#there are quite a few moments like this one that defined how they would interact with each other

[onionninjasstuff]

[divinehedons]

you're losing me.

navigation: how reader broke her ankle

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: ~4.2k words

summary: at one point, you think you've found something with joel. a moment of peace, a fragment of joy. now, you're not so sure.

warnings: this is an explicit fic, minors DO NOT INTERACT! hurt/comfort fic, LOTS of angst i'msosorry, implied age gap (somewhat mentioned here and there), a play on the miscommunication trope with an uncommunicative joel, angsty make up sex, explicit p-in-v sex, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, aftercare, occurs somewhere after the events of season 1.

a/n: i'm incredibly thankful for all the love this fledgeling little hedonist got from such a community. thank you so so much for reading!

likes, comments, and reblogs much appreciated! please let me know if you have any requests, just shoot an ask and i'm certain to see it!

Life, as you imagined it in the days that came after, was much simpler before you and Joel arrived in Jackson. It was a description you settled on, long after you’ve combed through your mind’s vocabulary, through the haze and vertigo of heartbreak. Easier was simply a lie. Nothing was nice nor easy in those autocracies from the QZs. When you look back to those days, painted only in broad strokes of inhumane bloodshed and secret dealings in the dark, he remains, nevertheless, at the center of the shell of empires you had once deemed eternal. Your gruff, quiet Joel, with bloodstained fists and sharp eyes, always strong to rage battle with the days and emerge victorious.

Perhaps life was easier pre-Jackson because you and Joel never truly defined what you had back then. You lived next door to him. You suggested he hid his contraband with you because, God, why would they ever search there? You still try and figure out when the fucking started. When you stopped sleeping in your bed and started waking up in his. Whenever it was, shortly thereafter, you followed him in his dealings, tried to look for some damn car battery that seemed to excite him so much.

You remember waking up at dawn one morning, drenched in sweat as the shadows receded in your mind, his hand on your shoulder as his eyes searched yours. You don’t remember the nightmare, you remember the panic in his eyes. “You good, darlin’?” You’d nod and watch him open a window. It was autumn, you remembered, and the breeze cooled your burning skin.

“Who’s the guy I’m meeting today?” you tried to ask, sitting up in his bed and watching the way his eyes seemed to look at anywhere but you. You tried to ignore the subtle way his brows furrowed, the grinding of his jaw. “Talk me over the plan again.” When he returned to you, his hands pull you down by your legs, spreading you wide open as his mouth kisses the questions out of your mouth.

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout business when I can still have you for a few hours, sweetheart.”

So he’d take you, with your neck stinging from razor burn, legs thrown over his shoulders, his shirt which you wore pushed up while he bites your nipples as his hard cock dives into you in one languid thrust, moans reverberating from the both of you at the feeling.

When Joel fucks, he does so with the candour of a greedy child in a candy shoppe. He takes whatever he can get. You still remember the aftermath of when he first fucked you, one that broke a few years of celibacy, according to the man himself. You remembered the teeth marks, the broken skin, burst capillaries, and fingerprints imprinted wherever he felt the need to. He had been bashful, then, muttering about how he didn’t mean to be so rough. You remembered laughing and pressing his fingers to your aching cunt, smiling at him. You were still wet. He hardens there and then.

Even when you were neck deep in each other’s affections, he never quite lost that eagerness. You remembered that morning because you remember gushing against his cock. You remembered it because it was the morning you realised it was never like this with anyone else. Actually, you realised as his hips stutter and the familiar warmth of his spend fills you, since Joel, there had never been anyone else.

Perhaps everything was simpler then, when you look back at it. You’d fuck, wash up, go do your jobs for some rations. Sometimes he’d nod at you from across the street, and you wouldn’t see him again until he knocks on your door at night, taking you by the hand and pulling you into the night. You always stood in his corner, kicking and punching with so much vigor that he’d chuckle and mutter something about the “youth, nowadays”. He’d wash the blood from your hands, wrap you up in bandages, and tell you to not be so reckless next time. You never really listened.

Sometimes, when an exchange ends early, he’ll take you to some empty building, tell you about some renovation of one decade or another. You’d laugh and climb over him, chasing to get a taste of his cock in your mouth. You never addressed the elephant in the room, never asked what you meant to him.

It was the unspoken rule, however, that there was never going to be anything that came between the two of you. By hell or high water. He walked you home every night you did your business, even if he still had things to do. He never forgot to hand you a share of meat whenever it came his way, sometimes finding you wherever you were stationed that day just to slip it in your hands without speaking.

It was the same rule that prevailed when he woke you one night, telling you he’s leaving. You packed a bag, shook hands with the kid he was with, and followed.

No questions asked. Through hell and high water.

–

Somewhere between those days and arriving in Jackson, he does start talking more. You learn about Sarah, the worries he tries not to tell anyone, the pain in his bones.

In easy silences while the kid slept and vulnerability left you both awake, isolation made you complacent, vulnerable. It made you believe something good still existed in this world. It made you believe you and Joel could survive unscathed from the same love that had burnt others.

“Stay with me,” he whispers in the cradle of darkness, hand on the trigger as he watches you pace back and forth, trying to tire yourself enough. You look at him, blinking momentarily as you try to comprehend as to whether or not you imagined the words from his mouth. “When we get out of here–if we get out of here–promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Of course you will. That was how you ended up in Jackson, too.

Looking back, when you try and trace everything back to a singular point in space and time when the end of all things began, it began when you stand in stunned silence, watching what seemed to be a sanctuary in the midst of mortal damnation. Laughing children, playing, men lifting, hammering, building. People chattering in the street. The tipping point, however, was none of that. The tipping point was Joel recognising his brother from the crowd and embracing him with a smile you had never seen on your face before.

For a moment, you feel guilt— you knew how long Joel had wanted to see Tommy. You knew, too, that this had been everything he had worked towards for. It warms you, to finally know Joel was still human, after all. At least for a moment. Then the uncomfortable thoughts trickle in.

Perhaps, you thought once in a microsecond, perhaps you just weren't enough for him to be that open with you.

Just like that, the isolated bubble from which you had adored, and perhaps (definitely) even loved Joel, dissolves, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, and somewhat alone in a sea of people. You supposed Ellie felt it too, from the way she held on to your arm, worrying you’ll disappear too.

“I’m here, kid,” you murmur as you pretend not to see. “You’re all good.”

Even when your little group left and came back from the Fireflies, even when Joel pulls you out of a burning building and kills men for you, you can’t shake off the feeling. Can’t shake the knowledge that you weren’t as important to him. Not even a little, not even at all. You swallow it whenever he pushes aside your underwear and lets you take his fingers. You ignore that itching feeling when you take him for yourself, seating yourself on his lap and fucking him needingly, kissing him as if his lips were everything you needed, chasing your orgasms with the same greed you had in those early days.

Sometimes, you couldn’t stop it.

“Tell me you want me, Joel,” you whisper, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, teeth gnashing.

“‘Course I fuckin’ want you, peach. This fuckin’ cunt is all mine.” He’d flip you over, lay you on your stomach, fucking up into you as your back arches and your eyes roll back in the sweet symphony of skin on skin on skin. “No one else knows how to even make you feel as good as I do.” His fingers would reach down. Thumb and forefinger. Pinching your clit until a squeal escapes you.

“Yours, Joel.” Your gasps, his grunts, the fleeting ache in your chest as these moments become less frequent, turning few and far in between. “Yours, yours, yours.”

–

It all comes to a head one evening, over some stupid argument. Even now, when all is said and done, you can’t seem to remember the trigger that set things off. When you think of that night, only a fragment of the conversation comes to mind.

“The truth is, Joel, I just don’t know what we are,” you had been saying, separating from him like shrapnel. “I used to stupidly think that maybe you wanted me to stay because you were working up some fucking courage to do something about us.” He looks at you wide-eyed, pupils blown. You could hear his thoughts from that distance. Where was all this coming from?

“It never mattered t’you before,” he muttered, leaning against the wooden table as his eyes bore down on you. A beat drops, and he is striding towards you, taking your shoulders in his gruff hands as his tired gaze met yours. ”I don’t understand, why the fuck are you tellin’ me this now?”

I know you don’t. I never asked you to.

For a moment, you struggled in his arms. The feeling of his fingers against your skin was too much. It felt too close, too intimate, too little, and nothing all at once. You whine, trying to avoid his gaze and control your tongue before it is you who eventually did ruin things.

Just tell me. What’s in that head of yours?

“Because you never touch me anymore!” Your small fists, his broad chest, hitting what you could as you finally sob and tear yourself away from me. “I’m glad for you, I really am. But you barely even look at me anymore!” When you did free yourself, your feet take you backwards by a few steps, just enough to see the quirk of his lips at your confession. “But God, it makes me feel so fucking small- like I’ve turned into some nagging bitch, the shrew at home.” You hiccup once, twice. You see him about to speak and you jump in again. “It’s like you found your life and I never had a place in it, so you forgot me.”

The last confession lay on your lips, escaping before you could stop it. “Like I was never enough for you, Joel.”

Your back hits the wall as you look him in the eye, eyes blurred from the onslaught of tears that finally stop you. “I have always stood by your side, I’ve followed you blindly across this fucking wasteland. I never asked for anything, never wanted anything but you, and yet…” You wait for Joel. As you always have. You wait for him to say something. Anything that might finally end your misery. When he doesn’t, you wait for him to do something.

You sigh. “I… I lo-”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he finally says, catching you off-guard as he moves away, grabbing his coat as he shakes his head. “Tommy’s waiting for me.” With that, he leaves. The pit in your stomach swallows you whole, remaining there, in the strange hallways of your memory, as the moment you finally understood the misery that walked hand in hand with love.

–

That was how you ended up with the singular backpack of your things, moving across all of Jackson and putting the entire commune between the two of you, and moving into the small apartment near the shops. You know the jobs he works, asked (almost begged, actually) for Maria to keep her as far away from him as remotely possible. And you did so before he returned from patrolling– some two day affair beyond the gates.

The first night proved impossible. In the darkness, you heard the arms of your watch ticking by as time moves ever so slowly. Without noticing it, you counted the minutes before he and Tommy should be back. You tried not to wonder if he ever thought of you on jobs like this. When all there is to kill is time. Did he ever touch himself in the darkness? Did he ever think of you touching yourself wherever you lay, too? 

Then you remember his dining room. “I’ve had enough of this.” No. You know he wasn’t thinking of you.

You fuck yourself with your fingers until your wrist aches from the effort; and still yet, nothing. You cannot reach the places he does. Your hands too soft to mimic the sensation of his calloused fingers forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you. The sleep that comes, therefore, is uneasy,

You dream of him, lying beside you in the bed you shared back in the QZ, his gruff hum signalling he was awake. “You’re not happy, are you?” he whispers, and you look to him, hands reaching in the darkness.

“Of course not,” you whisper. "I’m in love with you and you don’t even want to see me.”

–

Joel sees the empty house first before he heard the news. It is only in your absence that he finally understood how empty his home was without you.

Without the books on the coffee table. Without the flowers you picked yourself. The bathroom felt barren without your little luxuries– the lotion you had found back on the road, the smell of your shampoo long evaporated from the room. His bed, most of all, felt inhuman without the shape of your frame imprinted on it.

Ellie rushed in when he stood in the living room, looking over in silence. “What the fuck happened, man? I tried to stop her but she was crying, all over the place. I don’t even fucking know how she left the place so pristine the way she was running around-”

“Where is she, kid?”

–

When he finally does see you, you look far worse off than he is. The apartment Maria pointed him to is nice, it’s warm. Bright, even. As if anywhere you go turns into a sanctuary. You’re reading when he sees you. With your back turned to him, you roll your shoulders in a way that tells him you slept wrong. If you even slept at all. The slight tilt in your gait tells him you overworked yourself and your ankle is giving you hell for it.

He leans against the doorway until eventually, he finds the strength to speak. “So you don’t even say goodbye? Some people would think it’s just good manners.” You turn around just enough for him to see the swooping shades of exhaustion beneath your eyes, tinged by the reddening of your nose, your sore eyes. You had just been crying. He could tell, even when no traces of tears are left on your skin.

Now, he waits for you. Attempts to weed out the silence as if it could tell him something. 

“Ellie said you cleaned up. Thanks for that, darlin’.” He sighs, moving closer in an attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way you prepare yourself to flee. “I found somethin’ for you, It’s out-”

“Just stop it, Joel.” He looks to you, sees the way the tears bead in your eyes before you look away, rising from your seat as you allow a shaky breath. “You said you had enough and I’m- I wanted to respect that.” He tries to hold you and your arms fly out, pushing him away before he gets too close, shaking your head. “But I can’t do it when you’re always around.”

He calls your name, and it stops you in your tracks. He says it again, and you realize why. He says your name with so much emotion, the teeth-gritting ferocity of the riptide. “It was never you that I had enough of. I can never have enough of you-” When you look at him, his brows furrow, eyes soften, reaching for you, hands on your wrists as he slowly brings you toward him. He calls your name, and for a moment, you feel as you did back in the old days of the small rooms in the QZ. You remember the whistling of the wind between the window shutters, white noise that soothed you to sleep.

His confession comes spilling forth in an uncontrollable gush. “I never wanted to make you go, peach,’ he murmurs, almost incomprehensible, rough hands pulling you against his chest as he finally breathes in that familiar scent of your hair. He smells of snow and pine–the same smell of the soap you bought for him last week. “I don’t know how to do this… to feel–” His thumbs cup your cheek as your gaze returns to his own tear-filled face. “Losing you is like cutting my fingers off, sweetheart, I can’t bear it.”

He kisses you, and you feel the desperation of a man starved. He doesn’t stop, does not want to stop. If this was a dream, he thinks, he’d rather consume you than wake up somewhere without the warmth of your skin on his. You kiss him, too, and it’s nothing like what you had before. When you kiss him in that quiet little apartment, it’s wanton, messy, your tears melting into his own, your whines swallowed and consumed before you can even actuate them. You only break apart when you feel his lips move to your cheek, his beard rubbing against you as you sniffle and tug him closer by the loops of his belt.

Joel continues to speak. In disjointed whispers, murmurings you try and decode. “Always wanted you to stay, darlin’. Always dreamt of you, always-”

“I thought you dreamt of ten-month summers,” you manage to tease between tears, catching his lips as his arms lift you, pressing you to the nearest wall to wrap your legs around his waist, thrusting his clothed cock against you. You remembered that dream particularly because it had been a miserable winter, one that he confessed to have felt in his very bones. How he grumbled then, in the silences when he thought you wouldn’t hear.

“Even with that summer, without you there, I don’t fuckin’ need it, sugar.”

You both make up that afternoon, slowly, lovingly, with him begging you to stay as he pushes your bottoms off and you promising that you will. The burning stretch of his girth makes you tear up again, just as he cups your face and soothes you through it. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. Let me make it up to you…” You let him do many things. You let him take you again. You let him regain control over himself again. 

Oftentimes you wonder if uncertainty struck fear into him. Perhaps it was why he had always kept himself at an arm’s distance, even when you slept in his bed and wore his shirts. Perhaps that was why he had never allowed himself to feel. Never allowed himself to name that love he had for you.

“I love you, Joel.” The whisper comes between moans as his lips mark your neck in rough kisses, taking you again as he had taken you everytime. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He groans at the sound of your promises, a low guttural sound, just as his lips nip at the skin of your neck, making you whine and squeal against him.

“I fuckin’ love you, peach,” he finally manages to say, hips pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt as he makes you look at him. “I could never have enough of you… fuck!” He doesn’t care if the whole of Jackson hears you, sees the two of you locked in this embrace. As long as he had you, he knows, nothing else mattered. Gently, he lets you down to turn you around, manipulating your hips as your hands keep you balanced to the wall. He sinks so easily to his knees, tongue swiping from your clit, your weeping hole, your perineum, and even up to your ass, spreading your wetness and his precome with a low chuckle. “Tell me you need me, darlin’, come on.”

You do tell him. “I need you, sir, please,” you whisper, with such gentleness that he chuckles. He loved the way your begging sounded, the way you called him sir, like you did in those shy beginnings when you could barely look him in the eye. Loved the way you whine and try to reach down to touch yourself, only for him to tsk in warning, your hand immediately returning to the wall. “Please let me cum, sir, I just want you, please!”

Finally, he indulges you. His tongue fucking you, hands spreading your asscheeks, beard digging into your skin and his nose, his nose, just teasing your asshole enough to make you clench down in expectation. He does not stop, does not pause even when you buck against him, clenching your teeth as you feel his tongue reach there, that point that makes you fucking feral, bucking until he pushes you off the edge, and continues to push you over the edge, knees weakening and trembling in the aftermath of pleasure. You thank him, louder than you’ve ever thanked any deity for each day of survival. If you were honest, you didn’t care so much about religion, about believing. Not when everything you ever believed in knelt before you, asking you if you’d let him take your ass.

You nod breathlessly, pressing your cheek against the cool wallpaper. “It’s yours, sir. It’s all yours, and you know it.”

He smirks, kissing the small of your back. His perfect, willing girl.

He slowly draws you into it, knows you’ve never done anything like this. He starts with his tongue, helping you relax around him, helping you relax when you take one finger, then another. You had never felt so empty and yet so full at the same time. You feel the walls of your cunt stretched out over nothing, your fingers digging into the plaster as he finally stands, lips pressing kisses and assurances into your shoulders. And there, just there- you feel the head of his cock entering you, your body welcoming him so willingly, without much effort nor pain.

He fucks you with renewed vigor, your moans intermingling as his hands trail on separate directions. His left hand trails from your neck, to your chest, and quickly to your nipples, pinching, tugging, His right trails from your stomach to your wanton clit, rubbing concentric circles softly and gently prolonging your pleasure to match up with his stamina. Even as he batters your walls, his lips are so gently, praising you and kissing you. “Of course I fuckin’ love you, sugar. Always fuckin’ did.”

It’s the confession, you would think later on, that pushes the both of you over the edge. You beg him to let you, and he chuckles at how needy and willing you are in his hands. “Together, baby, yeah? Come on, be a good girl and come with me.” HIs fingers intensify his efforts, so do his cock, and it’s even more easier, You feel yourself gush at nothing, his hands the only thing holding you up now as he finds his high, rolling off with you, fucking his spend deep within your ass. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that, princess. Fuck!”

You cry for him and cum even harder, clenching and collapsing, saved only by his trembling frame. It is then that you feel his teeth biting down against your skin, guttural groans escaping and reverberating against your sweat-slick skin. You call for him, hand reaching back to tug against his hair, giving him the consent to sink his teeth deeper against your flesh.

You exchange words of love, you kiss slowly, gently. Joel carries you gently to the small cot you had been resting on, his gaze scolding you for putting your body through this uncomfortable surface every night. You whine when he leaves you, but he smiles. “I’m not goin’ anywhere again, sugar. Promise.”

He makes good on that promise, returning with something to wipe you clean, slowly, gently, not wanting to make it any worse for you. He praises you, nonetheless. So good f’me, baby. My perfect girl.

You fall asleep, slowly, gently, to the same words, your hand on his, his mouth on your cheek, kissing you all over. It’s the most peace you ever felt in a long time.

[tetzoro]

ENDLESS LOVE — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after a steamy night with kuroo, he reflects on how he feels about you. aka the first time you tell each other ‘i love you.’

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : established relationship, pillow talk, takes place after sex but no smut, tooth rotting fluff — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : in case you can’t tell, i love him >_< happy valentine’s day tetsu ᰔ dividers by @/cafekitsune

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“how do you feel when you’re with me?” you ask, hope filling your eyes as your body is still coming down from the high he gave you only moments ago.

kuroo rolls onto his stomach beside you as he ponders the question for a second.

it’s a good question, one that he has to mull around in his mind a few times. the problem is, the answer isn’t as simple, at least not the one he wants to give you.

because how does he describe how he feels when he’s biting into the sweetest strawberry for the first time, a burst of flavor rushing into his mouth that reminds him of the fondest summer days. the ones he’d spend chasing kenma around with a volleyball, scrapped kneecaps and uncontrollable laughter — endless nights of cherished memories and wanting to stay out long after the sun had set.

or how does he feel when he gets into the shower and feels the warmth of the water soak deep into his bones, washing away all of his negative emotions that flooded his mind — body becoming cleansed after a long, hard day of work. the feeling of coming home and seeking comfort, finding shelter and sanctuary between the slippery tile and the familiar scent of the soap he’s used for years.

or maybe it’s how he feels when he catches a shooting star racing across the clear night sky, making its presence known and allowing the watcher to make its wish — the kind of luck that doesn’t just happen to everyone, a rarity that few get chosen for but here it is unfolding before his very eyes.

those experiences don’t have words to define them, at least not to do them enough justice. they’re just feelings that bubble up inside of him and demand to be savored. it’s the exact same way with you. an entity that mere words couldn’t describe. but he’d try, for you.

“i feel —” he pauses, finger trailing along your jaw. the look in your eye tells him that he’s got your undivided attention, hanging on to every word as you prepare to gauge his response. so he figures he’ll bare it all. “one with the world when i’m with you. like i’m in the exact place i need to be in. i think about how lucky i am. i feel at home.”

you open and close your mouth like a fish and kuroo has to hold himself back from kissing you. the ghost of your lips haunt him for every moment they aren’t on his, never quite getting his fill of you. but he’ll be patient. for now.

“oh.” is all you say, biting your lip to hide that beautiful smile of yours.

“yeah, oh.” he laughs, his finger tucking under your chin and bringing you in for the kiss he’s been waiting for, yearning for, craving.

for a moment, he lets himself savor it, the way your soft lips glide over his, tongue poking out to meet his in an embrace. kuroo thinks he could kiss you forever and it would still never be enough.

kuroo pulls apart, amber eyes meeting yours, naked bodies still pressed up against each other, breathing in sync with one another, heart beating as one.

his finger trailed from your chin, down your neck, into the pools of your collarbones, drinking in every inch of your body. something stirred within him, his mouth having a mind of its own as he replaces his fingers with his tongue.

as kuroo makes his way across your collarbones and over the curve of your shoulder, his tongue turns into lips that press against your skin — soft as rose petals as they make their way down your arm.

every mole, every freckle is adjourned with his lips, kissing each and every mark, covering it with his saliva so a piece of him lays upon you, imbedding himself into your skin.

once he gets to your hands, his eyes find yours again, gently kissing each finger tip before he uses your palm to cradle his own face.

“why do you ask?” kuroo slightly hovers over you now, other elbow holding him up to keep his weight off of you as he kissed his way back into your personal space. like a cat, he tilts his head to the side, leaning into your touch as he waits for your answer.

“well i-“ you pause, eyes averting his sharp gaze. he doesn’t push, doesn’t force you to look back at him. “i asked because…”

“because?” his cheshire cat smile lacing his lips, ready to tease you for whatever answer you throw at him.

“because i love you, tetsu.”

those three words strike him right in the heart, cupid firing off a million arrows a second, cracking open his ribcage and letting his heart spill down into your awaiting hands.

to love and to be loved in return was something he pushed down for a long time, opting to focus on the more practical things in life — school, sports, his career.

but somewhere along the way you popped into his life, quite seamlessly he might add. he realized he loved you long ago but put those feelings on hold because how could someone like you ever feel that for him?

but you do. and nothing has ever sparked a greater joy in his heart, it’s beat thumping so loudly it drowns the rest of the world away, leaving you and him in a place to call your own. a place of belonging, a place full of endless love.

it courses through his body, warmth spreading to every nerve, synapses firing off with pure joy, so much that he almost forgets to repeat it back, the eager look on your face anticipating his reaction.

but you see it in his eyes, in the way they light up like a man who just got everything he’s ever wanted. his soul set aflame as he moves, opting to take your cheek into his palm instead, faces so close together you share the same breath.

“and i love you.” he whispers back, forgoing the ‘too’. for it’s not just a response to you, the word itself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as it cheapens the value of his words. no, it’s his own declaration to set in stone that he loves you just as you love him — the way it should be and the way it will always be.

thank you for reading ᰔ

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part IV (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Word Count: ~ 5.2k

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Spite is determined to get her out. But the truth of the prison is slowly unravelling itself.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Madeleina Mercar can’t sleep.

And this is quite unusual, because for the last few nights – really, ever since she can remember being at home, she has simply woken up to the next day. Every night was a dreamless slumber, shuffling her between moonlight to sunlight with little fanfare. Not so much as a violent twitch of her body while her mind convinces it she’s falling off a ledge.

Since Spite’s visit earlier, something hasn’t felt right. There’s not one thing she can really point a finger at. It was more of an ill-defined uneasiness that started bleeding into her interactions with her parents.

Later in the afternoon, she went to help her mother with the shop as she always did. It was only today that she realized that there were never any customers. Eurydice baked the bread and croissants and tartes every morning and arranged them neatly onto silver display trays. Each day, they went un-eaten, and Madeleina had no idea what happened to the excess, because she certainly never saw her mother carting in boxes of those leftover pastries into their home.

When she asked her mother about it as she was sweeping the floors (that never seemed to have any dust on them), Eurydice had simply returned a blank stare and asked her what she would like for dinner.

Madeleina had blinked, confused at the sudden shift in subject.

“Um …” she began, and really thought hard about it. Her face scrunched in concentration.

What had she eaten lately?

She remembered … well, she only remembered her favourite meal. Dolmades and vegetables with Tzatziki on the side. The same thing, every night.

“I want spiced lamb stew” she answered a few moments later. Madeleina didn’t even remember what her mother’s lamb stew tasted like but certainly wanted the opportunity to.

Her mother had nodded, airy and light, as if she hadn’t even heard, then went back to fussing over the displays that would certainly go unnappreciated.

Madeleina doesn’t question it until she’s sitting at the dinner table, and she doesn’t smell spiced lamb stew – she smells Dolmades. Sure enough, the stuffed grape leaves appear in front of her, with a side of grilled carrots and eggplants, and Tzatziki dip. As they had the night before. It was as if the conversation in the bakery earlier hadn’t happened at all. Since her mother didn’t acknowledge it, Madeleina didn’t either. She wordlessly ate her Dolma and ignored the sensation of the food turning to ash in her mouth.

Later that night, her father told her a story, before he went off to work for the evening. The same story, every night. Always The Sleeping Princess. And after Spite had tried to retell it in his own disjointed way, evoking all those strange memories as he did, she couldn’t help but notice how stilted her father’s delivery was tonight.

Almost as if he was reading from a script he couldn’t deviate from. A character in one of his own stories.

Had it always seemed that way and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was he becoming … different?

She desperately wanted to say something but her lips wouldn’t make the words. Just like at dinner. Would it even matter if she did, or would he brush her off like her mother had?

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, Madeleina listened and nodded at the appropriate times while he spoke, as the figures of the Princess, the King, the Demon, and the Hero danced behind her eyes, brought to life by her over-active imagination.

Madeleina’s eyes fly open as a memory starts to take shape in the back of her mind.

A memory of stories brought to life by magic. Her magic. In front of an ornate hearth, in the company of a man who’s face she still cannot see. A man whose name is as familiar as breathing, and yet entirely foreign as well. The phantom smell of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon lingers in the air, even now. She hasn’t been able to stop smelling it since Spite left. Wherever they are, it’s warm. Safe. Comforting. A private little haven for the two of them, forged first in blood and comradery, then molded into something tender and sweet with time and trust.

Lucanis.

Home.

Madeleina shakes her head.

No, this was her home.

A sleepy little village tucked safely between a forest of great Sycamores and the Hundred Pillars. A bakery that she tends with her mother, while her father plays at the tavern down the street every night.

A bakery without any customers, she reminds herself.

Madeleina tries to blink the thought away, but Spite’s words keep nagging in the back of her mind like a small dog yipping and snapping at her heels.

The young mage takes a slow, deliberate, inhale and closes her eyes, trying to focus harder on that memory.

She needs to figure this out. If there’s nothing to be worried about and she can go back to her regular, day-to-day, mundane life.

A day that repeats like turning wheel, a snake eating its tail.

Madeleina pushes the thought to the back of her mind, and with some reluctant effort, she’s back in that elusive memory.

Madeleina sees the stone hearth again. She can feel the hard, wooden chair beneath her. The warmth of the fire spreading like a wave across her body. As before, she tastes something sweet and familiar on her tongue - cinnamon and dough. He’s sitting across from her, partially shrouded in the dark. His voice is muffled, as if he were speaking under water.

Madeleina shuts her eyes tightly tries to focus harder. Spite’s words come streaming into her consciousness, guiding her down the turbulent river of her thoughts.

You show him. Wonders in front. Of his eyes. Stories brought to life. With magic. He measures nights. By your tales. Days. Waiting for the next

When she remembers Spite’s words, something strange happens.

She opens her eyes to find her chest glowing, as if someone set her heart alight with blue flame. It flickers weakly in the dark, almost like a beacon. There’s the sensation of being tugged towards some unknowable, far-off direction she couldn’t pinpoint. It’s stronger now than it was before. She’s almost afraid she’ll fly out of her own window, trying to find whoever is pulling at her heartstrings. Acting on instinct alone, Madeleina places a hand over her chest, inhales deeply once more, and concentrates on the strange sensation in her chest.

The scene bleeds into her mind’s eye again, a bit sharper now than it was before the sudden interruption.

The fire feels warmer, a balm to her sore joints and muscles. The desserts on the table smell fresher, sweeter than they did before. The leather of her father’s journal in her left hand feels rough, and weathered with time that shouldn’t yet have come to pass.

Her free hand flourishes across her vision, and right in front of her eyes the castle from The Sleeping Princess blinks into existence in sharp, striking detail.

Stories brought to life with magic. Just as Spite had said.

“It’s incredible, Rook” The man across from her breathes.

His voice is low, soft and gentle. Each word a velvet-soft petal falling upon waiting ears. The sound practically wraps around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s morning. She could live in that feeling.

Madeleina blinks in the memory.

His face his clearer now, coming into clear focus. Rimmed in the contrasting warm orange glow of the fire and eerie blue light of her magic, Madeleina drinks his features in like a madwoman dying of thirst, and he an oasis in the sand.

His eyes draw her in first. They’re big, and the most beautiful shade of earthen-rich brown she’s ever seen. She could fall into them for an eternity and be content to drown in their warmth. His black hair is styled into a mullet and feathered at the sides – almost like the wispy wings of a bird. His beard frames a strong, square jaw. His features are accentuated by soft lips, and an aquiline nose.

Breathtakingly, devastatingly, handsome. Words are inadequate, and so her body settles for a releasing a soft breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She continues moving through the motions of the story, bringing every figure and every scene to life with a wave of her hands, like she was the director of a theatre production.

“Well, go on” He motions to her eventually, with an expectant look flickering in those perfect brown eyes. At some point, the illusion she had been maintaining disappeared into the ether. She was too busy studying him like an art piece from one of the old master’s to have noticed. Lucanis is resting on his forearms now, practically at the edge of his seat.

Lucanis. Waits for what happens next.

He waits for you.

Only you.

Madeleina grins widely, pleased by his reaction. “Impatient, are we?”

He smirks, and she’s undone at the sight. “Spite wants to know how it ends”

She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, “Oh? And you’re not the least bit curious?”

Lucanis’ lips quirk into a little smile, and her heart melts into her stomach. “I might be” he adds, as he takes a sip of his coffee.

That same melted heart is somehow solid enough to able to thrum erratically in her chest, flitting about like a crazed hummingbird trapped in a cage. A faint smile works its way onto her lips but she’s afraid the quickened rise and fall of her chest will give her away. So, she does the only thing she can think of and takes a sip of her own coffee. She’s not really thirsty, but the cup is large enough to hide the blush spreading across her face. The coffee is a bit lukewarm by now, clearly forgotten over the course of the story the two were enraptured in.

Satisfied that blush is gone and the pounding in her chest has settled, she sets the coffee aside and wrings out her hands.

“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story”

A lie, a terrible lie. But a needed one.

As her free hand flourishes the figures into being once more, the memory cuts off abruptly. She opens her eyes and grips the fabric of her shirt through the thick blanket.

The warmth of the fire dissipates slowly, receding like a tide and although she’s under the covers, Madeleina feels cold. There’s no smell of coffee or cinnamon anymore. Lucanis is gone, and in the wake of his memory, a horrible realization settles in.

A piece of her heart is living outside of her body, somewhere far beyond her reach.

And she has no idea how to get to him.

“Lucanis”

She whispers his name like a prayer in the dead of night and hopes that wherever he is, he’s listening for her.

~*~

Lucanis Dellamorte has been sleeping more than usual these last few weeks, which was quite paradoxical because he wants to spend every waking moment making sure Rook’s rescue plan goes perfectly. He’s convinced he’s driven even the patient, kind-hearted Professor mad with his meticulous planning.

Unfortunately, it’s easier for Spite to traverse the raw Fade and keep an eye on Madeleina while he’s asleep. So, Lucanis acquiesces and lets himself drift into a dreamless slumber as Spite monitors the situation.

Once they told the group of the danger and time was running out, everyone was firing on all cylinders. It was a cacophony of organized chaos in the Lighthouse until the Veilguard was geared up and ready to head to Arlathan Forest through the Vir’Evas.

The entire trip through the Tevinter countryside to rescue Rook has him so on edge he’s lucky to get a few uninterrupted hours, much to Spite’s annoyance. He puts on a calm demeanour for the group, but each day that passes, given what he knows is happening inside that prison, Lucanis grows more agitated. Spite can feel it too. The demon’s … fear, for lack of a better world, is palpable under his skin, rolling across his body like a passing thunderstorm.

If the other members of the Veilguard have noticed, they have the good graces not to say anything.

The group is speeding along verdant hills in a large Dalish Aravel with Strife, Irelin, a few Veil Jumper mages, a sizeable quantity of Lyrium, and a few Resonance Amplifiers.

Bellara and Irelin are holed away in their own little corner, still furiously studying the Resonance Amplifiers and coming up with all sorts of far-fetched theories on how to … reverse their something, so they’ll weaken the veil instead of strengthening it. He may have spent a good portion of his career hunting mages, and he did know his way around a sordid variety of dangerous magic, but the finer points of magical theory are lost on him. Their chattering, as a result, filters in through one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, the amount of magic they’re using to try and get them to work is making the backs of his eyeballs itch something furious and is a lot harder to ignore than talking. He tries to blink the sensation away to no avail, so he settles for getting up and moving closer to Davrin and Assan’s corner of the Aravel.

The Griffon squawks excitedly at his approach. Lucanis gives him a quick smile and ruffles his head. Davrin is still working away at his wood carving. A wooden chess piece, Lucanis has noticed.

A little Rook.

The sight of has his heart squeezing in his chest.

He and the Grey Warden have settled into an easy friendship, one brokered by Rook, of course. She had that effect on people – was able to make them see past petty differences. Madeleina eased tension just by existing. Like a little sun, catching everything in her orbit and bathing it in her light.

Although he still thinks Davrin all too pretentious and self-righteous, he does have one endearing quality that Lucanis has come to appreciate. He can tell when is the time for words, and when is the time for silence. And Davrin is more than content to let Lucanis sit beside him in companionable silence as he continues carving his wooden figurines.

Assan stands on his hind legs next to him and watches the Tevene countryside roll past them.

He wiggles his hind legs and looks into the air, then to Davrin expectantly. His right ear flops as the Griffon tilts his head, pleading.

Davrin smiles and gives him a quick nod towards the air above them, “Just don’t go too far, boy. Stay where I can see you”

The Griffon needs no more encouragement, and a moment later, he’s leapt into the air and flying circles overhead, squawking delightfully.

Lucanis watches the young Griffon joyfully, freely flying through the air. With Spite’s wings, he could be up there too. But the absence of Rook is like a stone in his chest, keeping him and Spite grounded.

“Incredible, isn’t he?” Davrin remarks offhandedly, while he carves out dainty triangular designs on the side of the Rook tower.

Lucanis didn’t realize he was still staring up at Assan, basking in the sun, and gliding on an air current just to the west of the Aravel.

He makes a noncommittal hum of agreement.

“A little young to have seen so much, though” The assassin remarks, after another few moments of silence, recalling the fight with the Gloom Howler in the Cauldron. Remembered Assan's squeals of terror as the Gloom Howler had him in its claws, about to be blighted with Arch Demon blood.

Davrin’s lips quirk, “Not unlike a certain illustrious leader of ours”

Lucanis hadn’t given much thought to Rook’s age. It was just another thing in a growing list about her he thought he’d have time to ask about. Her age, her birthday, bothering Neve about what kind of jewelry she likes (or if she even likes jewelry), her favourite flowers, more of her favourite food and drink than he’d already gleaned from their time together. He wanted to know it all. To know her in her entirety.

But he didn’t ask those questions. Not her age or her birthday or her favourite flowers or her taste in jewelry. She was definitely younger than him by a good margin, but the gap between them could span as large as a decade, for all he knew. Madeleina certainly had the recklessness of youth. That he’d seen in spades, because she was constantly hovering at the edge of death’s door and he was constantly pulling her back by the scruff of her neck.  But she also possessed a wisdom well beyond her years, and he never once factored her age in as a detriment to her ability to lead the team, although she might disagree.

“I expect in these times, that’s become more and more common. Growing up faster than one’s years.” Davrin murmurs, nicking some decorative dots on the tower’s side with the tip of his blade. “I don’t envy the decisions Rook’s been forced to make. I’ve a good five or six years on her and I don’t know that I would’ve fared any better even with that experience on my side”

Lucanis didn’t quite know what to say, so he let Davrin continue talking.

“All this to say,” The Warden shoulders him gently, “Try not to worry so much about Rook. If there’s anything I can say with confidence, it’s that she’s not going to let anything keep her down. Including some weird, nightmare-inducing Fade prison that’s trying to siphon her memories and – “Davrin stops abruptly when he sees the frown spreading on Lucanis’ face, “… I’ll just be quiet now. You get the picture. She’s tough, don’t worry”

He looks down at his wood carving and continues working at it, glancing up at the sky every once in a while, to make sure he can still see Assan.

Lucanis sighs and closes his eyes. He tries to focus on things he can hear and smell to keep his thoughts from winding him up like a children’s toy. The rustling of the leaves on the wind, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of Halla hoofbeats beating against the ground and low grunts of effort as they pull the aravel through the woods.

Try as he might to distract himself with this world, his mind continues to cycle back to Madeleina in the Fade. The very idea that the Fade prison could cause her to forget about him, forget about all their time together, as absurdly terrifying. It makes his skin crawl, and Spite rattle angrily in the back of his mind.

He’s mid-way through thinking about how he’s going to wring Solas’ neck the next time he sees him (and he isn’t entirely certain the thought only came from him), when Lucanis feels a pinch in his chest. Like someone was plucking a thread attached to his heart. He closes his eyes and reaches for Spite through their shared connection, much easier now with the newfound alliance.

Spite. What’s happening?

The demon bristles behind his eyelids.

Calling. To us. Through the Fade.

Is she in danger? He asks quickly. Lucanis can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waits for the Demon’s response.

Don’t. Know. Spite replies after a thoughtful moment. Go. To sleep. I will. See.

Lucanis blinks as a hand waves in front of his face.

“Lucanis?” Davrin snaps his fingers for good measure, “Hey, Lucanis. You alright?”

He shakes his head and waves off Davrin’s concern, “I’m fine – it’s just… Spite and I sense something off with Rook.”

Davrin frowns, his brown eyes alight with concern. He sets his blade and wood carving down, before leaning closer to Lucanis, “What’s going on with her?”

“I don't now. Spite needs me to go to sleep so he can investigate”

He ignores the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach and tries to settle into his spot on the wooden floor of the aravel. It’s not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but with about a year of sleep deprivation to catch up on, the bumpy ride on dirt paths hardly poses an insurmountable obstacle.

He turns to Davrin, “Watch my back?”

Davrin grins, “Do you even have to ask?”

The Warden claps him gently on the shoulder before quietly returning to his whittling, “Just make sure our friend’s alright. I promise not to let trouble disturb your beauty sleep”. Davrin huffs, “Maker knows you need it”

Lucanis rolls his eyes. As much as he wants to quip back, the feeling that Rook is in danger in the Fade has him desperate to let sleep take him as soon as possible and reigns in the impulse. The assassin draws his legs in to his body and rests his head in his arms, before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

Assan squawking overhead as he flies in circles, the wind whipping the trees and the sound of soft hooves beating on gravel soon fade away into a dreamless slumber.

Wait for me, Madeleina.

~*~

Spite Dellamorte hates the Fade Prison with an intense, all-consuming passion, even though he is Spite and not Passion. He doesn’t completely understand how that works. There’s still a lot of things about existing in the material world that are confusing to him. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how much of him is him, and how much of him is Lucanis. The edges between the two have blurred significantly since they made a new alliance. So much so, that his human host seems to have put new emotions in front of him to grapple with that weren’t there before. More things that aren’t him, on top of the memories from Rook’s journal that also are not him.

Regardless, Spite was determined to answer her plea for help.

The young Demon flies circles around her home inside the Fade prison. The journal’s essence flickers in and out, just a little weaker than before. Then, an emotion he’s felt from Lucanis bleeds into him, one they both know all too well from their time in the real Ossuary – fear. Fear that it won’t be strong enough to get him out. That he could be trapped in here, with her, unable to open the door that frees her.

He has to be the one that opens the door.

Spite ignores the thought as much as he can, and lands softly on her windowsill. He peers into her bedroom, expecting her to be doing something mundane, like she was before. Instead, he finds Rook sitting on the corner of her bed, with her head buried in her arms and knees pressed close to her chest. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. He can hear soft, muffled sobs escaping from the narrow space between her face and her arms.

Spite is Spite, he is not comfort or compassion. But Lucanis’ nature has once again, made him feel things he’s not supposed to be feeling. He doesn’t want to see Rook crying. He hates the sight of it, actually.

Spite taps on the glass several times, harder than he normally would, to make sure she hears him above the sound of her soft sobs.

Rook looks up at him, her green eyes bathed in a sea of red. Her face is puffy and tear streaked. She looks awful. Rook shouldn’t look awful. He doesn’t like that she looks awful.

Smells like. Salt and Lavender. Not right.

He taps the window again.

Rook wipes the tears from her face with her arm and slowly walks to the window sill, before unhooking the latch.

Spite ruffles his feathers and flits to perch on the back of her chair, as he did before. Madeleina closes the window and sits back down on her bed slowly, sniffling the entire time.

“Rook” He croaks, tilting his head. “Why. Are you crying.?”

Rook inhales sharply and closes her eyes before exhaling. “S-Spite …” she whimpers his name, and he hates how that sounds.

She draws her knees in close again and frowns deeply. “W-why do I keep seeing Minrathous burning? P-people being h-hung in the s-street” she takes a shaky breath between words. "E-every time... I look ... in the m-mirror - I s-see it ..."

Rook has a distant look in her eyes, like she’s staring through him at not at him.

“A v-voice in my head … it’s … it says … it’s my fault” She cries softly, and wipes her nose with her sleeve again, “He s-says I l-let them take the city … t-the dragon…”

Rook grips her head and shuts her eyes tight, and then takes a ragged breath. “It won’t stop! It won’t stop…” She raises her head and looks at him with pleading eyes, “Spite, how do I make it stop?” Her face crumples as more tears threaten to spill from her eyes, “S-Spite … help me… it w-won’t stop … my head…”

Spite tilts his head and thinks.

She’s starting to remember things, but not the right things. He’s rightly quite confused. Solas’ prison so far has been showing her what she wants to see - her parents, her childhood home - familiar things that would presumably function to keep her from wanting to leave. Why would it be showing her a blighted Minrathous? What purpose would that serve?

He remembers the day they found her in the music room, days after she’d returned from visiting Neve in Minrathous.

Smells like … cheese and salt. He had thought, as Lucanis brought her a cup of cioccolata calda to share.

They sat beside her, and she quickly wiped her hands of the remnants of the cheese wedge she’d been eating and moved over. He remembers Lucanis’ fretting over her mental state very well. Locked in their pantry, he thought of little else.

Knowing Treviso was safe brought him little relief every time he watched her go into the infirmary to talk with Varric’s ghost because she couldn’t cope with his death. When she stopped coming to dinner, he started drinking more coffee and staying awake even longer worrying over her. Pacing back and forth, paralyzed with inaction, with uncertainty on how to help her.

It turns out he was severely overthinking the problem.

All he had to do was tell her a story.

Maybe Spite had to do the same, like the first time he came. She was only remembering the bad that came from that decision. It figures the Dread Wolf’s prison wouldn’t want her to remember the good she did during that time.

“This place. Doesn’t want you. To know what. You saved.” Spite begins, “Minrathous fell. But Treviso. Lived to see. Another day. Because of you.”

Rook releases the name on a soft breath, “T-Treviso?” Her brows furrow in confusion, “I … I’ve n-never left Tevinter…”

Spite preens and plucks at a loose feather as she speaks.

“Saved Lucanis’. Home.” He squawks, “He trusted you. Above all others. And you saved him. There when he. Needed you most. And he will. Never forget.”

Rook’s eyes flash with recognition at the name, “Lucanis – tell me about Lucanis. P-please, Spite. I think… I think I remembered him last night – his face, his voice … but it’s gone again”

If Spite looked like Lucanis, he was sure his face would split in a satisfied grin.

He was going to break apart the Dread Wolf’s prison, memory by memory. He would open the door for her and pull her out.

“He came. To you. In the music room. After the Dragon. Took Minrathous”

She closes her eyes, as if trying to picture the scene herself. He can see her eyes flicker back and forth behind closed eyelids.

“He wants. To help you. Like you. Helped him. With Treviso. With Caterina’s funeral.” Spite says, “He helps. Only way he knows how. With a story.”

Rook’s fingers grip the edge of her bed tightly, and her lips press into a hard line, deep in concentration.

“I smell something warm… chocolate?” Her nose wrinkles. “Warm chocolate… like before…”

“Cioccolata. Calda.” Spite corrects her gently, although his own pronunciation of the word is a bit clumsy, “He knows. You love it. He makes it. When he knows. You’re in need.”

Her lips part in a sigh, as if she’s taking a sip in her jumbled memories.

“T-tell me more… please …” Rook whispers, biting her lower lip, “I want to remember him”

“He tells you. The story of how. He became the Demon of Vyrantium. The Wigmaker. And his. House of Horrors. Of blood magic and demons. And freeing slaves.” Spite recites the memory as he had seen it through Lucanis’ eyes. “A story. For a story. He always. Wants to help.”

A small smile creeps at the edges of her lips, “I remember him… I remember him telling me about a terrible pickup line Illario used on a guard”, Spite tilts his head as she giggles, “I couldn’t believe it actually worked, you know”

Rook wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, before opening them both. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners as she erupted in a warm smile. Like they did when she would tell them stories.

She swings her legs off the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of the little Demon.

“He’s important to me… isn’t he? You both are” She whispers quietly. Rook touches her chest, and a faint blue glow erupts from where her heart should be. His chest is alight with its twin flame.

Spite merely nods and flutters his tailfeathers in response.

“He waits. For you. Only you.”

“You said that before” Rook nods and looks around her room, “You also said this place isn’t my home”

Spite nods wordlessly.

“Then what is it exactly? Why… why am I here?”

“A prison. Made by the Dread Wolf. To keep you in. Away from. His plans.” Spite nearly hisses the words out, rage bubbling in his chest. He puffs up into an angry little ball as a result. “A prison. To make you forget. Forget us. Lucanis.”

Rook grips her chest through her shirt and frowns. “The memories they … they come and then… then the day repeats and I forget ... I think…” She releases a shaky breath, “I think I’m living the same day again. And again. And again.”

If Spite could scowl, he would be scowling harder than he ever had in his entire existence.

“Spite” Rook leans in closer, so close he can feel her breath on his feathers. Her eyes are wide with panic now, “Spite… help me… I don’t – I don’t want to forget but each day I think I’m losing more of myself- “

She turns abruptly when the door opens, and Spite is startled enough to let out a surprised squawk. He flies out the window quickly before he can be spotted, leaving Rook to deal with the intruder. Spite hovers outside her window for just a moment, and sees a tall woman pull her into a tight embrace.

The woman, who resembles an older Rook with straighter hair and brown eyes, seems to be looking straight at him. The eyes are soulless and empty. Yet somehow, there is a warning lurking beneath that hollow gaze. She grips Rook tightly, as if to signal to him she will not the girl go.

The sight of it chills Spite to his core.

The Demon calls on whatever essence of the journal is left and propels himself out of the Fade with dizzying speed.

Each day I think I’m losing more of myself -.

He would not let that happen.

If she loses herself to this prison, he will find every scattered piece in the Fade and put her back together himself.

The Dread Wolf will not win.

Demons do not fear Gods.

-----------------------------------

Wooooo okay, well that took a lot longer than I thought. Once again big thank you to @teawithshakespeare (honestly my honourary co-author at this point for how much time I spend rambling in their DM's about this story), and @juneiper-art and @thewardenisonthecase as well for letting me bounce ideas for this chapter off them. I appreciate u guys.

Also, the Fade prison is doing weird things now! It's changing and reacting! Freaky stuff. But then again, the Fade's a freaky place.

I'll give bonus points to whoever can guess which movie I'm sort of loosely basing this off of haha.

I think this part of the fic is coming to an end in maybe another chapter or two.... I really just wanna write the Rookanis reunion :')

Anyway,

As always, thanks for reading! Appreciate all the love and support for this fic <3 MUAH!! See you next time!

-Rookie

[meiguicha]

Handheld Love

Sunday x Reader - Idol AU

how does halovian anatomy work

Love's Song

You were so close.

The distance that separated him and you was mind-numbingly close, no matter that in only a few more minutes, he'd get the chance to hold your hand, Sunday already felt like he was going to explode.

This was your first fanmeet. Your. First. Fanmeet.

Did he mention this was your first fanmeet? Because that fact is so very important to him right now.

Honestly, he is far more eloquent than this but could anyone blame him right now? Just thinking about you already made the path between his rational thought and mouth collapse, but seeing you in person was a whole different form of awe.

Since this was a smaller venue and you weren't exactly superstar level yet, that meant that there was an actual limit to how many people could attend. Never in his life did he ever think he'd be sat hunched over a computer desperately clicking a pink button trying to get tickets like some crazed fan.

Well, he supposes desperation is often rewarded in the oddest way since he ended up being greeted with a bright and cheery '♡ 001 ♡' for all his troubles.

Number 1. Number 1! He was going to be the first person to meet you!

Of course, he donned on his perfectly inconspicuous outfit once more, and made it perfectly on time at the hall. Yet, even he could not foresee the management that was idol events, and with a heavy heart, Restdaysfordarling was now scrawled in elegant handwriting atop a plastic namecard on his chest.

He would have preferred you call his name but--! Unfortunately, he has a reputation and he'd rather not expose himself yet.

Watching you emerge out from backstage looking as if you came straight out of a painting, your sprightly greeting that only made his tucked wings quiver with unadulterated charm, fixation or fascination could no longer define what he felt for you anymore.

It isn't long until the fan interactions start, and it feels like every step is one step closer to his funeral fantasy. But when he does finally sit in front of you, his heart both races and calms at your visage.

"You're Restdaysfordarling?" You mused, face twisting into immediate delight upon seeing the little namecard pinned onto his shirt. With a smile all but overspilling with enchantment and gaiety, your eyes crinkle into crescents as you offer a hand to him. "It's so nice to finally meet you!"

The halovian takes a brief glance at your hand and though his hand seems to long for shakiness as he does your voice, he forces himself to steady. Sunday manages to respond despite the exhilaration rushing through his veins, "It's a pleasure to get to meet you as well."

"I must say, you're certainly more beautiful in person." Mentally, he congratulates himself for putting together a coherent sentence. Physically, he takes your hand

Laughing, so sweet that he fears birds would grow jealous of your voice, your cheeks flush hot. "I didn't know you were such a charmer, you're too sweet!"

And in that split moment between the bliss of your praise and the light of your glee, you had taken the opportunity to intertwine your fingers with his, clasping your two hands tightly as you gazed upon him with dewy eyes.

You were holding his hand.

You are holding his hand.

His hand.

In an instant, he feels his entire form freeze up at the contact, no matter the glove, and yet still though he forces himself to relax at once, it didn't take a genius to see your apprehension.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

As though burned, you pull back as a brief flash of fear crosses your eyes. Without your touch, Sunday suddenly feels cold, an odd sensation but one he doesn't enjoy regardless.

"No, I apologise. I hadn't been prepared and was just shocked," he reassures you, and though he can't quite display the same twinkle you can, he hopes his open hand convinces you otherwise.

You take a moment to consider, and before he knows it, your hand is on his again, resting comfortably atop of his as though made to fit together.

He is going to find it awfully difficult to wash this glove, he can only fear.

For the next minute, Sunday forces himself to rebuild that path brick by brick if only to hear your voice and sweet joy. He pointedly ignores his fluttering wings at his side mussing up his hair in favour of conversation and he worries you might think him unseemly. But you never do anything but grin, mimicking a smoothing down motion with your free hand.

Suddenly, you remove your hand from his and once more, he mithers at the loss of contact. Though, his disappointment is followed up with frivolous anticipation when you call for him.

"Could you give me your hands for a moment?"

He obliges, to do the opposite unthinkable.

"I'm definitely not as good as you but," almost shy, you fidget with something in your lap as you hum. Yet despite your bashful demeanour, you still send him an inviting smile, "I wanted to thank you for the gift."

There is barely any weight to what you've placed in his open palms, but when he looks down he's greeted with a small halo and wings, sized perfectly for a Darling.

Before he can get the chance to respond, your manager ushers him off to make way for the next fan.

Dumbfounded, he stares at the little accessories. They're a little uneven but, he imagines them on one of his Darlings and his heart swells in his chest.

Perfect unperfect little things. Just like you.

[yanxidarlings]

I think mattheo vs blaise would be really interesting with a smart reader. Both are just cold and mean and barely concealing their scheming lol, and reader is just trying to fight both for top grades in class. Like these two know how to play "the game" and reader is doing their best to not lose. Eventually, either blaise finally gets the betrothal finalized or mattheo somehow resurrects his dad. Actually, now that I think about it, a clueless reader is probably just as good between these two. Can I request headcanons for these two?

YANDERE MATTHEO RIDDLE VS YANDERE BLAISE ZABINI

had never thought of these two fighting over a darling, but this was surprisingly fun to write, hope you like it!

• ladies and gentleman, we may have found the worst possible pair of yanderes. yes i say that everytime but it's genuinely hard to envision these two coming to any sort of agreement. blaise is a bit too proud, and once ol moldymort's back in the picture, mattheo believes he's above everyone and anyone as the dark lords son.

• one thing about the both of them is that they'll both try to lay claim to their darling quite quickly. the moment blaise accepts his obsession, he's sending an owl to his mother, requesting she arrange a marriage. mattheo is a bit less overt, he just starts hovering around them and scares off anyone who tries to interact with them.

• it's kind of funny but really interesting to imagine a darling that's clueless to their advances, and just views them as academic rivals. i'll assume the darlings a ravenclaw, maybe they've known the two since childhood, or maybe they met at hogwarts, doesn't matter, the darling only thinks of them as annoyances.

• maybe this academic rivalry is what kickstarts the boys' obsession; i could definately see that being the case for mattheo, he's the heir of slytherin, son of the dark lord himself, how dare this kid think he's smarter than him.

• he's pretty hostile towards the reader for the first few years, for the longest time he thinks he hates them, but if he does, then why can he never bring himself to beat him up before an exam? why does his heart drop when he hears their roommates talking about them crying in the shower after getting a 95 on the potions assignment? why did he want to go up to him, engulf him in a hug and tell him it was just a grade.

• what starts off as pure rivalry slowly but surely turns into admiration, at least on mattheo's end. reader is starting to seriously consider poisoning his pumpkin juice if he tops the class over them one more time.

• honestly mattheo finds his darlings hatred of him and anyone as smart as him cute, he'll casually invade their thoughts from across the great hall only for them to be imagining granger getting crucio'd. or casting the killing curse on zabini, clawing out goldsteins eyes, skinning nott alive, cutting off malfoys pri-

• mattheo is convinced they're soulmates, and eventually stops antagonising them alltogether. the only problem? apparently that son of a bitch zabini is having his mother arrange a betrothal between him and mattheo's precious darling.

the absolute fucking nerve. mattheo is pretty quick to corner zabini. "what the fuck do you think you're doing" mattheo growled as his hands wrapped around zabini's neck "m/n's mine. you got that? if i catch you even thinking about him, i'll kill you" his grip tightened as zabini's nails clawed into his arms, loosening as zabini started to draw blood.

pushing riddle off, blaise wiped his hands off on his robes, as if wiping off contaminated dirt. "yours?" "yeah so back the fu-" "why would someone as intelligent as m/n want you when there's other, much better, purer options?" blaise knew that would strike a nerve. riddle lunged his fist towards him "i warned you, you-" he yelled as his fist connected with blaise's face, profanities flying out left, right and centre.

• blaise had never really played into the darlings game, since the moment they met when they were little, he decided that they would be the one he wedded. he wouldn't be like his mother and leave a trail of spouses behind, he'd swear loyalty to his darling on the date of their wedding, and they'd never leave each others sides.

• for the longest time, blaise believed his darling felt the same about him. it was honestly kind of soul crushing when they got to hogwarts and became all the more competitive. if he wasn't obsessed before he sure as hell is now, his darling is going to love him, whether he has to force them or not.

• their competitiveness might annoy him, but their intelligence is one of the reasons he's so allured by them. but he can never just admire them in the library whilst they study, his darling always has to turn it into some sort of scheme by him. to steal their answers, that is.

• as smart as they are, it facinates blaise how the simplest social interactions fall short on them. the longing way he stares at them whenever in their vicinity would be a dead giveaway for anyone else.

• but blaise is in this for the long run, does it really matter if they ignore him throughout their hogwarts years? as soon as they graduate, they'll be wed and be together forever. or at least that's what he tells himself every time his ego takes a hit from the ridicule they throw his way.

• eventually, the betrothal was finally finalised. the l/n's had come to an agreement with his mother and he couldn't be happier. no one dared approach his darling anymore, in fear of becoming blaises new target.

"good morning" blaise greeted his darling as he approached the ravenclaw table, a slight smirk on his face as the ravenclaws shuffled away. m/n said nothing, he just glared at blaise for a moment, before looking back down at his book. "what're you reading" his slender hand reached over to the book, only to receive a hard slap. he looked up, eyebrow raised as his darling continued reading, as if nothing had happened.

blaise leaned in "tesoro, we are going to be married in a few years, is this anyway to treat your future husband" he entangled his fingers with theirs, watching as m/n's face went red with anger, but his ego told him it was a blush.

"i'll cast the killing curse on myself before i marry you" pulling his hand away, m/n closed the book, before storming out of the great hall.

• the day his darling was finally promised to him, blaise's behaviour flipped like a switch. acting as if he and his darling had been in a committed relationship for years, as if they hadn't barely had a proper conversation. the day of the betrothal is when everything hits the fan.

• mattheo is ready to rip blaise limb from limb, so is the darling, which is why, for a time, mattheo and the reader form a short bond over hating zabini, before it becomes apparent to the darling that mattheo isn't any better.

• mattheo and blaise spend the time prior to voldemorts resurrection actively trying to kill each other. they get most of their anger towards each other out during quidditch, every game and practice ends with one or both injured. they'll arrive in class 10 minutes late, with bruises all over and busted lips.

• if the reader was dumb, they'd do nothing, but no, mr smarty pants ravenclaw is gonna make sure those two always have something to fight over, showing one favour, then comparing them to the other, both to get them of the readers back and keep the reader at the top of the class.

• the darlings intelligence and cunning is his own downfall. eventually, the boys are gonna catch on to the readers schemes. whether things are becoming a bit too repetitive or more likely mattheo figures out what they're up too when invading their mind whilst they sleep.

• mattheo and blaise call a ceasefire on their own personal war. the dark lord has returned and the darling is using them against eachother, if they hate anything more than sharing, it's damage to their ego's.

• when they agree to focus on obtaining their darling, their darling, is, to put it in my favourite way; officially fucked.

• there's no escape from them, blaise will start demanding the reader sleep with him in his dorm, and mattheo will be the one to drag them there. they scare away everyone else, so no one can come to the readers rescue.

• these two cannot bare to leave their darling alone with the other, which is why they spend most of the time together. mattheo's dragged the darling into the shower with him? blaise is following not far behind. blaise is taking the darling to the three broomsticks for a date? best bet mattheo will be tagging along.

"must you pout like that every time" asked blaise whilst he made up a plate of scrambled eggs, placing it infront of m/n, who was too busy glaring into space, arms folded, a scowl on their face. "don't listen to him, m/n, you look adorable like that" mattheo wrapped his arm around m/n's shoulder, leaning in, pressing a kiss to the others neck.

m/n shook mattheo off, wiping the kiss off with the edge of his sleeve. mattheo only chuckled, before leaning in again. "oh leave me alone you cockalorums" m/n spat as he stood up abruptly, mattheo's smile faltered, he reached up and dragged m/n back down by the hips "have you not thought of the things the dark lord will do to you if he found out how you treat his heir?".

mattheo's breath tickled m/n's ear as he whispered. he remained silent, blinking away tears. "you make this out to be so much worse than it is, cucciolo, just let me- us care for you, va bene?" blaise took the fork and placed it in his hand, ignoring the tears that started to roll down m/n's cheeks.

[bvidzsoo]

Slow it down

⊂Biker!Seonghwa⊃

TW: nothing

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: A short drabble while I'm away on vacation, because for some reason biker Hwa's been occupying my mind lately, not letting me rest. I can't wait to continue my pirate!au mini-series with Ateez, I miss writing it so much lol. Being at the sea is definitely not helping at all at suppressing my creativity lol. Hope you enjoy this one!

You couldn’t tell when it started, your infatuation with Seonghwa. Infatuation, perhaps, was a strong word, but you didn’t know how else to define it at the moment; maybe crush would’ve been a more fitting term, you thought, but you weren’t too sure about it. Park Seonghwa. You had known him for years, although never truly paying much attention to him, he still managed to become the center of your friends conversations, stealing the spotlight at any given chance without even being around. Seonghwa was quite famous at your school, and in your town, let’s be real, for constantly doing bad things and breaking girl’s hearts left and right. He was your typical bad boy and you wanted nothing to do with him. He was edgy and sometimes quite dramatic; he dressed in all black and wore quite cheap looking jewelry, painting his nails black after he realized girls went crazy for it. He knew he was good looking and he used that to his advantage. He could persuade anyone into doing whatever he wanted and it came in quite handy when he was behind on his schoolwork, his teachers excusing him for whatever dumb story he managed to come up with. Girls ate up his sob stories about his fake pets and evil parents; he came from a very loving family, so you never understood why he was lying about it. And, oh God, when he got his license for his motorbike did his popularity skyrocket even more. You were pretty sure you caught him once making out with one of the teaching assistant’s behind the school, but one side glance from his sharp eyes and you knew never to mention it to anyone. And to be honest, that was probably your first and last interaction with the boy, not that it bothered you. You liked your peaceful life as it was, serene, and void of worries correlated to boys. You didn’t feel like dating at your age yet, seventeen wasn’t too young nor too old, but you felt like you weren’t ready for a relationship. And that was fine, your father was happy too, not quite ready to lose his ‘little’ girl which he was aware you weren’t anymore, but it brought closure to him to know that you didn’t crave male attention just yet. His ‘little’ girl’s heart would remain unscathed for a little longer.

And all of that sounded really good, really, you would’ve never complained about your ordinary life. Oh, well, that is until Seonghwa started showing up to your father’s car service frequently. For some reason, the two of them seemed to be getting on well, and your father allowed him to come in from time to time to fix his motorbikes. Seonghwa owned at least three by now. He was two years older than you and while all of his friends went to college, he stayed behind, telling people he wasn’t ready to choose just one thing he was interested in to study for the rest of his life. However, this confirmed your theory for you that he just didn’t know what he was good at and that he wasn’t smart enough to go to a good college. It might’ve been a little harsh to view him like that, but he never ranked too high in your high school, too busy chasing girls and starting fights. And so, one day, as you made your way home you decided to stop by your father’s car service before heading upstairs as you lived just above it.

The rock music blasted throughout the car service; a few cars scattered around as your father had quite a lot of work for the week. Him and his colleagues were nowhere to be seen and you figured you stopped by during their lunch break, everyone was back in the dressing room. But you wanted to greet your father still, show him the grade you got on your thesis, unable to keep the smile off your face. You scored the highest in your year, it made you ecstatic. Your father would always order your favorite food whenever you brought home an outstanding grade, celebrating your achievement. With a skip in your steps, you waltzed down the spacious room, appreciating the white Mercedes your father was currently fixing. You failed to notice the clanking of tools, so when you turned to your right, your heart almost jumped out of its place as you yelped loudly. The older guy just cast you an unimpressed glance before he bent down again, unscrewing something around the front spring of his motorbike. You placed a hand over your hammering heart, frozen in your place as you watched his long black hair fall over his face. His hair had gotten longer since the last time you saw him, which was probably around a year ago, at the closing ceremony of his graduation.

“Did you become a statue or what?” His low, monotone voice snapped you out of your initial shock and your eyebrows furrowed as you shook your head, remaining silent. Seonghwa cast you a quick glance before he continued working, eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to take off the nut screw. He had been sweating prior and he lightly tapped his forehead before twisting the screw again, nothing happening. You didn’t consider your next actions for long as you let your backpack fall onto the floor before walking up to Seonghwa, kneeling down beside him. He turned his head to look at you, his sharp eyes watching you closely as you inspected his work, chuckling. Of course the nut screw wouldn’t come off if it was stuck, almost fried onto the tube it was holding together. So, you looked around for a little oil and found it on your father’s stand, so, you stood and walked over to it, getting it, then walked back to Seonghwa’s motorbike. You kneeled down again and sprinkled a little oil around the nut screw, failing to notice Seonghwa’s curious gaze on you. Because it was slightly fried against the tube, you struggled to get the nut screw off at first, but after tugging at it and forcing it, it finally loosened up enough to come off, clattering onto the ground. You grinned in victory and grabbed the nut screw, turning your body towards Seonghwa to show him your success but you, instead, froze at the proximity. Your noses were almost touching and your wide eyes took in his face, taken by his mesmerizing features. He seemed tanner than the last time you saw him and his plump lips were redder too, dark eyes gazing into yours intently. Sweat rolled down the side of his temples, stray strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead. You had never seen him from so close before, and suddenly you understood all those girls who gave in to him. He was breathtaking. His sharp gaze held a glint of curiosity in it and that made you self-conscious as you quickly stood, clearing your throat, as you extended your hand to Seonghwa.

“Uh, sorry—” You started, avoiding eye contact, “I should’ve asked before helping—”

“I’ve been struggling to get that off for half an hour now,” Seonghwa chuckled as he stood, taking the nut screw from your hand; you didn’t fail to notice the way his pointer finger ran over the back of your palm, making you gulp nervously at the unnecessary action, “and you did it in like…five minutes.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just picked up your backpack and looked away as Seonghwa took a step towards you, your body tensing, “You’re Mr. Han’s daughter, right?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Y/N, I know who you are.” Did he really? You smiled a little, nodding your head as you heard laughter coming from behind you, it was your father’s. And as Seonghwa watched you, he noticed how tense you seemed to be around him yet as soon as your father approached the two of you, you had long forgotten about him. It was weird to him; he was used to girls throwing themselves at him constantly.

“Y/N!” Your father hugged you, excited to see you, “What brings you around here?”

Suddenly, a big grin appeared on your lips as you unzipped your backpack, digging around, looking for your thesis. Seonghwa watched intrigued as you pulled the paper out and shoved it in your father’s hands, who’s eyes had the same glint as yours in them. It was quite an endearing sight, how much the two of you resembled each other.

“I got the highest grade, dad!” You exclaimed with excitement and your father chuckled as his eyes ran over the papers, a proud look on his face as he handed it back to you.

“Very well, honey,” He handed you the thesis back, “You know what’s for dinner tonight then.”

Seonghwa watched as the biggest smile he’s ever seen on you spread onto your lips, snatching the thesis away from your father who just chuckled and winked at you. He’s seen you around your high school, but never had the chance to talk to you. It seemed as if you always ran away from him, almost as if you were avoiding him. He knew of his reputation, it was hard not to when everyone kept reminding him of it, yet you never seemed to care as you wouldn’t even cast a second glance his way. You weren’t fascinated nor scared of him, it was peculiar, but he never thought about you for too long. He usually didn’t like challenges when it came to girls and those who played hard to get never had his attention for too long. He wasn’t there for the long run, therefore he found it useless to invest so much energy into one girl only. But you seemed like you didn’t want his attention at all as you kissed your father’s cheek goodbye before you ran out of the service, forgetting about his presence altogether. It didn’t sit right with Seonghwa, and as he gazed after your bouncing form, your father chuckled and looked at him amused.

“Didn’t you two go to the same high school?” He asked and Seonghwa nodded his head.

“We did, but our circle of people were too different for us to know each other.” Seonghwa’s answer made your father chuckle to himself, nodding his head in understanding. He knew what type of boy Seonghwa was, he never truly expected his daughter meddling with him.

“Yes, that makes sense—” Your father said more to himself before his eyes fell on Seonghwa’s motorbike, “How’s the spring, son? Any progress?”

“Oh, I got the nut screw off finally—well, your daughter did, actually.” Seonghwa admitted with a shameful chuckle and your father nodded, not looking surprised in the slightest.

“Yeah, she’s quite the mechanic, my little one.” Your father gloated proudly before he walked off, headed towards the white Mercedes he was supposed to fix by Friday.

            And after that first encounter with Seonghwa, you considered it your first real encounter, you seemed to run into him everywhere. It started being creepy after a while and it made you feel weird as you told your best friend, who didn’t think much of it, unsurprisingly, and suggested that perhaps you were just randomly running into each other, your city wasn’t too big, after all. Despite that making sense, you couldn’t help but still think Seonghwa was doing it on purpose as he’d always strike up a conversation with you when you crossed paths. Sometimes it was about something really dumb and it would make you look at him with a questioning gaze, nevertheless, you still seemed to entertain him, curious of his motives. He never made obvious advances towards you, so you really didn’t understand what was the purpose of all of his actions. Perhaps he was looking for a friend now that his other friends were in a different city at college? But that didn’t make much sense as he stopped showing up to your father’s car service since he had fixed his motorbike, yet trailed you around the city whenever you were out. And one evening, as you were headed home from the library, you had been doing research on a fish type for you biology class, Seonghwa was there. Across from the library in the parking lot, sitting on his motorbike as his eyes fell on you. Your heart skipped a beat and you looked around, trying to find the person Seonghwa could be waiting for it. But it seemed like just the two of you were on the street and you sighed as you took off, but not towards him. The sun was long gone and you had to walk quite a lot to get home, so you didn’t want to waste any more time, not a fan of walking around alone at night. But you barely made it a few steps before you heard rapid ones approaching you from behind. By now, you knew it was Seonghwa. You had memorized his walking pattern and the force of his steps.

“Headed home?” And you were right as his head popped up next to yours. You cast him an unimpressed glance before nodding wordlessly. Seonghwa hummed and continued walking next to you, grinning as he realized you were trying not to look at him. You couldn’t help but notice the gear he was wearing, his thick jacket undone and his light sweater showing underneath. He has never touched you before, so when you felt his warm grip around your wrist, halting you from taking another step, your eyes widened. He pulled you lightly forward, towards himself, and you almost tumbled into him. His cologne was strong and you caught the whiff of something strawberry scented, his hair looked like it wasn’t completely dry.

“Let me take you home,” Seonghwa’s low voice was soft and quiet as he looked in your eyes, making you flustered, “It’s not safe for you to walk alone.”

This was it, then, the moment Seonghwa’s been probably waiting for to finally try and woo you. He didn’t seem like the patient type, you had to give him some credit for holding out for so long. And despite every fiber in your body asking you to accept his offer, heart thumping loudly at the proximity and wrist burning from his warm hold, you smiled and softly pulled away from him.

“Thank you, but I did this walk many times before,” Seonghwa wasn’t pleased with your answer at all, and he let you know as his eyebrows furrowed, “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

But Seonghwa didn’t let you leave, stepping in front of you, making your body collide against his, you hoped he didn’t hear your quiet gasp, “There’s plenty to be worried about, actually, so just let me take you home.”

You took a step back, trying to put some distance between your bodies, hoping he wouldn’t see your red cheeks. You didn’t think he’d be this persistent and as you looked up at him, he seemed very determined, “I’ve never ridden a motorbike before and I don’t have the proper gear either.”

That made Seonghwa chuckle and you watched as he quickly took his jacket off, closing the distance between your bodies once again, making you avoid eye contact as he draped his jacket around your shoulders. He held the collar together around your neck and you gulped nervously, his fingers lightly grazing against your neck. His jacket was heavy and a lot bigger than your frame, “I brought two helmets, don’t worry.”

You went to still try and deny his offer nicely, but Seonghwa was already pulling you after him, interlacing your fingers, making you blush again. You couldn’t deny his attractiveness anymore, and despite staying away from him for so long, you seemed to be unable to do so lately. Yes, he was everywhere, but you seemed to want him to be everywhere you were, his sharp gaze always following you, making you stay alert. When he wasn’t looking, you’d sneak peeks at him, admiring his features from afar, imagining as you ran your finger down his tall nose, his plump lips, his sharp jaw, and then all over his dark eyebrows. Park Seonghwa was gorgeous and you now understood those girls trying to get his attention, hoping he was the love of their lives. You entertained that thought sometimes, before falling asleep mostly, wondering if you could fall in love with Park Seonghwa. Wondering if he could genuinely love someone. Wondering if he could fall in love with you and not play you like all those other girls before you, But now, as you stood by his bike, allowing him to place the spare helmet around your head, securing it, it all felt so real and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was ever going to change. Seonghwa suddenly grinned, his smile making your heart melt, as he tapped the helmet where your cheeks were supposed to be, and you found yourself suddenly holding his hands, pressing them down, holding them in place

“Were you waiting for me?” You finally asked what’s been on your mind ever since you spotted him and now a charming smile appeared on Seonghwa’s lips, gaze locking with yours. He suddenly gripped your hands and brought them down to your sides, interlacing your fingers on both hands. You were glad the helmet somewhat concealed your currently red cheeks.

“Yes, I was,” Seonghwa admitted truthfully, “there are no coincidences when it comes to me, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you tried not to grin as Seonghwa watched your face closely for a reaction, grinning himself. You didn’t want strands of hair getting into his pretty eyes, so you found yourself pushing them behind his ear, hand lightly grazing against his skin, making Seonghwa gulp. He tried to remember a time when his heart was racing this much because of a girl, but he couldn’t. He watched you as you fixed his hair for him before placing the helmet around his head, securing it and tapping the top like he had done for you. It made him chuckle and you looked down, embarrassed, but excited by his reaction. Despite his bad boy reputation, he was being rather soft and almost shy as he released your hands and got on the bike, beckoning you over too. You got on too, excited and lightly scared by the new experience as Seonghwa brought the engine to life, reeving it a little and making you giggle. You allowed your arms to rest around his middle, holding him tightly as he took off, headed towards your house. You knew explaining this to your father would be a bit troublesome, but you hoped his liking for Seonghwa would help you out a little bit.

Masterlist (divider)

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

Halfway there yall :D

other chapters

Chapter 21: Won't You?

You can still clearly remember how it felt when you held her for the first time. She was so small back then, you were so worried that she wouldn’t make it when she wouldn’t take to the wetnurse, yet, despite not being fed for over twenty four hours, her voice remained strong. 

Maybe that’s why her voice is hoarse and raspy now, she must have damaged her vocal cords. 

She was such a kind child. Those first five years, though minus breast milk, were fond years. She was so small, even as a child, you could easily hold her in one hand. 

You rarely had to leave her side, every milestone you were right beside her. Trying to fully provide the thing you wanted growing up. 

Stability and a bit of praise. 

While raising her, you had hoped you were doing, at least, a decent job. Rather than a typical princess, where their main purpose was to bear children, you molded a leader. Someone who knows what to do and when to do it. Someone who the entire nation could depend on. 

You had hoped, even prayed, for her to be a great leader. You taught everything you knew very early on so she would excel in her studies and at the academy(which she did.) People rarely remember their childhood so what was the problem in training her during her least memorable moments? You taught her then so she would have a more enjoyable time now, where she doesn’t have to run back to the archives to name and define battle strategies or influential leaders of the past. 

Your dream that manifested within the first few days of being with her was that she would rule above all and surpas any challenges. You wanted to see her make this world a better place. 

But as you watch her now, not even sparing a glance at the men and women that had aided her during her siege, worry began to spread. 

Azula had just came back from her first siege. The fleet that was under her command lagged behind her as she took proud steps down the dock. Her eyes scanned over the musicians, the performers, the soldiers, the officers, and even her own family. All in search of you. 

When she finally caught your gaze, her stoic face morphed into a smile. 

Your hands clenched behind your back. You won’t give up on her, she’s still young and impressionable. It’s not too late to guide her towards the right path… right?

She sent a satisfied nod your way before facing the crowd. Her fist raised high as the people cheered. 

You took a deep breath before schooling your features. 

She’s still young, there’s still time. 

After the welcoming ceremony had commenced, you found yourself in the garden. The cool breeze hitting your face after a night of a crowded banquet. 

You lean on the stone railing as you relaxed, your shoulders sagged. These peaceful moments were hard for you to come by. Where it’s just you and the sky. Be it light or dark, you loved the sky. Clouds were just an added bonus. 

If only you could fly, to know what it feel like to dive and feel the clouds. 

You cherish every moment of your lone tranquility. 

Because-

“I’ve been looking for you.”

they never last long.

And you knew that voice. 

Straightening your back once more, you turned to greet her highness. 

Princess Ursa.

She smiled at you, but it wasn’t the one you were used to. Previously, when interacting with you, she always lacked the fear most were instilled with, nor the respect the rest gained. 

On this lovely night, you saw a sight you haven’t seen in quite some time. 

With trembling fingers, she reached for you. Her hands clutching onto your sleeves as she looked up at you with pleading eyes. Similar to a fish on land, her mouth opened and closed. 

It was finally her at the other end. The sight should have brought you joy but it didn’t. If anything, it brought you confusion, and dare I say, a bit of worry. 

Has she gone pregnant again? Was she expected to be pregnant again? Or was it Zuko’s turn to go on a siege? Your mind becomes a whirlwind of thoughts as she keeps trembling. 

Finally, you heard something. “… you… please… with me-” you couldn’t quite catch what she was trying to say. She was mumbling over her words and slurring them out. 

You scrunch your eyebrows, you are not a patient person and you will not be playing along with her pathetic display. 

You shrugged her hands off and took a step back. “Your highness,” if she wanted comfort, she came to the wrong person, “as the mother of our nation, you mustn't mumble.”

There was a hint of betrayal that flashed in her eyes as you said those words. Now that brought you satisfaction. Her gaping mouth finally closed as she took a breath, why she was out of breath, you were not sure. With the step you took, she steadied herself on her own. 

You didn’t know she was capable of such a thing. 

With her posture now matching yours, she finally became coherent. “Six,” she called out to you, “you have been my closest aid and partner since the day we met. Throughout your early life within this palace walls, it was I that stood beside you, guided you, comforted you, and shown you affection… They say the home is where love lies. Please speak if I’m mistaken but you are mine as much as I yours.” She took a step towards you, “So won’t you stay by my side till the end?” one step closer, “Won’t you let me bask in your warmth?” closer, “Let me touch and feel you?” her hands grip yours as she looks into your eyes, “Etch your name on my heart and hold me even in my dreams?” 

The moon’s glow illuminates her smile. There is no doubt in her eyes as she spoke. 

“Take me as yours and let’s leave all our hardship within these blasted walls.”

“Once I kill the Fire Lord, will you run away with me?”

“Let’s leave this place… together.”

[jmnthem]

How "You" (the player) Made Elster Suffer

SPOILERS FOR SIGNALIS (and its endings)

What elevates video games to an experience that you can only get from said video games and not from books or film or shows is one particular quality: "interactivity". You are not a passive viewer in (most) video games, and a few game developers take this idea to the next level: having your interactions--your agency--affect the outcomes of a game's narrative and direction. In a more typical fashion, a game might have you select a speech option amongst a handful in order to change an event, or to choose your player-character's morality at that moment in time. Perhaps the game might even hit you with a visual reminder that your actions have consequences, or "they will remember that."

Signalis has this quality too, but it's one that often gets overlooked when discussions are had about the game because it's not obvious that it's happening. But rest assured, Signalis remembers 'how you play.' The variables involved are a decently sized list, but for now, the core of what you need to know is that there is a distinct playstyle difference between someone who gets the Promise ending versus someone who might get the Memory or Leave ending. (We will also discuss the Artifact ending briefly afterwards.)

The core of this thesis is that your first playthrough--and your first ending--is incredibly important because that ending is the punctuation at the end of what ought to be a blind playthrough. For extra context, Yuri Stern (one of the two devs behind Rose Engine) once wrote that there were no 'good' or 'bad' endings in Signalis. There is an ending screen that we all get that shows us our own statistics and performance, but the endings were not designed to 'rate' us on how well we performed. Instead, look at the endings from the perspective of Elster. What did Elster experience in your playthrough? Consider how she might have felt at the conclusion of the journey that you, the player, put her through.

If you saw the Promise ending, then Elster had to suffer. In order to get Promise, Elster not only has to kill as many enemies as she can find (and potentially kill those same enemies again), but she also needs to receive a significant amount of damage over the playthrough. Elster needs to be both brought close to death (Deaths Cheated) and entirely die more than a handful of times. The longer your playthrough is or the longer you hold Elster in this "hell" of a reality, as it is described, it becomes even more likely that Elster will receive the Promise ending. Thus, if you genuinely struggled with Signalis' gameplay on your first playthrough, you most likely got the Promise ending. On the other hand, if you were aware of how to get the Promise ending (perhaps this wasn't your first time) and deliberately saw Elster through this process, consider the following: what is Elster's reward after doing violence and having violence done upon her? That a playthrough defined by combat, death, and ultimately failure, ends cloaked in an overwhelming amount of red, and Elster has to commit one more act of violence on the one person she actually cares about.

Elster's Promise ending is as much a physical struggle for her as it is an emotional one. Without getting too deep into an "in-universe" reading of the endings, what we can say for certain is that the fact that this particular ending was titled as 'Promise' leaves me to believe that the emotions centered around the 'Promise' between Elster and Ariane are weighed down by a very real and very deep pain. In this way, one could describe Promise as the more cruel and severe of the endings. Again, this is NOT to say that Promise is a bad ending. Rather, it is the tip of the iceberg.

In order to get the Memory ending, you would have to play Elster quite literally like a machine: fast, efficient, and with few errors. Memory is given to players who cleared through the game without much trouble, maybe even to a point of mastery. Did your Elster only kill enemies out of necessity? Did she always keep a forward momentum, rarely getting hurt and seldom dying? Maybe you, the player, are no stranger to survival horrors. Or perhaps games in general come more naturally to you. Regardless of how well you might have performed, the conclusion for Elster here is finding an Ariane who does not remember her.

What is the reward supposed to be if you--by most survival horror metrics--played well? Perhaps reward is the wrong word. Perhaps Ariane's actions (or her reactions to Elster) ought to be viewed from another angle. Because look at how Elster reacts to Ariane forgetting her: "It's okay. Please, let me stay by your side a little longer." This scene, for what it is, shows you that no matter how perfect or proficient you might be, someone else could make a mistake. Someone else could forget the promise they made with you. And yet--despite all that--to Elster, Ariane's forgetting did not matter. Because to her, she made the journey, she made it to Ariane's side. And in the end, that's all that mattered to this Elster. It was getting there. That's what was important: the Memory. A heartbreaking ending, surely? But wait, there's more.

There's Leave.

This is perhaps the most peculiar (and contested) ending not just because of its content, but because it requires some highly specific and deliberate actions in order to even unlock--even more so than Promise and Memory. Whereas Memory had Elster focusing on moving to her destination quickly and Promise focused on having Elster linger in the 'hell,' Leave is affected by Elster doing the most to keep herself physically and emotionally safe.

repeatedly attempting to open already known locked doors

exhausting NPC dialogue beyond what they already have to say

having Elster heal constantly as soon as she's hit, staying in blue/nominal health

having Elster far overstay her welcome in those 'memory' sequences (such as on the Penrose, on the beach, and any scene that involves the first-person perspective)

Instead of immersing Elster in the cruelty of the 'hellish reality/dreamscape' she finds herself in--

Instead of having Elster focused on a distinct goal--

If you had Elster linger in the environment, in the presence of other characters, and the past (her 'happier times' perhaps), Elster instead finds a state of twilight.

Because the Leave ending starts off the same as the other two: Elster still finds her way to the Penrose, goes inside, read Ariane's notes, finds the body of the original Elster-512, receives the same prompt just before heading to the cryopod that read "Go Home?" and when she accepts it, where does she go? Back outside.

Instead of back out to the endless red desert from before, she's met with a blue, calm night sky seemingly reflected by water. Quite literally, this is the Elster's "twilight." Twilights are a literal signifier for a period of time between daylight and darkness (and vice versa) but they could also signal a period of obscurity and ambiguity. After tossing away her armor and curling up on the ground, Elster almost looks peaceful. Maybe. Because after all that the player put her through (and also what they did not), can we surmise that Elster was able to at least find a little relief at the end?

We never see the inside of the Cryopod in this ending and I have to ask why? Did Elster never go inside? Or was there no one in the cryopod at all?

Allow me to briefly introduce a new idea (I know it's late in this already long essay but stick with me): have we yet considered that every piece of text that shows up on screen like the ones we see above (unless otherwise identified as Alder, Falke, Isa's memory) has always been Ariane talking to Elster? Because here's another detail about Leave, it's the only ending to not include "Remember Our Promise".

We find in Ariane's own notes near 1:1 phrasing as she described why she wanted to leave Rotfront on the Penrose. What comfort could Ariane possibly find after these words flash on the screen: "In the end, I had to leave you behind. I wanted to see you again, but it's too much. Forgive me." That is, unless, the final words in Leave were not meant for her by Elster but for Elster by Ariane. Again, if we're viewing the game from the perspective of the player's/Elster's interactions and experiences having a tangible effect on Elster, then who's to say it did not also do the same with Ariane? How did Ariane feel after witnessing Elster try so desperately to survive, healing at every available opportunity, checking locked doors that would surely never open, talk to other Replikas that were surely doomed? Was the pain too much for Ariane as she realized that this Elster would rather soak in the memories of happier times than to deal with the pain of the cycles? Perhaps Leaving after such reality-bending nightmare is reasonable response for both Ariane and Elster. But this is not to say that Leave is the happier ending.

One last thing: the Artifact ending. In fact, acquiring the Artifact ending is in and it of itself a meta-narrative ending. By pure technicality, Artifact is an ending where those who found it first (and the resulting players who looked up the guides made afterward) dig much deeper in the game--into the nature of the dreamlike reality itself--to find a new conclusion through mutual means. In other words, Artifact could not be obtained without multiple players controlling multiple Elsters convening and contributing together, like in the scene showing the graves surrounding a newly created or conceived 'tesseract'--that shiny object in the center, which is also the symbol of the game itself.

And the results of their (half-literal and half-figurative) ritual was conceiving a new reality?/present?/ideal? where Elster and Ariane are finally together. Does this mean that, with their efforts combined, they found a way to beat death and live with each other once again? It's almost like this ending serves as a congratulatory thank you from the developer just as much as it might serve as an actual extension of the game's events into something new?/hopeful?/neverending? Perhaps it can also be as simple as viewing the dance that Elster and Ariane share as complete and utter wish fulfillment for the viewer (for the player and whoever the Red Eye is). But the Artifact ending rabbit hole is another talk for another time...

Back to Yuri's words from earlier,

"I wish people would be more open to let others figure out for themselves how their ending made them feel. Instead of telling a streamer "you got the best ending!", maybe you can ask "did you think this was an interesting conclusion?" and they can decide if they liked it or not."

If you made it this far, I would like to thank you! Did this perspective of player agency affecting the ending of Signalis make the game more interesting to you? What made your first playthrough of Signalis interesting in the first place?

[ilovejungwonandhaechan]

a little knack — yjw pt. 2

read part one here!

pairing: acadmic rival!jungwon x academic rival!reader

🎧 - paper tulips by gallant

note: jungwon is the student council president and the salutatorian (2nd rank) and reader is the valedictorian (1st rank). there's just a lot of tension in between them tbh

a/n: part two!! not proofread bc i’m lazy lol

wc: 789

fic under the cut!

jungwon stood there, watching you leave with a mix of frustration and something he couldn't quite place. his mind raced, trying to process what had just transpired between the two of you. he paced back to his desk, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"damn it," he muttered again, more to himself this time.

the room felt strangely empty without your presence and your sharp retorts echoing in his mind. he sank back into his chair, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. he couldn't deny the electricity that sparked whenever you two clashed, the way you effortlessly got under his skin.

with a sigh, jungwon closed his eyes briefly, replaying the confrontation. he realized there was more to your interactions than just academic rivalry or witty banter. there was a tension, a pull between you that was undeniable and unsettling. he wasn't sure if he wanted to confront it or ignore it altogether.

minutes passed, and Jungwon finally reopened his eyes, staring at the door through which you had exited. he couldn't shake off the feeling that things were about to change between you, whether he liked it or not.

jungwon’s thoughts continued to circle back to you throughout the day. he found himself distracted during meetings, absentmindedly flipping through papers without really registering their contents. your presence had an uncanny way of lingering, like an unresolved chord in a melody that refused to fade.

as the day wore on, he couldn't help but replay your last encounter in his mind. your confidence, your teasing words—they echoed in his thoughts with a clarity that surprised him. he had always prided himself on composure and control, yet you seemed to effortlessly dismantle both whenever you crossed paths.

by evening, when the student council room was finally quiet, jungwon leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. he couldn't deny the attraction simmering beneath the surface, nor could he ignore the frustration that came with it. he was used to being in control, but with you, he felt like he was constantly teetering on the edge of something he couldn't quite define.

the sound of footsteps outside interrupted his reverie. he looked up to see you standing in the doorway again, a wry smile playing on your lips. 

"back for more, jungwon?" you teased, your tone a blend of challenge and amusement.

he hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "i... didn't expect to see you again tonight."

"surprise," you replied, stepping closer. "can't get rid of me that easily."

jungwon studied you, his expression guarded yet curious. "what do you want?"

you shrugged casually, taking a few more steps into the room. "maybe i just wanted to see if you're still mad."

"mad?" jungwon raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "why would i be mad?"

"because i seem to have a knack for getting under your skin," you remarked, your eyes meeting his challengingly.

he chuckled softly, the tension between you palpable. there was a pause, a charged silence hanging between you as you stood mere feet apart. Jungwon's mind raced with conflicting thoughts—should he push you away or give in to the magnetic pull drawing him closer to you?

finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "do you feel it too?"

unspoken words filled the room as he searched your eyes, seeing a vulnerability beneath your confident facade. he knew exactly what you were referring to. "yeah."

the admission hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. without another word, you closed the distance between you, standing so close that jungwon could feel your breath against his skin. his heart raced as he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to meet your lips with his own.

the kiss was electric, a rush of conflicting emotions and desires intertwining in that singular moment. jungwon found himself losing track of time, of everything except the sensation of being with you, of finally surrendering to the undeniable chemistry that had simmered between you for so long.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your eyes locked in a silent conversation of their own. jungwon couldn't help but smile, a genuine warmth spreading through him despite the lingering tension.

"i guess you're not leaving just yet," he murmured, his voice husky.

you shook your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "not a chance."

as you stayed there together, the air around you seemed to shift, carrying with it the promise of something new, something neither of you had anticipated when you first crossed paths that day in the student council room.

tagging @en-chantedtomeetyou @avaleyshin

[fizzyrodeo]

Updated Helluva Boss Tierlist (S1-S2)

Since quite a lot has happened with the characters since my first tierlist, I've decided to remake it! The old one is the third shown, for reference. The tiers are slightly different, and I'll also be explaining some of my choices below the cut!

(^^ includes my personal fanon ranking)

(^^ excludes my personal fanon ranking)

(^^ original tierlist)

'Superior in my Fanon'

> i feel like i don't need to say that in my version of hb the dynamics between I.M.P. would be very different. still found family, just a better depiction of it.

> best way to fix Mayberry is to NOT have her end up with the woman she tried to kill both in real life AND after death imo. or at the least, flesh her personality out some more before doing so.

> in my version of hb Paimon isn't different in terms of personality. he's just around more in the current timeline and has more definitive interactions with Stolas.

> i don't remember the name of the guy from the blitzø hate party episode, but while he serves as a good show of stolas' flaws and weaknesses, i'd have preferred if he stood as more of a positive comparison to blitzø, highlighting the latter's flaws. this would include a little more screen time and a show of what exactly led to im and stolas dancing and kissing.

'Win(ners)'

> I do NOT support Crimson's actions. However, he is one of the few solid villains we have left in Helluva Boss (and also I have a thing for villains).

> a lot of people take issue with Sallie Mae for reasons to her gender and how it's portrayed in merch + 'not portrayed sufficiently' in the show but I can't think of a single thing that's wrong with her and how she's written.

'Love'

> y'all are hating on Envy for NOTHING 😭😭😭 i mean hating the design is valid but why are we surprised that it isn't accurate to the sources viv based it on?? this isn't new? and at least Envy isn't an eyesore like some others... but i'm maybe people want more of that?? idk, i feel like they're overhated. i love their design, that's about the only reason they're ranked so high.

'Like'

> yes, i do like Stolas!! he's done a lot of things i don't like but it's part of his development. plus, realizing that he actually gets a lot of lasting consequences in canon (regardless of whether he ignores them or not) made me ease up on him. plus he's a crybaby twink. how could i not like a crybaby twink.

> a lot of the characters in this category are either here for their design or their defining moment. Chaz is a bit of a special case, and so is the hellhound adoption center lady. we're sleeping on Barbie Wire's rehab nurse, she did her job GOOD.

'Idrc'

> not much to say here. every character listed in this tier has failed to captivate my interest and for that, i simply don't think of them. a big point i thought of was "who are they without their defining drama?" and for most of them the answer was "little to nothing".

> there's a few random side characters in this tier. they are only present becuse they're side characters that i figured people would remember, and i wanted to state my opinion on them.

'I don't like them'

> all these characters are here because i either dislike the limited appearance they had, dislike their personality, or have extenuating beef.

> there's so much i dislike about Asmodeus- pretty much the same things i dislike about Beelzebub, but i decided to spare him from the very bottom of the list because he is one of the more actively kinder characters in the show.

[multbasa]

Just going to ramble about my thoughts on Sonic as a character and shipping.

First of all, I am personally not sexual nor romantic as in I have no interest in dating anyone myself, but I enjoy fictional character ships in the way that it is fun to see different characters interact and how they play off each other. In terms of shipping, all my "ships" can be romantic or platonic because I personally view platonic connections as just as strong of a connection to romantic connections. In my personal life, romance has no importance to me, so platonic (and familial) relationships mean a lot to me which is why I have "platonic ships" that are stronger than simple friendships. (As an aside, I personally don't make a distinction between romantic and sexual love since neither are important to me, so when I say romantic that can include sexual love as well.)

In regards to Sonic as a character, I've just been thinking about him and why I don't feel very strongly towards many of his ships and I think it is because I kind of view him as an asexual/aromantic character.

I do enjoy Sonamy in Unleashed by the way we got to see him feeling vulnerable when Amy didn't recognize him and how he thought that she wouldn't accept him looking the way he did. Amy saying that she loves him regardless of what he looks like was a really good moment for me, and I like to think that this was a defining moment for their relationship, but I hesitate to say that I would like them to officially get together. While I think they could make a good power couple, I like them more in a platonic way. The idea of Amy having romantic feelings towards Sonic but being comfortable as just friends who have the ability to acknowledge, accept and even playfully tease those feelings without expectations of more is just very meaningful to me personally. I enjoy how they are affectionate sometimes in the IDW comics where Amy's romantic feelings towards him are very apparent but they maintain a platonic relationship. I know there are people who don't like this because it feels like an in-between state where their relationship isn't defined, but personally I dig it.

That brings me to other ships involving Sonic. I just really don't feel strongly towards any of them even though I can understand why others might ship it. This includes Sonic and Shadow, Sonic and Blaze, and Sonic and Knuckles to name a few. I think it's because of how I see Sonic as quite aromantic which is in contrast to Amy who is incredibly romantic and I enjoy a lot of ships with her including Blaze (Amy's personality just really plays off of Blaze imo), Metal Sonic (I like her history of sympathizing with robots and Metal finding his own identity just has nice potential to me) and even Knuckles (She and Knuckles are two characters whom I could see 'settling down"). No one in the series pursues Sonic like Amy does, and because of my aromantic view of him, I don't see him as the pursuing type.

For instance, in Sonic Rush, he and Blaze share a connection and I enjoyed that game a lot (not so much Sonic Rush Adventure because of some gameplay decisions namely racing 'Johnny' so damn much), but I really prefer them as strictly friends. With my view of Sonic being aromantic and Blaze's personality being very diligent and dedicated to her work as a leader and a guardian, they just don't have a strong pull towards each other in my eyes. My interest in Blaze/Amy has to do with Amy being a very emotionally upfront character, and my interest in Silver/Blaze has to do with their very comfortable connection to each other and the star-crossed lovers trope where the space and time keeping them apart is a big part of the appeal to me (a reminder that I like both the romantic and platonic aspects of all my ships, so I enjoy them as a platonic ship as well).

I think I am projecting myself onto Sonic in some way despite him never being #1 favourite character (when I was a little girl, my favourite character was Cream, and I would say that Silver or Blaze is my favourite now, but I've never projected myself onto those characters). I like stories where characters do not get together romantically but have a strong platonic bond afterwards like how Zagreus and Dusa are in the videogame 'Hades'. The idea that someone is romantically in love with someone else but is able to fully accept and acknowledge that their love is one sided without bitter feelings which results in a very strong friendship is so appealing to me as someone who has dealt with people not accepting my rejection of their romantic feelings. It's absolutely a guilty pleasure of mine, and Sonamy fits in with that because of Amy's canon romantic interest and history with Sonic which allows for a lot of development into a comfortable platonic affection—their past being something they can laugh and bond over without any sort of hard feelings.

Besides that, I think there's also the negative influence from the Archie comics that affected how I see Sonic. No hate towards Archie fans, but man did I absolutely hate the romantic drama even as a kid. The way Sonic was portrayed in that series really rubbed me the wrong way. I can't even think of a single romantic moment that didn't give me the "ick" to be honest. I know there was a reboot at some point but I didn't really read that. I've read parts of the original series but the romance always drove me away especially the stuff with that fox girl Fiona and the drama with Tails. Ugh, honestly I don't want to think about it.

Sonic is just very non romantic to me and I prefer him that way which is why I don't really ship him at all compared to other characters.

I'm not looking for outside validation or anything. I just felt like musing on my blog here. Maybe I will make different posts for each ship I enjoy and what I like about them specifically just for fun.

[tomyo]

Engaging with Sonic 06 on its terms.

Everyone these days is making a "Let's reexamine Sonic 06" that it feels cliche to add my take into the mix but I get to be the hipster that says I've loved this game before it was cool to. I came into the Sonic fandom in 2007, my first Sonic game was Secret Rings, and in 2012, I convinced a bunch of sweaty gamers to buy me the game and play it for me (and then I did it again with my best friend and again with another friend). If you heard me at the time, you would probably hear the same points several times over; "The music is good, The cutscenes are gorgeous when held up next to their contemporaries, and there is the cooking but under baked locations that shows this game could have been gorgeous." Today I want to explore that through what I think was the zeitgeist at the time and what each of the narratives is meant to show.

So let's go!

(heyyy so Tumblr glitched as I was writing the wrap up and I lost all the stuff I wrote for shadow and Elise but I have work in 5 hours so fuck me. I cannot explain how losing two hours of talking about Elise physically hurt. Also accidentally hit post.)

The Conceptualization

I t killhink the first thing to realize is how Square Enix almost certainly became the blueprint for the 2000s. Unbelievable realistic fmv graphics that can still hold up to this day, gorgeously rendered cutscenes with a particular use of lighting, and complex but a little dramatic stories for both their characters and world. I think there's quite a few franchises you can look at and point to how they were trying to immitate the SQ success formula and I think Sonic 06 was one of these culminations. Sega went through this huge leap in FMV quality when you think about how Sonic Adventure and Shadow (2005) have 6 years of difference. Sonic was trying to figure out how to grow up with his audience and to answer that Sega looked to what was capturing the attention of their older teen audience.

For what it's worth, I can see how they were trying to make a very contained narrative; It's alluded to that Soliana is an island so my take away is the normal Sonic group (Sonic, Tails, Knuckles and Amy) were on a vacation visit for the big festival. An Important aspect I've tried to emphasize about the world of Sonic before is they're teenagers. Somewhere there is some cognitive dissonance within the fandom on that; blame the comic, the voice actors sounding too old, or the lack of human appearances but I do think it helps when you take a moment to imagine the cast as teenagers interacting in Shibuya (take anime like Air Gear or Supergals into mind) or on a comedic beach episode adventure. A lot of the aspects of teenagehood are still present in their attitudes. Possibly the issue comes from expecting mature stories to use adult like characters but we often forget that younger people still deal with these nuanced situations, even ones like Tidus and Yuna.

Sonic's Story; The World's Every Step Meets the Rest

To me the most important element of Sonic 06 is the song His World. I've had arguments with other fans who are more connected to Adventure era music over the representation of Sonic and I think it is fair to say "Sonic means something completely different to me." So let me explain what His World invokes to me; Sonic is not the sole savior of the world but he is the one that moves others to do good for the sake of doing it. If it's not reading well look at a character like Deku from MHA, his hero quality is defined by an instictual need to help someone who needs it. Why does Sonic fight Eggman? If you go back to his conception, its about Eggman's corruption of nature. Technology isn't inherently bad but to use it to enslave others is. Sonic's whole goal is to save his less anthro friends. But I would say the idea that these animals are someone like Tails is never really established, they are simple people that need saving. Fast forward to the Adventure era and Sonic simply fights Chaos because it's causing danger to the city he's in at the moment. It wasn't really till 2 where there's a more self interested reason he *starts* the adventure. What is also taught to use in the 15 years leading up to Sonic 06 is that other's gravitate towards him; Tails, Knuckles, Amy, Shadow, Cream, and so forth come into the orbit of his story and are not only effected by him but by the connections to each other found through him. It isn't Sonic who really awakens Shadow's true purpose but Amy and Rouge, who herself is effected by Knuckles. There is crossover into each other's lives and stories that ultimately leads to winning over a pessimistic future. "In his world, the world's every step meets the rest." It's a line that expresses an intrinsic connection we all have to each other, no one person walks alone and we are all the sum of our relationship to others; something we will eventually get to with Elise. As for why Sonic saves her is pretty simple; Sonic was on vacation and saw she was in trouble. "No reason." There was no reason she was decided to be helped aside from she needed it and that's all that really matters.

So let's do some lyric breakdown while I'm here; in general the first section of his world is building up the image of Sonic as a carefree dude, someone who's fast and in your face ready to challenge you (athletically or ideologically) that will ultimately bring out the better than you (If you wanna test him best bring your best). "In his world where life is strong." Life of those in the world of Sonic's is important, it is not physically strong but spiritually strong, important. "In his world life's an open book." The world around him is engaging and another exciting adventure is always around the corner because of it. "In his world where one is all." Everyone has value and therefore Sonic protects everyone like they're his friend because no one person is lesser. "In his world, never fear the fall." This can have two meanings, never fear the fall because he will be there to catch you as well as don't fear it because it's important to move with conviction and fearlessness. "In his world, where compromise does not exist." To have a lesser world where there are people cannot be happy is not something he will allow and Sonic will always strive for a better world. "In his world, the world's every step meets the rest." As stated before, everyone crosses each other's paths. A tile on a stone streets will have the footsteps of many people on it. The world will always exist because of the collective known as life and each living being holds its own importance to be valued. But equally each footprint meets because they follow his path; his friends are motivated by him to change the world as well as they were changed by him. The second bridge is about building up his accomplishments; "Coming out to win a ten out of ten", "Intergalactic Continental Champ, Running Things". But they also express Sonic as a do gooder for freedom; "Spikes up his Liberty"(Also a reference to the punk hairstyle Liberty Spike and suggests a punk ideology to Sonic), "Hyperactive instrumental at pulling strings", "Breaking down doors never following". But some lines that important into the way Sonic is treating Elise is this; "Cause the pressures of this world, the can take their toll. And it's tough to get away when they take their hold. The only way to break free is to break the mold." I've seen a few complaints for Sonic telling Elise to simply smile, but His World reenforces what Sonic is trying to express is to reject complacency in a world where you've accepted less for yourself as well. The world can't change if you don't change and "Smile" is shorthand for accept happiness right now rather than be sad over the future not here yet. To cry over the future is to accept that you cannot create a most optimistic one.

The second chorus is the same but with new call in the background; "Gotta make your own way!" You have to determine your own life for yourself (as opposed to simply let the role of a princess dictate it). "Life is just a game you play!" While it's cheesy given the context of being video game music, the point stands that to win in a video game is nominally made by your choices is, to choose it to move forward for yourself. "Notice that we're here to stay!" Sonic (and his friends) are promising that they will always support you (Elise in this case). You do not have to battle the world on your own. Now His World is used intensely throughout the game and has a ridiculous amount of variations to it including fully different lyrics. This theme that Sonic believes in the importantance of the individual coarses through the game's story and while I won't go into the Crush 40 version right now, I do want to note the extra lines in the Zebra head version; "When you leap without a net you'll find, it won't be there all the time. So watch your step don't fall." Sonic is that safety net, he's there to help you take that leap but there is a point where you should leap without relying on that net to be there and leap expecting it not to be there (true independence).

As I've been saying, that is the Sonic I know that was presented through me as I grew up in the 7th gen console era; A person who saves people for no reason other than to save them, physically and emotionally. Jason Griffith will always be my Sonic because I like how his performance notes elements of vulnerability in his confidence. I know that warble he does is somewhat memetic to a lot of people but to me it presented an element of relatability for the lives he touches. To be clear for what I'm about to say, I am a Dreamcast hyper fan but the Adventure Era was a little insular with its cast, often being tied to just several combat ready characters rather than involving itself with civilians. The dark age of Sonic though had a large presence of that; Elise, Sahara, Merlina, Chip. While yes all these characters ultimately have extreme importance to their worlds, they're a lot less go getter and in need of help from Sonic at the start of the story. Sonic is not meant to grow but mentor them into being the ones who grow, portraying him as a caretaker and empathetic. It's not to say these weren't present traits before but his 90s image was attitude while his Dreamcast one was cocky; he's a teen of course so it's a natural element of him. But the Dark Age Sonic started to grow up emotionally as his stories got more involved to which a softer personality greatly conflicted with the post 9/11 Americana machismo, softer characters were not a welcome to a casual audience that was shifting more towards grittier stories that were grabbing at a more immature adult world. It's no wonder then that 2010s Sonic tried to back pedal hard and gave him an almost frat boy like personality at his new voice generation start. With Sonic Frontiers, I'm happy the tides changed back into a more emotionally subtle sonic.

Also this yapping and I haven't even really talked about the Sonic's Story; first off it's definitely unfortunate because while I think most can fill in the blanks, even the narrative of Sonic 06 got rushed. It does feel like there were points there was supposed to be more downtime with Elise, a slow building familiarity from her initial formality. Elise in her own way might be a bit foreign to Sonic, there's an aspect of moroseness to her in how calm she often is a the start. I'm trying to do my own section on Elise so I want to save it for later but I think in some ways it was meant to trouble Sonic how restrictive she was emotionally; a little too unbothered with her own safety while taking responsibility for anyone else's.

Sonic's Story really is Else's Story, Sonic's major purpose is trying to give her a normalcy that she denies herself. He is trying to be a companion to someone he sees struggling with constant fear for a nation ultimately become the devoted knight as the goal becomes more murky the more outsiders come into play.

Something I think was very intentional is how involved Sonic's cavalcade of friends are to the narrative (often a big sore point of this age ironically). Elise is extremely solitary but Sonic's friends are integral to his success and often the previously built bonds play an important role into each of the main 3 narratives. Within each, there's particularly a female character that expresses a devotion that effects the story's MC. Sonic with Elise with a little bit of Amy, Shadow and Rouge, and Silver with Amy and Blaze. For Sonic, it's the fact Elise is someone he's trying to convince into saving herself. Give a man a fish vs. eating a fish. Ultimately thought their bond is a catalyst for the calamity Elise fears; a divine irony.

Shadow's Story; If the World Chooses to Become My Enemy

The most important line to me in the entirety of the game is the one from Rouge; "Even if everyone in the world with be against you, know that I'll always remain by your side."

Shadow's Story presents him as now a very competent agent for the same organization that plans to have him one day contained, the greater tragedy is by making one of his own friends do it and the same friend who would wait 1000 years so he could save him. It's not Omega's fault as he was likely being controlled to do it but one could read into how determined he attacks Mephilis as an expression of anger knowing the results.

Shadow often keeps aloof but through actions you can often see his connections built to others. He's familiar enough to tinker with Omega and will keep helping Rouge acting like it's a reluctant choice. I'm particular, I like the dynamic of those two the most in this game as they have a lot of history. In adventure 2, it's a major character moment where he saves Rouge as she was becoming at peace with Death.

Silver's Story; And I Might Know of The Future, But You Still Control the Past.

Silver has only known a world of conflict, he knows it was started by Iblis but not much else. As a 14 year old who seems to be charge in keep Iblis at bay, he's a bit naive in his actions. When Mephilis provides a solution, he jumps on it as the right answer. What he doesn't expect is to run into Amy.

Now before we talk about Amy, let's talk about Blaze. I *think* this is Blaze's origin story. While I haven't gotten a chance to play through the Rush series, her character seems a bit less world wise; she's very hands off and doesn't engage with morality much. During the end of Silver's story, she tells him to send her to another universe. Ultimately I believe the implications are that this is how she became a princess in another dimension and Iblis is the source of her flame powers (and prior she was particularly just in tune with sensing his presence). But where she would be his assumed mentor, her character falls flatter than I remember with the most major thing is incepting the idea into Silver that the chaos emerald turns your thoughts into reality.

Amy on the other hand is the one who effects Silver morally. It's dark out, she mistakes him for the wrong guy, but he is in need of help and she knows her guy is the best option. Amy gets a lot of shit (many of you might know I am a die hard Amy stan) but she's one of the people who takes most to heart Sonic's message. When she runs into Elise, she picks up on the situation she's in quickly and doesn't hesitate in getting her out of there. Often when there is an antagonist in the story, she's the one able to emotionally connect with them; Gamma, Shadow, Emeral, and now Silver. She's pushy but it's because of that that Silver even gets sidetracked off his mission which he needs. Without realizing it, Amy is giving him the chance to question what he is doing. Amy is shattered to realize Silver's goal was to kill Sonic. Again I think we are supposed to infer that they've developed a pretty decent friendship at this point and why it was Amy chosen to be this role is likely to how similar they are; close in age, trusting of others, a bit dramatic and a little naive. To Amy, Sonic will always be the one looking to save others and could not do wrong but To Silver, his morality did not change that he would curse the world. "If I had to chose between the world and Sonic, I would choose Sonic!" Yes on some level this is an expression of her love for him but I think it goes further than that; Sonic as I've said is this beacon of good that makes others do good in turn and to loose or turn against that is never something she would allow. It feels parallel to Rouge's statement to Shadow, that against the world she would still choose him.

This shakes Silver into a contemplative state; he's been only viewing this from a greater good stance and even after talking to Blaze, he still seems a little more restrained and in his head than before. It's only Mephilis that puts him back on the path.

The other parallel we see a lot of with Silver is the mentor role both Mephilis and Shadow take on; Mephilis is a literal devil on one shoulder and Shadow isn't quite an angel but he does lead Silver on the right path. In a way, the mission almost feels cult like, Silver questioning the reasoning is often shot down for the phrase "Do it or life is bad." And we are seeing essentially various characters deprogram him as he slowly starts connecting pieces to a different solution. I don't think Sonic Team was literally meaning to parallel cult like behavior but rather it's a side effect of the "parenting" Silver is getting. Shadow does not tell Silver what to do, he moreso gives Silver the means to learn for himself. Initially just fighting, Silver mimicks chaos control having learned from Mephilis transporting him, Blaze's words, and Shadow's techniques. Rather than just insist to Silver what the truth is, he tells him to seek answers for himself.

Silver's character often gets a lot of misrepresentation himself; out of all the characters, he is the most to understand what is going on. He discovers time travel chaos control through example, learns the way to seal Iblis, and most importantly learns that the trigger is because Elise has cried. Silver give Elise the blue emerald understanding three things; 1. The princess has experienced and will experience plenty hardship leading to her death and the flames of disaster 2. The chaos emeralds manifest the user's desires 3. All 7 give a miracle. Silver finally looks to Elise and sees someone like him and he wants that girl to be able to wish for something.

So yeah, we weren't gonna not analyze Dreams of an Absolution. The song is possibly the most strongly literal as it tells the story of Silver. "And Every night I lay away and find no conclusion, and every night I dream of an Absolution." A preadventure Silver wanting an end to the torment of Iblis. "In the night light do you see what you dream? All your troubles, are they all what they seem? Look around you then you may realize, All the preachers, all with their lies." Silver believes Sonic to be the source of all his issues but he's being fooled by the preacher (Mephilis). "And I might know of our future but then you still control the past. Only you know if you'll be together, only you know if we should last." Silver lives in oblivion but Sonic and Elise control that fate. Their choice in being together directly affects the lives of the future. "In the night light do you still feel your pain. For the valor you waited never came?" Silver keeps missing his chance and then Amy completely stops him. "If you were able, would you go change the past? To mend a faux pas with one last chance" Silver questions if this goal is necessary. "In the night light do you see what you dream, all your triumph and all you'll ever be?" Silver is defined by his identity as the defender from Iblis. "Look around you then you may realize, happiness lies trapped in misery." This line can be applied multiple ways; Silver realizing how Elise's own happiness is tied with Sonic which causes her misery, how possibly there was happiness in the future despite the misery, how you can find good moments during bad times. "And who knows what of our future, We can all try to change the past." This might be more related to last story, Silver in the end chose not to change the past and now that the flames still got released through all of time, he is still realizing there is room to work towards a better future in the worst of times. "Cause every night I will save your life, and every night I will be with you. Cause every night I will make it right, and every night I will come to you. But every night it just stay the same and I dream of an Absolution." Silver will always play the hero and is always willing to save others but he burns for a finality of the situation. "And you'll see, what you'll be, and you'll see, all you can be." This can refer to believing in himself or believing in Elise as she has become more self assured in her goals. "And every night, I will dream, and you'll see. Yeah, this is my dream!" Silver finally achieved the catharsis of the end of Iblis.

Elise's Story; If You Have Time to Worry, Then Run

[modern-day-bard]

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanfiction

Content Warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 17: Anyone

word count: 4.3k

ao3 | wattpad

Gwen

Contrary to my scheme several weeks ago, I severely wish I had had more time to find a costume for tonight. Three days just wasn’t enough time. Now I’m standing in front of a mirror, in a bodysuit two sizes too small, wishing I could cover up. If I was still hell-bent on making Joel uncomfortable, this outfit would have done it.

I originally thought my hair would be the statement, as my blonde waves had been styled to be the curliest they could manage. Which, apparently, was quite curly. Aria was beyond excited that I was working with Brissel, and she used probably half a tub of curl-defining cream. After Mateo added a red lip, they left for another booking. Now, I’m alone with what is essentially lingerie. Evelyn had sent me a judge costume to ensure I was completely covered, whereas Harper had sent over a fireman costume that consisted primarily of shiny red leather. I added tights underneath the bodysuit for some extra coverage, but if it weren’t for the miniature hat fastened atop my head, I could easily pass as some scantily-clad superhero. Especially with the added high-heeled, red leather boots. The outfit highlighted my curves so much that I considered being a judge for a moment. That is, before Harper texted me a picture of her dalmatian costume, telling me how excited she was that we were going to match. Damn her too-good-for-this-earth smile.

A few months ago, I would wear this without hesitation. I’d go with the intention tonight of getting as many likes as possible, impressing the brand with my engagement, having fun with my friends, and potentially taking another man home. And I despised, despised, the fact that now, for the first time, I’m actually nervous to walk out in front of Joel. I hike up the strapless front a little higher, and grimace when that only seems to draw attention to my chest even more.

Tonight’s about having fun, Gwen. When did you start to give a shit about what other people think?

I shake out my arms and wiggle my shoulders, shimmying away all the anxious energy on my way to the door.

Joel is waiting in the living room, just as I expected. I know he heard me coming, as the click-clacking of these shoes would guarantee, but he’s busy looking down at his phone.

I asked him earlier to wear the suit he wore to the wedding, minus the bowtie. I might have been imagining—or god forbid wishing—things, but I think there was a touch of excitement when I asked. And a small smile makes its way to my face now that he’s obliged me.

“I’m all set,” I announce, starting to make my way to the elevator.

This gets his attention, though only momentarily. Joel looks away as soon as he sees me, which quickly makes my face match my bodysuit. My heart hammers in my chest, noting how his free hand clenches into a fist.

“Alright,” He clears his throat, following behind me, eyes now on the floor.

“There’s just one more thing before we go…” I find the small package in the second hall closet, handing him the box with a smirk.

Joel rummages through the contents for a moment. “Are you giving me a uniform now?”

“It’s a costume. Badge, sunglasses, little pen that you can pretend has a flash in it. You can be one of the Men in Black.”

He pulls out the badge as if he’s dismantling a bomb.

“I’m assuming it will be a big fat no, but I toned it down just in case. This way no one will question your ever-present frown.”

Joel gives me a look, even as he fastens the badge to his lapel.

“You’ve assumed incorrectly.”

I ignore the giddy feeling moving up through my toes with a shrug. “There’s a first time for everything. Don’t forget the tie.”

Joel puts the sunglasses on next, and they sit a little too well on his smoothed hair. Secretly, I had hoped that he would style it just as he had at the wedding. The fact that he has makes it even more difficult not to stare as he puts the pen in his pocket and slings the tie around his neck. Watching his hands as he affixes it, so carefully and controlled, a thought shoots through my mind like lightning. His hands wrapping the fabric around my wrists, the sound it would make as it pulls it taut.

I drag myself over to press the elevator button, like putting space between us will somehow lessen the chances of him being a mind reader. I need to be out of telepathic earshot if that sort of thing is going to pop into my head.

After the trek to Brooklyn, made easier by Rod’s aversion to following traffic laws, we arrive at the event. Joel had told me there was no back entrance, as the club for the L'ensemble and Brissel event was quite small in comparison to some of Russell Corporation's events. There are only a handful of photographers outside, and it looks as though two of them were hired by the event organizers themselves. It offers me a little relief as I grab Joel’s offered hand, stepping out to the flashing lights. This part, I’m used to. Ironically, I was more covered in this sexed-up fireman costume than I was in my dress for the last gala. With Joel standing behind me to the left, it’s a little easier to pose as I normally would, fluffing my hair and pushing my hips to the side.

A couple of them call my name, asking for different angles. The side-eye Joel gives the one who asks for a back-shot doesn’t go unnoticed. I smile at them, giving a quick thanks, before heading inside with Joel’s hand hovering behind me as usual. Any composed, photo-ready smile turns cheesy and borderline goofy when I see a spotted pair of ears bouncing on over to me.

“You made it!” Harper squeals, wrapping me into a big hug. I find myself waiting until she lets go first.

“I missed you,” I say as quietly as I can. Her green eyes shine, squeezing my hand. I didn’t tell her about the flowers. I only said that there was a false alarm at the wedding and I’ve decided that having a bodyguard is a good idea, once and for all. I also may have embellished how much work is stressing me out. Not that it wasn’t, but having an excuse to my radio silence that wouldn’t involve scaring her was helpful.

“Hey Joel! Love the costume.” Harper smiles at him. He does his best to match her enthusiasm, and fails.

“Thank you, it’s uh, it was all her—Miss Russell.” His sunglasses sit just far enough down his nose that I can see him look over at me before looking away just as fast.

“This looks incredible!” I pivot, perking up as I take in the disco balls mixed with cobwebs and purple lighting.

“Thank you! I had zero part in it,” She beams. “Everyone else is already here. C’mon!” Harper drags me through the crowd of people, pointing out different setups along the walls of new products for people to try. “The marketing director is here, I think she’ll want to snap a few pictures of you with the products later. Especially with that hair of yours, because damn.”

“It was all Aria’s idea.”

“Was it her idea to go with my costume instead of Evelyn’s?”

I lean forward so that Joel won’t be able to hear, even though the music around is pounding. “Was it your idea to purposely size down this thing? I can hardly breathe.”

Harper radiates mischief, looking over her shoulder. “Of course not. It was Nyah’s.”

Speaking of the devil herself, she dressed the part. Complete with a sparkly black and red pitchfork.

“Give us a spin!” She points the styrofoam weapon at me, and I do as she commands even with an eyeroll.

“I hear I have you to blame for this,” I can’t help but smile at her satisfied expression.

“Well,” she bends down to my ear, “If I had known, I would have bought you a little alien number instead.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, eyes flicking up to Joel before she gives him a small wave.

“You’re never going to give that up, are you?”

“Not until you give in. You know you want to,” Nyah practically sings.

“Gwen, hi!” Elijah saves me from the possibility of answering that rhetorical question.

“Hey Elijah,” I bring him into a hug as Landon approaches behind us.

“A firefighter? Very hot,” Landon winks. Elijah and them are dressed as…

“Detectives?” I ask, looking back and forth between their old school caps and the pipe hanging out of Landon’s mouth.

“Sherlock and Watson,” Elijah’s ecstatic smile gives Harper’s a run for her money. My heart melts seeing how Landon smiles at him, and I can’t help but return it.

“We need some drinks!” Harper declares, loud enough for some people behind us to holler back in agreement.

Two tequila sodas later, I finish up my photo op with Brissel. Ada, the marketing director, is so down-to-earth that I forget that I’m being paid to promote them. We’ve made plans to get coffee before Nyah and the rest of the group are begging me to make our way to the second floor, where the real fun begins.

They must have fit two to three hundred people in the already cramped space. The floor lights up in different hues of purple, each square combining to form a kaleidoscope. The music was even louder up here than the floor below, and dozens of people crowd toward the DJ, mimicking his hand motions. Nyah pulls us into the middle of the dance floor, with Landon and Elijah quickly making the excuse that they needed more drinks. They take our orders, but I don’t expect to see them for some time. The way they keep looking at each other… they’re probably going to find some dark corner to “investigate.”

Joel lingers close to my side, standing as straight as an arrow, eyes hidden behind his glasses.

“So they’re already at the matching couple’s costume phase, huh?” I ask the girls before Harper can spin in too many circles for her to see or hear straight.

“Apparently. Who knew Landon would be such a lover?” Nyah muses.

“Are we still allowed to be commitment-phobes?” Harper asks, “If all of you start to get into relationships I’ll be pissed.”

“I don’t fall into that category, if you recall.” Nyah flips her hair over her shoulder, making Harper laugh.

“Okay, two long-term relationships make you exempt. Gwen?”

Again, that weird twinge of embarrassment whips through my chest. Why did I wish Joel was on the other side of the room right now?

“You know the answer to that.” I try to be as vague as possible, but Harper’s eyes widen with glee.

“Thank god,” She reaches for my hand, spinning me around. That, at least, makes me laugh before I stumble backwards, Joel’s arm reaching out to steady me.

It’s not a conscious decision—to look up at him. But everything in my body pulls my eyes upward, the way tourists do after taking their first steps outside of Grand Central. Except even now, I still haven’t tired of the view.

Of New York, I mean. Obviously.

Joel doesn’t pull his eyes away, but he arches a brow, the slightest ghost of a smile on his face. “You alright?”Why does New York’s accent have to come out so strong when he asks that?

I square my shoulders, which seems to give him some idea that I want his arm to leave my back, though that isn’t the case.

“You could move a little, you know. Unless you’re just getting into character.”

Joel adjusts his tie, “Yeah. Not really my kind of music. Or dancing, for that matter.”

“I can’t imagine there is a kind of dancing you do enjoy,” I challenge, leaning forward to close some of the space between us. I can feel both Nyah and Harper’s eyes burn into the side of my face, even though they keep moving to the beat. I’ll get shit for this later, I’m sure. They’ll call it flirting, and I’ll tell them they’re reading into it too much. I have just enough alcohol in my system to not read into it at all.

“Well, maybe you just haven—”

I feel a tap on my arm as Joel stiffens beside me. Turning to my right, I come face to face, more like face to chest, with another fireman. Tall, burly, and dirty blonde. At least from what I could see poking out from underneath his hat. His hat, suspenders, and thick ‘fireproof’ pants were the bigger indications of his costume, seeing as his chest was bare.

“If this place gets any hotter, you and I will be put to work.” He smiles, exposing teeth so white I wonder if they’re veneers.

I fight the urge to cringe. I do one, quick glance over to Harper and Nyah to confirm that they were, in fact, watching this interaction the way a cat watches a laser pointer. I have to entertain him, just a little. Otherwise there will be an onslaught of questions tomorrow.

“I hope not. You aren’t exactly suited up for it,” I point to his abs. His eyes twinkle with excitement, the way all men’s do when their pickup line is well received.

“Speak for yourself!” He shouts over the music, eyeing my costume down to the boots. “That outfit may burn the place down on its own.”

In an effort to avoid him looking even longer at my breasts, I change the conversation. “I’m Gwen,” I stick out my hand, forcing him to look me back in the eye.

“Gwen? I’m Aidan.”

Aidan keeps a hold of my hand, spinning me gently so that I’m mainly facing away from him. I’m sure he intends it to be intimate, but it only makes me acutely aware of how rigid Joel has gone next to me. His sunglasses are still in place, but I know he’s watching every breath of this interaction.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” Aidan says in my ear, as quietly as the music will allow. “I’ve been trying to come over here since you walked in.”

I twist my head to look up at him. “Thank you…”

In truth, he is very good looking. Exactly the type of distraction I would normally gravitate towards. So why am I unable to return the compliment? Why can’t I think of any sort of reply other than the basics?

“Do you live in Brooklyn?” Not my best, but at least it’s something.

Aidan starts to rock us back and forth, his hand dropping to my waist.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that this guy wouldn’t dance with you.” He ignores my question entirely. “Any guy in here would be crazy not to.”“Oh,” I let out an awkward, forced laugh, “Yeah, not everyone is up for it, I guess.”

“I am,” His hand grazes lower, down to the front of my thigh. The thin layer of my tights doesn’t feel like enough of a barrier. He pushes me against him by doing so, and I can feel the heat from his chest against my back.

All of this is normal. Swiveling my hips, hearing him hum in approval, lulling my head back to rest against him while we sway to the music.

This feeling, however, is not.

My heart is pumping almost double the speed it normally would after a few songs. The heat Aidan is giving off begins to feel stifling, and I feel a couple beads of sweat drip down my back. And there’s this weird twist in my stomach as the thought of the note flashes through my mind. It takes everything in my power not to look over at Joel who is both painfully close to us and still not close enough. I do catch Nyah’s smirk at one point, both of the girls then turning around to find their own dance partners. When they do so, it feels like the crowd around us pulls tighter inward. Like even if something were to happen right now, and Joel was close by, there would still be nowhere for us to go. Nowhere to run. And as I catch a whiff of Aidan’s cologne, I think once again of the note.

I can only wait and wonder if you smell just as sweet.

This couldn’t be him, could it?

The thought leaves me frozen, back arched against Aidan. It could be anyone. What are the odds that my stalker would be at this party? It was invite-only. Maybe he could have followed me, but getting in would be incredibly difficult. I should have asked him if he knew who I was to gauge his reaction, but that idea makes me feel nauseous. I’ve never wanted to be someone who assumed everyone knew who I was. Most of the time, I went by completely unbothered. This is probably just another guy, like any other night.

But…what if it’s not? What if it is him? What if he’s this close to my friends, and to Joel? What if I put everyone in danger just by showing up tonight?

The room feels darker, and I now feel encased by Aidan’s arm. He hasn’t even noticed I’ve stopped dancing, or if he has, he’s chosen to ignore it. The quick, rhythmic beat around us clashes with the unsteady, erratic pounding in my chest, and I start to shake my head, pulling away from Aidan. At first, he pulls back, maybe assuming it’s part of some move or something.

“I–um, I’m sorry,” I break away, facing him with an apologetic smile. His face is flushed, not even looking at mine. His eyes glaze over my body only, and I know he barely heard me. Just to my right, Joel still stands, straighter and stiffer than I’ve seen him before. Though since I’ve pulled away from Aidan, Joel has taken half a step in between us. I’m glad I can’t see what his eyes are focused on.

“C’mere,” Aidan says over the music, reaching for me again. My heart hasn’t stopped racing, and I lurch back, immediately embarrassed by my response. I can’t see any of my friends nearby as I turn to push through the crowd. When I feel a presence close behind me, panic shoots down my arms. Until the familiar scent of spice fills my senses, and I know it’s just Joel, doing his job.

I continue to push through the crowd until I see the doors to a balcony, and the promise of fresh air calls to me like a siren.

“Miss Russell,” I hear Joel’s gruff voice behind me, but I don’t turn around. “Miss Russell, slow down.”

I can’t. There isn’t enough air in here. And he’s with me anyway. Why should I slow down? I push past the last crowd of people with relative ease, almost stumbling against the railing, letting the chilly air hit my skin. I focus on the alleyway below, wondering how many breaths it will take to feel normal again.

“Miss Russell,” Joel repeats, placing only one hand on the railing to my left so he can face me instead. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing,” another deep breath, “I just needed a—moment.”

Even from the corner of my eye I can see his eyebrow crease forming. He surveys the balcony, probably trying to assess how many people can eavesdrop, before lowering his voice. “Did Aidan do something?”

I didn’t know he had been close enough to hear his name. That better be all he heard.

“What? No.” I roll my head to the side, stretching my neck. Despite all the dancing, I feel more tense than when we arrived. Thankfully, the music is quiet out here, and there’s only a handful of people mulling about.

I can feel Joel looking at me, the concern pouring in even though I refuse to engage with it. It takes several minutes for me to feel like I have enough control over myself to stop gripping the railing as tightly, and eventually I can look elsewhere besides the alley.

Even with what I can see in my periphery, I still jump, looking at Joel startled as he places his suit jacket over my shoulders.

“You’re shivering,” he says apologetically.

On some other night, several weeks ago, I would have objected before he’d even finished giving it to me. Now, I pull it tighter around myself, taking a long whiff of the comforting scent rolling off of it.

“Thank you.” I try to give him a small smile.

“What happened?” Joel asks softly.

I shake my head again. “I don’t know.”

I try to focus on the Manhattan lights in the distance, knowing that if I look at Joel as I ask this, I’ll feel far too weak. “Do you think it could be him?”

He doesn’t answer me right away, but I know he understands. He just continues to watch me, as if trying to determine if I can handle his opinion.

“It could be anyone,” his voice is gruff with honesty. “Which is a good, and bad, thing.”

“Right,” I sniffle, hoping it will stave off the thick lump forming in my throat.

“I do think it’s unlikely. He had a confidence that I wouldn’t anticipate from stalkers. Why send things to you if he has the balls to approach you in public?”

He still sounds just as honest, not that I would ever take Joel as someone who would sugarcoat anything. A virtue I very much appreciate.

“That’s a good point,” I sigh, my heart rate slowing further.

“Don’t sound too surprised.”

I finally turn towards him, his concern having sizzled, looking slightly relieved to have me make eye contact. And for the first time this evening, he doesn’t instantly look away.

“Contrary to popular belief, Miller, I do actually think you know how to do your job. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass.”

He tries to hide his smile by looking out at the view. “I’m the one forced to wear a costume, but I’m the pain in the ass?”

“I went easy on you! I could have made you a dalmatian with Harper.” I giggle, and he looks back at me with an unrestrained smile.

I’m not sure I’ve seen him smile like this before. He has a dimple, for christ’s sake. His entire face lights up, and it reminds me that there is a man in there that plays the guitar, and has nightmares, and always remembers to get me dinner when I forget to get it for myself.

I’m screwed.

“Are you married?”

What the fuck? Why did I ask that? I would blame the tequila, but most of my buzz has faded. Much like Joel’s smile, now that it’s been replaced with surprise.

“No.”

I want him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

Well, if he’s going to play coy.

“Do you have a significant other?” I try to phrase it correctly, remembering Nyah’s comment that he might not be into women. I suppose that’s still a possibility, but there’s a very irritating

amount of hope inside me that it isn’t true.

“No.”

I narrow my eyes. “Really? No relationship at all?”

“No.”

“That was a quick answer.”

“Relationships are complicated.”

“That was a non-committal answer.”

“What answer do you want?” He sounds exasperated now.

“The truth.”

Joel doesn’t reply right away. I realize that with each breath, we’ve been inching closer and closer to each other until we’re practically chest to chest. My breathing is back to being erratic, though for a completely different reason. For a second, Joel’s darkened eyes fall to my lips, and for a faster, almost undetectable moment, they fall to my chest. Unlike how I felt with Aidan, I didn’t want him to look away. The nearly pained expression on his face makes heat pool in my belly, before dropping lower…

Joel clears his throat, taking a step back. It’s a motion that wafts the cool air against my face, reminding me where I am.

“The truth is I can’t, really. It interferes with the job,” His voice is clipped, gaze focused on something off in the distance.

I doubt he’ll look at me again for the rest of the night.

“I see.”

This is his career, after all. Judging by his temperament alone, he wouldn’t do anything that could put that at risk. I shouldn’t push him too, either. The stress of recent events has to be the explanation of all of this. Joel may be a handsome guy, but I can handle handsome. I must just be in need of a distraction.

You left a perfectly good distraction on the dance floor, Gwen.

Maybe I had no explanation, then. Which means I also don’t have a good reason, so I need to let it go.

“I think I’m ready to go home now, Mr. Miller.”

Joel nods, still refusing to look me in the eye. I start to unfurl myself from his jacket, but he just motions for me to start walking.

“Keep it. We have a long trip back.”

I don’t bother arguing about how quick the walk outside to the car is, or how my seat will be heated. In part, because I’m tired, but also in part because I’d like to breathe in his scent a while longer. I pull the fabric tighter around me, clinging to the thought of his eyes and scent lingering, even as I make a mental promise to let these feelings go. Eventually.

Next Chapter

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Masterlist

[a-study-in-sepia]

Proxemics and Deduction 01

Proxemics is defined as the branch of knowledge that deals with the amount of space people feel is necessary to set between themselves and others. 

It’s a fascinating field that we, as deductionists, pull from on a daily basis whether we’ve been aware of it or not. If you see two people walking together, how do you gauge their relationship? Lovers, family, friends, colleagues, mortal enemies; all options, along with many more. There are quite a few scenario-specific examples, such as coworkers carrying the same identification tag, or a couple each tending to a stroller, but without fail, as a supplementary measure, or more often, as an introductory observation, we fall to proxemics. We look for levels of comfort, and one of the best ways to gauge that is physical closeness. Proxemics is one of several modes of nonverbal communication, ranging from something as simple as touch (haptics), to something as obscure as use of time (chronemics). 

To explain proxemics in its most concrete state, we can reference Edward T. Hall’s interpersonal distances of man. 

Imagine four concentric circles, in the center, a person. The first three circles are at 4, 8, and 12 feet respectively. Now add one more circle at 1.5 feet. From nearest to farthest, you have the intimate distance, personal distance, social distance, and public distance. Each of these measurements is used to represent the acceptable levels of closeness in various situations. It is important to note that Hall’s model, and thus Hall’s denoted application, is limited to Western ideals of social conduct. While these same measurements may not fully apply cross-culturally, all human-hosting spaces will model some form of proxemics. There will always be bounds between intimate, personal, and public space, but occasionally, they will be marked at different points. The difference between a friend and a colleague may be a matter of a few inches, and yet breaching that unspoken rule, can cause immense discomfort. Gauging this space, or lack thereof, is a major aspect of social deduction. It’s one of the first behavioral observations we utilize as deductionists, both new and old. 

Before marital status, even before handedness, we have social connection. We all see it, I would venture to say we intuitively understand it, so much so that the lines between observation and deduction begin to blur. 

The basics are in the textbook application, but there’s much more to proxemics than reciprocal relations. What about the colleague who’s getting a little too close for comfort? The wife who’s preparing for an imminent divorce? The regular with the irrational phobia? 

Deduction, in many ways, is best dissected through deviance.

Proxemics sets a baseline for us to observe and through this baseline, enables us to detect changes. These changes speak volumes. To take the first example. You notice two coworkers behind the counter in a cafe. Their relationship status is unknown - simply colleagues, barely acquaintances, best friends - it's unestablished to you. You watch them interact; there’s limited camaraderie, few words exchanged from one, a few too many from the other. Is worker B simply over communicative, or is there more to it? You see B encroach on what would be appropriate for a colleague (social/personal depending on the available space - which is something I’ll touch on in a moment), but A steps away, leaving B in the next available concentric circle. This is something we would likely notice without the knowledge of proxemics, but would be unable to categorize beyond a vague ramble about “intuitive social knowledge”. By referencing an established baseline we streamline the observation and solidify it in the process, creating a new building block to jump off of. “Individual A looks uncomfortable” turns into, dare I say, a mathematical reference point for any and all future behavior. 

It is important to acknowledge that this particular example is not representative of Person A’s baseline. It is also important to acknowledge that not every person follows the same baseline, and that certain situations will inherently alter expected baselines. Let’s take the example of a very small area behind the counter in this imaginative cafe. Informal colleagues will likely be forced into what would be considered personal or even intimate space. Proxemic expectations change not only cross-culturally, but by environment. The best way to understand proxemic norms in non-standard situations, is to spend some time observing many people who are exposed to that specific situation. If you simply go off how you would feel in that situation, you are setting a baseline with a possible bias. People tend towards environments they're comfortable with. There is, after all, a reason they’re behind that counter and you’re not.

Now, one might argue that if the proxemic standards are constantly changing, the applications of the specific measurements are all but useless. While it is true that the baselines are constantly changing by environment, there is an overarching standard. When the space is provided to do so, people will revert to defined patterns. And in situations where the space is not available, using this model, you can deduce a whole host of things with the proportional proximal input and subsequent behavior. Personality, relationships, levels of comfort and discomfort are all vital bits of information. 

One interesting morsel I feel like throwing in here is the fascinating subject of lines. Lines, queues, whatever you want to call them are one of the best places to observe shifting proxemics in action. As more people enter the queue (when the space is confined) the spaces between individuals will decrease until they reach a social breaking point, at this point the line will turn, often veering out of the designated queue area. Onto another cafe example (can you tell I got coffee this morning). One person walks up to the register. At this point, the only proximal opportunity is between the cashier and the patron - which is generally defined by the width of the counter between them. Now, another person walks up and starts a line - depending on this individual’s personal proxemic preference, the standard in the line is set. The next person who joins the line will tend to follow the set amount of spacing, and the next person, and so on, as space allows. The patrons up ahead, uncaring of what’s going on behind them, will typically not adjust their positions, leaving a continuous theme of compression as the line progresses, until someone breaks and opts to turn the line. If there is no way to turn, that same slinky effect will move its way back up the line as people become aware of the discomfort behind them. I observed this in action this morning while waiting at my local cafe. Because there is continuous movement, the comfort of the line is rarely at the forefront of anyone’s mind; their priority is to reach the front, not be optimally comfortable while waiting. If, for example, people were queuing onto a bus (which for some reason didn’t have seats) and had to stand there for a couple hours, everyone would evenly disperse. In scenarios with movement, one person’s typically insignificant social preference has a domino effect on those behind them. There’s an observable push and pull of conscientiousness and the introversion-extroversion spectrum. We adjust subconsciously to the line’s collective consciousness, bow down to the social conduct overlord, and occasionally get squished in the process. Take some time to observe this phenomenon next time you’re waiting. Be a menace and try standing too close or too far and watch how uncomfortable you, and possibly others, get. Next time you're first in line, set a weird tone, but remember, with great power comes great responsibility. 

The last topic I’m going to be touching on is something I can find absolutely no research on (great intro, I know), so bear with me. I’d like to discuss proxemics in terms of the inanimate object - something that I’m very poorly defining, but I believe works in the context of this article. I’ve been taking notes on this subject for some time, but only in my own geographical area. It’s proved wildly effective at predicting where people will go, so I took some time this morning to watch live CCTV footage of city walkways in other cities, both in the US and nationally (London, Oxford, and Tokyo). This is simply anecdotal, but through this limited observation it became clear to me that people will walk in the middle of their perceived space, cross-culturally. This sense of available space changes depending on the presence of a roadway, varied storefront structure, as well as other people. If there is no one coming towards them, people will tend towards the middle of the walkway, often veering slightly towards the right or left side (driving/passing side of the given country). Individual patterns can answer questions about openness, day to day activities, and conscientiousness. For instance, a person on a walkway with no one coming towards them who is walking distinctly on the right side (in a right-driving country) may be very high on the conscientiousness scale, and/or their typical routine involves walking among many people. These sorts of deductions can be further parsed using other observations. 

If we accept the premise that people tend towards the middle of their perceived space (which, if other people are approaching, may be one side of a walkway - effectively leaving their “middle” veered to one side), then deviance will usually stem from moving towards, or away from, something. There are a lot of fun applications to this, for instance, deducing how much of a hurry someone is in based on how likely they are to go for the most acceptable path or the quickest path, at baseline. For example, I tend to opt for the most acceptable/safest path, I have high conscientiousness and high neuroticism according to the OCEAN model. But today, I jay-walked through a busy street to get somewhere before my order was ready. This is an example of considering the safest path. Considering the most acceptable path has some predictive applications. As I was taking a break between shifts the other day, I noticed that people who wanted to walk into a store changed their path relatively far in advance. In this case, they were heading towards something. I was able to easily predict which store someone might go into well up to a block away, when utilized in tandem with other observations. 

Early on in my research journey I found that in videos of people walking on the street oncoming individuals were encouraged to veer away from the person filming. I prioritized finding CCTV to avoid this, but found it to be an interesting example of people changing course to avoid something. There were also a few people who veered into the camera's view. Something as simple as this may give clues to an individual's level of openness and extraversion. 

In public situations where a person must veer into an oncoming flow of people to cross to their desired destination, they will often wait until they’re near adjacent to it; in a more desolate walkway, they’ll veer much earlier. Possibly charting their whole course along the less-acceptable pathway. 

I label this idea as the proxemics of objects because when walking, we seem to assign objects their own personal bubbles. We don’t walk near the table line of a restaurant unless there’s a specific reason to. We tend not to encroach on their space, in the same way we consider people. Perhaps it’s more for our comfort than the objects’, or perhaps we’ve all been traumatized by the videos of people dressing up as bushes. Either way, I found it interesting enough to throw in here, and if you’re seeing this, you found it interesting enough to read (yay). I’ll be further exploring the topic of object spatial awareness in a future article I have planned. 

Thank you for reading - below are some relevant articles - 

https://www.sagepub.com/sites/default/files/upm-binaries/11826_Chapter8.pdf

https://thereader.mitpress.mit.edu/understanding-personal-space-proxemics/

Hall, Edward T., et al. “Proxemics [and Comments and Replies].” Current Anthropology, vol. 9, no. 2/3, 1968, pp. 83–108. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2740724. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023.

[joemuggs]

Who ARE They?

[motivational thinking klaxon sounds again]

I’ve been really enjoying doing a bit of teaching lately. Last week I did some guest lectures for BIMM Bristol, it was an absolute vibe being part of a Q&A about journalism for the music business students (see my last post), and even more so speaking to the ones doing a more social studies oriented course about subculture. But before I did these sessions, I thought I’d better get my own subjects clear in my head. 

For context: I’m in a major moment of reassessment right now. When I finished the major part of the writing of the fabric book at the end of 2023, I thought I was going to have some space to take stock and look forward to some fun passion projects, but the way 2024 panned out I did NOT get space but I definitely did a lot of stock-taking. 

Everything got very real for me this year – turning 50 would have been stark enough, but my birthday came in a month of three bereavements; add to that plenty more inescapable reminders of mortality and realities of neurodivergence – my own and others’ – and there were very, very few soft edges to anything, anywhere. This means it’s felt more important than ever to be clear about what I’m doing and define my terms as I cue up “fun” projects.

That especially goes for the topic of subculture. Everything I do comes back to subculture, and when I was asked to do the BIMM lectures, as with the nature of journalism practice, I thought I’d better jot down some notes on what I actually mean by that. And in fact, after two hours of back and forth with the students, the ideas became clearer still.

Funnily enough I had put quite a bit of thought over the years into depicting subcultures, without actually defining what subculture meant. As the article below explains, going back to the 00s, I’d consciously studied how it’s possible for writing to depict collectivity, mass movements of people, hypersocial happenings, events that unfold over long durations and myriad interactions. 

It wasn’t until I started prepping what would become Bass, Mids, Tops, in the late 10s, though, that I hit on convincing ways to do this: in short, overlaying lots and lots of individuals’ stories told in a conversational fashion full of everyday detail, and allowing the contours of the broader social movements and occurrences to emerge from the intersecting lives. (That's something we've continued to be conscious of through developing the Bass, Mids, Tops and the Rest Substack.)

And it wasn’t until after that that I started to really think about what those movements were. I started joining groups where actual sociologists of subculture congregated, and investigating more of The Literature of the discipline. In this it struck me that a lot of thinking about subcultures is still stuck in a Boomer / Gen X model that thinks of them as “tribes”.

It’s understandable: these are the generations of the mods, rockers, hippies, punks, skinheads and so on. These were times that – and it’s staggering how little people factor this in, or even register it – were significantly more violent than now in the developed world, and it’s natural that youth did band together in localised, easily identifiable groups: for protection as much as anything.

But of course subculture always was, and is now more than ever, a lot more fluid than just joining a group and having that become your identity. As I talked to the students I asked them to name some subcultures: of course “punk” was the first one shouted out, but as we went on, we got into much more detailed discussion about modern identities like “gym bros”, “huns”, “resist moms”, protestors, petrolheads, fandoms and also subsets of things like work-related or sexual identity and how these things overlap and… yes we ended up at intersectionality.

We talked too about who gets to define what a subculture is. Of course there isn’t one line drawn around what a hip hop fan is, what a punk is, what a metaller is, what a Swiftie is, let alone around what it is to be, say, a queer punk. So given that who defines what these things are? Sociologists or anthropologists looking from outside? Specialist journalists? The generalist media? The people within these scenes themselves – many of whom will strongly disagree about what “the thing” actually is? 

Well… the answer is: all of those. The nature of scenes, subcultures, identities – as well as always intersecting in different ways in different people – is to have dynamic boundaries, constantly evolving, and constantly accumulating different and contradictory stories about what they are. Which means that we don’t define them, we negotiate their nature: every time someone talks about or reports on them, they’re adding to the mutating collective definition, shifting assumptions a little bit. The urge to impose thick black lines around areas of this flux is always the Victorian imperial cartographer's urge: it's an act of claiming ownership.

And subcultures and fandoms affect their individual participants. They affect what they know, what they read, how they interact, how they walk and move! I thought about how coming to becoming a hardcore Joni Mitchell fan quite late in life, listening intently to her and reading about her, altered the way I veiwed the history of her era: from my perspective, it actually altered the past. The information available to me about the music I loved and the person who made it altered me. I have written about THIS at some length.

All of which then gives us a choice when we come to talk about something as if we know how it is defined: are we going to be honest that that’s what we’re doing and intentional about the way we do it? Are we going to ask “Who am I to define this?” and accept that the way we in turn are percieved will affect how our attempts to define land and affect current, past and future particpants in the thing we’re talking about? 

None of which is to say don’t define things. We all need working definitions if we’re ever to talk about or interact with anything – but is it possible for we who study culture to accept them as just that: working definitions, contingent, constantly in negotiation? That can be a tough pill to swallow for people who grew up, as I did, on the classic model of pop culture journalism where the guy – it was always a guy when I was growing up – tells you how it was, and you’re expected to build your stories on that solid ground. But maybe, just maybe, have a little humility about it and you might even find your work remains just as valid and “important” as if you’d scrawled your lines around the territory you wanted to mark out…. 

Obviously this applies to all kinds of groupings of people, not just what we think of as subcultures. Clans, cliques, gangs, teams at work (in the BIMM lecture we talked about how particular flavours of humour are often a subcultural identifier, and this led to thinking about specifically health worker cultures for example, who are bonded by gallows humour, in different ways in different departments or specialism) and all the rest.

That might not sound quite like the clarity I hinted at, but trust me – as I plan future projects and go about my day-to-day work – it really is. In the face of never-ending data overwhelm, it's not just blind relativism to look at the mechanisms by which these identifiers evolve: quite the opposite, it's engagement with material realities. And it makes you realise the potential significance of your words and acts. In this never ending negotiation, whether you assume or assess makes a huge difference to where and whether you then choose to add your voice to the negotiation. And what you choose to reinforce or redefine alters things - infinitesimally, yes, but in complex systems who knows which is going to be the grain of sand that changes everything? As I've always said, it's not naive to think you can't change the world: it's naive to think you're NOT changing it.