#or say it is from fanfiction like it is a bad thing

[walkingstackofbooks]

Once again, an imagined 3-paragraph-whatsit has grown into a little longer ficlet 😅😅...

Occasionally, Julian asks Palis what's going to happen to them when he graduates and leaves with Starfleet for the stars. Usually, she just laughs, asking "Why worry about the future, when what we have now is so good?", or jokes about how she'll have to make sure she ties him up securely enough to stop that happening.

So he tries not to think about it too much, and accepts that their relationship is one of those that's not going to last forever - which is fine, what they have is good, and he was lucky that Palis had ever chosen him in the first place. Their futures being different from each other doesn't lessen the love that they have for each other now.

And then, six months away from graduating, Paris proposes. And Julian accepts, because what else do you do when your beautiful, amazing girlfriend proposes, even if it is completely unexpected?

He does wonder what made her change her mind though - she's never shown any interest in leaving France before, or in a long-distance relationship - but he's learnt not to ask her these things directly over the years, and so for a few days he tiptoes round the subject, dropping hints and subtle questions which she dances around as gracefully as ever.

The following Friday, she invites their parents round for a celebratory meal. She doesn't like it when he's critical of his parents - it's disrespectful - so he grins and bears it and doesn't tell her he'd much rather just cuddle up with her and a film and a takeaway for the evening.

"Have you told him the news?" her father asks as they sit down for the meal. Her face lights up, and she turns to beam at Julian, reaching out for to grasp his hand.

"No, I left it for you," she replies.

And suddenly, Julian's being offered a job here in Paris. He could be Chief of Surgery in five years, apparently. Or, as Monsieur Delon -Henri - assures him, if he wanted to get deeper into research, then Saint-Antoine has very close links with univerisities all across Europe.

"I-I thought... You're not coming with me?" he asks Palis in a daze. She smiles at him brightly.

"Of course not! What would I do in space?" she laughs. "Jules, this is perfect - I know you'll be an incredible doctor, and now you don't have to leave me. I've been hoping it would work out, but I didn't want to tell you until dad had got it all sorted - isn't he the best?"

"What a wonderful opportunity!" Amsha gushes. "And here in Paris! You'll be grateful to have stayed so close to London, when you need us to help with our grandchildren."

It is a very good opportunity, and Julian should want it, shouldn't he - to have this life with Palis, to have family looking out for him, for Palis not to give up the job she loves...

His heart is racing. He feels sick.

"I'm sorry," he says faintly, standing up and bringing a hand to his stomach. "I, uh - cramps, you know? Excuse me."

He leaves the room quickly, hearing the scraping of a chair behind him - presumably Palis coming to find out what's really wrong.

She follows him through to their bedroom, glaring at him from the door as he sits down on the edge of their bed.

"That was rude," she snaps, "and don't tell me it was cramps. You had your period last week."

"I was trying not to be rude!" Julian tries to explain. "I know your father must have put in a lot of work to make this happen, I don't want to sound ungrateful or say the wrong thing—"

"Then just say yes!" Palis interrupts. "What is wrong with you? It's perfect, and here you are having a fucking panic attack about it!"

"I'm not— I..." There's a buzzing in his ears, and he trails off, reaching for something neutral. "I don't— I don't like surpises," he reminds her quietly.

To his relief, she softens, despite how pathetic he's being. Settling beside him, she starts rubbing firm circles into his back, grounding him, letting him bask in her touch.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," she says. "Is that what all this is about? It being a surprise? Oh, Julian, if I'd known you didn't like them, I wouldn't have done it like this at all. You should have told me."

He leans into her, taking deep breaths and comfort in her familiar smell.

"I've just been so excited about this," Palis explains. "I hoped you would be too. And I know you don't want kids right now, but your mum's right, neither of us have had surgery yet, so one day..."

"'Course I'm excited," he tells her, not quite sure if he's lying. "It's just, it's all—"

"A lot, I know," she finishes for him. "I'm nervous too. It's a big decision."

He nods slowly. "Can I have some—"

"Water?" she asks. "I'll go get some for you."

He had been going to say 'time to think', but Palis is already off, and now he thinks about it, she was right - his throat is rather dry.

She returns, and he sips the water gratefully, tapping his fingers against the glass until Palis tells him to stop.

"Are you ready to go back in?" she asks. "Our parents will be getting hungry."

Julian thinks about telling her he isn't, but quickly dismisses it. That would be rude.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's go, fiancée." That word, at least, is still exciting in its newness, and his mouth stumbles upon a smile before its even out of his mouth.

"I like that," she says, pulling him up form the bed and then into her. "You're mine now," she whispers in his ear, in a way that makes him really wish that their parents were not still waiting for them in the kitchen.

But they are, and although they seem to have already started on the food (Julian would bet anything that was Richard's idea), Julian and Palis can't hide in their bedroom forever. And there's still the small matter of accepting Henri's offer.

"Um, sorry about that," he says, sliding back into his seat. His mother's eyes are on him, and he looks away, knowing she's going to want to 'talk' to him later - she didn't buy his cramps excuse, either.

He turns to Palis' father, fixing his eyes on him for an excruciating few seconds. "I really appreciate what you're doing for me and Palis," he says. "It means a lot. I'd love to work with you, thank you."

His mouth has gone dry again, but Henri is standing up and holding out his hand, which means he wants Julian to shake it. In an effort he's quite proud of, Julian manages not to break eye contact until they've both sat down again. The chatter resumes, and as he reaches for his glass, he frowns at his hand, wondering why it's shaking.

Headcanon that Julian had a bunch of “relationships” as a teen with older people just to piss his parents off/to get away from them (because his gfs and bfs in their 20s would have their own place he could stay at...) and that he never really had a chance to learn what a healthy partnership looked like.

And then that Palis was emotionally abusive towards Julian, in a way that he never quite put his finger on...

And that his attraction towards Garak was in part due to the way that Garak felt dangerous to be around. Not because that was new or exciting or thrilling, but because it was familiar.

[marsdql]

Unexpected — ༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Extended verison of caught off guard !! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

Pairing: Brother’s best friend!Heeseung x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're shocked to discover that your longtime crush Heeseung is now friends with your brother, leading to a fanfiction-like (literally) story.

Genre/warnings: fluff, little suggestive?, brother's bestfriend, reader is 3 years younger, mention of stalking, alloooottt of teasing, no dividers in between the paragraphs… | wc: 25k I think.

𝙈𝙖𝙧’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: im so extremely sorry for the ungodly word count I wrote each part separately and forgot to take in consideration the amount of writing I was doing.. The poll said to not make this into parts so I just put it all in one post though!!!!!!! + Masterlist coming soon, request me your suggestions (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ okay enjoy now

Your brother had made new friends during the first semester because of a lot of senior group projects, which made the house busy. Your brother and his friends wanted more quiet places to work on things, like each other's houses. It's strange that it was always at your house and not his friends' or the library, but whatever.

You didn’t mind much, until a particular someone came over, Heeseung, the 6’0 slim brunette senior you’ve been crushing on since you were in middle school, now a freshman. You followed him around everywhere with your friends, making it so obvious that you guys were following HIM. You would send him holiday letters provided by the school, stall his social media, follow his friends and him at one point until he removed you over a silly kpop story... everything… and now, he’s with your brother?! Since when!

Bad thoughts filled your mind as you remembered all the embarrassing moments he caught you staring at him, thinking that he’d tell your brother all of it if he sees you and finds out that you’re the sister of the guy he’s getting closer to each day. But you were hungry, so hungry, you needed to eat, you always do before taking a nap, it’s like a routine, he can’t just ruin your routine. You start making plans on how to get to the kitchen without Heeseung and your brother spotting you. After a few minutes of thinking, you finally build up the courage to get downstairs and pray for the best.

You tip-toe your way down the stairs, attempting to make as little noise as possible, and to your surprise, the two boys are on the island table right across the fridge, you’re doomed, he’s going to see you, you can’t just walk back upstairs!

“Y/n? What are you doing, you look so stupid right now.” Your brother blurts out which makes you jolt up and fix your posture. Shoot. You forgot that they can see you from their perspective more than you can see them. But you act fast, “huh? Oh! Hi um.. I was just counting how many steps we have to the stairs.. for a math project!” What the heck was that response? Whatever, it’ll do. As you finish your sentence, you give yourself an excuse to get closer so that it doesn’t get too awkward, and there he is, the Heeseung of your dreams, locking eyes with you with his stale and cold expression planted on his face, not one tiny bit of shock in his face when seeing you.


 “Hey by the way, don’t take a nap, mom wants you to help her with groceries, she’s coming in a minute, wait in the living room or something just don’t go back upstairs” your brother says before putting all his focus back to the project he’s doing with sousou. At this point, you mutter out a small “okay” and forget the snack you came downstairs for, heading to the couch to go on your phone and act like nothing happened(secretly glancing at Heeseung from time to time.)

30 minutes later, your mother comes back while your brother and mister take a bathroom break. You head to the garage, opening the door for your mother to bring the groceries in for you to then place them on the counter. You’re holding big heavy bags, making you groan trying to pick them all up, then all of a sudden, as you're trying to get up, you feel the weight getting lighter and lighter, thinking you're stronger than you thought, but to your surprise… It's the dream man helping you. “Are you that lazy? Couldn’t you have just picked them one at a time? Hm?” He says as he coughs out a small chuckle, picking up the bags with ease. You can’t do anything but stare at him and place them on the table, your lips forming an O but unable to make a sound or blurt any words out. Before you get yourself to say anything, he cuts you off with a “You’re not slick, we both know exactly why you’re so shy” what…????? “I’m not shy at all?! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You scream before the nervousness gets to you. You never thought your first conversation with Heeseung was going to be like this. “Oh yeah? You think I don’t know what you do? All the letters you sent me the past 2 years? Common now, I’m not stupid hhh…” suddenly, he lets go of the bags and gets closer to you, your brother still in the washroom and your mother still outside. His cold expression is still there but with a slight smirk. Your cheeks and nose get red quickly, making him only grin harder as he sees the effect he has on you. “You wouldn’t want your brother to see all the cheesy things you’ve done, let alone your mother, hmph? Of course you wouldn’t want that, you’re such a nice girl they would never think you’d do that, you’re just a sweet girl who goes to school and hangs out with her friends, definitely doesn’t beg them to follow me around, right?” He’s so close to you, his words only making you blush harder. His eyes shift to the door as he watches your mother call for him “Oh hello Heeseung! Would you be a sweetheart and help me with these bags? Y/n, please put the milk away! I forgot something at that store, I need to go back and pick it up.” Of course, the young man quickly obeyed your mother and helped her out, leaving you red and shoving your face in the fridge to cool down, you’re cooked, you have no idea what's taking your brother so long, but it feels like an eternity… Since when did LEE HEESEUNG have the courage to say that? What’s he gonna say next???? You keep replaying the words he said a few seconds ago, making you go crazy all over again.

Hours later, 22:00, your brother and his friend passed out on the counter of the kitchen as you were laying in bed, bored and unable to think of anything except the incident that happened earlier. Your best friend would always write fanfiction of you and hee as a joke, not thinking anything of it because you knew you were not delusional enough to think a guy 3 years older than you would actually notice you or look your way.

Abruptly, you feel the urge to go to the bathroom, wanting to wash the guilt written all over you face from the amount of overthinking. As you get to the entrance, you notice a black statue from across the hallway, making your heart drop as it walks closer to you. Suddenly, your screams wake up the entire neighborhood, "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't know what I did but I'm sorry I'll never wish death upon anyone else who likes Mingyu and joshua! I promise god I'll never ever hope that all S.coups fangirls except me will fall in a hole!" you close your eyes shut as you squeal and think its the end of your days.

Until that skinwalker finally decides to open his mouth and.. "BOO!" Heeseung screams as he shakes your shoulders, not initially intending on scaring you until he realized that you couldn't see his figure. Why did it have to be him again?! "Hey, I'm joking, calm down, you're okay. It's just me. What was all that blabbering about?" he says, again, with his famous chuckle you've probably heard more than actual words from his mouth. "You can't just do that! It's dark, nighttime and it's just annoying!" you wail, feeling surprised that you managed to actually say something to his face. "Huh? feisty, calm down scaredycat, do you usually see things?" You swallow, knowing that you not only see things, but hear things at night as well.

There's an awkward silence between you two, both standing in the dark with nothing but the light of the bathroom reflecting on eachothers skin. "So? You ain't gonna speak ‘bout nothing YOU'VE been doing? You just gonna stay quiet like that?" You gulp hard, since when was he this bold and confident? What did he expect you to say, then there you are, too scared and shy to talk again, obvious shyness on your face, making heeseung aware of it, once again. He would always secretly tease you, manspread in front of you while looking at you, trying not to stare at him back and attempting to put all your focus on your friends. He would lean against the wall and look at you up and down as you walked past him, with your face buried in your friend's back, trying not to go crazy over his state. He knew the effect he had on you, since the start, it boosted his ego the most. "You shy, doll?" He whispers as he gets closer, not scared of anyone catching you both being so close, almost heads touching.

“W-what if someone catches us like this?, you can't be so close..” You mutter under your breath, forcing the words out of your mouth knowing that you don't really want him to move. “Hm? You gonna stop me? I'll stop if you tell me to, you just gotta use your words, pretty” he whispers once again, looking down on you as he pushes both your bodies onto the wall near the door of the bathroom with his chest. Your lips are shut, unable to get yourself to push him away or say a word.

He feels you slowly giving in, he knows you would, you might know information about you but he knows all your body language, he knows how nervous you get when you're alone with him and he's ready to take advantage of you all. GO HIT THAT GUM JILGEONG!!(sorry i got bored) You feel 1000 knots in your stomach from his breath hitting you cold neck, seconds later, “Take me to your room.”

Saying that his words shocked you was a huge understatement, you were feeling so many emotions that you just went numb. Sight went foggy and you couldn't think anymore, the last thing you remembered was showing him the way to your bedroom. Heading to your bed with wobbly legs due to the fear you were feeling, you had zero idea on what was going to happen. How is this the first day you talk to Heeseung and it's already this crazy? You always imagined scenarios and insane stuff, but now it feels like you just manifested them all because this craziest one is coming to life.

“Cute room. Surprised you don't have any photos of me.” The tall man says as he throws himself on the bed. At this point, you would've been able to speak to him like a normal person, but all his flirtatious words made u only use your movements, no verbal communication in sight. He stares at your BT21 plushies with disgust, pushing them off the bed with his foot, is he really still annoyed about that instagram post? Or is he still jealous? “Hate those people” he huffs as he turns to his side, seeming amused with your sweet candy-like scent on your bed. “Why are you scared of your own bed?” He comments as he watches you stare at him from your desk, realizing that you arent on your bed because HE'S ON IT. “I-im not scared, maybe you're just too big for my bed and I can't fit.. Fatty..” ‘What'd you just call me?’ “Huh? What! I didn't say a-anything?” ‘No no i deeefinitely heard something, did you just call me fat?’ “Okay yes! I did, am I lying though? You're not slick, I know the locker you share with Jay is greasy as hell!” you squeal as you make a disgusted face. ‘Yeah? You saw me get out of class to get a cookie too? Or were you too busy trying to hide from me to be able to see what was in my hand?’ Shoot, You cant reply to him with anything, both answers are wrong.. ‘Yeah that's what i thought.’

“W-what are you doing in my room, why do you wanna be here?” You ask him, innocently. ‘Because I don't break my back sleeping on the couch and I have enough manners to not barge into your brother's room when he's asleep.’ “It's better if you sleep in my brother's room than anyone finding out you slept in mine…” 'I'll leave before anyone wakes up. Comon, I wont do anything.’ It's not like he’d do anything anyway, he's as nonchalant as ever and obviously wouldn't try anything on you, he knows you wouldn't actually give into THAT, plus, he's glad youre not like that, atleast at your age.

As Heeseung takes over your bed, you are still in shock. He is sprawled out like he owns the place, watching you from the other side of the room with a small smile on his face. When someone dares to call you out on your personal space, you feel both irritated and agitated.

He pats the empty spot on the bed beside him with the same smirk and asks, “Are you really just going to stare at me from over there?”

You pause, but you cannot maintain any resistance and end up stumbling over. You take care to maintain some distance between you while sitting on the edge, but he does not let you off that easily.

Hee laughs and creeps closer, making you all too aware of the distance vanishing between you two. “Calm down, I don’t bite.” When you look up, you see him observing you with that recognizable sparkle in his eye that indicates he is relishing every moment of it.

You make an effort to minimize it by rolling your eyes, but your cheeks’ redness most likely shows that you are not paying much attention. “Heeseung, what are you even doing here? Wouldn’t you be better off downstairs or not settling into my room?”

With a low chuckle, he leans back comfortably without shifting. With a playful tone, he raises his eyebrows and asks, “What, do you not like me here? Your mom is still out shopping, and your brother is unconscious. I thought, why don’t I keep you company since it’s just the two of us?”

Even though he still teases, his eyes are now softer. For a moment, he seems to be genuinely interested in you rather than just making jokes, as if he is looking at you differently than he has in the past. As the air between you thickens and you feel trapped but unwilling to move, your pulse quickens.

He leans forward abruptly, getting so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure you actually want me to leave?” He whispers as his gaze moves over your face, capturing every tiny expression you are unable to conceal.

You catch the words in your throat. Before you can respond, he raises one hand and gently brushes a flyaway hair out of your face, his fingers remaining in place for a beat too long.

He whispers, “Tell me to stop, and I will,” in a low voice that is so intimate it chills you.

However, for some reason, you remain silent. You cannot decide whether you want him to stay or enjoy the excitement of him being this close to you and staring at you as if you are the only person in the room.

All he does is smile, that knowing smile returning to his face. He leans back and whispers, “Thought so,” remaining close enough to feel the electricity of the distance.

The weight of the moment presses down on you in the most euphoric way, making it seem like it will last forever. Even though Heeseung’s smile is still there, his eyes seem softer now, almost tender. He seems to be assessing each response, blush, and look as though recording them all.

In a low, informal voice, he begins, “So.” “Will you explain to me why you stare at me all the time, or will you continue to act as though it’s not obvious?”

He tilts his head, leaning a little closer to make sure you are not escaping too easily, but your face turns red hot, your heart pounding, and you quickly turn your head away. Please do not be so shy around me right now. He laughs softly and adds, “We both know you have been looking for a while.”

It feels like the words are stuck in your throat when you try to say something. He moves, keeping you cornered with his arm braced against the headboard next to your shoulder. The closeness is dizzying.

At last, you are able to find your voice. “I’m not… Really, I wasn’t. It’s not as if I—” His gaze prevents you from forming a coherent sentence, so you trail off.

Evidently taking pleasure in your agitated state, he laughs. “So it was not intentional that I always caught you staring at me in the hallway or whenever you passed by with your friends?”

Your lack of response is sufficient, and he smiles, obviously enjoying your response.

He leans slightly closer, until you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, and murmurs, “I guess I was right, huh?” He says quietly, “But you don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” in a tone that has become more earnest and almost comforting. “I kinda enjoy it.”

You look up and meet his eyes as those final words give you a start. They have an unexpected quality that makes it seem as though he has known you as well as you have known him. There is still teasing, but it has a deeper, more genuine undertone.

“Wait—what?” Your voice barely rises above a whisper as you manage to blurt out.

His eyes remain fixed on yours as he smiles, softer this time. “Are you sure you don’t know?”

You do not trust yourself to say anything more, so you shake your head. He sighs as if he is having a hard time believing what he is going to say.

“Y/n,” he whispers, “I have been interested in you since long before tonight.”

The words linger between you, vibrating with an intensity that catches you completely off guard, and you freeze. Heeseung’s eyes soften, becoming completely serious instead of playful. His closeness now seems more like a confession than a tease.

You mumble, “Wait,” hardly believing your own voice. “You have not been ignoring me?”

He nods slowly, his previous sly smile giving way to something more real and vulnerable. “Yes, I have noticed you, but I wouldn’t say I have been staring at you. Do you think I have not noticed your gaze on me? Or the way you become silent around me? It’s clear, y/n.”

You are rendered speechless by the shock of what he said. Your heart is thumping in your chest and your mind is racing as you try to process this new reality. You have always known Heeseung was self-assured, perhaps even arrogant, but this? You have never seen him like this before. It is honest and unvarnished, and for a split second, you cannot even tell if you are dreaming.

Trying to gather yourself, you ask, “Are you serious?” but your words come out more breathless than you meant.

He responds softly, “I don’t joke about this kind of stuff,” as his thumb lightly brushes the side of your arm, warming your skin. “I have been trying to determine whether you were feeling the same way or if I was just dreaming.”

Your pulse quickens at the thought, and you bite your lip. The air feels heavier and thicker now, and the room feels smaller. In this moment of unsaid tension, everything around you seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you.

You do not say anything for a few seconds, allowing his words to register. You have long admired Heeseung from a distance and wondered what it would be like to be near him. However, you never imagined that he would share your sentiments. And now here he is, publicly acknowledging it, his eyes full of sincerity.

“I…,” you finally manage to say, “I did not know you would notice,” in a hesitant and low voice. “After all, I believed I was being subtle. I did not want to cause any strangeness.”

Hee laughs, his voice deep and comforting. “Clever? You? I promise you, y/n, there is nothing subtle about the way you gaze at me. However, I enjoy it. I have enjoyed it for some time.

For a moment, you question whether you are dreaming as the words hit you like a wave. The fact that he is sitting so close to you and that his hand is now resting on the bed between you two, inches from where yours is, makes the entire situation seem unreal. Even though everything is so personal, there is still a lot of uncertainty, which makes it difficult to completely unwind.

You ask, just above a whisper, “So, what now?” as a mix of anxiety and excitement rises inside of you.

Heeseung’s face softens as he inhales deeply. “Now?” he asks in a soft yet purposeful tone. “y/n, all I am waiting for now is for you to say what you want. Because I am listening to whatever it is. I would rather not hurry you. I have been waiting for you to solve it as well.”

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, you release the tension that has been building between you, and your heart skips a beat. You see the honesty and rawness that mirror your own feelings when you look into his eyes.

You look at him with fresh clarity and say, “I think I have figured it out,” in a quiet but firm voice.

It is the same spark in his eyes that has always held you, and Heeseung’s smile is back, albeit softer this time. “Yes? What did you discover?”

As you slowly extend your hand and touch his, you sense a spark of electricity.

His smile grows, and everything seems to be in harmony at that precise moment. There is no longer any hesitation or act of deceit. Now that you and him are at last in agreement, you can look forward to seeing where this unspoken bond may take you.

With his hand now resting on top of yours, Heeseung whispers, “I am glad you figured it out,” his voice barely audible above a whisper. “Because I have been anticipating that statement from you.”

And then everything is different. Something new—something thrilling, something genuine—replaces the tension and the air feels lighter

Neither of you could have imagined as Heeseung leans in and lightly touches your lips. A thrill is sent through you by the gentle touch of Heeseung’s lips against yours, but it is cut short by the distinct sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic sweeps through you in a flash, and your heart jumps into your throat. With wide eyes, you instinctively glance at the door as though it might save you from the looming catastrophe as you swiftly pull back.

You hear your brother’s voice, loud and clearly irritated, as the door creaks open just a crack. “Y/nnie? Are you in there?”

Quick as ever, Heeseung leans back and puts just enough distance between himself and you to appear casual, but you can tell he is not nearly as shaken as you are by the way his eyes dart to you and the faint smile that is still tugging at his lips.

You force yourself to swallow in an attempt to control your panic. “Yes, I’m here!” you call out, your voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

Your brother is standing in the doorway, obviously bewildered, as the door opens wider. His brow furrows in that manner that indicates he is going to ask a ton of questions, and he blinks twice as his eyes dart from you to Heeseung. “What on earth are you two doing in here?”

Your mind is a jumble of ideas and excuses as you fumble for the right words. “Nothin’! Nothing bad, really. We were just—uh, talking.”

Your brother folds his arms across his chest and his eyes narrow. “Talking?” he asks again in a suspicious tone. “You two talk like this all the time?”

Heeseung gives you a barely contained smile when you meet his gaze, as though he finds the entire situation humorous. He is not phased at all, of course, because he has always had that arrogant confidence that helps him get out of a tight spot. In the meantime, you are just a few seconds away from losing it due to embarrassment.

“Indeed, we were just catching up. We haven’t seen one another in a long time,” Heeseung’s voice is smooth and unaffected, as if a single sentence would allay your brother’s suspicions.

Your brother looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Catching up in her room, you two? Doesn’t that sound a bit suspicious?”

You give Heeseung a quick, frantic glance, hoping he will save you, but he is taking too much pleasure in this. “Again, we were just conversing. Nothing strange,” Heeseung says with a nonchalant shrug. “But we can go if you have to. I don’t want to invade your territory.” He says with a chuckle.

As though this whole exchange is one big headache he did not sign up for, your brother pauses, still glaring, and then sighs. Then he turns back to the door and murmurs, “Anyway, just don’t make it weird.” “You understand what I mean when I say that you don’t want to hear anything too strange from this room later?”

Heeseung shakes his head and lets out a barely contained laugh as he leaves. His voice is light as he says, “He’s got nothing on us,” but his grin remains mischievous and a bit too knowing.

With your heart still pounding, you release a breath you were unaware you were holding. You mutter, attempting to steady yourself by running a hand through your hair, “I can’t believe he just walked in like that.”

Leaning back against the bed, Heeseung laughs. “Slow down. In any case, he’s too ignorant to solve anything.”

Despite his playful tone, there is a surprising undertone of protectiveness in his voice. He looks you in the eyes, and for a brief moment, you are the only two of you. The tension from earlier returns, but this time it is different—more at ease.

You start to say, “Well, I suppose we should wait until he returns downstairs before we—” but Heeseung cuts you off, his eyes softening.

With a tone that conveys something unsaid, he asks softly, “Before we what?”

You look him in the eyes and feel the tension between you two return. This time, the separation between you is not about actual distance but rather about the potential outcomes and the uncertainty of what lies ahead. You can’t shake the feeling that something could change everything right in front of you.

You confess, “I… I don’t know,” not knowing how to move through the distance between you but unwilling to let go of the bond you have just found. “However, I am aware that I’m not yet prepared for him to solve this.”

With his confidence fully restored, Heeseung grins. “Don’t be concerned. We will resolve the issue. Furthermore, both you and I are aware of what really happens next.”

The ease with which he returns to his typical, carefree self makes you laugh and shake your head. However, you realize that perhaps—just possibly—you are ready to stop acting like everything is easy and let whatever happens between you and Heeseung play out naturally as you sit there with him and hear your brother’s voice reverberating in your head.

Reblogs & Comments are appreciated!

[ marsdql ] •⩊•

[hehehereliesmysanity]

Smart of Wille to wear sunglasses because Simon’s smile is so blinding. ☀️

[eddiegettingshot]

like i do think it is funny that many of the blogs saying insane shit were perfectly fine with first kneejerk defending, and then continuing to be friends with queerbuck, certified racist cunt, for like months. and i am a real person. so isn’t that something

[ebenelephant]

I would also like to note that the way fandom treats Lupin's class is often... not great.

I'll caveat this by saying that iirc it's very subtly implied in the books that he may only have become impoverished in adulthood (which isn't important for this discussion) and also that JKR's handling of class with the Weasley's in canon is also pretty bad (which is). She gets many class dynamics/relations down pretty well in terms of snobbishness and classism, but the Weasley family are just not well written as an example of a family on the breadline, which is what they ostensibly are.

This – not all the time, but definitely some of the time – translates to Marauders fic as well. And maybe that's just my view as someone with a better understanding of the British class system as a UK-resident than many individuals might have, but still it bears pointing out that often representation of poor/impoverished/working class characters in fanfiction (and fiction as a whole tbh) can often be classist. Especially when adding in the angle of a character being abused or orphaned, which is on the rise with Remus.

Often, it feels like Remus's class situation is for purely aesthetic purposes. Authors will talk about how insecure his old clothes make him, and Sirius will buy him a jumper. They'll make him just so starving hungry in the summers, but give only the most surface-level introspection of food insecurity, if any. He will be toughened and hardened by his time in care/on the streets/living in poverty/whatever in a way that really only leans into the stereotype that working class people are rude and unpleasant because they are working class, even though he is implied to be impoverished and possibly homeless in the books and is none of that. It's set dressing.

Snape is often rewritten as coming from a better station. Maybe they ignore that he grew up mostly muggle, or maybe they lean into the 'Prince' aspect and write him inheriting from a rich uncle or something. If not, his poverty is sort of just not addressed in a lot of Marauders fic. Again, this is anecdotal: I've seen some really interesting depictions of him before even in fics that otherwise bash on him, but the fact is that in the fics where the author clearly dislikes the character, this is rarely the case.

Snape's childhood is ugly. Coming from what is implied to be a dying Northern industrial town, he would've come into his majority over the Winter of Discontent, spent his early adulthood far away from the home that may well have been suffering under Thatcher's Britain. Maybe his dad was a union man. Maybe there was strike action and violence in his home town. Maybe it all simply faded away to nothingness and left everyone on the dole while politicians harped on about the unemployed draining government funds. Maybe his dad hit him. It's implied that the Snape household was tumultuous and loud, and didn't feel safe. It's implied that Eileen was cold and distant. And Tobias, as a man in a dying industrial town who shouted at his wife and scared his kid, this conjures and image in the mind of many Brits. Maybe that's lost somewhat to an international audience, I don't know.

The thing is, that when Snape's poverty is overlooked almost entirely and Remus's is both exaggerated and somehow made completely toothless by fandom, both instances are classist.

Alright, let’s dive into the dumpster fire that the Marauders fandom has become last years and threw any sense of canon or character integrity out the window. Because let’s be real, the way this fandom has twisted the characters of the Marauders and the Death Eaters, all while turning Severus Snape into some one-note “creepy stalker,” is embarrassing. The fandom seems obsessed with scrubbing characters clean, romanticizing abusers, inventing tragic backstories for literal sociopaths, and piling up headcanons that turn a few lines in canon into fully fleshed-out, fanon-only OCs. And somehow, the only character who gets relentlessly dragged and demonized is Severus Snape—a character who has actual complexity and trauma. It’s hypocritical, classist, and downright gross.

Let’s start with Severus. Canon Snape is a guy who came from nothing: poor background, abusive father, dead-end town. He didn’t fit into the wizarding world, was relentlessly bullied by privileged Marauders, and still somehow managed to survive and make something of himself. But instead of acknowledging any of that, the fandom loves to reduce him to this “creepy obsessive” stereotype. People act like he spent every waking moment pining for Lily and never did anything else, as if that’s all his character is. Never mind the fact that he was actively trying to get out of a miserable life, or that he was, you know, bullied on a daily basis by James and Sirius, who had wealth, status, and freedom to do whatever they wanted. Nope, to the Marauders fandom, Snape is just the “weird stalker”—because acknowledging his struggles would mean admitting that their golden boys were actually kind of awful.

Meanwhile, the same people are out here bending over backward to make people like Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, and Regulus Black look like misunderstood anti-heroes. Let’s be clear: in canon, Barty Crouch Jr. was a straight-up torturer, Evan Rosier died laughing as he fought Aurors, and Regulus was a kid raised with a silver spoon who only started doubting Voldemort when he realized he’d been signed up as snake chow. But no, fanon has turned these guys into “tragic, complex Slytherins” who were “just trying to survive.” It’s like they’re desperate for some tortured prince narrative, so they invent personalities out of thin air to give us this dreamy aesthetic of sad, beautiful Death Eaters who “didn’t really want to be evil.” Apparently, actually following the text is too much to ask when you’ve got fanon fantasies to uphold.

Regulus Black, in particular, has become this absurd fanon martyr. In canon, Regulus was a kid indoctrinated into pureblood ideology, who joined the Death Eaters without much hesitation. Maybe he had a change of heart eventually, but it wasn’t out of some grand moral revelation; he just realized Voldemort’s loyalty was to himself alone. Yet, according to the current fandom, Regulus is some misunderstood hero who was only “pretending” to go along with Voldemort and was “forced” into his choices. They’ve built this tragic romance around a character who, in the actual books, doesn’t have even half this depth. This Regulus in fanon is practically an OC at this point, and people cling to this made-up version of him so hard that they’ll defend it like it’s canon. It’s hilarious, and it’s also just plain wrong.

And let’s talk about the Marauders themselves. In canon, James and Sirius were rich, spoiled brats who spent their school years bullying anyone who didn’t fit into their world. They were kids with every privilege, and they used it to torment people like Snape, who had nothing. But the Marauders’ fandom has turned them into these fluffy, “good-hearted” rebels who just made “a few mistakes.” I’m sorry, but nearly killing someone as a “prank” is a bit more than a mistake. Yet people will ignore that or wave it away as “boys will be boys” just to keep up the illusion that James and Sirius were lovable scamps. It’s maddening—and it’s also classist as hell. They erase all the ugly realities of the Marauders’ behavior and then turn around and judge Snape for being “obsessive” and “weird” when he was just trying to survive in a world stacked against him.

The classism in this fandom is so blatant it’s laughable. Snape is written off as creepy and unworthy of sympathy because he didn’t have a cushy upbringing or the social standing to make him likable. Meanwhile, characters like Barty and Regulus, who came from wealthy pureblood families, get excused and romanticized to no end. It’s like the fandom is saying, “Well, Snape deserved it because he was poor and awkward, but the rich kids? They’re just misunderstood.” It’s the kind of privilege blindness that makes you wonder if people actually read the books or if they’re just projecting their own biases onto the characters.

And let’s not forget the army of new OCs the Marauders fandom has invented just to justify this headcanon universe (Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, that that Pandora no one knows why suddenly appears here lol) You’ve got random “best friends” for Sirius, unnamed Slytherins who magically have no ties to pureblood supremacy, and love interests for Regulus who supposedly saw the “real” him. All these characters are based on nothing more than a few throwaway lines, yet people have fleshed them out to a level that they’re practically new characters in the universe. It’s like they need this entourage of made-up people to back up their version of the Marauders and Death Eaters because, without them, their headcanons would fall apart. And all of this, while they keep painting Snape as this creepy loner with no real friends or worth. The hypocrisy is unreal.

At the end of the day, the Marauders fandom has taken a bunch of characters with clear flaws and complexities and rewritten them into these sanitized, tortured souls while dumping all their scorn onto Snape. They’ll go out of their way to redeem a literal torturer like Barty Crouch Jr. or turn Regulus into some tragic hero, but they can’t bring themselves to even consider Snape’s trauma or the systematic abuse he endured. It’s all about maintaining this fantasy where their favorite characters are perfect and untouchable, even if it means twisting canon and ignoring the ugly truths about class, privilege, and abuse that is reflected into the story. And that, honestly, just makes the fandom look shallow, hypocritical, and completely disconnected from the reality.

[romanarose]

Sometimes I miss the days when I was in high school and all I did was read fanfiction, the only writing that went on was in my notebook and sometimes a v innocent one on my family computer

I miss when it was written and read by people who are lucky if they’ve had their first kiss and yeah the smut was unrealistic but why would I know?

I miss when crossovers made no sense. They happened just because someone wanted it SuperWhoLock was everywhere. If someone wanted to write a Les Miserables/Harry Potter fic they could and I’d read it

I miss when you could read the silliest of AU’s without everyone saying it was OOC

I miss when you could not update your work weekly or even monthly and keep interest.

I miss when we went three goddamn years between Sherlock seasons and the fandom was STILL alive and kicking instead of now when things say 2 months after something is released.

It was all simpler then.

Don’t get me wrong, I love how much the art has been refined and how much amazing work has come out, fanfiction series that are better than their original mediums. I love that things are way more inclusive and properly tagging and warning people is emphasized, but damn, fandom really used to just be simpler.

[several-ravens]

i've had enough of martin getting bullied for no reason and i'm happy that jonathan is too preoccupied by gertrude's laptop to do so

[yang4ever]

disappointed and surprised about taeil.

[shift-shaping]

nine arrows

enaste meets the duke of wycome.

rating: m

pairing: solavellan

warnings: still pretty bad latin, blood

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first fic in this series

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Enaste and her companions followed Lady Volant's directions to the room where she'd last seen the Duke. She took a moment to heal her finger before they went on; something about facing a blood mage with an open wound concerned her. 

Much of the manor was dark, its long hallways lit only by the glow of Enaste's staff and the occasional lantern. She could see beyond the light, the shadows full of depth and detail until their darkest points, but the blackness was still somehow suffocating.

They approached a large room off one of the main corridors. She could hear the rain outside, pounding against glass windows. Something prickled along her skin, and though she scratched at her arms through her clothes, the itch remained.

She looked back at her companions. Jester was directly behind her, bow drawn, a sheathed dagger at each hip and a series of small grenades attached to a sturdy leather belt around their waist. Beside Jester was Elion, as quiet and confident as Enaste had ever seen him with their clan, wielding a larger and more powerful bow than Jester that bore intricate carvings from their clan's craftsmen. Instead of grenades, he bore several flasks of poison on his belt. Cole took up the rear, his daggers glinting in the dark.

All four of them were still dressed in the clothing they'd left Clan Lavellan wearing, all black and deep brown and green as dark as winter pines. They'd chosen colors that would blend in well with the night and make them harder to spot, but now that she eyed her party, she saw that they looked very much like assassins.

As she crossed the threshold, she dropped her hood. Before her was a large room just as lavishly decorated as the others she'd seen in the manor. Several dark red couches and armchairs filled the center, and towering bookshelves occupied the walls. Above them was a balcony that wrapped around the room, supported by several thick columns of black-veined marble. Eyes gleamed in the darkness above them, watching her entrance in tight silence.

A massive fireplace roared against the far wall. Before it stood a stout human man in expensive, yet disheveled clothing. He had a thick silver beard and a mostly bald head. Red armchairs sat on either side of him.

Enaste stepped carefully into the room, feeling the floor first on the balls of her feet, then her heels. "Are you Duke Antoine of Wycome?" Her voice was louder than she expected it to be in the tall, echo-y room.

The Duke nodded. "Are you who I suspect you are?"

Her companions followed behind her. She remained tense. "That depends who you're expecting."

He eyed them with a slight smile. "A Dalish mage with raven-black hair and a glowing green hand? I have seen many elves tonight, but none so striking as yourself, Lady Inquisitor." His voice was gentle and friendly, and rumbled with age. He gestured to one of the armchairs. "Come, please, sit. I would enjoy some conversation, if it pleases you."

She did not move. "My ambassador told me you were under the control of a blood mage in the service of a Tevinter magister. Is that true?"

He looked down at the floor --dark hardwood panels polished to a glossy sheen. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then shook his head. "It was, but I am under no compulsion now. However, I understand if you do not believe me."

Enaste glanced over her shoulder. "Cole? Is he telling the truth?"

Cole frowned, staring at the Duke. "I... Think so. You are you. But you weren't always completely you. Before, at the party, on the walls, you were someone who isn't you, your skin a cloak for someone else. It hurt, you and them, but --you didn't push them away." He shook his head. "There is magic here, but you are not under the blood mage's control." He looked up at the balcony, at the eyes shining in the darkness. "They are."

Enaste stared into the shadows, and with focus came the outlines of at least nine archers, all elven, all completely still. Their arrows were drawn: within less than a second, the most skilled of them could pull back their bowstring and fire.

She reached for her staff, and the Duke held up his hands. "Wait." Her fingers wrapped around the grip of her weapon, but she otherwise stilled. "You have nothing to fear, my lady. The mage, the one who commands them, would not see you harmed. And neither would I."

She narrowed her eyes. "I have already been harmed here, as have my allies."

"And I sincerely apologize for that." His voice teetered between nervousness and earnestness. "It was a terrible error, a miscalculation on the part of Magister Malchus."

"And you expect me to believe you?" She shook her head, but dropped her hand from her staff. "My allies have seen what you did to the wells. You use red lyrium on your own people."

He sighed. Regret drew heavy on the lines of his face, cast in shadow by the fire at his back. "I realize it is all very confusing. Please, Inquisitor, allow me to explain." He gestured to the armchair again.

She looked at her companions. Jester shook their head quickly. Elion stared up at the balcony of archers. She turned back to the Duke. "I was advised to kill you on sight. Why shouldn't I follow that advice now?"

"Because I have information you would likely wish to hear."

She hesitated. The Duke sat down in one of the armchairs and waited for her to join him. Her mouth was dry, her body heavy. So long as she was in this room at all, she was in danger. She could kill him and leave, risking death from above, or she could figure out some way for them both to escape alive.

And admittedly, that chair looked pretty comfortable.

"Fine," she said finally. She took her staff from her back and drew a barrier around herself for protection. "My allies will be safe as well?"

"Of course."

She stared at him a moment longer, then joined him in one of the large armchairs by the fire. The seat gave in easily beneath her, the cushion soft and pliant. Still she sat near its edge, her back straight, one hand holding her staff in front of her.

"Thank you," he said as he sat back. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his relaxation was at odds with the nine arrows poised to turn them both into pincushions.

She lowered her voice. "Do you even know what red lyrium is? It turns people who come into contact with it mad. It drove the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall insane and led to countless abuses in the city's Circle. It is a tool of Corypheus, and of Tevinter."

The Duke opened his eyes just enough for her to see their gleam in the firelight. "And you are a tool of the Chantry, and of the Orlesian Empire."

She shook her head, exhausted, frustrated, the absurdity of what he said enough to make her head ache. "No, I am not. I know the magister has filled your head with lies about what the Inquisition does, but look at me," she gestured to her companions. "And look at my allies. How could a bunch of elves and apostates be tools of the Chantry?"

He glanced at her party, then sat forward in his seat. "Inquisitor, I would ask that you try to see this from the perspective of the city of Wycome." She sighed, but he went on. "We are a small city on the edge of the world, surrounded by greater nations that would happily swallow us whole. For ages, through Blight and famine and conspiracy and plague, we have scraped out our independence--"

"And you throw it away at the first offer of power."

"Power?" He asked, frowning. He shook his head, bushy white eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The sky is broken and demons are running about and you think we grasp at power?"

"You wouldn't be the first," she said wearily. She sat back from him, one hand on her staff and the other balled into a fist on the armrest.

He glanced at the fire, then at his feet, then at her. "Your Inquisition. What is its goal?"

She frowned, annoyed that he had been so thoroughly fooled that he even felt the need to ask. "Could you not have asked my ambassador this?"

"I want to hear it from you," he replied evenly.

Something snarled inside her and she rolled her eyes. He was drawing this out, asking inane questions just to test her patience and buy himself a few more minutes of life. "I am very tired, and I'm not here for you to waste my time."

"I understand that." He leaned forward. The firelight danced in his eyes. "Is it not an easy question?"

"It is an easy question." Annoyance bubbled in her chest like acid. "The Inquisition exists to stop Corypheus from destroying the world." Her voice came out clipped, obviously irritated, yet laced with exhaustion. "You could have heard that from my ambassador, or from a pamphlet, or from a child begging on your streets."

He considered this, then asked her another question: "and what then, when Corypheus is defeated?"

"We won't have any reason to exist." Obviously. "There will be no more Inquisition."

"Is that what happened to the old Inquisition?"

"Yes."

He shook his head, but his gentle expression remained. "No. The Inquisition of old became the Seekers and Templars, the strongest arm of the Orlesian Chantry."

"But they did stop being the Inquisition," she cut in quickly, her words short and cold. "That's what I meant."

"Of course." He conceded. He was mocking her. "So you understand then, that the Inquisition became a weapon of Orlais?"

"That's not true, you're twisting the facts," she spit back.

"And the modern Inquisition, with its Orlesian castle and Orlesian leaders and Orlesian priests, it is different from that?"

"Our leaders aren't Orlesian. I'm the Inquisitor, and I'm not Orlesian. I just told you we aren't a tool of the Chantry, I-- I barely know the language."

"But your founders are the former left and right hands of the Orlesian divine?" He spoke faster now, his voice more certain. "And your territories are spread throughout the empire? And you seek the support of the Orlesian empress?"

"I'm not --I didn't choose any of those things." She hadn't wanted any of this. She only came here to protect her clan --she didn't even care what happened to his nobles and their wells. This conversation was pointless and she was falling for his trap but she couldn't see its purpose –and she couldn't find a way out. "Why are you asking me this as if it's my decision?"

He was quiet for a time then, looking away from her and up to the balcony where the archers stood in tense, heavy silence. Enaste's cheeks burned. She stared at the fire.

"Inquisitor," he spoke softly, but she kept her eyes on the flames. "I am asking you these questions so that you understand what I mean when I tell you that a choice between two empires is hardly a choice at all. I allowed Malchus to stay in Wycome because he and his Venatori promised this city its independence, and their protection."

He was stupid, and naive, and cowardly; that was explanation enough for her. Her upper lip curled in disgust. "Did we not promise you independence as well? But you didn't trust us, so instead of taking our word, you betrayed the Inquisition and let an agent of Corypheus experiment on your human population --leaving the elves to clean up your mess." She glanced at the balcony. "Though I suppose you're used to that."

"You are an elven prophet in the Orlesian Chantry." She grit her teeth. "If we fully allied with you, we would be giving our support to an organization that threatens everything about our way of life." He shook his head and leaned towards her.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, suddenly recalling why Bran had wanted him dead in the first place. "Your way of life. How often does it involve cutting off servants' hands?"

He looked confused for a moment, frowning, then his expression fell to one of deep regret. He shook his head and directed his gaze elsewhere. "Only once. It was a terrible and complicated situation."

"How complicated could it possibly be?" She scoffed. "Your kind call mine savage, but not even the worst of my people would resort to such brutality."

He looked up at the balcony again. Did the archers above them understand their conversation? Did they bristle, somewhere inside, at the reminder of the 'terrible and complicated situation' that led to the destruction of their Vhenadahl?

"I understand why the story you likely heard would be upsetting, Inquisitor." He shifted in his seat. "It was not a decision made lightly."

"Given your other decisions, I find that difficult to believe."

"It was a compromise. The servant you speak of stole from both myself and my guests." The floor creaked underneath them. Rain pounded at the windows. "We learned he took something from one guest that she could not replace: a pendant passed down from her mother, who had passed away long ago. She was devastated. Her husband demanded the servant's head." He paused, looking at the fire. "I recommended we exile him instead. It was not enough." He exhaled slowly. "She said if she couldn't have his head, she would have his hands." He shrugged --tired, hopeless. "I agreed."

Even if she saw logically why he'd done what he did, it was still cruel and unnecessary. In a place like this, where the only work left to elves was hard, grueling, menial labor, such a thorough disfigurement was hardly better than killing him outright. She tried to imagine it, opened and closed her hands and tried to imagine what she would do if even one were gone.

And to think that was the lesser of the Duke's cruelties. "You sent him back to the alienage like that. And you were surprised when the elves were angry."

"Anger, I understood," he said quietly. "Even hatred. So long as they knew who to be angry with." He swallowed. "I was foolish to think they would save their rage for myself."

"The leader of the alienage said you called a few petitioners a riot."

He hummed. A dark, aching heaviness weighed on his voice as he spoke. "It was not a riot. It was an assault." He cleared his throat and looked up at her from under his eyelashes. "Inquisitor, in all your time in this castle, in all your ambassador's time, have you or your allies seen any members of my household besides myself and my servants?"

She watched him. Something tightened in her chest. "No. I have not." She should have noticed that earlier. A man of his age and wealth, with no family to speak of, would be extremely unusual.

He nodded. "The elves took out their rage on them." The wind howled outside, and in its strange, hollow moan lent his words an undercurrent of painful, haunting grief. "What happened that night left my son unable to care for himself. His wife feeds him from a spoon. My grandson suffers severe headaches and can scarcely leave a dark room. My granddaughter--" he stopped and shook his head. "Has yet to remember what was done to her. I sent them far away, to a place I hope none will follow."

Enaste didn't want to believe him. This version of the story could easily have been invented to sow mistrust between herself and her allies. It felt wrong to doubt him when his eyes looked so hollow and the lines of his face were wrought with so much guilt and pain, but she knew an expert could wear any mask convincingly. Regardless, she still saw the destruction of the Vhenadahl as a step too far: why punish the entire alienage for the actions of a few monsters?

"What I ordered my men to do was unjust and unworthy. It was a decision made in grief and anger." He finally looked at her. "I wanted them to feel the hurt I did. I wanted to send a message. But what I did was cruel, and unnecessary." He glanced up at the balcony. "And I am deeply, unspeakably sorry."

She sucked in a slow, shaky breath and closed her eyes. "If you're so sorry, why did you use elves as the scapegoat when your red lyrium started making people sick?"

He was quiet then, brows furrowed, apparently considering his answer, before he frowned at her in confusion. "Inquisitor, I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

She sighed, frustrated again now that he was back to wasting her time. "You hired mercenaries to attack my clan so you could convince your nobles you were doing something about the 'elven plague.'"

For the first time in their conversation, the Duke looked genuinely lost. Even when she had pushed back at him or been outright annoyed, he'd remained poised and confident. Now he was taken aback. "I... I'm sorry, Inquisitor, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

She threw up her hands. "How do you expect me to trust anything you say if you won't admit to the one thing I know you were responsible for?"

"He's trying to confuse you," Elion said quietly, and Enaste looked at him. He stood stoically a few feet away, bow still in his hands. His eyes shined like a cat's in the dark.

The Duke glanced at him, then brought his attention back to Enaste. "How are you so confident in my involvement?"

"Because I found your mercenaries and talked to them myself," she replied, exasperated. "They told me you hired them to harass my clan."

He blinked in confusion and shook his head. "Inquisitor, with all due respect, the only information I know about your clan is that it is your clan. The only reason to attack your people would be to draw you, personally, to Wycome. If I wanted to do that, I would send a letter." He ran his hand over his beard. "Deliberately invoking the wrath of the Inquisition by attacking the family of its leader would be suicidal."

"You are a very good liar," she spat.

"No," Cole said suddenly. Both Enaste and the Duke turned to look at him. "He's not lying. He really doesn't know."

She frowned, not understanding. Perhaps the magister hired them then. Or another noble on behalf of the Duke. What did it matter anyway? She knew it was done on his behalf, whether he knew about it or not. "Cole." He stared at her, unmoving. "Is the blood mage still here?"

He looked up at the balcony and squinted at the dark. "Yes."

Enaste stood slowly. Tension strummed tight and thick around her. She turned in a circle, taking in the archers, glaring into the dark, looking for anyone out of place. "What do you want?" She called out. Her voice echoed amongst the towering vaults of the ceiling. "I know you are loyal to the magister. I also know you are an extraordinarily gifted mage." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to fight you. I just want to talk."

Silence met her words. She peered at the blinking eyes of the elven archers, their bodies painfully, almost unnaturally still, like statues atop a castle wall. Then she heard a quiet shuffling, and the floor above groaned amidst the ghostly wind.

She turned around and looked up at the balcony. A thin young man with short, dark hair and shining eyes leaned into the railing, arms crossed, watching her. Blood dripped from his hand to the hardwood floor below.

"You're an elf," she said softly.

He looked down at his bleeding hand, his expression distant, and drew some of the blood up and swirled it around his fingers. Then it vanished into the air, likely to feed the spell he used on the archers.

"Do you know who hired the mercenaries that attacked my clan?"

"I'm afraid he speaks precious little common, Inquisitor," the Duke said gently.

She looked at him over her shoulder. He had stood up as well. "What does he speak?"

"Tevene alone, as far as I'm aware."

"Dirthas elven?" She asked the blood mage. He said nothing, and she took that as a 'no.' "Tell him I just want to talk."

The Duke cleared his throat, then repeated her words in a different tongue. The blood mage raised his chin, as though appraising them all, then spoke to her in heavily-accented common. "I do not wish for you to save me."

Her brows furrowed. "When did I offer to save you?"

He paused, reflective eyes flicking over her, then shook his head. "You put me back in chains."

"No," she said clearly. "I have no interest in that. I told you, I just want to talk."

"I do not want to talk to you." He stepped back from the balcony, towards the shadows behind him.

"Wait. Just wait." She didn't understand any of this. What did he know about the mercenaries? Why was he so loyal to the magister? Why did he think she would put him in chains? Who was he?

The Duke called out to him then, in swift, shaky Tevene. "Si non manseris, indicabo ei quod de te scio."

The sudden volume and confidence of the blood mage's voice surprised her. "Tu nescis quid mihi nocere posset."

"Nullum?" The Duke called back. "Quid de nomine tuo?"

The blood mage gave a disinterested shrug. "Multa nomina habeo."

For a brief moment, she heard only the rain, the fire, the breathing of the many people in the room. Then the Duke shifted his weight, and gave the blood mage a pitying look. "At nemo tam magnus est quam ille Malchus in cubiculo suo te vocat."

The blood mage's eyes widened. He stepped towards the railing again, and Enaste saw his eyes glow white with power. "Quae utilitas vestra superstite?" He hissed.

Cole jolted forward and grabbed Enaste by the shoulder. She whipped around to look at him, and in that instant nine arrows sliced through the air. Pain erupted on the side of her face. Jester called out to her. Warmth covered her cheek as she stumbled past Cole, ignoring his pleas.

The arrows weren't meant for her, or for her allies. Each one had sunk deep into the Duke's head and chest, every shot lethal. His knees collapsed and he fell heavily to the floor. His eyes were wide and searching, stuck in a permanent state of shock. Enaste wiped moisture from the side of her face, and earned herself a bright, stinging pain that sent shockwaves across her right eye.

"Inquisitor!" Jester gasped. The amount of blood in Enaste's eye was so rapidly overwhelming her periphery that she could barely see them. "You're hurt, here, let me help you." They started pressing a bandage to Enaste's face, but she pushed them away.

"The blood mage--" Enaste started, but no matter where she looked she saw only blurry shadows.

"He's already gone," Cole said softly.

"How is that possible?" Enaste asked. The pain blooming over the side of her face made speaking difficult.

"He knew the way out," Cole replied.

She looked over at the body of the Duke, at the arrows jutting from his body. They were obviously elven arrows. Someone must have taught the elves of the alienage how to craft them like her people did.

She closed her eyes and grit her teeth. Even if they removed every arrow, the assumption was obvious –a group of elves had killed the Duke of Wycome. There would be no going back now: the coup Bran had wanted so badly had begun.

translation notes — "si non manseris, indicabo ei quod de te scio." - if you do not stay, I will tell her what I know of you.  "tu nescis quid mihi nocere posset." - nothing you know can hurt me. "nullum? quid de nomine tuo?" - nothing? what about your name? "multa nomina habeo." - I have many names. "at nemo tam magnus est quam ille Malchus in cubiculo suo te vocat." – but none so important as what Malchus calls you in his bedroom. "quae utilitas vestra superstite?" - to what end are you still alive?

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[rollercoasterwords]

sorry but. i truly do not understand the "ai is stealing" stance when it comes to fanfiction like. am i missing something is ai like....copying and pasting or is it just. reading a bunch of fanfiction and then writing something that is based off/inspired by/drawn from it. feel like i keep seeing people getting very upset abt like. chatgpt fics bc ai is "stealing" but i don't understand how it's functionally different from like. a human reading a bunch of fanfic and then. writing something inspired or influenced by what they've read. creation doesn't happen in a void and all fanfiction is derivative art anyway but i thought we were all on board w that....like i thought using the Derivative Art Website means u think derivative art can be worthwhile and valuable so....confused abt how this logic plays out.

[treeshrine]

gonna be real bud if your fic relies so heavily on intense triggering themes and shock value that you're averse to putting warnings on it to "maintain surprise" and "avoid spoilers", then you act like you did nothing wrong when people are upset that you didn't make any effort to turn them away and allow them to protect themselves, while also telling them it's their fault that they read something that upset them when they could have never known it contained specific things that will upset them, i think you are a tar pit

[princeloww]

-Campbell and his mother used to be super close, especially when he was young and before his illness became obvious. Whenever he started struggling and becoming harder to manage, I think a rift was created in their relationship -- particularly because I think his mother blames herself for Campbell's issues. Campbell's dad says that she's worried sick. She's literally made herself unwell with worry for Campbell - yet we never once see her visit. Maybe she can't bear to, because despite loving him so much, she feels responsible for his illness; a guilt that accidentally pulls Campbell even further away from her, because it comes across as being ashamed of him. She pulls away and becomes a shell of herself because she's so worried and worries that she did something wrong to cause his illness - which leads to Campbell also pulling away, for obvious reasons.

-For some reason when I'm writing her I always imagine her a bit like Francine? I always write her with dark curly hair and I have no idea why. Since she's literally made herself ill with worry, I imagine she's a bit frail and not herself half of the time. She's eaten up with guilt over what she perceives as a parental failing, to the degree where she's sick and barely herself. In one of my fics, I wrote in a specific detail that she would often pretend to watch the TV, while just zoning out in that general direction, because she's so lost in thought. Campbell basically calls her a loony as well, for the aforementioned sick with worry thing - so maybe she does display some traits of mental illness?? Because he would know what he's talking about, really

-Especially in the play, Campbell has very clear issues with his father. He literally shouts at him to fuck off (or is it fuck you? not sure) in the play. There is definitely major tension there, and I get the vibe that while his dad might be well-meaning, he completely misunderstands Campbell's disorder and doesn't make any effort to understand it. I think this leads to further stress and conflict between them, and therefore more stress for Campbell's mother. It's a sticky situation, when someone's parents make no effort to understand or accommodate for their needs. Campbell's dad wants him to get a proper job and squash his dreams just like he did. Campbell is all about dreams. That shit is not going to end well.

-Campbell's dad is also just really mean for no reason in the play its so sad. I hate that guy. I imagine he has a bad temper, especially when it comes to Campbell's behaviour (possibly in the lead up to his hospitalisation) - so his temper and stubbornness combined with Campbell's mother's guilt would create tension between them as well, possibly causing disagreements WHICH, terrible cycle, would probably only fuel Campbell more. Leading to an entire dysfunctional, stressful situation that 1) can lead to a person being hospitalised and 2) can create even more misunderstanding and a lack of empathy.

-I think that really, Campbell's mother feels very deeply about him and has his best interest at heart, but due to the times and where they are (Glasgow in 1994) lacks the proper guidance on how to deal with that sort of situation.

-Also for angsty fanfiction reasons, on a less foundational note, I definitely think his parents fought a lot and really struggled to properly manage his disorder when he was still living at home. Something had to have gone on for him to actually be sent to the hospital. I know in the play it's the whole BBC Scotland thing, but - again, primarily for angsty fanfiction reasons - I think it's gotta be more than that.

-So, for summary, I think that Campbell and his mother used to be very close - but they've drifted apart because she feels responsible for his illness and thinks she did something wrong while raising him. This obviously alienates Campbell, creating a rift in their relationship - combined with the fact that she never visits, he easily gets the impression that she is embarrassed of him.

-And angst and issues follow idk im too tired to conclude this idk where im going. also this is all headcanons and mostly not based on actual facts. i am jumping all over the place to every possible conclusion

i have so many headcanons about campbell bains mother and you WILL be hearing about it

[hopecomesbacktolife]

hey, just. friendly reminder that fanfiction is morally neutral.

yes, that includes smutty fics. yes, that includes self-insert fics. yes, that includes the fics you consider Problematic TM and the fics you don’t think are Smart or New. in fact that’s kind of why I’m writing this post.

I know we all love to talk about Themes And Narratives, but—and please listen to me very carefully here—you are not earning Good Place Points for only reading the kinds of fan fiction you feel are Smart or Only Focuses On The Important Things Like Themes.

fan fiction is morally neutral.

what I mean is this: no one is harming you, themselves, or anyone, by writing a fic about two characters having sex. (are you uncomfortable with the fact that I typed the word “sex”? hi, this post is about you. people have sex. and they write and talk about it. it’s seriously fine.)

no one is being harmed by self insert fics, by smutty fics, by anything not exclusively Smart TM about the fandom or analytically adding to it.

(and that’s not to say these two types of fics, that any type of fic, can’t have those elements— some of my favorite fic authors, my mutuals, my tumblr friends, write fic in these genres, and they also explore Themes and Emotions and analyze character traits and histories and write brilliant plots and incredible character arcs and yknow what, it’s amazing! it’s fantastic to examine what makes two characters react a certain way to x situation while also having them fuck nasty about it!) (and yes, I did just type ‘fuck nasty about it’ and I promise, that’s fine, too.)

what I’m saying, though, is that it doesn’t NEED that to, I dunno, somehow validate it into existing. it just Is. it just Exists. it doesn’t need an aspect you Approve Of TM in order to earn the right to be shared, to be written, to be published and commended and interacted with and read. it just. Is.

and I think a lot of especially younger, or newer, tumblr users especially get uncomfortable with that, and they unintentionally veer right (..ha) into self-censoring, puritanical behavior which is exactly what every person trying to ban books and generally kill art, wants. (and we’re not even going to examine in depth here, beyond mentioning it, the fact that policing, censuring, and banning art has historically and still today is being used to silence marginalized voices, so, I ask you to keep that in mind as you think on this, too, please.)

what I’m trying to say is this—if you personally don’t enjoy smut, don’t enjoy self insert fics, don’t enjoy a certain genre, that’s great, you do you! but, you must, must understand that this is not a moral stance. You are not objecting to a problematic practice, exploited workers, consent issues, labor crises… none of that applies, because no one in these stories is a real person. a story written about two Star Trek characters kissing on the bridge of the Enterprise is just that, a story. there is no actor for whose rights to fight, no wages to dispute fairness of, no ethical ramifications of scenes to discuss. these are Fictional People in Fictional Situations.

fan fiction is morally neutral.

and the moment you try to make yourself feel Better TM, More Correct TM, or—one of the ones I encounter the most—Smarter TM, by saying oh, I don’t read that kind of fic, I read the good kind, with thought in it—

you’re not only causing harm, you’re actively employing art censoring behavior. is that something that you want to do? I hope not. I certainly don’t.

next time you see a fic or a genre you don’t Approve Of TM, please remember the easiest way of exhibiting that— simply scrolling by or blocking a tag! If you’re on ao3, their system is incredible for niche content searches, and blocking a tag even here on tumblr will (most of the time) work.

I just., there’s so many better options out there for you than to… act like this. I believe you, we, all of us, can be better than this.

fanfiction. is. morally. neutral.

[mediaconsumeme]

Sorry to be late to the party but oh my god the Doctor and Donna reuniting and Donna having a daughter named Rose whos trans I CAN'T. I dislike the phrase "inner child" because I would strangle myself as a child if I could but MY INNER CHILD IS HEALING

[bumblingbabooshka]

Red Alert: The Bottoms Are Down

[mbat]

before i pass out for the night. since my brain is back on dan and phil as if its 2016 or something i need to put this out into the world. this isnt some sort of important life changing post, just a personal funny thing

so when i was 13 and fixating on dan and phil, i read a lot of fanfics. like, i guarantee that even after all these years that, if i had the statistics, that fandom was the one i read the most fanfics for and constantly. i couldnt tell you what nearly any of them were about, and i have a feeling that many of them are probably lost to time by now. i also dont know if i need to mention that yeah, a lot of them were shipping, and yes ive long grown out of that. (the dnp fandom is actually what made me grow out of that)

anyway all this to say that over the last 6 years after i stopped fixating on dan and phil, one fanfic stuck with me and i just. i think about it every once in a while. its been over half a decade. it wasnt a groundbreaking fic, i dont remember any quotes or specifics, just the premise as of at least the first few chapters. idk why it stuck with me

it was literally a fic about. if the world had gotten to a point where almost every child was born as like, a science baby instead of a natural baby, and phil was a science baby, but dan was a natural baby. and there was somehow this like, thing where the science babies would bully the natural babies for some reason idek, and this was a highschool setting and i think dan was a new kid in school. and what gets me about the fic is that dan was some small shy scared kid and phil was some mean jerk bully. and how wild that is compared to how they are in real life

this isnt me trying to find the fic or the person who wrote it or any of that, this is literally just. i remember this fic at least once every few months and i needed to get it out of my brain somewhere