshole!”

An incomplete alternative scene, scrapped because the Vibes were wrong:

Legend takes time over the next few days to really watch the people around him interacting. Usually he doesn’t bother. People are baffling, and watching them is somewhere between aggravating, confusing, and anxiety-inducing. He has no idea why it’s considered an actual hobby. Everyone keeps him at arms-length. And Legend prefers it that way, he doesn’t like people in his personal space, it just makes him jumpy – but Wild is like that too. Flinchy when people get too close. And Twilight is always reaching out to him, verbally if not physically. [Example conversation.] And when he does move in physically, it’s always at Wild’s pace. Patient, gentle, even when roughhousing. The only time any one of them touches Legend is to shove him, or pinch his ears. And it’s always because Legend had gotten too close to them. The only exception is Hyrule. He comes closer than the others…

A lot of people resonated with this one. I don’t want to say I’m glad I made you all cry, but I AM glad I was able to pull such a strong emotional response from you. I love you guys. <3

Day 8

Fun fact! This was originally supposed to be a one-and-done, except I hit 3000 words and realised I wasn’t even CLOSE to finishing and couldn’t just cut plot points because this one has STRUCTURE, dammit. Fortunately, the one remaining day I had yet to generate an idea for had a perfect prompt for the second half, and all was well. (Except not really.)

This section was part of the first draft, but didn’t suit the Vibe, but I still like it:

“You should keep an eye on the veteran. He’s not dealing half as well as you think he is. And the chosen hero, for that matter. For heroes of legend and lore, you’re not a very well-adjusted bunch.” Legend makes an outraged noise. “Why don’t you do something about it, then?” “And do what?” Four’s dead brother shoots back. “I’m not real. I’m not even close to being real. I may as well have never existed, for all history remembers of me.”

Day 9

“You liar.”

Legend wasn’t talking about what Four was saying – he was calling the smile, and every one that had come before it, a lie.

Day 10

Fun fact! In medieval Europe (which LoZ is loosely set in), multiple births were considered VERY bad omens – adultery, demonic influence, witches’ spells, changelings, etc, to the point that multiples were very often killed or abandoned soon after birth, and sometimes their parents were, too. Combining this with the fact that several Links have dealt with evil clones of themselves was obviously going to be hilarious, but I didn’t get to explore it to its fullest potential. Maybe in the followup…

Day 11

Fun fact! Sometimes sprained ankles hurt worse than broken ankles. Ain’t bodies grand?

Day 12

A few snippets from a plot point that didn’t wind up eventuating:

“Things are very scary for you at the moment,” Sky murmurs, “and even though you’re being very brave, it doesn’t make them less scary. It’s okay to be afraid.”

“Because just like you come after me, there are other heroes who come after you. And they know your story. They know that you win.”

Day 13

There was originally going to be a second half of this to go in Day 30: Bridal Carry, but then I had a really good idea for an alternative. There’s more notes for this one but they’re a major spoiler for the second part, so you’ll have to wait for the followup for more info!

Day 14

This just fucking came to me when I first saw the prompt but was in no way suitable for Whumptober:

Four contemplates the lettuce Wild had handed him. It’s a little comical from the outside: the vegetable is larger than his head, as Wars all too gleefully points out. Four doesn’t respond to his teasing. Just rolls the lettuce around in his hands, considering every leafy angle. Then he takes a bite from it as if it were an apple. Wars inhales the mouthful he’d just taken from his waterskin. Wind slaps him on the back, howling with laughter, while Wars splutters and chokes and leaks water from his nose in a very undignified fashion. Hyrule and Sky both watch, fascinated, as Four makes his way through the entire lettuce. “Why,” is all Twilight says. Four can only shrug. “It looked good.”

Day 15

That Yiga member decides that the life choices that led them to stab a frightened (apparent) eight-year-old were bad ones and repents, abandoning the clan and moving to Hateno to help teach children to make up for it. Sometimes they wonder if the child managed to escape, but mostly they try not to think about it, because how could they have made it when the Plateau is laced with spies and they’d injured them so badly?

Now I want to write a followup where the Chain runs into this specific Yiga member and they have a breakdown when they see Four.

Day 16

Fun fact! Before you even begin exercising, there is what’s called an ‘anticipatory rise’ in heart rate, which preps your body to do work! In this fic there is a similar anticipatory rise in magic, which is why Legend has an easier time transforming when he’s expecting it. :)

Day 17

For some reason these guys wanted to act out a Monty Python skit where Tiny!Legend asked every one of them in turn if they were a knight, which for obvious reasons did not pass the vibe test, but some of the excerpts were hilarious:

Tiny!Legend squints at him suspiciously. “You’re not a knight?” “Nope,” says Time breezily. “The armour’s useful, is all.” “Didn’t stop that moblin from running you right through, old man,” says Four. “T’be fair, it was our first experience with black-bloods,” says Twilight, and Tiny!Legend’s eyes go wide as he considers just how much power it would have taken to drive a weapon through steel plate.

“Are you a knight?” “Only technically,” says Sky, appearing very focused on his wood carving. “Where I come from, a knight’s main duties involve catching people who fall off sky islands more than dealing with monsters or politics.”

Wars grimaces. “I couldn’t talk Artemis out of it, okay? It’s supposed to be an honour, but mostly it’s just paperwork.”

“Does it count if I don’t remember it?” asks Wild, completely guileless.

“Fuck that,” says Four, “I told Dad he could go kick rocks. I’m a blacksmith, dammit.”

“I’m a pirate!” Wind says indignantly, and Tiny!Legend relaxes the rest of the way, giggling.

Day 18

You have no idea how bad my brain wanted to make the Minish evil and leading him into a cult-related trap. I had to have a serious debate with myself over clear story beats and Minish physiology as a fae race before it could be laid to rest. Also, it would have screwed up my pacing, because this was supposed to be the last part, dammit!

On further consideration – this concept could make for an amazing angst fic, because it’s set in the Downfall Hyrule – what if the Minish became corrupted as the land did, so that evil deeds were what sustained them instead of gratitude?

The experiment with making the Minish’s communication purely described by Four was partly to show that they use a completely different language to Hylians, and partly to highlight that Four’s not in the clearest mental state right now. I definitely enjoyed everyone freaking out and creating theories around this particular design choice – I’m really happy it came out how it did and that everyone found it a) intelligible and b) distinctive.

This ruined the flow but I liked how it came out:

“You know me?” he says. All Minish know him, they say. There are stories passed down, of the Hero who was helped by the Minish – and who helped them in return, the way so few others did.

A follow-up excerpt:

Four frowns. “I don’t have a concussion.” “Four, half your face is covered in blood and I can see the knot from here. If you don’t have a concussion I will be very surprised.” Spoiler alert! Four has a massive concussion.

Fun fact! If you have a concussion, you are not going to be a reliable judge of whether or not you have a concussion. That’s also why Four can’t hear the Colours; in fact all four of them are there, just muddled together and in too much pain to realise they’re all in control, or even just how much pain they’re in. He got a hell of a whack on the head.

Day 19

This section ruined the flow but was fun to write:

The tight control he kept his temper under – always trying so hard not to respond in anger, to think through his words and actions before making them real. The only time Legend had ever seen him lose it – Wild had taken a stupid, dangerous risk in blowing up part of a mountain, burying half their enemies in a rockslide – but because he hadn’t warned them first, Sky and Wind nearly got caught up in it too. And Four had been furious on their behalf. He’d bellowed about communication and being aware of your teammates the whole time Hyrule was fixing up the bruises and Wind’s broken wrist and not repeated himself once. Wild was not the only one to look at Four with more respect after that.

Day 20

This line was needlessly dramatic so I took it out, but I still like it (plus context):

There’s a rustle of movement as several people start digging through their packs. Sky hadn’t realised – everyone’s gathered around the doorway. Unable to help, unable to look away, as Hyrule fought death itself for Four’s soul, and won.

There are followups coming for this ‘verse, focusing more on the healing. :)

Day 21

The first half of this was entirely whump-free, for reasons unknown to me. Listen man I do not have any control over these guys, I just work here.

Okay that’s slightly a lie, I did consider scrapping it or cutting it back, but it made for a nice counterpart to the actual whump, so I kept it. :)

“What do you even want with us?” he demands, all too aware of the two behind him. Just as trapped, just as helpless. He’s the oldest, here, the veteran hero; it’s up to him to find a way out.

Yeah, Legend completely forgot that Time is the oldest of all of them. Tbf he’s spent the last two-three days being a complete gremlin as well as being tiny, so I think we can forgive Legend the lapse.

Baby!Time shrugs. “We negotiated.”

I do not remember what this line referenced so I had to take it out but I remember it was hilarious.

“Thus proving that Time is in fact the Hero of Time,” says Four dryly, looking at Legend significantly. Legend casts about for something to throw at him while Wars tries to focus on whether or not Time can walk a straight line without puking.

Written by my beta while I was struggling with flow issues. It didn’t make it into the final draft but it made me laugh. Three cheers for my sister Sunshine, folks, who checks my shit for flow and consistency while knowing fuckall about Legend of Zelda and Linked Universe in particular. She never even questioned me over the weird names! I love her so much.

Day 22

This one fought me more than was entirely necessary, and has also decided to exist within a universe known as ‘your body is not a cordial bottle’.

When the Four Swords Links turned back into one Link, all their feelings and experiences went with them – but they don’t spread out as if over four people. Everything is felt exactly as intensely as if it was the original Link having that experience, because it was. So Four has just as strong a reaction to ice and cold as Blue, not one-quarter of a reaction; similarly, they all feel the same grief over Shadow’s death. It’s not diluted out just because there’s four people experiencing it.

(‘Your body is not a cordial bottle’ has medical origins – essentially, taking two drugs with opposing effects is NOT necessarily going to just cancel each other out, stop doing that shit and talk to your doctor! Also, drinking lots of water is not going to dilute the effects unless it’s alcohol, and that’s for a different reason.)

In hindsight, Wild has a very Valleygirl-esque voice in this, and I have no idea why.

An alternative scene, now with added nudity!

A gasp. “Four, your clothes!” A louder gasp. “MY clothes!” There had been no time, no thinking or deliberating. They were left with just the thing they clung to the hardest. For most of them, it seemed, that was their drawers, the last layer of clothing between them and open air. That Sky had refused to let go of the Master Sword, even as all his layers fell away - well, that’s not all that surprising. For Four to abandon his dignity -? And it wasn’t even his weapon. The only thing left on him is the worn leather cord of a necklace. Whatever it is, Four’s got it clutched in one hand like he’s scared to lose it. A pendant, of some kind? Four sees him looking, and instead of embarrassment - instead of covering himself up with a laugh or a wince - he looks afraid. Both hands go to the pendanty and he backs away, breathing hard, until he hits the wall and jolts like he’d forgotten it was there. “Four, it’s okay -” Four cringes away, curled in on himself to hide. Sky automatically reaches for his sailcloth to cover him, and annoyance flashes when he remembers.

Rough, but it amused me. (ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ)

Another alternative scene divergent from the original, cut because it was interfering with flow:

Four’s hand tightens. Hot blood starts to seep into the spaces between his fingers, something sharp like panic coiling around his heart. “Steady, Four,” says Sky. “Deep breaths. Shit, you’re bleeding again – Wild!” “I’m sorry! I was just curious!” Four wants out of this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. The air in here is thin and stale. It’s not enough. His skin is hot, a volcano’s breath looming, and his core is so cold it hurts to breathe – “Aaand down you go,” says Sky, firm hands helping him to the sand. Four gasps for air. His ears are ringing again, a high-pitched screech that mostly drowns out the hissed argument happening over his head. He can’t make out the words but he knows what they’re saying, what’s wrong with him and don’t upset him and don’t you know he’s delicate – Four hates it with the depth of a bottomless sea. The words come out so deep a navy they’re almost black. “Just fucking get it over with!” The argument stops. “Four, you don’t have to say anything,” Sky starts. Four shakes his head, hard enough that it nearly dislodges Sky’s hands. “If you’re just going to dance around it, and – and talk behind my back, then – just get it over with!” The shadows in his mind flitter and murmur protest; he ignores them, ignores the chill panic on his skin and the ice in his gut to shove onwards. “Ask, damn you!” “Hey!” Warriors barks, softening his voice when it makes Four flinch, “we are not going to force you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with!” “Like talking about it behind my back and making up your own damn theories is any better,” Four snaps back. “You’re not going to like my answers anyway!” “Okay, okay, we’ll have the conversation, but you need to breathe!”

Four was very determined to have that panic attack…

Can you tell I really loved this fill? I need to write a followup someday.

Day 23

Jumping down an entire flight of stairs LOOKS cool, but there’s a high risk of falling on your face, not to mention the stress it puts on your joints, my knees hurt just thinking about it

Fun fact! I HAVE jumped down an entire flight of stairs before! Except it wasn’t on purpose – I slipped on a patch of ice and fell, but somehow never made contact with the stairs themselves, and landed on my feet at the bottom in a gymnastics crouch, shellshocked but apparently none the worse for wear.

(This was a lie. My left knee has NEVER forgiven me for it. It hurts in cold/wet weather and will dump me on my ass with no warning if I don’t keep up my physio.)

Another fun fact! The Yiga’s base in BotW is BULLSHIT. Who the fuck puts prisoners right at the entrance??? This pissed me off so much I did a rough redesign placing the cell closer to the heart of it. I also made other cosmetic changes in making it more assassin-y. Did you spot any?

Day 24

This one - and to a certain extent the followup - actually had a very specific inspiration! If anyone successfully guesses what it is I will be very impressed, though. It's not the most obvious connection.

Day 25

I TAKE BACK EVERY COMPLAINT I EVER HAD ABOUT MOORHAUNT, THIS FIC WAS HELL TO WRITE.

Because I can’t write in a straight line, I wound up having to scrap what was possibly my favourite exchange of the entire fic. This section is CANON to the continuity it just didn’t make it in somehow!

He says nothing more as they walk away. As soon as they’re out of earshot, Legend says, “Okay, I get why he won’t touch the Master Sword now.” “I’m surprised he can even touch his own sword,” says Wind. “Fuck, the thing killed his brothers, how can he stand it –” “And he would have been right there when it happened,” Warriors murmurs. “You don’t think… it hurt?” Sky thinks of Four – quiet, steady, helpful Four – having his last memory of his siblings being them screaming in pain, and nearly throws up on the spot.

Seriously. This fic was such a pain in my ass. TWICE I wrote myself into a time loop, no one wanted to say the hard stuff, and Vio kept being cryptic and offputting and scaring everyone off.

(Again. Ocarina was supposed to be about 3k max and a single instalment. Instead it’s 14k over two chapters, with at least one followup in the works because Sky felt guilty.)

Day 26

An alternative scene, inspired by this art: https://www.tumblr.com/undertheopensky/731132480379338752

For a minute Time thinks Four has fallen asleep at the table. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s fallen asleep in a position they regretted the next morning, and he’s considering whether to wake him or let him experience the consequences of his actions when a muffled whimper makes him pause. Nightmares. That decides it, then. He lays a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Four?” Four doesn’t jerk with consciousness, just curls in tighter, and Time realises he wasn’t asleep. Just – weeping into his kitchen table at two in the morning. Now he feels awkward. It’s one thing to stir a friend from nightmares; entirely another to offer comfort where it may not be wanted. Four shakes with a muffled sob - but doesn’t shake him off.

Day 27

Unfortunately this exchange didn’t suit the Vibe:

“Do people really fall off Skyloft that much?” “Often enough,” says Sky, too honestly if the way Wind pales is any guide.

This one was originally intended to just be the first half, but then Something got hold of my brain and I remembered how much I love With His Own Wings, and it kind of grew legs from there and I was no longer in control. It was fun, though, and I love the way it turned out!

Day 28

Fun fact! Though this is the followup to Day 24, it was in fact conceptualised and half-written first!

It was a lot of fun describing Shadow’s form here - because he’s not Hylian, he just chooses to sometimes look like one, and he’s actually shadow - which gave me a lot of leeway in what he COULD look like, what forms he could take, and how those forms would actually appear. Conservation of mass says there’s a limits to how large he could make himself; exceeding that would result in a less solid form, and how to describe that? The fluidity of having no internal structure that you had to adhere to; how do you describe such a being when you're used to things having a concrete foundation to work from?

Day 29

Fun fact! This is the only fill with no dialogue!

It’s one of the shortest fills but I really love the concept. I’ve seen a few fics where Four taught Legend some blacksmithing tricks, but I don’t know of any where he took him on as a full apprentice. (IF ANYONE ELSE DOES PLEASE TELL ME, I WOULD READ THE SHIT OUT OF THAT.)

There’s no followup planned for this one, but a summary of the events that follow:

The book becomes one of Legend’s most prized possessions

Ravio eventually talks him into getting it restored by a professional to better protect it

The bookbinder teaches him about how to handle the book so as to preserve it as long as possible

It’s by no means a complete fix, but Legend stops focusing on his depression and turns some of his energy to hunting down other mentions of the previous heroes. Maybe most of them were in other timelines, but - Four. Sky. Time. He knows they lived through his timeline, and maybe there are still traces of them left.

When he explores the Lost Woods with this goal in mind (remembering that Time had said he grew up there), he always winds up at the same old tree stump; gnarled and moss-eaten and rotting. The clearing it sits in is nothing special, not really, but after the fourth time he winds up there without trying, Legend just - sits. Listens to the forest, and feels a strange kind of peace steal over him.

He visits often, after that. Just for the quiet, the feeling of being close to something he doesn’t quite understand. Sometimes the woods gift him things: small flowers or pretty seeds that appear in the belly of the rotted-out trunk, placed by unseen hands. It feels wrong to take without giving back, so Legend starts to leave feathers and coloured stones in return.

Flowers die. Seeds rot. And the single metal scale he finds is rusted almost black.

They’re precious all the same.

Sky is harder, so far back in history even the stories of him have been lost. Almost everything related to him had to have disintegrated by now, lost to the ravages of time. Legend can’t keep himself from looking, though. From exploring old ruins, and investigating their origins; connecting them to old tales and using those threads to find new places to search. There are monsters, there are always monsters, but somehow it doesn’t feel as hopeless as trying to keep the road between Kakariko and Castle Town clear when he knows it’ll be overrun again in a week.

He has a goal.

(And it will be years later that he’s finally rewarded for his diligence. That in checking the newly formed sinkhole he discovers a crack in the cliff rock through which he can see a faint and tarnished gleam.

It’s simple work to chip a hole large enough to fit a hand; a little more to widen it enough to pull out the plain silver box, small enough to fit in his palm.

There’s no story or legend that led him here; there’s no inscription on the box or identifying markings in the cavern he pulled it from.

But he opens the lid to find ruby-red hoops of stone fairly radiating blessed magic, and he knows.)

…this basically turned into a mini-followup didn’t it XD

Day 30

THE ALTERNATIVE THAT OVERTOOK DAY 13’S SECOND HALF.

Fun fact! I am also allergic to feathers! And cats, and horses, and lanolin (and therefore sheep).

I work with all of these animals.

(Look, no one ever said I was smart.)

I had a lot of fun with this one.

Aren is the name of the on-site healer in the on-site academy infirmary, because you can’t have an entire building of hormonal teenagers whacking each other with sticks and NOT have somewhere to fix broken bones in close proximity. I spent twenty minutes on the SkSw wiki to determine that this person didn’t exist in-universe, and two minutes making them up.

The title is an unapologetic multi-level pun. First there’s the obvious - struggling to catch your breath in the middle of an allergic asthma attack. Then there’s Sky catching Legend as he falls. And finally, it evokes the phrase ‘catch your death’, meaning to become suddenly ill from an environmental change. :) I love puns. This made me so happy.

I was originally considering Trust Fall, but it’s so overdone, and didn’t really suit the plot or the vibe, so I was super happy to come up with this as an alternative!

Day 31

Fun fact! This fill was the first one I completed, and the ONLY one I 100% finished before October started. (I wrote it in four hours while supervising undergrads.)

Sometimes, friends can say really mean things to each other, and it’s all in good fun – unless someone’s not speaking the same language as you, and no one even realises.

The Chain isn’t being deliberately mean. They’re just too rough with Legend, thinking he understands they’re playing, while Legend thinks they’re pushing him away. Lots of people picked up in the first instalment that Legend is very autistic-coded; I hope that the continuation felt true to this fact, and was also cathartic!

[whatiwishfanfiction]

GUYS, IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE WHO READ THIS, LEFT KUDOS, COMMENTS, BOOKMARKS, ETC!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THE GREAT LORAX REWRITE IS FINALLY COMPLETE!

Excerpt:

He spent his days staring at the tally marks he'd scratched into the walls. They sprawled unevenly, some deep gouges, others mere scratches. He counted them again and again, fingers tracing the jagged lines, as he mumbled under his breath. "One... two... three... four..." His voice faltered and he started over. "One… two… thr—no, wait." He could only pray his count remained slightly accurate as the years went by.

Once he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of green in the broken shard of metal that hung from the wall. He whipped his head around, only to see his own reflection glaring back at him. But it wasn’t him—it was that other him. The green, twisted version, eyes hollow and black like two bottomless pits. 

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Why won’t you just leave me alone?" The reflection only smiled, a slow, creeping grin before crawling slowly away.

At night, the walls breathed. That’s what it sounded like to Once-ler—a long, wheezing inhale, a brittle exhale. The wind rushed through the gaps with ghostly arms that reached for him. He woke up, shivering, convinced he heard humming-fish singing just outside. 

"Hush! Quiet, they’re back!" he whispered to himself. Pressing his ear to the walls, the cold metal bit into his skin. All he heard was the wind. He slumped back down, knees pulled to his chest. "They were here," he murmured, rocking back and forth. "I know they were here…"

Desperate for routine, every morning, Once-ler reached for the rope he’d rigged to a bucket. It wasn’t for food or water—those needs had faded—he pulled it up just to see if the world had sent him something, anything. Most days, it came up empty, swinging in the breeze like a useless pendulum. Once or twice, he found a few broken pieces of old advertisements. He kept them, not because they were useful, but because they were better than nothing.

The gloves fused to his hands were another enemy he could never beat. They itched and burned, the skin underneath painful and raw. He scratched at the seams until his fingers bled, trying to tear them off. However, the fabric wouldn’t budge. "Get it off, get it off!" he screamed. He tore at his flesh until exhaustion took him.

The days twisted and knotted together into an indecipherable net, ensnaring him. Once-ler sat in his corner, and all he could think was, "Willingly. I chose all of it willingly." 

He wondered if the Lerkim would be his tomb. Or if, by some cruel twist of fate, he’d live forever within its rusted walls, alone with the ghosts of choices that could never be unmade.

The only other thing left to do was the thing he did most of all: Contemplate the meaning of the stones. "Unless." Unless what? he wondered.

Unless he changed his ways?

Unless he somehow escaped?

Unless he said he was sorry?

Unless the humming-fish had been trying to warn him?

Unless the Truffula trees were still out there, watching?

Unless the wind has been whispering the answer all along?

Unless his reflection knew the truth and he didn’t?

Unless the rain spoke a language he couldn't hear?

Unless the Lorax never left and was invisible?

Unless everything that was happening was a dream?

"Unless," Once-ler whispered again, as his brain overheated with puzzlement. "Unless... I was never meant to understand."

(Read the rest on ao3).

--------

I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS DONE! For over I a decade I would see people complain about this movie and how it could be better. I would see posts about how people were going to rewrite it, but they never really did beyond summaries. Now I've finally finished this, so my life is complete. This is the longest fanfiction that I took the most seriously finishing. Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. that I didn't know if it would get.

Me and my coauthor on this account are hoping to create more rewrites after this. Currently, we're almost done with the first draft of a rewrite of Disney's Wish. We're aiming to start releasing it around Christmas, depending on how things go.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS STORY! Please let me know if you have any feedback about how you liked this rewrite. We'll take it into account for how we handle rewrites in the future.

[rhiannons-bird]

okay so I‘M FINALLY READING SWORD CATCHER AND I HAVE THOUGHTS

I‘m only about halfway through but I need to rant

- it‘s incredible how well cassie manages to lend a unique voice to each of her characters every single time. she just doesn’t miss does she?

- lin caster is the awesomest girl. i just love her because she reminds me of other cc girls in the way that she is kind of a very typical heroine on the surface but you can actually feel her emotions and she’s very believable & flawed & human and you just can’t help rooting for her + i love her friendship with mariam

- everyone is bisexual & it’s completely normalised i love it here

- lin & conor??? apparently they are the flagship which I know because I took a peek at the tag after they had two scenes together because the ENERGY OMG

- ahh yes, conor 😌 another pretty man with issues who’s in a lot of trouble and likes to cover it up with sarcasm, pompous behaviour, fancy clothes & vanity- you just can’t help but love it

- but also he‘s the biggest prick and i want him to have some sense beat into him by everyone around him

- like he qualifies for a huge growth arc but it could also go downhill and turn into sth ugly

- anyone had a weird sense of déjà vu about him and lin after that one little excerpt about adessa and suleman? like, she’s an ashkar with probably immense magical potential let’s be real i see where this is going and he‘s a prince (future king) with marivent blood 🤔🤔🤔

- conor‘s frat boy posse make my blood boil- especially with the way they talked about antonetta in that one scene 🤢🤮

- falconet is the nicest one by far but he‘s sus as hell i know he’s up to sth 🤨 but i rly wanna like him 😭

- the ragpicker king is just a cool dude who dresses emo and has people murdered on the regular i guess i love him. he’s hot. - kaz energy but also very different at the same time. can‘t wait to see more of him. and there’s def more to him.

- also no, andreyen, i don‘t understand either what people mean about ji-an having an off putting manner i‘m pretty convinced she‘s never done anything wrong in her entire life 💗except for the murder what murder

- kel can only be described as a calmly unhinged cinnamon roll. he reminds me a little of james (especially with his „mask“) but if you orphaned him & janked up the loyalty & sluttiness by a hundred

- like fr he is so confused just running around threatening and/or kissing people wtf 😭✋🏼 he just has chemistry with everyone he interacts with lol

- kel & conor remind me of matthew & james but if there was a big power imbalance and a everything is a little more fucked up 🙃

- generally the way power & power dynamics are portrayed and handled is very interesting i like it

- antonetta has my entire heart ❤️

- I need more of her but as an individual not just through kel‘s pov, so far i’m not very big on whatever is being hinted at with her and kel

- I adore merren just like everyone else, he‘s kind of giving a weird mix of christopher/matthew/wylan and I‘m here for it. plus: autism coded character yeass

- also nice to see some jewish rep. (i did not know cassie was jewish before lol) the ashkar are really interesting (& as far as their treatment by the rest of the world goes at times infuriating😤) to read about and add a lot of depth to the world building.

- i love how we see the complexities of their culture portrayed through lin who on the one hand is deeply ingrained in it and holds/has received a lot of love & care for/from her own people while also having been wronged & ostracised by them and how both can be true simultaneously

- as someone who‘s very familiar with multiple romance languages the languages in this book are incredibly entertaining to me

- SO MANY SECRETS & political intrigue hehehe rubbing my little hands together can’t wait for all this to escalate (because it most certainly will) 😈

bottom line

I’m really glad i finally started reading this.

it took me a while to get into it & I’m still holding out on a final judgement since it seems very slow but i’m a patient reader and i appreciate a good setup.

also I want a creepy black crocodile pool in my house now.

[reallyzanytrash]

Anyone interested in beta reading a complete Beetlejuice fanfic?

Here are some basics:

It's a Beetlebabes fic. If that's not your thing, scroll on by.

No underage material, Lydia is in her 30s.

Universe is mostly musical and cartoon, with some movie references.

Just under 42.5k words.

Beetlejuice x Lydia is the main ship. Some background Charles x Delia and Adam x Barbara.

There's smut. The smutty parts are explicit.

Major character death, some Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mentions of suicide, mild violence, pregnancy, miscarriage.

There is a happy ending.

I'm not looking for super in-depth feedback on plot (unless you want to give it), I'm mostly looking for another set of eyes who can catch misspellings, missed words, autocorrect blunders, or unclear sections (can't tell who's speaking, that doesn't make any sense here, etc.).

A short excerpt after the jump:

The next time Lydia looked up from the journal, she saw that the light outside was slipping into twilight.

From her cross-legged vantage point on the floor, she looked over from the window and spotted something under the middle of her bed in the reflection in the mirror. Wiggling her way under the bed, she stretched for the object - which looked like a crumpled bit of paper. Retrieving the object successfully, she knelt on the floor and gently unfurled the tightly-wadded paper against the carpet. The same shade of yellow as the old journal, she squinted at the page and studied the faded words. It was written in a strange language she'd never seen before. Then she flipped over the page and saw:

Though I know I should be wary,

Still I venture someplace scary,

Ghostly hauntings I turn loose:

Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice?" She mused out loud. That’s a strange word, and an odd poem, but whatev-

Before she could finish the thought, the sky outside turned pitch black, cloaking the room in darkness. A flash came from the mirror and the last thing Lydia saw was a wall of stripes colliding bodily with her face and knocking her backwards, thumping her head against the wooden bedframe.

As her vision narrowed and her eyes slid shut, all she heard was a gravelly voice growling out "It’s showti- Oh shit!"

[llycaons]

okay let me organize. this will probably take me to next year but I do want to prioritize what was already on my list

already up there, no matter the quality:

sorceror to the crown

when fox is a thousand

a taste of gold and iron (if I ever get around to it...)

sistersong - need to give this one a shot

snow crash

tress of the emerald sea - my baby brother LOVES this one I must not disappoint new:

anna karenina - my mom likes this one and I'm excited for the drama and writing

don quixote - a parody, I think

the count of monte cristo - I saw the movie! definitely on the list

the bluest eye - I was unable to keep reading this one when I initially started it but I really love morrison's other works so I'm bringing it back now

the metamorphosis - on the list but not available as an audiobook so it could be a while

things fall apart - definitely a priority, but not available as an audiobook

dracula - available but im saving it for halloween. the structure intrigues me. I tried doing the dracula daily but got bored

frankenstein - on the list!

gods of jade and shadow - not considered a classic but I still want to read it, don't want it to be left behind now that I'm in another bout of book-reading

giovvani's room - 14 weeks wait :(

journey to the west - I think I know enough to be able to follow it but maybe an annotated copy would be better

epic of gilgamesh - release an audio version 🥺🥺🥺 pleaseeee

one hundred years of solitude - I do want to read this but I think I will need help

crime and punishment - I tried to read this one when I started college but it was DENSE. lower priority

moby dick - I have friends into this one!

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See - this looks extremely well-researched and I'm pretty intrigued by the language that's referenced, the one that women use to communicate with each other

The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan - I like Tan's work, and this one is new to me

The Book of Chuang Tzu - so this is a chinese classic, written in the 4th century. goodrreads claims 'Where the Tao Te Ching is distant and proverbial in style, the Chuang Tze buzzes with life and with insights, often with considerable humour behind them." and if that's true I would love to read it

The Activist's Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for a Modern Revolution - I have no way to know how good this book is but the concept definitely interests me. it reminds me of an article about taoism's relationship to anarchism I read years ago. the summary makes me a little nervous tho

I've already read all of austen and the brontes I've wanted to, I read les mis, no interest in little women, I hate oscar wilde on a personal level, I struggle a lot with surrealism so I'm sticking to more conventional structures, I don't have a lot of interest in white 20th-century americana, I consider ishiguro's books to be modern classics with beautiful writing but they make me too sad, hmm why the fuck is call be by your name on this list...I'm interested in Taoism in novels but I haven't found a lot that offer that besides the danmei I've already read (ha) but it sounds like it will be a definite theme in JTTW. another reason to get an annotated copy. all the books I'm finding look like they're written by white academics anyway. I mean there's THE Tao Te Ching but I definitely need that one annotated and I think it would be difficult for me to focus on since it sounds a little dry.

I do want to get into historical texts like jttw it's just a question of how much I'd understand which is why an annotated physical copy is probably the way to go with something like that. like I saw an excerpt of the tale of genji and I was completely lost

[thatonebirdwrites]

The Grimorie post I did is now on AO3 with another spell added in for fun! Enjoy!

EXCERPT:

Purification Ceremony (Attempt 2)

Hyssop (for Purification and Protection)

Sloe (for Exorcism and Protection)

Holy Thistle/Blessed Thistle (Purification and Hex-breaking)

Mix and place in satchels. One teaspoon of each herb cut and diced poured into the felt square. Gather all four corners and fold them together to create a sack, then tie together with twine or white string. While performing this action, recite the following:

"Drive out all evil, Break all hexes, purify all spaces, and protect all who enter."

Once satchel is completed, tie to each door and window. Replace after a month. Replace immediately if they get wet.

Note to self: If I don't recite the spell as I make the satchels, then my magic doesn't seem to infuse them and they end up being weird smelling bags. Not useful. Thus, I've learned to recite as I make these satchels as the creation of the charm bags seem to be part of the spell beyond just the words. I also notice that I can use either Irish or Latin for this, though I am unsure how to detect which language is more powerful than the other. Also, if the satchels get wet, they start to smell terrible, so regardless of whether the magic still works, I won't be keeping them up.

Results:Tying the satchels to all entries points to the home seems to do the trick. I feel no weird unknown flickers of power in my space, and it creates a better smelling location. After a month of testing this spell, I have had a lot less issues using magic, and less spells backfired on me. Before I did this spell, I often had explosive or unintended consequences to spells I tested, even ones I know to work, which I suspect was due to me failing to properly purify the area. This ceremony seems to do the trick.

Note from Kara: Lena! It makes your lab and apartment feel cozy. Like a blanket that is warmed by you. Like your magic hugs me when I enter. Voi, it's voi!

Note from Lena: I looked up Voi in your Kryptonian dictionary. Safety, secure. That is a lovely thing to say. However, I don't see how I can show the causation since your experience is subjective.

Note from Kara: Set up an experiment by having the satchels set in the entryways and windows, then bring people into the area and ask them questions. Tally up their answers and see if they correlate? It's a social experiment that way, and it's in a controlled environment.

Note from Lena: Huh. That... might actually work. Thanks. Also, why are you writing in my Grimorie?

Note from Kara: You left it open on the table. And I want to help!

Note to self: Don't leave Grimorie open on the table with Kara in the room.

Read rest here.

[vukovich]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you @orange-peony @schmem14 and @teledild0nix for tagging me in this game! Sorry it took me eons.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

47. 46 under "Vukovich" and one that's anonymous.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

921,870

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Harry Potter.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Crane Lord of Gringotts Beauxtiful Boy "I'll Figure It Out" It'll Come Back Fearful Trill

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

No, as a general rule, I don't. I just feel like it's awkward to treat an AO3 comment as a conversation starter, I guess. Like, if someone wants to talk to me, my email address and Tumblr are in my AO3 bio. I do reply to AO3 comments if there's a question about the fic. Especially if the reader says their first language isn't English. I also will reply for the purpose of harassing friends.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Return to Sender and "I love you, (too/also)" are way up there in the angst department. For "I love you, (too/also)" I actually recorded a podfic of it, and I couldn't read the ending out loud without crying so I scrapped it. NO WAIT!!! I forgot about The Seven Weasley Horcruxes. Oh, Jeebus. Apologies in advance for that one.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Eagles in Truro, just for the sake of everyone getting to have their polyamorous cake and eat it too.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes. Just... yes. Big yes.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, most of my fics are explicit. I'm not really sure what kind of smut I write. I feel like my smut is probably more graphic than some. More jizz dripping on the floor and errant pubes in teeth than what's fandom typical.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I can barely hold the HP universe in my head.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, several of them. I think it's cool as hell. If it's a language I'm familiar with, I help with phrasings and subtext and stuff.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah. I have a WIP collection that people can leave unfinished fics in, and then I finish them. And I'd say when I collaborate with an artist, there's enough back and forth that it counts as co-writing. Oh! And there's a WIP with @oknowkiss and @mintawasalreadytaken I'll eventually get back to writing, I swear, you guys, for real, I will finish that shower piss scene.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Joker/Harley Quinn, actually.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

OMG just one?! I have (briefly leaves to check Google Docs) about 100k in unfinished fics, plus outlines for about ten more. I think those are all going to get dumped as-is on AO3 in an anonymous collection, and I'm only going to finish the ones I'm actively posting (Seahorse, Glitch, 24k9).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Weird turns of phrase, I guess. Or at least that's what people tell me. I feel like I'm pretty good at not bogging down the pace with descriptions, but some people like to know the threadcount when they read smut. Honestly, I have way more strengths as an editor than as a writer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Complete disregard for the em dash. If I were meant to use it, it would have a key on the standard QWERTY keyboard. I even bought an expensive-ass keyboard, programmed an em dash key for it, and still didn't use it. It wasn't meant to be. Who would like to buy a very fancy keyboard? I will also die on my double-spacing at the end of sentences hill. Going down with this typewriter skills ship. Maybe YOUR language evolves over time, but mine's stuck in 1987.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

That's one of my favorite puzzles. How comprehensible can I make the foreign language excerpt solely through the use of cognates and cues? Love it. 10/10.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My most masterful works of fiction are letters of recommendation. But this sonnet is fun.

Tagging everybody already tagged, as well as @peachpety @@epitomereally @tontonguetonks @diligent-thunder @wheezykat @lou-ifyouwant @corvuscrowned

[anothergleekgirl]

Take a Mulligan

by: anothergleekgirl

SUMMARY: A/U Finchel. 6 YEARS AFTER THE TRAIN STATION Rachel's in a toxic relationship & engaged to abusive Brody. Self-loathing Finn left Lima for good & vanished from her life permanently. Will she go thru with wedding? Will Finn find his way back to her in time, maybe to save them both?

Rated M for language/sex/adult situations/violence. Trigger Warning: DOMESTIC ABUSE.

Rated: M - English - Angst/Romance Status: Complete Chapters: 8 Words: 45,749 Published: May 6, 2023 Cast: [Rachel B., Finn H.], Santana L., Brody W., Puck, Kurt, Blaine

: : : (Chapter 2 excerpt) : : :

“Finnegan me boy. What sorta ghosts ‘er yas tryin’ ta exorcise this fine eve? Seems ya’ve got a reason most nights - even if they’re usually bad reasons… “ the older man chuckled.

“OH Macky.. Nothing special tonight. Jus’.. celebrating. S’the anniversary of the day I destroyed my life and future happiness. Oh, and apparently, drove the only girl I ever loved and was s’posed to marry into the arms of another man, who I hear she’s planning to marry soon.. Apparently. Idn’t that super awesome?? CHEERS MACKY!” Finn raises his newly refilled tumbler high up over his head, then quickly gulps down half the liquid within.

“Always for the loss of a woman… D’ya wanna talk about it?” Macky asks while washing out some bar glasses.

Finn just looks at him, wishing daggers could actually be levitated and thrown his way. “No.”

“Well sunny boy-o, yer not gonna find any sage advice in the bottom o’ that scotch glass there, I can assure ya that much.”

“Never said I was seeking ‘sage advice’ Mack. You Irish jus’ like given’ it away for free. One of the reasons we’ve been talking at all is because we don’t talk about this.” Finn states dryly as he finishes his apparent last scotch on the rocks of the night.

“Well lemme ask ya this laddie.. If ya had it to do over, would ya’ve done differ’nt?”

He stares at the ice in the empty glass in front of him for a long time. It’s the same damn question he’s asked himself every damn day for 6 years. “I don’t know Mack. I had my reasons, they were solid at the time… But I’m hearing things now that maybe… maybe I..” Finn rubs a calloused hand repeatedly over the back of his neck as if willing to scrub a revelation out of it, and feeling like an asshole for ever opening the door of opportunity to another man. “Aw fuck. I just don't know. I don’t fucking KNOW.” He blows out a long frustrated breath.

“Was she a good lass?”

**I’m the only person in your life who knows you and accepts you for who you are, no matter what**

He lifts his glass to his lips, sucking up few ice cubes to chew on. “The best. Better than the best…. And there will never be another.” He trades the glass for his beer, quickly downing half of the stout ale and slams the bottle down on the bar, as if to put an exclamation point on the end of that statement.

**I’ll never break up with you**

A familiar voice is heard from the other end of the bar. “Hey Irish. Can I get some service down here? Been on the road a hella long time and I’m pretty damned thirsty. I wants to get my drink on. And trust me, you’re not solving HIS goddamned problems tonight, maybe not even in this lifetime.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is she here??? How in the hell….

She orders a classic old fashioned and walks down to the empty seat next to Finn. “Is this seat taken?” she coyly bats her lashes at him and does a little hip-shimmy for effect. The stunning Latina brunette in her black pencil skirt, fuck me 4 inch black heels and almost see-through sheer navy colored blouse could certainly garner attention from anyone with a pulse - male or female.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yes Santana. It’s taken, but you go right ahead, I was just leaving.”

::::READ FULL STORY ON FFN AND AO3::::

https://archiveofourown.org/.../47171899/chapters/118851874

[dodger-chan]

It's approximately my birthday (don't forget to vote). I didn't have time to make self-indulgent birthday posts for all the things I love this year, so instead let me offer this excerpt from the Stranger Things fic I am working on.

(warning for a complete absence of editing, the presence of Billy Hargrove, foul language, and some nasty homophobia)

Steve didn’t usually hate people.

That was more Carol’s thing. She hated just about everyone. Liked to use a lot of different words for it. Carol despised her mother. She loathed Laurie. Abhorred Amy. She execrated Nancy, but only detested Jonathan Byers. Different words for different people, because each word meant a slightly different sort of distaste. Or so Carol said.

Steve was a simple guy. He’d stick with hate. And he was starting to fucking hate Billy Hargrove.

It wasn’t jealousy, either, whatever Carol said. He was glad Tommy finally had a real best friend, someone who got him the way Carol got Steve, the way Steve never could quite get Tommy. He just wished Tommy had found a friend who was a little nicer.

Which, there was probably a joke in there, since his best friend was Carol. But when Carol told him to choke on a dick and die, she meant it with love. Kind of. Steve thought Billy wouldn’t mind watching him die.

Might not mind killing Steve himself, if he thought he’d get away with it.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.” Billy’s fingers snapped in front of Steve’s face, and he reluctantly turned his head. “What you staring at over there?”

“Nothing. Lost in thought.” Steve took another bite of his sandwich and tried to ignore Billy leaning into his space to see what had grabbed Steve’s attention. Between gym class, lunch, and basketball it sometimes felt like he couldn’t get away from Billy and the guy’s need to get in Steve’s space.

“Unfamiliar territory?” Carol joked.

“Do you ever get new material?” Steve asked. “Or are you just going to keep calling me stupid every day?”

“Not every day. But your stupidity is a deep well; it’s hard not to revisit it from time to time.”

“You’re passing geometry this semester, then?” He knew she wasn’t. In another week she’d start asking him to do her homework for her. He’d do it, too. Not that it would be enough to get her a passing grade.

“You learn to read yet?” She smiled sweetly across the cafeteria table.

“I can’t believe you’re letting this guy flirt with your girl, Tommy.” Billy threw an unfriendly around Steve’s shoulders, pulled them close together. “Pretty face like this might steal her.”

“Yeah, right.” Tommy snorted. “Steve and Carol might as well be siblings. And Carol loves me too much to cheat. Don’t you, Babe?”

“I suppose you’re mildly less repulsive than the other boys I know.” She tugged Tommy over for a kiss. A quick one, since they were at school. Steve looked away. He didn’t want Tommy, but he did get a little jealous of how much Tommy wanted Carol. He wanted to be wanted like that; for more than a day and in spite of himself.

Fuck, Steve really needed to get laid. Maybe Heidi would be up for a date. She was single and reasonably pretty. Plus, he’d heard she put out.

“I don’t insult girls when I flirt with them.” Steve pulled Billy’s arm off his shoulder. He wished the guy would stop touching him. Their shared dislike was easier with distance. It was much harder up close and personal.

“And how does the Casanova of Hawkins High flirt?”

“I was going to go see what Heidi’s doing tonight.” Steve nodded in the girl’s direction.

“Guessing it’s going to be you,” Tommy teased with a laugh. Carol smacked him in the arm.

“Gross.” She probably wished she’d made the joke first.

“You want lessons, you’re welcome to watch.” Steve stood. “Now, that is. Not tonight.”

The last time Steve had dealt with a guy watching him fuck he’d ended up losing the girl and having to buy the creep a new camera. And Jonathan wasn’t nearly the piece of shit Billy was.

“I know how to get girls, Pretty Boy.” Billy’s eyes were empty and dangerous. Steve ignored them and strolled over to Heidi’s table.

Heidi probably couldn’t fuck the queer out of him, but sex usually helped him shorten its leash a bit. Stop it from sniffing around Billy Fucking Hargrove.

[hashimada-week]

FAQs

When will this event take place?

Interest Check: March 1 - 15

Prompts Posted: March 20

Sneak Peak Day: June 9

Posting Dates: July 9 - 15

Who can submit work?

This is an open event so everyone can participate!

How do I submit work?

On Tumblr: post/link work @ this blog (@hashimada-week) and tag it with #hashimadaweek2023.

We also have a Twitter: @hashimadaweek and #hashimadaweek2023.

If it’s not reblogged/retweeted within 24 hours, feel free to send an ask/dm, it might have gotten buried!

Will an Ao3 Collection be made for this event?

Yes! It’s already created and will be opened a week in advance for submissions: HashiMada Week 2023.

What kind of work will be accepted?

Pretty much anything! Fanart, fics, edits, AMVs, headcanon/meta posts etc. Feel free to send an ask for specific clarification.

A/B/O AUs aren’t allowed, are other kinds of AUs ok?

Yes! No A/B/O AU is a mod preference, other AUs are perfectly fine for any day!

What if I want to write something in your rule’s ‘not allowed’ list?

You are more than welcome to create whatever content you’d like in your personal time, but the ‘not allowed’ list’s purpose is to appeal to a wide audience and our mod’s personal comfort. If you’d like to host your own event with no restrictions at all, we encourage you to do so! However, we will be sticking to our rules for this event.

Is early/late posting allowed?

The event date is to be determined after the results of the interest check. We will continue our ‘sneak peek’ day from last year on June 9th, but no other early posting will be reblogged here until the start of the event.

Late posting will be allowed until the end of July.

What did you say about that sneak-peek/progress check?

One question in our first interest check was about early progress checks. Typically week events don’t have them, but this sounded like a fun option to get people excited during the creation period! Tag any sketches/excerpts/etc. with #hashimadaweek2023sneakpeek on Tumblr or Twitter on June 9th and we’ll reblog it! (You can also @ us too on either platform.) Again, this is 100% optional and if you share a sneak peek, you are not obligated to finish/post the work for the event itself. This is just for fun!

Are dark fics/unhappy endings/tragedy allowed?

Yes! As long as the fic is focused on hashimada and the rest of our rules are followed, feel free to interpret any prompt in the most angsty, heart-wrenching way possible!

Can I reuse old works for this event?

No, sorry! Only new content, please! If there’s another week happening at the same time, cross-posting is allowed as long as our rules are met and hashimada is the focus of the work!

Is there a minimum word count for fics/completion status for fanart?

Nope! Make the fics as long or as short as you want and everything from sketches to full-color artwork will be accepted as long as it’s hashimada themed and follows the rest of the rules.

Can I complete only one prompt or do I need to complete all?

You can do one prompt or all or anything in-between! Do as much or as little as you’d like!

I’m not a native English speaker, so, can I post stuff in Spanish? Thank you! / Are fanfics only allowed in English? / Can I participate if I speak, read and write in Spanish?

We accept works in all languages as long as they are properly tagged and follow our rules!

Are platonic works okay, or does the ship have to be romantic specifically?

This is a ship week event so we are expecting most works will be romantic in nature, but platonic relationships are allowed too!

Depending on participating writers/artists mood…maybe two+ prompts per day, at least one G rated and one M rated would be nice. Is this possible?

There will be three prompts per day (because we couldn’t decide between a few, lol!) In an attempt to make the prompts as broad as possible we don’t have “G” or “M” ratings, but each individual creator is allowed to interpret them however they’d like.

I heard there’d be merch?

Yes! We’re doing stickers this year. Check out the Sticker Merch FAQ for more information!

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If any tagged work breaks our rules, it will not be reblogged here.

If you have any additional questions, please don’t hesitate to ask!

[residentdormouse]

Ten Lines Tag

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three or more) then share it. Tag others if you want.

Tagged by: @mrsmungus, @themaradaniels

Presumptuous of you all to think I have ten fics 😂😅😬 (I have 3, and one is a whole grand total of 512 words 😖). So I guess, here's what I got??

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Something Like a Spiral

Fandom: the Stand (2020)

Pairings: Glen Bateman/OC, (Canon Fran Goldsmith/Stu Redman & Implied Lloyd Henreid/Randall Flagg)

Rating: M - canon typical violence, language (I say fuck a lot y'all), some smut scenes (marked in chapter to avoid if not preferred reading), drugs (so much vaping)

Words: 101,101 / Completed Work / 33 Chapters

Excerpt from Chapter 14: Popcorn Glass

He knelt in front of her, holding her head upright, hand on her cheek. "Come on, Hayden, I need you to wake up… Please..."

She moved into his hand and he felt her take a deep breath. As her face began to drift into a relaxed position, the static began to fade.

Glen barely had time to feel the relief when he heard two quick claps behind him. Standing in the doorway, Stan had a concerned look on his face, cigarette dangling out of his mouth. It would have been comical if the situation were different.

"Did it work?" Hayden's voice jumped in, tone indicating she was unaware of preceedings.

In a matter of seconds, he was in front of her, pulling her up, holding her tightly against him. As her arms curled around his back, head resting on his shoulder, he felt himself relax as well.

Thinking himself in control of his emotions, Glen took a step back. All it took was one look at her confused face, just one and he fell back to instincts once more. In seconds, he pulled her close, lips meeting hers. The desperate nature behind it was reminiscent of their interactions on the road. Slowly, he regained himself and his hands made their way to sit on her shoulders, pulling back to give her a look over once more.

Oblivious to any previous danger, she let out a breathy laugh, but his expression stayed set with concern. "I'm not complaining about the wake up, but--"

"Are you alright?"

Another chuckle was made at the notion that she wouldn't be, but it stopped once she spotted the red stain on his shirt. Right where her face had been. Her hand shot up to her nose and pulled back with fresh blood. She realized now.

"Fuck me, what happened...?"

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Just Keep Diving Down

Fandom: the Stand (2020)

Pairings: Glen Bateman/OC, Nick Andros/OC, Harold Lauder/OC, Lloyd Henreid/OC (Canon Fran Goldsmith/Stu Redman & Implied Lloyd Henreid/Randall Flagg)

Rating: M - canon typical violence, language (I say fuck a lot y'all), some smut scenes (marked in chapter to avoid if not preferred reading), drugs (so much vaping), major character death (there is some happiness to be found at the end of it all)

Words: 166, 017 / Work in Progress / 33 Chapters (of 36)

Excerpt from Chapter 24: Come On Pretty Monster

That luck was short lived as Hayden threw the door open and reached the control panel. She really didn’t know what else she should have expected. Even if she did have her key card, it would be no use, any pull she had was bound to be removed sometime ago. And now with this damn thing weighing around her neck impeding her ability to do anything beyond normal physical means…

"There might have been a way with magic, but I can't—" And then it hit her. She couldn’t. Her magic was shot. Didn't mean they couldn't use magic at all. "Do you trust me?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

While Glen’s smile, his subdued attempt at humor, the conviction he had for her, it was all appreciated but, the response wasn’t exactly what she was looking for. Their faith in each other had been established some time ago.

"You, no. Lloyd, yes."

Wide eyes looked back at her as Lloyd was thrown on the spot. His hesitance was highlighted, and indicated he was astutely aware of where this type of question usually led. Nowhere good. And he was terrified of what it was about to put on him.

"Shit, when you say it like that…"

All that was needed to stress the urgency was the sound of a body smashing alongside the nearby wall, a reminder of what was happening around them to prompt a more direct answer.

"Fuck, yes! I trust you, okay!"

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Even in Death

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairings: none

Rating: G/T - some swearing

Words: 512 / one-shot

Excerpt:

Wavy brown hair popped up from behind the preset barrier. Lights flickered around them, and they could only watch as the table between them hovered slightly and crashed back down to the ground.

“Did you think they could protect you?”

The voice came from Eddie, but it was distorted. Warped in a way only he would be able to imagine. A character only he could create.

“You are all that’s left. Their fate lies on you. Do you flee?”

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Tagging: @asirensrage, @chickensarentcheap, @imagine-you, @anniesocsandgeneralstore and open tag to anybody who would like to gush about their works! Please @ me!!