#[ MAN i wonder how much i could write if i had some structure in my workflow xDD ]

[despairforme]

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. In this one, I tried writing with an unnamed character after someone reached out to me suggesting that I shouldn't tag "x reader" even if the character had a short name. They were not this polite in their wording. Kindly let me know if you find this more enjoyable and if you have any advice or feedback. This was thought of as a one shot. Upon requests a second part has been written.

Part 2

Pairing:  Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: everyone thinks she's too much—too loud, too affectionate, too overwhelming—but as long as Franco loves her, she feels enough. When a painful betrayal forces her to question everything, she’s left wondering if even his love can truly be unconditional.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 2077

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco Colapinto had become a rising star in Formula 1—his unexpected debut mid-season with Williams brought attention, intrigue, and the buzz of fans enamored by his unfiltered charm and skill on the track. To the world, he was a formidable talent, sharp in his focus and strategic in his every move. But to her, Franco was simply her Franco—the person she adored with every fiber of her being, the man who lit up her world with his easy laugh and grounded presence. She never tried to share him with the world; her joy was simply in being there. To Franco, she was a grounding force. To her, he was the brightest point of her life.

Their relationship had always been natural, filled with the kind of closeness that felt both unbreakable and safe. She loved to be near him, to catch the quiet smiles he reserved just for her or hold him close, her arms around him like a shield. She had a way of finding him when he was deep in conversation, slipping her arms around him or perching on the arm of a chair, just listening, watching him with eyes that spoke of adoration. She adored him openly and shamelessly, kissing his cheeks, bringing him little snacks between meetings, and laughing at his every story as if it was the first time she'd heard it. It was how she showed love—boldly, sincerely.

In public, her spirited affection sometimes drew raised brows. She was quick to laugh, unrestrained in her warmth, the kind of person who got excited over the little things. When she spoke, her voice had a way of filling the air, especially when she became passionate, her laughter rich and booming. Franco’s teammates would sometimes tease her for it, not unkindly, but she felt Franco’s protective arm settle around her back, his voice lowering to gently bring her back to the moment, a silent reminder that she was safe, that she didn’t need to hold back. She never felt like too much with him; she felt like enough.

When Franco got his F1 call-up, the world saw his potential, his brilliance. He went from a promising driver to a star almost overnight, and with that came the scrutiny, the endless, dissecting gaze of the world. There were new pressures, new challenges—he was praised and criticized in equal measure, and with him, she found herself swept up too. Fans adored him—his directness, his humor, his daring spirit. He was the next big thing, and with that title came every word spoken about him, every inch of him magnified. And suddenly, they wanted to know her, too. Who was Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend?

But their adoration of Franco didn’t extend to her.

She’d never been the kind of girl who worried about attention, but the way the public spoke about her… it was like a slow, smothering weight pressing down on her heart. They saw only a girl who seemed too clingy, too loud, and too unfitting of someone they had put on a pedestal. Her open affection was criticized as immature, her laughter labeled as attention-seeking. They dissected her every move and labeled her a distraction, tearing into her with the kind of brutality she’d never experienced. It felt like strangers were peeling her apart piece by piece, tearing away the person Franco had always loved.

She tried to ignore it at first, comforting herself with the knowledge that Franco didn’t seem to mind, that he even loved her as she was. Franco was all that mattered; his opinion was the one she trusted. He was the only reason she could keep her head up, brushing off the hate as long as she knew she had his love. And when Franco looked at her, his smile never wavered. She held onto that—the belief that he loved her as she was, even when the world made her question it.

But then came Brazil. She’d been watching from the paddock, her heart leaping every time he turned a corner, nerves twisting as he went head-to-head with some of the most seasoned drivers in the world. And then, the crash. It was terrifying, watching him collide and skid, helpless from a distance as her heart stopped, praying he was okay. Her relief was overwhelming when he emerged unharmed, but Franco’s face had been pale, his expression distant as he made his way off the track. She could see the weight of the moment pulling him under, the strain and pressure breaking through his usually calm demeanor. She wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, tell him she was there for him, that she would carry the weight if she could.

But he’d pulled away from her, muttering that he needed a minute to gather himself. Respecting his space, she’d wandered to the restroom, splashing water on her face, telling herself he’d come around, that he just needed time. She returned to his room, pausing outside, not wanting to intrude if he still needed space. And that’s when she heard it.

“…but don’t you think she’s a bit much?” The voice was that of his engineer, a man she’d thought liked her, someone she’d shared a few laughs with before. “She’s always there. Always talking, always needing to be… close. Must be a lot to deal with when you’re under this kind of pressure.”

She waited, her breath frozen, trusting that Franco’s response would ease her worry, that he’d brush it off as nonsense, defend her like he always had.

But his voice—the voice she trusted, the voice that had always assured her she was enough—spoke words she could barely stand to hear. Franco responded quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Yeah… I mean, sometimes. It’s a lot, too much, you know?”

She could hardly breathe, the words sinking in slowly, one by one, like sharp blades against her skin. He thought she was too much. A lot. The one person she thought she could be her fullest self with, the person who had always made her feel safe to love so openly, to be unapologetically herself—he was overwhelmed by her too. She was his burden, the weight that followed him. Tears began to blur her vision, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place as she listened to them continue, laughing and talking about her as though she were some trivial inconvenience, as though her love was suffocating him.

She backed away from the door, her heart breaking with every step. The tears came fast and hot, her whole body trembling with the force of them as she stumbled back into the restroom. Locking herself inside, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces. She had fought so hard to believe in her own worth, to convince herself that she was lovable and that her affection wasn’t too much for him to bear. But he agreed. He agreed with them, with the strangers who hated her, who thought she was too loud, too affectionate, too clingy.

She had tried so hard to believe that Franco saw her the way she saw him—as irreplaceable, as the very air he breathed. But hearing his quiet agreement, the confirmation that the one person she thought she could trust didn’t love her as she was… it left her feeling hollow, like a fragile shell of herself.

---

When Franco found her, he looked at her with that familiar softness, his arms coming around her as he held her close. She clung to him, not because it made her feel better but because she didn’t know how else to act, didn’t know how to pretend it was all okay. He asked her why she was crying, and she forced herself to smile through the tears, saying it was because of his crash, that she’d been worried. He looked at her with relief, gently pulling her closer, and she let him, even though his touch felt like fire against her skin, burning with the memory of his words. For the first time in their relationship, being near him didn’t feel safe.

In the days that followed, she withdrew into herself, letting Franco slip away piece by piece. She stifled her laughter, kept her voice low, spoke only when necessary. She still brought him snacks, still sat beside him as he debriefed with his team, but now she was a shadow, a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t touch him as freely, didn’t drape herself over his shoulders or pepper his face with kisses. She gave him what the world wanted, the perfect, silent partner, standing just behind him, looking at him only when he looked away.

Fans noticed the change, taking to social media to praise her for finally learning her place. They called her refined, mature, supportive. They praised her “new maturity,” applauded her for “knowing her place.” They liked her better this way, in the background, quiet, subdued. For the first time, she fit the image of the F1 girlfriend they wanted her to be. She was a supporting character, there for Franco when he needed her but silent, never in the spotlight, never drawing attention.

But Franco hated it. He missed her laugh, the way her hands would find his at every turn, the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder while he spoke. He missed the way she’d light up a room with her excitement, her laughter like music that chased away the shadows of his stress. He tried everything to bring her back, brushing his fingers along her cheek, whispering little jokes, pulling her close. But she stayed quiet, her smile polite but hollow, her laughter a pale echo of what it used to be.

She wasn’t his girl anymore. She was someone else, a stranger wearing her face.

---

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Franco found her alone in their hotel room. She was sitting by the window, staring into the dark night, her reflection in the glass a ghost of the girl he had fallen in love with. He crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand finding hers.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where did you go?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a pain he couldn’t understand, couldn’t reach. “I’m here, Franco,” she whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re… you’re gone. The girl I love is gone.”

Her lips trembled, and she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke, her words barely audible. “I heard you… that day in Brazil. I heard you tell your engineer that I was too much. That I was a lot.”

Franco’s heart dropped, a cold shock of realization rushing through him. He remembered the conversation, the way he’d laughed along, never thinking his words would reach her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I never meant it like that.”

“But you said it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “You agreed with them. You agreed with everyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t too much, like I was enough. But if even you… if you think I’m too much…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter. Franco reached for her, his heart shattering as he saw the pain he’d caused, the light he’d extinguished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love everything about you. You’re not too much. I need you, all of you.”

He reached for her, but she drew back, her body a closed door, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut deeper than anything. “I love you with everything I have,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I would have given anything to be enough for you.”

He could feel his own tears burning, the agony of realizing that his careless words had stripped away the light from the woman he adored. “You are enough,” he said desperately, his voice thick. “You’re everything to me. I love you just as you are.”

But she only shook her head, her hand lifting to his cheek, her fingers brushing his skin one last time. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

[chervbs]

undying devotion — a. ancunin

pairings: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: you have a very limited time to free everyone, including duke ravenguard, from the iron throne. It seems easy enough until you realize you may not make it out before gortash destroys the entire prison, and you along with it. and with your new but thriving relationship with your vampiric companion, you have more to lose than just your life.

warnings: angst, mega angst, main character death, spoilers for act 3 (specifically the iron throne quest), mentions of c*zador, resurrection, hurt/comfort, happy ending, maybe ooc astarion because I’m still getting used to writing these characters, lmk if I missed any!

a/n: hello my angels! I hope you all enjoy this short little angsty piece I came up with for everyones favorite vampire. anonymous requested some angst for astarion and I immediately thought of this moment that happened in my first playthrough of the game where the only person I couldn't get out of the iron throne was my tav. it was a scary moment until I remembered what my man withers was there for. the characters in the game don't actually have a reaction to tav not making it out so I came up with this. any feed back is greatly appreciated! <3

ao3 link

Of all the battles fought between the crash of the Nautiloid ship and now, the Iron Throne is proving to be potentially the most perilous.

The plan had seemed simple when you all waited for the submersible to dock the underwater prison. Get in, free as many prisoners as possible, and get out. Of course the creatures guarding the prison would be an obstacle, but your party had defeated a plethora of foes before, how difficult could this mission be?

You all shared the sentiment, until the projection of Lord Enver Gortash had made an appearance.

“Aren’t you the intrepid little adventurer?” The man’s smug voice startled everyone aboard, shoulders growing tense and glares growing fierce. “Digging and diving where you don’t belong. And I thought we were friends.”

Astarion watched as you squared your shoulders, looking the projection right in the eyes. “Fuck you, Gortash.” The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement, but it didn’t last.

Gortash made it clear that if you continued on your quest, he would destroy the Iron Throne, and you all with it.

You had glanced back, communicating with Astarion, Halsin, and Karlach silently. Each of you wonder if this is worth the stakes. Worth all of the lives that could be lost if you failed. Then you looked at your captain, Redhammer the Deviser, and nodded for him to dock the ship.

“That was a mistake.” Gortash scowled. “When the corpses start to wash up on the shore, remember–you could have prevented all of this.”

There wasn’t much time after you docked to accomplish what you came for, so the four of you climbed the ladder with swiftness. The moment you stepped down, your tadpole began to wriggle as a familiar voice spoke to you.

“Halt. You must act with haste. Duke Ravenguard is held within these walls. He must be extracted.” It was unmistakably Omeluum, the mindflayer you’d made friends with in the Underdark.

You knew there was no time for questions. “Tell me what to do.”

“Duke Ravenguard is held in the security wing. Be careful, there are many hazards. This structure is collapsing. Act with speed, act with efficiency. Good luck.”

Swords, arrows and spells were used to get you all through the prison with haste. The Sahugin guards were inconvenient, but not the priority. You only attacked when they were in your way, and dodged them the rest of the time.

Astarion and Halsin were able to make it to Duke Ravenguard, freeing and healing him while also taking down the obstacles sent by Mizora. The security was the closest to the center of the ship and the two men made quick work of the guards still lingering there.

You and Karlach had each taken separate wings, hoping to free as many people as you could. Karlach freed the few prisoners in her wing before she came across Omeluum. Once he was freed, he was able to teleport the two of them back onto the submersible.

It was only as you fought your way through yours that you regretted not bringing someone else with you. The wing you took held the most prisoners and it seemed as if every guard your companions didn’t defeat decided to flock to the area.

Time was running out and you knew it. Your tadpole wriggled again.

“You must return. The prison will be destroyed any moment now.” Omeluum warned. His voice was monotone as any other mind flayer, but you could sense veiled concern.

You took one last look at the crowd of Sahugin in front of you, your heart pounding in your chest. You lacked enough energy to be able to misty step back to the entrance, and there was no time to look for a useful scroll.

“Did everyone make it on board?” You asked, slashing the guards in front of you.

“Indeed.”

You sighed, tears welling. “Then tell them I’m sorry.”

Astarion was the last to climb aboard the submersible after Halsin. Water sprayed onto the platform as the structure began to give way. Halsin reached down to grab his forearms, pulling him the rest of the way. He’d just barely began to search for you within the ship when Karlach spoke up.

“Where’s Tav?” She asked shakily, as if she had already realized the answer.

Astarion’s eyes widened, as did everyone’s. “No.” He whispered, darting over to the window.

There was a split second before the explosion, the force of it rumbling within the water. “No!” He cried, knees buckling as he collapsed.

Karlach slapped a hand over her mouth, tears already falling from her eyes like a waterfall. Halsin bowed his head, sad eyes closing as Astarion lets out a heart wrenching scream.

It didn’t matter to him that his companions had never seen him so distraught, not even after he’d delivered the killing blow to Cazador. No, this pain was entirely different.

This pain was like having his heart ripped out, then his soul extracted then his body mutilated. Every part of him ached in a way he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. Though it shouldn’t surprise him. In the time since meeting, you’d taught him many things about himself. And even in death it seems he’s still learning from you.

Astarion was more silent than Karlach and Halsin had ever seen him. As they received their reward from the Wavemother and talked to Duke Ravenguard, Astarion dragged behind them, silent tears escaping consistently.

Only once they reached camp did Astarion seem to return to his mind, paying no attention to the surprised and concerned stares from everyone else. He was only focused on storming over to the camps undead resident.

Withers did not looked fazed nor surprised by the vampires rage, closing the tome he had been focused on the staring blankly.

“Bring them back.” He demanded, voice thick with emotion. “Bring Tav back.”

Astarion faintly heard a few gasps from the crowd that had gathered behind him, the rest of the party hearing of your death for the first time.

The creatures hollow, echoed voice responded. “There is a cost to do so.”

Astarion’s jaw clenched. “What is it?”

“A matter of coin.” Withers replied simply.

A pale hand reached back into his travel pack to pull out the pouch of coin Astarion had collected throughout your travels. He shoved it against the undead’s chest. “Here!” He snarled. “Take it! Take all the coin we have, I don’t care how much it takes.”

Withers calmly opened the pouch, peaking inside. “That won’t be necessary. This is more than enough.” He said, dropping the pouch to the ground. “I recommend keeping thy distance for a moment.”

Everybody took a step back besides Astarion, only until Karlach placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled.

Withers lifted a bony hand, speaking his words like a prayer. “By doom and dusk, I strike thy name from the archives. Rise!”

There was a brief flash of light that had everyone shielding their eyes. In a matter of seconds, you appeared, stumbling like you’d been thrown back on earth. Which, to your credit, is what it felt like.

Your breaths were quick and heavy as they had been in your final moments, and you patted your body to ensure you really were alive.

There wasn’t much time for you to linger in your thoughts before you were essentially tackled, toned arms coming around you in a crushing embrace. As you heard the sound of weeping, you registered that it was your love who had lunged at you.

A choked sound escaped your lips before you could even realize you yourself had started to cry, arms wrapping around Astarion’s torso.

Through your foggy eyes, you could faintly see your other companions standing a few feet away, some wiping tears and others smiling somberly at you. But they were far from your mind at the moment.

You could only focus on the man in your arms, the both of you collapsing to the ground. “My love.” He whimpered out, surely leaving fingernail markings with how hard he was gripping you. “My little love, I thought you gone for good.”

A watery chuckle escaped, one of your hands coming to lace within the white curls of his hair. “I’m so sorry, Star. Never. I could never leave you.” You sobbed.

His embraced loosened, hands traveling to your face and pulling your forehead against his. His crimson gazed peered into yours, full of desperation. As if he would never be able to look into them again.

“I have never known pain,” He whispered to you hoarsely. “Like what I felt when that wretched place exploded.”

Your lips quivered with another onslaught of emotions. You placed your own palms against his cheeks, thumbs stroking the smooth, alabaster skin. “I never would have made it on time.” You sniffed. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He shook his head lightly, removing his forehead and replacing it with his lips instead. He pressed a kiss there, then to your cheek, and then a final one to your lips, lingering again as if it would be the last kiss you would ever share. You only separated once oxygen became a concern.

“The others are waiting.” You sniffed, though you made no move to leave his side.

“Let them.” Astarion said, a small, relieved grin growing on his face. And you did.

The rest of the world could wait until the end of time for you to part from your Star.”

[iiseult]

Hello, I was wondering what the life of the female reader would be like when King Baldwin was not a leper. I mean, what would their life be like together as a married couple?

𝐵𝒶𝓁𝒹𝓌𝒾𝓃 𝐼𝒱 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈: 𝒩𝑜𝓃-𝓁𝑒𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

CWs → fluff, smut, probable historical inaccuracies, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of religion, childbirth

Note: I know this took like over a month to get to, but in my defense I was working on completing the first arc of my multichapter Baldwin x reader fic. Also, if anyone’s interested, I started posting an alternate version of that on ao3 that’s in third person and from the perspective of a girl named Semele. As far as actual writing goes I think it’s much better quality simply because I don’t have to do all that corny second person bullshit or use the words “Y/N.” That’s a real pain in my ass. Anyway! 

Wordcount: 852

King Baldwin’s standards are high. He is a gorgeous young man with the world at his fingertips and he wants a woman, not a girl, to explore it with him. 

She must be good. She does not need to be rich or noble, but she needs to be selfless and kind and bold. And he needs someone who can match him in intellect so he doesn’t get bored. 

His hair frames his face in charming golden waves that fall to about his chin. His eyes are a deep cerulean, lined by long lashes, and his lips are pink and shapely, if a bit on the thin side. The nose is strong and straight, the jaw is square and sharp, the cheekbones are high and structured, and the skin covering it all is smooth and healthy. A light smattering of tiny freckles paint his nose and cheeks. His body is strong, with substantial broad shoulders, and what muscle he has is subtle but genuine. 

Sometimes his movements are awkward, a little different from other well-bred boys his age, and perhaps that’s what makes him so appealing. So mysterious. And, by the way, he certainly is appealing. 

Every woman that lays eyes on him, and even some that have never had that honor and know of him only from word of mouth, want him. Every woman thinks she can somehow be good enough for him. Of course, maybe one in one thousand of them actually is. 

When a lady finally catches his eye, it would be for her wit or her bravery. Perhaps she would beat him in a game of chess, or speak out against what she thinks is wrong. The more cruelty in her smile, the more attractive she becomes. 

When he proposes, it’s very romantic, very personal, and above all, very private. Though he surely makes the experience memorable for his future wife, he doesn’t do anything over-the-top. It does not involve other people, and perhaps it doesn’t even take place at a particular spot. The most important part of the proposal, after all, is the words he is speaking, the vow he is making. He puts his silver tongue to good use, so that saying no isn’t even an option anymore. How could she possibly turn him down? 

 He can’t wait to get his hands on her. The wedding night is something he has long been looking forward to, knowing that it would be worth it to wait for the right woman, and of course, it exceeds his expectations. How could he have guessed how soft, how supple her flesh would feel beneath him? How sweet and yielding? There was nothing that could have prepared him for the feeling of warmth that wholly enveloped him the first time they made love. It was something that could never be recreated by his own hand. It could only ever occur by the soft hand, or the cruel, relentless lips of his young wife. 

His body is young and robust, as is hers, and they are both brimming with passion and want. The first month of the marriage is spent mostly alone together, trapped in an endless cycle of tiring each other out, sleeping, waking, and doing the whole damned thing all over again. It would take no time at all for the seed to be planted in her fertile womb and a baby to begin to grow. 

Seeing his wife pregnant would only make him fall in love with her more, if such a thing were even possible. Now she is carrying a little miracle inside her, and to him, the world around her positively glows. He is, in a word, infatuated. So proud. He takes her into town and practically parades her around, the curve of her swollen belly growing more and more obvious under the fabric of her gown. Isn’t she beautiful, he would say to Raymond, and to Sybilla, and to anyone else who was unlucky enough to engage him in conversation. 

During the birth, he stayed by her side. He was the one to wipe the sweat from her forehead with damp towels, to hold her hand and cry softly from seeing her in such pain. He loves her so much, and he was going to love that baby, too. He was going to positively spoil it. That is, if it didn’t kill her! He cries more than she does during the birth, and though he does everything he can to ease her pain and help the midwife speed along the process, mostly he can do nothing but stand around and wring his hands and look helplessly at his love, his eyes swimming with wild fear and affection and awe. She’s so strong, how is she doing it? 

Once the baby is born, though the sheets of her bed are soiled with various fluids, he lays down next to his wife and holds her in his arms and she holds their baby in her arms, and they all sleep, a perfect family. The baby is going to look just like her, he thinks, and he will love it. 

[himexyandere]

Leaves Fall Just Like Us

Pairing: Yandere Male!Spider x Female!Reader 

Word count: 1750

Content Warning(s): Possessive behavior, manipulation, drugging (via venom), nonconsensual groping, slight mindbreak 

A/N: So this is my first post on this separate, yandere-centered blog, I hope y'all like it! 💗 (Also, our ML's name is pronounced like "rain")

You weren’t sure how or even when you managed to get yourself lost in a mansion, which you originally assumed to be abandoned. That assumption of yours was swiftly proven false as you noted that no part of the mansion looked neglected. Aged, yes, but there were hardly any specks of dust to be found.

In contrast to the cleanliness of the place, there were spiderwebs in almost every corner, nook, and cranny that you’d laid your eyes on. The afternoon sun illuminated most of the space, but you could tell that based on the burnt oranges and light pinks decorating the marble floors, the light was fleeting and wouldn’t last for much longer. 

You had to leave—now. 

As soon as that singular thought crossed your mind, you began to backtrack immediately, feet seemingly on autopilot. You didn’t make it three steps back before you ran into something solid, eliciting a surprised-sounding grunt from whatever you��d collided with. Ignoring the fear sirens blaring in your mind, you whipped around without a second thought, only to come face-to-face (or more like face-to-chest) with a human. Or at least, that was what you would’ve liked to say—

Your eyes scaled the figure, just barely flitting to the side as inhuman appendages flooded your peripherals, continuing upward until you were gazing into the eyes—multiple pairs of eyes—of what you assumed to be a man-spider...? You were screaming before you knew it, which caused the humanoid spider’s eyes (all eight of them) to widen as he raised his arms surrenderingly, dropping a book he had been clutching onto in the process. 

“Please, don’t be afraid!” He rushed to calm your fright while attempting to make himself look as disarming as possible; which, of course, wasn’t an easy feat as he was an intimidating height equipped with six pedipalps sprouting from his back and chelicerae framing his face. “I mean you no harm, I swear!” 

“W-who—” Was all you could manage to say in response as your body trembled of its own accord. 

The man-spider gave you a little smile then took a small step back to give you some more space. That didn’t really help, though, because now you could see just how tall he really was. For the most part, he was built like a normal, human man — if it weren’t for the obvious spider-esque parts, of course.

“My name is Raigne,” The man before you canted his head a little to the side. “May I ask what your name is, my guest?” 

“[Your Name]...” You offered him your name without a second thought, leading you to wonder if it was out of politeness(?) or innate fear. Perhaps it was a mixture of both? 

Then, as if you’d only remembered where you were and that you were indeed an active participant in this conversation, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked at Raigne. 

“Wait, ‘guest’..?” He’d referred to you as “his guest” mere moments ago, but getting over the bizarreness of the situation was difficult, admittedly.  

“Well, yes, you are in my home. That makes you my guest, doesn’t it?” The smile on Raigne’s face widened a touch. “Though it appears we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, dear [Your Name]. Tell me, how did you end up here?” 

Honestly, you were just as confused as he was. You remembered traveling with a group of explorers to find abandoned structures for an ongoing research project the lot of you were participating in, only to end up in this unfamiliar place. You were alone and there were no signs of your group. At one point, you tried writing it off as a convoluted dream until you came to realize that pinching yourself did not result in you waking up. 

After racking your brain for a suitable answer to give the man, whose home you’d unknowingly intruded into, you eventually came up with nothing. “I… Don’t remember…” You felt bad, but you didn’t want to lie. 

Fortunately, Raigne was pretty understanding and instead offered you a sympathetic smile. 

“That’s perfectly alright, I’m sure the answer you’re looking for will come with enough time,” He said before bending at the waist to pick up the book he’d dropped. “In the meantime, would you mind coming with me, [Your Name]? Regardless of how you got here, I would still like to treat you as a guest, if you don’t mind.” 

As apprehensive as you were to trust a complete stranger, (never mind the fact that he was, well… A spider) you didn’t see any other choice at the time being. After a few moments, you gave him a nod and a hesitant smile. 

“S-sorry, thank you for having me, Raigne…” 

The smile returned to Raigne’s face, wider than before in a way that seemed unnatural, accentuating his chelicerae. 

“Please, it is my pleasure, [Your Name].”

You’re unsure of how much time you’ve spent with Raigne. Days? Weeks? Months? At this point, it very well could have been years, but you had no way of knowing, nor did you really care to. He provided you with a room, clothes, food, and entertainment — what more could you ask for?

Being with Raigne was a pleasant experience as well, once you overcame your initial fear of him. He was polite and accommodating, on top of understanding. He knew how scary spiders could be, so he took the time to ease your worries by reassuring you with some spider facts. 

“Most male spiders don’t bite, nor do they produce much venom, so you’ll never have to worry about that!” Was what he told you in response to you asking if he was a venomous spider.

His answer brought you a sense of relief, and you noticeably began to relax around him afterward. Not only was Raigne a gracious host, he was also an interesting person overall to conversate with and you found yourself enjoying his company quite a bit. 

As you sat with Raigne in his study enjoying a cup of coffee and chatting idly, your gaze was drawn outside the window behind him as the movement from a falling brown leaf caught your attention. 

“Huh… Looks like it’s gonna be autumn soon.” You remarked as you swirled your finger around the rim of your now-empty cup. 

Raigne stopped talking and followed your gaze out the window, staring in silence as the frequency of falling leaves increased. His odd shift in behavior should’ve been the first sign that Raigne was feeling… Off. 

After your conversation, Raigne quickly retired to his room with the excuse of “feeling a little under the weather”, and shut his door without another word. It couldn’t have been something you said, right? Your conversation up until that point was light, amicable… So what the heck was up with him? You figured you could wait until later to ask him, since now seemed to be a bad time. 

Later that night, after getting ready for bed, you decided to go back to Raigne’s room and check on him. 

“Raigne? Are you in there?” You called out softly after knocking on his door twice. 

No response. 

You pressed your ear to the door, only to realize that it was already open. You pushed your way in, worry clouding your senses as you scanned the dark room. You’d only been inside Raigne’s room a handful of times before this, but for some reason, it was a little more… Foreboding during the night. 

“Raigne..?” You tried calling him again as you stepped fully into the room, looking around the spacious area to find him. 

A soft click sounded from behind you, but it was already too late. 

Before you could even think to turn around, you were wrapped up in a familiar pair of arms and pedipalps, holding you rigidly in place until you felt a pair of fangs sinking into your neck. Then came the injection of an unidentified fluid—venom, you presumed, even in your stunned state. Who else could it be but Raigne clutching your body, back flushed with his chest as he bit you?

“I’m sorry, [Your Name],” Were the first words out of his mouth once he was through with the envenomation, followed along by a low chuckle. “You’re sweet, did you know that? A little too trusting as well… But that’s what I love about you.”

Raigne then nuzzled into the crook of your neck, right next to the spot where he’d sunk his pincers into you not mere seconds ago. 

“W-why, d’you…” Your question was slurred and delirious-sounding, which only made Raigne coo at you in the same affectionate way one would do to a cute, struggling kitten. 

“Hmm? Do you mean to ask why I’m biting you when I told you that male spiders typically don’t?” You couldn’t even nod, but he seemed to know that he’d hit the nail on the head. 

“Well, my dear, I did tell you that most male spiders don’t bite… I never said that I didn’t,” Raigne chuckled again, still nuzzling against you. “Oh, and about the venom… It isn’t lethal, don’t worry. Why in the world would I want a dead bride? I’m a spider, not a specter~” 

As he continued speaking, the frequency of his nuzzling increased, and you still found yourself unable to move a muscle. Your entire body was paralyzed. 

“Did you know? Autumn is the mating season for most spiders,” Raigne’s unoccupied hands began to wonder then, starting from your shoulders and trailing down to your breasts. “I was wondering how I should court you... I truly apologize for not doing it properly, but I really could not help myself!” 

He bent down closer to whisper in your ear, as if his words were much too sacred to be spoken aloud, “You are so alluring… I’m surprised by how uncouth I am behaving because of how much I want you.” 

His words took on a somewhat warbly tone, entering into a raspy, dreamy-like pitch. It didn’t help that he was still groping you, hands eager and thorough in their exploration of your chest. In his mind, he had all the time in the world to do so, after all — and it wasn’t like you would be going anywhere anytime soon, what with his pedipalps still holding you and his venom in your blood.

Raigne fully intended to make you his bride.

Once that thought crossed your hazy mind, the idea of freedom slowly slipped away until you could think of nothing else...

[victoriansecret]

Servants and Upward Mobility

This is focused on paid servants in England in the mid-late 18th century. One thing I find fascinating about the structure of domestic service roles was the existence of what essentially we might call a career ladder today. It was not uncommon for a servant to start their career near the bottom of the hierarchy as, say, a boot boy who cleans the shoes and boots of the household, or the scullery maid who does all the dirty kitchen work like scrubbing iron cooking vessels or plucking chickens, but progressively move up the list to better positions.

Part of why this was the case was that it was typical in England to hire servants for one year terms at a time. Often they'd be hired at festivals on the quarter days of the year, which as part of the festivities would often include what today we'd call a job fair. For some reason, Michaelmas (September 29) seems to be the most common as far as I can tell. I had never really thought about why that might be until I started planning this post, and I now wonder if it might have something to do with that being right around when harvest time usually comes in England. I could easily imagine people, especially young people, being on the cusp of another labourious harvest and thinking that maybe they could find another job instead. Related tangent: There are a number of remarks in the period that servants from the northern parts of England were considered to be much more respectful than servants from more populated, urban areas. Those communities were (at least considered to be) a lot stricter about remembering one's place and respecting your social 'betters', and their behaviour as servants was believed to reflect that. Some people would actively have their agents look to hire people from those rural areas, and apparently it was easy to attract potential employees: there are a number of remarks about how when a fancy carriage would drive through a small town, with the fancily-liveried footmen riding on the back, it would bring young people to stare in awe and want to be part of that. Which as someone whose interest in domestic service started in part because of my obsession with livery, I can understand. Anyway, back to the main point: because they often served one-year terms, there was an annual chance for both parties - the servant and the served - to review and determine how to move forward. A servant who was favoured might negotiate for a new position in the household, at least one step higher on the ladder (if not more), and they had leverage because they could leave the field entirely or possibly go off to a new household and find a higher position there. There was also a practice of asking for your master or mistress to provide a "character", essentially what we would today call a reference: a letter to show potential employers detailing their behaviour and skill in their role. Certainly there were times that some employers refused to give a good character, and sometimes that was explicitly because they wanted to keep the servant because they were a valuable asset to their household, but it was considered part of the obligation of the master class to be honest in these.

And it is not at all uncommon to find people who have served many different people/households throughout their career. The most I have seen is 28, although that's slightly misleading: that was a man who decided he wanted to travel, so hired himself to gentleman going on journeys for the duration of the trips, many of which were only a couple months. (The book he published, which he wrote about his travels and the "exotic" places and people he encountered, is interesting, and for my purposes super helpful because he turned out to be a narcissist and wrote a lot about himself, including his career as a servant. It's the only quasi-memoir of a paid servant from this time I am aware of. I might write a post about it/him sometime. I digress.) [continued in next post]

[yayakoishii]

Picture This | Balam Shichirou x Reader

Fandom: Mairimashita Iruma-kun

Pairing: Balam Shichirou x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre/Tags: Fluff

Summary: You find out about the kind and gentle Balam Shichirou and meet him with a proposition of your own.

A/n: I have known this demon for 3 episodes and I'm in LOVE;; so I basically got possessed by the sudden urge to write something for him. he's the kindest, the sweetest, the BEST TEACHER EVER 😭 I love teachers like him so much, this was very self-indulgent and kinda just me admiring him hehe... I hope you enjoy this short thing I wrote, even though there's a high chance that he might be slightly ooc since I haven't known him for longer than 3 episodes.

also available on ao3!

The chatter in the class was a low hum as everyone worked on their own worksheets that you had just printed out. The Apocalypse Test was close and as a new teacher at Babyls, you wanted your first results to reflect well. If the results were not good then that would mean you had to work harder as a teacher.

You were walking amongst the students, listening in on their discussions or aiding them in finding where the answer could be found in the textbook. It was an open book, open discussion worksheet solving session and you were pleased with how well the students seemed to be handling it without making too much noise. The abnormal class could be really serious about studying when they put their mind to it, huh?

The bobbing of a blue head caught your attention and you walked closer to Iruma's seat. As always, he was sitting between Alice and Clara but the three of them were referring to their own books. (Except for Clara; you were pretty sure the book in her hand had nothing to do with studying…) The book in Iruma's hand was one you had never seen before but it looked interesting.

"Iruma-kun?" You stopped in front of his desk and looked down at the book curiously. Said boy startled and looked up in panic until he realised it was just you. "Where did you get this book?"

"Oh!" He gave you a warm smile, the kind that always made you smile in return. "Balam-sensei gave it to me because I was… y'know… struggling to understand."

"Can I see it?" You asked, curiosity taking a hold of you. Iruma handed you the book and you leafed through it. Surprisingly, it was a picture book with really easy explanations. Whoever wrote it had your gratitude; these were the kind of books that made learning enjoyable and less daunting. You closed it and looked at the cover to check the author's name. "Huh? Balam Shichirou…? Balam-sensei wrote this book?"

"Yes!" Iruma beamed at you. "He made some of them especially for me."

"That's wonderful," you felt touched even though you had never met the man. When you had aspired to be a teacher, this was the kind of teacher you were aiming for. Somebody who helped even the students who were struggling to understand, from the basics so they could build a stronger structure of knowledge on it. "Is it easier for you to understand this way?"

"It is," Iruma admitted, shyly scratching the back of his neck. You smiled and lightly patted the top of his head, startling the boy a little.

"I'll keep that in mind for my next class," you said. "And while I'm grateful for Balam-sensei… Why didn't you tell me if you were struggling to understand my teaching, Iruma-kun? I would have adjusted for you."

You pouted at him so he knew you weren't seriously mad at him; just a little upset.

"No, no, no!" The boy panicked and shook his hands in a negating gesture. "That's not it, (y/n)-sensei!! I just didn't want to burden you because I was the only one struggling even with your easy explanations… I guess having it in written form like this just helps to remember what you've already taught."

"It's not a burden, Iruma-kun," you reminded him. "It's my job as a teacher to make sure you understand. If you don't understand something, that's my responsibility. If you're worried about being a bother to the rest of the class, you can always come to me after the classes are over to get a quick personalised lesson."

"Eh?" He looked surprised. "Wouldn't that take up your time, sensei?"

"If it helps my students then it's time well spent!"

•

After your classes for the day were done, you asked around the staffroom for where you could find Balam Shichirou. Kalego gave you the directions and you made your way to his office, curious about what kind of person he must be and how he would look. From whatever Iruma had told you, he already sounded like a kind person and a great teacher. You found the door and knocked on it before looking inside.

"Balam-sensei?" You asked. There was a demon with long white hair sitting on a table, writing something down, who startled at your voice. "Can I come in?"

"O- Oh, yes, please!" He seemed a little confused by your presence but you stepped in and closed the door behind yourself. There was an empty stool across the table so you sat down on it. "Um, (y/n)-sensei, would you like some Hell Grey Tea?"

"Oh!" You hadn't expected him to know your name. Suddenly, it felt embarrassing that you had never heard of him before this. "Yes, thank you for the offer, Balam-sensei."

He nodded and got up to make you some. He worked in silence so you took the time to look around his office. The shelves full of books were eye-catching and your hands were already itching to dig into them and read all the unfamiliar volumes. Your eyes drifted over to the book sitting in front of you that Balam was working on. Your eyes widened when you realised it was another picture book, this one on one of the battles that had occured some centuries ago. Your hands moved to check it before you could even think that it would be rude.

"Here you go– oh, you saw my book," Balam placed the tea just out of the way enough so that you wouldn't accidentally bump it. "Do you… like picture books, (y/n)-sensei?"

"Not particularly," you admitted as you skimmed through what was already drawn and written. "But I like to read so picture books are fun too! I suppose I never got much into them because my home was full of textual books and I liked those just fine so I never had any picture books as a kid. I may not know much about them, but this is really well-written, Balam-sensei! You draw so well too."

"Oh," the other demon pinked at your words as he took his seat. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I'm making this one for a student but you could borrow a different one if you're interested."

"Ah! That reminds me why I came here," you beamed at him, gently placing the book back where you had picked it up from. "I saw the picture book you gave Iruma-kun in my class today. Our subjects have a small section that overlaps so he was referring to the book you made for him and I couldn't help noticing it. It was truly so easy to understand and it gave me the idea that such a method would be helpful with other subjects too."

"Really?" He seemed surprised by your words but you could tell that he was also touched. "I would like to share them with all the students too, but for some reason, they keep running away when I try to show them my picture books."

"Ah," you leaned back when you realised that you had accidentally leaned over in your excitement. The other teachers in the staffroom had told you about Balam's reputation amongst the students. "I'm sure they would benefit from it. I could share your books with some of my students if that works for you, Balam-sensei. And, if you would be interested, I wanted to try making a picture book explaining my subject too. It's a huge task and I would compensate you accordingly for your time and efforts–"

"You…" If Balam had seemed shocked before, it was nothing compared to his face now. Although his mouth was covered by a metal mask, you could tell from how wide his eyes had gotten. "You want to… make a picture book… with me?"

"Only if you're interested!" You bit your bottom lip nervously. "I personally really liked your books and I thought it would be a great way to learn for the students who have a weaker or slower grasp of understanding. Since I'm not very familiar with the process, I thought it would be amazing if I could have the aid of your experience. I understand if it's a commitment that you don't have the time for, and there's no guarantee that it will work out but I would love to at least try it with you."

"I would love to," Balam uttered softly and even without seeing his mouth, you could tell that he was gently smiling at you with how his eyes curved just so. The sight made your heart unexpectedly quicken and you fidgeted in your seat, picking up the Hell Grey Tea you had forgotten about. "I didn't think any of the other teachers liked me much but I'm very happy that you thought of me when you wanted to try this out."

"I don't think they dislike you, Balam-sensei," you smiled from behind the cup of tea. "But I suppose people just get so caught up in appearances and assumptions. People who have much to hide seem dangerous at first glance and we don't take time to get to know them if we can help it. I admit I might have fallen prey to the same kind of thinking if I hadn't heard about you from Iruma-kun. I could tell you were a kind and wonderful teacher from the way he spoke about you."

Balam's eyes widened and for a second, you thought his eyes seemed glassy. You blinked and the light was gone but Balam's eyes were still the soft shape. Now that you took the time to study his face, you realised he was quite handsome. The thought made you accidentally slam your tea cup down on the table in panic and the ceramic broke, startling the both of you.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!!" You were flustered but you hurriedly tried to collect the pieces together without hurting yourself. "I'm so clumsy…"

"It's okay," Balam reassured you, coming over to your side to help you pick up some of the pieces. "I'll take them to the trash. Are you hurt?"

"I don't– oh, just a little it seems," you had a very tiny cut from a sharper piece you had picked up. It didn't hurt. You waved it off as you carefully put the pieces you had collected in Balam's large gloved hands. "Nothing to worry about. It will be healed in a day or two. I really am sorry for troubling you, Balam-sensei!"

"I told you, it's fine."

He carefully threw away the trash then returned to you with an ointment from his desk drawer. You had stuck the finger into your mouth to suck at the blood and stop the flow but it felt embarrassing when you realised that Balam was watching you. You hurriedly removed the finger and tried to find a cloth to wipe it off but Balam crouched in front of you and asked for your hand silently. You ended up placing yours in his and watched him carefully pat it off before putting on the ointment.

"Thank you," you blushed fiercely when he was done and still hadn't let go of your hand. In fact, he was now standing up and holding both your arms in his own; the proximity was making your heart beat unnaturally fast. "Um, Balam-sensei..?"

"Yes?" He asked, blinking down at your comparatively smaller form in his arms.

"Y- You can let go of me now," you mumbled. Your words made him stutter and he let go in a panic.

"I- I'm so sorry, I just tend to do that without thinking!" He was blushing too, embarrassed. Balam didn't want to make you uncomfortable after you had been so nice to him. For once, he was actually getting along with someone new. For that matter, you were the one to approach him first! Not to mention, he had found you really beautiful when he had first seen you in the staffroom, laughing at Dali's joke. You hadn't seen him then, but that brief memory flashed in his mind when you softly giggled.

The sound of your laugh made his heart skip a beat. Balam stared at you as you flashed him a warm smile.

"If you wanted to hold me, you could have just asked, Balam-sensei!" You beamed and opened your arms for a hug. "I don't mind you touching me. I was just surprised."

Oh.

Balam's hands twitched for a second, the same nervousness he felt when Iruma tried to touch him popping up. But this time, it felt a bit different. The nervousness in his stomach felt like those fantastical creatures called butterflies that he had read about. His heart seemed to be thumping louder than usual too.

It was only when his larger frame swallowed yours into a gentle grip that he realised. He could feel the outline of your smile against his bicep.

Ah, this was what they called a crush, huh?

°•❀•°

All likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

[applesandbannas747]

i wanna hear your thoughts on the fence challengers: long shot preview pages if you want to share!

oh mAN I have so many and they are all over the place!!

The first one is a little thing, but I bet Seiji had a crush on Marcus Washington when he was a kid--Nick's horror, Harvard's teasing, and Seiji's indignant blush imply as much.

And a fun fact, Jo posted a mini preview of baby Seiji to Patreon on February 14th...maybe I'm reading into it too much, but that's nothing new XD

Next couple of things are about the scene with the trophy case. It was really interesting and fun to see side-by-side redraws of Robert! It really illustrates the way the style has evolved, and also I gOTTA say it feels like Jo is more invested in Robert based on the level of detail she put in--like it's not just a style comparison, it's also just obvious a lot of attention was put into these shots when a) she could have just reused old shots (which she's done before, so I know it was an option), or kept it more simplified like she did when drawing the original shots.

I also think it's sweet that the redraws have Robert looking much more like Jesse than the originals.

And I am sure I will get flack for this, but I have incredible second-hand embarrassment from Nick leaving his newspaper clipping + note in the trophy case jfhdasl like bestieee noooo anyone can see that shit now oh my god please stooop

Onto some Nichoji thoughts! I love that Seiji's been confirmed as a before-bed reader! Him having a Kindle makes sense for the sheer efficiency of it too lmfao. Of course it's also adorable to see him in reading glasses <3 And then my favorite detail is Nick's stupid nightlight...notice where it is?

Rather than illuminating Nick's side of the room, it's peeking around the curtain and lighting up Seiji's reading, which is beyond adorable and sweet. I wonder whether Seiji stole it or Nick put it there knowing Seiji likes to read before bed, and I love both scenarios.

Also, it's fucking adorable that as soon as Nick mentions their date appointment, Seiji takes off his glasses and lowers his Kindle because it's got his full attention and investment.

And a quick pitstop to the locker rooms!

I like the visual metaphor here with Aiden and Bobby both very casual about changing and both literally having their shirts open; meanwhile, Seiji's straightening the cuffs on his button-down, which is already neatly tucked in and complete with his tie. It just highlights how Seiji's a lot more closed off than the others, and I think this was a neat trick to remind us of that.

In regards to plot, I'm still...really disappointed in the pacing. I know most people feel like it's a slowburn/it's taken a long time to develop, but if you waited to read Fence at all until it was complete and then read it all in one sitting, I think you'd see how unbalanced it is. Williams says that their first match will be in three weeks back right after tryouts:

which means everything between issue 12 and CHALLENGERS has happened in 3 weeks. Seiji and Nick's relationship is so sweet and cute, but it went from resentful rivalry to puppy love overnight with very little 'screen time' dedicated to the actual transition from resentment to friends (which I could write a whole essay on but this is not the post for that lmfao). Furthermore, the fact that it's the first match of State Championships rather than first match of the season is crazy to me. I'll admit, I didn't fence in high school--it wasn't even an option because we didn't have a team. And despite hours of research, the structure of high school team fencing is not entirely clear to me. However, I do know that typical high school sports go through the season, facing every other team in their division or whatever. Based on performance in those matches, they can qualify for state, and then their win ratio determines their seeding order for the state championships that happen in like 1-2 days. Seeding order is who you go up against in a bracket, so it's what this diagram is, basically:

(side note, but it appears there are 24 schools competing at state). Again, fencing could be different, but it kinda seems to me like we skipped over the season and went right to State Championships, which just cuts out so much development and build-up. It's like we're speed-running the entire story to get to the end faster. We cut out showing the development in the romance, and now we're cutting out the development of the plot. There's still plenty that we can do at state, of course, but imagine how much more it would mean to see Nick fencing in front of Robert if we'd built that up more. I just don't understand how we spent 12 issues on try outs, 4 on a practice match, 8 on camp, and none on the fencing season. It feels so abrupt and unbalanced. Tryouts and camp were my favorites arcs because they felt pretty well-paced as self-contained pieces of the story. I just feel like we needed waaaaay more relationship development between those two arcs to be satisfying, and I feel like there should be waaaaay more build up during the fencing season between camp and State Championships.

and now, the moment you've all been waiting for: my devastation over Eugene's role (???) in the story. I honestly question why he's in the story at all--at this point, it would have made more sense to have him flat-out not make the team. Except that keeping him this long lowkey backs up the theory I've had on his role since Striking Distance/RIVALS: Eugene is here to make everyone else look better/cooler/more impressive. The very first thing that struck me when reading the first look was this:

The dialogue here suggests that only one reserve actually gets to be on the team in the end, and the reserve is Nick. And, worse, everyone expected it to be Nick. Sure, it's sweet that Seiji thinks Nick's the better fencer, but all I can think about is how hard Eugene's worked for ten years trying to make the team as opposed to Nick's three months of fencing. Now, I love an underdog story. But it's interesting because Pacat stated in an interview (I'd have to go find where for the specific quote) that he always feels bad for the person who's been working to be #1 their whole lives only to be knocked out of the running by an upstart underdog--which I've always assumed would influence the path taken in Fence...and it seems like we may well let Seiji and Jesse remain above Nick in skill (or at least it seems like we won't be dethroning Seiji, even if we go for Jesse), but Nick's overcoming smaller obstacles. And those smaller obstacles hurt worse to see crushed because Eugene almost made the team in a way that mattered, only to have that taken away. It would have been less cruel to him and his fans to let Nick take the reserve slot back in issue 12, but instead we brought Eugene along to serve as a means to make Nick out 'secret weapon' and elevate his story.

I will say though, this page is one of my favorite Eugene moments because I see the character I selfishly want Eugene to be in it. From the context of the panels above, this page is likely Williams telling them that only one will be fencing in State Championships, and this is their reaction. Eugene's immediate concern for Nick and the comforting hand on his shoulder followed by a bright smile and a thumbs up--he just cares so much about other people and it so used to smiling through his own pain/disappointment and comforts Nick through being positive (and as seen back in issue 12, up playing his competitiveness) and acting like it's no big deal.

Eugene deserved better, but if this is where he goes out, I think I can live with it. Better to see him go now than continue to be a means to uplift the rest of team by being less than. but, man, I was really hoping we were turning it around after his moment in REDEMPTION being the only KR boy not to lose his bout

anyway, thank you sm for listening to my rambles!!! <33

[timetravellibrarian]

Zoro x reader

Zoro x femreader

Soulmate AU

Summary: A man seeks to follow his dreams, following only the path his swords carve for him and wherever his crew goes. Little does he know that the missing piece in his life, his soulmate whom he doesn't admit that he tries to seek would end up in a love-hate relationship.

No use of Y/n in this chapter . Trying my hand at writing a story with chapters for Zoro

_________________________________________

Chapter One

Zoro felt the cool breeze caress his skin and sighed with contentment. It's been almost two months since he had left Shimotsuki Village. He had managed to get some Berry when he had taken out a weak band of pirates, the money in his pocket as he entered a small restaurant and slid onto a stool.

Before he could order anything the sound of a little girl calling his name caught his attention. Rika had run to him with a bowl of chocolate covered onigiri.

"Oh hey,"

The store owner had smiled at the smile in her daughter's face as she gave Zoro the bowl of food."Thank you for helping out, the pirates are gone, Mr Zoro."

A haughty man with a double chin had appeared with two marines beside him. He had swaggered his way through the small crowd. He had taken a bite of Rika's food and threw it to the ground in disdain. The plate shattering along with the poor girls hard work in preparing the dish.

"That tastes disgusting, little girl. That's not how you prepare food, much less serve it to others." The blonde man said harshly. Before Zoro knew it he had tried to stand up for the said girl but due to the bounty he had accumulated over the past few weeks he was to stay in the confines of the detainment yard. Tied up and unfed, left to wake up to the blinding light of the sun and the cold chills of the night air.

That was where he had met a strawhatted boy who seemed no older than himself. One with dreams as large as his. Maybe it was God's will. Maybe it was the Fates orchestrating all of this. Zoro wouldn't know. He didn't believe anything many believed. He'd tie everything to luck being in his favour.

He looked down at his bandaged wrist as he and Monkey D. Luffy , his new captain, sailed away from the island after having said goodbye to the few friends they happened to make

As much as he had kept himself in denial about the initials written on his wrist,bandaged and far from anyone's curious eyes a deep curiosity within him wondered about who his supposed soulmate could be.

____________________________________

A young woman sat atop a large rock surrounded by crashing waves. Her eyes were closed, lips parted,as she breathed in the sea breeze.

"Mi'lady?" Her handmaiden, Lyra, tried to get her attention,' We shouldn't be here too long."

The young woman stood up from her spot, her regal dress that was once bunched up had went back to being in its formal position, reaching past her ankles. She lifted up her dress to try and avoid getting it wet and hopped across onto the other rocks that had created a path that lead to the wooden dock. Her feet had contact with the wooden structure.

Lyra swiftly pulled out a towel and a pair of shoes and got to work on removing any dirt from her lady's feet and putting on the shoes. Alas her friend tried to move away and make her stand up.

"I could do it myself."

"Then what job would I have? Besides, that dress won't let you reach your feet."

Her handmaiden countered. The woman sighed. Once both feet had shoes on the two travelled back through a secret pathway. Left, right, under the merchant bridge and through the gardens. Eventually they found themselves back to the palace.

"I have something to tell you, Mi'lady." Lyra said softly as they walked through the palace halls."Something I heard ."

"What is it?"

Once the two had gotten to an isolated hallway, Lyra turned to the princess and held both if her hands gently.

"Your mother wishes to arrange a political marriage." The princess's eyes widened in surprise.

"But she knows I have a soulmate?"

Lyra nodded, her had absent mindedly going to trace the initials of her mistress as well as friend's wrist. "She knows, but she figures you might never find him. It is rare to find people with the initials R.Z "

"But not impossible."

"This is your mother, the queen, that we're talking about. She wants you wedded before you reach 20." Lyra gave her a look.

"She's gonna ship me off to some random nobleman, and when he finds his soulmate I will be cast aside like an old fashion trend."

"I'm sorry Mi'lady." Lyra pulled the princess into a comforting hug,and the young woman melted against her.

"It will be alright."

____________________________________

[fluxweeed]

Hii, I just discovered your fics and am reading my way through them. Love, love, love the ones I’ve read so far.😊 I was just wondering what your favourite Draco is you’ve written, and what your fave Draco is in fics written by others? ☺️

ACK thank you!! what a question!! i've considered this v carefully and it turns out i have………a lot of thoughts. i will keep them under a cut so nobody is accosted with a full 700 words of my Draco Opinions 😂 so my quick answer is:

my fave draco i've written: the taste of țuică my fave draco ever: rookie moves by peu_a_peu

draco is an interesting one for me bc i don't really LIKE him? but i have sooo many feelings about him. really not sure i could summon the same fervour for harry, for example, who is my number one boy forever and always.

(i saw a thing once that said a pairing becomes ur otp when u relate to one of the characters and want to fuck the other one, and 🙈 i mean, i think you're supposed to relate to the gryffindor, aren't you. whoops.)

OKAY SO HERE'S THE UNHINGED DRACO MALFOY ESSAY BY FLUX W. EED.

listen. i love and respect people who are Refined Draco enjoyers. connoisseurs of redemption arcs. appreciators of majestic malfoy bone structure and ethereal grey eyes and soft windswept hair. fans of dracos who insult harry (with hidden affection) and who are a bit snobbish (in a rich, sexy way) but ultimately have realised the error of their teenage years and have become a better person. perhaps this draco has built a potions business and helps the aurors. perhaps he IS an auror. either way, he has a biting sense of humour, maybe, but he's a good guy.

unfortunately, the draco of my heart is a horrid mean little rat man.

i've never actually managed to write him the way i love him. i tried to aim for immoral bastardy in what's mine is yours but i got so caught up in trying to nail the feelsforbreakfast-style humour in the narrative that i ended up focusing much more on that and much less on writing genuine bastardhood.

i've written him as reserved and clever (in the four doors – this draco was written entirely for @jovialobservationanchor, who had a weak spot for closed-off academics with soft centres) and as a traumatised self-loathing mess (in two to lie and to some extent for lack of wanting and say no to this) and hopelessly sexually/emotionally horny for one harry james potter (in, um, most things) but i've never managed to capture the genuine cruel streak and flawed personality that is sooo so important to me.

WHICH IS WHY i picked țuică!draco for my favourite of the ones i've written. he's still a bit too emotionally intelligent to be Just Right, imo, but i think he's maybe the closest? he's unrepentantly rude to people. he's not attractive. and he has a streak of self-destructive fucked-upedness that is some form of wartime guilt, but certainly not a pretty one.

HOWEVER. rookie moves?? NAILED it. i adooored how genuinely fuckin MEAN he is, even tho he's an auror. i love love LOVED that he's kind of bad at his job in a way that's in complete opposition to how drarry!draco is often written these days:

The look on Malfoy’s face was not only troubling, Harry realized, but familiar. At once activated and dead behind the eyes, like an invasive species in an ecosystem that could not check it. It was the look of the meanest fucking teenager Harry had ever known, giving in to his urge to bully.

-

What Malfoy wasn’t good with was people. Despite his repeated insistences that his upbringing had equipped him with impeccable manners and a facility with society intrigue, the truth was that he rubbed almost everyone the wrong way. He was, undeniably, annoying. Witnesses were put off by his snide, dismissive tone, and he didn’t know how to coax out information with curiosity, warmth, or strategic silence.

that's not to say unrepentant cunt draco is the only one for me!! i DO enjoy the classic redeemed drarry draco!! i love a quirky draco, à la wwpwcs or maya's drop dead gorgeous. gallaplacidia's draco is sooo painful for me to read (complimentary) that even though i adore her fics, i still haven't read them all bc i have to space them out, for my health. and i'm sure there are dozens more dracos that i'm forgetting how much i like – basically, as long as he isn't super suave, absolutely gorgeous and/or obviously tom felton, i'm on board.

[valeriianz]

For the fic writer asks:

4. Obviously you did research for BitB. I'd love you to ramble about it if you like I'm sure you've got STORIES

5. Did you outline it?

7. How'd you decide it would be Hob's pov?

25-27 I'd love to know a/some favorite lines, details, and any lore you might want to share

omg TJ what wonderful questions! thank you!! this is going to get LONG!

4: Rambling about research!

do you wanna see a screen shot of my bookmarks under my "band au" folder?

man, and that's only what could fit on the screen.

there is... SO MUCH i chose to ignore for this fic. ideas that i had to drop, lines or extra details about the other band members equipment. more logistics, what Lucienne actually does, what Mervyn has to put up with as the new touring stage manager... i realized very early on that i couldn't possibly cram all this (super cool and eye opening) information into the fic and still keep reader's interest and, most importantly, to not stray away from the fact that this is a dreamling fic. whenever i felt myself getting carried away with a side character or job or even social media numbers, gossip, outside POVs, i had to reign myself in and get back on track. there will be time for exploring everything i missed in side stories after BitB is finished. i just hope i still have the energy to write it all.

once, i was so deep into research that after publishing chapter 2, i went into work and when my chef asked what "GA" meant on my prep list, i answered with full confidence, "general admission."

(it means "get ahead.")

the worst part of this entire writing process is im still learning new shit. i havent rewatched or read a lot of what i've saved because, to be very honest, i was feeling a little burnt out. it's why we're kinda full steam dreamling now. it's why ive been glossing over a lot of technical stuff and being vague about conversations amongst the crew/not including it at all. i don't prefer ignoring my research, but at the end of the day i want to still enjoy writing this fic and finish it. even if i can't be as descriptive and detailed and nuanced as i used to be.

5: Did you outline the fic?

(also asked by @hardly-an-escape!)

i wouldn't call what i have a proper "outline," it's more like a 20k word document filled to the brim with notes that i skim at least a dozen times while i'm writing a new chapter (being in my brain is literally hell). i live multichapter life very dangerously. i copy and paste lines or sections (always scattered, never together! augh!) that are meant to go together and plop them in a new document titled "band au ch.#" and then i structure the chapter around what i want to happen.

but to answer this question in the plainest of terms: yeah. i know exactly what's going to happen up until the very end. even if its all in my head and the only concrete shit that's written down are beats/plot points. i'll figure out the rest later!

7: How'd you decide it would be Hob's POV?

i actually never even considered writing it from Dream's POV. this was my first fic in the fandom (which is so nuts to think about lol) and writing in Dream's POV sounded so scary lol. i also just thought Hob's would be easier because i have worked a few backstage shows, back in my college years. i figured eh, i can make this work. and i loved exploring how weird and mysterious musicians can be, from a normie's POV. making Hob a fan first and having him worry about developing a parasocial relationship... it was fun to explore.

25: Share your favorite line

oh god, i have so many haha.

“What are you thinking about?” starting in ch.2 and onward lmao

“It’s–” Dream laughs quietly, bitterly. “I don’t like change.” He says each word with emphasis, eyes trailing down to fixate somewhere past Hob. “And I still hold onto the things I can control, like my instruments–” his eyes swing up to regard Hob apologetically. “Or my clothes or my–” he brings a hand up and wiggles his fingers around his head. “My hair.” ch.4

"His majesty is pleased." ch.5

“You are obsessive,” he states, slow and cool and with a quiet smile cracking through his composure. “Just like me.” ch.7

“You look good.” Hob has to lean in to say so, unwilling to raise his voice amongst the roar of the fans. ch.11

“Del looks like porcelain, but she’s actually made of steel.” Desire swirls the contents of their glass before pushing their shoulders back with a deep breath. “She's tougher than all of us.” ch.11

“Everything. I want…” his fingers tighten in Hob’s hair, pulling him closer, speaking against his lips. “…Everything.” ch.14

26: Share your favorite detail

how intentionally coy Dream behaves. i love keeping him a mystery and deciding when and how much to allow his intentions to peek through has been so fun lol.

Despair is in fact covered in tattoos and piercings! i say this because i feel like sometimes i forget lmao. (but also her and Hob don't interact much so. my bad haha).

Delirium's constant explosion of color in the way she dresses <3

Hob's dedication to his job, Dream, and the people he cares about the most. i don't care if people think i'm making him too soft and good, im gonna project on that man and make him a sweet, sweet simp lmao

and ah, this doesn't matter anymore, and i kinda regret doing it but. i originally had Dream's favorite bass all black but the pickguard was white. so it actually looked like Jessamy. not gonna lie when @designtheendless drew it all black i decided i liked it better that way. and truly i do. that's when i went back to ch.1 and changed it haha. to actually see the guitar with Dream, all done up sparkling black and purple flecks... gosh it's just so him. but then i got up to the reveal that the guitar's name was Jessamy and i was like, "oh, right." lmao. no one seems to care so i'll leave it be.

27: Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

i have a lot lmao. and this post is already so long... im hoping i can get to some if not all of it in side fics in the future. but for now, here's some that's more like headcanons but:

Dream hates flying. he can full on go into panic attacks on the plane if he allows himself to get into his own head.

this was mentioned briefly in ch.4, while Dream was discussing the formation of the band, but Despair was in another band before joining Endless. she is the only character in the fic who gets to keep her English roots (lol sorry) and is the oldest in the band (30).

all of the band members ages: Dream, Desire, and Death are all 28 and Delirium is 22.

Dream can experience subdrop after going too hard during a performance.

Dream paints his own nails, it's very therapeutic.

as an exercise, i explored my own headcanons for Dream in this verse in a word doc, and one thing i will share from it that you might find interesting: If I were to ever give Dream a theological values, I would describe him as a satanist. He is a physical and pragmatic person, nonconforming, and although he is introverted, he enjoys being a part of a community (he loves his band).

also found this in my notes: How Desire and Dream got along was Death making them fight it out. Hob raises an eyebrow “like in a brawl?” He couldn't imagine Desire throwing hands. “No, in a pillow fight that escalated in hair pulling and verbal taunts.”

fic writer asks

[fallout4-reacts]

An actual prompt this time! I know you're busy and have plenty of things to write yet, take your time.

Soo I was thinking that maybe companions (and Maxson) horribly failing at confessing to Sole. Like for example they could clear out some Raiders, companion is impressed, tries to confess BAM Sole gets fucking decked by random raider they didn't kill. I feel like you could get pretty creative with that one. Like deathclaws, something exploding, just settlers running in, other companions interrupting etc.

Yeah! Sorry for my waiting list but this one just take me out of my bed literally Maybe it's better then just writing nothing and you all will forgive me... I will not taking it as an habit but it was just what I needed I think And maybe an EPIC ask... I think it will be (not in the sense I'll do an epic job, in the sense hmmm Titan Quest like the F.E.V. one and all) Oh, and take note you ask for... horribly

Part 1

Danse / Deacon / Nick Valentine

(Part 2 : Hancock, Preston, Strong)

(Part 3 : X6-88 alone because of a bug)

(Part 4 : Gage, MacCready, Piper)

(Part 5 : Cait, Curie, Codsworth, Dogmeat, Elder Maxson)

Danse : Sole returns. Sole returns to the bunker after a few days. Danse had time to clean and make the space more comfortable. He didn't consider establishing his new camp there because, after all, he didn't consider living at all.

But now he did.

And Sole came back.

Danse kept himself occupied during his few days alone, trying not to worry about what was happening to him. But he pondered his new envision of himself. Beyond the initial distaste, he felt a sense of conviction, similar to how Sole stood.

Whatever he is, he is a person with convictions for which he fought. He was a man of honor —a synth?— whose his brothers and sisters could trust.

He'd come a long way. His damned way into this group that turned his back on him after he had dedicated his blood and soul for them. And Maxson, whom he almost considered a friend, treated him as if he were a worm to be crushed.

After being reassured that he agreed with Sole on his right to life, his thoughts couldn't help but wander.

He recalls Sole standing in front of him, defending him against Maxson.

And even more.

More, a lot more.

He can't help but replay in his mind all of these events, all of these moments. When Sole emerged as an avenging angel, slaying all the ghouls in their way, Danse was convinced that his squad's final hour had arrived. They entered the paladin's life as a mythical entity, too great for regular mortals, an enigmatic spirit of the times sent to save them.

Then there's how they forced a comedy at Fort Strong while killing mutants. Danse had admonished them a few times for their lack of seriousness in the face of a critical assignment, but he couldn't keep a smile from rising on his face in the midst of their antics.

And all of their nonsense, every time they could.

Danse had pieced together Sole's intentions and the horror of their past, and he couldn't help but admire this person's trustworthiness. When Danse expressed concern about Sole's moral status following such heinous ordeals, Sole merely grinned and remarked that the companionship they were blessed with helped them get through.

Even after they returned from the Institute, learning the injurious truth, they had held on, had rounded the corner, and Danse felt better to know he had been by their side to help. To morally support them.

And now that Sole is standing in front of Danse again, slightly smiling and wondering what's next for him, Danse feels his throat tighten.

Because Danse has realized that he has strong affections for Sole.

Much more than a simple friendship.

He nods slowly.

"Perhaps we should consider venturing to Sanctuary. I am unable to endure it any further. First and foremost, I am a soldier, and a soldier without a purpose doesn't progress very far. I humbly express my desire to align myself with the esteemed Minutemen's structure. In the utmost, their cause is righteous, and they shall not forsake me nor open fire upon me. I have received word that their General harbors a troubling acceptance towards synths."

"They tolerate and love them a lot," Sole admits with a half-smile.

They proceed without adding anything. Thus far north, there is no road that crosses directly, at least not according to Sole. As best they can, they cross the countryside in wreckage, cutting valleys and hills.

And Danse remains quiet, lost in introspection.

Yes, he likes Sole a lot more than simply as a friend. There's a lot more. Soon, Sole will return to their Rail Road operations, to which Danse has never been requested (and he now understands why), while Danse will begin his Minutemen duties, most likely limited to the Castle for the time of his training. And, while it appeared to him at first to be the finest way to fill his days, he now has a peculiar uneasiness at the prospect of leaving Sole without delivering anything of what he feel upon them.

They are in the midst of the wreckage of a plane that crashed there two centuries ago. They passed through a few Minutemen (apparently, it is in the profession to check out every nook and cranny of the Commonwealth), but they are now alone and isolated in front of the cabin of the downed craft.

He clears his throat slightly in an attempt to catch the attention of his partner.

Sole looks at him.

"Something's wrong, Danse?"

When the realization occurs to the fallen Paladin that he would never again have his title before his name, he swallows hard. But that's not the issue he's having right now.

"I…I'm not really a man of words but…"

Sole erupts in laughter.

"Are you not a man of words? Yes, you ate a dictionary at birth!"

For a few whiles, the poor man panics, unable to restore balance after the sting of Sole. He had seized his courage in both hands in an attempt to open his heart, and his partner had fallen back into amusement. But he needs to tell them. He has to. He knows deep down that he has to.

"Sole, please."

They instantly calm down, recognizing that the man in front of them appears to be death serious.

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be like that. What I'm trying to say is this—

Sole's expression shifts from calm to dread in an instant, while Danse hears the anger of a beast he despises beyond all in his back. He despises her much more now that she's interfering in such an important situation.

He turns, weapon in hand, to fully answer to the deathclaw, and then follows a long and deadly combat. The beast is fierce and perhaps ancient, and it not easily defeated.

When they eventually prevail against the monster, with a few bites and scratches here and there, Danse don't dare trying again to express himself. And Sole now has to patch them up as soon as they find out a settlement, so they regretfully didn't think to inquire furthermore.

Deacon : His deathly bunny and he jumped into a plethora of wolf dens. Nothing, however, tops being in his favorite den.

The spy like it when Sole stays for the evening and then retires to the back of the HQ for a well-deserved rest. Despite the fact that he does not require sleep himself —as a synth, eh— he enjoys lying on the mattress next to Sole when they ask it, with a roll of the eyes at his answer.

They normally spend a few more moments on their mattresses talking about everything and nothing until one of them falls asleep —more often then none Sole, because Deacon is a synth, yup.

"Tell me again how he almost swallowed his beard."

Sole bursts out laughing.

"I told him to go to hell. That I was only in their camp for my friend Danse, and that by turning their back on him, the entire organization may roast, I would never support them again. Anyway, it's irrelevant now. Let them go to fight like the big boys they are against this blasted Institute and get the heck out of my territory."

Deacon like it when Sole becomes engrossed. The fire in their eyes awakens his heart's hearth. He would never have confessed to them. Never. Never previously has it's not have seems important.

There is still a serious moment, which Sole elaborates on.

"It's very little Deacon, to remain silent and, moreover, serious. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, you know. There isn't much to eat here. Perhaps a programming error. Perhaps I should run a diagnostic."

Sole's chuckling is priceless. Deacon smiles quietly as he listens to the pleasant melody in his ears. They stare at him again when his friend grows still serious.

They sit on the mattress and motion for Deacon to do the same. As he straightens, the spy stares down. Sole is right. He has words on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't dare to voice them for the first time in his holy life. Sole gently takes his hands in their, searching for his eyes.

"Deacon, you know you can tell me anything?"

The man glances into the other side and swallows cautiously. Yes, he has the right to tell Sole anything. But what about that? Can he? He has to. He has a debt to Sole. He owes them a frank and honest sincerity. And even the thought seems weird to him. A straightforward and open sincerity? He has no recollection of what it tastes like.

"I'll be honest then," he says, hesitantly, as if he must step into the void. "It's been a while since I should have told you."

He takes a deep breath, ready to blow it all, when an unusually powerful vibration is noticed.

Sole turns their gaze towards the headquarters, and suddenly they hear screaming and gunshots.

"But…"

Deacon leaps to his feet. This kind of roar his still heard in his worst nightmares. Just like the day the Coursers assaulted the old HQ. But isn't Tinker Tom meant to put cameras? How did the Coursers gain access to the facility, this time?

"The Brotherhoods!" yells someone from within.

Sole and Deacon are already on the front lines of defense, positioning themselves to hold the soldiers for as long as it takes for the others to flee. They didn't even need to talk. With Gloria, they hold the line and exchange gunshots with their enemies, keeping them in respect for so long that Deacon is confident their friends will have no problem to disappear in the ruins of Boston. Gloria then makes a strangled gasp and collapses to her knees, her gun no longer firing shots. Deacon peers at her, fear on his face as he realizes his friend has been badly shot.

"Glo!"

A grunt and a thud behind his back make him fear the worst. He attempts to hold the BoS at bay, but his weapon is too slow without Gloria's gatling and Sole's assault rifle.

Desperate, he throws a couple of grenades into the tunnel to gain time, and he manages to push the invaders back slightly.

He rushes alongside Sole right away.

"Eh!"

His friend clutches their bowels in agony, or what remains of them. Deacon wraps his arms around them and softly cradles them.

"Don't worry, everything will be alright. Let's go locate Carrington."

As he glances around, searching in the room... he realizes that the doctor is among the casualties. He growls and attempts to drag Sole further away, hoping to hide them.

"We're going to get through this," he said. "We're going to get through this, I promise" he repeats dejectedly.

“Liar,” breaths Sole before becoming limp in his arms.

Nick Valentine : They came to a halt near the GNN, in the ruins of an abandoned house of which he believes was once a settlement.

He finds it weird that the occupants simply vanished overnight, leaving no trace.

It happens occasionally, such as at University Point, although there are traces. There are dead settlers, downed synths, evidence, and clues.

But here, just the emptiness of tranquility, as if no one had lived there since the war.

But Sole is worn out, hungry, and thirsty, and all he wants is one evening off, possibly one night.

While his companion actually runs aground on a dingy old mattress in the living room of the modest house, Nick ensures that nothing threatens them. When the synth returns from his excursion, his partner hasn't moved one inch.

He moves careful closer.

"Well, ya gotta keep that belly of yours satisfied. And imbibing a beverage would assuredly be a wise course of action."

He was met with a growl in response. He looked around. The previously residents provided a fire pit. He reaches over, takes Sole's bag, and begins cooking something for them.

"I'll rouse you from your slumber once the soup is ready."

Another grunt joins in. He can't help but sneering. Of course, he finds a cauldron (even two) and every necessary instrument in Sole's backpack to prepare the thrifty dinner. Water canes, carrots, and a piece of meat that he starts cutting into small cubes. He whistles merrily, converting himself into a maid of the household, as he frequently does with Sole.

"Ah, the pangs of nostalgia for the flavors of garlic and cilantro doth visit me on occasion. Parsley and mint!

“Salt, pepper,” Sole mumbles under their arm, their head shifting slightly to reach a more comfortable position.

Nick digs deeper into the bag and uncovers a pepper and salt shaker.

"Well, I must say, this here stuff seems to possess quite the remarkable dose of radiation, and it should lacks any discernible flavor."

“Still good,” corrects the other.

Nick chuckles a little and adds the condiments, pleased to be able to improve the soup he's making.

He sits down and glances around the room while waiting for the meal to be ready. It had to have been a nice house. Here had to live a lovely little family. He takes note of the stairs. The bedrooms should be on the second floor. Children, most likely. A pleasant existence.

Normal.

His gaze is drawn to the limp figure on the mattress. His artificial lips slowly form a tiny smile. Sole, in all their magnificence, is a stunning, authoritarian, and noble individual. But the visual of Sole spread out, blindly trusting their companion for safety, entirely abandoned to the sleep that stole them, is something that few can boast of seeing.

And Nick owns it.

He has it all and meticulously details his friend.

And once more, this odd sensation arises in the hollow of his components.

It happens from time to time. Often. More and more. When their gazes cross. When they cheer at a triumph. When a file is closed. When they're simply the two of them at the end of an evening by the fire. When Sole departs for a while and then reappears on his doorstep.

And Nick can no longer mislead himself.

He experiences a feeling. This is not a programming error. His circuits are flawless in that. It's just a true, intense, genuine emotion.

He serves a bowl of soup and kneels next to Sole, softly shaking their shoulder.

"Stand up, Sleeping Beauty, lunch is served!"

Sole scolds and growls but sit in front of Nick, gratefully taking the bowl that their friend hands them. They begin to eat it carefully, as if lost in contemplation. And Nick can't stop admiring them, always fascinated by the elegance of their features and the brightness in their eyes.

His companion frowns as they glance back at him. "I got something stick in my teeth?"

Nick sighs and laughs a little.

"There's absolutely nothin' on here. None of it, pal."

"So what?"

"It seems that this, ah, old carcass of mine hasn't been spinning as smoothly as I'd prefer for quite some time now."

Sole places the dish on the ground, their face etched with anguish and earnestness.

"Nick, what's wrong?"

The synth is astonished.

"Oh, nothing to be awry. Not quite how you're envisioning it. It's just a tough nut to crack."

"Say so, and we'll figure it out together. Perhaps I am able to help you."

He places a sympathetic hand on Nick's metal one, the synth constantly amazed at how tactile Sole is with him despite his nature.

"How can you…help me?"

Even though Sole is the organic, it's Nick who swallows with difficulty. He lowers his head, his eyes hidden by the brim of his fedora, but Sole's hand rises from his to tuck beneath his chin.

"Hello, I'm here. I will always be there for you. No matter what."

After getting some good breaths, Nick takes the plunge to opens his bag. He opens his mouth to respond, but then a radroach erupts between them, knocking the bowl of soup over and driving both to rush to their feet and draw their weapons.

After the "vicious" opponent is dispatched, a nice laugh and a new bowl of soup, Sole raises an eyebrow.

"But what did you want to tell me, before our surprise guest wasted your delicious soup?"

Nick swallows and makes a dismissive hand motion.

"Nothin', absolutely nothin'. Drop it..."

[partyanimal167]

Stubborn as a Bull- Doflamingo x F!Reader

I have so many ideas for Doffy. It's crazy I haven't really written anything about him in almost a year. (I want to explore my dilfs more this year lol) I also want more chef/restaurant related fics because I have no concept of work-life balance and will indulge in my career-related fantasies. This will be a quickie

cw: modern au(?), fem reader, stubborn reader, rich af Doflamingo, mdni

You had never met a many so annoying yet tempting as the one before you. However, your stubbornness was a strength, so you knew you could play that game.

You had received an array of gifts and praises for your culinary feats. You had awards, interviews, glowing reviews in multiple restaurants. You were sent wines, knives, and books.

You stayed humble as you knew some celebs and politicians on a first-name basis since they were regulars and knew that the attention could bring both good and bad.

You had expected your ego to come and slap you in the face. All people tried to lure you in and trap you. It'd be a normal descent from success.

Instead, after service that you thought was normal, one Doflamingo Donquixote was asking for your number offering a job in the private sector as well as inviting you on a date. You graciously declined. You thought that'd be it.

It was not.

Because even though there was a three month wait list for your restaurant, you went out to a nearly-deserted dining room where only Doflamingo sat glancing at the menu and sipping the priciest wine.

"I thought that work had been your excuse. I can take you somewhere far from this, and you won't have to worry about the finances of your business." He was a mad man. A rich one, your business partner corrected, but you ignored him again.

Doflamingo bought the restaurant out for a week, and when you stopped going to the dining room after day three, he was shocked at where he found you.

You were all smiles and rainbows serving the less-fortunate at a local soup kitchen. You laughed when you saw the filthy rich man decked out in suits and jewelry standing in the less than stellar facilities. When you were done, he asked you why you were there instead of resting at home or something. "I live to feed people." was all you said.

Doflamingo stopped buying out the restaurant, but still floated in and around before and after business hours. You ignored him while you directed your cooks and tested recipes. Doflamingo admired the structure silently and wondered how far you would have ended up if you were in the corporate world. The skills were definitely transferrable.

You nearly lost it when the man bumped into your china--shattering it again--and brushed it off with a check. You knew replacements would be there by morning, but that wasn't the point. "Stop being so wasteful." So to get him out of your space, you let him take you out. You could hold up against fancy meals and shopping sprees.

You were not expecting an intimate setting in one of his homes where he cooked you his mother's favorite meal--the only thing he could make. You knew about the man's harshness, how he ran businesses. And while the food was delicious, you would never admit it.

"Too much salt." was all you said even after you cleaned your plate. You were stubborn to say things like him, but if he noticed that you stopped by his place to cook and gave him basic lessons, then he never said anything either.

You just ended up with a rich man ready for your call--a partner--but he wouldn't exactly say his feelings either.

Guess he was stubborn too.

~~~

Cheesy, yes but I will indulge! I was thinking about how chef people cook to feed others because we definitely don't get a luxurious paycheck from it. I wondered how Doffy would go about that difficultness.

I will write him more! Thanks for stopping by!

[thesupreme316]

Hey hun! I was wondering if you wrote for Takeshita? If you do can I have him and a gender neutral reader baking cinnamon rolls together?

Cinnabon Love (Konosuke Takeshita x GN!Reader):

Summary: You and Takeshita bake cinnamon rolls together.

Word Count: 931

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, thanks to anon for requesting this (sorry for taking so long). also thanks for being patient. it was my first time writing for him but I hope I did him justice. please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: I AM TALKING ABOUT PRE DON CALLIS (EW) TAKESHITA CUZ MY LIL CINNAMON ROLL BOI WAS PURE AND DELIGHTFUL

Taglist: @wwenhlimagines @hooks-martin @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff @triscillal

We all know that Takeshita loves Cinnabon

Like you were even doubting that he loves you because of how much he talks about it/eats it

I mean did he have a relationship confirmation on Twitter with the company

You: So is this our relationship? Or am I the third-wheeler?

Takeshita: You are the third wheeler….don’t ever think otherwise

You never understood what was so special about them…especially when you could get a whole pack from Walmart at a cheaper price

He gave you major side-eyes when you said that

Sometimes he would be very heartbroken that he couldn’t get some either due to a time crunch or the state not having one

So when you told him that you could make some at home; he lit up like a Christmas tree

But he quickly went back to his pouting state as he said he was a horrible baker

To which all you said was that he just had to put the desert on the sheet and bake it

You took him to the store and he just stared at the different products Cinnabon had

Cinnamon rolls, cookies, cake, even breakfast sandwiches

But he ultimately decided to get cinnamon rolls and cookies after a rough day (of Don Callis trying to corrupt his sweet mind)

You brought the bags in as Takeshita raced to the kitchen, slamming the chilled dough on the counter. Quickly, you put the groceries up while Takeshita was scrambling for bowls. Once he found said bowl and slammed the cabinet door shut, he slumped his shoulders, pausing all actions. You looked over at him confused, questioning why he suddenly lost energy.

“Takeshita, honey, what’s wrong?” You asked

He looked over at you with puppy dog eyes, “I don’t know what to put in the bowl. Even if I did, I can’t bake.” If this man was a dog, you would have sworn you saw his tail stop wagging. You giggled a little bit.

“Honey, we don’t have to mix anything. Cinnabon has their rolls ready to bake.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his tall (beautiful, structured, golden, toned-) body. He smiled as he put an arm over your back, reciprocating the embrace. But you couldn’t help to notice that his hand twitched when it made contact with your back, it only does that when a certain thing happens. You sighed as you proceeded to ask, “Takeshita, did you slam your finger in the cabinet?” He nodded slowly against the top of your head. “Do you want ice?”

A moment of silence went by, and as soon as you were gonna repeat yourself, Takeshita spoke up in a very sheepish and quiet tone, “Yes, please.”

After getting him the ice, you instructed him to sit down as you popped open the cylinder of cinnamon roll dough. His eyes lit up as he saw the raw dough rise ever so slightly. With his other hand, he started to place the rolls in the buttered pan. You soon had to take over as he nearly ate a raw roll and almost dropped the pan.

You slid the full pan into the hot oven, damn near burning your eyebrows off. As you closed the oven door, music started to play in the background. You turned around to Takeshita doing a little dance, making you laugh. You joined in and started dating as time went on. As the rolls were baking, Takeshita played some of his favorite songs and reminisced about the trips you two would take to different bakeries (each time having a different lead-up).

As the last minutes approached, Takeshita just sat in front of the oven, waiting for it to ding. When it did, you nearly ate the floor trying to make sure he didn’t open it immediately and take out the scorching pan.

“Why are you getting in the way of my love?” He pouted. You rolled your eyes as he basically disregarded you.

“They need to cool down first and then you can touch them…you overgrown toddler.” You said smacking his noninjured hand away.

As soon as the rolls came out of the oven, Takeshita started to ice them (you didn’t even know when he heated the icing). You stayed back and just watched as joy overtook his face. You loved seeing him so happy, especially after a long week of traveling and wrestling. You knew he needed this; a very cheap and content version of therapy.

You watched him plate a single cinnamon roll, grab a fork, and dig into it. Biting into it, a smile took over Takeshita’s face (and yours as well). “How does it taste?” You asked leaning your head on your hand.

“It tastes even better cause we made it together.” He said with a massive grin on his face. Your heart fluttered at the statement. You reached over the counter, aiming to pick up a roll. But your chance was quickly stopped as Takeshita’s hand lightly hit yours with the icing spoon. You dropped your jaw in disbelief as he didn’t allow you to get a treat. “No, you can eat one of your disgusting Walmart rolls.” He said with a mocking voice. Your face scrunched up before he gave you a small corner of his on a napkin.

The nerve of this man….but you still loved him regardless.

[iivantablackii]

Evermore

Chapter 3 - Fire

Adam x Eve Story (Hazbin Hotel)

A/N: I just finished finals a few days ago and after some other shenanigans finally got this out, hopefully you all enjoy soon we will kickstart the story most of us are all familiar with between these two...but I'll try to push more updates out so it's not just one post every month anymore since I should have more time to write since I am doing online schooling this summer.

Eve continued to wander around the meadow, picking random flowers off the ground, taking just a moment to admire them before moving them to be with the others she had gathered. Unknowingly building a bouquet with an array of colors to choose from but mostly pink as she seemed to favor that color over the rest, humming to herself- it was much more reliable now that her hair was tied back to move around. She did miss how the cool breeze would blow wildly through her locks, but she also liked how pretty her hair looked this way.

She felt as if she needed to move, most of the time just trying to find something new, she loved how wonderful this world was. It made her think, that she did not have that many answers but she felt comfort in what she was certain about, and one fact she knew is that she was happy. Just enjoying the evening and the company she had here in the garden.

“What are you doing?”

Looking back, she noticed the first man sitting with his back leaning against a nearby rock. His hand holding his head, propped against his knee. His gaze was curious, just his presence seemed to make her want to discover more. He was her only companion in the garden, her mind constantly on the move she felt as if he was her center point. Always wandering she was, but she always would make her way back to him.

“I am collecting flowers, I had the most wonderful idea!” She smiled, standing tall she pushed her arms forward to present the flowers to him, “You say I am beautiful with my hair braided, I was wondering if these flowers would look pretty braided as well.”

Adam laughed a bit, raising an eyebrow, his blue eyes challenging her own, “That’s so weird, what do you mean braid them?”

Eve did not respond, choosing to quickly make her way to him as she excitedly bounced, unable to contain her delight at the idea she had come up with. Laying the flowers out in front of the two of them, she began to scan the choices she had in front of her. Looking at the yellow flowers, she seemed to light up as she picked up gleefully.

She did not know how to put her thoughts into words, moving the stems of the flowers along. Calling back to what Adam had taught her when it came to braiding, taking the stems of the flowers, she began to try and focus. Failing a few times as the flowers occasionally would pop out of their place, she would take a moment to ponder how she would fix it, before getting into the grove until she slowly began to make a band out of the flowers. 

It was quite rough when she was done with the circle, but he began to see what she meant by how it could be pretty. Eve’s eyebrows furrowed as she began to fix her mistakes, pulling away at stray leaves or strengthening their structure so it wasn’t so fragile.

Adam watched her focus with great interest before he had a ring of blossoms shoved in front of his face. The woman was proud of her final product, “I call this a flower crown!”

“Oh dang,” Adam said, grabbing onto the flower crown, he did his best to make sure he wasn’t too rough with it. He seemed to be much stronger than her in physical strength, so he had a tendency to break things sometimes like large sticks or smashing fruits in his hands when he gripped them too hard. Eve was always curious, coming up with crazy ideas but this was the first time she made anything, “What does this thing do?”

Humming to herself, she tilted her head to the side, “I am not sure, I guess I did not think about it that far…”

“So, it’s useless?” He jabbed, dragging out the ‘o’ as he spoke, “Not going to lie I thought there would be more to it than just being pretty.”

“Oh shut it-” She sent him a playful glare, rolling her eyes at his tease at her. But his comment did get her to think a little more, before gesturing somewhat urgently for him to do something, “Maybe it could be more, go on, try something-”

Sending her a confused glance, she just threw her hands up and gave him a ‘just try anything’ kind of look. He just fixated back to the flower crown confused, before he moved one of his arms through the hole of the band, wearing it and looking at Eve silently asking her what she thought of this use of her creation.

Staring for a few moments, she shook her head in disapproval, that did not seem right.

She watched as Adam shrugged, moving his arm outside of the flower crown, gazing down at the flowers as his brain racked for more ideas of what he could do. Before he just settled on looking through its center at Eve as maybe it could be some sort of frame for himself.

But she shook her head too, that did not feel right either.

He looked at the crown again, slowly he moved his hands up, placing it above his head before letting it rest on the top of his hair. And for a moment she felt as if he seemed to light up with the golden ring around his head.

Adam always seemed to be nice in his appearance, but right now he seemed more radiant than ever to her. The way streaks of his dark brown hair shined even more golden at the shift of the light with the flowers atop his head, his eyes holding the same azure blue of the sky above, how his pale skin would be dusted a slight rosy tint whenever her eyes held onto his for long. 

“Perfect.” Was all she could say to describe what she saw.

Adam blushed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously at her comment, “Really? Are you sure it isn’t stupid-looking?”

“I can assure you it looks anything but stupid.” Perfect was just the word that captured her thoughts, there was no other way. She could not hide how she admired him, how he inspired her. How she wished to share every thought, no matter how foolish, just to hear his laugh. How she wandered the garden always holding his hand, just to bask in the comfort of his company. How she loved to discover more, just to see how his eyes lit up at every new thing she showed him. “You are truly my muse, Adam.”

“You always have a funny way of flattering me.” Adam smiled as he let out a light laugh, but he couldn’t go another moment without teasing her again, “Or maybe you're just a funny little lady-”

“Oh hush it, you always ruin these moments.” The warmth of her smile clearly showed she felt the opposite of what she said. They spent most of their time when they weren’t exploring teasing another like this, playfully bickering, but there was always this undertone of just security. Eve knew nothing of discomfort, but with him, everything seemed okay.

“Do you mind if I give this a try?” Adam asked, looking down at the flowers she had left, and the normally cocky or playful smile disappeared to something a little more sheepish as he couldn’t meet her eyes when he admitted this last part, “And I might need some help on how to make one…”

“I’d be happy to show you if it helps?” Eve offered, to which her companion gave a slow bashful nod, which got a chuckle out of her. Moving back to the flowers, she began to pick out an assortment of more random colors she thought would look nice together rather than sticking into one color family.

But Adam went straight for specific flowers, they were like roses, but wilder in the number of petals they had and how it seemed to almost be frilly, they were pink but seemed to grow paler at the outer edges. He liked them a lot, they looked like her eyes.

At first, it started with her carefully explaining how to begin making the flower crown, as she began to move her hands along to visually show him how to do what she was saying. At first, it was slow but steady, but he began to fumble and grow frustrated at how difficult it seemed, followed by Eve showing him small tricks she had picked up and taught herself minutes earlier.

But it didn’t seem to be working, Adam muttering swears under his breath as he struggled with his flower crown, while Eve scolded him lightly for being too stubborn to ask for help from her to fix it.

“Come on let me help!” Eve had already finished two more larger crowns that she began to wear one around her neck and the other around Adams. She had been trying to grab onto the crown he was working on to help him fix it but he was being hard-headed about it.

“No- fuck you, I got this.” Adam turned his body away so she couldn’t grab onto it, shielding her from seeing what he was doing.

Eve persisted, trying to grab at it so she didn’t have to hear his whining, because as funny as it was she didn’t want him to be this upset. Enough was enough, she just wanted to help him.

Adam just decided it was done, before placing his half-finished flower crown onto Eve's head. He couldn’t get the shape just right, instead of the crown being a full circle it was shaped more like a crescent, framing the sides of her face as she looked up at him confused about what just happened.

His eyes darted away, his cheeks flushed as red as roses when he muttered, “I wanted it to be a gift for you, I thought it would be easier since I know how to braid your hair…and it’s not so much a gift since it’s kind of…broken.” Not finished, but he didn’t know how to fix it. And yet it still looked wonderful on her, like a laurel wreath but rather made from these special roses, that looked like they belonged with her. Adam could not continue to be frustrated with his creation when Eve’s smile suddenly became that much more dazzling. 

“I love it!” And those words seemed to make Adam more relieved, his gift weighed nothing atop the woman's head, it didn’t seem to move from her hair.

But a twist of sadness seemed to pool in Adam’s chest, not much but it did frustrate him that discovering new things came so easy for his companion. She was the more curious of the two, always pulling them along to the next thing, and while Adam had no qualms about being the only thing to keep the woman down to earth, he wanted to discover too.

The man looked to the side, grabbing a nearby rock and fiddling with it in his hand, his brows furrowed into a look as he pondered what he could do. Curiosity wasn’t something he strongly felt, on his own he was content with what he had, but with her? 

“I want to find something new for us.”

Eve looked up at him, before chuckling softly, “Why? Are you already growing bored?”

“Shut it, you’re getting too cocky from all these little discovers I swear.” 

“Wins are wins, who is to say my wins are not yours too?”

“Well, it’s not that I’m not happy that you're smart or anything but…” Adam let out a frustrated groan, he wished he knew how to convey his thoughts and feelings in words, but he drew a blank. Just staring at the stone in his hands, wiping at it with no real reason or intention for it. Just wished to do something with himself as he thought of what to do or say, how could he put it into words, how he wanted to leave her breathless just as he did with everything small miracle or joy she would carefully discover just to bring back to him. He knew of some already, but by her side, everything seemed so much more vivid, he just wanted to bring that same light into her eye as she did for him.

Instead of continuing to be her usual witty self, Eve just waited patiently for him to sort out what he meant, before the man just sighed and tiredly threw his hand to his side, the stone in his hand hitting the boulder he was leaning his back again.

But that’s when they both saw it, a spark from the stone he was holding, it seemed that much more bright thanks to the sun almost fully being down. The two sat there with their mouths slightly agape at what had just happened, just dumbly staring at the rock and then at another as they began to process what had happened. “How did you- do that again! Do that again!!” Eve quickly moved closer, wishing for the first man to make the light again. It was incredible, how he had created momentary beautiful despite his temporary vexation, it was quite funny how he managed to effortlessly catch her constant wandering attention. Even when he had never exactly meant to.

Adam didn’t exactly know how or really why it happened, he wasn’t paying all that much attention but he just decided to recreate the move again, but this time putting more force behind the swing, the spark was larger this time, as they both got a better look at how the small light seemed to almost jump around for a moment before disappearing.

Humming in confusion, Eve looked at Adam with a puzzled look, “Maybe the light needs something to land on?”

Looking to her side, she picked up the flower left and held it out to Adam, who took the flower by its stem from her. Holding the flower by the rock the two eagerly peered down at the spot, but not too close as to give the light more space to jump around. Adam struck the flint down at the rock once more, then quickly pushed the blossom closer to cushion the lights fall back down.

And this time, the blaze stayed, burning brightly as its flame began to slowly line the flower's petals. The two humans were fascinated with how it seemed to eat away so gently at the rose, holding the flower between the two, Eve’s hands slowly encased around the first man as she curiously looked down at the small sun Adam seemed to have brought down to share between them.

“You- You’re like magic…” Eve decided, looking around the two as she began to collect blades of grass and sticks to make a bed for the flames. Assuming it needed to lay on something to stay around longer, she placed it on a small dirt patch, before guiding Adam to place the flower among the collection of dry leaves and scraps of wood.

The fire only grew once it had something new to set upon, it danced happily at the two, and it illuminated the section of the meadow the two stayed at. Embers slowly rose through the air, glittering around the two, and now they had noticed how it warmed up the space around them, which normally was always cool at this time. 

Adam quite liked it, he always seemed to prefer the day overnight, as he found the warmth of the sun more comfortable than the crisp breezes of the night. Moving closer, he brought a hand closer to the flames, wanting to see if it would like to properly be held in his palm. But when the blaze licked his hand, he made a small yelp back, shaking his hand slightly while the woman beside him only seemed to laugh at the sudden noise he made.

It barely hurt, as it only touched him for a brief moment, but the more prideful side of him couldn’t help but be slightly upset at how she laughed at him when all he wanted was for his hands to hold warmth. But his frustration only made her giggle more, shutting her eyes as she held her stomach slightly.

But then she felt two hands encase her face, holding her in a soft but firm grip, the way Adam held her she was forced to look up at him when she opened her eyes once more. The light from the fire shone beautifully against his light skin, it made the flowers atop his head made it as if it was glowing above his head, creating a sort of spotlight for her to admire him under. A glimpse of gold in his eyes as he looked down at her.

It set something in her chest ablaze when she noticed how his lips stretched into a smirk, as he laughed a little feeling how her face seemed to grow hotter, under his touch, “Who’s laughing now?”

Bringing her hands up, holding his face in her soft touch. With the fire Adam had discovered beside them keeping the two toasty at night for once. She only could admire how he seemed to bring the sun to them, adoring the light not because of how brightly it shined but for how it illuminated him perfectly.

She brought him down to her height, placing her lips against his temple, before touching her forehead against his, laughing as she looked deeply into his eyes. Uncaring of how she got lost in the blue and comfort of his touch, as with Adam she had no clue what he had set ablaze in her heart. But with him perhaps it was okay not to know all the answers, just that in this moment how he made her feel like the happiest being in all of the universe,

“It’s still me…”

[thefeathercollective]

we're 99.9% sure that portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa was plural.

okay uh disclaimer. we're not a psychology or literature expert by any means. we rarely even read poetry. we only heard of this guy in high school literature class and the thought stuck with us and then we found plausible evidence lmao. also, as a plural system ourselves, we're clearly biased.

and a considerable amount of this post will be sourced from wikipedia. and this is the first time we've made a post like this. please don't come after us I'm just writing this for fun lmao

huge ramble ahead!

who even was that man

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (Portuguese: [fɨɾˈnɐ̃du pɨˈsoɐ]; 13 June 1888 – 30 November 1935) was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher, and philosopher, described as one of the most significant literary figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest poets in the Portuguese language. He also wrote in and translated from English and French.

yeah that's who the man was. but what really sparked our interest in him during class and made us wonder if he was plural were his...

✨heteronyms✨

y'know pseudonyms? when someone writes under a different name than their own for whatever reason? these are similar, but the catch is that the different names have different personalities, supposed appearances, philosophies, all that shit.

the term was coined by Pessoa himself, and his heteronyms were written as if they were real people. they had detailed careers, histories, etc. he had at least 70, although I vaguely remember some other source estimating it at around 100.

"but eva, these could just be OCs or something!",

he had 3 main ones though, being Alberto Caeiro (known for interpreting the world as-is, without greater meaning or anything, like some sorta anti-poet), Álvaro de Campos (a naval engineer who even had multiple phases in his philosophy) and Ricardo Reis (who wrote with a lot of structure and rationality, and was very pessimistic).

I predict someone typing. to that, I begin my endless copy-paste + ramble about all the things that make us think the heteronyms were headmates.

I'll throw in a section of a letter Pessoa wrote to some other poet (bolding the parts I find relevant because I don't love walls of text lmao)

How do I write in the name of these three? Caeiro, through sheer and unexpected inspiration, without knowing or even suspecting that I'm going to write in his name. Ricardo Reis, after an abstract meditation, which suddenly takes concrete shape in an ode. Campos, when I feel a sudden impulse to write and don't know what. (My semi-heteronym Bernardo Soares, who in many ways resembles Álvaro de Campos, always appears when I'm sleepy or drowsy, so that my qualities of inhibition and rational thought are suspended; his prose is an endless reverie. He's a semi-heteronym because his personality, although not my own, doesn't differ from my own but is a mere mutilation of it. He's me without my rationalism and emotions. His prose is the same as mine, except for certain formal restraint that reason imposes on my own writing, and his Portuguese is exactly the same – whereas Caeiro writes bad Portuguese, Campos writes it reasonably well but with mistakes such as "me myself" instead of "I myself", etc.., and Reis writes better than I, but with a purism I find excessive…)

so not only does he describe writing Caeiro completely unexpectedly, he also gives the same sort of opinion about his heteronyms' writings that we've seen (and experienced) plural folks give about their headmates' typing or drawing styles.

hell, "writes better than I but with a purism I find excessive" is exactly my opinion of lynn when he does our assignments lmao

the semi-heteronym surfacing when Pessoa is sleepy could be some sorta dissociative state that lets a headmate come through, be it straight-up fronting or passive influence... but I'm probably forcing it too much here.

uhhh here's something on the heteronym thing from some guy called richard zenish. I bolded some parts again

For each of his 'voices', Pessoa conceived a highly distinctive poetic idiom and technique, a complex biography, a context of literary influence and polemics and, most arrestingly of all, subtle interrelations and reciprocities of awareness. [...] Pessoa was often unsure who was writing when he wrote, and it's curious that the very first item among the more than 25,000 pieces that make up his archives in the National Library of Lisbon bears the heading A. de C. (?) or B. de D. (or something else).

"okay.... they could still be characters though"

the heteronyms were aware of and sometimes interacted between themselves. wikipedia's list of Pessoa's heteronyms even has the man himself as a heteronym and pupil of Alberto Caeiro, although I don't feel like going after the source for that bit.

dear hypothetical person I'm quoting here, you're entitled to your opinion. but how about we take, say... a more DID/OSDD-y approach to things? because there's things that hint that Fernando Pessoa's plurality could be traumagenic and/or disordered too.

When Pessoa was five, his father, Joaquim de Seabra Pessôa, died of tuberculosis and less than seven months later his younger brother Jorge, aged one, also died (2 January 1889).

(written by himself about himself:) Nothing had ever obliged him to do anything. He had spent his childhood alone. He never joined any group. He never pursued a course of study. He never belonged to a crowd. The circumstances of his life were marked by that strange but rather common phenomenon – perhaps, in fact, it's true for all lives – of being tailored to the image and likeness of his instincts, which tended towards inertia and withdrawal.

(written by a schoolfellow:) For one of his age, he thought much and deeply and in a letter to me once complained of "spiritual and material encumbrances of most especial adverseness". He took no part in athletic sports of any kind and I think his spare time was spent on reading. We generally considered that he worked far too much and that he would ruin his health by so doing.

so childhood trauma, check...? at the very least this stuff doesn't sound very good for a child's mental health.

Pessoa's earliest heteronym, at the age of six, was Chevalier de Pas. Other childhood heteronyms included Dr. Pancrácio and David Merrick, followed by Charles Robert Anon, a young Englishman who became Pessoa's alter ego.

"I can remember what I believe was my first heteronym, or rather, my first nonexistent acquaintance — a certain Chevalier de Pas — through whom I wrote letters to myself when I was six years old, and whose not entirely hazy figure still has a claim on the part of my affections that borders on nostalgia. I have a less vivid memory of another figure . . . who was a kind of rival to the Chevalier de Pas. Such things occur to all children ? Undoubtedly — or perhaps. But I lived them so intensely that I live them still; their memory is so strong that I have to remind myself that they weren’t real."

oh I just found some spiritual stuff too

the appearance of the first heteronym was after his family members died so that's one thing... and like, that's not just one childhood heteronym but at least four. and well, to me they sound a bit too vivid for your average imaginary friend.

Pessoa's interest in spiritualism was truly awakened in the second half of 1915, while translating theosophist books. This was further deepened in the end of March 1916, when he suddenly started having experiences where he believed he became a medium, having experimented with automatic writing. [...] Besides automatic writing, Pessoa stated also that he had "astral" or "etherial visions" and was able to see "magnetic auras" similar to radiographic images. [...] Mediumship exerted a strong influence in Pessoa's writings, who felt "sometimes suddenly being owned by something else" or having a "very curious sensation" in the right arm, which was "lifted into the air" without his will. Looking in the mirror, Pessoa saw several times what appeared to be the heteronyms: his "face fading out" and being replaced by the one of "a bearded man", or another one, four men in total.

........

man, this wikipedia article is extensive and full of stuff that supports our silly little theory, huh.

yeah, so he attributed it to spiritual reasons which is fair and valid, but... "owned by something else" all of a sudden? the thing with the right arm sounding a lot like partial possession in tulpamancy? seeing his heteronyms' faces in the mirror?

yeahhhh.

(I'm guessing the magnetic aura thing could be some sorta derealization, contributing to the he-was-a-dissociative-system hypothesis, but that's yet another stretch on my part.)

(plus, spiritual plurality is a thing.)

oh! this thing he wrote sounds a lot like it too.

"This tendency to create around me another world . . . began in me as a young adult, when a witty remark that was completely out of keeping with who I am or think I am would sometimes and for some unknown reason occur to me, and I would immediately, spontaneously say it as if it came from some friend of mine whose name I would invent, along with biographical details, and whose figure — physiognomy, stature, dress and gestures — I would immediately see before me."

let's just do a quick google..

am I biased? yes, very much so. but y'know. you can see I have my reasons.

to see if any people with more qualifications than we have think the same about Fernando Pessoa possibly being plural lmao.

...oh, yes. contrary to what we thought a couple years ago when we had that class about the guy, other people have indeed thought the same. and written about it.

keywords "fernando pessoa mpd" give us:

this paper from 2012 (in portuguese) that... well, I *think* it claims he had mpd but it's very convoluted and abstract about it

this little... forum post? from 2009 that quotes a dead link :v

this one seems kinda cool. it regards Pessoa's positive approach to his heteronym-having as a creative condion called Pessoa Syndrome, and later mentions some Multiple Personality Order (not disorder). don't love some of its wording about mental disorders and madness... it's good to see someone consider healthy multiplicity as a thing that exists, though. it also claims Pessoa became someone with multiple personalities through his heteronymic writing, which is yet another possible origin I hadn't considered before for some fucking reason.

this one cites a dissociative process

this one straight up calls it "subject plurality"!

conclusion ig. I'm pretending to be organized here.

other keywords (like "fernando pessoa dissociative") provide some more results :0 but I've been writing this post for far too long now and would rather not read through more odd wording lmao

it really surprises me that wikipedia doesn't mention the possibility at all from what I've read and ctrl+F'ed. I thought we were being a conspiracy theorist about it but then I found even more stuff to back us up, including other people's analyses. so that's nice.

and I think this kind of thing, of plurals of the past, should be talked about more in the community. it's really interesting to say the least.

...

how does one even end a post like this one.

uhh thanks for reading!!