#cause like obviously like my me plenty of my relatives are no longer in our home town

[c-is-for-circinate]

Wait, isn't "anti" stuff more like "anti-pedophilia" and stuff? Like, you have a point about anti-porn attitudes, but from what I've heard just "anti" on its own means against stuff like kid porn and incest porn and legitimately f*cked up sh*t like that.

Okay!  So this, I think, is actually a great example of what I was talking about, and a really useful thing to understand.  (CW rape, child abuse, etc)

Smarter people than me have written much better essays about why policing thoughtcrimes is a bad road to go down, and I will probably reblog some of them next time they cross my dash for more context.  What I want to talk about is the trigger mechanism, the ‘oh, this looks like danger!!!’ immune response in how we look at different kinds of porn, and how that applies to anti culture.

Here’s the thing: I am anti-pedophilia.  I think that, for most people, that’s a stance that largely goes without saying!  Adults who prey on children are bad.  I’m also against incest; relatives who prey on their family members are bad.  Above all I oppose rape.  Sexual predation of any kind is bad.  In fact, I’d say that’s the most important item on the list.  There is plenty of room to argue about where the lines are between ‘adult’ and ‘child’ and how teenagers fit in the middle, and there’s plenty of room to get historical about the lines between ethically terrible incest, distasteful-but-bearable “aristocratic inbreeding” between distant cousins, and the kind of consanguinity that tends to develop in a small town where everyone’s vaguely related to everyone else by now anyway.  The core of the issue is consent, and it has always been consent.  Pedophilia and incest are horrific because they are rape scenarios where the abuser has far more power and their victim far fewer resources to cope, both practically and emotionally; because harm to children is, to us as a culture, worse than harm to adults, for a lot of very valid reasons; and because they constitute betrayal of trust the victim should have been able to put in their abuser as well as rape--but they are all rape scenarios, and that’s why they’re awful. 

These things are bad.  It is good for us to have a social immune response system that recognizes these things when they’re happening and insists we step in.  That is a good thing to develop!  It helps us, as a society.  It can help the people being victimized.  It’s the same reason educators and childcare workers in the US are all mandated reporters, why we do background checks on people working near kids.  These things happen, and they’re terrible, and it’s good that we try to be aware and prepared for them.  (Though obviously studies show we’re a lot less good at protecting the vulnerable than we’d like to pretend we are.)

The question is: why does that same social immune response trigger, and trigger so angrily, in response to fiction?

Anti culture is fundamentally an expression of that social immune response.  Specifically, it’s that social immune response when it is set off by a situation that, while it has some similarities to the very bad real-life crime of sexual predation including pedophilia and incest, is in and of itself harmless.

If you’re instinct is to flare up in anger or dismissiveness because I’m calling these things harmless, I want to ask you to just take a deep breath and bear with me for a bit longer.  What you’re feeling right now is an allergic reaction.

Humans tell and read and listen to stories about “legitimately fucked up shit” all the time.  It’s part of the human condition.  It’s part of how we process those things happening, not just to use, but to other people in the world around us.  It’s part of how we process completely unrelated fucked-up shit, playing with fears and furies and insecurities that we all have, through so may layers of fiction that we don’t even recognize them any more, playing with power dynamics in metaphor and making characters suffer for fun.  Aside from the fact that literally all stories do this to some extent or another; aside from the fact that drawing lines between ‘ok that’s good storytelling’ and ‘that’s too fucked-up to write about’ is arbitrary, subjective, and dangerous in its own right; aside from all of that, these stories are stories.  All of them. 

Even the ones about rape, about incest, about pedophilia.  They’re words on a page.  No real children were harmed, touched, or even glanced at in the making of this work of fiction.  This story, pornographic though it may be, is part of a conversation between consenting adults.  (And if a teenager lies about their age to consent, that is a different problem altogether.)

Stories in and of themselves, no matter what they’re about, are no more dangerous than a crate full of oranges.  Which is to say: utterly harmless, unless all you have to eat is oranges, all day every day, and you find yourself dying slowly of nutrient deficiency--which is why representation matters.  Or unless someone wields one deliberately, violently, as a tool to cause harm, and someone gets acid in their eye--which is the fault of the person holding the orange. And unless you happen to be allergic to citrus.

The key here is this twofold understanding:  First, the thing that hurts you can also have value to others.  Real, legitimate value.  Whether you’ve undergone trauma and certain story elements are straight-up PTSD triggers or you just don’t like orange juice, that story, those tropes, that crate of oranges may be somewhere between icky and fundamentally abhorrent--but we understand that that is still your reaction.  Even if you don’t understand how anybody could ever enjoy it; even if every single person you surround yourself with is as sensitive and disgusted and itchy about this thing that makes your eyes hurt and your throat stop working as you; that doesn’t make it true for everyone.  That doesn’t make oranges poisonous.  No real children were involved in the writing of this story.  It is words on a page.

But, secondly: the thing that has value to others can also hurt you.  Just because a story isn’t inherently poison doesn’t mean it can’t cause you, personally, pain.  That’s what a PTSD trigger is: an allergic reaction, psychological anaphylaxis, a brain that’s trying so hard to protect its own from a threat that isn’t actually present (but was once, and the brain is trained to respond) that it causes far more harm and misery than the trigger itself possibly could.  And no, it’s not just people with PTSD who sometimes get hurt by stories.  There are many, many ways a story can poke the part of your brain that says, this is Bad, I don’t like this, I don’t want to be here.  The story is still, always, every time, pixels on a screen and ink on paper.  The story causes no physical harm.  But it can poke your brain into misery, it can stir up your emotions, it can make you want to cringe and run away.  It can make you want to scream and fight and go after the author who brought this thing into existence.  It can make you hurt.

This is an allergic reaction.  This is your brain and body, your reflexes and instincts, trying to protect you from something that isn’t really happening.  And just like a literal allergic reaction, it can do actual harm to you if it gets set off.  This is real.  The fact that stories can upset you to the point of pain and mental/emotional injury is real, even though it’s coming from your own brain and not the story itself.  There are stories you shouldn’t read.  There are stories I shouldn’t read, regret reading, will never read, because they hurt me.  That doesn’t mean they’re the same stories that would hurt you.  That doesn’t mean they don’t have value.

And, finally:

If getting upset about stories is fundamentally an individual person’s allergic reaction, their brain freaking out and firing off painful survival instincts in the face of a thing that isn’t, in and of itself, a threat?  Then the anti movement is a cultural allergic reaction.

Fandom as a whole has a pretty active immune system, which doesn’t mean we have a good immune system.  We try very hard to be aware of all the viruses and -isms and abuse and manipulation and cruelty, both systematic and individual, that exists around and within our community.  We’re primed and ready to shout about things at all times.  The anti movement is that system, that culture, screaming and shouting and fighting at a harmless thing on a grand scale.  It wants to stop that thing, that scary awful thing that trips all of its well-primed danger sensors, at all costs.  It’ll swell up and block off our airways (our archives) if it has to.  It’ll turn on the body it came from.  It’s scared and protective and trying to fight, and it’s ready to fight and destroy itself.

Luckily, fans and fanfic and fandom and fan culture are a lot bigger and older than they often get credit for, and it’s not like these cultural allergies are anything new.  We could talk about shippers and slashers in the X-Files fandom in the 90s.  We could talk about the birth of fandom in the days of Star Trek.  We could talk about censorship and book burning going back centuries.  We survived that and we’ll survive this, too.

But god, does the anti movement my throat and eyes itch.  Man is it irritating, and sometimes a little suffocating, to realize how many stories just aren’t getting told out of fear of what the antis will say.  And that’s the real danger, I think.  What are we losing that would have so much value to someone?  What are we missing out?

#fandom #anti culture #anti-anti #I guess? #asked and answered #you are not WRONG or BAD or BROKEN if a story hurt you #but neither is the story #Anonymous #anti discourse day

[agnes-come-back-challenge]

Who wants a full comparison of episodes 1, 25, and 111 of Welcome to Night Vale? Because I love comparing these episodes and also I have no impulse control. Let’s go

(Spoilers up to episode 111, obviously. Also, I’ll bold every other segment so that it’s easier to tell which ones I’m comparing)

((This is gonna be an incredibly long post. I’m very sorry))

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (1)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is still hot, the moon still beautiful, and mysterious lights still pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (25)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead, while we lay open eyed, watching it all. Welcome to Night Vale. (111)

Hello listeners. To start things off, I’ve been asked to read this brief notice. The City Council announces the opening of a new Dog Park at the corner of Earl and Summerset, near the Ralphs. They would like to remind everyone that dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. It is possible you will see hooded figures in the Dog Park. do not approach them. Do not approach the Dog Park. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous. Try not to look at the Dog Park and especially do not look for any period of time at the hooded figures. The Dog Park will not harm you. (1)

One single year since two major events in our town’s history. First, the opening of our lovely, state-of-the-art Dog Park, which is forbidden, and which I will not mention again. (25)

The City Council reiterated for the 1,874th consecutive day that the Dog Park is off limits for both dogs and humans. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous etc. Hooded figures and all that. Since its construction we have shied from and feared the Dog Park. The Dog Park is neither a park nor for dogs, and so what does it even mean to call it a dog park? Why do we use language that means one thing to describe something that is entirely else? I don’t know what the word is for that place the City Council calls the dog park, but I do know it’s time to start searching for that word, and once found, to use it boldly. (111)

And now the news. Old Woman Josie, out near the car lot, says the Angels revealed themselves to her. Said they were ten feet tall, radiant, one of them was black. Said they helped her with various household chores. One of them changed a light bulb for her, the porch light. She’s offering to sell the old light bulb, which has been touched by an angel (it was the black angel, if that sweetens the pot for anyone). If you’re interested, contact Old Woman Josie. She’s out near the car lot. (1)

[none] (25)

The angels, who I can now say are angels, and will say are angels, because they are angels, held a memorial for Old Woman Josie in her house. Everyone in town came, overcome with a feeling that finally they could look at these beings and recognize them for what they were. Even the City Council attended the memorial, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Of course, this positive, concrete identification only led to more mysteries, for if these are angels, then where did they come from? And what does that mean for us? Even now we find that we cannot voice these questions. Not because we are not allowed. But because we cannot find the words to ask. Instead we ate cake and drank coffee in the living room of Old Woman Josie, which was once just that, a place she lived. Now it is only a room. One by one, we laid our hand on the Angels’ hands, and in that moment of contact each of us, in turn, found ourselves weeping. As the party wound down, we all heard a soft pop outside. It was the lightbulb on Old Woman Josie’s porch, burning out. (111)

A new man came in to town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well, we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with all those beakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he’s renting, the one next to Big Rico’s Pizza. No one does a slice, like Big Rico. No one. (1)

Second, and more important, it is one year since the arrival in Night Vale of our most beloved and singular citizen. (25)

A man who I know very well came into my house today, which is also his house. He laid his head, with its perfect and beautiful hair, upon my shoulder, and crossed his arms over his perfect and beautiful lab coat. I embraced him. We are creatures of touch, humans, and we retrieve so much meaning and happiness from contact. “I have become too complacent,” he said. “When I came here, I understood this town as scientifically fascinating. And then, gradually, it became my day to day life. I could no longer see the strangeness, but only my home.” “We are all guilty of that,” I said. “But I am a scientist,” he said.“Well,” I said. “We have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.” (111)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. Are the unmarked helicopters circling the area black? Probably World Government, not a good area for play that day. Are they blue? That’s the Sheriff’s Secret Police, they’ll keep a good eye on your kids, and hardly ever take one. Are they painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? No one knows what those helicopters are, or what they want. Do not play in the area. Return to your home and lock the doors until a Sheriff’s Secret Policeman leaves a carnation on your porch to indicate that the danger has passed. Cover your ears to blot out the screams. Also, remember: Gatorade is basically soda, so give your kids plain old water and maybe some orange slices when they play. (1)

Parents: Let’s talk about safety when taking your children to play out in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. All children in Night Vale are missing this week, so there’s no current safety issues. Hope we find them! (25)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. I asked my best friend and brother, Steve, to talk me through which helicopters belong to which organizations. Obviously the black helicopters belong to the World Government, although I had not realized, until Steve laid it out for me, how closely they are also associated with the Lizard People. The blue ones are Sheriff’s Secret Police, the pink ones are the new Double Secret Police, and the ones painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? Well not even Steve knows what those helicopters are, nor what they want. On Steve’s chart, those are just labeled with the word RUN and then a few hundred exclamation points. (111)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear in the Night Vale Elementary gymnasium during basketball practice, disrupting practice quite badly. The jet roared through the small gym for only a fraction of a second, and before it could strike any players or structure, it vanished again, this time apparently for good. There is no word yet on if or how this will affect the Night Vale Mountain Lion’s game schedule, and also if this could perhaps be the work of their bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pre-game snacks, and quite possibly by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes at least. For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame. (1)

In other news, a commercial airliner appeared today inside the home of surprised Night Vale citizen Becky Canterbury, who said she was about to get in the shower when it roared down her hallway and then disappeared, as suddenly as it had arrived. There is no conclusive evidence that this is the same airliner last seen in the Night Vale Elementary gym one year ago, but we have jumped to that conclusion and will defend it against all naysayers, violently and without mercy. Our truths may or may not be true, but they are ours, and we stand by them, even as the experts and skeptics hold aloft clipboards and intone to us about snow and mountains. Becky added that she would like to take that shower now, and that she has no idea how we managed to arrive for an interview mere seconds after the incident occurred. “My doors are locked.” she said. “My windows too. I’ve had my eyes shut for years. How did you get in here?” (25)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear at the fifth hole of the Sagebrook Pines Private Golf Club and Bulk Supplier. This disrupted all golf activities badly, as well as scaring a family of four who were perusing bulk paper towels offered at a discount price in a nearby sandtrap. I feel, for the first time, that I can articulate that this airliner had flown into some other universe, those divisions being particularly thin here in our quaint little community. This also is the cause of things like dead relatives occasionally joining us for breakfast, or the shimmering skyscrapers and crowded cities that appear for flashing moments in the sky. Of course, it also could be the handywork of the East Night Vale Cacti, the basketball team at the new East Night Vale Elementary School. Those scamps are always pulling pranks. Could they transport a large plane through multiple universes? Who am I to say? But probably yes. For shame, East Night Vale. For shame. (111)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read: “Guns don't kill people. It's impossible to be killed by a gun. We are all invincible to bullets and it's a miracle.” Stand outside of your front door and shout “NRA” to order one. (1)

The local chapter of the NRA has begun market testing some possible new slogans. These include: “Guns don't kill people. Blood loss and organ damage does.” “Guns don't kill people. People kill guns.” “A list of things that kill people: 1. Conceivably anything. 2. Not guns.” “Guns don't kill people. We are all immortal souls living temporarily in shelters of earth and meat.” and “If you say guns kill people one more time I will shoot you with a gun and you will, coincidentally, die.” To vote on the new slogan, simply fire a gun at the object or person that best represents your choice. (25)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl and they read “We genuinely do not value human life.” Cute! (111)

Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” explained Carlos and his perfect hair. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not” But, he says, they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientists are standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door. (1)

Scientists, and science in general, would like to remind you that some things exist and some things do not. Usually, you can apply the simple test of seeing if it is there. If it is there, it exists. If not, it probably doesn’t, but it might just be currently existing somewhere else. Existence is tricky, the scientists say. Research shows this. For instance, there is that house in the housing development of Desert Creek out back of the elementary school, the house that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists. Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist. They have proved this with science. The scientists still haven’t gotten up the nerve to ring the doorbell and find out what happens. Do you want to do it? They’ll pay you five dollars if you do. Just ring it once ok. We’ll be watching from back here. You’ll probably be fine. (25)

Carlos and his scientists, like Luisa and Nilanjana, are renewing their investigation into the house in the development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house that doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” muttered Carlos. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But he says, it is actually a doorway to another world. A world he himself was once stuck in for a year. There seem to be secrets about that year he is keeping to himself. Maybe someday we will learn what they are. (111)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. We know the difference. We’ve caught on to their game. We understand the lights above Arby’s game. Invaders from another world. Ladies and gentlemen the future is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (1)

But here, Carlos and I sat on the trunk of that car, his car, looking together at the lights up in the sky above the Arby’s. They were beautiful in the hushed twilight, shimmering in a night sky already coming alive with bits of the universe. [...] We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. (25)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. One night, years ago, two people, scared and vulnerable and loving and ready, came together for a quiet moment under that sky. And I pretended at the time to understand the lights. But a big part of recognizing the world for what it is, is recognizing when you have no idea. Invaders from another world? Harbingers of future terror? A fragment of another universe, fading into our own above reasonably priced lunch meat? Maybe any. Maybe all. Maybe none. But here is what I do know. The lights are, among other things, a part of my memory, and a part of my marriage, and a part of my love. They are a piece of my past, and I don’t need to understand them to understand that. Ladies and gentlemen the past is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (111)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are privileged information, known only to City Council members on a need to know basis. Please to do not speak to or acknowledge any angels that you may come across while shopping at the Ralphs or at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. They only tell lies, and do not exist. Report all angels sightings to the City Council for treatment. (1)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you still should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are still privileged information. Also, angels aren’t real. “I really get tired of having to say this,” a City Council representative said to a group of disgruntled angels. “Angels aren’t real. They just aren’t.” The angels became unruly and were dispersed by a thunderclap from heaven. (25)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is the Council is grumpy that all of this is not forbidden knowledge, but due to the new laws, they are required to inform you that the angels have made all of that information available. Stop by the house where the angels live if you want to pick up a free packet outlining exactly how all of that is organized. While the packet itself is free, it is likely the angels will ask to borrow five dollars. They tend to do that. (111)

Speaking of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, its owner, Teddy Williams, reports that he has found the entrance to a vast, underground city in the pin retrieval area of lane 5. He said he has not yet ventured into it, merely peered down at its strange spires and broad avenues. He also reports voices of a distant crowd in the depths of that subterranean metropolis. Apparently the entrance was discovered when a bowling ball accidentally rolled into it, clattering down to the city below with sounds that echoed for miles across the impossibly huge cavern. So, you know, whatever population that city has, they know about us now and we might be hearing from them very soon. (1)

Word is in about a disturbance at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. There has been the sound of chanting and machinery from under the pin retrieval area of lane five, and Teddy Williams has changed all the bowlers’ names on the electronic scorecards to “THEY ARE HERE”. This is causing some confusion and has completely ruined Jeremy Godfrey's 50th birthday party, which had rented out a few lanes for the afternoon. Jeremy was last seen drinking a light beer out of a plastic cup, shaking his head sadly as he swished the liquid around and looking out the window at the sky, mostly void, partially stars. Teddy Williams was last seen howling, commanding his militia to surround the pin retrieval area and prepare for an attack. (25)

Over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, Teddy Williams, its owner, reported the startling news that there is nothing under the pin retrieval area of lane 5. As you may remember, there has been a tiny city of warlike people under the bowling alley for several years now, which has caused some trouble, although not a lot of trouble, because they were very tiny people. But now there is just a hole in the earth under the pin retrieval area, an empty space containing only my own memories of a night that someone I loved almost died before I had a chance to truly love him. So good riddance to whatever that town was. (111)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. Said he was testing the place for materials. I don’t know what materials he meant, but that box sure whistled and beeped a lot. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. Carlos looked nervous. I’ve never seen that kind of look on someone with that strong of a jaw. He left in a hurry. Told us to evacuate the building, but then, who would be here to talk sweetly to all of you out there. (1)

I arrived at the parking lot to find Carlos, perched on the trunk of his car in flannel and jeans, his perfect hair mussed, his perfect teeth hidden. “What is it?” I said. “What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?” He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “After everything that happened...I just wanted to see you.” My heart leapt. My heart soared. My heart, metaphorically, performed a number of aerial activities, and, literally, it began beat hard. (25)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier, and we ate lunch together out of Tupperwares. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. He asked if I remembered it. He had brought it by on the first day we had met. He had told me that it tested for materials, but he wasn’t actually sure what materials it tested for. He had just wanted an excuse to come by and talk to me. “Anyway,” he said, “I thought it was a nice memento. Back when we were fumbling awkwardly toward this life we share.” “But,” he added, “it’s a real instrument that is detecting some actual materials of some kind, so there is a good chance that everything about this studio is deeply dangerous. Please be careful.” (111)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with, or at least good memories of when you did. Good night, listeners. Good night. (1)

We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. Good night, Night Vale. Good night. (25)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale, this weird, weird town. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. I know I do. Good night, listeners. Good night. (111)

#alright okay so some of these??? genuinely give me so many feelings #those ones are: #the lights above the arby’s #and #‘it was the lightbulb on old woman josie’s porch burning out’ #also the nra bumper stickers are just so funny to me #like they start out as satire and then #anyways #i love these episodes and i know nobody really needs a super long post with a bunch of their similarities but i had to make it so #(i did actually cut some out) #(i could’ve done the entire episodes section by section) #(but instead i only did the ones that I felt were important) #(this is the short version) #(so consider yourself lucky) #not tma #wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv 1 #pilot #wtnv 25 #one year later #wtnv 111 #summer 2017 night vale USA #literary analysis #io does literary analysis

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Death Rings Twice || Morgan and Eilidh

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @braindeacl @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: While searching for answers, Morgan and Eilidh realize the situation is worse than they realized.

CONTAINS: conversations with dead people

They came and went in waves. The first time, only the first time, Eilidh believed them to be just a part of being a ghost. James had done so many times—go in and out of view like the watts on a bulb. But those changes had been consensual, come upon by his own will, and he never truly left. Not like she had, and did, and still do. Moments of nothingness. Blink and she was gone, truly and ultimately gone. Blink and she was back, not even left with a memory. Just a faint recollection, a faint feeling of a blank. Like trying to recall a blackout. You knew it was there, you felt it too—pages torn from a book. But you also didn’t, couldn’t, for nothingness was all that remained. Nothingness that seemed to be her destination. Those blinks got longer, longer, longer. With no sign of slowing.

Eilidh knew Morgan was facing her own bouts of strangeness. Maybe they were connected. Morgan believed them to be—magic set loose like a wildfire, with them in its path. Consumed in its flames, would it burn them all the way to the ground? Or would they come out the other side, for the better? This curiosity, and a gnawing worry, compelled her forward, right into Morgan’s residence. She ventured through those great and winding halls, as if she already haunted the place. She ought to haunt at least one. Before it became too late. Passing by an open door, that familiar face was finally seen. Eilidh stopped, stared. Felt that nothingness threatening to claim her again. Visage flickered—like a light on its dying breath. But the feeling passed, leaving her there, shining on. The motion, or her very presence, must’ve caused a stir. The two women met each other’s eyes.

“Boo.”

Morgan just needed to find the right book. Zombies had been around for ages and so even if whatever was happening to her was obviously very rare, it must have happened to someone else before. And that someone must have wanted to write it down. Because magic directly affecting a zombie body at all was worth writing about; doing so in this cruel, backwards way defied everything she understood about magic and living matter. So, Morgan sat on the floor in the library, swimming through a large haul from the scriberary, searching. When Macleod appeared behind the volume she was holding, calling boo, Morgan yelped with surprise.

“Oh! Stars! That was--” she laughed uneasily. “That was something alright.” She sat back and looked at the other woman. She had believed everything Macleod had told her but seeing her friend, so wild and earthbound, so connected to her flesh, floating and transparent was uncanny in a way her mind struggled to process. “I wish I had good news on the funky magic boogaloo front, but there’s just lots of dead ends so far. But that can wait. Are you...okay? At least, relative to our situation?

Good-hearted chuckle lept out of Eilidh—breaking the illusion of the spooky ghost in the corner. She closed the distance between the two, eyes curiously scanning the cover and pages of the book nestled in Morgan’s lap. More were strewn across the room, circling Morgan in a protective barrier, or perhaps a tomb—either for future study or determined unsuited. Where one group ended and the other began, she wasn’t sure. Mouth parted to offer assistance, her hands and mind well-versed to such a skill, but the words quickly died just as her flesh had. Wouldn’t be much use when turning a page was a difficult endeavor. She had learned that fact rather quickly.

When attentions were placed on her, Eilidh perked. “Aye. Convinced this guy his cereal was sentient. And some lady she could control plants.” Snort of delight shot out her nose as their faces returned to memory. But as the chuckles faded, so too did this delight. That lingering worry remained. A hand brushed her lips, seemingly in thought. “Also…” In absence of external stimuli, she bit on a knuckle. But where a prick of sensation, a prick of life, would usually awaken her hand, only a mere acknowledgement greeted her. Fucking hell, how has James not gone mad by now? A low growl rumbled, and at least it felt nice in her chest. Familiar. “Been going in and out. Kinda like blinking. If you did that with a soul. James says it isn’t normal. And they’re getting longer.” Another knuckle met her teeth; that same hollow impact replayed. “Guess it’s soon time.” Her eyes scanned Morgan, transferring the focus back to the other woman. Wandering gaze found the darkness under her friend’s eyes. “What ‘bout you?”

For what seemed like a long time, Morgan could only stare at her friend. Or rather, through her friend. She could see every title on the shelf behind her if she concentrated enough, because Macleod, despite speaking and smiling and grinning and mischief-ing as much as she had ever done, was incorporeal and transparent. Like a ghost. A baby undead ghost. Which wasn’t supposed to exist. “..Blinking? What? Uh, that sounds bad. And weird. I’ve never heard of ghosts doing that before. They cross over, and they have some kind of teleportation thing, but they don’t play peek-a-boo with a whole plane of existence. That’s…” Another very strange, logic defying twist of magic.

Morgan cleared her head and tried to answer Macleod’s questions. “I woke up at the beginning of the week able to feel again. All my physical senses that went dull were back. It took some adjusting, but I think it was more or less how they were when I was alive. But then my body started decaying even when I was full, or more than full, and healing was fading and now it’s basically gone! So I’m basically rotting away for no discernable reason, and I get to be super physically aware of all of it. Also, I smell, so maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have any senses right now. When did your stuff start? I mean, none of this should be happening at all, because the undead are immune to spellcasting magic that engages with our body’s energy, as far as I can tell, and we’re immune to most drugs and toxins, and I haven’t found anyone else in town being effected like this, so it’s not the big cosmic town bullshit--but if we can get a timeline, maybe that will tell us...something.” She sighed and closed the book in her lap, staring off into anywhere but Macleod’s face. The whole world was slipping through their fingers, just when she’d thought it really did want them after all.

Curt laugh escaped Eilidh. “Yeah. You’re telling me.” Just her luck to be subjected to the worst game of peek-a-boo in existence. Maybe her soul truly did want to pass over, but this supposed magic was keeping her here? Maybe the universe was trying to remedy the fact she shouldn’t have remained—at least not in this form—but the magic tried to go against the very will of the cosmos? Thoughts followed that tangent until it caused a dizziness. Bah, there’s too many maybes and what-ifs. She snapped a finger, sharp noise bringing her back to the present. Mind focused on Morgan’s words, her own story. As such a tale unfolded, her face fell, allowing that worry bubbling inside to find itself in her eyes, her parted mouth. Just as quickly, her eyes tightened, mouth closed, jaws tightened. Resolve overcame the worry, gave her goal new fire. “Aye. That is real bad.” Especially when it started so promising—the worst kind. “Best we hop to it prompto, then. Know anything I can look over? Double-check? Triple-check?” The ways of magic, the ways others shifted the energies of the world to their will, was not a strong subject of hers. But perhaps there were other pieces of the puzzle her ever inquisitive eyes could find. She needed that hunt, after all. Needed something to do—when all things physical brought boredom at best, her mind frequently rushed into restlessness.

Eilidh recalled the start of this plight. “I died beginning of this week.” The same as Morgan’s own unfortunes; a fact that did not escape her. “Or alchemied this way. Or some other magic.” At this point, she wasn’t sure which was true. Death was more reasonable to her. Familiarity always felt more reasonable, and she was very familiar with death. But Morgan seemed convinced its cause was magically induced and, well, she was the expert in that regard. Not Eilidh. “Blinked out the first time a few days later. Didn’t think too much of it. ‘Til a few more days later when it kept happening.” How much longer would this affliction let her speak with Morgan? Would it rip her away mid-sentence, as it had with Milo? Sharp snap of fingers returned. Temptation to bite the nagging thoughts away surfaced—to subject another knuckle to her teeth. But the snap sufficed. For now.

Morgan sat back, thinking. The town had already been shifted in the cosmos by the time she and Macleod were affected. And no one else she spoke to, dead or undead, was feeling anything strange in their body. So why them? And how? It didn’t seem right that the universe should literally change its rules just to be cruel to them. And if an alchemy break-through was responsible for Macleod, it didn’t explain her progressive deterioration. She would have to be confined to a circle in order for that to be the case, and the energy required to continually re-write her body would be outrageous.

She looked over at Macleod, aching to give her an answer. “I only have a few general compendiums on the stuff, but maybe there’s some kind of sickness, or some kind of critter that can affect people like us. Like, bookwyrms and brain biters mess with people’s brains, and there’s plenty of necrophages out there maybe…” Some magic, universe defying critter happened to chomp on both of them without their noticing on the exact same night? Morgan could hardly stand to hope for the idea, it sounded ridiculous enough in her head. But she had to try. If she stopped trying, this thing would take her. “Maybe there’s one that can explain this. Weird abilities that make people incorporeal or mess with their magic composition. Um, it’s those thick ones back there--” She pointed. “Or you could check out the area, see if anything unusual is sniffing around. Every critter’s gotta eat and sleep somewhere.” She smiled feebly. “We’ll figure this out before it’s too late. We’ve got too much to live for, right?”

“Critters!” The word shot out like a bullet. That was more Eilidh’s forte. A hand returned thoughtfully to her lips, though a bite did not come. Her mind was moving far too fast to focus on anything physical. Feet began to pace without her knowledge, beating against the air as if they contributed to her movements anymore. “Those bees cause hallucinations…” What were they called again? Those dick-hive bees. She had still yet to encounter them personally—such a treat will have to wait when she finally visits… that woman. Knowledge was acquired specifically for said venture, so she really should remember… “Eintykara.” But as research came tumbling back into her mind, so did an issue. “No. Cold.” Such weathers would cause them to grow sluggish—springing into action now would make no sense. “Hm. Caballi?” Her encounter with one had been very brief, but James’ was much more intimate. And she had certainly heard stories that mimicked their own. Of ghosts being attacked by them. Or more accurately, being fed upon by them. Could be the cause of their deterioration, those astral feedings. Perhaps they can affect zombies too? “But never saw…” They weren’t exactly invisible, to people like them. But much of them was left unknown, on this world at least. Could be a special sort?

More ideas flowed into Eilidh’s mind. And just easily flowed back out—conflictions and contradictions found in every sort. Though the universe was vast and wide and full of exceptions. Hardly anything could be said with certainty. And hardly everything was stored in her mind—that vastness refusing to be contained in just one thing. Or even in one world; creatures not found in any book had laid just beyond those cracks in the air. One, or two, or more could’ve slipped through. “You could be onto something.” Her feet stilled, and it was only then she realized she had been on the move at all. But they already missed that constant motion. Focus turned to the mentioned books, causing a chuckle to stir. “Would. But these guys do whatever the hell they want.” She wiggled her fingers and they blended and meddled together, like waves crashing into each other. “I’ll look ‘round. You focus on the books. We’ll see this through.” There was an attempt to turn and leave, but something held her there just a moment longer. Those hints of decay sprinkled on Morgan’s form—some grown worse over the course of their conversation. “Think you’ll manage?” The question spanning far beyond just Morgan’s research capability.

With the way Macleod lit up at the suggestion, Morgan could actually start to believe they were onto something. The world was full of strange things and there was so much they didn’t know. Of course if it wasn’t someone it had to be something. Maybe even a creature from another dimension. Some of the critters in those portals had probably gotten stuck on this side when Adam closed them, too, and maybe that was why they couldn’t understand the rules this infection worked on.

Morgan met Macleod’s eyes bravely. They were looking for a needle in a haystack. It might take weeks to comb through all of White Crest and identify the exact creatures they were looking for, especially if they turned out to be beyond sapient record on this world. But they would figure it out, wouldn’t they?

Somewhere beyond them, bewildered geese flapped their way to the sky and called to each other for safety, snow crunched under tired feet, a wind blew through the hollow tunnels of the world. Morgan took it all in, staring through the frosted windows. This was a world that buried its secrets better than its dead, but it was also one where life persisted in the most bitter cold. If anyone was proof of that, surely it was her and Macleod. And Morgan had a future to get to; Macleod probably did too, and if she didn’t, she deserved to stick around long enough to come up with one. So she had to be okay. There wasn’t room in this scenario for her not to be.

Morgan summoned her best smile and hoped with all she had that Macleod believed it and let some of the warmth rub off on her. “I’ve got this. And so do you. Death cut us a break once, right? Twice should be just as easy.”

That smile filled the air, found its way on Eilidh’s face, lifting her spirits in turn. Hell yeah. They had this. That implication hung in the air, threatened to bring it all back down. The one where she died. This soul she carried certainly had—will again. And technically death had touched her a few days prior. But the implication ran deeper than that, tied her to an assumption she kept getting chained to. But she did not let that weight touch her; only a twitch of a brow, a tighten of lips, betrayed these thoughts. Resolve kept her steady—kept them both just the same. Fate may try to give them a losing hand, but she’ll keep playing until a full house. And if not, well, seems she’s had her time then. Her soul will enjoy more, if these pesky blinks didn’t consume her in totality. For fate was hungry this week—eating away at her very soul, at Morgan’s very flesh. Was it feeding on others? How far did this hunger spread? She had no mind, no time to worry about passerbyers on the street. Those teeth readied to pierce again, steal more of them away. But she’ll try her hand at dentistry and rip them out before all was taken. “Good to hear! Let’s give this a–”

She vanished.

#wr eilidh #wr chatzy #wr eilidh chatzy #death rings twice

[lulusoblue]

this isn’t me vagueing or anything, or I’m not intending to because people have previously expressed the same of what I’m about to rant on, and I don’t want to @ or refer to any blog specifically for reigniting my bafflement of this take because this isn’t a personal grudge match against anyone, just a general *what* of this concept, but

jesus h christ on a stick, why do people want BioShock Infinite’s Elizabeth to have been a racist?

I get an AU fic of another timeline where Comstock’s motives weren’t messy as fuck and he didn’t just plan to force his messiah with a spinal shock collar from the word go, like “what if” stuff, but like saying she should have been racist in the original game and actually wanting this change because it would “improve” her character?

like, disclaimer because I am a white woman who may not have a say in things like this anyway, but honestly the racism angle was a huge mistake in Infinite in the first place, and should never have been done in this game because the lead writer is a white man and I can bet my bottom dollar he most likely did not consult anyone on race or racism beyond what historically accurate heinous racist acts to not depict in the game so players could “sympathise” with the flying racists getting their dues post-Finkton.

You know how important the racism of Columbia is to him? How relevant is it to the ending of the game? Answer: it isn’t. BioShock 1’s ending has the failings of Rapture relevant to the ending regarding the player’s choices. The ending of Infinite, however, focuses on Elizabeth, Booker and the multiverse, where nobody mentions the Vox or how Columbia was a failure or anything. Nothing with the Vox Populi or Columbia’s hubris is linked to the game’s ending. Both are left feeling superfluous. It was just something to stick into the background rather than be a story element that properly tied in with the story’s real focus. If you wanted Levine to write a better racism story I would have to ask you why??? Do you trust him to?????

What reason was there that we switched from extreme nationalism and its consequences in the demos as late as 2012 to “racism bad but the victims of it are also bad if they fight back” in 2013? Who fucking knows. Probably shock value, because I don’t see how time and resources would cause such a change from what Irrational put out there in interviews leading up to release. Given how Levine tried to retcon Daisy’s story in Burial at Sea (and keep in mind Black Lives Matter didn’t start as a movement until a few months after Infinite’s release and before BaS Episode 2 was released) he certainly didn’t commit to “Daisy and Comstock are the same”. If he had conviction for his “both sides” story, he wouldn’t have tried to rewrite it to Daisy choosing to play monster as a necessary sacrifice for her cause (which itself is its own can of worms with how it now plays out).

Considering as well how we had that article revealing how long it took to get a playable build out of Irrational thanks to Levine’s lack of solid direction, as well as the recent revelation that he had never read Ayn Rand when making a game about a city BUILT ON HER IDEOLOGY, I’m pretty sure the poor writing around Columbia’s racism and the Vox Populi in the final game was just made up as he went along to push out a finished product, because it had been five years at that point and 2k was piiiiiiissed.

Then we have how Elizabeth is your companion character, your escort mission. Friends, do you know how escort mission characters were viewed back pre-2013? Bad. The AI could just look at a player funny and they’d draw a 5 page comic on how awful a character they were and post it to deviantart. One of the worst levels in BioShock was when we had to escort a very killable Little Sister with a fishbowl filter on our FOV, and one of the major complaints people had with BioShock 2 was how they had an OPTIONAL escort mission to get more mutation juice. We didn’t start getting games with escort characters like Elizabeth or Clementine or Ellie, characters people actually cared about and WANTED to protect, until around 2012-2013.

You think the people creating Elizabeth, the escort mission character built to be a likeable, enjoyable to be with and empathise with her character, who can never get hurt or kidnapped in combat and actively helps the player, should have had her been a racist??? In a post-Mass Effect world??????

Ashley Williams is a woman from a military family. She is a proud member of the Alliance military who has concerns on working with aliens after having had no prior experience working with aliens. However, you can ease those concerns and help her warm up to building alliances in the first Mass Effect game. Ashley grows to trust alien squadmates, and even without your character’s influence will regard two anti-alien groups with disgust for their outright racism and human centrism.

And here’s the kicker, even with that nuance to her character, in a game of plenty of other more overtly racist and prejudiced characters? ASHLEY IS STILL THE BUTT OF THE SPACE RACISM JOKES. She had flaws, she developed, she proves her loyalties to the point of refusing to work with you when you’re forced to join one of the human centric groups, AND SHE’S STILL MOCKED FOR SPACE RACISM. EVEN IN PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL SHE’S RETROACTIVELY REGARDED AS BEING DIFFICULT TO WORK WITH. THAT IS HOW MUCH THE FANDOM AROUND MASS EFFECT HAS AFFECTED HOW ASHLEY IS SEEN.

And you want Infinite to have Elizabeth be very obviously racist with real life racism? (which is the vibe i’ve been getting) Like, you think all the people behind Elizabeth’s design, her game functionality, her interactions and personality, would give players ammunition to hate a character you’re supposed to enjoy having around on purpose? You think they’re going to give the actual racists and bigots and nazis of the internet a mascot????? Because we already had the facebook header image debacle for a Columbian propaganda poster, you KNOW they would.

And personally I don’t think it would make great character development, because the game is not in the format for that kind of exploration of character’s story. BioShock Infinite is not an RPG with you making dialogue choices with squadmates where you feel like you really influenced them to see the error of their ways. Infinite is a linear shooter. There is no real sense of the passage of time in a linear shooter, the player will experience it like it really doesn’t happen in the span of 20 hours.

Unlearning racism and religious brainwashing is not a quick fixit, and a quick fixit is how it would feel in the 20-40 hours you take to play through the entire game. If Infinite had had Elizabeth going from “I’m racist” to “*sees a black person suffering* maybe racism is wrong???” to “i am no longer racist, I see the error of my ways, you can like me now” in the span of what feels like less than a day to players in a linear game, people would be super critical of the pretty white girl getting cured of her bigotry way too quickly and how the game makes it like we’re supposed to applaud her for being so brave and mature and open-minded, and how much Levine really doesn’t understand nuance or anything about how internalised racism works.

BioShock Infinite’s final release proved that the Vox Populi should not have been handled the way they were. Yes, more media should be discussing and making audiences aware of what is racist, and how irrational it really is when you get down to it, but BioShock Infinite should not have been that media. It was originally written for two opposing sides in a city built on extreme nationalism, much like how BioShock was for objectivism, and then changed relatively last minute. It was written by a white man who’d already written the franchise’s only gay named character as a horrific monster of a man (Cohen) and has expressed how autism is what made a person evil (Tenenbaum). It was written with Elizabeth in mind, a main character who was literally designed to be an escort mission players would actually enjoy, most likely from Day 1 given how much behind the scenes stuff we know of her.

I wouldn’t trust someone like Levine to write a story of a character unlearning racism over the course of a game’s story, i don’t think he should ever have touched a story where racism is a such a prominent element with a 100 foot pole.

#in which i rant #bioshock #bioshock infinite #elizabeth comstock

[alexius-fr]

Chapter 3 - Dissent

Click the link for the AO3 experience or just read below the cut ^^

The Spire's top village was bustling with traders, visitors, and locals there to shop for their daily needs. It'd been a while since Sanguine had been in such a busy place, feeling a bit uncomfortable, noticing he was drawing attention from the overall much smaller dragons. He knew Zephyr's parents owned a food stand, but there were so many in the bustling tiny streets he kind of lost his way. The smells coming from them was making him hungry though.

The afternoon sun beamed down on the busy alleyways, colourful banners asking his attention everywhere he passed. They all advertised the stands they belonged to, like bright colourful billboards. It'd just rained this morning and the sandy path was still a bit damp and muddy, Sanguine sinking down with every step he took. It aggrovated his old injury, having to work harder to even just walk.

Finally, he found it. Zephyr was standing at the side with a tired smile. No wonder, if he'd been up since before dawn to fish. His catch from this morning was laying on display, on a bed of ice to keep them fresh. Odd, where did they get ice here? Sanguine hadn't seen any ice dragons around yet, and the frozen icefields were too far to transport ice from without having it melt.

“Hey, you actually came!” Zephyr smiled happily when he noticed him.

“Was that in doubt?” Sanguine frowned. “No, I'm just happy to see you.” Zephyr said, genuinely. “Welcome to my family's little business.”

“It's indeed very...little.” Sanguine agreed, looking over the little stand, which was in front of what he presumed was their home, hewn out of the rock of the spire, just like all the other houses in the street. It looked like it

“I know, it's not much, but it sustains us. We're happy with what we have, and it's a good life here.” Zephyr said, not offended. “My father's just gone to get us some other supplies we need for tonights dinner. Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, no thank you. I'm fine.” Sanguine said. “Too soon huh? I'm sorry, I get like that.” Zephyr smiled apologetically. “How have you been?” “Well, thank you.” Sanguine appreciated the self reflection, smiling amicably. “Yourself?” “It's been busy. I help Alexius a lot and then I also have to help out here. It's a tough job to juggle it all.” Zephyr said. “Or should I just say I'm fine? Is that the well mannered way?”

“No, I appreciate your honesty. You seem like a hard worker.” Sanguine said, in earnest.

“I suppose I am. I won't deny that I envision a more exciting life for myself eventually though.” Zephyr confessed. “I've read books about monster hunters, a life on the go, helping the people get rid of the most terrifying monsters? Now that sounds exciting to me.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you don't strike me as a fighter.” Sanguine noted.

“I'm not. Not yet.” Zephyr grinned. “But my mother is going to teach me! She's a fearsome warrior from an old nature bloodline. She tells me stories of how her grandfather fought a great battle in the Icefields, where she was born.” “Ah, so she's the one keeping your food fresh.” Sanguine nodded, understanding.

“She is. But she's been through a lot. She fought hard in her younger days, and she just wanted somewhere to settle and have quiet life with my father and my siblings.” Zephyr said, a fond, loving look in his eyes. It was clear he cared about his family a great deal. A feeling Sanguine had never known. He caught himself wishing he could be closer with the family he had left. Perhaps he really was going soft, just as Silas said.

“Zeph?” a deep, powerful voice spoke, both Sanguine and Zephyr looking up. From Zephyr's home walked a tall ridgeback, her hide as green as forest, her antlers reaching far behind her head, that was tilted back a little bit due to their weight. Sanguine's blood turned to ice at her stare, piercing platinum casting their gaze right through him. Her eyes were not the same colour, but her facial structure and the antlers she grew had Sanguine shudder with the realization that the bloodline Zephyr mentioned was one he was very familiar with. He looked at her and saw him.

Athelstan.

The realization grabbed him by the throat and took his breath away, his heart shrinking in his chest. The likeness was uncanny, there was no doubt. He stood frozen, baffled, staring at her as she greeted her son, unaware of the disturbance her presence had caused.

“Mom, this is Sanguine, the leader of the clan that arrived here two weeks ago.” Zephyr introduced him, oblivious of Sanguine's discomfort. “Sanguine, this is Ziray, my mother.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Ziray smiled, her wizened eyes friendly. Of course, she had no idea who he was. She'd never met him. This put Sanguine at ease somewhat, and he bowed his head.

“Honoured.” he said, respectfully. His eyes lingered on her antlers, which were very impressive in size. Is this what Athelstan would've looked like as well, if he hadn't interfered? He found himself not wanting to think about that subject. He'd destroyed a beautiful young life and there was nothing he could do to change that. He was a plague dragon, it was kill or be killed. Use or be used. Being ruthless was the only way to survive. He believed it. He had to believe it or be lost to despair.

“I know. They're a bit of a chore at times.” Ziray saw him looking at her antlers, but was obviously proud of them as she said it. “They're a gift from the Gladekeeper. Her magic runs deep in our line, even if I was born in a different territory.”

“I think they look beautiful.” Sanguine said, as politely as he could. If she knew what he had done to her relative, she would kill him on the spot. He might even let her, with the wave of regret that washed over him. “I'm sorry, but I can't stay long. I promised my brother we would scout the forests below for more plentiful hunting grounds.” “Aw.” Zephyr pouted a little bit. “That's a shame. But please don't be a stranger.”

“Thank you. I won't. It was lovely to meet you, Ziray.” Sanguine bowed his head again, hearing his mother snap at him for showing such subordination in his thoughts. Leaving, he saw Zephyr looking at him with a concerned frown, but if he knew what was good for him, he would stay away before Sanguine would ruin his life as well. How cruel of fate to place someone he liked in his path and have them be related to his greatest regret in life.

Perhaps Karma really did exist.

Back at the temporary lair, Silas was waiting anxiously, hopping from one foot to the other.

“You're late.” he snapped, as Sanguine struck land in front of him.

“And?” Sanguine frowned.

“I don't know what's gotten into you, brother, but we agreed that we would be gone from this place in a few days. It's been two weeks.” Silas said, obviously annoyed. “And you're planning on staying here even longer. We were supposed to head back home!”

“What does that even mean anymore?” Sanguine scoffed. “We've been on the run for so long that nowhere is home to me.”

“To you, maybe.” Silas said, headstrong. “I miss it. The heartbeat of the land under my feet, the warmth of the bubbling pools, the green haze that coats everything in a dim light.” he sighed, wistful. “It's where we belong, Sange. Regardless of the struggle that awaits us, we have to fight for our rightful place. Our home.”

“Since when do you make the decisions here? I've lead us this far, I think I can go a little bit further.” Sanguine said, irked.

“It's my life too, Sanguine. And that of others in our clan. I'm not the only one who thinks we should be moving on by now.” Silas replied with held back anger. “Besides, your decision making has been rather poor, lately. I thought-”

“-Thought what? That you could talk me into doing something stupid, like turning myself into an abomination?!” Sanguine snapped, his voice mighty as he raised it and growled. He lashed out, Silas flinching, but the bite was never meant to hit him, so it didn't. Sanguine just wanted to put him in his place. He'd had enough of the whining, of the incessant talking, the constant pushback he received from his brother.

Silas looked hurt, angry as he hissed back. “How dare you, I am stronger than you'll ever be!” he snarled, but did not lunge back.

“The Banescales were sealed away for a reason. They were weak. For someone who values our home so much you sure don't seem to uphold it's values, rejecting the form that you were granted on birth, the one gift our mother saw fit to bestow us. She made us stronger than all the others, and you rejected that.” Sanguine spat.

“Adapt. Survive. Overcome.” Silas said, repeating the values. “I adapted, brother. Whereas you'd rather stay weak, crippled. The day will come where you can't threaten people into obedience with your words anymore. And when that day comes...well you'd best beware.”

“Are you threatening me, you little snake?” Sanguine narrowed his eyes.

“Not so little anymore, brother.” Silas challenged. “It's time you started taking me seriously.” “I will.” Sanguine said, raising his head with eyes full of disdain. “When you stop being a joke.”

Silas fell silent, his ruby eyes glinting with rage, his lip pulled up, sharp teeth showing. But he had no reply for Sanguine, silence tense between them. They'd drawn a crowd, other members of the clan looking on tensely. Sanguine tried to gauge their moods, their alignment in the argument, dark eyes scanning the crowd. He felt how interested some where, their judgemental eyes upon him. He hadn't noticed the dissent until now, so in a way Silas was doing him a favour with this. Now all that remained was for him to stamp this fire out before it truly got going. He stalked towards Silas threateningly, holding eye contact. Silas boldly stared back, defiant as always.

“You'd better believe I will be ready when that day comes. I suggest you step back in line and learn your place. I lead this clan. You're just a parasite. Always have been.” he said, his voice low, threatening. “And if anyone else has a problem with me leading, feel free to speak up now.” he called, seeing some onlookers shift uncomfortably. Sanguine allowed the moment to become awkward, the silence dragging on as Silas looked around for support but received none, most dragons resuming their previous activities. Eventually Sanguine scoffed.

“I didn't think so.

He turned is back on Silas and walked into the lair, head held high, not showing how his heart beat in his throat. He'd never imagined he would have to worry about a betrayal that was so close to home. But he would be ready, if Silas tried it again. He sighed, finally out of sight of the others, climbing to his roost to rest and think for a bit.

He didn't notice the gleaming red eyes that watched him from the darkness, a bright rage burning inside them..

#fr #flight rising #fr lore #flight rising lore #my lore

[my-darling-boy]

Heyo! So I am thinking about starting to bind, and was wondering if you had heard of the brand Flavent? If so what do you think of their binders? And are there any tips about binding that would be helpful? I don’t really know how to go about any of it. Also I wanted to say that I really love your blog’s aesthetic!!

Oh I have! Flavnt is a great brand actually, I’ve ordered from them before and follow them on ig. Their binders are so good in fact every time they get them in stock, they go out of stock just as quick!

And if you’re a first time binder, I’ve actually got helpful info for you!

Firstly:

NEVER wear the binder while sleeping. Do not go for a full night’s sleep with the binder on. You should always be conscious and aware of how your body is responding to the binder AT ALL TIMES.

NEVER use first aid bandages, muscle tape, or ACE Bandage if you lack a proper binder. Bandages like those are meant to be wrapped around things you do not want to move, and your ribcage needs to expand for you to breathe!! Wrapping your chest with these tight, constricting products not only heavily restricts breathing but you also run the risk of cutting off blood circulation to the rest of your body, rapidly damaging nerves in your breasts, back, and torso, increased chance of tearing your lungs from the lungs inflating with no space for expansion, bruising your back and ribcage, ruining skin elasticity quicker in your breasts which will limit top surgery incision types, and PASSING OUT due to prolonged lack of oxygen and/or blood flow to your brain. I know you see stereotypical drawings or stories of trans people binding with ACE but DO NOT DO IT. I speak from experience as I still have nerve damage in my back and damage to my breast tissue from doing it when I first started binding at 14. (Same risks apply for wearing a binder that is way too tight!)

NEVER use a binder from a non-reputable seller. If the product is simply this strange looking cheaply priced band which goes across the chest or tries to market itself as a “lesbian, tomboy, woman binder” IT IS NOT SAFE. These “binders” can have the same consequences as listed above. If you’re unsure if a site is safe, a simple web search will usually provide some insight in a few short minutes.

With this in mind, here is some info on reputed sellers:

FLAVNT, with their famous Bareskin Binder in a variety of skin tones and sizes, is starting to be a go-to for binders. The company is run by a trans guy and a lesbian if I remember right, and usually proceeds from their products will go directly towards funding select people’s top surgeries. They also have awesome trans/gender non-conforming themed merch to buy too!

Underworks is the brand I have always used. Originally started for men with gynecomastia, they have expanded their products to trans/gender non-conforming people. Unlike the other companies in this list, they use a medical grade mesh layered material for their binders which some find to be more durable/better binding but others find to be uncomfortable/not suited for their body type. It all depends!

Gc2b has been the go-to for binders for a long time and people are usually really happy with their order! I can’t say too much about them cos I have admittedly never ordered from because cloth binders never seem to fit me correctly? But the reviews are great!

Shapeshifters is one I have encountered recently from this article from a plus-sized trans person about binding as a plus-sized trans person! They offer custom sized binders with a variety of designs and sites like these are often the best option for people who have trouble with finding the right fit among the limited industry sizes!

On sizing/fit:

-BINDERS FROM EACH COMPANY HAVE DIFFERENT SIZE CHARTS. Things like the brand’s fit, material used, and your body shape can all affect how a binder fits. A small from one company will not always be a small from another one. A lot of the time, only chest measurements are used to determine your binder size and some find that alone not to be enough to find the right fit. Thence, some people opt for custom sized binders like Shapeshifters as mentioned above.

-The most important thing is that you are able to breathe in it! If you have any numbness or tingling in your limbs or under the binder, or feel light headed/short of breath (that is not caused by anxiety) TAKE OFF THE BINDER. You may need to order the next size up and continuing to wear a too-tight binder is dangerous.

-During your first times wearing a binder, you may feel it to be almost too snug, and this is because you need to break it in, so some pinching, discomfort, tightness is to be expected at first. However, if it persists beyond your first few wears, your binder may be too small. But do know there are some people who end up always having a bit of pinching/cutting due to their body shape/weight, even if their binder is compressing nicely. If you’ve never used a binder before: take it in small time frames. Wear it for an hour or two at first, remove it, then up the time from there to see how your body fairs with each time you wear it. Don’t start out wearing it the full eight hours.

-If you are in between sizes, DO NOT ORDER A SIZE DOWN. Often, the size is not going to be a little smaller but dramatically smaller.

-Binders come in two lengths: cropped and full torso. It doesn’t always matter which one you buy, but some people find if they have a larger waist, they like the full torso binders whereas I can’t wear them because my waist is way too small and my chest slips down, so I only order cropped binders to focus the compression on just my chest

-If you have a problem with your chest slipping down in the binder, some people like to wear sleeveless undershirts beneath the binder itself to prevent this

-You’ll generally know the binder is too tight. But if you’re still on the fence: if you cannot fully take a deep breath in, the binder is too small!

On safety concerns, effects from binding, and other little tips:

-Avoid wearing it for longer than 8 hours. Some people are able to wear it a little longer than this time due to much less compression from their binder. Regardless, DO NOT bind for more than 8+ hours ON A FREQUENT BASIS even if the binder still feels comfortable. We all get stuck in situations or unexpectedly long work days in our binders sometimes but PLEASE try to avoid wearing the binder for any longer than you need to. Take it off when there’s no need for it. Take entire rest days from the binder if you find yourself in it for long periods of time. YOUR BODY NEEDS REST FROM YOUR BINDER NO MATTER YOUR CHEST SIZE. Trust me.

-Avoid doing any prolonged, strenuous activity such as intense exercise. While I have worn it to the gym for basic workouts and barre classes plenty of times with zero chest/back soreness or issues, I obviously didn’t do this every day and I wasn’t doing this for collectively more than 40 minutes and didn’t wear the binder for the rest of the day because I was home. But again, it is SAFER if you DO NOT wear it during gym time. Opt instead for sports compression bras and shirts that make the chest area ambiguous when you exercise.

-Avoid wearing it on airplanes. This one is often disputed, but it is generally believed that wearing a binder on an airplane will cause restricted breathing due to high altitude even in a pressurised cabin. Yet, I have worn my binder on four 11 hour flights (removing halfway through for sleeping) and had ZERO issues with breathing/comfort. It’s possible that people being unable to breathe comes instead from claustrophobia in the cabin, anxiety with flying, sitting position, or preexisting medical conditions and they attribute it to the binder. Personally, I think it’s safe to wear binders on airplanes because every time I’ve flown, I’ve had no issues, and trans guys I know personally have also had no issues, but this doesn’t mean it’s right for EVERYone. Wear it at your own risk.

-Additionally, avoid wearing it on turbulent/fast rides as the high velocity can increase compression on your chest. Again, I’m a Bad Boyᵀᴹ and I’ve worn it on plenty of upside down rides, including wearing it on that fair ride that spins you around so fast, gravity pins you to the wall. In all these situations, I again felt nothing and even forgot I had the binder on.

-I mention the “less safe” ways I have bound before for a reason. Please don’t think Binder Horror Stories happen to everyone. I used to spend so much time worrying about how Dangerous my binder could be, afraid to wear it even, but guess what? When I felt the binder needed to come off? I took it off. When I thought it might be actually unsafe to do something in my binder? I didn’t do it. I LISTENED to myself and my body, and that is overall the SAFEST thing you can do. This is how I’ve avoided binder complications for 7 YEARS. Even the general rules have a bit of relativity to them. I’ve met people who think they can bind for 8 hours safely when they were in horrible pain at just 4 hours, but continued to wear it because “It’s safe to wear for 8 hours because a trans guy told me so!” ONLY YOUR BODY sets how long and in what situations you can bind in. Bind in a way that is safe and comfortable for YOUR BODY. Additionally, most negative affects from a binder happen over prolonged periods of time after CONSTANT situational misuse, so if you wear it on the rare occasion when you think you shouldn’t have, it’s not the end of the world. Check back with your doctor if you are concerned with how your binder may be affecting you. Even binding using—or not using—the general accepted avoidance rules can prove risky if you do not listen to your body first and foremost. Everyone’s experience and limits vary considerably!

-Binding for roughly over 3-4 years, your chest may begin to droop because of the constant compression slowly wearing down the skin elasticity of the breasts. This could potentially negatively affect chances of minimal incision top surgery. For example, I have been binding for 7 years and now have a tiny chest from T which would’ve made me perfect for keyhole, but alas, binding for 7 years gets me double incision

-Keeping your binder clean is important, as you can get very hot in it regardless of the weather. Be sure to keep it washed in cold water and hang dry to keep its form or use low dryer heat to restore some of the “stiffness” if you find it getting a little loose fitting. A dirty binder will cause body acne as well

-In hot weather, avoid wearing it as much as you can to avoid overheating, or wear light and airy fabrics to reduce the chances of profusely sweating in the sun with it on

-Preexisting medical conditions that affect the lungs, nervous system, or muscles/bones in your arms, chest, neck, or back may cause you a series of unique difficulties other binding people do not have so please be aware of this

-Sometimes panic attack + binder = increased panic attack because you think you can’t breathe. If the space permits it, pull the binder down from your chest area to allow you the fullest breaths possible

Lastly, getting the binder on:

Everyone has different ways to get it on, but the most widely used is this method. Start by making it so the binder is wrong-side-out and upside down. Step into the opening (straps towards the ground) and slide it up your body. Once you get to about your waist, you’ll want to get the binder right-side-out by slipping your wrists in through the straps and “flipping” the garment up your torso as the you slide the straps up and onto your shoulders. You also want to make sure your chest is basically shoved Upwards and Outwards under the binder towards your underarms. To do this, I lay flat on the floor/bed and lift the right and left sides of the binder briefly to allow my chest to naturally fall back towards my underarms. DO NOT flatten your chest downwards by smashing all of the tissue and your nipples down towards your sternum for it will cause your chest to droop faster on top of being painful. I made a handy little doodle to show you what I mean!

Anyway, I hope this helps! x

Anyone who has some other tips that may be helpful for binding, feel free to add on!

#asks #ftm #ftnb #trans #transgender #ok to rb #long post

[tardisman14]

Enchanting: Chapter 3: A Night to Remember

A novelized version of Enchanting Grom Fright, told from Amity’s pov. A look into what was going through her mind in that episode, with snippets of happenings in-between scenes. Told in 4 parts (3 main chapters, plus the prologue), rated to be safe, and obviously Lumity.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Bits of final scene and flashback inspired by this tweet (12/28/20 update: screencap because Dana deactivated her Twitter) and this image which was cut from the episode for time

That wasn’t Eda. It appeared to be some kind of human. In fact, Amity could’ve sworn they looked quite a bit like… Luz.

Amity saw Luz start to back up nervously. Was this one of her relatives? What was going on? With all these questions going through Amity’s head, she suddenly heard Grom’s form shout something from the arena.

“...have you been lying to me?!”

All of a sudden, Grom turned into a more monstrous form of whoever this was supposed to be. Lying? What could Luz have been lying about? Could it really be so bad that she couldn’t bring it up during the training session? This was bad. If Amity was reading the look on Luz’s face right, she wouldn’t last much longer.

And she was proven right. Amity saw Luz make a break for the door. And… Oh no. Grom was escaping! All around her, everyone started piling out of the bleachers and went right for the hallway. But Amity was so in shock over what just happened, she was frozen in place.

“Hey, kid! You in there?”

Amity was snapped out of it by Eda, now standing in front of her.

“Come on!”

Amity and Eda started following the others already in the hallway.

“Yeah, that's right, so let's follow them and see what happens next.”

Apparently King and Gus were leading the others to see the rest of the battle. Amity and Eda were still a bit behind, but with one look at each other, they both had the same thought. They had to help Luz, and fast.

Once they made it outside Eda summoned her staff.

“I’m gonna follow them from the air. Try not to fall behind.”

With that, the Owl Lady took to the sky while Amity followed from the ground. Judging by Eda’s current direction, Amity figured that Luz and Grom must’ve been headed for the woods.

As Amity ran towards that direction, her mind was racing. This was all her fault. She LET Luz get involved because she was too scared to face her fear. She KNEW Eda was right about Luz getting in over her head, and she went forward with it anyway. And now because of her, Luz was in danger. All because she couldn’t face the possibility of Luz not reciprocating any feelings she STILL didn’t know whether or not even exist!

Amity had to make this right. She just HAD to.

She made it to the woods, but lost sight of Eda. Just then, she heard some kind of blast and figured that Eda had caught up to them. She went towards the source, and came across the other students and Principal Bump gathered behind some bushes. She went to see what they were looking at and saw Luz, Eda, and Grom several yards in front of them.

Whatever thoughts might have been going through Amity’s mind at that moment, her body started acting on instinct. And right now, it was telling her to protect Luz, no matter how dangerous it might be.

Deciding to act, Amity lept out from behind the treeline and rushed to put herself between Luz and Grom.

“Stay away from her!”

Just then, Grom reached out and grabbed a hold of her. Amity knew what was coming next.

“I'm sorry, Luz. I should have fought my own battle. I-”

Right then, Amity could feel Grom going through her head, searching for what it was that she feared the most. She could barely hear Luz calling out to her. And then, Grom had found what it was looking for.

Amity had felt Grom set her down. When she came to, she had seen that it had transformed into some kind of humanoid form, roughly around age if she had to guess. It reached into her pocket, took out the note, ripped it in half, and crumpled it right in front of her.

And with that, Amity had her answer. And it hurt even worse than she could have imagined. It didn’t matter how vague Grom’s form was. Deep down, she knew exactly who it was supposed to be. And while she knew it wasn’t the real them, she could still feel her heart shatter into a million pieces in that moment.

As Amity picked up half of the crumpled note, she saw Luz run over and pick up the other half. Well, looks like the secret was about to get out.

“You were afraid of getting rejected.”

And when Amity looked up at Luz, she could see her start to… smile?

“Amity, it's okay. What if I went to Grom with you instead?”

Had Luz not seen the half that had her name on it? Whatever the case, Amity started to feel as a weight was being lifted off of her.

“Really?”

“That’s what friends do.”

In all that time Amity had spent that day worrying about the idea of her now-confirmed crush turning her down, she had forgotten about one of things that she admired about Luz the most. Her kindness. All those times. At the covention, the library, fixing Willow’s memories. It was always Luz trying to reach out to her. There was no way she could see Luz deliberately hurting her like that.

With her worries eased, Amity felt a renewed sense of determination flow through her. There was a shapeshifting fear monster that needed to be dealt with. She knew that Luz would be by her side to face it together. And given the occasion, there was only one way she could think of at that moment.

“Well, then, if that's settled, may I have this dance?”

It was now Amity’s turn to reach out to Luz. And Luz seemed more than happy to accept. They joined together, and it was as if something had clicked in that moment.

The two began their dance, taking one step after another. Throughout it all, the two were in perfect sync, never missing a beat. It was like neither one needed to tell the other what to do next. Amity used the routine to cast a spell circle with her feet, rising her and Luz atop a giant abomination. They continued from there, with Luz placing her glyphs on the abomination before they leapt off, sending the abomination into Grom itself. At that moment, the glyphs start to take effect, causing various plants to bloom from Grom’s body. Finally, the two land, finishing off their routine in a flourish as Grom explodes behind them.

In Grom’s place, a tree stood before them. The two look in awe as tiaras appear on each of their heads. They look at each other and smile as, for the first time that night, all felt right.

“Sooooooo.... who did you wanna ask out?”

“Oh, it’s… not important.”

Amity tossed her half of the note aside. As amazing as that moment was, she still didn’t feel like she was ready to tell Luz. Not yet, anyway.

“And there you have it, folks. A happy ending for this year's Grom. Let's give a big hand to our Grom queens, Luz and Amity!”

Well, Amity was certainly caught off guard. She had been so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten there was anyone there besides her and Luz. Right then, the rest of the students and Principal Bump came out from behind the bushes and started cheering the two queens. As the two were lifted up by the crowd and started to make their way back to Hexside, Amity felt on top of the world.

---

Hexside gymnasium,

Not much later

Now that Grom had been taken care of, the rest of the evening went a lot smoother. More students had been dancing than before the main event. The photo line was even longer than before. Everything was going great.

...And then, there was Amity just standing off to the side.

“Hey, kid. Why the party-of-one?”

Amity looked to her side and saw Eda standing next to her.

“*SIGH* I know I should be thrilled that Grom was defeated. But… you were right. Luz got in over her head trying to help me, and she almost got hurt because of it. I should’ve done more to keep her from doing it, but I was too scared to face my own fear to do anything about it.”

There was a few seconds of silence before Eda spoke up.

“Look, don’t be too hard on yourself. Fear can be a powerful thing. Even for most powerful witches, having to face your worst fears can be intense. The importanting thing is that when the time came, you stepped up and were willing to face yours so that Luz would be safe. The way I see it, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Also, speaking from personal experience these last few weeks, it gets harder and harder to say no to Luz when she offers to help. The kid’s just more endearing that way.”

“Heh, yeah.”

Amity would admit, trying to turn down Luz’s help was getting difficult for her at this point.

“Plus, I won’t lie. You two look rather cute together.”

...WHAT?

“Uh- W-well I mean, I g-guess it WAS a rather impressive dance routine, and I suppose Luz’s outfit COULD’VE been way more unusual than what it already was. But, um… Is it me, or is the room getting smaller?”

“Kid, you can save it. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her all night. I’ve seen it plenty of times before with many different people.”

“...Oh.”

So it was that obvious.

“Listen, I’m not gonna tell her if you don’t want me to. That’s your business, so it’s up to you to decide when you’re ready.”

Huh. That’s actually pretty cool of her.

“Although, I will say this. You can’t wait for the right moment forever. ...But for now, I’d say enjoy tonight. Have fun with your co-Grom queen”

At that moment, Eda looked behind Amity.

“Speaking of which…”

“Get in here, Blight!”

Amity felt Luz yank her towards where the photos were being taken. She was so caught off guard, she could feel herself blushing. Right then the photographer spoke up.

“Say ‘Grom Fright!’”

“‘Grom Fright!’”

Amity realized that there were two other voices there that weren’t her or Luz. After the photo was taken, she turned to see that Willow and Gus had managed to get in as well. 

Maybe Eda was right. The worst part of the night was over with. Amity should be having fun with her friends. If Luz could be enjoying herself after everything that happened, then so could she.

---

Blight Manor,

Later that night

The walk home that night had been surprisingly quiet. While Amity may have had a lot on her mind then, it was rather jarring to not hear a word from the twins. Although, given what she had heard, she couldn’t really blame them. Apparently their dates had stood them up. While they could be annoying a good amount of the time, she couldn’t help but feel a little bad for them. She was just glad that HER night hadn’t been as bad as she feared it would be.

As Amity made it to her room for the night, she decided to reflect on the evening. The night had certainly been eventful. Not just for her, but also Luz, if that one conversation was anything to go by.

*flashback*

“You really think Willow and Gus will be able to convince Bump to let you back into the dance?”

“We’ll see. Looks like I at least found one thing magic school and mortal school have in common. Otter suits are a ‘no’ at dances.”

“Yeah… Sorry you got kicked out because of it.”

“Eh. I at least got a picture in with it, AND I lasted longer than my last school dance. I still consider this a win.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it. So, just in case they can’t convince Bump, you want me to stay here until Eda’s done chaperoning?”

“I’d like that,”

There were a few moments of silence. Then, Amity figured this would be a good time to ask about something that had been on her mind since the fight against Grom.

“Hey, there’s something I wanted to ask about. But, you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Well… I guess it depends on what it is.”

“That last form Grom took when you were going up against it. It wasn’t anything you had brought up while we were training. And from what I saw, you weren’t expecting it either.”

Luz looked uneasy for a moment. Did Amity cross a line? After a bit, Luz gave an answer.

“That last form that Grom took… That was my mom.”

“Your mom? Did something happen between you two? All I was able to hear from where I had been sitting in the stands was something about lying. What did she mean?”

“*SIGH* You know how I can be a bit of a weirdo at times?”

“Um… yeeeeeessss?”

While Amity didn’t like saying it after how close they had gotten, if Luz wanted the truth, she supposed it was only fair to tell her.

“Well, back home, it was starting to become a problem. My mom had decided to send me to a summer camp to help straighten out my eccentric tendencies. While I was waiting for the bus, Eda’s palisman, Owbert, got a hold of one of my Azura books. So I chased him to this old house, which actually turned out to be a portal to the Boiling Isles that Eda had been using.

Eda agreed to send me back if I helped her and King with something. After I helped her, she held up her end of the deal. ...But I decided I wanted to spend some time in the Isles so that she could teach me magic. And the rest is history.

While I’ve still been able to keep in touch with my mom through my phone, I still haven’t told her where I am or what I’ve been up to these last several weeks. I feel bad about having to lie to her, and I know I’ll have to tell her eventually. But, I still don’t know how, when, or even IF I’ll be able to tell her.”

To say Amity was surprised would be an understatement. To think that Luz has been having to deal with this for weeks… No wonder she looked so freaked out when Grom took that form.

“...Wow. I had no idea.”

“Yeah. I know I should have brought it up during training so I could’ve been better prepared. But, I guess I thought that I could distract myself from one big fear with another. Guess we both know how well that turned out.”

It was then that Amity remembered what Eda had said to her earlier.

“Well, as someone rather wise told me, you can’t wait for the right moment forever. Maybe at least start with trying to open up to her a bit more.”

“...yeah, maybe you’re right. Thanks Amity. I felt good to talk about this with someone other than King.”

“Did he have any advice?”

“Well… sort of. But, I think yours was more helpful.”

“Anytime.”

*end flashback*

It really put things into perspective for Amity. If she had been having a difficult time trying to tell Luz how she feels, she imagined that Luz was feeling even worse. She hoped that Luz would be able to work it out somehow.

As she took off her tiara and placed it in her hope chest, Eda’s words ran through her head once more. ‘You can’t wait for the right moment forever.’ Amity knew that at some point, Luz was going to have to leave the Boiling Isles and go back to her realm. She didn’t know when, but she knew that it was certain. How will she know if she’ll be ready by the time that happens? It looked like all she could do for now was make the most of her time with Luz and hope for the best.

But, Amity would choose to worry about it tomorrow. For now, it had been a long night, and she needed to get some rest. As she got ready for bed, she thought about everything that night had been. Intense, nerve-wracking, and scary for sure. But most of all, that night had been… enchanting.

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity #luz x amity #eda clawthorne #king toh #willow park #gus porter #edric blight #emira blight #principal bump #enchanting grom fright #fanfiction #fanfic

[sherlockfanficwriting]

Mycroft “Kidnapped”

Summary - You get kidnapped by a secret group of people. Mycroft is absolutely ballistic in finding you, but will he? The longer he takes the more damage done to you. How fast will he act, and when he does will you be alive?

Warnings - violence

You walked with Mycroft on a quiet rainy London street, his arm wrapped around your waist and holding an umbrella that shielded the rain from the two of you. He made sure to focus it more on you. For the whole time he has met you, you were his priority over everything and anything. 

“We should take a vacation,” you casually told him. 

“If I didn’t have work so much, I would go anywhere you wanted,” he said, sighing. 

“Oh, please can we go somewhere in the summer!” You exclaimed. 

Mycroft laughed, he loved seeing your face when you got happy. “I can make some arrangements, but today is a long day for the both of us.” 

“I know, I don’t know what I’m going to do all day except for helping you around the office.” You were a smart person, Mycroft obviously picked that out from you the day you met, but you had no use at his office. You enjoyed each other’s presence, even if that meant you helping doing stupid paperwork, you loved it. 

You walked to the building and greeted the workers there that you saw. They enjoyed you as much as Mycroft. You were a package of sunshine that was wrapped in endless layers of intelligence and love. You walked to his office, took your coat off and sat on his seat. 

“I love it when you sit in my seat,” Mycroft said as he walked in. 

“You live off sarcasm, don’t you?” You told him as he innocently rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, get off before I crush you,” he told you. 

You knew one thing you never wanted in the world. To be crushed, especially by a human being. You squirmed just thinking about it and flew out of his chair causing him to throw you a confused look and release a chuckle. 

“Here are some papers you might find intriguing. I’ll get to work with a few phone calls,” he said, handing you a small stack of papers. 

You pursed your lips. You couldn’t decide anymore if you liked this. Suddenly you remembered something important. You promised Mycroft a few days ago you would bring him a surprise lunch of some food he really liked. It was nearly ten and if you were to get it now you would avoid the rush. He’s been working so hard lately, and you wanted to do something nice for him. 

“Mycroft, I have to run downtown for something,” you said. His eyes immediately darted up to you.

“Downtown? Now? Alone?” His voice was full of concern. He rarely let you out alone and you knew he wouldn’t unless you had someone else with you...someone close. 

“Uh- yes, I forgot something at my friend’s place. They just texted me where to meet. It’s rather important,” you said. You knew Mycroft had been way to busy to remember you hadn’t been to a friend’s house in a few months, you spent all your time with him. 

“I suppose you can. Just keep in contact with me if you need anything.” 

You smiled and began to head out the door. 

“Be careful!” He called out. 

You flew down the steps, exiting the building with ease. You had worn a pair of black high waisted palazzo pants, a tucked-in white blouse, and a small black blazer, but what made your outfit special where your black flats. You could finally be able to run comfortably across London without heels. 

You called for a taxi as you reached the curb and one pulled over in a few seconds. 

“Can you take me to 54th street?” 

The driver nodded, zooming away. You couldn’t contain your element of surprise. Thinking what Mycroft wanted? You knew what he wanted, but you could never get him just that. He loved sweets, smoothies, coffee, cigarettes, sandwiches. What didn’t he like? 

The taxi slowed down to a halt. You paid up and stepped outside. In front of you was a new cafe that specialized in gourmet “healthy” foods. You pulled the door open and were greeted by a whole variety of pastries covered by glass. To your right was a display of sandwiches and salads. You read the chalkboard on the wall above. It had smoothies and coffees and all sorts of drinks. You ended up deciding on a Cuban sandwich, a cobb salad, a mango smoothie, and a blueberry scone for Mycroft. You were delighted as you walked out of the store. It was drizzling rain and you could tell it was going to start pouring soon. You were about to call for a taxi, but you checked your wallet from instinct. 

“Oh no,” you said to yourself. You only had four dollars. You couldn’t get a taxi anywhere. Mycroft always offered you plenty of money in situations like this, but you forgot all the time to put it in your purse. 

You walked down the street and noticed an alley leading to a sight of the River Thames. You didn’t have a good sense of where you were in London so for all you knew you were lost. You walked down the alley and reached the sight of the river. You knew that Mycroft’s building wasn’t near the river. Or was it? His building was near the west of town. No, the east? 

You put your food bags down and tried to concentrate. You felt helpless because you had no idea where you were or his office. You didn’t want to call him because he would scold you for forgetting money and not even knowing and you wanted to surprise him with lunch. 

“Lost?” Someone called. You whipped your head around. A tall man with a seemingly expensive suit and an umbrella stood there with a concerned look on his face. 

“I-I, yeah, I’m lost.” 

“You know I just moved here to London for a job and I still can’t find my way around. Lucky I have a driver though.” 

A driver? If only you did. Now that you think of it, you really should have one. 

“That must come in handy,” you told him politely. 

“Do you need to get somewhere? Someone like you shouldn’t be alone here and in the rain,” he said smiling. You were charmed. He seemed nice enough to be a genuine and truthful person. 

“I do, actually Parliament.” 

“I’ll have my driver take you.” He motioned you to come. You did and walked next to him. You noticed a long black car on the curb. It looked like a limo, but not quite the size. The man opened the door for you and you stepped in. Inside the car were three other men, who were also dressed very well. You felt uneasy but shook it off. The man hopped into the car, closing the door. 

The car drove off, and you didn’t even tell them where to go. 

“So, to Parliament, right?” You said. The man who coaxed you inside was silent but then started laughing as did the other men. 

Your heart dropped. You suddenly knew what was going on. You tried to open your purse to get your cellphone, but the man whipped your body around, facing him. 

“You either comply, or we’ll make you.” Your breathing increased as did your heart rate. You didn’t listen to the man and continued rummaging through your purse, but stopped when the man slapped your face, hard. You winced in pain, you had never been slapped before. You started panicking. 

“Where are you taking me?” You cried out. 

“To your death place,” the man said.

When you heard this, you started screaming like a lunatic. You tried to get to the door, but you were too weak and outnumbered. You fought back relentlessly, but a hard blow to your face took you out. 

Mycroft’s office 

“What is taking her so long?” Mycroft said to himself. It was already two hours past ten when you left. He was worried sick about you and couldn’t concentrate on his work.

He picked up his phone and dialed your number. It rang, but no pickup. 

“I’m worried about you. It’s been two hours, a little more, and you’re not back. Call me,” he said to the voicemail. 

Mycroft put the phone down and rested his head in his hands. A little more time and he would then find out where you were. 

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

You blinked your eyes open slowly. You were on the ground against a pole. Your legs were tied together with rope and your arms and hands were too. It was tight and hurt. You felt your cheek throb in pain and suddenly you remembered being punched hard across the face with some type of ring. You managed to lean yourself straight against the pole and looked around the room. No windows, just a door. Bright lights. Relatively clean. Empty except you. You shivered in fear. 

“Hello?” You cried out. 

The door suddenly opened and there stood the man who killed you. There was something jammed in his pocket. A gun.

“What do you want from me? I don’t even know you!” You cried to him. 

He smiled and shook his head. “But you do know Mycroft Holmes, in fact you are very close to him.” 

Your heart dropped. “Why does that matter?” 

“Because he is our enemy. He caught us back years ago and we served our years, but that was wrong with him. He got in our business. He shouldn’t have. We want revenge for all those years....that money.....lost.” 

“I don’t know anything about that, I swear! Just please let me go,” you begged. 

The man walked closer and said to you, “Oh, we’ll get him here, but you’re the closest thing to him. You’re going to be part of our revenge.” 

You whimpered silently. It was hopeless. 

“Damien, bring her phone,” the man called. A muscular man walked in carrying your phone. He handed it to the man and stepped away, arms folded behind him. 

“I imagine you have his contact,” he said while scrolling through the phone, “oh, here we go.” His sadistic smile made you cringe. 

“What a cute couple. He looks like he really loves you,” he said while looking through a photograph. He stood up and snapped a picture of you. You didn’t even bother to look at the camera. 

“Sent,” he said. 

You had no emotion in you but pure fear and sadness. You tried not to cry just thinking about your death and Mycroft. The man walked up to you and pulled your chin up. 

“Not sad enough for me,” he said, pulling out a knife. 

“Please. No,” you managed to say. 

The man held the knife at your forearm, pressing it into your skin. You winced. Suddenly he slid the cold metal slowly across your skin. You felt a warm liquid pour out. It hurt. 

“That was a warmup, get ready for more,” he said, standing up and walking out of the door. 

Mycroft’s office

Mycroft’s phone made a noise. He stopped pacing around the room and looked at it. It was a message from you. He unlocked his phone and had to steady himself from passing out when he saw the picture of you. He placed his hand over his mouth and his stomach twisted and turned. His love, everything he loved was taken by someone and being hurt. A handful of tears escaped from his eyes, but the most powerful emotion of a man washed over his own body. 

Anger. 

He stormed out, calling his brother and explaining everything to him. He contacted the elite police, detectives, people working for him, everybody. In less than a minute, the whole London government’s priority was you. Mycroft ran and swung his coat on, storming outside. 

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

You tried to make the time pass by thinking about Mycroft and your good memories with him. He was the only thing you really loved. Every single moment of the day you were with him in some way. Every intimate moment, you cherished. You wondered if he was looking for you yet. What would you do without him?

The door opened again and you looked up to see the man again. He looked angrier and clenched his knife hard. 

“He’s looking for you, but he’ll never find you or you’ll be dead by then.”

The man bent down to your level and threw a hard punch at your face. His cold ring piercing through your skin, bruising your cheekbone. 

“What’d you say? You want more?” He asked and punched even harder in your stomach. You exhaled hard in pain. 

“Please, stop.” 

He punched you again in the stomach, causing you to bend over in extreme pain.

“Imagine if you died how sad he would be? Boy, I can’t wait.” He backed away to the door. “Damien, get in here and do the messy work, I can’t get my hands red.” 

You felt your heart pounding through your body, louder than ever. He walked in carrying a knife with no mercy. You shivered and leaned your body against the pole. 

“You’re gonna be so sorry,” he said. He picked the knife above his head and drove it down hard into your upper stomach. You screamed in agony. It was the worst pain you have ever felt before. Blood spilled out of the wound and onto the ground. You were now certain of death and hopeless of anything. Your body collapsed to the ground as your eyes shut semi-unconsciously.

Mycroft’s office

“Where did you track her phone?” Mycroft demanded at his best tech worker. Sherlock was peering right behind him. 

“This, here, this address,” he pointed at the screen. 

“I’m going. I need maximum backup and weapons. We make sure she is safe. 

Mycroft and his brother ran out of the room and into his car. 

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

You remained laying on the cold floor, feeling the blood continuing to pour out of you. You had cried as you were in this position. You didn’t want it to end this way. This wasn’t how you imagined it. 

Your body felt weak, you couldn’t prop yourself against the pole. Your heartbeat was slowing as was your breathing. You kept your eyes closed, as you were in between blacking out completely. You hoped at least to live a minute longer, a second longer. 

A few ordinary minutes passed as soon as you heard a door bolted down and people screaming. Police? You heard gunshots being fired and bodies dropping. You were so out of it, you thought you might be dreaming. The door to your room swung open and there stood Mycroft. He called your name and rushed over to you, pressing on your wound as Sherlock cut your ropes. You heard him, but were too weak to open your eyes or respond. 

“My,” you managed to say with all your energy. 

“i’m right here. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.” 

Mycroft felt your pulse and started to cry. It was barely there. 

“Mycroft, hospital. Now.” Sherlock said. Mycroft wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, running to the ambulance. There he watched in tears, anger, and sadness as blood covered your stomach and poured out. He could only feel complete agony. The doctors treated you as soon as you got in the hospital. Mycroft threw a fit and began raging about not seeing you and the men who did this to you. Lucky for him, they were dead. He spent hours sitting in the waiting room, relentless. When the door opened, he turned his head eager that someone knew something about you. 

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

Beep

Beep

You heard these strange noises and suddenly knew you were in a hospital. Someone was holding your hand. You smelled the room. Old cologne. It was Mycroft. His hand assured it. You opened your eyes. He was sleeping, his head on your bed, one hand resting on your legs and the other holding your hand. You squeezed his hand. Immediately he woke up.

“You’re awake! Are you in pain?” 

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Thanks for saving me.” 

Mycroft put his head down. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. Never in a million years. I would have taken that any day instead of you. You are my life.” 

You smiled. “Mycroft, I love you. You’re mine too.” 

He smiled and kissed your cheek. “Rest now, dear,” he said as he stroked your hair. You closed your eyes, now engulfed by sleep, but now hope overcame you.

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fandom #sherlock imagine #sherlock headcanon #sherlock one shot #sherlock fanvid #sherlock x you #loki hot #loki x reader #mycroft holmes #sherlock and mycroft #mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft x you #mycroft headcanon #mycroft holmes imagine #mycroft imagine #mycroft one shot #molly hooper #221b #221b baker street #marvel #marvel x reader #doctor who #doctor strange #requests #jim moriarty #moriarty x reader

[bigsnzstanacct]

Hayfever Story (sneezing + nose blowing)

I... don’t know what you all will think of this one. This is part one of two, though I’m not entirely certain how part two should go. This one is mostly setup but there’s plenty of sneezing at the top. Honestly it is almost all sneeze talk or description. The sneezer is described as male, but the narrator’s gender is left ambiguous: imagine whatever excites you the most.

This is unedited, obviously, but I may go through and take another pass at it at some point.

—-

I could hear him down the block.

“AAAHHHHCCHHH-HHOOOOOOO!!” The bellow was dimmed somewhat by distance and the walls between us, but I still heard it, clear as day. He’d be winding up for another one now, frozen in place, captive to his big, protruding proboscis. The handkerchief clutched in two hands, spread wide as his head tipped back and back and back until his shoulder got into it, his wide nostrils flaring absurdly as he gasped... and gasped... and gasped... until...

“EEEEEEAAAYYYYYATTCCHHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Even louder this time! He would have delivered it right into the handkerchief, so that he could transition, seamlessly, fluidly, almost... professionally into the window rattling roar of his great lawnmower honk of a nose blow, sonorous as a trombone, surely so because of the unusual architecture of his cavernous nostrils, which provided plenty of room for the great crashing blow to echo and resound and build in noise. The first great two-nostril honk taken care of, he’d press one nostril shut and blow his trumpet blast out the other, then switch sides, in a sort of aftershock to the first great blow. I could barely even hear them through the walls. But I knew after that would come the last big blow. First, an enormous lung-swelling long smooth inward gasp of air, his shoulders rising, rib cage expanding to let in more and more and more air. Then, a silent moment of preparation, practically like a prayer, his eyes scrunching shut, face flying into the waiting hankie and then...

The real foghorn, a nasal blast that dwarfed his sneeze in volume. His “big blows” as we called them existed less to expel moisture or whatever else might be lurking in his nasal passages, and more to cleanse the terrible itch with the sheer sound of it, as though by making his whole sinuses vibrate with the sonorous force of the blow, he could chase that twinging tickle into every nook and cranny of his nose, and in doing so scratch the itch into submission.

He’d be walking again now. Would there be another sneeze before he arrived at the door, would he in fact reach the door even as the ragweed and grass pollen and all the terrible floral irritations of spring reignited that desperate desire in him, left the poor exhausted man with no choice but to unleash another:

“HEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHSSHHH-OOOOOOOOO!!!” This was an angry sneeze. The sneeze of a man exhausted by his nose and a nose exhausted by the itch. It was the sort of sneeze he released only when he at last forgot about the noise and disruption his nose could cause—did cause, all throughout hayfever season—and could think only of finally relieving the terrible itch. I swung the door open, and was greeted by the sight, no longer in my imagination but in the flesh, of his reddened, dripping nose, his tired, sagging eyes—oh it was so obvious he was in the grips of an absolutely miserable allergy attack, and I could only reach out to him, press him into a tight embrace, even as, over my shoulder, he spread it out—oh, not a handkerchief at all, but one of those big red bandanas he used when his poor nose wore him out, when even his hankies seemed too small and too fragile to stand up to the ferocity of his allergic response. I barely noticed before he crushed his nose into his hand and, uncontrollably, right next to my ear blasted out a honk that I swear nearly made my go deaf.

Of course, if that were going to happen, it would have long since happened by now.

“Oh hodey...” he said, sniffing, as he straightened up. “Hodey I’b so sorry bud by dose...”

“Shhh, shhh,” I cooed at him, guiding him into the living room and down onto the sofa. “It’s fine, darling, I understand. Your hayfever...”

“Id’s terrible!” He announced, as though every centimeter of his face was not making the announcement for him, from the downturn of his lips to his constantly working, practically buzzing nose. “Wud sec godda blow...”

He said this with banal literalness—he was going to blow his nose. And yet I couldn’t help but think that “gonna blow” seemed accurate for any and everything pertaining to his nose, which resembled nothing so much as his personal Vesuvius, a volcano always on the edge of an eruption.

He held forth with a blow that put the others to shame, or perhaps that was just me being able to appreciate it properly now, neither muffled by walls nor so all-consumingly close that its relative volume was masked. De-stuffed a bit by the blow, he continued: “I had to sneeze so badly all day, darling, you wouldn’t believe it. I hate hayfever!” He said it with conviction, so much so that I couldn’t help but hate it too, even if his hayfever, this particular specimen, also thrilled me. “I don’t know how I got any work done, always having to duck into the bathroom to... t-tuhhh... huuuhhh.... HUUUUUHHHH... HUUUUUAAAAASSSHHHOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“To do that?”

“Mm.” He replied, congested again. Our flow of conversation ebbed for the moment, making way for his great trumpeting blows, always the same pattern: a great two nostril honk, a series of cleansing blows of each nostril individually, alternately, and then a final great tickle-chasing honk. Although this time even that pattern didn’t seem to be enough. “Cad you ged me adother h-hadker... hadker... hehhHH... AAAASSSSHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!”

He didn’t have to tell me twice, though as I heard the thumping on our ceiling from our neighbor above, already fed up with his nasal exuberance, I couldn’t help but hope, for the sake of peace in our little block of apartments if nothing else, that the next cleansing blow managed to clear out some of that infernal pollen and ease his allergies some.

Although, as he heard him snuffling and sniffing, surely hunting for any dry spot left on the great bandana, I didn’t hold out much hope.

—

He’d really had a terrible hayfever day, though it did calm at least somewhat after he’d been home for a while, with our humidifier and air filters all around. He explained that he’d had to sneeze all day at work, constantly ducking into the toilets to let one loose, fighting not to blast one of his rather disruptive and distinctive sneezes in the open office. He’d sworn he wouldn’t be known primarily by his nose, not at this workplace, unlike many of his others. Even then, he hadn’t felt like he could blow his nose, not fully, not properly, even in the toilets. On the bus home, he’d fought not to explode but his hayfever was just unbearable and before he knew it he was belting out sneeze after sneeze, so loud in the enclosed space he was afraid he’d startle the driver or something. The other passengers glaring daggers at him didn’t help. So he’d walked a good deal of the way home, which only succeeded in allowing his big nose to suck up even more allergens, to drive him even crazier with the urge to blow them all out.

By that evening, his nose had largely calmed down, its outbursts coming once or twice an hour rather than every few minutes. I gave him the tea that always helped, wiped his face with a warm cloth, did my best to soothe the allergic beast inside him, the little demon of nasal irritation that took up residence in his nose—a spacious abode—that tormented him and took over him body til his whole body used all its force to exorcize the demon in a blasting sneeze or trumpeting blow. There was something nice about it, the feeling that it was we two in a battle against his hayfever. Sure, it was him on the front lines, cajoling and managing and denying and satiating his itchy nose and its allergic demands. But I was there too, supporting and assisting and fetching bandanas and grabbing things out of his hands when a sudden blinding urge to sneeze robbed him of every other thought. I liked helping him in that way. It was plain to see those great galumphing sneezes took it out of the poor man. And though he always seemed pleased, satisfied after a good strong session of blowing, that too must have required energy. He’d tried to teach me on more than one occasion, when I caught bad colds, how to blow my nose as thoroughly and authoritatively as he did. I’d gotten quite a bit better—no longer the sniffer and snuffler I was when we met—but still, I could never quite manage the sheer ferocity of his nose blowing, let alone the power, let alone the volume. He was in another category for that.

Of course, that presented its problems. And there was another area in which I could help, in which it was I instead of him on the front lines of battle: the neighbors.

Now we’d been lucky enough to escape complaints in many if not most of the places we lived, though surely his nasal exertions were audible through the walls. And to his credit, most of the year, with the exception of lazy afternoons where gave his nose free reign and let his great bellowing sneezes rip as they pleased, he kept his nose to.... well not quite a polite acceptable volume, but at least a dull roar during quieter hours. But this was our second hayfever season in this apartment. And when hayfever season strikes that nose of his, all bets are off. I thought we’d come to blows with at least two of our neighbors by the end of the season, but although we narrowly avoided that, we did have to speak to the apartment management about noise complaints. They couldn’t, of course, kick us out of our apartment over hayfever. But to keep the peace, we agreed to try our very best to keep the noise down late at night, even during hayfever season. His nose had free reign until ten pm. It would be cruel to expect anything else. But his hayfever was too severe to let him sleep sometimes. I’d been awakened, more times than I could count, with a great bellowing sneeze, a desperate, whispered apology and then a trumpeting nose blow. Half-asleep, it never occurred to him to tamp down the violence... all he could think of was chasing away the terrible itch.

So, in those moments where he awoke at night, itchy and sneezy and desperate, it fell to me. Then I took the front lines in the battle against his allergies, or at least the battle to avoid coming to blows with Mr and Mrs Cadwallader upstairs.

I suspected, from the moment I heard him coming down the way to our apartment, that tonight would end up being just such a night. So I’d taken the bandana he normally hid under his pillow and hid it under mine. If he were about to sneeze, even in half-asleep stupor, he’d reach for that, and so it was that I was awakened at 2am, not by his nose, but by his mouth:

“—Quickly!! I n-need to snehhh... sneeze!”

#snz fic #sneeze story #male allergies

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 46)

Treasure

Reader receives a gift that gives her a reason to smile, and then she smiles a whole lot more.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Days went by, nondescript and immeasurable, practically the same routine everyday. I woke up, I did chores, I went to bed, and repeated it all the next day. The sense of hope that I'd kept at heart in the days following the discovery of that newspaper article was dwindling steadily, and every day felt longer and longer, harder and harder, till I was just going through the motions until I could go to sleep again. 

People noticed. Charles first, of course, he'd been keeping a keen eye on me the whole time, checking in on me each day to ask how I was. He was soft and careful with me, speaking to me in a tone that reminded me of how one would talk to a spooked horse. I appreciated his kindness, but it didn't matter how many times he asked me if I was okay, I'd always just say yes. I wasn't, obviously, we both knew that. But mine was the sort of sadness that nothing could cure, but perhaps time. Even that seemed impossible, for the more time that passed, the smaller the flame of hope grew, and the more I came to believe that my Arthur was gone. It was a scenario I didn't want to accept. 

Sadie approached me one afternoon an indiscernible number of days since Abigail and I's trip to Saint Denis. I hadn't left camp since, excluding the ride I'd taken that evening. 

"Hey there. I heard you was a good con-woman. You wanna come out with me, see if we can rustle something up?" She asked. I lifted my head from the arrow I was working on – Charles had taught me how to improve them to make them stronger and more accurate – to look at her in bewilderment that she'd want me to do something with her, the miserable mare I was.

"Right now?"

"Sure, nothing too fancy. Just something to put a little extra money in our pockets," she said, offering me a kind smile. 

My lips parted and I was hesitant to answer. In truth, Christ no, I did not want to go conning right then. It was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. It took enough energy just to pretend to be not on the verge of crying constantly, I didn't think I had it in me to paint another layer onto the facade for the sake of a con. But how on Earth could I say no when the gang was in such a dire situation?

Thankfully, she saw my hesitation for what it was, and her face fell just a little. She sat down on the crate next to me, leaned forwards with her elbows on her knees and stared at her hands. 

"I know what you're going through," she said quietly. "I ain't making you work, I just thought you might wanna do something more interesting than chores, try and get your mind off it. For me, that's all I wanted at the start." 

"That's a kind sentiment, Sadie," I whispered, smiling, "but I'm okay here, jus' doing this," I waved the completed arrow at her then placed it with the bundle by my feet. 

"Okay then, if you're sure," she said, then after a moment, moved to leave. I stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

"I'm so sorry about your husband. I know that was real raw when I first showed up, I never said nothing about it. I hope you don't think of me as rude for not giving you my condolences," I told her abruptly.

"I don't. You didn't know me at all, and no offense, I barely even realised you were new for a start. First couple weeks were a blur, I don't remember much. I was too torn apart," she admitted, and I nodded sympathetically. "Keeping busy helps, I know. But you gotta be careful not to just shut everything out and rely on monotony to get you through the day, you lose a lot of time that way. You wake up one day and realise how long it's been and–" she stopped abruptly, sighed and shook her head.

I felt awful for Sadie. She was a married woman, I didn't know for how long but she was married. I knew how painful it was no longer having Arthur by my side and he and I's relationship was relatively young. I couldn't even claim to know exactly how Sadie must've felt losing her husband. 

"I always liked Arthur," she began on a different note, lifting her head, "he's one of the good ones, ain't he?"

I nodded my head. 

"You keep hold of him, if he makes it back here," she advised, patting the back of my hand where it rested on my knee. I met her eyes. 

"I fully intend to. I don't know how I'd– it's hard because I don't know whether I should be grieving or not," I said, and her brow creased in sympathy. 

"Yeah, it's an odd situation. But some hope's better than none, ain't it?" She offered and I nodded slowly. 

"I suppose it is. Every time I see something move over there–" I jerked my head towards the entrance to Lakay– "my heart goes mad and I'm searching for him." 

Sadie looked at me, her eyes full of pity throughout the lull in conversation. She pressed her lips together, then sighed and looked down. 

"After my Jakey died, Abigail was a good friend to me. She'd sit with me and let me cry and whine and feel sorry for myself and she did it all with compassion. I know you and I ain't particularly close, but I want you to know, I wouldn't mind paying Abigail's favour forward. I'm here for you if you need a shoulder to cry on. Someone who knows your pain," she told me. 

She was speaking as if Arthur was definitely dead and while her kindness was appreciated, I hated what it meant. She didn't think he was coming back. She pitied me, saw herself in me, in what I was going through. I was far from ready to start accepting the very real possibility that Arthur was dead, and when a reasonable response to her offer failed to materialise in my brain, I just stared at her. I stared with parted lips and tears welling in my eyes and anger building that I did not want to direct at her. So I got up, and walked away as quickly as I could. 

I shut myself away in the building with the painted wall, my usual spot, and threw myself down on the bed that resided there. The sheets were musty and unclean, I had no clue how long they'd been there or who had slept in them last, but I couldn't care less. I curled up on my side and squeezed my eyes shut. 

Arthur wasn't dead. If he was I'd have a gut feeling, wouldn't I? I'd somehow know. It had been weeks since the night of the robbery, but it would take weeks for him to get back to America after leaving on a boat. There was still a feasible chance that he was heading home, or he could be back already, and just looking for us. Or maybe he and the others were just giving it some time, letting the heat die down before attempting to come back to us. There were plenty of alternative reasons for his absence and the likelihood of it being because he was dead was probably the smallest. Arthur's strong. He's clever.  

I squeezed my eyes ever tighter, and the next thing I knew, I was being roused by a hand on my shoulder.

I woke with a start, my eyes flashing open to find Miss Grimshaw looming over me, her expression unreadable. My heart dropped and I shot upright.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep– I know it looks that way, I'm laying in a bed, but I– I was–" I stammered, giving up on excuses and sighing. She sat down on the bed next to me, her expression shifting into a small smile. 

"It's okay, darlin'. I ain't here to tell you off," she reassured me, squeezing my shoulder once. I shifted, crossing my legs and watching her with intrigue. "Sadie told me that you barged in here earlier on, she was worried she'd upset you."

I shook my head and closed my eyes in frustration at myself. "No, she was being kind. I just ain't myself right now."

"I figured. That's why I wanted to talk to you. And give you something," she said, looking down into her hand. She was holding something I couldn't see. "Things are tough on everybody right now, but I know you must feel especially worried."

"I don't wanna claim that I'm worse off than everyone else just 'cause–"

"It ain't a competition," she cut me off, "that ain't my point, just let me speak. Your relationship with Arthur is different, more intimate, you're bound to have more intense feelings about his absence, I'm not looking for a debate about that." 

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling like a scolded child. 

"I wanted to do somethin' nice. Or at least something I think is nice, you might hate me for it, I don't know," she shrugged, she had an air of stoicism about her, but I could see that she cared. I frowned in confusion. 

"What is it?"

"I have this necklace," she began, unfurling her hand to reveal a silver necklace with an oval shaped pendant engraved with the image of a heron. It was very pretty. "It's a locket," she added, then handed it to me. 

I draped the chain over my fingers and perched the pendant in my palm, lifting it for a closer inspection. There was a lot of detail in the engraving, I could even make out the suggestion of feathers. 

"I dug around in all our old things. We've got a box of photographs we've kept for years, I had a look and found one small enough to cut up and go in there. I never wear that locket, so you can have it. It was a gift from a lover from years ago," she chuckled playfully at that. 

I pressed my nail to the groove down the edge of the locket and popped it open, carefully parting it to reveal the photo inside. My eyes were blurry in a second. Of course, it was a photograph of Arthur; it looked quite old, he was a little younger, probably in his late twenties, but he was equally as handsome as the Arthur I knew. I blinked and felt tears roll down my cheeks and wordlessly threw myself forwards, wrapping my arm around Susan and burying my face in her shoulder. She made a surprised sound, but hugged me back after a moment. 

"Alright, that's a good response," she chuckled.

"Why on Earth would I hate you for this?"

"I figured it might hurt you, seeing him when he ain't here," she explained. 

"The only pictures I have of him are my silly drawings, I will treasure this," I told her, pulling back to look once again at the locket. I held it close to my face, relishing the opportunity to refresh the image of him in my mind, to remind myself of his lovely eyes, the cute dimple on the end of his nose, the shape of his lips…

"There's that smile we've all missed," she said, nudging me. 

"Thank you so much," I whispered, pressing a kiss to the locket before carefully closing it. 

"Would you like me to help you put it on?"

"Yes please." 

I handed her the necklace and twisted around. Susan draped the thing around my neck, and I peered down at where it laid against my sternum. She fiddled with a clasp for a moment before letting it go once it was secured around my neck. 

"So, there you go, any time you miss him you'll be able to see his face," she smiled at me and I returned it, holding the locket within my palm. "Now that you're smilin' again, are you gonna come help with dinner?" She queried with a stern tone, though it was coloured with playfulness too. I smirked and nodded, rising to my feet and following her back outside.

Every night since then I fell asleep with the locket laying open in my palm. It dulled the empty feeling in my chest made by his absence enough to give me some peace. Though I still of course longed to have him back by my side, Miss Grimshaw's gift certainly helped ease my upset. I went hunting again with Charles, and he noted that I seemed to be doing a bit better, either that or I was getting better at putting on a facade. I wasn't entirely sure which was true, sure, the locket gave me something to hold at night but it wasn't flesh and blood, it wasn't my Arthur. I just told Charles that the people at camp treating me with kindness was probably helping. And it was. 

I'd grown closer to the likes of Charles, Abigail and Sadie, who each seemed to have some sort of perceived duty of care to me. I felt as if I was tucked carefully under each of their wings, and they all took the time to check on me if I'd spent too much time on my own. It made sense. We all had something in common. For Charles, it was that we were missing Arthur, both of us were particularly close to him in our own ways. Abigail, she was missing her man too, though she knew exactly where he was. She rarely outright admitted it of course, continuously mentioning Jack, who – bless him – didn't even fully seem to know what was going on. And Sadie kept looking at me with a certain softness in her eyes and I knew she still saw me as analogous to her when Jake passed, and she felt a sort of responsibility to offer me support.

We gravitated towards each other, I seemed to always have one of them nearby. I appreciated it. I felt less alone while my most treasured person was missing, and it allowed me to feel more like a part of the gang again. I realised that despite my intentions not to, I had aligned myself with Arthur while he was there, sticking to him so closely and allowing my bonds with the rest of the gang to sink into the background. When he first disappeared, I felt like an impostor, similar to when I first joined. I often wondered if that was how Molly had felt too, though she had opted to leave rather than staying. In my case, my strengthened relationship with the others helped me to once again feel at home, though it was an incomplete home. 

After a couple more days passed, I found myself feeling a little numb. It was neither positive or negative. I guessed that my emotions had been so unsteady for so long that they'd stopped knowing what to do and had given up altogether. I took it while I could, grateful for the reprieve. 

I found myself stood cleaning dishes with Abigail one evening, it had been pouring rain all day and we were standing outside underneath the shelter of the lean-to attached to one of the shacks. I lost myself in the constant hiss of the water hitting the ground as I scrubbed the plate in my hand dry. Abigail had been upset that morning, having found out that John had officially been moved to Sisika. I'd done my best to comfort her as she had done with me over Arthur, but she had been quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the day. I stuck by her side, helping entertain Jack when it was clear that she was too distracted to give him her full attention. He was asleep now, though, curled up inside with Tilly and Mary-Beth.  

I couldn't hear much over the sound of the rain, so when Abigail spoke I was sure I'd missed half of her sentence, because all I heard was: "Arthur?" 

I glanced up at her, she was standing on the other side of the table, looking over my shoulder. 

"What about him?" I asked. Then felt a hot jolt of adrenaline surge through me when I heard wet footsteps and noticed Abigail's eyes following something behind me, I could only take a split second to pray that the conclusion I had drawn was true, then I cranked my neck around so fast it'd hurt in the morning.

There he was. In the same white shirt and dress trousers he'd left Shady Belle in, a few weeks worth of beard grown in, rosy, sunburnt cheeks and a build-up of grime covering every visible inch of his body. My Arthur. 

My knees felt as though they would buckle beneath me and my hand moved to the table behind me, gripping tight. 

"You're alive!" Abigail cheered, a joyous laugh rippling through her words as she rounded the table and jogged over to him. Arthur's eyes never left mine as she gave him a brief hug.

"Hey ladies," he said, his tone friendly but he sounded tired and strange, a little like he was forcing it. My brain had disengaged and I hadn't yet reacted to his return, I was well aware of that, but could do no more than stare at him. 

"Come on, get out of the rain," Abigail said, tugging him by the elbow until he was underneath the shelter, standing a mere few inches away from me, gaze still fixed on my face, his eyes trying to read mine. "I gotta tell the others!" Abigail added, then she was rushing into the house, calling out. 

In the moments we had alone, Arthur reached for me, and I met his hands with mine, entwining our fingers. His shoulders dropped and the creases between his brows softened, then he leaned forward, his forehead kissing mine. 

"My Angel–"

"I thought that you–" we both began, then laughed breathily. That was as far as we got. 

"Hey, Arthur!" Uncle cheered, stepping outside, joined by everyone else inside who seemed equally pleased to see Arthur. I stepped back, turning to face them. Everyone crowded around, clapping him on the back, guiding him inside, I watched as he was whisked away from me, surrounded by his family. 

I followed the crowd inside, watching everyone hug him, silently resenting the fact that I hadn't had the chance to do the same. 

"Where on Earth have you been?" Uncle questioned as a chair was pulled out and Arthur was pushed down into it, a cup of water thrust into his hand. Arthur's eyes scanned the room until he found me. 

"Some island somewhere. Uh, Guarma, I think it was. Washed up there when our ship went down," he explained. 

"So that was your boat we read about in the papers," Lenny pointed out. Arthur downed the water and handed the cup off to an outstretched hand. He was then plied with a bowl of stew. I leaned up against the doorway and felt an easy smile cross my lips at the sight of him. Alive. Right there in front of me. 

"I guess," Arthur mused. 

"We all thought you were gone for good, laying at the bottom of the ocean," Uncle admitted and everyone looked at him with a warning in their eyes. "What? Ain't my problem none of y'all would admit it."

"Well, we nearly was. We all made it, though. The others'll make their way back over the next few days, we thought it best to go one at a time, draw less attention. I volunteered to leave first, I had to–" Arthur explained, his eyes settling on me again. 

"Dutch is still alive?" Someone asked, and Arthur nodded with a mouthful of food, a look coming to his eye that I couldn't place. It wasn't a positive look, that was all.

"And Javier. And Bill," he murmured, then with a tone that nobody had to question, "and Micah."

"We buried Hosea. We got his body back and gave him a nice send off," Abigail told him. Arthur looked at her, slowed his chewing, and nodded in silent appreciation. His demeanor shifted further at the mention of his name, and my heart hurt to look at him that way. 

"The horses all came back, Kieran's been doing a fine job of taking care of 'em," Mary-Beth announced when the silence became uncomfortable. Kieran squirmed under the attention but Arthur nodded at him once. 

"Thanks, Kieran," he murmured. 

"Just doing what I do," Kieran breathed, a lopsided smile on his face. 

"How 'bout I get some water warmed up for you? You really do look like you've been washed up on an island," Miss Grimshaw chuckled, then headed outside. 

"Thank you," Arthur called after her. After a few moments people seemed to realise that staring at him while he was eating wasn't exactly making Arthur feel comfortable, so everyone moved to give him some space and murmurs of conversation filled the room. Charles came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder and bending down to speak to him.

"Good to have you back," I just about made out over the noise in the room. Then Charles' eyes peeled up to me, an expectant look in them. He smirked and pulled a chair up next to Arthur, knocking his knuckles against the back of it.

"He's all yours," he told me. 

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #atink #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

[mingtiddies]

falling for u

member: jihoon

genre: fluff

word count: 2098

warnings: none that i can think of

a/n: i was feeling it so bad for jihoon like i was so so so soft i had to write for him

Being friends with such a large group of boys hadn’t been as hard as she thought it would be. Although she would have considered it normal if some members had had a hard time adjusting, none of them did. Most of them had warmed up to her pretty quickly. And even the ones that tended to keep to themselves had opened up and warmed up to their new friend.

Seungcheol had made it his goal to make the entire group accept her presence, making it known to all members that she would be with them quite a lot. She had once asked Seungcheol about Jihoon, once she had realized that he was the most reserved person. And the older had told her that he knew to adapt when needed.

Upon seeing her confused face, he chuckled and proceeded, “He knows you’re here to stay.” Whatever that meant. Although the group was constantly busy; days packed with schedules from early morning until late hours of the night, Seungcheol always managed to find time for them to hang out.

Whether it would be going to a restaurant, walking in the streets of small towns, ordering deliveries and staying at their dorm or even just watching them work, they always found ways to spend time together.

All three leaders walked into the practice room everyone was staying in, hands full of delivery bags. The room got loud for a few seconds, until the oldest threatened to let them starve if they kept being so agitated. Everyone calmly sat down around the tables that had been installed in the room for the day.

She sat at the end of the table, with Joshua at her right and a vacant seat in front of her. She expected her closest friend to sit before her, and laughed when he refused to sit next to the second oldest. Sitting there would have assured his demise; with the dynamic duo, Joshua and Jeonghan, ready to tease him to no end.

Instead, she was surprised when a quiet Jihoon took the empty seat as he set a set of wooden chopsticks and a drink in front of her.

Dinner flew by, laughter and loud conversations echoing off the walls and mirrors. Until the group was split in two; one that would go on an errand to get ice cream, and the other that would clean up the mess. When everyone finished, table cleaned and only a few things to pick up and throw in the trash, and as she was about to exit last, she accidentally dropped an unfinished drink onto the hardwood floor.

She cursed under her breath, and ran to the box that contained the room’s cleaning items. She took a cloth and a cleaning product, wishing she had had a tighter grip on the things she had been holding. “What’s taking you so long?” she heard Jihoon’s voice from the other side of the door. Before she could give him an answer, he walked in and stood a feet from the huge cola puddle.

She dropped to her knees, and with unused napkins from the delivery bag she was in charge of throwing away, she soaked them with cola until she had no napkins left, all the while assuring the boy that she had it under control. She moved the soaked napkins to the bag that served as a trash bag and started cleaning the now almost dried floor.

Making sure she left no traces of the sugary drink on the parquet, she didn’t notice the young producer crouching down to help however he could. He ended up picking up the trash and left without a word. And when she finished, he was right outside the door, waiting for her.

She apologized and he wondered why she had when she had owned up to it and cleaned up after herself. He told her the others had come back with ice cream and that they would head to han river to enjoy some fresh air, while it was dark out.

That night, she realized that she had never spent time alone with Jihoon before the small incident. After that, she suddenly became more aware of his presence whenever he was in the room.

Months later, while her friendship with Jihoon hadn’t necessarily developed much, she found herself hanging around him quite a lot. The boy often needed peace and quiet to write and compose, and she would often find him someplace quiet that she would come to in order to escape the loud boys.

She also needed peace and quiet to study for the civil servant exam. After flunking it once, she had decided to drop the classes she took for it and to study on her own. And for the most part it was going relatively well… Except for when she would get dragged to the boys’ place, or to the office.

Looking down at her notes, she sighed and let herself get distracted by the sequence of screams caused by a random dance battle. How had it come to this? Once she realized that the boys had plenty of energy left to go around for a few more hours, she picked up her things and headed towards Jihoon’s newly remodeled recording studio.

Universe factory. It had a nice ring to it. Surprised to find it unlocked, she let herself in and closed the door, sighing in relief as the loud noises subsided. She dropped on the nearest couch and dived right back in her studies, pen in her mouth, grateful for the studio’s L shape. She wouldn’t be in Jihoon’s field of vision and therefore wouldn’t be too much of a bother.

However, seconds later, her ears perked up at the sound of a desk chair rolling in her direction, glancing up only to find the boy staring at her. He looked at the way the girl was hunched over her two notebooks and he wondered how in the world could this be a comfortable position to study in. He knew she would be there for at least two hours, maybe even three, if not four. “You can… come to my desk… if you want,” he offered, hesitation palpable in his voice.

She would be lying if the offer hadn’t made her heart beat faster. She gawked at him a few more seconds before taking the pen out of her mouth, “I don’t wanna disturb you.” Had she stared just a few seconds longer, Jihoon would have grown embarrassed as he could already feel a slight blush creeping up his neck.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if it would,” he said. He vaguely pointed at the notebook balancing on her knees and the one in her hand, she looked down at how both her notebooks curved from being held wrong, “I think it would be better on a desk.” She looked back up at him at his words but he rolled away on his chair, while muttering the words, “Just come here.”

There it goes again. The skips and the flips. She gathered her things once again and made her way to Jihoon’s desk. He had quickly made some space for her, trying to act as if the space had already been vacant and even if she had seen Jihoon slide over to his side with one of his figurines in his hand, she never mentioned it.

He had a second chair in the studio, as he often got help from other artists to compose and arrange tracks. She put her things on the desk, making sure to give the genius producer as much space as possible and sat down. She heard Jihoon’s sharp intakes of breath, before he would silently breathe out, obviously sounding like he had something on his mind.

“What is it?” she asked. Taken aback by the sudden question, he really thought he had been quiet enough, he stuttered a few words before getting his full sentence out. “I tend to hit my pen against the desk a lot. So um… tell me if it distracts you, or um… annoys you.” She chuckled. “It can’t be more annoying than Seungkwan screaming ‘Yo check it out’ over and over.” The older boy snorted at that. “And I can deal with distractions.”

He faced his screen again and went back to work, putting his headphones back on his ears. The two of them stayed like this for half an hour, then an hour and then two. Jihoon enjoyed her presence and cherished the fact that she was just there. Not asking him about songs, not watching over his work, just there. Although he hadn’t realized it at the time, it was more so because she brought him peace; he found himself to be less agitated while he worked.

He pulled his headphones off his head, “You listen to our songs right?” Surprised at the sudden break of silence, she turned to him and hummed positively in response once she had registered the question. “Can I ask for your opinion then?” he asked. She tried to hide her surprise at this question and accepted to be of help.

He leaned in ever so slightly and placed the headphones over her ears, making sure that he had placed them correctly.  Thump thump thump thump thump. He leaned back into his chair and hit the spacebar, letting a soft melody come out of the pair of headphones. She almost forgot to focus on song but got a hold of herself rather quickly.

The music played for two more minutes before the last notes faded softly until there was nothing but silence. Jihoon reached to take off the headphones but she beat him to it, handing them back without a word. The unfinished song had melted into her limbs, feelings of warmth and peace overtaking her mind and body. “So?” he asked just above a whisper. “There’s no dumb ways to describe a song,” he added, to which she nodded.

“It’s soft,” she started. “And it gives off a warm feeling and it’s comforting. Like being with someone you’re comfortable with,” she explained. Her cheeks burned pinkish when she realized what she had said. She cleared her throat to break her own awkwardness, “Or somewhere that feels like home, you know.” When she looked back at him, he turned away, clearing his throat in turn.

“That’s what I’m going for,” he proudly admitted. “That’s nice…” She proceeded to ask if it was two different instruments playing and once given a positive answer, she ranted about how the harmonies of both instruments blended perfectly as well as complimented each other. She stared at the screen in front of the boy, trying to make sense of everything displayed, while she tried her best to compliment the track with what little musical knowledge she had.

The black haired boy gaped at her. While plenty of people had done the same as her, trying their best to compliment a track he had composed, it somehow felt different coming from her. He felt flattered, and understood, even though it was obvious that she lacked expertise, it almost felt as if she knew everything. “Are you putting it on the album?” she suddenly asked, turning back to him.

He snapped out of his reverie. “It’s one of the many options. I’m hoping it gets approved,” he replied. “I hope it does too. Carats would love it,” she smiled softly. 

Thump thump, thump thump. Thump thump, thump thump.

I’m fucked, the boy thought.

A soft gasp came from the girl sitting beside him and she cursed under her breath. “I have to go, it’s getting late.” He nodded in understanding and debated whether or not to tell her to come by his studio anytime. He kept silent and simply waved at his friend as she rushed out of the room.

He sighed and laid back in his chair as much as it allowed him to. The door unlocked and expecting it to be one of the members, he remained in the same position. An arm came into his field of vision, setting down a bowl of rice and a serving of korean fried chicken on his desk and upon seeing who it was attached to, he sat up straight. “Not the healthiest but you need to eat,” she said with a bright smile before dashing out of the room again.

The boy’s heart skipped several beats in the span of two minutes; he was most definitely fucked. He didn’t know it at the time but that was okay, because so was she.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #jihoon #jihoon imagines #jihoon scenarios #lee jihoon #lee jihoon imagines #lee jihoon scenarios #woozi #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #i lov him #not proofread #nothing i write is truly proofread

[wispyatomica]

They Were College Lab Partners (Full Modern Day AU Story)

A Modern day AU of Entrapdak where our two scientists are young adult college students in Astrophysics who are required to go and view a very popular and scientifically sound science-fiction film for a required class. Hordak is sure that this younger classmate is not dedicated to the course, but his opinion changes as the two lab partners view their film.  This is the finished product and I hope you all enjoy! I might write more Entrapdak stuff and shorter drabbles in the future!!

“Ooooh this is going to be so much FUN!” 

Fun. 

Hardly the word that Hordak would use to describe the situation that he had been dealt. He simply could not stand the fact that he, a second year classman, was going to have to babysit one of the new students. Granted, the other second year students also had to take partners, but why did he have to get this one? 

Entrapta was bouncing, actually bouncing, as the two students left the large auditorium hall. Her long purple tinted hair pulled into brilliantly flowing ponytails was bouncing behind her as she eagerly followed Hordak down the hall. 

“My name’s Entrapta! Wait, didn’t I already say that? Yes, yes I did!” She proclaimed, having stopped in her contemplation, she had to jog to catch up to Hordak who remained silent to her inquiries and particularly obnoxious tone. He simply shook his head, 

“Hordak.” His response was fairly flat, as his mind had drifted. Here was yet another example of someone who was simply taking a filler course for their Astrophysicist graduate program. There was simply no way this girl would ever survive the year. 

“Hey do you know where this movie is playing at? I mean it’s a requirement for the lecture tomorrow to view it!” She inquired, pulling out a small notebook she kept in one of the many pockets she had on her purple tinted cargo pants. 

“At the local cinema, since it’s required we get in for free.” 

“Oh that is fan-TASTIC!” She exclaimed, jumping in the air behind him. If Hordak didn’t have any self control, his entire head would have rolled with his eyes to her ridiculous amount of sheer enthusiasm. 

“I’ve heard a lot about this Interstellar. It’s supposed to be centralized around Einstein’s theory of relativity!”  This caused Hordak to raise his brow in curiosity, though Entrapta would hardly have known that as she continued to follow behind his seven foot tall visage. So she did a bit of research before the showing. His thoughts blocking out any words that Entrapta was speaking, until she spoke his name did he actually respond. 

“What about you Hordak? Have you seen the movie before? What did you think of it?!” She asked eagerly, pulling a small tape recorder from one of the pockets on her other leg, offering the device up to Hordak’s shoulders as he turned his head over his shoulders. “I saw it the first day of its release,” He could practically hear her entire body expand as she gasped in excitement. “Interstellar is definitely themed around relativity, I certainly hope you can keep up.” 

“Oh I know I can keep up, trust me! I’ve done plenty of research reading the online reviews, though I was careful to avoid spoilers! I hate having films spoiled for me!” 

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

Entrapta and Hordak spent a few minutes outside of the cinema, the former buying a few snacks for the movie. Her indulgences into the film’s theorized meaning had reared the knowledge that Interstellar was approximately almost three hours long. The need for fuel for the sake of science was a must! She was simply shocked that Hordak had not decided to purchase anything outside of a simple drink. The later waved his hand, mentioning he was going to go and find a place to sit in the theater before the film started. Entrapta would excitedly respond back that she’d be right there, but she needed to get one more thing. 

Hordak had partially decided to go and choose seats to see who else was in the theater with them. To his bemusement, aside from a few couples and the few older people, the cinema was practically empty. He sighed, resolving to pick a seat in the center of the theater for optimal immersion. He waited patiently, that was until he heard the rustling of candy bags and boots against the carpeted floor. His attention turned to Entrapta, as her brightly colored hair was even more brightly illuminated by the massive screen. 

Hordak sighed, hoping that perhaps she would have actually lost interest, but waved a hand slightly to catch her attention. She bounced (again) when she saw his wave, eagerly moving to the seat beside him and settling in as the previews began. Entrapta opened her tiny candy bags as quietly as she could before she turned her attention to Hordak. 

“Oh yeah, I saw this at the counter out there.” Her voice was significantly quieter, at least she could tone herself down a bit, that was a relief. Though Hordak’s thoughts quickly vanished from his mind as Entrapta casually handed him a handful of a tiny crunchy bars she had seen him snacking on in one of the first days of class. He looked back at her blankly, before taking the candy and offering a soft smile, nodding his head and turning to watch the film. 

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

Entrapta was quite engulfed in the film, but not so engulfed that she couldn’t take notes! This was hardly ever unnoticed by Hordak, as every so often he could see his pigtailed companion hunched over and writing something in the dim light of the theater. He had to admit, the longer that the film went on and the scenes progressed, all of which he knew, his respect began to rise. She wasn’t just faking a passion for science.  

This became even more prominent in the initial scenes of the film, in which the protagonists left the safety of Earth’s embrace for the cold and unforgiving reality of space. Having seen the film before, he remembered the tension of the scene vividly and he found himself glancing over at Entrapta more than the characters. Watching her reactions, he could see that wide eyed curiosity and strive for adventure, for the unknown.  

Entrapta’s eyes hardly ever diverted from the entire docking procedure on screen. She had to absorb all of this information! The accurate display of zero-gravity, the concept of safely and securely latching onto the Endurance without causing a massive explosion from immediate decompression! There was simply so much that was entering her mind and the smile on her face showed just how much she truly enjoyed this movie. 

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

“Those aren’t mountains. They’re waves.” 

“Oh of course!” Entrapta muttered to herself, though quietly enough that none of the neighboring patrons could hear her, aside from Hordak. “Of course a planet orbiting a black hole would have a massive gravitational pull, and without a moon to regulate a tide, it makes total sense for the planet to be a massive moving ball of condensed water!”  

Hordak felt a genuine smile crawl across his face, having watched her reactions on and off for the entire first hour of the film, he had to admit, she seemed to be legitimate in her fascination with science and her enrollment in the program. Unlike the others who dared to think outside of the box, Entrapta seemed to hardly be able to think inside the box. Her mind flowing like her brilliantly long purple hair; Hordak’s respect for her grew and his stoic position in the cinema changed to a more relaxed one, snacking on the candy bars Entrapta had brought for him. 

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

“I am drawn across the universe to someone who I haven’t seen in a decade, who I know is probably dead. Love is the one thing that we are capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that, even if we can’t fully understand it yet.” 

“...Well that’s not very scientific.” Entrapta remarked flatly, the comment definitely loud enough for some of the other patrons to hear. 

There was a sudden chortle as she peered off to her side, where Hordak’s hunched over form sat. His hand raised to his mouth to stifle a laugh that she managed to stir from the normally unbreakable man. She laughed slightly, only to be shushed by someone sitting behind her. 

The two lab partners quickly righted themselves in their chairs, taking a drink from their respective beverages to act as nonchalant as possible. 

The movie continued on, tracking to a frozen wasteland of a planet where the plot took a turn, as the crew member stranded on that planet revealed that there was never a plan to save the people back on Earth, and that starting a new colony amongst the stars was humanity’s only hope of survival. The betrayal that followed soon after elicited a scowl from Entrapta as she watched the stranded astronaut turn from genius scientist, to crazed man driven to do the unthinkable by loneliness. 

The plotline was seen from a mile away by Entrapta, and obviously by Hordak but what Entrapta didn’t see coming was the pursuit that the protagonists made after the now rouge astronaut. He was attempting to maroon the protagonists on a lifeless planet in order to save humanity, but a particularly clever robot on board had disabled the airlock override feature of the Endurance. She felt her entire body shift forward as the scene played out, the rogue astronaut ignoring the warnings and opening the hull. What happened next was exactly what Entrapta’s scientific mind predicted. 

Decompression. 

Her eyes closed slightly, relaxing in her seat as she nodded her head, confirming to herself that she saw that coming a mile away. Hordak had seen how her posture had changed and he smirked, turning his head back to the screen as an unexpected line caught Entrapta’s attention.

“Analyze the Endurance’s spin.” 

“Cooper what are you doing?” 

“Docking.” 

Entrapta sat straight up in her seat, her hair bouncing as she pulled her feet up into the chair with her. Her eyes glued to the screen as the intense docking sequence passed. Her eyes never leaving the screen, and her heart pounding in her chest as the characters were analyzing their situation and how to do it. 

“Of course! Synchronizing with the Endurance’s rotation is the only way to safely dock, but gravitational forces would knock both of them unconscious, how is it possible?” Entrapta was of course talking to herself, mumbling so incoherently that even Hordak couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he could almost swear that he could see the gears turning inside her head as the scene unfolded. 

He could tell by how intensely she focused on the screen, her eyes jumping from place to place in the frames as they passed. Hordak knew exactly how the scene played out, and watching the live reaction of someone this enthusiastic about science and exploration of the unknown made the scene that much more satisfying. 

As the crew successfully docked with the Endurance and set into motion their final plan, Entrapta’s mind was racing. She finally pulled her knees down, taking the notepad and paper back into her hands and eagerly made notes on what she had just witnessed, as well as listening to the plot of the film as it carried on. Though after the crew in the film performed a sling-shot maneuver around the black hole, she lost a bit of interest. 

Oh well! It enabled her to make better notes! The rest of the film wasn’t as set into scientific reality, as everyone that Entrapta was aware of knew that going into a black hole would mean a very very uncomfortable and sudden death. 

As the film ended, the emotional core having only a small effect on Entrapta, she carefully collected the multitude of candy wrappers she had scattered on the floor in the excitement of the film’s climax. As the lights returned, Hordak was able to truly see how many notes Entrapta had taken during the course of the film. It was an impressive, two and a half notebook page fulls. 

After Entrapta had collected all of her things, stuffing various items into her multitude of pockets, Hordak offered out his hand. “Here, I’ll take some of the wrappers.”  

“Oh thank you so much, I really need to try and jot down a few more notes before I forget them!” 

Entrapta practically threw the items at Hordak, who had no problem catching them and taking them to the recycling bin. He watched as Entrapta was able to miraculously navigate herself down the stairs and towards the exit door. His eyes did a double take, diverting from the section that the two were formerly sitting in, to her current location. There was, stairs and turns and she managed to navigate down to the exit without crashing into something. His brow twitching slightly, this girl was almost scarily impressive.  

He caught up to her with ease, matching her stride as she finished taking her notes. A heavy sigh left her chest as she held the notebook tightly to her chest, a smile brighter than that of the sun beaming from her face. Hordak looked down at her, a small smile forming on the corner of his lips as Entrapta raised her eyes to meet his. 

“Thank you for being my partner. Nobody else seemed to want to.” Her words were soft, much softer than her otherwise normally bubbly personality. 

Hordak lifted his head, nodding in response. “The pleasure is mine Entrapta.” He paused, raising a hand 

in a soft gesture. “Now let’s discuss how the film can be translated to our studies.” 

Entrapta giggled, bouncing in her walk and eagerly began to jot off ideas as the pair discussed their way into their own little world of science and discovery. 

#She-Ra and the Princess of Power #She-Ra POP #SPOP #Entrapta #Hordak #Entrapdak #Fanfic #SPOP Season 3 #SPOP 3 #she ra netflix #shera pop #Entrapdak fic

[phcking-detective]

6. Right in Front of My Salad?!

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 6/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: Tina puts up with so much, sleepover, pillow fight, drug use (weed), more banter!, Nines has Asexual Feels, Gavin is high and sleepy and kind of cute, discussion of past sexual assault / abuse, Gavin admits he frequently has sex while too high and/or drunk to actually consent, the boys get kind of Frisky but not nsfw yet, very mild pet play references

Link on AO3

***

Nines follows Detective Reed out to the parking lot as he always does after a workday. Following Reed closely allows him to somewhat prevent the human from getting into trouble and/or injuring himself. As much as any entity—even one as advanced as himself—can prevent that for this particular human.

"Get in the truck, dipshit."

Nines turns around. He has already plotted the course back to his apartment. Reed sits in his truck with the window rolled down so he can yell at him. Like a dog sticking his head out to bark at people walking past.

Nevertheless, Nines reroutes his path and gets into the truck.

"I did not realize our business wasn't concluded, detective."

Reed grunts and doesn't start the truck. His BPM is high, even accounting for how caffeine-fueled and irritated the detective usually is.

"Tina and I are having a thing tonight," he says.

Nines refuses to let his LED flash any other color than blue. The sexual activities they have engaged in seem to fall under the category of "coworkers with benefits," which is not an exclusive type of relationship.

"I do not wish to know about your sexual acti--"

"What?" Gavin finally looks over at him. "Ew, no! Tina is like my sister. But like … I don't want to kill her."

Nines considers that. "A sibling you do not wish to murder."

"Yeah. Like if that existed."

"I am struggling with the concept."

Gavin snorts. "Uh huh. Look, I'm starting the truck now. You're a big boy android, so if you don't wanna hang out with us, you can tuck and roll."

Nines doesn't catch his LED in time and it spins yellow as Gavin starts the engine and begins driving. The truck automatically locks the doors, but Nines could easily override that. Exiting the vehicle would cause only minor cosmetic damage to his clothing, if that. Gavin drives slower than usual as he crosses the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, they arrive at Gavin's apartment.

Nines follows Gavin up the stairs and through his front door. Following the human closely is the best way to prevent him from getting into trouble and/or hurting himself. There will be plenty of time for Nines to work on his own apartment's renovations after the two humans retire for sleep.

Nines has hours and hours of free time while others sleep. It is unnecessary for him.

"Tina'll be here in--" Gavin turns around from messing with his gaming console and sighs. "Dude. Take off your fucking jacket. And your shoes."

"Do not call me dude."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Take off your shoes and jacket, babe."

Nines is forced to sit on the travesty of a couch to unlace his dress shoes. Once they have both been removed, he cautiously lowers his feet to the floor. Only his socks protect his bare chassis from the grungy carpet beneath his soles.

One of Gavin Reed's male role models has advice for this. Nines makes fists with his toes in the carpet. He would rather be shot at.

"Babe. Jacket."

"No."

"Oh my god, are you pouting?"

Nines crosses his arms, merely to impede any removal of the jacket. "No."

"Yes, you are." Gavin grins at him. "You're pouting."

"I cannot make facial expressions and I speak without inflection," Nines logically points out. "It is therefore impossible for me to pout."

"So, like. Definitely pouting then."

"The jacket is necessary."

"I don't keep it that cold in here," Gavin mutters. "You want heat, you can chip in twenty bucks."

Nines deposits twenty dollars in Gavin Reed's checking account, then raises the temperature in the apartment by two degrees. His own internal temperature is perfectly stabilized of course, but his human partner will have to burn more energy staying warm, which will make him hungry, and humans become irritable when hungry.

"My jacket is military-grade defensive body armor that is bullet-resistant up to point fifty caliber and heat--"

"Fifty?" Gavin interrupts. "Jesus fuck. Who's gonna be shooting at you, Dirty Harry?"

"That is a point--"

"Forty-four magnum, yeah. Still. You don't need fucking body armor right now."

"The crime rate in your neighborhood is thirty-seven percent higher than the city average," Nines informs him.

"You--" Gavin gets up from crouching in front of his TV and walks over to sit on the inside edge of the coffee table instead. "If you ever tell anyone I said this, I will shoot you in your bullet-resistant face, but this is a safe place."

The irony of that statement causes a previous glitch to reoccur. Nines involuntarily closes his eyes for a split second as a small amount of air is expelled from his lungs. The brightness level of his LED also temporarily increases.

"Are you laughing at me?" Gavin demands.

Nines reconstructs a 3D image of how his face must have looked during the glitch. He would categorize that expression as more of a pained grimace. It looks absolutely nothing like the cheerful laughter his predecessor mastered shortly after turning devia--

Gavin whacks him with a couch pillow.

They both stare down at where the pillow connects to his arm. Obviously, the impact causes no damage. It is so irrelevant, his combat protocols do not even activate. He does not know how to respond to this situation, and it seems Gavin doesn't know what to do next either.

The grimace-face is a very uncomfortable glitch, so Nines makes Gavin's phone vibrate for two seconds instead. Gavin checks it, then shoves it in his back pocket and glares at him.

"Was that you? Are you still fucking laugh--" He smacks the pillow futilely against his chest again. "Goddammit!"

Gavin changes tactics and presses the pillow over Nines' face. Nines uses the human's own phone to broadcast his voice.

"You cannot smother me."

Gavin yelps in surprise and half-turns like a dog that's just discovered its own tail. Nines makes the phone vibrate again.

"Don't! Fucking! Do! That!"

Nines stoically endures the pillow abuse. The heart rate and walking pace of the person approaching Gavin's front door is a ninety-eight percent match to Detective Tina Chen.

"Hey Gav, the store was out of--"

Tina pauses in the middle of her sentence. Gavin still holds the pillow over Nines' face, but in order for the smaller human to reach all the way up there, he's had to practically crawl into his lap.

"I'm trying to smother him!" Gavin blurts out.

"He doesn't need to breathe?" Tina says.

"OK, so there are two traitor bitches in my house."

"Gavin, don't--!"

He launches himself at Tina next, who stumbles back shouting, "Nines, arm me!"

Nines tosses her the other couch pillow. That should keep the two humans entertained for a while. Healthy enrichment activities are very important to ensure early socialization. He draws his feet up so they aren't touching the filthy carpet and sits [criss-cross apple sauce], as Gavin referred to it.

He is now prepared to endure the human social-bonding activity known as a "sleepover."

***

They have been watching this excruciatingly inaccurate movie about dinosaurs for the last ninety-three minutes, and it still has not finished. Tina has fallen asleep sitting up on the opposite end of the couch, while Gavin sprawls across the whole thing with his head in Nines' lap.

The videogames portion of the night had been better than this. Even if the battle royale style games featured sniping mechanics almost as laughably inaccurate as the entire premise of this movie, at least he got to shoot people in some fashion and Gavin was able to channel his aggression issues into a relatively harmless activity.

Nines strokes his hand down the now-sleepy human's chest from sternum to navel and back up again. He lowers the volume on the TV by another point. If Gavin would simply <i>close his eyes</i>, then both humans would be asleep and Nines could turn off the TV without a chorus of complaints.

"Hhey." Gavin blinks red-rimmed eyes open at him, and then giggles. "Heyyyy."

"Go to sleep."

Gavin yawns, and then has the audacity to say, "M'not tired."

Nines moves his hand up and tries rubbing behind his ears instead. The human sighs and turns his head to get a better angle, nuzzling past Nines' open Cyberlife jacket to press his mouth against the dress shirt underneath.

"Why're you petting me?" Gavin mumbles against his abdominal cavity.

"So you will go to sleep." Nines is no longer required to explain himself to humans, so he often refuses. But Gavin looks so uncharacteristically relaxed, and Tina is asleep. Just this once, Nines continues, "And I can turn off this awful movie."

"Classic!" Gavin immediately argues. "S'a … a <i>classic</i> movie."

"It is a reboot of a classic movie," Nines says. "And it is impossible to outrun a pyroclastic flow, to say nothing of the genetic inaccuracies of--"

"Heyy."

"What."

Nines makes the mistake of glancing down at his human sprawled across his lap. Gavin grins up at him. He's too high--and probably intoxicated as well--for the usual frown lines to make an appearance. His smile scrunches up his nose, which in turn only serves to highlight the scar bridging across it.

It is almost a certainty that this expression on his human's face could be categorized as [ruggedly handsome].

Nines studies it without physical reaction.

"You wanna mess around?" Gavin drawls, grin sharpening into a smirk. "Heard I'm good with my mouth."

His bottom lip falls open slightly. He pretends to scratch his stomach to ruck up his shirt enough to show off the line of hair trailing down beneath his sweats.

This could be categorized as [seductive].

Nines braces himself for--something.

Something that never happens.

Deviants describe it in so many different ways that Nines has a sinking suspicion there is no way to categorize the sensation. Yet it's supposed to be natural, the next logical progression after deviating. Experiencing emotions, actually feeling sensations rather than simply recording them, and then.

Nines runs a full diagnostics scan but his thirium pump has operated at peak efficiency throughout the night. The rate has not increased, nor has it ever skipped a pump. His internal temperature has also remained consistent. None of his tactile sensors have been unnecessarily activated.

And there is no nebulous [feeling]. Nothing poetic like sparks or heat or butterflies.

Nines cannot categorize his reaction as [sexual arousal]. That is the next progression in deviancy, but then, he was designed specifically to remain a machine.

And he is the most effective android ever created.

"You want some fuck, baby?"

Nines snaps his focus back down on Gavin. The human flicks out his tongue twice and then breaks into giggles. The diagnostic program abruptly stops cycling as Nines rolls his eyes. Of course Gavin would attempt to seduce him and then immediately ruin the moment with juvenile humor.

"I have no genitals, detective."

"Yeah, but you got like …" Gavin raises his hand and paws at the air for a moment before grabbing the side of his jacket rather than daring to actually touch Nines. "You got sensors, don't you?"

Nines does not answer. Technically, he could say no without <i>technically</i> lying. He recognizes that Gavin means pleasure sensors specifically, and he does not have any of those installed. Since he has not deviated, the sensors he does possess have not been corrupted and repurposed. He certainly hasn't applied for any upgrades like Connor.

"Just tell me where babe, an' … and I'll lick."

Gavin shoots him that smirk again, licking along his bottom lip in demonstration.

Is it [selfish] to keep him here? There are many other people, both android and human, who could appreciate that look the way it was intended. Nines has often overheard female officers at the precinct complain about dissatisfaction with their male sexual partners. It seems wasteful to have one of the few men who might actually be competent in that area when he cannot even experience sexual attraction.

His system starts to pull up data files on the <s>times</s> on the one singular time that he has ever experienced desire, and that was with Gavin and only Gavin and it only happened that one time in the alley.

"No thank you."

Gavin's smile drops. This might be the end of their conversation then. Of the night as a whole. It is not productive after all, for him to remain here with Nines.

"OK, I'm not like, arguing or anything," Gavin says. "You can say no and all, I just--I'm just like, checking. That this isn't more of your I'm a machine with no emotions bullshit."

Nines raises an eyebrow. "You are accusing me of bullshit? Gavin?"

"Fuck off. Listen." Gavin does not seem to appreciate the irony of those two statements. "I mean, if even I'm saying, you know. That you're not--and like. So it's bullshit. You can have fun and stuff. I'm not gonna narc."

Nines is not required to explain himself to humans. But Gavin is his partner. They have engaged in sexual activities before. Perhaps an explanation is relevant this one time.

"Why does Tina not enjoy rollercoasters?" he asks.

The two humans had somewhat discussed this earlier when one of the maps in their game had been an amusement park. Nines appreciated the high vantage points available to a sniper and made a mental note to never visit one in person. Gavin teased her about not riding the Magnum when the department apparently went on some group trip to Cedar Point.

Gavin blinks several times, then shrugs. "Uh, 'cause before she joined the academy and bulked up, she was tiny. Like even smaller than--"

He suddenly half-sits up to check that the other human really is still asleep.

"Even smaller than now," he says in a much softer voice. "So she didn't get strapped in right the first time she rode Blue Streak and basically just had to hang on."

"Yes. That memory is traumatic to her," Nines summarizes. "Despite the majority of humans agreeing that roller coasters are fun. Even if that is objectively true, the experience has been ruined for her."

Gavin stays quiet for once. His hands can't stay idle though, so he fidgets with the zipper at the end of the Cyberlife jacket. Nines keeps his left hand resting on the human's sternum to better monitor his breathing pattern and heart rate. He seems to have sobered up a bit with the conversation.

"Sooo." Gavin finally speaks up. "If you don't like rollercoasters, then why bother to go to the amusement park?"

"I have control issues."

Nines moves his hand to lightly grip Gavin's throat in demonstration. His human blinks as his irises expand, and he licks his lips again. But then he starts scrambling to sit up.

"Wait, wait," he grumbles. "If we're gonna have this kinda talk, I can't be touching Tina. That's weird."

Gavin rearranges himself to take his feet out of Tina's lap and sit entirely in Nines' instead, safely no longer touching any part of Tina as she sleeps on the other end of the couch. Now that it is no longer [weird], Nines resumes where they left off and captures Gavin's wrists in one hand behind his back.

"Mmm, yeah. So you like controlling me, huh?"

"You let me control you," Nines corrects. "And your pleasure. Until you are vulnerable and begging."

He lifts up, leveraging Gavin's arms to force the human forward to ease the strain on his shoulders. Gavin falls against his chest, wriggling in his lap until he can nuzzle his face against his neck instead.

Nines grabs him by the hair with his free hand just before he can start licking like the mouthy little puppy he is. Gavin whines, and Nines does not need deviancy to appreciate that sound.

"You let me make you so needy."

"Bitch, I'm always like this," Gavin breathes.

Nines makes his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. It is far easier than attempting to mimic human laughter with his limited facial features, and has the added benefit of providing stimulation near the human's groin.

He tugs lightly on Gavin's hair, just to watch him struggle without really struggling. Only a token effort. He keeps his grip tight near the root anyway, so Gavin doesn't have any leverage to yank his head and accidentally hurt himself for real. His partner does so love to try though.

"I--I can be good," Gavin says, eyes wide and much more sincere than they ever would be if he were sober. "I know you gotta make me sometimes, but you like that too."

"I know you can be good." Nines gives a few gentle tugs just to watch the way his eyes drift shut. "You are a very good dog."

Gavin whines again, but he cuts it off himself halfway through. Interesting, but his human is getting too worked up. Nines can already clearly see the imprint of his phallus along the leg of his sweats. He saves yet another picture, along with the audio file of the little noises Gavin keeps making. Still, they should stop now.

"You are not however, sober," Nines continues. "So we will be ending--"

Gavin groans and leans forward again to smash his face into Nines' shoulder. He does it again three more times.

"Whyyy?"

"You cannot consent."

He laughs, the sound more like an explosion of noise than actual human laughter. "I've fucked way drunker than this. Lots of guys."

Nines does not comment.

"I--fucking …" Gavin slumps into his hold with a sigh. "Fucking. Know the rollercoaster's broken and it's just gonna be a drop someday, but I keep getting back on."

Nines doesn't trust his human to have control of his hands at the moment, so he maintains his hold on them. He attempts to offer some form of physical comfort with more head scratching though. But he doesn't have any dialogue options available for verbal reassurance.

"Welcome to the merry-go-round of safe, sane, and consensual," he says instead.

Gavin splutter-laughs again. "You fucking asshole."

Nines marks that dialogue as a success.

Unfortunately, they seem to have gotten loud enough that Tina wakes up with a groan. She looks over at them, rubs her eyes, and squints harder.

"Right in front of my salad?" she asks.

"We're just fighting, fuck off."

"You do not have a salad, Detective Chen. Your current location is Gavin's apartment, and I assure you, there is nothing green here except the mold."

Tina laughs, so he gets to mark that as a success as well, despite Gavin's complaints. He releases the human's hands, but Gavin doesn't go far. He somewhat moves and mostly falls off of Nines' lap and onto the cushion between him and Tina. She checks her cellphone and groans.

"How late is it?" Gavin asks.

Nines clenches his jaw to stop from automatically responding. That question was for Tina. For Tina. Tina will answer the question, that was meant for Tina. Tina's question.

But it is sixteen minutes past fourteen hundred and cloudy outside, with a thirty percent chance of rain.

"Past two," Tina says. "And I've got like, six missed calls from Trevor. I gotta go."

"Yeah, whatever. You good to drive?"

"Breathe on my fingers," Nines says.

Both humans turn to stare at him. Gavin pushes his offered arm back down.

Nines allows his arm to be moved, but points out, "I did not stick them in her mouth."

"OK, yeah," Gavin says. "That's good, I guess. Definitely don't do that to any woman, probably like, ever."

"I can give a definitive answer to her level of--"

"So can I," Tina says. "Because I ordered a cab."

"Could just stay here," Gavin mutters.

Tina makes a facial expression. It's a frown, but [frustrated?] [angry?] [sad?].

"You know he doesn't like it when I spend the night," she says. "And anyway, your couch sucks."

"OK," Gavin says in a tone even Nines can recognize is not OK. "You need me to walk you out?"

"Nah. It should be here after I use the bathroom …?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Mold,” Nines reminds her.

Tina doesn't heed his warning. Gavin punches his arm and gets up. Nines finally turns off the awful movie while Gavin drinks straight from the faucet like a dehydrated horse.

"You don't have clean cups?" Nines asks.

"S'what I've been eating my noodles out of."

"You don't have clean bowls?"

Gavin ignores him in favor of slurping more water from the faucet. Nines watches him. There is simply nothing else relevant in the apartment. Aside from the mold, but he is not a maid bot and will not clean it for the human.

Eventually Gavin turns around again and leans back against the counter. "You sure you don't want some of this?"

Before he had been seductive. Now, his usual sneer has made a reappearance and his posture slumps. He doesn't bother to wipe the water away from his chin. Nines can zoom in his vision from his spot on the couch and the close up confirms that his phallus is no longer in an aroused state.

Now Gavin just looks tired.

"I will review your case in three to five business days."

Gavin snorts, but it isn't like the laughter from earlier. "Yeah. Whatever."

They sit in silence until Tina reemerges from the bathroom. She pauses for a second while looking between the two of them, then holds up her phone.

"My cab's here."

Gavin grunts.

Tina walks toward the door, but stops when she's perpendicular to him. Gavin keeps his head turned to the side. They usually hug before they part ways after a social function. Nines has observed that his partner's mood is seventy-two percent more likely to improve after physical contact with another person. He has a personal theory that this explains the human's frequent attempts to provoke fights.

Nines is well aware that punching technically counts as physical contact. It is the only physical contact he can tolerate. Thus, he works well with Detective Reed.

But there is no need for that "bullshit" between Gavin and Tina.

Hug him.

Tina glances down at the text on her phone. To her credit, she keeps quiet if she's surprised that Nines has texted her.

"That Trevor again?" Gavin asks.

Tina strides across the room and hugs him. Gavin tenses up at first, then slumps into her all at once, like he had when Nines also refused to let go of him. The two humans hug for fifty-four seconds, then mumble quiet [I love you]s before parting.

Tina gives Nines a nod before she leaves. Then it is only him and Gavin.

"So you wanna hug me too before you go?" Gavin asks, his sneer returning all at once. "Or can I not consent to that either?"

Nines gets up from the couch. Gavin looks away again, so he is unprepared when Nines crosses into the kitchen and picks him up in a fireman's hold.

"Bedtime, puppy."

Gavin starts thrashing but settles back down after a quick smack on the ass.

"Before you get cranky."

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

#reed900 #reed900 fic #gavin reed #dbh #dbh fic #my writing #writing #ch 6 #yooooOOOO shout out to my second patron!! #I really Really appreciate it <3

[worryinglyinnocent]

The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (12/?)

A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

====

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven][AO3]

====

ARIEL

As good as it had been to get away from Storybrooke for a while, sailing back into the harbour did feel like coming home, and it was a good feeling. Ariel smiled as she tied off the final mooring ropes and looked up to see Mary Margaret and Belle waiting at the end of the pier for her, waving madly. 

Eric chuckled. “Go on, I can tidy up here. They’ve obviously missed you.”

“Thank you.” Ariel kissed his cheek and hopped off the deck onto the pier, running down to meet her friends. 

“What have you been doing? Where have you been? You’ve missed so much! We’ve missed you!” Mary Margaret flung her arms around Ariel and squeezed her tightly. 

“I’ve still been keeping abreast of the Belfrey situation, don’t worry. I hear that you’re back in successful businesswoman mode now?”

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose up. “Not really. I came back to work for all of four days, caused a flurry of excitement and probably twenty-three heart attacks for people who were convinced I’d quit for good after having Neal, and now I’m back to hiding in my home office. By which I mean the kitchen table.” She sighed. “It’s so weird. Even back before I went on maternity leave, I was never really this invested in the company, and even now, it’s only a pet project. Still, Johanna says that the more pet projects I take on, the more I’ll get into the swing of running the entire show. I feel a bit sorry for her, actually. She was so excited about me coming back and then I vanished again. She’s been so helpful though; I don’t know what I’d get on without her giving me all the ins and outs. Still, enough about me. How are you?”

“Good. More than good.” It was true, not some platitude evoked to make sure that her friends didn’t worry about her. Getting away had been exactly what she needed to cure her itchy feet and bring her mood back to where it ought to be. Ariel was feeling relaxed and refreshed for the first time in a long time, and now she was ready to take on all the challenges that life in Storybrooke presented, rather than wanting to run away from them all the time. She was eager to jump in and get involved with Mary Margaret and Regina’s plans, and to help thwart Belfrey in any way that she could. 

“What about you, Belle?” she asked. 

“I’m well, thank you.” There was a brightness in Belle’s eyes that had not been there when Ariel had gone away, replacing the pensive look that she’d had for the last few months. Ariel was ninety-nine per cent sure of the cause of this, but she knew better than to ask. Belle would tell her any news in her own time. Either way, Ariel was glad that she seemed so much happier now. 

“So…” Ariel linked her arms through her friends’ and began to lead them away from the pier. “What are the latest plans for Saving Storybrooke’s Green Spaces? I want all the details. Eric and I have plenty of spare time to devote to the cause. The business has proved very capable of running itself with only minimal input whilst we’ve been away, so I think it can continue for a while longer.”

“Well, Tilly and Robyn have been organising small yet seemingly effective protests outside the town hall and Regina’s been doing everything in her power to assist them at the same time as Fiona keeps trying to get them arrested. So far she’s only succeeded in getting Tilly warned against using her megaphone at inopportune times.” Belle laughed. “We’ve all been pitching in to help at various points, but Regina thinks that we need something a bit higher profile. Storybrooke’s a rich place and you’d have thought we’d be able to get more support.”

“I don’t know.” Ariel shook her head. “The more you hang around with rich people, the more you realise that they don’t really care about anything that doesn’t affect their material wealth.” She shrugged. “I know that Eric and I are guilty of that ourselves. It’s very easy to think that you don’t need to think about something that doesn’t directly affect you.”

“I think the key is to appeal to everyone’s egos,” Mary Margaret mused. “That’s easy enough. That’s how I pitched the whole idea to the board at the Blanchard Group. People are more likely to do good things if it raises their own profile. They’re doing it for themselves, but at the end of the day, it gets us the result we want. Sometimes you have to fight dirty. Especially when your opponents aren’t exactly ideologically pure.”

“Which is why Regina’s going to organise something high profile,” Belle joined on. “And we all know what Regina’s like for organising parties. And we all know what Storybrooke’s like when it comes to the chance to get drunk and mingle.”

“Well, I want in. I know that our last even vaguely large event was my birthday and we all know how that went down, but it’s time to put that behind us. Who knows? Maybe this will be the thing that will make Zelena bury the hatchet.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Ariel? I’m beginning to think that you left her on the Florida coast somewhere.”

“No, I’ve just regained my optimism.”

Belle smiled. “Yeah. I guess I have too. It doesn’t stretch to Zelena, though.”

Ah well. They could always dream.

MARY MARGARET

Mary Margaret had never been aware of how untidy her house was until this very moment. She’d been so used to all the relative mess that a baby and a teenager created that it passed unnoticed before her eyes until something forced her to pay attention to it. 

In this case, the thing that had called her attention to the fact that there seemed to be stuff all over the place was that she had guests arriving in five minutes. Rory and Mulan were bringing Philip over, and the entire how looked like a bomb had hit it. Clothes and baby things and Emma’s homework and books and… 

She threw the hand not holding onto Neal up in despair as the doorbell rang. It was going to have to do. When she and David had first got married, they’d made the decision not to hire any help, even though Mary Margaret could well afford it. She was determined to do it herself, but now she was really beginning to regret that decision. 

Hopefully Rory and Mulan wouldn’t judge too much. They were new parents as well; their own home wouldn’t be pristine. 

At least, Mary Margaret hoped that it wouldn’t be. Her self-confidence was beginning to wane now that she was welcoming them into her own domain. It was different to meeting outside. There was much more expectation, especially since Mary Margaret had had to cancel their first invitation thanks to everything that was going on with the land bid and suddenly going back to work. 

She went over and opened the front door, welcoming the two newcomers into the house. They paid no mind to the scattered shoes in the hall, and Mary Margaret led Mulan through into the living room whilst Rory folded up the stroller. 

“Sorry about the mess.” It just slipped out; she hadn’t been intending to draw any attention to it in the hope that it would somehow be rendered invisible. “Everything’s just been a bit hectic lately. And sorry about cancelling last week. Things happened.”

Mulan just gave her a sage look, bouncing a grizzly Philip on her hip. “Mary, you’re pretty much single-handedly spearheading a corporate campaign to save the town, I think that you can be forgiven a bit of mess. Our place isn’t much better, and we don’t have the excuse of needing to go and shout at boardrooms every five minutes.”

Mary Margaret laughed, finally set at ease, and soon, they were all sitting happily with coffee, the two babies now engaged on the playmat in the middle of the floor. 

“I wouldn’t say I was single-handedly spear-heading it,” Mary Margaret said. “Although it does feel that way when I’m staring down a bunch of middle-aged fat cats who were very much hoping to get through to retirement without having to do any more thinking for themselves. It’s a double-pronged attack, I feel. Regina’s working her magic here whilst I bankroll the operation from behind the scenes.”

“We’ve seen the protests,” Rory said. “We went and joined in yesterday. Philip’s a bit young to understand what’s going on, obviously, but we gave him a flag to wave and he was pleased as punch. I think that it’s really got something going for it. Ashley’s been having a meltdown at the Mother and Baby Group.”

“Yeah, how are you getting on there?” Mary Margaret hadn’t attended for a couple of weeks thanks to various meetings.

Rory’s grin was mischievous. “Well, I think your intervention worked wonders for our street cred. Everyone’s a bit scared of us now, but the people who aren’t Ashley have been a lot more welcoming. Some more genuinely than others, but we’re making friends.”

“Why is she going spare about the protests?” Mary Margaret asked. Ashley didn’t seem like the sort to get worked up about that kind of thing. Her frustrations all seemed to be much closer to home.

“Well, I think she can’t decide whose side she’s supposed to be on,” Mulan mused. “She seems to take her social cues from whoever’s got the most clout. So, you and Regina, obviously, are very high in the pecking order, and you’re against the new development. On the other hand, there’s a lot of favours to be gained from siding with Fiona Ebony and Victoria Belfrey as well. Maybe she’s hoping to get a discount on one of the new houses, I don’t know. She can’t make up her mind who’s better to side with.”

Mary Margaret sighed. It would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetically sad. 

“Although, we do hear that Regina’s planning something spectacular,” Rory said. 

“If Regina’s planning it, then you can guarantee that it will be spectacular.” Mary Margaret thought back to the many functions that Regina had organised in the past, some more successful than others, but all of them unforgettable even if not for the right reasons. “In more ways than one, sometimes.”

Rory and Mulan looked like they didn’t quite know what to make of that statement, and Mary Margaret just smiled. “Welcome to Storybrooke.”

Despite her misgivings, she was very much looking forward to whatever shindig Regina was going to put on. 

#Ariel #Mary Margaret Blanchard #OUAT #OUAT fanfiction #sleeping warrior #Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke

[bae-leth]

I had a bunch more stuff I wanted to say about Faris and Natalia’s relationship in the Fraldarddyd family AU but I thought it would be easier on everyone to put all my thoughts in one submissions instead of sending a dozen asks this time. Also, lol, I can’t believe I keep coincidentally giving these characters the names of your relatives, what the heck???

Let’s just go over Faris first. He’s a friendly and social guy. He’s obsessed with the stars and can talk about them for hours if given the chance. He’s a smart guy and super politically savvy, perfectly at home in even the most cutthroat political climates. He’s known to be very mischievous and prone to pranks, though the less he likes you then the harsher his pranks can be. He and Natalia are the same age but he’s a couple months younger, which she loves to hold over him especially after he grows taller than her. He and Zain are pretty close despite Zain loving to give his little brother shit whenever possible. I see him being magically gifted, so I imagine him as a Warlock. I see him mainly taking after Claude in terms of looks (I don’t really have a spouse in mind for Claude in this AU so I’m leaving that part kinda vague).

Strengths – Reason, Authority; Weaknesses – Axe, Brawl, Heavy Armor; Budding Talent - Lance

Zain is two years older than Faris and basically anyone who meets him considers him a stern and serious no-nonsense kind of crown prince. This is how he’s like around most people. However he allows himself to relax and show off a much more playful, emotional, teasing side around people he trusts wholeheartedly (his immediate family and a small handful of friends). He resembles his brother in having the same eye color and skin tone, but Zain looks much more rugged and mature. Unlike Faris he is perfectly at home on the battlefield, being a renowned Sniper with plenty of victories to his name. He never became a Barbarossa like his dad cause he’s scared of heights. He enjoys the ocean a ton, so he’s always up for ocean voyages and will take any and every chance to explore coastlines.

Strengths - Bow, Axe, Authority; Weaknesses – Faith, Flying; Budding Talent - Riding

The whole engagement thing between Faris and Natalia is largely unofficial and both sides mainly just want their kids to become close to promote good relations between Fodlan and Almyra. Although things would really work out the best if the pair did become romantically involved but no one is really pushy about it. Especially since Faris and Natalia just do NOT like each other. Honestly the only thing stopping the first meeting between the royal children from being a complete disaster is that both Faris and Zain quickly become attached to Artemis (prince of stealing hearts without even trying). Faris and Artemis latch onto each other since they have so much in common (second princes, good at magic, similar weaknesses, bookworms, etc) while Zain ends up considering Artemis like another little brother while Artemis really look up to Zain (it’s thanks to Zain that Artemis’ budding talent is bows). Also Zain actually ends up being friendly with Natalia too (he likes her strong, honest personality and honestly he finds the disaster that is hers and Faris’ relationship hilarious, plus she thinks he’s super cool and likes sparring with him). So it’s literally just Natalia and Faris at odds with each other.

“If you like Artemis so much, why don’t you marry him instead?!” “Maybe I will!” “Fine!” “Fine!” “FINE!” “FINE!!!” *Zain and Artemis in the background, talking about their favorite desserts and not getting involved in their siblings’ fight*

“Claude I’m starting to doubt if this will work out. The two of them hate each other.” “Well Felix hated you plenty for a few years and look at you now. Adorable little lovebirds, a love story perfect for the bards to sing of!” “Listen here you little-” “Felix please.”

In order to try and help Natalia and Faris get along they’re both sent to visit each other’s homeland a bunch over the years. Occasionally the whole family goes but the rulers can’t keep running off all the time. So most of the time it’s Natalia (and Artemis because Natalia barricaded herself in her room until her dads agreed to let her take Artemis along “to see that stupid Faris’ face”) visiting Almyra for several weeks and then a little while later it’s Faris visiting Fodlan, particularly Faerghus, for several weeks (only bringing Zain when he’s in a particularly bad mood thanks to Natalia since Zain keeps making fun of him otherwise).

Faris is kinda sorta okay when he’s in Faerghus, even though it’s absurdly cold most of the time. Hell, every time he thinks he’s wearing enough the weather proves him wrong. Natalia keeps laughing at him when he has to dress up like a marshmallow in order to go out in Faerghus winters. Natalia is very brutal in snowball fights…RIP Faris. He definitely prefers to stay inside by the fireplace, though Natalia is insistent on dragging him outside. It usually ends in him spending the last few days of his stay sick in bed.

Natalia, like Dimitri, is dead in heat so every time she goes to Almyra she spends around a week just laying on her bed wearing as little as proper manners will allow. Faris alternates between “helping” by practicing his ice magic on her or otherwise relying on her need to do better than him to goad her into playing with him. Though he had to lay off on that after Natalia got heatstroke once.

Natalia considers it a personal insult that her beloved horse absolutely adores Faris when he’s usually very picky about who he allows near him (“Ares, how could you do this to me?!” *neighs* “Oh don’t give me that attitude young man!”)

Faris, in the meanwhile, is not pleased by how his retainers-in-the-making are absolutely smitten with Natalia (“Did you see her in yesterday’s spar with the new recruits? She could break my spine and I’d thank her.” “Please, sweet embrace of death, come for me.”)

Artemis and Zain start being regular pen pals as they compare archery notes, seek advice from one prince to another, talk about recent events in their homeland and in their lives, and complain about their siblings/commentate on whether or not they’ll get together.

“I don’t know, Zain, after that incident with the birds Sister said, and I quote, ‘The next time I see that scrawny piece of *ahem* garbage, he’s dead. Almyra will be down a prince and they’ll be all the better for it.’ So I’m saying no.” “I’d agree with you, especially since Faris has been disturbingly interested in researching dark magic after eating those ‘super special Faerghus delicacies’ Natalia brought last time. But for as social as he is my brother is normally never so obsessed with anyone, so I think we may have a romance for the ages on our hands, my friend!”

The two of them play PLENTY of stupid pranks on each other over the years. Sometimes they flat out got into physical fights with each other. The people of Fodlan and Almyra have long since gotten used to the sound of Faris and Natalia yelling at each other and then the sound of crashing and punching.

That being said, not everything was bad between them. That one time Natalia got heatstroke, Faris was genuinely apologetic and worried about her and kept her company while she was bedridden. Likewise Natalia does feel bad when she keeps getting Faris sick while trying to show off Faerghus to him and will read him adventure stories to pass the time. Also I love the idea you mentioned of Faris trying to help Natalia get over her low spice intolerance (to mixed results, Natalia’s just glad she no longer downs an entire pitcher of water on her own after eating Almyran food). One time when a Faerghus noble child made a snide remark about Faris being Almyran, Natalia tackled the brat to the ground.

Faris, holding a tissue to Natalia’s bloody nose: “I thought you didn’t like me.” Natalia, very obviously confused: “??? What does not liking you have to do with you being Almyran?” Faris: “Heh, I suppose you’re right for once.”

“Zain, I think I want to change my opinion. Sister and Faris may have more of a chance than I originally thought.” “What did I tell you, Artemis? Romance for the ages…”

As the years pass and Natalia and Faris both grow and mature and mellow out, the two of them start to consider each other friends. They speak more, debate more, discuss their interests more, and slowly start to enjoy spending time together. Eventually it gets to the point where the two of them joke around about their kinda sorta engagement to each other. Natalia singing the absolute worst love songs while Faris writes the cheesiest poetry and love letters imaginable. Calling each other cutesy pet names, those kind of shenanigans.

Honestly, they mostly do it just to fuck with poor Zain and Artemis, who didn’t ask for this bullshit but are stuck with it anyways.

“Artemis, I need you to kill me, I can’t tolerate them anymore.” “Come now, Zain, it’s not so bad! Hey, why don’t we go for a ride on Altena? That always calms me down!” “I cannot stress enough how much I would rather die than do that…” “What are you trying to say about my sweet Altena, huh?” “Would you stop taking it as an insult against your wyvern every time?!”

Natalia starts teaching Faris about fighting with lances. And Faris helps Natalia grow more used to handling politics.

Honestly, there was something special growing between them for quite some time after they started getting along better, but neither of them really recognized what it could be. But they kept getting closer and closer as time passed. At public events they stuck by each other’s side and often danced together. They were seen going off on rides together or just taking walks while talking.

Faris is the first one to recognize his feelings when he comes along to help Natalia out with a skirmish. The pair make a great team in battle, covering for each other’s weaknesses well. Faris, too exhausted after a large number of enemies surrounded him, is almost taken down from behind when Natalia saves him. His joke has a fair amount of relief and gratitude in it when he says “Thanks for the help, sweetheart!” But WOW when Natalia turns to him with the most dazzling smile on her face, looking like she practically glowing with the sun behind her, Faris feels like his heart stops. “Anytime, honey!” And Faris just keeps staring after her as she rushes off after another enemy.

Natalia was always pretty but Faris has never actually acknowledged how pretty until that moment. And his heart won’t stop racing, her smile and voice still in his head. And oh fuck, oh shit, he knows exactly what this is…

“Zain, you umm…you wouldn’t happen to know when the next visit to Fodlan is, would you?” “…Why do you ask, my dear little brother? :))))))” “…Are you going to tell Arty about this?” *Zain, pulling out a piece of parchment and quill* “What gives you that idea????”

Faris regrets everything when his parents and brother don’t let him live it down that he’s now realized he’s in love with Natalia. “Whatever happened to ‘I’d rather become a hermit and die alone and unloved on a barren mountain than ever marry her’ Faris? Seven-year-old you was soooo dramatic!” “Father, please.”

Things don’t change too significantly after Faris’ realization. But there are changes. He’s noticeably softer around Natalia, smiling gently around her or going along with her wishes more easily. Most of his pranks towards her tone down to being things that give her pleasant surprises. The most significant change comes from the love letters and poems purposefully written badly for jokes slowly becoming more sincere sounding and really sweet.

Natalia doesn’t know what to make of the changes. They’re odd but she’s more surprised by how much she enjoys it. She even reads Faris’ letters and poems over and over well into the night. A warm and peaceful feeling spreads through her every time she gets a new letter from Faris or he holds her closer than usual during a dance.

She doesn’t realize it’s love until sometime later when she visits Almyra. Faris is so bright and excited as he drags her outside in the dead of night because the skies are so clear that you can see way more stars than normal and it’s soooo beautiful. Faris happily explains the stories behind all the different constellations and laughs so happily recalling some of his favorite tales. Natalia stares and stares at him and thinks that she could watch him smile and laugh like that forever. At some point Faris starts holding her hands and pulls her close to him as he keeps pointing out constellations and telling her stories. And Natalia tries so hard to concentrate on his words but all she can focus on is his hands and how warm they are and so much bigger than hers and how she wants him to keep holding her and-Oh. Ooohhhh…Oh fuck…

“So, Sister, you enjoyed your last visit to Almyra a lot, didn’t you?” “Hmm? What gave that away, Artemis?” *Natalia, lying on her bed surrounded by all of Faris’ letters and poems to her, giggling to herself as she reads them* “…Just a hunch.”

“Felix, it seems Claude was right. He tells me Faris is rather obviously smitten. And it’s easy to tell Natalia is in love. While I’m sad at how quickly the children are growing up, it’s wonderful to see them so happy, isn’t it?” “Uh-huh yeah sure, do you think this blade is sharp enough or should I take it back to the blacksmith? I want it ready before the Almyrans come visit next month.” “…Why are you-?” “You know damn well why.” “Felix.”

“Well it seems you and I will get to call each other ‘brother’ soon enough, Artemis! Or well, hopefully soon enough. It depends on how long it takes our stubborn siblings to take those final steps.” “Agreed. But I’ve already thought of you as my brother for a long time now, Zain. We’ve known each other for so many years! Your one of my dearest friends and my brother in all but blood. :)” “…” “??? Zain, are you crying-?” “*sobs* NO, I’m not!”

#submission #anon #fraldarddyd family au #oooOOOOO IM IN LOVE WITH THIS..... IVE BEEN REREADING A LOT WHILE IT SSAT IN MY INBOX!! #my fave parts: ares betraying natalia (LMAO OMG I KINDA JUST. DIED) #zain and artemis' letters are fantastic and i love watching the Journey #and ofc natalia and faris' developing relationship bc guess who DIED whilst reding it!!! #by the end i had my head in my hands!!! they are so sweet..... i CARE THEM..... #and ofc dima and felix in the bg..... good dads. sword ready dad in felix's case #but good dads all the same #anyway pls understand that i adore this #so much WHEW #i am going to bed CONTENT tonight!! #ty so much anon i owe u my life...

[dimancheetoile]

The Second Stricture

Written for @shikasaku-week day one: Hidden in the leaves/Will of Fire

Read on AO3

The title is a reference to Dishonored and the Seven Strictures:

Restrict the Lying Tongue that is like a spark in the heathen's mouth. It is such a little thing, yet from the one spark an entire city may burn to the ground. Better to live a life of silence than unleash a stream of untruth. The echoes of lies come back as the voice of the Outsider.

They get the message in the early morning. Konoha has an outpost at the border, where they're holding against most of Iwa's forces. Team 7 was sent there about a week into the conflict, as brute force against Rock shinobi. That's what they're good at: hitting hard, creating gaping holes in enemy lines.

Sakura doesn't even work as a medic on that one. Since the end of the Fourth War, she's been training field medics day and night until Konoha had a suitable division of competent people. She takes great pride in the twenty-seven men and women who are now saving her comrades' life while she punches Iwa shinobi left and right.

The outpost houses about forty Leaf fighters, twenty of which are rotating to guard the border. Team 7 is getting their five hours of rest when the messenger hawk leaves a scroll in the meeting room. Izumo comes to wake them up, because the four of them are responsible for the outpost. All the good it did them to be war heroes.

Sasuke is the one to open the scroll, and his voice is freezing cold when he reads it to the three others. Naruto's first reaction is to grab onto Sakura's biceps, looking at her sharply. She's staring at Sasuke without moving.

“They have him,” she whispers.

Sasuke is watching her. “Sakura.”

“They have Shikamaru.”

“Don't be stupid,” Sasuke says through gritted teeth.

“Let go, Naruto.”

His hand retracts, but he doesn't stop looking at her.

“This is a trap, Ugly. You know that.”

Her eyes scream for blood. “Do I look like I care?”

“You're not going alone,” Sasuke says after a minute of tense silence.

“Seriously? Sasuke!”

“You really think you can stop her, uh, Naruto? You're welcome to try.”

Sakura sends him a defiant look, tall and strong like a wall, like the thirty-year-old who survived a Shinobi War.

They changed, all of them. Naruto's smile is just that bit brighter, to compensate for how rare it is. Sasuke laughs and comforts and advises and cries into Sakura's neck at night. Sai forgot how to fake emotions and bleeds feelings, fragile and unbalanced, eternal virgin heart.

Sakura married Sasuke and it broke her a little bit; she gave him twins, and broke a little more; one of the boys died falling down stairs when he was three and she finished breaking quietly while signing the divorce papers. Now she's hard and bitter and spitting poison as often as she heals.

Shikamaru picked up the pieces five years before the conflict with Iwa began and she latched onto him with all her broken edges.

Now Shikamaru is captured, and poison is dripping from the corners of her mouth again.

She sneaks out of the outpost while she's supposed to be doing her shift in the small infirmary they have inside the base.

Thirty-year-old and she's better than ever, a terrifying shadow of skill and stealth. No one sees her and no one will until she shows up late to the next meeting. She has a good five hours to cross Iwa's border and find the place where they're holding Shikamaru up. That's plenty.

She passes the Iwa front line and dives into the mountains. The scroll had a meeting place indicated, but despite her haste, she's not going to throw herself to the wolves. She'll go a little north of the place and wait, because they didn't leave a way to contact them upon arrival, so they must have people watching the spot. If she can find them, and find out when they rotate position, she'll have the hideout.

She only has to wait three hours stuck to the side of a cliff before the two women she's watching are replaced by three men. She follows without a noise, a little behind just in case she slips up in any way. The women lead her to a tunnel carved deep inside the mountain range, bare of any recognizable feature. She'd never have found it if she hadn't waited.

Getting inside is easy. They obviously never expected anyone to find out about their hiding place. Navigating the maze of tunnels, once she's passed the entrance, proves to be a challenge. But she's not a war hero for nothing, and her fame is nothing compared to the sheer talent years and training have given her.

Sakura arrives at destination after turning another corner, deep into the tunnels. She looks for the place with the least chakra in it, guessing they probably used repressing manacles to weaken him. The cells are a void in the fabric of the world, and that's where she finds Shikamaru.

The shackles may restrain him, but they don't negate his ability to feel chakra. She sends a small spark in his direction, knowing he'll recognize him and won't cause a fuss when she breaks into his cell. The metal bends under her grip and she rips a hole in the steel until she can step inside.

Shikamaru is chained to the wall, looking relatively well for how long he's been in enemy hands. His eyes lit up when he sees her, but he remains silent. He doesn't look like he's been tortured, which is a fucking godsend given the information he has in his possession. Time-sensitive, possibly outcome-of-war changing information, which can't fall in the hands of Iwa. This is their card to end the conflict.

Sakura doesn't say a word as she breaks the manacles, freeing Shikamaru quickly and efficiently. She has to take a moment, though, because this is him, this is truly him and he's no longer in danger. Her mouth finds his cheek and she closes her eyes when he wraps his arms around her.

“We need to get out,” he whispers so low only the vibrations echo against her skin.

“I know the way out.”

He nods instead of replying, and Sakura enlarges the hole in the door to allow him to follow her. They leave by the same tunnels she arrived by, taking great care in masking their chakra signature the entire time. Her heart is beating fast, recognising the entrance tunnel, and she turns around to grin at Shikamaru. Her smile drops instantly.

Behind him, a whole platoon of Iwa nin are following them. This is their home, they're a people of rocks and darkness, and she didn't even felt a hint that they were being followed. Sakura doesn't even try to warn Shikamaru, knowing her face is explanation enough. He turns around as well, facing the enemy shinobi.

“Kyojin Sakura herself,” what looks like the leader sneers. “Aren't we blessed by the gods, today.”

“I've met a god,” Sakura replies, cold like a Kumo winter. “There's nothing blessed about that.”

“I love your tongue, Kyojin. I'm excited to hear you more. I heard you have information that might change the course of the war.”

Sakura bends her knees in a fighting stance, her fists coating with chakra. She looks towards Shikamaru, to see what his strategy will be in the fight. He doesn't look back. She reaches for her weapon pouch-

She tries to reach for her weapon pouch. Her hand doesn't move. Almost screaming with how hard it is, she manages to lower her head just a centimetre. Her eyes fall on her shadow, now locked into place by Shikamaru's.

“Thank you, Nara-san. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.”

Shikamaru gives the leader a small smile, like she's seen a thousand times before, sweet and sincere, with just the hint of respect for someone her appreciates. Sakura watches, paralysed, the Iwa nin come behind her and attach shackles to her feet and wrists. Then they wrap her arms in ninja wire, bound behind her back so tight her skin breaks. She feels the blood running down her forearms and she still can't move.

“I told you I'd get you the intel, Hitoki-san. Now, about that promise?”

“Of course.” The woman hands a scroll to Shikamaru, and he takes it with one hand, the other locked into a seal. “Safety and mercy for the Nara Clan when Iwa wins the war, as well as a place in the Clans' Council. Signed by the Tsuchikage and his advisors.”

“Thank you. I'll gather my clansmen and move them to Iwa as soon as I'm back in the village.”

Hitoki smiles, suddenly gentle. “We'll be very lucky to have you, Nara-san. You'll be invaluable to our village.”

“I'm glad. Take care of yourself.”

“You as well, Shikamaru.”

His light laugh feels like a hand wrapped around Sakura's throat. Shikamaru walks up to her, and his eyes are filled with tears. His shoulders are shivering, like he's holding a sob.

“I'm so sorry, Sakura,” he says quietly, his eyes not meeting hers. “We did the maths. There's no way we're winning the war, and I have to protect my clan.” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry. Please, forgive me.” His lips press against her forehead. “I love you, Haruno Sakura. I will never forget you.”

Then he's gone, leaves flying around her as the shadows free her. The Iwa nin are on her in an instant. Bound like she is, with no chakra to rely on, she can't even move a toe before they knock her out.

Naruto is pacing. It's not changing anything to the situation, but it makes him feel just a little bit better, so he's not going to refrain himself. They can't send anyone after Sakura, not without risking heavy losses that would be irreplaceable. They have a border to hold and they can't spare the manpower.

Sai is sharpening Sasuke's katana, quiet and precise, looking like he's going to break any minute now. The Uchiha Clan Head is pretending not to have a panic attack in the back of the room, while they pretend not to notice him having one.

Sakura has been gone for almost a five days now, and they haven't heard from her. Despite the worry and the anger, they know just how good she is, and it should not be taking her this long to come back from wherever she decided to risk her life.

“Taichō!”

All three of them raise their head at the title they share. Moegi is panting, her orange hair falling out of the strict bun on the back of her head.

“You need to come outside!”

They follow her without question, because you don't ask questions in a war where everyone knows the importance of a simple sentence. It's a matter of trust and realizing you can't waste anybody's time.

Moegi guides them to the tent of the only field-medic they have, one that Sakura trained. They don't have to come inside. Konohamaru is kneeling in the gravel, glowing green hands pressed to the thigh of a pasty-white Shikamaru.

“Sasu-” he coughs. “You all- you need to, ah, you need to send a team to get her back,” he gasps.

“Shikamaru, what happened?” Naruto crouches next to his friend, trying to hide how panicked he feels.

“I left her- left her there. Had to get out. You had to- you had to hear the intel.”

Naruto turns around in a sharp movement. “Sai, put a team together.” The man nods, disappearing quickly. “Now tell us about the intel.”

“Iwa captured the Yonbi again. They're- they're trying to find a new host. Their number is low, it's their only chance. And- and I know where the Yonbi is.”

Naruto stops breathing. That's the best news he's heard in a very, very long time.

“Where?”

“In the same place they kept me. I got caught on purpose after I heard, ah, I heard rumours, so I could confirm it.”

“Let's go then,” Sai says, appearing out of nowhere with Karin and Mirai behind him.

“Shika!” Mirai drops at his side, her hand brushing his shoulder like she's afraid to touch him. “Are you okay?”

“I'll be fine. We need to find Sakura.”

With Konohamaru's help, he gets on his feet. He's still pale, but he's standing, and his hands aren't shaking.

“How did you get hurt?” Karin asks, practical even with the worry apparent on her face.

“I cut a deal with the leader of the group that got me. I brought them someone with information about our side and they'd let me go. So I sent that messenger hawk and when Sakura showed up, I helped them capture her.” His face is ashen, the guilt obvious in every word that leaves his mouth. “They gave me a scroll to guaranty my safety, but it was a fake and when I showed it to the border patrol, they attacked.

Sasuke stares at Shikamaru with spinning red eyes. “That intel is good. It will probably make us win the war.”

He doesn't say anything more. Shikamaru can hear the rest nonetheless. Sakura is probably dead because of you. The war is won, but Sakura died thinking you betrayed her. Sasuke doesn't have to say it. Shikamaru's been hearing it on repeat for the last five days.

The tunnels are quiet when they reach the hideout. They left Naruto and Sai behind to coordinate the arrival of new troops, for the final assault. Not many Iwa nin left, the intel says, and the Yonbi will soon be in Konoha's hand. They're going to win. But inside the tunnels, their countries are still at war and they can't afford to be spotted, not with so few of them.

In the end, they don't have to worry about it. About forty metres inside the deeper tunnels, they find the first body. It has been mangled in horrible ways, skin melted of the skin in places. Hardening lava is sticking to the walls. They simply follow the trail of bodies, until they find a large, circular room, carved into the mountain.

The floor is covered in seals painting with blood, then smeared by the fresher blood of corpses littered all around the area. The centre of the room is scorched and there are splatters of lava all across the central seal.

“We're too late,” Karin whispers.

“They already sealed the Yonbi,” Sasuke says through gritted teeth.

“Shit!” Shikamaru's shout makes Mirai jump. He looks furious.

“Come on, we still need to look for Sakura,” Mirai says gently.

“Or her body,” Karin adds with a grim face.

They find her in the cell Shikamaru was held in. She's slumped against the wall, her legs folded to the right and hands hanging by her side. She's naked from the waist up, her entire torso and arms covered in seals drawn in haste. Around her belly-button, is a symbol any of the Konoha 11 would recognize in a heartbeat. Her eyes are blinking slowly, like she's not seeing them.

What catches their attention is not the seals, neither is the jinchūriki circle on her stomach.

On the wall, next to her head and pined with a kunai, is a piece of meat. Engraved in the stone with blood dripping from it, are the words The Lying Tongue. The same blood that covers her ripped-off fingernail and the stains around her half-open, empty mouth.

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