#the only downside to being in a small fandom is it's harder to find content specific to what you're craving

[nxmelessfighter]

//

[somegirlontheinternet135]

An empty castle, filled with bells and whistles. Loyal and emotionless servants which cater to one's desires, and endless wealth which flows like a river. . .

The life of Greed is, although wanted by some, a lonely life. . .

Mammon, the Prince of Greed, is not only hated and outcasted by the rest of the Deadly Sins, but has difficulties connecting with others, especially with those under him. Sure, he had his workers like the Glam Sisters and Wally Wackford, but those relationships could only go so far. . .

It's obvious that Mammon wasn't keen on changing his ways, he was the Prince of Greed after all! So, what else is there to do?

Well, HB Fandom. . . I'd like to introduce you to. . .

👑Trinket👑 The daughter of Mammon

Personality: Despite being raised by the Sin of Greed, many describe Trinket as the "watered down and more complex version of her father." Yes, she's, as expected, a very spoiled toddler who gets upset easily. But instead of using manipulation or sheer force, she uses persuasion and charm to get what she wants. Something else notable is her possessiveness, being extremely overprotective of the things and people she holds dear

Likes: She has an extensive love of collecting and hoarding. Whether it's instinct or not, collecting was always something that made her happy, especially with tiny objects. Stuffed animals and comfy things are also up there, whenever she's frightened or upset, she'll often hide and try to seek protection herself, and if she's not clinging to the nearest trusted adult, she used things like pillow forts for comfort. Although more of a weird fascination than an interest, she loves bubbles and puts lots of time and effort in the art of bubble blowing, as silly as that sounds. To a point where she was given a device that delivered that purpose, which we'll get to later. Finally, it'd be a new brainer to mention her love for clowns, since she lives with them, they're hard to ignore, and if her papa is a clown, then she must be one too!

Dislikes: How this developed is unknown, but Trinket has a deep hatred for birds. Doesn't matter what type, either big or small, dangerous or not, once she sees one, she'll go out of her way to chase it and scare it away (sorry Ars Goetias). Another thing she can't handle are large crowds, similar to her father, she doesn't take being within crowds very well, but is perfectly ok with being up on a stage, since it creates a clear border between her and the crowd. Lastly, she hates rude and disrespectful people, she can't stand the sight of her family or friends getting bullied, so anyone who messes with them, they'll face the consequences. . .

Headcanons & Abilities

Her abilities:

☆ Eating inedible items without any affect (hot coals, soap pieces, etc.) Which allows her to power her special device: The Trumpet Gun

-Gifted to her by Wally Wackford, Trinket's Trumpet is the perfect device for a professional bubble blower. With just a push of the trigger, she's not only able to make millions of bubbles instantly, it also can create fire

☆ Even without her trumpet, Trinket can still breathe fire! On the downside, however, she doesn't have much control over the ability whenever she's not using her trumpet, so yes, there is some carnage. . .

☆ Despite her tiny legs, and being well, four, Trinket can walk surprisingly long distances without getting tired

☆ Something others find unnerving about Trinket is her extensive knowledge on bombs and explosives, considering Mammon's old performer (aka Fizzarolli) was an explosive survivor, having him replaced with basically a walking nuke is kinda weird. The good news is the bombs she creates are mostly harmless. Mostly. . .

Headcanons☆

☆ When Mammon first got Trinket, she almost immediately became another one of his brand faces. But unlike the twins, all the content surrounding her is very kid friendly, because kids are a lot harder to entertain than adults, therefore, more expensive to care for

☆ Despite being only a child, Trinket is never nervous when on stage and preforming in front of others. In fact, most of the time, she doesn't ever need to act or hide her emotions. She views performance as a form of play, so she acts like her regular self!

☆ Demons alike, regardless of age, can be instantly charmed by her cuteness! (Move over Fizzy, there's a new cutie patootie in town!) which is what she uses to get what she wants

☆ Reported by Mammon himself, Trinket is weirdly warmer to the touch compared to any other toddler. And it's not because of fur either, that's entirely her body heat

☆ Inside Trinket's room, there's actually a pillow fort beside her bed, called "Trinket's Tent." There, she likes to hide her treasures, a wooden case filled with the tiny things she collects. She considers her fort a place of safety, and only lets those she cares about inside (i.e: her father, the Glam Sisters, and Wally) So if you want a spot in that tent, you'll have to work for it

☆ Whereabouts of Trinket's mother and background are a complete mystery, according to the public, a good portion of hell barely knows she exists! But arriving roughly 6 months after Fizzarolli quit, led to conspiracy theories and rumors of where Trinket came from. But in Mammon's words, "She just kinda happened!"

☆ Another thing most impressive about her room is on one of the walls, labeled "My Friends and Family!" On the wall, is a art mural consisting of portraits of her, Mammon, both Glam sisters, and Wally. Each portrait done by the respected family members, as well as their signatures and painted handprints. Placing a drawing of yourself on this wall is the highest honor, according to Trinket, and can only be earned by gaining her trust

☆ And as expected, she doesn't like when others do things to the wall or take pictures of it without her consent, cause, in her words, "it's not done yet!"

☆When in public, Trinket is extremely easy to lose. She has an unhealthy habit of wandering off and not staying in one place, which leads the adults having to carry her most of the time as to not lose her

☆ Even without friends, Trinket still found ways of having fun, which involved running around, collecting various items. And now that she's does have friends, innocent little adventures turn into something else. . .

☆~Relationships~☆

Mammon: From an outsider looking in, you'd expect their relationship to be a toxic one, considering his old relationship with Fizzarolli was abusive as well. But in reality, that's not entirely true, where yes, Trinket does love her dad and Mammon loves the amount of revenue she makes, making their relationship somewhat one-sided, however, what people don't know is that these two are far more complicated than what they let on. Cause according to Mammon, Trinket is the only one he has in terms of relationships and thankfully, his past with Fizzarolli made him a tiny bit smarter. He learns to nurture and care for Trinket not just to have her stay longer, but to prove others wrong, that he can be a parent! With his status, Mammon's biggest concern is having Trinket taken away from him, so it's safe to say that he became pretty overprotective of his daughter. Overall, the two are slowly building a father-daughter bond, and you can bet that Mammon spoils Trinket rotten with all sorts of luxuries!

The Glam Sisters: Admittingly, to say that the two didn't care for Trinket would be an understatement. The twins initially wanted nothing to do with her, and the fact she was getting more attention than them, they couldn't go a day without hating on each other, let alone a four-year-old toddler. But they soon noticed that their boss became a lot friendlier to the workers who are nice to Trinket, and that changed their relationship fast! At first, it was small things, like doing Trinket's hair and makeup before shows or getting Trinket water after shows, then they went as far as to design her a new stage costume, to which they were quickly favored by their boss. It wasn't long for the whole charade to turn into a competition, trying to win over Trinket and gain their boss's favoritism, all the while Trinket was none the wiser, only thinking their doing it out of kindness. And despite caring for Trinket primarily for the perks, they do genuinely care about her, they just refuse to admit it; they were actually the ones who came up with and created "Trinket's Tent." In her eyes, Trinket views the twins as "cool aunts," who let her get away with anything, and given their endless amounts of perks from the boss, they heavily believe they are

Wally Wackford: With all the nurturing Trinket already receives, it's safe to say that Wally is the most caring out of the main four. Unlike most the workers, Wally's the fondest of taking care of kids, mostly due to his home life, and quite enjoys spending time with Trinket, something which she entirely accepts. Wally is Mammon's inventor, so he's always working, and on rare occasions, he often makes little devices for her to play with. And although Trinket does enjoy the gifts, she can't help but worry for his health

Asmodeus: News about Trinket sort of came out of the blue for a lot of the inhabitants, the other Deadly Sins were no exception. Upon finding out that Mammon, of all demons, had a daughter, Ozzie was a mess of emotions! Relieved, shocked, and most importantly, confused. With how well he knows Mammon, he was immediately set on knowing where exactly Trinket came from, to which he's so far unsuccessful on getting an answer. Other than that, Trinket's relationship with Ozzie is a pitiful one, Ozzie thinking that, because she's being cared for by Mammon, she's possibly neglected to some extent. Doting on her and wanting to get Trinket out of what he thinks is a "toxic environment." All the while, Trinket doesn't take much interest in the Sin of Lust and finds him "weird," mostly due to her father's many warnings on Ozzie and the fact she'd only seen him angered and yelling at her dad. And of course, Mammon takes full advantage of her dislike for Oz, feeding her lines to say to Ozzie himself, and since she's a child, she could get away with saying some messed up shi*. . . (Sorry Oz)

Fizzarolli: Unsurprisingly, finding out about Trinket, he was just as shocked and confused as Ozzie was, especially when you consider the short amount of time that passed since he first quit. But upon meeting the young toddler, he quickly went into "older brother mode." Like Asmodeus, he thinks a place under Mammon's care is completely unfit for someone like Trinket, he did work for him after all! and wanted to help. Yet as he got to know her more and about her experiences with Mammon, he learns just how different Trinket's work environment was to his. Of course, she was very oblivious to what he was trying to get from her, going on about how everyone is so nice to her and how great working for her dad is. Information that, respectfully, bewildered him, he was treated like trash, but Trinket suddenly gets off easy? What's going on?! And sure, it could be due to her being a child, but this is Mammon we're talking about! He treats everyone the same! So rather than figuring out the "how," Fizz is trying to figure out the "why." Meanwhile with Trinket herself, as sad as this sounds, she actually likes Fizz more than Ozzie, due to his recognition and because somewhat reassembles her dad

Oliver (Deaf Kid): Oliver has a hard time making new friends, mostly due to his disability, but what made Trinket so interesting to him was, unlike most kids, she quickly recognized that he was deaf. Both were each other's first friends in different ways; Trinket was Oliver's first friend entirely, whilst Oliver was her first friend who's around her age. Despite the obvious communication barrier, the two manage to find temporary workarounds, the most used being a whistle and a whiteboard and marker, both gifted by Trinket herself. It isn't surprising to say that Oliver is a lot shyer than Trinket, who's a massive social butterfly, and although most the time, he'd rather stay in his bubble, there are times where Trinket does push him to be braver, which helped them in forming their current friend group. Overall, the two are the best of friends and bond over their shared love for art and Fizzarolli!

And that's all! I had this OC cooking up for long time. . . Now is more than the right time to bring her out!

Be on the lookout for other projects And as always, stay tuned^^

[olderthannetfic]

I see your asks about decentralisation of fandom spaces and I want to ask how you ideally see it? Split spaces for each fandom? I just have hard time imagining what it's like. I wasn't on the Internet before this rise of Social Media

--

It wouldn't be by fandom but by taste profile and social group. The thing about those old spaces is that they take a lot of work, and it's much, much harder to be a lurker because to even find out about spaces or to be granted entry, you often have to put yourself out there.

This can be scary and painful for many, but it can also pay off in a community that's more invested in being there and that understands it has its own social norms that may not be 100% exactly like those in every other space. We used to tell people to "lurk more" if they were new and clueless. There was an expectation that you can't actually just hop into every conversation or space instantly, not for gatekeepery reasons (though those certainly happened a lot too), but because that's how socializing works!

If you walk up to some people having a conversation at a party, you need to listen a little for context before you know how to chime in in a way that's on-topic. That was always true online and off, but if you're on twitter or wherever, there's a bit of an expectation nowadays that 100% of everything is intelligible to everyone at all times. The actual technology of tumblr and twitter is designed to de-contextualize conversations and smash people together who will instantly misinterpret or dislike each other. Even if you're trying in good faith not to step on each other's toes, it can be hard figuring out who "owns" a hashtag.

Old mailing lists were a lot like current discords: every time the mods have a big fight, some of them go make a new discord with a new set of rules--usually with some shade thrown on the previous space. Ditto for livejournal coms: there might be only one for a very small fandom, but you'd usually have a few different ones with different rules and focuses and somewhat different sets of users. Fanfic archives were like this too, at least in bigass fandoms like Harry Potter that could sustain multiple different ones.

Harrypotterfanfiction.com just closed after many years. From what I saw, at its closure, it had an active community posting on its forums, and the typical user was probably a Hermione/Draco shipper or into canon-ish gen or something. Compare to AO3 where there are no forums, the HP fans are too numerous to be one single community, and the fic tends to be problematique m/m imported from old archives.

It's pretty cool that those HP fans had a space with a specific vibe they liked and forums all the way up to 2021. A smaller site can often get enough mods with similar views and have low enough traffic to make that work. AO3, while great, is no substitute.

The downside to this approach with lots of different little spaces is that there's no one stop shop for your fandom needs, and it's hard to find things. The upside is that a given space can set social norms as it prefers, whether that's "never bring up loli" or "No spouting 'fanfic is used to groom' bullshit that sounds like pizzagate".

Spaces tend to be pretty nice with a few dozen active users. That's enough that you get a good stream of activity and some different views while still letting you have a sense of everyone as a distinct individual with feelings.

'Decentralization' can also refer to technologies that are more peer-to-peer instead of having one central server. These offer a lot of less corporate possibilities, but they tend to require a certain level of tech know how, at least on the part of the owner/mod.

--

So I guess how I see it is:

spaces with robust moderation tools

spaces that prioritize longform conversation that is findable later (accurate timestamps, good text search, big character limits, possibly asynchronous)--forums can be a good example of this

multiple instances of the same tech but with different social rules (so one discord for the badwrong dubcon fans and a different one for the gen fluff fans; one forum for the people who find debate and concrit fun and another that prioritizes harmony and cheerleading)

hosting that doesn't spy on you and doesn't use an algorithm to direct you to content (so probably paid for by members rather than ad-supported, probably open source rather than run by a big corporation, etc.)

low ability to go viral

sites that are fanfic/art/etc. fandom-focused rather than general geek/sff/anime/etc.-focused and too small/obscure and/or locked/private to appeal to famous actors or aspiring influencers

spaces that prioritize knowing the 20 other fans you're hanging out with rather than worrying about having your finger on the pulse of "all" of fandom

Honestly, it looks a lot like what's going on on discord lately. The only hitch is 1. that discord is realtime chat, which is hard to keep up with if things get busy and 2. that discord is a single company that can pull the plug on everyone easily if they decide certain "icky" content harms their profits.

[troublecominghq]

character name(s)/alias/etc: jesper fahey / the sharp shooter.

character age and date of birth: 21, april 22nd year 100.

character's pronouns/gender identity/romantic & sexual identity: he/him mostly, but vibes with any tbh. genderfluid. bisexual, biromantic & polyam.

character faceclaim: kit young.

oc or canon + which fandom affiliated with: canon, grishaverse.

currently located: the slat, ketterdam.

moral alignment + people/groups etc they are aligned to: chaotic neutral, jesper is one of the last people to be seen following any rules, but he also doesn’t have evil intentions really. he’s a chaotic entity, sure, but there aren’t any overly bad or overly good motivations to it. jesper is entirely aligned and loyal to the dregs/crows, and though he can be reckless at times with it, he cannot be shaken on that.

tell us about their personality/the kind of character they are/what kind of goals etc they have: charming, witty, a touch full of himself, but jesper has a true heart. he’s not above doing dodgy shit to get what he or the crows want/need, and he certainly dabbles in plenty of vices, but he’s not a horrible, evil person. he doesn’t believe in the oppression of others, unless that ‘other’ is some rich fuck getting off on making the lesser suffer. jesper ‘eat the rich but i also wanna be rich’ fahey. jesper can be incredibly reckless, loudmouthed and overly confident. he’s got a habit for fucking shit up though most of the time it’s not intentional, but in the end, even some of his most chaotic of methods get shit done. there just… might be a bit of a detour first. which, on the note of: jesper has a bad habit for even worse decisions. a gambler, an addict to the rush, jesper has a lot of issues around this and relishes in figuring the odds on most things. the downside is that although jesper definitely isn’t suicidal, he takes a lot of risks with his own life. jesper can be a jittery, anxious person at times and he specifically uses these outlets-- gambling, even fighting to get a fix of an adrenaline rush and soothe it. however, in spite of all of this, jesper has a lot of self esteem issues and doesn’t have a genuine, high value on himself. he has a grandiose and exaggerated personality, but the fact is, so much of it is for show and to cover up his many flaws and the parts of himself he hates. he tends to look to his peers-- the crows especially, those he loves and is dedicated to above all else-- for validation. jesper’s goals are simple, to an extent. they don’t align with big, grand ideas as such and are far more personal. he wants to pay off his debts. he wants to live comfortably, rich and content but he doesn’t want to push down others like him to do it. he knows his issues with gambling will likely prevent it, but he clings on to the small dream and that he could undo the mess he’s made of his life since moving to ketterdam. he wants to see his fellow crows happy, to do what he can to help their plans and gains. he kinda would love to see the old fucks of the city taken down a peg or twenty.

biography: born to a kaelish father and zemeni mother, jesper grew up on a jurda farm in novyi zem, close to the western mountains. tragedy struck jesper’s life early with the death of his mother, a grisha, who died using her powers to protect two young girls from poison. in fear of the same happening to his son, jesper’s father discouraged him from using his own powers, insisting he let them go dormant. jesper obeyed, growing up with a fear for his own powers and an internalised hatred-- not for grisha, but simply for his own powers and self. however, grisha that fail to use their powers tend to suffer ‘sicknesses’. in jesper, this presents itself in a seemingly never ending supply of energy building up inside of him, and is why he often seems anxious and jittery and in need of the outlet he uses for it-- gambling and other reckless, adrenaline inducing vices.

coming to ketterdam for university was supposed to be a turning point in jesper’s life. and to an extent, it was. just not in the way he’d planned. drawn in by the lifestyles on offer, jesper very quickly developed a gambling addiction and as such, he ended up dropping out of university early into his new life in ketterdam. this is where he began to dabble in crime, taking on jobs for multiple different gangs in order to pay off his debts, only to repeat the cycle. this broke at least partially when he met kaz brekker who saved him from a severe beating and took him on as a member of the dregs. in spite of his flaws, jesper is an incredibly talented sharp shooter and an asset to the gang. he’s a quick thinker, and easily adjusts when things don’t go as planned.

jesper was quick to join kaz on the job to find and kidnap the alleged sun summoner and had one hell of a time crossing the fold, delving into more heists and general causing chaos in ravka. tragically though, things didn’t quite go as planned and the crows had to return to ketterdam without a prize but, hey, at least they survived? but that didn’t mean it was an easy return by any means, not when their exit had left so many loose ends in the first place and brought more enemies to the table than planned. but jesper’s faith in kaz never failed, and thankfully, it wasn’t misplaced. some bribery here, a little heartrending beautiful tweaks there and eventually, things were back on track for the crows. jesper knew there was still a threat lurking though, but it didn’t stop him from diving right back into his usual chaotic life. till, that was, a new job came to the table. the biggest one yet and promising a lot more than a million kruge split three ways.

breaking into the fjerdan ice court was a shit show, but one that, in spite of the fuck ups, jesper relished in. the exact kind of thrill he thrived on. of course, until one of their own is kidnapped. but in true crows fashion, they go just as hard, if not harder to get inej back and completely destroy jan van eck. for once, things finally work. maybe not as planned entirely, but they get their win. the dregs come out on top, and jesper feels somewhat settled in knowing that he finally managed to begin to make things right not only with his friends, but with his father too.

but now, he has a whole lot of actual secure looking future to play with and he has to wonder: what beautiful way can he play with that? because he’s far from done with being a chaotic lil fuck.

for those writing canon grishaverse characters particularly from the s&b trilogy, please outline any instances of divergence you wish to include within your portrayal, even if it’s already been mentioned in the biography: when it comes to jesper, i’m chill to keep pretty much everything established in the books while of course, having included the show details too!

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 25: Thoughts on Writing

So I’ve decided I want to do a bit of thinking on writing. The truth is that I actually don’t think about it that often anymore, and haven’t for several weeks, not since I realized I needed a break and declared a hiatus. I really did think I’d get over that hiatus in a couple days but it’s seeping into me instead. I told myself I’d take as long as I needed but… at some point, because creating is difficult, you do need to make a choice to just do it even though it is hard and you don’t feel ready. I’ve been trying to balance that—knowing that writing is good for me and good for my mental health—with forgiveness for myself. Something is telling me that I need a break. I’m not always great at listening to myself, the unconscious urges and instincts, so I am trying to do that.

I suspect a big part of this is that I’m inching out of the fandom. I never plan to leave or enter a fandom, I just go where I feel I want to be. But nevertheless… I am torn. A part of me doesn’t want to leave. That part thinks of all the good ideas I had and all the unfinished ideas, and wants to complete things, and to continue to explore. But another part of me just doesn’t care, doesn’t feel inspired at all. I’m not really inspired to write in other fandoms either (though I am toying with non-T100 ideas in a way I haven’t in probably about 3 years), so it’s not just that T100 isn’t an interesting place for me rn, and may never be again, but that is part of it for sure.

I could go into the other reasons but I didn’t sit down with the intention of dwelling on that. This is more about… what do I want, and what should I do? How much do I just content myself with other things and how much do I force myself to write, and in what direction? I could certainly fill my hours with other things, even other productive things. But being able to leave myself and my apartment, mentally, through writing is so important to me, and especially so now. I know that when I don’t write for long periods of time, my brain becomes stagnant and I feel dull. I already feel this happening. I’m not sure if it’s a chicken or an egg but I need the escape. I just don’t know how. I don’t even know my own instincts. What do I WANT, what’s the IDEAL, what should I be striving FOR?

So. There are a couple of possibilities.

One possible goal certainly is to finish things, to check things off a list. I love my lists and this part of me, the just do it part, has always been and will always be in conflict with the more creative part, which just wants to follow whims. Of course actually creating completed things of any sort does require discipline and forcing yourself when you don’t feel like it so I know these aren’t really incompatible instincts, but they do feel like it often. I have a lot of half-finished fics. I have a lot of ideas that have been haunting me for a while in an annoying way. And I have outstanding requests. So one thing I could do is just focus on those things that I most want to say ‘well that’s done now, good’ regardless of inspiration, and then hope that the joy of writing naturally follows, once I give myself time, space, goals, etc. The advantages of this are that even if it’s not as satisfying as I hoped, something will at least get done. Plus, I don’t need to figure out what I “really” want, or put pressure on myself to find the ‘perfect’ inspiration. It’s going to be hard no matter what, anyway.

The downside of this is that having a plan to get back into a hobby by making it the most like work as possible seems… dumb.

Another possibility is that I continue just writing fragments, individual scenes, free writes, etc., instead of pursuing stories, multi-chapter fics, or other longer projects. This is basically all I’ve been doing since finishing the AWWNH Interlude a month ago. The most story-like thing I wrote since then was Fifteen Miles, which did require a couple false starts, but which is still under 2k and pretty simple. I actually do like the scenes I’ve written and it feels good but not stressful. I have found in the past though that when I do too much of this kind of writing, it starts to feel… difficult in itself because each story is short but it’s also something I have to start from scratch. Of course it’s not like I have to do a certain number of them, so I can keep my overall output small while still not losing the writing habit entirely.

Option three: it’s not about writing, it’s about planning. To be honest, this is all a part of me wants to do. Outlines. Brainstorms. Sit on my couch with a notebook and hand write vague ideas I may or may not ever write. I haven’t actually been doing this, or at least not precisely and not much, partially because I just haven’t had the time/energy for ANYTHING recently, and partially because… I guess in a way I feel like I don’t deserve it. Like planning new projects is for when you’re done with current projects. I realize this is unreasonable but it’s the truth.

And finally, I could try to really, really detach myself from any care about what I “should” be writing, and just write whichever of my ideas most speaks to me in any given moment or, otherwise, something chosen randomly, since often it’s hard to tell what I’m in the mood for (again, creating is hard, and it’s always hard—doing nothing is always easier than pursuing even the best, most interesting idea). I don’t necessarily ever have to finish anything, and I can work for as long as I want or don’t want. Realistically, I’m probably not going to have much of an audience for my fics again, at least not in this fandom, so I might as well really lean into writing things for me. I don’t owe anything to anyone! If it’s not enjoyable for me and I don’t like the finished project, it is not worth it, and I should cease to care.

This attitude is not in my nature but I could use more of it.

The truth is I do want to be able to post things again and have people actually want to read them, to have them look exciting etc., because I’m only human and I love validation. But that’s beyond my control. So I can’t get caught up in it, or let it distract me in any way.

Realistically, I’ll probably do a combination of these things. I’ve been collecting a large document of current projects and ideas for a little bit now; it’s one of the few creativity-adjacent things I have been able to do and have liked doing. I’m going to continue with that, and I’m going to try to make time to write on the weekend. I’m going to put a slight emphasis on requests since I feel the worst about those being unfinished. And otherwise I’m just going to work on random projects, and try to be as little concerned with quality as possible, at least for now. I’m also going to make time to just plan stuff for fun, since that’s something I actually do actively want to do (and I know that it’s a lot harder than it seems… it’s still ‘work’ in a sense, still ‘productive’).

I’ve been really topsy-turvy this week and now that it’s almost over… I’m not sure what to expect from the weekend. I hope to get enough rest today and tomorrow that I can actually accomplish stuff on the weekend itself. I might be going out on Saturday… depending on the weather, just to sit outside away from my apartment. Might do some notebook-writing then. It’s demoralizing to spend a long time on something and get little in return, in terms of word counts, etc., but I’m going to try to gear myself up for that likelihood, and focus on what I need the writing for: to get out of myself, to deeply imagine another time and place and other people who aren’t me, and be in their heads. I would like that. I am going to try.

[walters-tampon-string]

Method Acting

Fandom: Durarara!!!

Rating: T

Warnings: Implied sexual content (some mild hints but nothing too drastic)

Characters: Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima

Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Heiwajima Shizuo

Description:  No one told them that there was going to be a kiss scene involved...

“What are you smiling about, bastard?” Shizuo Heiwajima growled, trying to put as much hatred into his glare as possible. After all, if Izaya was smiling, then that could mean nothing good for him. The best he could hope for was that he could somehow manage to intimidate the bastard into reconsidering whatever it was he was plotting in that head of his. But that would be the day pigs flew. He could try to strangle Izaya with a metal pipe, and the bastard still wouldn’t be frightened of him. He was too cheeky and brave for his own good. Shizuo was glaring goddamn daggers into him, but the man’s face remained practically serene as he spun around and hummed, the long pink and white kimono he had draped on flowing around him with an elegant grace.

“I just think we finally got put into very fitting and appropriate roles for once. I, a rich, prominent noble person, and you, a lowly servant-” Izaya’s sentence ended with a yelp as he dodged the water bottle Shizuo chucked at him, the bottle exploding everywhere, unfortunately nowhere near the louse.

Shizuo gritted his teeth in annoyance. What exactly was getting on his nerves, he wasn’t sure. Was he irritated because Izaya was being a perpetual asshole like always? But he should be used to it by now. Was he mad at himself for allowing Izaya’s quips to get under his skin in the first place? Shizuo had always had a ridiculously short fuse and bad anger issues. It didn’t take much for his temper to flare, and that flaw of his had almost caused him to lose roles before, seeing as some directors or actors felt afraid to work with him. He would like to point out if they didn’t want him blowing up half the time, they should try to avoid productions that involved Izaya, but whatever.

Maybe it was even something as base as the fact that no matter what he threw, Izaya managed to always have the evasiveness of a god and dodge it. It was a constant frustration, when all he wanted was to see the bastard get his just desserts for once.

Maybe it was a combination of all three.

Even though he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing the water bottle hit, he took consolation at the filthy look Izaya threw his way, his strange wine-red eyes glimmering with hatred.

“Fuck you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya hissed. Shizuo felt his eye twitch at the nickname. Fuck did he hate the little bastard.

Shizuo was pretty sure he had some kind of blessing-curse rombo-combo going on right now. He was somewhat blessed, because he’d actually been managing to land a steady stream of roles, especially for a newer actor such as himself, and his status was taking off faster than he expected it to. Granted, most of his roles so far had been pretty small - just some parts in a couple of commercials and a few background roles in some TV shows and movies - but he had actually managed to land a few good spots.

He had gotten a very solid voice acting role for the main character of a popular anime, got to act as a main side character in a TV show for two seasons, and had even played the main antagonist in a monster movie that was getting quite the cult following.

He had been getting more and more fan letters, more and more interviews, and his name was being reached to a wider audience.

Pretty good, right?

However, there was a downside to it all. The curse of it being that almost ninety percent of the productions involved him working with Izaya Orihara. Izaya Orihara and him probably should get along. They were from very similar circumstances. They were both relatively young actors who were trying to make it in the industry. They had both been willing to pursue acting, despite knowing the risks such a life involved.

However, Izaya was an absolute asshole. He was always taunting, always sniping, always verbally jabbing at him. The pest even had a tendency to play pranks every now and then. And what Shizuo didn’t understand was why it was only him? Of course, he’d seen Izaya be mean to others, but he’d also seen a humble side of the flea. One who was professional and polite. Why couldn’t he get that kind of side of him? Even if it was just another act that the flea was pulling off. Was it because he had accidentally decked him and nearly broke his nose during a fake fight scene during one of their television shoots? Because that had been an accident .

Well, whatever the reason, it seemed Izaya had a personal vendetta against him and was determined to annoy him in anyway possible. One of his newer methods, Shizuo had been noticing was nicknaming him stuff. Protozoan had been the first, which, okay… was just a fancy way of saying the word idiot. He supposed as far as insults went though, it was generic though. But then, the flea had began throwing the word ‘monster’ around, probably to hint at the time Shizuo had, during the movie where he played the antagonist, “transformed” into a monster and had to wear a rubber suit, which Izaya, of course had found amusing.

Then, in one of the episodes of the TV show, there had been a miscommunication error, and for a good segment of the episode in question, a character thought Shizuo was a woman, who called herself ‘Shizu-chan.’ Ever since that episode had hit the airwaves, Izaya had been using the nickname to death.

He had considered getting the directors, but he knew that would be fruitless. Izaya had a way with words. Shizuo didn’t know how the flea did it, but he could get almost everyone wrapped around his finger in an instant. He would be able to convince the directors that it was simple misunderstanding or joke and sometimes, even pose it in a way that made Shizuo look like the bad guy.

So, he supposed if he wanted to be out of here faster, he should just do his lines as well as he could so he could get away from Izaya faster.

Also to get out of this tuxedo faster as well. It was making him feel unbearably hot.

So, turning away, he went to go some distance away from the flea. He had to remember… he was in a movie. A really big budget movie. The boost in his career this would give him would make it well worth having to deal with Shizuo.

He read over the lines of his script. His part was a bit harder. His character was a servant who’d been transferred from England to Japan, so he had to speak some lines with a bit of an accent and sprinkle in some broken Japanese every now and then, in order to try and make it authentic. It would lead help lead to the character Izaya was playing, Sakuraya, to feel the need to tutor the butler character, which would then lead to their eventual falling in love.

Shizuo grimaced. Not at the story itself. The story and the lines were fine. But the idea of having any romantic involvement with Izaya made him miserable just thinking about it.

But at least the directors had wanted their relationship to be “subtle” and “somewhat hidden” as to help fit the time period. So, the most they would be doing was handholding and maybe a hug.

And Shizuo supposed he could resist breaking Izaya’s hand enough to do a shoot.

All of a sudden, the director was calling for them to get into their positions. Shizuo took a breath.

Here went nothing. -------------------

Shizuo hated Izaya, but he had to admit, he saw why Izaya kept getting hired back. The guy was a very good actor. In fact, Shizuo might even say he had more talent than Shizuo, at least with his acting range. Izaya could seemingly put on any face he needed, always seemed to put the right inflection to his words. He spoke very eloquently and his memorization skills of his lines was top notch.

Shizuo, on the other hand, was a little harder on these aspects. It took him a couple tries to say some lines right and some lines he just struggled to remember. He wondered if that was part of the reason Izaya hated him too, because he was the only reason they were somewhat slow in any production. Well, Shizuo found Izaya’s infuriating perfectness to be annoying as well, so there.

But once they got it all down, the scenes seemed to flow naturally. Once Shizuo got himself in the right headspace, it was almost hard for him to remember that the soft hands he was holding belonged to the bastard flea.

They said their lines, they did their scenes, and eventually… the day was over.

Izaya stood up and looked at his hands in disgust, “Gotta go wash my hands now. Shizu-chan’s filthy hands no doubt got germs all over them.”

“Oi! What do you mean, filthy, you bastard?” Shizuo hissed.

And just like that, the illusion was dead and they were enemies once more. --------------------- “WHAT?” Both Shizuo and Izaya exclaimed the next day when they looked at the now changed script.

“You cannot be serious,” Izaya said, looking at the director imploringly.

“Please,” Shizuo groaned, “I’d be willing to do anything so long as you don’t do this.”

However, the director had very little sympathy for their plight. “We’ve decided the one way to get people to actually talk about the movie is if you two kiss. It makes it more romantic anyway.”

Izaya opened his mouth, and the director cut him off, “Before you say anything about historical accuracy, Izaya, it’s historical fiction for a reason. And if you noticed, the kiss happens in private. It’s staying in. If you two are that adamant about not doing it, we can easily find new actors to replace both of you.”

Shizuo supposed it couldn’t be more straightforward than that.

Growling, they both walked away in disgust.

“Remind me to buy some mouthwash before we shoot,” Izaya said, rolling his eyes.

Shizuo bristled, “You know I am not exactly eager, either, you fucking bastard.”

Izaya gave him a smirk and said, “Oh please, this is the probably the best thing to ever have happened for you. As far as I know, I might even be Shizu-chan’s first kiss!” He sing-songed the last part, mockingly.

“You wish, you rotten flea!” Shizuo said, tossing the script at Izaya, who like always, managed to dart away right in time, giggling.

He refused to acknowledge the fact that unfortunately, what Izaya said was indeed the truth.

Oh well… he supposed he had no choice.

The things one was willing to do for one’s craft.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- Acting was a little harder that day, at least for Shizuo. Naturally, he got into the flow of things again, but he couldn’t help but be distracted in the back of his mind that his lips were going to have to touch Izaya’s. And what’s worse, the director wanted it to look authentic. It couldn’t just be a little peck or anything, it had to involve tongue and everything, because of course it did.

Eventually though, as they continued to do the scene, it became a bit easier to fall into the role. He and Izaya were sitting on their knees, and Izaya had placed a hand on his knee, the two of them staring into one another’s eyes. Once again, Shizuo had to give it to Izaya’s acting ability. There seemed to be an actual heat in the gaze, and it seemed to electrify the air around Shizuo.

The scene was coming up any second now. Izaya was the one who had to initiate it.

Suddenly, the hand on Shizuo’s knee lifted and delicate, soft fingers touched his cheek. Eyes half-lidded, Izaya whispered, “Shitsuo-san, may I try something with you?”

“Of course,” Shizuo replied, eyes going half-lidded himself. He tried to look calm and somewhat confused, even though he was antsy as hell.

He had expected Izaya to hesitate. He probably would’ve if he was in the flea’s situation. However, the slender man actually closed his eyes and pressed their lips together immediately, his hand winding into Shizuo’s hair in a way that felt way to good.

Shizuo had to admit, he was a bit surprised. He had expected Izaya to purposely make this miserable for him. Maybe eat something absolutely nasty so his breath reeked or something while they were kissing, but Izaya’s lips actually felt soft and his breath warm. Shizuo hoped the fact that he stiffened when Izaya kissed him translated to his character being surprised rather than he himself being nervous.

Now was the point where Shizuo’s character was supposed to protest.

Pushing Izaya off of him lightly, he grabbed Izaya’s hands and said, “Master Sakuraya, we… we can’t.”

Izaya breathily chuckled and said, “Of course we can Shitsuo, so long as we are clever and coy.”

Then once more, Izaya pressed his lips to Shizuo’s. And this was the part where they were supposed to get more intense with the kiss, Shitsuo eventually giving in to his desires, at least for a moment. Izaya reminded him of this by tracing the line of his lips with his tongue, which caused Shizuo to gasp involuntarily. The flea took advantage of this, his tongue goading Shizuo’s to work with him. The flea was letting out convincing little hums too.

He was too good at this.

Eventually, Shizuo went along with it. And it felt good. Izaya was a great kisser, despite all of his other flaws. Shizuo found himself actually getting lost somewhat in baser desires.

However, eventually Izaya pulled away and his character let out a giggle, “See, you seemed to enjoy that, Shitsuo-san.”

Now, this was where Shitsuo was supposed to exit the scene. Pushing Izaya away, this time more roughly, he wiped at his lips and said, “No Sakuraya, doing such illicit acts will get us in trouble eventually. I… I have to leave.”

He stood up to leave, hearing Izaya’s character call out, “Shitsuo, please-!”

But Shizuo’s character snapped the door closed.

“CUT!” he heard the director say, but Shizuo continued to walk on until he reached the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. Had… he actually enjoyed kissing Izaya? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night Shizuo was haunted by his dreams. Dreams of soft lips against his. The feeling of hands shifting through his hair. But there was a slight change to the context of the dreams. Instead of innocent hums, it was shameless hums he was swallowing. Instead of pushing Izaya away, his hands were slipping underneath Izaya’s kimono, feeling up the man’s pale skin, pinching a nipple and causing the other man to mewl in his mouth.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whined, “Please-”

Shizuo awoke with a groan. Shit… what the fuck… --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working with Izaya was already a pain in the ass, with the flea being, well, the way he was.

But somehow, this felt even worse. Cause now, he felt awkward.

His dreams hadn’t ended there. They had continued well throughout the night. Every single time, Izaya was in a new position, saying new things, but the concept was basically the same. Shizuo felt himself burning with shame.

Sure, Izaya was attractive, and okay, he was a good kisser. But he was an asshole.

And he was his coworker. He had to remember this. That kiss had been nothing but acting. Nothing else.

But for the whole day, as they were doing their shoots, Shizuo found he couldn’t focus. He kept messing up the lines, he refused to make eye contact with Izaya half the time, and he couldn’t put any heart into his lines.

Eventually, the director, frustrated, decided that what they needed was a break. He gave generic advice to Shizuo, which made him feel embarrassed… but he had simply nodded and walked away to the set to get a drink from his water bottle, wondering if it was going to be like this for the whole rest of the movie shoot. Because if so, he was going to lose a very valuable acting role, cause he highly doubted this director would have the patience to deal with him.

All of a sudden, he felt something hit him in the back. Not too hard, but enough to catch him off-guard.

When he looked down, he saw a water bottle rolling innocently by his foot. When he looked at the direction it had been thrown from, he saw Izaya smirking, saying, “Revenge.”

When Shizuo didn’t laugh, Izaya said, “Oh fine, no sense of humor… anyway, I just came to ask what the hell was with you up there? You struggle sometimes, but never that badly. What’s got you so bothered?”

Shizuo swallowed as he looked at Izaya. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Izaya actually blinked in surprise for a moment. Shizuo expected him to refuse or to be disgusted, but Izaya actually just smirked.

“What?” Shizuo barked gruffly, already bracing for Izaya to mock him.

However, he was pleasantly surprised when Izaya just said, “See… told you it would be the best thing to happen to you.”

Shizuo rolled his eyes and snapped, “Shut up and come over here, flea, before I regret it.”

“Happy to oblige,” Izaya said with a purr, before striding over and pressing their lips in a kiss.

It was as good as Shizuo remembered it.

He would’ve been happy to stay there for a while, but Izaya pulled away and said, “If you want continued kisses, you got to take me out to dinner first.”

Shizuo swallowed and said, “Deal.”

Izaya was an asshole… but maybe… just maybe… he could get this to work.

Shizuo had always been the hopeful sort.

[pumpkins-s]

Never Liked The Quiet Before

Read on AO3 Here

Read the First Chapter Here

At the time when Allura is roughly around six cycles old, she firmly believes that the world is perfect.

After all, why wouldn’t she? She’s the princess of an advanced, cultured race with, as far as she’s concerned, the universe’s best festivals and the most beautiful planet across all the galaxies, lush with fields of juniberries, and she lives in a castle that can literally fly through space if the need arises.

Nothing has gone wrong in her life, and nothing ever will.

(Or, Allura remembers the paladins of old, and then tries to forget.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Allura & Previous Paladins, Allura & Coran, Keith/Lance, Original Blue Paladin/Original Red Paladin

Characters: Allura, OCs in the form of the past paladins, Coran, Shiro, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Keith, Alfor, Zarkon

Chapter 2: At The Core

Really, Allura thinks, she got very lucky that Lance and Hunk turned out to be good friends.

Or unlucky, depending on how she looked at it.

On the plus side, it meant that her natural inclinations to pair them together for drills and assignments, like when they first went to retrieve the Yellow lion, worked out smoothly, the two of them working together just as naturally as their predecessors. 

On the downside… It led to… feelings.

She’s really not sure how the relationship between two people reminding her of another pair leads to such intense introspection on her part, but, well… she’s never really been sensible when it came to matters involving Rhian, even ten thousand years down the line.

In many ways, it has inevitably damaged any chances she ever had of developing a normal friendship with Lance. Admittedly, Lance’s flirtatious habits are slightly bothersome, but Allura doesn’t get the impression he has any actual interest in her in that way, and she rather honestly believes that if she told him it bothered her or made her uncomfortable, rather than just ignoring or rebuking him, he would cease the behavior immediately.

No, as a whole, there’s nothing actually inherently wrong with Lance. He’s earnest, well meaning, enthusiastic, and kind.

She just… cannot bring herself to like him.

Every time she looks at him, she is reminded of who once stood in his place.

(Coran is much the same, really, when it comes to Pidge. Allura doesn’t think she’s ever heard him call the green paladin by her name. Perhaps he fears using the wrong one.)

It’s different with the others, she thinks. She was never as close with the other paladins as she was with Rhian. They were friends, of course, even like extended family to her, but Rhian was… Everything. The only person in her life she had loved more had been her father.

It’s frustrating, not being able to let this, let her, go for the sake of Lance and of the future, but Allura is not strong enough. He’s too similar, and yet too different.

Then again, much is different with these paladins. Not only in how they look and act, but also inevitably in their relationships with each other. Shiro and Keith seem intimately close, like family or at least lifelong friends, but Zarkon and the former red paladin had a cordial relationship at the best of times, Zarkon’s betrayal easily killing their fragile friendship.

And while Rhian had been the heart of the paladins of old, it seems much the opposite for these paladins in relation to their blue companion. Pidge and Lance are amicable, yes, but not incredibly close, and when it comes to Shiro and Keith… Well. Keith and Lance fight more than anything else, which admittedly isn’t entirely different from the initial behavior of their former counterparts, but that behavior had changed quickly back then, while these two seem content to continuously scrap and argue.

Shiro’s relationship with Lance is perhaps the most bothersome. Lance seems to admire Shiro, but the other appears to tolerate him at best. It’s a jarring difference from the way Zarkon and Rhian had treated each other, and while admittedly there is no blood relation here holding Shiro and Lance together, watching them interact still feels inherently wrong to Allura when one doesn’t seem to even like the other.

It’s just… too different from the way things were. Even after everything went wrong, when Zarkon turned his back on the universe, and on them, Rhian had never stopped loving her father.

If nothing else, Lance has Hunk, and Hunk has Lance. The depth of their friendship is somewhat subtle, but over time Allura has come to recognize it for what it holds in similarity to Rhian and the former yellow paladin’s. They clearly care about each other, and express impressive loyalty in that regard. Allura has no doubt they’d take a bullet for each other, just as their predecessors would, and had for that matter, on numerous occasions.

But yes, she finds in many ways the only similar relationship among the paladins is that of Hunk and Lance. Hence, her complicated feelings on it— For as much as it’s nice to find something in the behavior of her paladins that feels like her home, it makes it harder to look at Lance and Hunk and not see them.

It has been a matter of weeks, and it has been ten thousand years, and yet the universe will not let Allura forget.

    After the fight against the robobeast on the Balmera, once Hunk has slipped away with Shay to talk and the rest of her paladins are mingling with the locals and celebrating on the surface, Allura finds herself making polite excuses to avoid conversation and then disappearing from the group to wander the caves below aimlessly, hands brushing along the walls in silent contemplation.

She doesn’t know what she is looking for. Well. No, that is not quite correct. She knows what she seeks, she is just aware she will not find it here.

And yet, she walks.

The Balmera hums to her, warmth coiling under the rock beneath her fingertips. It talks to her less in words and more in sensations, her revival of it with her quintessence connecting her to it much like it is to its inhabitants.

The first Balmeran she had known in her now ridiculously long life had once compared it to the bond he felt with his lion, deep and wordless and unfathomable. 

Allura sighs, the Balmera calls to her, asking her what it is she is searching for, and she smiles, shaking her head sadly. “I will not find it here.” She tells it softly.

It is impossible for this to be his Balmera, she knows.  It was likely destroyed centuries ago, in Zarkon’s quest to erase everything tied to his past, and the people in it. She knows, for she has seen the files Pidge has managed to retrieve from the Galran databases so far. The family Zarkon once had— Rhian, Almari, Haggari, they are all nonexistent in the history books. Women lost to time.

 If Zarkon can erase his wife and daughter from history, can destroy the race of people the man who was once like a brother to him belonged to, it is probably not much of a leap to assume he would destroy the planet of a man he once called his friend.

 In a way, Allura is surprised there are still Balmeran people left around at all. Perhaps the value of the labor was worth more than the haunting memories, to Zarkon.

 She would not know, she thinks she would give up many things, even those not hers to give, to be free of her past.

 Again the Balmera calls to her, wishing to know what she seeks, and Allura hesitantly answers. “One like your own. A Balmeran.” She huffs out a breath, falling against the wall and sinking to the ground, curling her arms around herself. “One who was like a brother to me, a lifetime ago.”

 He’s dead, she knows. They are all dead, and yet she keeps looking, for answers if nothing else.

 Quiznak, she doesn’t even know how they died. Why can’t the universe at least tell her that?

 “Allura?” Coran’s searching voice calls down the hallway, and a moment later he appears, studiously looking around until his eyes land on her and he brightens, walking over to her and, after a moment of hesitation, squatting down so he can face her at the same level where she is sitting. “Is everything alright?”

 “Fine.” She offers him a small smile. “I was just… speaking to the Balmera.”

 “Mmm.” Coran hums sagely, eyes flickering up to the cavern ceiling above them. “I do not think this place can offer either of us the answers we seek, my dear.”

 “I know, Coran.” Allura says softly. “It is just… Overwhelming, once you are not distracted with fighting. I did not wish to disturb the locals with my musings while they are celebrating.”

 Coran laughs somberly, standing up and offering her a hand, which she gratefully takes as he helps her to her feet. “I understand what you mean.” Coran says with faux cheerfulness. “When Hunk and myself first met Shay and her family, he seemed so at home with them I half expected him to start speaking with a Balmeran accent and talk about mineral contents in the rocks.” Allura snorts, and Coran smiles. “You are allowed to grieve, Allura.”

 She giggles wetly, rubbing at her eyes despite herself. “I don’t have the luxury or the time to grieve. The paladins need a guiding hand, not a little girl who weeps for the dead.”

 “…He would be proud, you know. All of them would.” Coran offers. “And grateful, I’m sure. Different Balmera or not, these are his people. It would mean something to him that you protected them, and their home.”

 “Would he, really?” Allura asks, unable to help herself. At Coran’s frown, she shakes her head, brushing past him and heading back up the tunnel to the surface.

 She’s pretty sure saving what’s left of this planet is the least of what she owes the Balmeran who was once a paladin, after everything that happened, but Coran doesn’t need to know that.

 This is her guilt to keep.

   They find the yellow paladin on a medium-sized Balmera on the edge of the Galrae system when Allura is just under ten cycles old.

 It’s supposed to be a routine check-in. The residents had reported sightings of Marusian fighter craft circling the atmosphere, when they were expressly banned from entering the Galrae system with military craft without permission, and the castle was in need of a couple small crystals for powering some minor backup systems anyways, so the two tasks of checking up on the rumors and collecting the crystals had been folded into one quick stop to the planet.

 Uncle Zarkon, Aunt Almari, Rhian, and some of their staff are with them when they go to visit the Balmera. They have been visiting the castle more often now, since Rhian bonded with the Blue lion. It was one thing to separate Black from the other lions for long periods of time, but both Father and Zarkon agreed it would not do to keep two lions separate from the other three constantly, nor would the Blue lion stand to be apart from Rhian, practically throwing the giant mechanical lion equivalent of a temper tantrum when that was suggested. So, for now Rhian and her family shuttle back and forth between Galrae and the Castle of Lions every few weeks, though Allura has overheard conversations between her father and Zarkon about them, or at least Rhian, moving into the Castle fulltime if and when another paladin is found.

 She… doesn’t know how to feel about that. As much as having Rhian around all the time sounds wonderful, Allura feels like their relationship has grown complicated since Rhian became a paladin.

 Glancing to her left, Allura watches Rhian waiting patiently as the castle makes to land on the Balmera, her arms crossed behind her and a neutral expression on her face. For what’s primarily a diplomatic visit, Rhian’s donned her traditional Galran assemble like she used to wear when they were younger, before Blue, but it’s become something of a rarity for Allura to see her friend wearing such clothes. More often than not these days, she only ever sees Rhian wearing the form-fitting bodysuit with its light plates of armor that is typical Galran sparring gear, always seemingly going to or coming back from some kind of training— Flying, hand-to-hand combat, weapons instructions, diplomacy… Allura is no stranger to self-defense training, it’s something taught to many Altean children for their own safety in a race of diplomats and explorers, but it still feels to her like all Rhian does these days is practice and practice and practice.

 She long thought Rhian would get bored of it, that her light-hearted, bubbly friend would give up and quit, and yet she never faltered, not once in the cycles since she became the Blue paladin.

 “It’s my duty.” Rhian told her only once, expression joyful and bright. “I am Blue’s. I am going to be a protector of the universe, just like Dad. It’s all worth it.”

 She wonders how it is, in this quick passing of time, that Rhian has grown up so rapidly when she herself still feels much the same.

 Sighing, Allura turns away from Rhian, watching her father and the others gathered around the ship’s main console, talking in low voices. Zarkon is standing in his armor, a couple of his guards hovering over his shoulder, and to his left Almari hovers with patient grace, her Druid robes hugging her form in a picture of Queenly beauty and prestige. A couple feet from her, Haggari shifts quietly in her spot, playing with the book in her hands, looking somewhere between bored and wishing to join in the conversation, if not too awkward to do so.

 Haggari doesn’t often come with them for diplomatic matters, despite the talent Zarkon feels she shows for it. She’s something of a recluse, from what Allura has observed in her short time, preferring her research to dealing with a throng of people. A reflection of her childhood, she had once overheard Almari say, as Haggari had learned young that she stuck out amongst both Galrans and Alteans.

 The Druid in question does hold a striking image in Allura’s mind. Druids are classically considered the intersection between Galrans and Alteans, a group of people of mixed bloodlines that long ago grew into their own mini-race, with an odd kind of magic granted to them by their mixed ancestries. Druids don’t always marry and have children inside their own, but when they occasionally do marry an outsider it is more often with Galrans, who they generally looked more like, albeit with Alteans’ slim builds.

 If nothing else, given Druids make their home on Galrae, someone like Haggari is unusual. With a Druid mother and Altean father, Haggari carries an odd mix of features— The purple splashes on her otherwise warm brown skin are really all she got from her mother, marked by her Altean blood with her altean ears, reddish-pink markings under her eyes, and her long white hair she constantly wears pulled back in a small clasp that parts it into two gathered sections at the back of her head, much like Rhian has taken to emanating lately.

 She’s not biologically related to Almari. The latter had adopted her into her coven after she lost her parents as a child, and Almari had called her sister since.

 Allura thinks it’s a lovely story, one she’s had Almari repeat to her many times. She’d love to ask Haggari about it one day, if only the other wasn’t so shy.

 Speaking of… Allura grins when Haggari glances up and over at her, waving once and deciding to count it as a victory when Haggari hesitantly waves back.

 As the sister of the woman she calls Aunt, she is Allura’s family, Haggari just doesn’t know it yet.

 There’s a rumble and a creak as the ship lands, and Allura bounces excitedly in place, looking to the adults. The moment they all shift to leave, she allows herself to be free of her waiting spot, bounding over and grabbing Rhian’s hand. “Do you want to go explore?”

 Rhian hesitates, and from across the room Zarkon calls for her. “Rhian, come! The Balmerans are very excited to meet the second paladin!”

 Rhian lights up, ears flicking forward in attentiveness as she looks to her father. “Coming Dad!” Carefully, she slips her hand free of Allura’s. “Sorry, ‘Lura. We can go adventuring later, okay?”

 “I… okay.” Allura says, watching sullenly as Rhian waves goodbye to her and scampers after her father. She crosses her arms and stares at the ground, only jolted from her pouting when she feels her father’s hand land gently on her shoulder.

 “What’s wrong, Allura?” He asks her kindly. “I thought you were eager to see the Balmera?”

 “I am!” She yelps. “It’s just… I wanted to see it with Rhian, and she never has time for me anymore.”

 Alfor chuckles, lifting his hand to smooth it along the top of her head. “I know it can be frustrating, but Rhian is under a lot of pressure right now. We weren’t expecting to find any of the paladins so young, and as it stands Rhian is not yet thirteen cycles yet being asked to train to be both a soldier and as the future leader of her planet, much like you in that regard. You must have patience with her, dear.”

 Allura sighs. “Yes Father, I know.”

   Even on her own, the Balmera proves to be entertaining to Allura. Within five minutes of landing, once her father and the others have headed off to speak with the locals, she slips the guard assigned to watch her and runs off to explore in the crystal fields, coaxing a few Balmeran children into playing a game of tag with her. It’s plenty of fun, and Allura is reveling in the fact that she doesn’t need Rhian, thank you very much, she can have plenty of fun without her.

 …At least, she is until the Marusian fighter jets appear.

 There’s a scream from one of the other children, and Allura turns quickly to see the craft swooping down on them, firing off a shot that misses Allura by only a few feet, demolishing the crystal that stood there seconds ago. She stumbles back, eyes wide, and looks up to see the jet circling around, guns humming as they light up, preparing to fire once again

 In an instant, they’re all running, Allura stumbling over her own skirt as the other children sprint ahead in a panic, their larger size allowing them a much faster escape. She shrieks as another shot goes wide, hitting the ground on the left of her and sending her reeling, tripping over a smaller crystal and hitting the ground hard. She groans, pushing her upper body off the rock, wincing as it cuts into her hands, and watches as the fighter swoops around again, clearly set on her.

 She has barely a second to wonder if her luck has run out, if it will hurt, before strong arms suddenly grab her off the ground and purple lightning dances from a hand thrust in front of her, grabbing the Marusian fighter and consuming it, sending it crashing to the ground.

 Allura gapes, unblinking, then slowly turns to look at the person responsible, Haggari’s frightened purple irises staring back down at her. “Are you alright?”

 “…Yes.” Allura answers, still feeling shell-shocked. She’s never seen Druid magic shaped like that before.

 Haggari nods once, shaky. “Come.” She gathers Allura tighter, and the world around them shivers. Allura squeezes her eyes shut in panic, and when she opens them again, they are in front of the castle.

 “Allura!” Her father yells, and in an instant she is in his arms, held close to his chest as her father shakes with a kind of barely-concealed panic. “Thank you, Haggari.” Allura hears him say, and merely buries her face closer into her father’s shoulder, trying to wipe the images of the Marusian fighter from her mind.

 After a moment, she steels herself and opens her eyes, pulling her head away from her father, and looks around. Haggari is there with them as to be expected, as are most of the staff that were accompanying them, but she cannot spot Zarkon, Almari, or, most importantly, Rhian. “Father, where—“

 “Alfor!” Zarkon’s voice shouts, and Allura turns with her father to watch him and the remaining guards running to them, a limp Almari cradled in Zarkon’s arms. “Almari was knocked unconscious during one of the blasts, she need a healing pod.” Zarkon draws short, gaze roaming over the gathered group in front of him. “…Where is Rhian?”

 Haggari straightens almost imperceptibly. “She is not with you?”

 Zarkon shakes his head, panic taking over his expression. “She wandered off with her guard.”

 “Your highness!” A woman’s voice calls, and Allura watches as a young Galran, likely only a few years an adult, wearing a bodysuit much like Rhian’s training one and with weapons strapped to her in various places, appears, sprinting over to them and screeching to a halt in front of Zarkon, hands shaking as she bounces nervously in place. “I— I can’t find her! She— I—“

 Rhian’s personal bodyguard, Allura realizes. What was her name? Nami? Nimi?

 “Nyami.”

 Ah, that was it.

 Zarkon’s voice is coiled with barely-held patience. “Where is my daughter?”

Nyami wilts. “I don’t know!” She wails. “She kept running ahead, looking for something, and when the first blast hit she just disappeared! I think she ran into one of the cave systems, maybe? I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find her, and I thought maybe she’d come back here!”

 “Alright, alright.” Alfor says smoothly, cutting in. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably hunkered down with some of the locals. Once we’re sure everyone’s out of harms way, we’ll fire back on the last of the fighters and then we can go look for her.” Zarkon huffs angrily, and then winces in tandem with Alfor as another shot reverberates off the castle’s particle barrier surrounding them “Speaking of…” Allura watches as her father taps the communicator in his ear, calling to the bridge. “Corallis, how are things looking?”

 “All good, sire. We have confirmation all the locals are below ground.”

 Alfor nods to the rest of them on the ground. “Fire when ready.”

 As the castle lets loose, Allura buries her face back into her father’s shoulder, throwing her hands over her ears as the shots shake the earth around them, the whistling sounds of the fighters as they fall and then crash piercing and overwhelming.

 After what feels like an eternity, the shooting stops, and as the particle barrier dissipates, Allura raises her head to see Zarkon quickly hand Almari off to Nyami, who easily holds her despite her smaller stature, and take off across the Balmera’s surface, running like his life depends on it with Haggari close behind, both of them calling for Rhian.

 Quickly wriggling free of her father’s hold, Allura drops to the ground and runs after them, ignoring her father’s calls as he curses and follows her after a moment, yelling back at Nyami to take Almari to the healing pods. She knows it’s not nice of her to ignore her father like this, but worry is coiling low in her gut, prompting her forward in the search to find her friend.

 “Rhian!” She yells, barely noticing the Balmerans slowly peering out from the cave systems at the small group of them sprinting along the surface. “Rhian, where are you?!”

 Just ahead of her, Zarkon screeches to a stop in front of what Allura recognizes as one of the Balmeran Elders, and she just barely manages to stop herself from crashing into him as she slows quickly to try to listen to their words.

 “Are all of your people accounted for?” Zarkon asks urgently.

 “All but one.” The Elder says. “One of our own took off into an abandoned system, following one he said he saw with purple hair.”

 “Rhian!” Allura says excitedly, and Zarkon sighs in relief.

 “Can you take us to this tunnel system?”

 “Of course.” The elder says, and Allura hesitantly latches onto Zarkon’s hand, following him and the Elder, her father and Haggari a couple steps behind them, as they are led to what would be a tunnel entrance, if not for what looks like a newly caved-in wall of rock in front of them.

 “Rhian!” Zarkon yells loudly, placing a hand against the rock. “Rhian, are you in there?”

 The rock rumbles under Zarkon’s touch, and he retracts it quickly, staring at the rock wall apprehensively as it crumbles, collapsing as if it had never been there in the first place. After a moment, a younger Balmeran, probably in his late teens, edges into view, Rhian perched on his shoulder, seemingly fine aside from a couple of dirt-smudged scratches on her face and hands.

 “Is it safe to come out?” The Balmeran asks nervously. “The shooting stopped, but I wasn’t sure if it was all over, so I asked the Balmera to keep the wall up.”

 “Yes.” Zarkon says, bowing his head in a rare show of respect. “Thank you for protecting my daughter. Rhian, let us go now, say goodbye.”

 Rhian whines, shaking her head and clinging firmly to the top of the Balmeran’s head. “No.”

 “Rhian.” Zarkon sighs. “It is safe, the fighters have been destroyed, now it is time to go. There are things to discuss in regard to this… development with the Marusians.”

 “No!” Rhian yelps. “I don’t want to!”

 “Rhian Zilar Marmora, stop this childishness.” Zarkon growls, the stress of the Marusian attack seemingly finally catching up to him. “It is unbefitting of your title and your position. We are going back to this castle this instant.” He steps forward, easily plucking Rhian off the Balmeran’s shoulder, and she screams, flailing and kicking out of her father’s hold, dropping to the ground. Allura stares with wide eyes as she scampers back, clinging to the Balmeran, who bends down and wraps his arms around her in turn, trying to comfort her.

 Allura has never seen Rhian behave this way, especially towards her father. It’s bordering on scary, and she shivers as she stares at Rhian’s tear-streaked face.

 “We need him!”Rhian wails. “I need him.”

 Zarkon frowns, as if puzzling something over, and looks to Alfor, who raises an eyebrow in consideration. “…How did you know to find Rhian?” Zarkon asks after a moment, turning back to the Balmeran. “You’re the only one who went to her.”

 “I just did.” The Balmeran says helplessly, straightening up with Rhian curled up like a cat on his shoulder again, clinging resolutely to him. “It was simply a feeling, like when the Balmera speaks to me.”

 Zarkon hums, a smile slowly curling at the edges of mouth. “I wonder… What is your name, child?”

 “Menz.” The Balmeran answers. “And I am not a child, I am just over eighteen cycles.”

 “Menz.” Zarkon sounds out. “Would you care to accompany us back to the castle, Menz? I think there is something there that will be of interest to you.”

 Rhian brightens, looking to Menz hopefully, and he nods carefully. “…Alright.”

 Allura looks at her father, confused, and he smiles, offering a hand to her as the others turn and head back to the castle. “Come along, Allura. If I am right, I think you will want to see this.”

 Her father is right, for when a few ticks later in the Yellow lion’s hangar, when the great being awakens and greets its paladin, it is a sight to behold.

 It is not the lion Allura cannot tear her eyes from, though. She is stuck on Rhian, still perched on Menz’s shoulder like she belongs there even as he meets his lion for the first time, the shy Balmeran hesitantly reaching out to touch the lion’s snout.

 And Allura finds herself fighting the impending feeling, looking at Menz and Rhian, that she has just been replaced.