#Or not do it at all and go straight into working and apprenticeships

[oifaaa]

OH MOOD I remember making an au for a fandom I was in and very purposefully setting it in an Irish secondary school uniforms and all. Then with another fandom was like “this fictional world’s education system is structured like the Irish one because that’s what I know and fuck you<3”

There should be more fics with very American properties where for no reason it suddenly takes place in a different country I just think it'd be so funny

[suhkusa]

HELL OF A WOMAN.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

CW. slight enemies-to-lovers, some angst but not heavy, fluff, you're both snarky (romantic), ~4k words, slice of life, reader has a healing quirk

A/N. i'd say slowburn but it's only slowburn because i barely ever write fics this long lol

Throughout your time in the nurse’s office as Recovery Girl’s student apprentice, you��ve met many different students. They all varied– whether it be their quirk, their grade, or even the injury they had come in for. 

Students from the general education, support and management departments rarely ever made their rounds to the nurse’s office, only coming in for a simple cut or bruise. 

That left you with those in the hero department.

You got along well with nearly all of them, even going as far as becoming friends with a few. And while that was true, of course there were gonna be some who you couldn’t get along with. But, there was specifically one student you could not stand. And he’d probably say the same thing for you as well. 

It was none other than Bakugou Katsuki.

———

The first time you really interacted with Bakugou Katsuki was within the first month of your apprenticeship. It was in your 3rd year, and you had already been managing well. 

Your day had started off fantastic. Recovery Girl had left you to run the office by yourself, thoroughly trusting your working and communication skills, so that she could run errands out of town. 

The office hadn’t been too busy, allowing you time to finish a bit of your homework at your own little desk next to hers. A few people came and left, just needing a simple healing of their arm or leg. 

You had been lost in thought when he slammed the door open, practically huffing as he walked in. Putting your pencil down, your wide eyes looked up and met his own. It felt as though he was burning a hole straight through your skull with the way he stared you down.

You didn’t even have to ask to know who he was. In your first and second year, his face was plastered nearly everywhere throughout the media. Bakugou Katsuki. But you’d never talked to him. Well, until now.

Assuming he’d be like every other person who walked through that door, stating their business then quietly leaving, you broke the deafening silence.

“Uh, yes?” you let out, cringing internally at the way the words came out.

Bakugou looked around the room before back at you, “Where the hell is the old woman at?” he spat.

You were seemingly surprised at his not-so-subtle entrance and dirty language. 

“If you meant Recovery Lady by “old woman”, then she’s out of town for some errands. I can help you if–”

“And who the hell are you?” he snapped before you finished, impatience laced in the way he spoke and stood before you.

You could practically feel how your jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed at his blunt question. If he didn’t hold back, then why should you?

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m Recovery Lady’s helper. Now,” you put on the most calm and collected voice you could manage, “what the hell do you want?”

The day was going well, before now at least, and you were not going to let some egoistic, cocky guy ruin it for you. Tug of war is a game with two different sides, and you weren’t gonna let him win victoriously. 

Bakugou’s face scrunched up at the words you spat right back at him, opening his mouth to retort something– probably an insult– before letting it fall shut with a grunt. 

“What the– Just put a bandage on this shit,” he held his arm out for you to see a scrape wound running up the length of it.

You raised an eyebrow as you glanced between the injury and his eyes that looked down at you expectantly. And waited.

“The fuck you staring at?” he spoke– yelled, really– before stepping a bit closer.

A smirk tugged up at the corner of your lips before you sat back in your spinning chair, crossing a leg over the other. Like you were the one expecting something.

“You–”

“Please.” you cut him off, lifting a hand to inspect your nails nonchalantly. Hm, maybe you should get them done.

“Like hell I’m saying that, do something about–”

“Please.”  you repeated, emphasizing the word in a louder tone. You looked at him from behind your lifted hand, the smirk that once teased at your mouth now sitting there fully– mocking him.

“Fine! Fuckin’ fine!”  Bakugou snarled, his pearly whites peeking from under his lips. “Will you please do something about this?”

Satisfied, you responded, “‘Kay,”

———

Perhaps you should’ve bit your tongue before you spoke to the oh so great Bakugou Katsuki. In your defense, you didn’t know he’d hold it against you. You were joking, obviously. It was obvious. Right?

And so, everytime he walked into the nurse’s office, he’d send you the same nasty glare, practically seething through his teeth as he made eye contact with you. You knew exactly why he did the gesture every time he came in, but how long did this guy hold grudges for? It wasn’t like you publicly humiliated him or anything. 

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” you asked him one day as the Recovery Lady escorted him to one of the vacant cots, leg stretched out as you leaned back in your chair. 

“Hah? Like what?” he grunted in your direction as he took a seat, an eyebrow raised in curiosity? Irritation? Probably both.

“Mm,” you looked up to the roof as if you were thinking, “Like you like me or something, I mean it’s really flattering but you don’t have to sta—”

“As if. I’d rather watch an elephant take a dump than stare at your face any day,” Bakugou inputted as he lifted his arm to allow Recovery Lady to heal the injury along his bicep.

“Oh really? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, Bakugou,” 

You fidgeted with the pen in your hand as you watched his face scrunch up. 

“You know what—”

Just as he was about to rise and stand from his spot, Recovery Lady quickly and gently pushed him to sit back down. 

“Y/N,” she emphasized your name with a familiar tone, “I think we’re running low on bandages, could you go get some from the storage room?” 

Even though her words were anything but hostile, you and Bakugou could tell she was scolding you. You let out a sigh. 

“Yeah, I can,” 

Getting up from your seat, you set your things down before making your way to the door. Not before stealing one more glance at Bakugou. He was also staring back at you, but this time there was a bit of cockiness in his eyes. Getting the last word never hurt anybody.

You slid the door open, eyes still locked with his, “You know, you’d probably look cute as well if you didn’t look like you were constipated 24/7,” 

“The fuck—”

Quickly sticking your tongue out at him, you shut the door before he was able to finish his sentence.

———

The nurse’s office had been particularly quiet today. The slow day in the office gave you more free time to yourself, which allowed you to catch up on a couple past assignments. Only two or three people came in before the lunch bell rang. After packing your bag, you waved off Recovery Lady as you excused yourself to the cafeteria.

And when you returned, it was still quiet. You quickly noticed that it was also void of Recovery Lady, the short woman nowhere to be seen. As you slid the door shut behind you, you heard a hushed groan come from one of the beds. Your head snapped to the source of the noise, quietly stepping closer to the person. 

Almost naturally, you recognized the disheveled blonde hair. Bakugou. 

But this was different. New. He was quiet for once, and the eyes that almost always were glaring at you were closed shut. Your body relaxed at the unusual sight of him. And maybe if you were crazy, you would’ve thought he was cute. 

As you got closer, you noticed the slight crease in his eyebrows, as well as the bandage that was wrapped around his torso. 

Perhaps you got too caught up in the moment, though. Too caught up in the way his chest slowly rose with each breath, the way his skin seemed to glow under the sun’s filtered light. So caught up that you didn’t realize those familiar crimson eyes were staring back up at you.

“You a pervert now?” his voice cut through silence, causing you to tense and step back. “The hell are you looking at?”

For a moment, it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. You caught yourself trying to find something to look at. Something other than him.

“Looks like you’re in quite a predicament,” you commented with a breathy laugh, not really knowing what else to say. Stupid joke.

“No, really?” sarcasm was laced in his tone, but you could hear the struggle as he grunted quietly afterwards.

Maybe you’d spare him for the day.

“Recovery Lady hasn’t gotten to you, yet?” you asked as you slowly made your way to your desk, setting down your bag.

“Nah,” he let out a huff as he sat up, “Shit— she wasn’t here when I got here,”

Letting out a hum in response, “Do… Do you want me to help you then?” you asked, even though you already knew the likely answer.

“What the hell do you think—” 

“You know, on second thought I have some homework—”

He let out an exasperated sigh before surrendering once again, “Yes. Yes, please. Help me,”

Biting back a small smile, you turned back around to make your way back to the injured man. You pulled up a chair next to the bed, sliding in closer. After gesturing him to lay back down, your hands carefully peeled back the bandages that covered the wound. You’d never get used to the sight of blood. 

You could feel the way his body tensed every time your hand neared his injury, though you tried your best not to touch it at all. 

“Sorry if it hurts a little,” you said, lifting your hands over the gash, “Just do your best to relax,”

“Whatever,” Bakugou responded as he turned his head away from you. 

It happened in a flash. From his peripheral view, he saw your hands glow, and the next thing he knew: he was fine again. Not a scar, scratch, or wound in sight. Like it wasn’t even there. 

Though you enjoyed the perplexed look in his eyes, you could feel yourself becoming rather light-headed. You took a deep breath before standing up and going back to your desk to get your water bottle. 

As you took a sip of your water, you watched as he sat up in the cot, lifting up his shirt to examine the skin. 

“Never seen a quirk before?” you laughed at his amusement.

His face quickly snapped back to his normal grouchy look, “No, just didn’t know you had a quirk at all, you usually just bandage my injuries up. Plus healing quirks are rare,”

“Mm, I get that a lot,” you mused, twisting the cap back onto your water, “It’s just a normal healing quirk though. I’ve been working with Recovery Lady to train it’s capabilities,”

Bakugou grunted in response. Silence filled the room for a moment before he decided to speak up. 

“Gonna head back to class,” he stated curtly, swiftly putting his blazer back on before stepping towards the door, “Thanks, I guess,” 

With one last glance back at you, he was gone. Leaving you and the rapid thumping of your heart alone in the room once again. 

———

“Is anyone sitting here?” a gruff voice came from above.

With the rest of the noise in the cafeteria, you nearly didn’t hear him. Your eyes gazed up from your food toward him, eyebrow shooting up in question.

“Uhm,” you swallowed the food in your mouth before responding, “what does it look like to you?” 

You gestured to the empty seats around you before going back to poking at your lunch.

“Tch, just asking,” Bakugou murmured under his breath as he tugged a chair out from under the table and took a seat.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but sneak a couple of glances his way. Just why was he sitting with you? Was this his own silent way of tormenting you?

“So,” you started before clearing your throat, “what do you want?”

You could see him freeze mid-bite, eyes shooting up to you.

“To eat? What else?” he grunted nonchalantly.

Well no shit.

“Oh really? Didn’t know that,” you rolled your eyes, “why not eat with your friends?”

“Don’t wanna,”

Your lips pulled into a thin line before you gave up. You dismissed him as you continued to finish your lunch. After this you’d probably have enough time to take a nap in the nurse’s office. In an attempt to finish your food without starting some random argument with the blonde next to you, you kept the interactions to a minimum.

After you finished, you debated your options. Did you say goodbye or just… leave? Just leaving would be rude, wouldn’t it? Well who cares, you sure don’t–

“Hold on,” he called out, catching your attention.

You watched as he quickly finished the rest of his lunch, gathering his stuff before standing up. 

“What–”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said as he walked past you towards the garbage can.

“Uh,” you followed shortly after him with your trash, “go where?”

Stacking his tray with the others, he sent you a glare with a rough, “Where else?” 

When you didn’t respond with a word but instead with a confused look, Bakugou sighed and continued. 

“The nurse’s office,” 

Your mouth dropped open in a silent “Ohh”. You tugged your bag over your shoulder as you walked up next to him.

 The walk through the halls was rather silent other than the couple of students that walked past the two of you. But not a word was said between the two of you. At least until he opened his mouth. 

“So, what are your plans after graduating?” he asked, hands in his pocket as he continued to walk by you. 

You let your eyes scan the exterior through the wide UA windows when you responded, “Hm, I think I’ll find a job in a hospital? I think I wanna work in some field with heroes, but I’m not quite sure yet… And you?”

“Obviously I’m gonna a hero,” Bakugou scoffed with a smirk, “Gonna be the best one, at that,” 

“I see,” you let a light laugh slip out at his confidence.

“What’s funny, huh?” he asked, voice suddenly scarily serious. 

Your eyes widened, “Nothing, nothing– It’s just we barely have normal conversations like this. I guess,” you quickly added.

Bakugou hummed in response, coming to a quick stop as the two of you reached the nurse’s office’s door. 

“Well,” you step closer to the door, “Thank you for walking me here, Bakugou,” you smiled.

“Katsuki,”

“Hm?”

He rolled his eyes, “Just call me Katsuki,” he turned the other way quickly before waving you off, “Later, nerd,” 

A laugh escaped you as you watched him walk away, waiting a couple of more moments before walking into the office.

Maybe if you stared for a little longer you would’ve seen the way his ears reddened at your smile.

———

“Oh! Good afternoon Bakugou and Kirishima!” the voice of the elderly woman snapped you awake, causing you to jump in your seat.

You could hear a snicker come from a certain person as you turned to see the two who entered the room.

Your eyes were met with a seemingly beaten up Kirishima and Bakugou, the two having scruffs, scratches and bruises on their skin.

“What were you guys doing this time?” Recovery Lady escorted the two to their own beds, tending to Bakugou’s injuries and gesturing to you to help Kirishima.

“Ah, just training, same as always,” the red head responded with a smile, “Oh, hey Y/N,”

You could feel the ends of your mouth tug upwards at his greeting, “Hey,”

“How’s everything been?” 

As you continued your chatter with Kirishima and helped him with his injuries, you didn’t seem to see or feel the daggers of stares that Bakugou sent in your direction.

On the other hand, Bakugou didn’t even know why he felt like this. 

What was he pissed about? It’s not like the two of you are friends. Did you consider him a friend? Yet why did it feel so utterly annoying to watch you interact with some other guy? 

That was beyond Bakugou. 

Maybe he already knew the answer. And maybe he didn’t want to come to terms with what that answer held.

Either way he couldn’t take another second of this.

“Bakugou? Where are you going—”

The sound of Recovery Lady’s frantic voice caught the attention of you and Kirishima. Your eyebrow raised in confusion as the blonde made his way to the door with the little lady following him.

“You’re not fully healed yet,” the old woman claimed.

“It’s fine,” 

“Let him,” Kirishima said after Bakugou slammed the door shut. “He’s been a little off lately,”

You wrapped a bandage around Kirishima’s elbow, “Off? How?”

Kirishima’s eyes looked up in thought, “He’s been kinda closed off lately; barely comes to our hangouts,”

“Ooh,” you sighed as you continued helping the guy in front of you.

There was a seedling of worry planted in your stomach, and you barely had any clue why. It’s not like you guys were close. He was just some guy who came to the nurse’s office like every other student. Maybe those late nights staying up were finally catching up to you. 

After cleaning up and sending Kirishima off, you were finally left alone. Recovery Lady had left a while ago to fetch some supplies from the storage room. And so that left you and your thoughts alone in the office.

———

A week had gone by.

A week had gone by, and there had been radio silence from Bakugou.

Either training had slowed down or he was completely avoiding you. And either way, it still made you a bit sad. Only a bit. 

Days in the nurse’s office were slow and lonely. You never made a real connection with anyone. People came and people left. They come to get healed and leave. No side talk, albeit a few exceptions. Bakugou being one of those.

 There were times where you thought you saw him entering the nurse’s office when you were leaving, but the glimpses were so small that you chalked it up to your imagination.

It felt like he was consuming your every thought, so you had no choice but to accept the fact that maybe you had a crush on Bakugou. Maybe.

But so what? That was normal, everyone had a crush on him at one point. Too bad you fell victim along with the rest of them, though.

Admitting to yourself that you liked Bakugou was hard, but having to actually deal with the feelings you had was harder. One, because you’ve never really had a serious crush. And two, he was nowhere to be seen. Having a crush on him made your heart beat so quick that you’d use your quirk on yourself to make sure you weren’t having heart problems.

Soon, one week turned into two.

And it seemed like the office was only getting busier as the third years prepared for their finals. Everyone was in and out as they practiced their hand to hand combat more vigorously and more often.

The first couple of days, it was easy. But towards the end of the week, you began to fatigue. Having to balance your own finals and running around the office having to use your quirk over and over was doing a number on you. 

The injuries were becoming worse, the amount was increasing. At times, you were dizzy with how many times you’d have to keep turning around from bed to bed to help someone new. 

Then there was a calm. You barely noticed a full week of finals had swung by, leaving the clinic empty and quiet. 

“Is it alright if I nap during the passing period?” you turn in your chair to Recovery Lady, who is stocking up the medicine cabinets.

“Of course, you should be fine, if anything I can handle anyone who comes in,” she tells you.

You sigh in relief as you walk to the nearest bed on weak legs, basically melting into it as soon as your body hits the cushion. You knock out on the spot, letting your well-deserved slumber overcome you.

———

 Your slumber is interrupted by a slight jolt to the bed frame you’re lying on. You groan as you flip onto your other side. The light escapes through your lashes, creating a blurred light illusion with a silhouette. Your eyes shot open, a silhouette? 

You become conscious of yourself as soon as you realize the one before you is none other than Bakugou Katsuki. There’s a stupid grin on his face which makes you want to slap it right off of him. You sneakily nudge at the drool on the side of your mouth and adjust your clothing and appearance.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” he says from the seat beside you, and it feels like forever since you’ve last heard that voice of his.

“Yeah, because of someone,” you grumbled, eyebrows scrunching up. He laughs, laughs, as his eyes focus on you.

“It’s getting late,” is all he says.

You have half a mind to respond, until you remember that he’s been avoiding you. Your eyebrows tighten together impossibly closer, as you flip to face away from him.

“You’re a dick,” you say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been avoiding me, I’m not stupid,”

Your eyes are jittery as they look everywhere. Trying to focus on something in the room to distract yourself from all of the possibilities of what might come out of his mouth.

“Why do you care?”

His words cause you to sit up, facing him once more. “What do you even mean, why? I used to see you everyday, then suddenly you just walked out and I never saw you again,”

Bakugou’s eyes slightly roll at your words, and it kind of hurts.

“I just thought maybe we were…” your words trail off causing Bakugou to stare at you more intently.

“Were what?”

“I don’t know, friends, or some shit,” you bury your head in your hands out of embarrassment.

“Did I say we weren’t?”

“Well, you never said we were,”

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says, “Thought you were smarter than that, doc,”

You smile at the nickname. “You can leave now, I’m awake, I just have to close up the clinic. Why were you here in the first place?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t dead or something,”

Laughing, you get up to fix the bed sheets. The words that fly out of your mouth come out on their own. 

“What, do you like me or something?”

“Probably,”

His careless response didn’t register in your mind at first, but when it did, you could feel the heat rush from the back of your neck up to the tips of your ears. 

“W-What? You can’t just say that… weirdo,” your eyes flick up at him then back down to the sheets, fluffing up the already neat pillows. 

Silence filters through the room, the only noise filling your ears being the noise of cotton and linen being moved around. Along with the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. It felt so loud, that you swear he could probably hear it as well. You didn’t know what to do, was this real life?

Did those words really just come out of his mouth?

His head tilted and you could feel his gaze on you. It was nerve-wracking, and you were just hoping and praying he’d say something that’d clear your mind. A small, “just kidding,” would be nice right about now. The hurt you’d feel from that would be better than the anxiety you felt at this instant. 

“Say what?” he mocks, and it causes your eye to twitch.

You decide you’re not playing these games with Katsuki Bakugou today, “Oh nothing, must’ve been the wind,” you flutter your eyes before turning the other direction to fix up another bed that looks like it’d been used.

A hand on your wrist puts a stop to your motions, and it immediately makes your head turn back to meet his eyes. 

“B- Katsuki–”

You’d usually be able to come up with something snarky, but right now all your words were caught in your throat. You were actually scared to say the wrong thing for once.

“You were joking right?” you ask him, nervous for what his answer might be.

Bakugou is quick to retort, “Depends, were you?”

You gulp down your anxiety before giving him a response, “N-No,”

“Then? Use that smart little brain of yours, doc,”

“Say it,” you demand, “I’m not playing this little game with you, so say it,”

His ruby eyes roll before connecting gazes with yours once again, “I like you, or something,” he mimics your words from earlier.

You can feel yourself fluster. The dizziness in your head almost made you convince yourself that you were dreaming. If this was a dream, you wanted All Might himself to pop out and punch you across the face.

“Why don’t you say something now, hm?” his grip around your wrist loosens to a more gentle grasp.

His face closens to yours, the distance between the two of you is only breaths-length. 

“Since you’re so smart, you tell me,” you sass, “Take a guess, smartass,” 

A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, “You’re such a dick,” he whispers under his breath before closing the distance completely, his lips locking with yours. 

Your eyes widen at the pure shock, but you ultimately melt into the kiss. It’s sweet and you can feel the two of you smiling into it. 

When the two of you part, you can feel slight embarrassment wash over you. “You’re an ass, you didn’t even let me confess, my high school sweetheart experience is ruined forever, 

Bakugou lets out a breathy laugh at your words, “Thought you wanted me to take a guess,” 

“And if you were wrong?” 

“Hah, as if,”

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[thatforkedroad]

always in reverse

[also on ao3] Siblings Marian and Garrett Hawke are so similar, and yet they’re as different as night and day (2!Hawkes au character study)

----

Marian is born exactly fourteen-and-a-half months before her brother. It’s long enough for her to claim absolute superiority as the eldest Hawke sibling, but not quite long enough for her to remember a life before Garrett. 

She has their mother's eyes and he their father's, but they share Malcolm’s thick sheaf of black hair, untamed and always unkempt despite their mother's best efforts. When Marian cuts her hair with the kitchen knife, they could be mistaken for twins. 

The similarities run deep and shallow. She and Garrett are both brash; they always have been, as if it was a part of the bloodstream tying them together. They both run straight into trouble, but brother is brash in that dashing hero sort of way, and he talks his way back out of trouble with an easy grin. Marian is brash, but not in the way people like. She learns to fight dirty in back alleys and the schoolyard, and an insult is met with a fist long before she can even consider a witty remark. 

He tracks mud in the door after a hunt, but he always cleans up after himself. He doesn’t leave blood or dirt on the table or ruin his third shirt that month. If he does get into trouble, he has their mother’s smooth speech and noble posture mixed with their father’s quick wit and brilliant smile. All Marian has is two hands and a bright-red temperament. He’s made for building and she for breaking. 

Sometimes it’s a wonder they’re related — a wonder she’s related to anyone in her family, even. She is not a mage or healer like her father, and she is not a proper lady like her mother. At least it gets easier with the twins. Sure Bethany’s even worse than Garrett, the perfect daughter for their highborn mother and the perfect student for their healer father, but Carver’s like Marian. Not by accident, either; he watches Marian practice — all jabs and sharp swings — until she takes pity and shows him a few sword stances she picked up in alleyways. 

Still, he’s more of a Hawke than she’ll ever be; he fights to protect, never to break. He shadows their parents as much as he shadows her. 

Marian is fourteen-and-a-half months and five years older than all of her siblings — so when Father dies, it would only be natural if she took on his roles to help her mother. That’s what the eldest is supposed to do. 

In some ways, it’s what she does; she’s the one who takes on more work to make up the coin they need, she’s the one who keeps the family safe when some idiot tries to nick Bethany’s purse. But Marian has spent her life trying to be anything but her parents and all she does is break things. So when someone has to take Malcolm’s real role, when someone has to care for the twins and fix the hole in the roof and make sure their mother is eating enough, Marian can only watch while her brother takes it upon his shoulders. 

He takes to older-brother-father with the same smooth ease he takes to everything. He comforts his younger siblings with stories and corrects Bethany’s form when she casts (even if he’s barely been practicing himself) and loses arm wrestles to Carver on purpose. He encourages Bethany to go for that apprenticeship with the apothecarist on the edge of town and congratulates Carver when he eventually gets his commission in the army.

Marian knows Garrett’s trying to fill the grieving hole in his chest with responsibility, but she doesn’t know how to stop him. All she has are two hands, and it’s oh-so hard to save someone from drowning when you’re nose-deep in the water too. 

In all his new responsibility, Garrett forgets to shave a few too many days. His thin stubble begins growing out into a thick black beard and Marian keeps spotting a dead man out of the corner of her eye. Nobody says anything. She supposes that in the mirror, it must be harder to notice the similarities between her brother and the corpse in Lothering cemetery. Garrett can’t see how it looks when he leans down to point at Bethany's book or when he claps Carver on the shoulder with a laugh. Doesn’t see the heartbreak in their mother's eyes or the way Marian’s heart tightens.

The twins don’t seem to notice either, or at least don’t seem to mind. Maybe it makes things easier for them, smoothens the transition from child to half-orphan until grief is hardly visible in their gold-and-blue eyes. 

But all their mother does is notice. Garrett smiles like a ghost and Mother treats him like the sun, something that will burn her eyes red if she looks for too long. Before Father, Marian would have asked her brother what it was like to be a vessel for their mother’s grief. After, now, everything has changed and she finds the question dying on her too-different tongue.

Besides, it doesn’t take long before she learns the answer for herself. 

They’re one of the last families to leave Lothering. It’s not like they take long to pack; they’ve been preparing for a moment like this since before Marian was even born, in case Father or Garrett or Bethany were seen by some nosy neighbour or lucky Templar. They’ve always known something would happen, always known there was something temporary about this house — even if they didn’t think it would end quite like this. 

But they’re Malcolm Hawke’s family and he taught them to help before he ever taught them to hide. When word and panic reaches the town, the Hawkes reach their neighbours — the old lady opposite whose children haven’t visited in a decade, the young parents four doors down, the veteran with the poor leg the next street over. They help them pack onto the few carts in town and assure them it will be fine. They stay until the darkspawn are visible from the highest hill and don’t look back when the monsters drown their home in Blight. 

Marian leads her family and the meagre few belongings they carry across Ferelden. They’re sore and tired and in the early stages of a new grief, but none of them complain about the hard paths and miles to go.

Marian wonders later if leaving earlier would have made a difference. If she should have ignored their father’s old lessons of compassion and just grabbed her families’ hands and ran. Some of the smaller darkspawn might still have caught up, yes, but surely not that ogre. Or if it had, maybe they would have been less tired when it did. And maybe, he would have…

When the ogre rises onto the plateau with a deafening roar, Marian grits her teeth and readies her sword for the first strike — but Bethany and Carver rush in before she can even react. She’s not sure how it happened. She’s not sure if it was because Carver was a faster runner or because Bethany has always been more careful or because twins don’t share their luck in equal parts. She just knows that within moments, she goes from being the eldest of four to the eldest of three. 

The siblings kill the thing they don’t yet realise is their brother’s murderer before they rush over to their mother and Carver’s not-quite-corpse. It is not an easy battle, but it seems too simple for what they know has happened. 

Marian drops to her knees by Carver’s torn chest. She vaguely registers Bethany’s distraught mumbling about healing spells and Garrett's too-wrong silence. But she can't take her eyes off her littlest brother’s red face. 

Carver reaches blindly up to his eldest sister with a bloody hand. In his dead-man’s-clumsiness, he smears it on her face before she can catch his hand and hold it for dear life. He returns her grip for a dear few moments — and then his fingers go loose and his eyes glaze over. 

The four of them stare at the body— no, at Carver, at Marian’s baby brother — until they really realise he is not going to move again. Little Carver, who would tumble and scrape his knee and always get straight back to running, is not getting up this time. Silence reigns over the family of now-four for minutes. They all know the darkspawn are coming, Marian knows she needs to tell them to move, but they– they can't leave him, can't carry him, can't save…

The silence is not broken gently. It is snapped in violence when Leandra looks up with fury in her ice-cold eyes and tells Marian this is your fault.

Garrett then says something, pulls their mother from the body (no, Carver), but Marian doesn’t hear or notice over the wide-eyed ringing in her ears. She lacks the words to defend herself — or worse, she lacks the will. Maybe, somewhere in her heart, she agrees. Maybe this is her fault, because Marian is the eldest by fourteen-and-a-half months and she is not her mother or her father, and all she has ever done is break things. 

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 2: School

Enjoy a riveting tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. Rated PG-13 for some mild suspense, suggestive talk, alcohol and drug use, and adult themes. Banner and dividers by @pinkiemme ~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: School (Word Count: 2.7k)

Hunter winced, one hand on his shoulder as he moved his arm in a circle, trying to work out the sore spot from the morning’s wrestle with an angry bruallki that had apparently only feigned death from his shot. He’d had time to hunt, spend a few hours in his shop, and get cleaned up before heading up the hill to Omega’s school. It was a plain rectangular building on top of a grassy plain that housed students from the youngest grade levels up to young adults within its brick walls, but the island wasn’t too populated so the classes usually consisted of about 10 to 15 students each. He opened the door to the office, shifting his bag on his other shoulder as the attendance clerk looked up at him brightly.

After checking in, Hunter was free to walk the halls in search of Omega, who was late in meeting him at their usual spot in front of the school. It wasn’t unheard of — she was usually either caught up in conversation with one of the staff members she’d taken a liking to or lost in thought from diving into one of her assignments as soon as she could. True to form, Hunter soon found her in the back of the administrative wing, in a little corner office that was full of dark wooden furniture. There were a few small, warm lamps, and there was Omega, relaxing in a cozy chair in front of a plain desk with a chiseled nameplate sitting on its corner: Lyra Vetana, Records Clerk.

The woman behind the desk looked to be a bit older than him, or what Hunter assumed it looked like for nat-borns, with long brown hair that was mostly straight, a somewhat angular jaw, and smile lines around her mouth and eyes. She was currently nodding slowly at whatever Omega was sharing, and as Hunter approached, he caught her attention, her gaze soon followed by Omega’s, who piped up immediately.

“Oh hey Hunter! Sorry I’m late. Lyra was just sharing about what past students have done during their apprenticeship year. She’s got a bunch of great ideas!”

“Yeah?” Hunter answered, shifting his focus to Lyra, who shook her head with a small smile. 

“Just what the kids have come up with,” she corrected, straightening a random pile of papers off to the side. “But I apologize for holding you up.” Her voice was smooth, with just a little bit of husky texture that made it imperfectly pleasant, and it matched her humble and unassuming demeanor. Hunter could see why Omega appreciated her company; she had a steady, soothing presence, although it seemed somewhat flat. 

“It’s alright, just got some work to do before dinner,” Omega reassured her, rising to her feet and pulling her backpack out of the chair beside her. “Which I bet is steak again, right?” She aimed the question at Hunter, who exhaled through his nose as he tilted his head at her.

“Look, you should be happy that I can cook anything at all, you know…”

“I’m just kidding,” Omega said, patting his shoulder as though she were the parent. “You’re doing great, and you’ve come so far!” Hunter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, although her words carried some weight, and he caught what looked like a condescending smile on Lyra’s face. 

“I make salad too…” he grumbled, and Lyra turned a laugh into a cough so quickly it made him second guess what he’d heard, squinting at her as she turned to move that same stack of papers all of a sudden.

“Shoot! I need my interview journal; I left it in my locker. Be right back, and then we can go!” Omega announced, trotting out the door to leave Hunter standing awkwardly in front of where Lyra was seated at her desk. But then he realized a potential solution to an argument he’d had that morning with Omega. 

“Hey, quick question…” he began, looking over his shoulder before dropping into one of the chairs in front of Lyra’s desk. “I… ah… Omega’s very special, and… I know it’s real safe here and all, but… We’re still new, and I just want to make sure… she’s alright… you know. And I know she comes to talk to you often, and you have been here at the school for a while…” He rummaged in his small sling bag for a moment, finding it hard to meet Lyra’s curious gaze.

He found what he was looking for and held it up for her to see. It looked like it could have been a large button from a piece of clothing, but upon closer inspection one could see that it was a different kind of button — a small metal cylinder that could be flipped open with a raised round part to press inside. “Would you do me a favor and hang onto this? It’s… it’s an emergency beacon, and if anything ever happens, you press it and we can be here immediately. Omega refused to keep it on her, but… I just…”

Lyra regarded it, and him, with an unreadable expression, brow furrowing for a moment before relaxing. She held out her hand, inviting Hunter to give it to her, but he paused. 

“Look, I know it seems paranoid, or overly protective, but there’s a lot that I just can’t explain, and I know you’ll probably never have to use it, but it would just make me feel better if—“ 

“I get it,” Lyra interrupted reassuringly, giving him a small, serious nod as she beckoned for him to place it in her palm. He felt a disproportionate cascade of relief; maybe he’d built this up more than necessary in his head, but he appreciated knowing there were extra safety measures in place. “I don’t see her all the time, but if there’s ever an emergency, I’ll let you and her mom know.”

“No mom,” Hunter shook his head, “Just me.”

“Oh, sorry— you said ‘we’ could be here right away, so I just thought—“

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Me and our brothers.”

“Got it,” Lyra said quietly, closing her fingers around both the button and a million unasked questions. 

“Thanks,” Hunter said, nodding in finality before rising to his feet. He leaned out the doorway, peering down the hall and still finding no sign of Omega, then returned to his post just inside the door, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. He was still getting used to the social situations outside of war, and truth be told, he sometimes missed the rushed simplicity of mission after life-threatening mission. Casting a glance back to Lyra, he was somewhat relieved to find that she’d pulled some other files out of a folder and was tapping away at her keyboard. He couldn’t get a read on her… was she dismissive? Standoffish? Content? Or just didn’t feel the need to force conversation? 

“So ah, what is it you do here again?” he asked, the words flowing without his permission. He cringed inwardly, hating the complexity of civilian life at times, but Lyra paused her typing and met his gaze with a patient warmth that lessened his anxious overthinking.

“I’m a records clerk, which means I have the great esteem and honor of filing away every transcript, work study application, apprenticeship offer, accommodations meeting notes, and so on. Basically, if it happens here, I record it here. And if people need any data from the archives, I’m the one to find it for them,” she answered, poking fun at the seeming unimportance of her job without the full cynicism of one who legitimately resented their duties. 

“Sounds peaceful,” was all that Hunter could think to say, and his estimation was met with a slow nod.

“It is,” Lyra agreed, the faintest smile touching her thoughtful expression. “And you? What keeps you busy on the island?”

“I’m a hunter, ironically enough,” he answered, smirking dryly. “And a butcher. I have a meat shop down in The Cobbles,” he continued, referring to the part of town just above the beaches that was the notorious center for businesses, restaurants, galleries, and city government offices.

“Ahh,” came the enlightened realization. “Yes. I’ve heard of it from other staff members here.” Hunter wondered what else she’d heard, but judging by any response he could sense, there was nothing more to it. “Not a lot of imports on the island, so everything you sell is from here?”

“Freshly blasted daily,” Hunter said with a mock chipperness that made them both snort. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite figure out, whether she was genuinely enjoying the conversation or just tolerating it, whether she had more to say or was simply killing the time they were forced to interact. But he supposed it didn’t matter much, and as they fell silent again, Hunter could hear familiar footsteps approaching.

“Well, I appreciate you being here for Omega… and all the other kids,” he said quietly, and he caught a wistfulness on her face before it disappeared instantly. Lyra smiled and nodded demurely, brightening up when she saw Omega in the doorway. 

“Ready?” the girl asked Hunter, beaming back and forth between him and Lyra.

“Ready,” he echoed, giving Lyra a polite dip of the head before taking his leave.

The house that Hunter and Omega shared was not far from Tech and Phee’s, sitting on the side of the hills that stretched up from the beaches in rugged terrain peppered with large boulders and cliffs. The island had an interesting layout – large, flat beaches wrapping around the entire coast, then The Cobbles, an aptly-named cobblestoned street with storefronts spaced out neatly on both sides, punctuated by a few older residences, a small garden, and some town governance buildings. The entire island was fairly cut off from most everything else in the galaxy, with very few trade connections, resulting in a harmonious self-sufficiency where each person specialized and contributed to the overall good through commerce or direct trade. The business area was the one main street that stretched in a gentle upward slope from the beach to the cliffs, where it stopped abruptly.

The island topography continued to rise from there, slowly but steadily, with houses peppered across the hills above The Cobbles. There were trees and meadows scattered across the land, and the majority of the population lived on the western side of the island in small homes or flat, layered apartment buildings that were spread out above the business district. The apartment complexes huddled together around the Town Square, a large, open area full of string lights, street vendors, food carts, and an endless array of farmer’s markets, cultural events, musical performances, and so on. Single-family homes were spaced out more along the walking paths that snaked up and down the island, nestled among trees and hills. 

A few were tucked further into The Forest, which covered the eastern side of the island in a rugged, dense landscape full of trees and rivers. It was virtually unpopulated save for the houses on its western edge. Near the top of the island, above the layers of homes, lay a large, grassy meadow that stretched out in soothingly gentle slopes. A few ranches had settled around it, utilizing the perfect supply of everything they needed to raise agriculture, and off to one corner of the space sat the school. The highest point of the island was a small mountain upon which they’d built an observatory, although it was chronically out of order. Life on Xylo was a cozy, quiet way, punctuated with whatever creativity the locals could concoct. There were a few other populated islands on the planet as well, each having its own specialty and unique feel.

Hunter brushed his hands on his apron, the soothing bumps of embroidery warming his heart as he remembered Omega’s beaming face when she’d gifted it to him. It was the initial product of her first job shadow, and she’d chosen a plain gray fabric on which to hand-sew her best attempt at two large 9s in Aurebesh as well as a rudimentary copy of Hunter’s half-skull tattoo. 

The meat sizzled in the pan as he turned it, spattering hot grease in response to his prodding. He’d added some herbs this time, filling the entire house with the mouthwatering scent of perfectly-balanced flavors. Omega was chopping vegetables on the wood block next to him, chattering happily about the amazing variety of local produce that was supposed to be available at the next farmer’s market. 

It had been a hard decision when they settled on the island of whether to live together as they always had or to try to branch out into their own spaces. Phee had commandeered Tech into a home of their own, Echo was interested in the communal setup of one of the small neighborhoods, and Crosshair had found a peaceful home with Batcher in the same area, leaving Wrecker and Hunter staring awkwardly at each other. It had worked out quite well, however, as Hunter had found a cozy house in a small clearing surrounded by trees that also included a comically small additional unit across the tiny meadow that was a perfect fit for Wrecker in every way except his size. But the brawny clone had a knack for construction and had single-handedly remodeled the entire thing to be more suitable. The main dwelling on the property was a typical “cabin in the woods”, and with a few modifications had become a soothing place of respite for both Hunter and Omega, whose small bedrooms branched off the main room that boasted a large fireplace and plenty of wood-hewn furniture. 

“This is my new favorite,” Omega said, as they dug into their dinner.

“The bacon-wrapped sirloin was the best so far,” Wrecker mumbled through a mouthful. He had a knack for showing up right at dinnertime, and his presence always filled the room with even more warmth and joviality. That, paired with the fact that he almost always trundled in with his latest catch over his shoulder, had solidified his place at the table above and beyond the fact that he was family. 

“This sauce on that steak would be fun to try,” Hunter mused. 

“Oh! I’ve got a trip coming up!” Omega announced, pushing her food to the side of her mouth and waving her fork excitedly.

“Yeah?” Hunter asked, tilting his head curiously. “For what?” 

“Madame Dreyfus is going to take me on a purchasing run where she selects all of her base fabrics and shows me what to look for. Then she’ll show me which types are most conducive to different colors and types of dyes.”

“Sounds fun!” Wrecker exclaimed, attempting to counterbalance the trepidation he could hear in Hunter’s voice. 

“Mhm,” Hunter conceded, “Where does she go for that?”

“One of the other islands; I forget the name,” Omega answered. 

“Plata?” Wrecker asked, grinning at Hunter’s sharp look in his direction. He was referring to the second largest island on the planet, notorious for its vibrant nightlife and “you only live once” sort of atmosphere. 

“No,” Omega laughed, “One of the agricultural ones.” 

“Oh. Sounds good,” Hunter said slowly. “Just you and her?” 

“Us, two seamstresses, and their students!”

“I don’t know,” Wrecker said in hesitant, drawn-out syllables that made both Hunter and Omega look at him quizzically, but the thinly-veiled mischief in his eyes gave him away immediately. “I’m not sure Hunter can manage without you. How long will you be gone?” His attempt at consternation was met with a delighted giggle from the girl, who tilted her head at Hunter with a playful, motherly expression.

“You’ll have to keep an eye on him for me, Wreck,” she replied in her chipper voice. “The trip is three days long! And this whole year includes trips with our mentors, so he’s gonna have to get used to it!”

“Aaawwww, Hunter,” Wrecker fawned, “What are you gonna do?”

“I guess I’ll find a way to survive,” Hunter stated dramatically, the gleam in his eye belying his own intent. Omega’s chuckle was drowned in the boom of Wrecker’s laugh, and the three of them finished their dinners in good spirits.

Previous Chapter  ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

Fanart by @snotbuggle in an awesome post with other amazing clone works here!

Join the tag list with the discord server link or filling out my form.

@lightwise @have-a-hiddles @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

@solstraalaa @skellymom @photogirl894 @youreababboon @anything-forourmoony

@reader6898 @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo

@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78

[armins-main-hoe]

Coukd u do an aizawa arrange marriage fic?

Sure! But i don't think i can create a whole fic with chapters so this will just be like a really post with my head cannons about it.

I know you sent this request like literally ages ago and I'm so sorry for only now getting to post it. I was not trying to deliberately ignore you're request I just had not opened tumblr to write in a very long time.

But I'm back now and I'm going to keep up with all the requests I get.

Aizawaxfem!reader

Selenophile

(A person who loves the moon)

You both got married in your early twenties, by now quirk marriages were not as common and were often frowned upon, yet your life had been sealed with Shota Aizawa since you got your quirk.

His quirk, the ability to remove another's quirk with his eyes and your quirk, the ability to control another's health, to either make it better or worse, by your touch.

What your families hoped to achieve was a quirk where one could control another's health with their sight. Since you can always see further than you can touch, the two family heads believed that a quirk like this could lead to a lot of success and, of course, money.

Neither families were at the top of the upper class of society but that did not stop them.

When you first met Shota, you could tell he was a man of few words, he did not like small talk. His eyes sullen and drooping with lack of sleep. You struggled a lot to keep the conversation going with him.

During your engagement, you hardly met him, he was busy with starting his career as a pro hero and you were still doing your apprenticeship under the top nurse of Japan's most famous school, UA.

When you got married and had arrived at your honeymoon, you were sweating buckets. While you weren't all that close to your newly wedded husband, you could never deny that he defiantly had the body of a pro hero, in other words, he was hot as fuck sometimes.

All the exhaustion from the wedding had suddenly disappeared as you began to wonder if he too was expecting anything from tonight.

He didn't. He went straight to sleep. Ugh, men.

The rest of your honeymoon was just as awkward, well at least from your side it was, Shouta did not seem to care all that much, he just appreciated the actual time for sleep he was getting.

Months passed and your relationship with your husband did not get any tighter, you both took turns with chores and cooking, working around each other's schedules.

By now Aizawa's pro hero career was kicking off and you had finished your apprenticeship and had begun working with Recovery girl.

You soon began to think your life was not all that bad, you enjoyed your job and it paid extremely well, you had developed some sort of mutual understanding with your husband, though there was no romance nor friendship, there were no arguments or squabbles either.

Not wanting to admit it so soon, you had actually begun to feel fond of Shota. Sure no strong romantic feelings yet but you could tell he was a genuine guy. A workaholic but to be fair, so were you.

After a year went by, however, you both soon began to get pressure from your families to start trying for a child. They wanted their perfect quirk and they wanted it now, claiming that they had given you both plenty of time to settle in.

Shota would then tell you that he was perfectly fine with waiting, since all anyone can do was talk and shout. No one could physically force you to conceive a child. He also believed now was not the time for a child for you both, since the two of you were so busy with your own work lives.

While you agreed with him you began to wonder if he actually ever wanted to have children. Just like you he was forced into this marriage, neither of you had a choice. But now that you are married, no one can force you to have children like they forced you to get married. So in a way, you both have a choice now.

You didn't ask him about it.

One day you got a call from Shouta, it was late in the evening and you had came home after work. He had told you before hand that he was going to go out and have dinner with a friend of his.

You pick up the call and immediately realised the person on the other end was NOT your husband.

"Yo Mrs Aizawa, your *hic* HUBBY bubby is on the floor, passed out *hic*"

ah, Hizashi Yamada, also known as President Mic. You had never met him but you knew he was a really close friend of your husband's. You then made your way over in your car and picked the two drunk men up. After some difficulty, you managed to get the loud blonde to his place and then got yourself and your husband back to your place.

You helped him walk up the stairs and back to your shared bedroom.

"Okay, stay sitting on the bed, i'm gonna get you something esle to wear okay?" You tell him softly.

"Y/nnnnn?" Shota called out even though you were in the same room.

"I'm here." you say while opening his wardrobe.

"You're my wife, you know that?" He drunkly babbles.

You smile at his antics. "I know shota." You walk towards him with a pair of more loose clothes.

"My pretty wife."

You know he's drunk but it still made you blush.

"My pretty cute wife." He then grabs your face, squishing your cheeks.

"S-shota-"

"Why are you like that?" He asked, letting you go and throwing himself back on the bed.

"Like what?"

"Like, like... like awkward around me. I'm your husband!" He threw his arms up for effect.

"Come on, change your clothes." You pull him up so he is sitting again.

Thats when he pulls you onto his lap.

"Shota!"

"Y/n!" he whined.

He then hugged your waist, nuzzling into your neck. You're entire body flushed, you did not know what to do. You couldn't move even if you wanted.

"You're like the sun y/n.." He then mumbles, yet you couldn't quite understand what he was saying as all you could focus on was his lips brushing against your neck.

"So pretty and happy and... well.. hot. But no matter what I can't get close to you."

"i'd say you're pretty close to me right n-now..."

"But i'm drunk." He then looks up at you.

"Oh so you're aware?"

he nods. "I don't think I have the balls to hug you sober."

You let out a soft laugh, your mind and heart still racing, you had never been so close to him ever since you shared a kiss on your wedding day.

"Why's that?" you asked him, somehow feeling your heart calm down.

"I'm scared." Your eyes widened at his words. You never thought he could be scared of initiating a deeper relationship with you, you always thought that he just did not want one. The conversation ended there that night since he ended up falling asleep straight after.

Shota woke up to one of the worst hang overs he has had his entire lige the next day. Suppose it was not all that bad since his wife took the day off to help him get better.

He did not quite understand why she would take the whole day off, he already had the day off which is why he even agreed to drinking. He thought that she didn't have to skip work just fro him, though he was grateful that she did.

He also noticed that something about her has changed, she became more... close? He isn't quite sure. But he likes it.

With a new step forward in your relationship, the two of you found each other becoming much closer to each other, you would sit and talk for much longer during dinners, tell each other more about your personal interests and on those off days where your both manage to get a day off on the same day, you both would spend the day together, almost as you would on a date.

Then there was a day where Shota had another long shift at his agency, he came back home with a few new cuts and bruises.

You were just getting ready for bed when you saw him go in the bathroom, you noticed the blood dripping down his arm.

"Shota?" You knocked on the bathroom door.

"Yeah?" You heard him say followed by a soft groan.

"What happened?" You ask. "Can I come in?"

"It's fine don't worry, go back to bed."

"Shota.... I can help. You know how my quirk works."

After some convincing, he let you in. His cheek had a dark pink bruise forming, his hero suit ripped. Though he mostly wore black, up close you could see darker patches of black where it clearly was soaked in his blood. The worst of it was his arm, his sleave completely missing and he had burn marks around a massive cut that started at his bicep to his elbow.

"Fuck." You breathed out at the sight of it.

"That bad huh?" He chuckled.

"Why didn't you get patched up at ur agency?" You looked up at him

"The medical staff are out on strike."

You nodded, you heard of some medical staff in some agencies leaving because of how little they got paid.

"Take your top off" You softly say. You can't imagine the type of pain he must be in and yet he's standing and smiling at you like it's nothing.

His top was off and you saw many other little cuts adn bruises filling his skin. You frown at the sight.

"I'm okay Y/N." He whispers.

"No you're not. Stop acting so tough. No one would be okay in a condition like this." You softly scold him while you take his injured arm in your hands and start using your quirk to heal him.

"I'm okay because I have you remember. Look, it's as if it wasn't even there." He looks down at his arm, any sign of injury completely gone. You shake your head at him and then start to work on his torso.

There you both stood, under the single light of the bathroom, your hands on his bare chest while he looked down at you. You then looked up at him. your hand coming up to gently trace the bruise on his cheek while you watch it slowly disappear as you used your quirk. You're eyes met his.

There was something in the way he looked at you. Something that made you feel warm. Something that made you feel safe. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or maybe the way he looked at you but you found yourself leaning towards his lips.

One of his hands held you by your waist, another now on the back of your head as he leaned in too.

At first it was just a simple peck. But that small kiss ignited something more. As if burning down the doors that help all your pent up emotions towards him. He pulled you back in, kissing you much more passionately this time, his lips moving against yours as if he needed to devour you. He walked you backwards while kissing you till your back hit the door.

Breaking off for air you looked up at him. "Finally grew those balls huh?" You teased him, referring back to when he was drunk.

He rolled his eyes before picking you up so your legs crossed around his waist, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you down on the bed while he hovered on top of you.

"You.. ready?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"For what?" You ask. He wiggled his eyebrows at you while smirking. You let out a laugh while playfully smacking his chest.

"So?" He laughs with you, littering your face with his kisses.

"Yeah, I'm ready." You smile while you felt his lips kiss you all over.

He stopped and took time to admire you, his wife. His pretty wife.

[poetryvampire]

Zevlor stumbles upon a very drunk Rolan one night at the Elfsong Tavern. He's afraid it will come to blows, but the young man instead hits on him heavily. Zevlor is very surprised. And while he's been absolutely head over heels for him even before they left Elturel, he doesn't want to take advantage of him. He's clearly intoxicated. But Rolan is all over him and Zevlor decides to take him back to his own place rather than leave him in a bar full of strangers. Rolan tries to seduce him again once they're at the Hellrider's place but it doesn't work, and instead Zevlor makes him drink a lot of water and sends to him to bed while the Hellrider keep watch (the floor is too hard for his back now to sleep on, and he has no couch). It is only when the sun rises and light filters through that Zevlor realises that Rolan is covered in cuts and bruises. He's horrified. What happened to the young man? Rolan eventually wakes up, but it's clear that he hasn't slept off all the alcohol. Zevlor interrogates him on his state, and Rolan lashes out. Telling him in anger that his apprenticeship comes at a price, but that even then he didn't want to give his Lorroakan his virginity. Was it too much to ask to be able to choose who will fuck him for the very first time? It escalates and Rolan gets cruel with Zevlor and storms off. The Hellrider is heartbroken. He knows how much this apprenticeship meant to Rolan. But he is also fearful. The young man clearly implied the bastard is feeling him up and trying to get sexual favours from him on top of beating him. And that ENRAGES Zevlor. He won't let the man hurt Rolan any more! But Lorroakan is a powerful wizard. Zevlor knows he is not enough to defeat him... He needs help. The gods smile on him and he runs into Tav that very day and he discovers they have been to Sorcerous Sundries today and are worried about Rolan. Zevlor accompanied Tav and Dame Aylin to fuck up Lorroakan. Rolan is now safe. Zevlor stays behind to ask Rolan if he's alright, and before the young man can lash out again he collapses in his arms. The Hellrider calls for a doctor, panicked, and while the physician is with him Zevlor goes out to search for his siblings. They do not welcome him, but he didn't expect them to. The second they hear about Rolan they are running off to Sorcerous Sundries. Zevlor has to run after them to tell them about the portal to the tower lol.

so when I first read this it was in the middle of the night while I was half asleep and I think I had a dream about it?? lol but regardless

GOOD LORD I LOVE THIS the drama, the pain, the desperation Ahhh

First of all image the sweet sting Zevlor felt while having Rolan hit on him all the way home. Like thinking that someone he's admired for so long is just wants him because he's drunk. Of course he wants to make sure he's safe so Zevlore doesnt regret taking him home but he's def dreading the confirmation in the morning when Rolan comes to his senses.

But it's all out the window when he realizes the gravity of the situation. He immediately into action mode, probably pushed Rolan a bit hard not expecting him to explode at him. Zevlor can barely even think straight once Rolan storms off. GAHH so many mixed emotions. Rage at Lorroakan and himself for not going about things better . Worry over the danger Rolan's in, disbelief that Rolan may actually want him too

Also omg ok I 100% believe that Zevlor has zero tolerance for any kind of violence or abuse. Like yeah cause of course he's a normal decent person but I feel like it REALLY gets to him. Like being in the army for so long he's seen a lot of horrorible things in and out of combat and he has no time for such actions. It makes him sick. Will step in and shut it the fuck down if possible. So yeah once he's got a team together Rest in Piss Lorroakan. For once Zevlor's fighting with no mercy and it's Scary.

Lord and imagine Zevlor almost feeling like he's set things right only to have his heartbreak all over again seeing the state Rolan is in. Even after Zevlor knows he's being looked after he's sick with worry. He feels unwelcome and that he shouldn't linger but needs to know Rolan will be okay

AHHH I'm quaking . Omg chefs kiss this is so gooood 💜💖💜

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - epilogue

well it's love, make it hurt series

epilogue: I will never make another promise (without you)

series masterlist | prev chapter |

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 4.6k

Summary: You and Din travel in your quest to reunite the baby with his people and to seek out the Tribe.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, din djarin is a good dad, vaginal sex, communication, major life decisions, author plays god with the timelines (sorry), canon adjacent?, canon divergence?, no use of y/n, tooth-rotting fluff, they deserve it, you deserve it

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

9 ABY - Winter

“Alor,” Din says, bowing his head.

“Din Djarin,” she says. “You have an aruetti with you.”

You’ve known her for twenty seconds, and you’re in awe. Her voice is strong and unwavering, demanding attention. And, respectfully, she looks badass. You had never seen another Mandalorian, and from what Din had told you, you assumed they all looked similar.

But she looks every inch a queen.

“She wants to swear the Creed,” Din says.

The Armorer gives you her full attention now, having only spared you a glance before. “Does she wish to speak for herself?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s true. I would like to learn to walk the way of the Mand’alor, if you’ll have me.” You try to keep your spine straight and your head up, not to hide away from the appraising stare.

“Hmm,” she turns her helmet back to Din. “Is this the hunter you spoke of before?”

“Yes, alor. She is a very skilled and honorable fighter.”

“Well,” you interrupt, face heating from his praise. “I don’t know about skilled. I’m not formally trained, but I’d be honored to really learn.”

They both look at you now, and you wish you hadn’t spoken. But if you’re going to do this, you know you can’t allow cowardice to rule any part of you anymore.

And you want this. With or without Din. You’re surprised a little, now that you’re here, and it’s a real possibility, by the ferociousness of your desire.

The first choice you had ever really made for yourself was asking him to work with you. The second was leaving him.

This will be the defining moment for the rest of your life, you think.

She nods. “It is settled. You will continue on your quest to Corvus,” she says to Din. “You,” she turns, “will remain here and train. When he returns, you will be ready to begin an apprenticeship to earn your beskar’gam.”

“I can train her,” Din says, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t imagine you’d be separated. Not when he’d only just gotten you back.

“No. Paz will train her. You will continue on your mission in the morning.”

Din doesn’t like it. You don’t need him to say it; it’s written in the sharp lines of his shoulders and tapping of his thumb against his thigh. You catch his anxious hand and thread your fingers between his, bringing it up to your lips.

“It’ll be okay,” you say. You’re back on the Crest, though they had offered you both lodging. But given that they were living in a small cave system, there wasn’t likely to be any privacy. And you really wanted some privacy.

Din sighs but uses your linked hands to tug you into his lap. You settle with your thighs spread over him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You press your forehead to his helmet. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s remembering that you promised last time, too. His arms wrap around your waist, bare hands skimming up the back of your shirt.

Even his touch feels sad, so you go in for the kill. “I love you, Din.”

His grasp tightens, the sudden press of his nails drawing a gasp from you. “I love you too, cyare.”

Hearing you say it still makes his heart catch on something sharp and intoxicating. Even after the day you left Batuu, when he finally fucked you in the bunk on the Crest again, right where you belonged, and you had sobbed it over and over while he teased you for hours.

He thinks maybe you need a repeat of that to hold you over while he’s gone. When he says as much, you shudder and rock your hips against him.

“Actually,” he says, sliding his hands to your hips. “You just keep doing that for now.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re practically panting. You’ve shifted so your aching cunt is dragging over the armor on his right thigh, hands clenched in his cowl while you whine.

“What a little slut,” he muses. “Look at you. So desperate you’d fuck anything, huh?”

You shake your head.

“No? If I told you to go get yourself off on the edge of the table, would you do it?”

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

“So I’m right, then.”

“No. Wouldn’t f-fuck anything. Just anything you want.”

He moans, hips pushing up and jostling you.

You try to take advantage of it and shift to rub against his crotch, but he tightens his grip and laughs. “Nice try, sweetheart. But I know you’re always desperate for my cock. I want to see you crying to cum just from this.”

He gets his wish soon. You’re already on the edge of begging, and his words just make it worse. “Please,” you whine. “Please just let me have it.”

He withdraws a hand from your shirt and smacks your ass. “I gave you an answer.”

“Ah, fuck, please.”

He can sense the shift in your tone. “Please what, cyar’ika?”

“Please, more.”

Instead of teasing you, he simply shifts you over his lap. He makes sure your cunt can still grind against the edge of his armor before he yanks your pants down over your ass and gives it a hard slap.

“This what you wanted?” He asks, striking you again.

“Yes, please, sir,” you cry, squirming and digging your hands around his calf to hold steady.

He delivers a few more blows and pauses to rub a soothing hand where your skin is already hot. “You beg so prettily. Do it again.”

And there it goes. He grins, feral behind the helmet, as fat tears well up and spill over onto your cheeks.

“Please, please hit me. Please, I’ve been so good. I want to be good.”

He hits hard enough this time that you have to bite your hand to swallow the scream. “You are good,” he murmurs between strikes. “You’re my good girl. I’ve got you.”

He spanks you until the tears run dry. By that time, you’re not squirming or struggling in his grasp. You’ve calmed, floating away in the safety of his cruel, caring hands. Your breathing is deep and easy, though he knows you’re awake by the soft moans.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he says, tugging you up by the hair. “Get down and clean it up.”

When you sink to your knees, he can see the faraway look in your eyes and soft contentment in the slight upturn of your lips. You lean forward and obediently lick his thigh plate clean of your arousal, eyes on him the whole time.

“Fuck, pretty girl. C’mere, I need your cunt.”

He’s not sure you’ve ever been this deep in subspace before. You don’t jump and scramble to obey, but lick your lips clean and slowly climb up into his lap, holding onto his shoulders carefully as he peels your pants off the rest of the way. You watch as he pulls his cock out with glazed eyes and an open, aching mouth.

He considers letting you suck it for a moment, given how you’re looking at him like a sweet to be devoured. But he runs a finger through your dripping folds, and the low keen it draws from you changes his mind.

You scoot forward when he taps your leg, looking right into the visor as you hover over him.

He gives you a nod, and you sink down slowly, shoulders curling back and eyes rolling closed as you take your fill. He brings a hand up to your neck, and you lean your head back, arching to give him better access.

There are no words to be said, now. No teasing or taunting, no begging or crying. He tightens the hand around your throat when he starts to fuck up into you, his other hand holding you steady by the hip.

Your lips part, tingling as he slowly cuts off the blood flow. Soft, wavering gasps leak out, but you couldn’t make a sound if you wanted to. He brings his other hand to your face and slides his thumb into your open mouth.

You close your lips around it, trying to suck even though it feels like you’re struggling for air. He curls the other fingers around your jaw, releasing your throat only to drag that hand down to your clit and start to unravel you.

You whine when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, only for it to stutter when he pinches your nipple between his finger and the wet digit. He tugs on it, his breath catching as you arch and press your chest into his hand, not to run from the pain but to offer more, more, more. To pour yourself out in his basin and let him soak you up as he pleases.

It’s a gift he could never refuse, so he lets up on his soft strokes to your clit and indulges in the soft moans and sweet cries you make when he torments your breasts, and the way you get tighter and wetter around him.

A particularly cruel pinch finally tears a plea from you on a whisper.

“Yes,” he growls, and holds you to him through your climax by the tight clamp of his fingers on your nipples. The pain that blossoms when you jerk against his grip uncontrollably pushes you into a second orgasm from the crest of the first.

“Fuck yes, give it to me. Give me everything,” he huffs, bucking into your spasming cunt. When your cries turn a little sharp, he eases up and rubs his thumbs soothingly over your aching nipples before pulling you against his chest.

You cling onto him, face buried in his cowl as he bounces you, cock buried deep with each staccato thrust.

After he fills you, he keeps you there, seated on his cock, with his cum slowly leaking as he softens. He cups your head where it rests against him and savors the way the silent ship is filled with peace.

You’re blinking sleepily, but he doesn’t have the willpower to move to the bunk, content to stay here on the bench with you dozing in his arms.

Your bodies regret it in the morning, but it’s hard to care when the warmth and safety overpower the aches in your neck and back. You share a rinse in the refresher, chaste until it isn’t. After the kid wakes up, you play with him for a few minutes until the sun is finally breaking the horizon, and you know you have to go.

Din offers to walk you in, to stay until you’re settled, but you shake your head. At the top of the ramp, you stop him with a hand to his chest. You slide both hands up to his shoulders, and he settles his on your waist, bringing your foreheads together.

While he’s distracted with the kiss, you unlatch his cloak from around his shoulders. He pulls back, head tilted.

“What’re you up to?”

You grin, folding your prize in your arms. “Just helping myself to a blanket.”

He laughs and pulls you in close, savoring the feeling and hoping it holds him over until he can return.

“Be safe,” you whisper, trying not to tear up.

“Kick Paz’s ass,” he whispers back.

It works. The laughter chases away your sadness, and you press a kiss to his helmet before turning to walk down the ramp.

When you get to the mouth of the cavern, you turn and wave. Din has the baby in his arms, both of them waving back as the ramp raises.

You thought it would be harder. But you smile while you watch the Crest ascend. Your chest feels tight but warm, and you turn to face your new adventure.

Three Weeks Later

You’re sitting on the floor of the large cavern, the sandy floor cushioning your aching tailbone. Your flightsuit is drenched in sweat beneath the weighted flak vest you’ve been living in.

Technically, Paz said to wear it during training, but you’ve been trying to acclimate to what life will be like with armor. He hasn’t commented, but you think he approves of your choice.

His booming voice echoes in the chamber. “Two minutes and we begin again.”

You nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You sip carefully from the canteen and wonder, as you do with every spare moment, how Din and the baby are. If they’ve found a Jedi. Or a jetii, you suppose.

“What does cyar’ika mean?” you say suddenly. Paz has been teaching you Mando’a while you train, but it hasn’t occurred to you to ask.

You would have rather asked Din, but you forgot your commlink on the Crest. It’s made the days a little harder than you anticipated.

Paz laughs. Your face and ears burn, and you wish you hadn’t said anything.

“Is that what my vod calls you?” he says.

“Sometimes.” You do not like the tone of his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, vod’ika. Just at how soft he’s gone.”

You scowl.

“It means sweetheart,” he finally explains.

You burn even hotter.

“What about cyare?” You ask, turning your humiliation into determination. And your brain backpedals. “Vod’ika?”

“Cyare is the base for cyar’ika. What do you think it means?”

“Oh! So… I’m going to guess ‘big sweetheart’ isn’t it. It’s like a more serious nickname?’”

“Exactly. It’s probably closest to ‘beloved.’ And then vod’ika would be…?”

“Little brother? Or, well, little sister?”

“Very good,” he says. His praise warms you, but in a much different way than Din’s.

You think back over the words. “Oh,” you say.

“What?”

You hadn’t meant to be speaking to Paz or out loud at all. “You called me vod’ika.”

Somehow, you find that more surprising than the revelation that Din has been calling you his beloved.

“Yes,” he says.

“I haven’t sworn the Creed yet.”

“No matter. You will. And Djarin is my vod, no matter how irritating he is, so anyone who is to be his riduur is my vod, too.”

“Riduur?”

“Spouse. Wife,” he says.

That slows your brain like molasses. “I don’t know about that,” you say with a forced chuckle.

“Regardless. You’re doing well and will make a strong addition to our tribe. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” you can’t help but agree.

“Enough resting. Pick up your weapon,” he says gruffly, readying himself to spar with you once more.

You grab the bevii’ragir and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

It’s late afternoon when your lesson is interrupted.

“I call next challenger.”

You turn immediately to the voice like a flower to the sun, grinning and dodging Paz’s spear.

Din meets you halfway and pulls you to him. You slide your arms under his to wrap up around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his beskar’ta before burying your face in his cowl.

“You take good care of my girl, vod?”

“Your girl can take care of herself,” Paz rumbles, suddenly close. He puts a hand on Din’s shoulder near where you’re clinging to him and shakes a little before pulling back.

“Yeah, she can,” Din says, voice thick with adoration. You lift your head to meet his and realize the next time you do this, the next time you share a mirshmure’cya, you’ll be in a helmet.

As if he can tell what you’re thinking, he asks if you’re ready. He’s addressing you, but Paz answers.

“She’s been ready. You’re late.”

Din watches the hopeful smile blossom across your face. Not the one that makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop being surprised by being loved, but one that tells him you might just be starting to understand.

“Did you go easy on him, ner kar’ta?” he teases, thrilled to be rewarded by your laugh.

He leaves your side only to go collect Grogu from the Armorer, who was fitting him with beskar chainmail forged from the spear he brought home.

They find you on the shore after. The kid toddles over excitedly, eager to show off his new, shiny shirt. You coo over it and praise him, but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He sits down next to you, watching as Grogu torments the tiny, shimmering purple fish in the shallows. “You know,” he starts.

“I’m not changing my mind,” you interrupt. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I want this. It’s… it’s a good fear, I think.”

“Spoken like a true Mandalorian,” he says. “Courage can’t exist without fear.”

“You sound like him when you say that,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, helmet to the sky for a moment. “We did grow up together.”

“I know. He said you were a parasite that never left him alone.”

“I should have come home faster. Leaving you with him was a mistake,” he grumbles. He fills you in about the village, then. About Elsbeth and Ahsoka Tano. About her refusal to train Grogu.

“She can’t train him because he loves you too much? That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t want to be an obstacle for him.”

“He’s a baby! He needs a father far more than he needs whatever lonely life they live.”

He loves the sentiment. He does. But you both know he’ll continue on this quest until it’s completed, one way or another. And you know you’ll follow him wherever it takes him.

At dusk, as you kneel in the shallows, the pull of the gentle waves sink you into the sand bit by bit. It’s not a long ceremony; it’s perfectly Mandalorian in its succinct and practical nature. But you can feel the heaviness. It pulls you down faster than the water, and you let it fill the gaps between the sinew of your ribcage.

When your alor places the helmet upon you, the first things you see through your new eyes are Din and the baby, waiting for you to come back to shore.

“This is gonna take some getting used to,” you say as you shift around, trying to figure out the right arrangement of pillows to support your neck in spite of the helmet.

“What if it didn’t have to?” Din says.

“What do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

You sit up and turn to face him. “You're serious?”

He sits up and switches on the light. “Completely.” For the first time, he has no idea what you’re feeling or thinking. You’re holding very still but without seeing your face… this must be how you felt all this time.

“You’re serious,” you whisper. Your modulator barely picks it up.

“I am. Marry me, cyare.”

“Okay.”

“‘Okay’? That’s it?”

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t translate. You haven’t adapted to exaggerating your body language yet. “Yes, Din. Of course.”

“Right now.”

“Right now?!”

“Did Paz teach you anything about riduurok?”

“Just that it means marriage.”

“I ask him to do one thing,” he grumbles.

“Hang on, what? You asked Paz to teach me about Mandalorian marriages?”

“Yes, that shabuir.”

“Oh. You—you actually planned this,” you say. “This isn’t impulsive. You planned on proposing to me in bed.”

“I planned on proposing to you once we were home. You’re the one who went to bed right away.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, right now. Marry me right now.” You can’t believe you’re saying it. Or maybe you can. Because it’s Din. It’s always been Din. “How does it work?”

“It’s just us. There are vows. And then, we share ourselves with one another. Then we can know each other completely.”

“Teach me.”

So he does. He shows you the words and their meanings; he shows you the ways he’s been giving you his heart and making room for yours.

You leave the words open on the datapad so you can see them. Somehow, you’ve ended up in his lap, inches from each other. The vows are easy, the decision so painfully obvious you don’t have a single doubt. The Mando’a tumbles from your lips slowly, in harmony with him.

Mhi solus tome. Of course you are one together. That’s never been a question.

Mhi solus dar’tome. It had been true even when it wasn’t. You were one while apart, if only in that you held each other in your hearts for all those years. But it had been enough.

Mhi me’dinui an. There wasn’t a thing between you left unshared now.

Mhi ba’juri verde. Din may have his doubts about Grogu’s future, but you know he loves him. Unconditionally, eternally. And maybe, someday, you’ll share that love with more.

You rip your helmet off without hesitation. It’s easy still, for you.

Later, you’ll grow accustomed to its heft and the way only your aliit can see the you beneath. Later, you’ll appreciate better what it takes for Din to do the same.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You saw me three hours ago.”

“You’re beautiful every time I see you.”

Your face burns, but you don’t have to be embarrassed for long. In fact, you stop thinking about it immediately as he raises his hands to the bottom of his helmet.

You squeeze your eyes shut automatically.

He sees you once he’s removed it and huffs a breath. “Cyare, open your eyes.”

“It feels wrong,” you say.

“Ner riduur. You are mine and I am yours. Please open your eyes.”

You do. Your heart is thundering, a painful clench in your chest. You lean back, cupping his face in your hands.

No words come. All you can do is stare, lips parted, greedily taking in every piece of him. Your fingers follow your eyes, brushing through his dark curls and tracing the curve of his cheek.

He’s barely breathing, staring up at you with big, beautiful brown eyes, wetness starting to well.

“Din,” you breathe.

“Hi,” he says softly, cheeks flushing.

You gasp, lips curling into a pleased grin. “You’re so cute when you blush.”

He’s never felt so unmoored. The flush spreads as he tries to bear your focus.

“I thought it would be weirder. To see your face,” you say, running a thumb over his chapped lips, fingers stroking the scruff of his chin. “Your helmet has always been you, to me. I was afraid this would be like seeing a stranger. But it’s not. I know you. Ni kar’tayli darasuum.”

He whispers it back, pressing a kiss to your thumb before leaning against the wall.

Your brow furrows, and you fix him with an outraged glare.

“What?” he asks, and you almost get distracted by the way his eyes widen and mouth opens with bewilderment.

“You used to call me ner kar’ta.”

“I still do.”

“No, I mean, you started calling me your heart so long ago.”

“You weren’t ready. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t change that it was true.” He sees the sadness creeping in and cups your cheek. “It was worth the wait, ner kar’ta. Would you like your gift now?”

You know he’s trying to distract you, but it works anyway. “A gift? For what?”

“For our riduurok, silly girl.”

It’s your turn to flush, ears burning. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know I was going to have a husband to get a gift for.”

He shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. A smile you can see. It’s a world-shattering feeling.

He rifles around for a moment and then offers you something shiny and very familiar.

The pauldron is unpainted silver, the same as his, with a mudhorn on the front. It’s shaped a little differently, a little longer and narrower. A better fit for your shoulder.

You reach out and run your fingers over the signet.

“Din,” you choke through the tight grip of your throat. “But… I didn’t earn it yet.”

“But I did. We’re a clan of three, now. As my riduur, this is yours to bear.”

You almost start to sob, but the tears are held off by a sudden realization.

“Did everyone know we were getting married but me?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

Your indignant laugh breaks into another sob, tears finally falling free.

He wipes them away with his thumbs, the pauldron abandoned on the bed. “Hey, save those tears for later,” he murmurs.

It has the desired effect. Your eyes widen, and your hips grind against him just a fraction. “You know how most people celebrate a marriage?”

“We aren’t most people, cyar’ika. We’re Mandalorians.”

It’s still weird to hear yourself referred to as a Mandalorian. But it sinks under your skin and spreads euphoria through your veins. It feels right, like your whole life you’ve been following a starmap to this moment.

“Well, how do we celebrate a marriage then?”

He smirks. “We fuck.”

“Right now?” you ask, making a show of batting your lashes and delighting in the way his eyes darken and lips part. “Please, sir?”

You could always sense the change, before. The way the air shifted. But it was another thing entirely to watch him become the predator. There’s a glint in his eye, a curve to his lips that wracks you with shivers.

His hand slides up to wrap around your throat. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to get fucked by your riduur? Going to let me take what’s mine?”

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. Your heart is pounding, and from the way his smirk grows, you know he can feel it under the clench of his fingers. They twitch a little tighter, and you’re already feeling lightheaded.

He eases up after a moment, withdrawing his hand just to bring it across your face in a harsh slap. “Have you forgotten how to be my good girl? Answer me when I speak to you.”

When you open your mouth to try, all that comes out is a moan. He slaps you again, grabbing you roughly by the throat after and pulling you closer.

“Yes,” you finally gasp, “yes, please, sir.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me. Please take what’s yours.”

“And what’s mine to take?”

“Everything.”

His lips press against yours in a crash of teeth and flesh. He bites his way into your mouth, pushing you down on your back with the force of his kiss. Your legs are still wrapped around his hips and his cock presses against your panties.

“Wait,” he gasps into your mouth. “I have another gift.”

“Can’t it wait? Can’t you let me get you something first?”

“No, cyare, this isn’t a present for my riduur.”

“No?” Your voice has gone small, soft.

“No, sweetheart. It’s for my pretty little slut.”

You flush, and he sits up, reaching over to the shelf for a box. Inside is a thin chain that almost looks like beskar.

You watch him watch you with starving eyes, a hunger that seeps into your skin where his gaze lands. “But I like my collar,” you whisper.

“I know, I do too. This is a little different. It’s thin enough to lay under your cowl without being seen.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to wear it all the time. But when you want to, when you’ll let me have you outside of this, I’d like you to.”

It goes against that rule, your one big rule, from so long ago. Nothing outside the ship could come back in, and vice versa.

You find it doesn’t bother you, now. Not if you can have that little reminder, not if you can feel his love physically all the time.

You know he’d never take advantage, never try to control you in a fight. He didn’t need to, anyway, not with the way you moved and worked as one.

“Yes, sir.”

😭thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you. see you on dec. 21 for the Life Day Special ft. our favorite clan of three.

*title from "Set Phasers to Stun" by Taking Back Sunday

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 4: I Felt a Spark

A/N: Hi again, I've been gone for like… Almost two months now? Sorry about that lol, a lot has happened. I got a boyfriend! And turns out when you're in a relationship you don't have a lot of free time to do what you want… So I broke up with him! (jkjk I just wasn't as into him as I thought)

Anyways I started pharmacy school so updates will probably halt for the time being :/. I plan to slowly write portions of the next chapter (which will be 100% more interesting than this one I swear) throughout the semester, but I'm probably not going to publish it until the end of my first clinical rotation in the winter, so I apologize in advance for the wait.

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid @ryctone @shipperlewaterkitty | Google Form to be added to taglist

Previous | Masterlist | Next

She didn’t come up with anything.

Strawberry Tea Cookie stared at her sketchbook in silent disappointment, the pages looking more like the aftermath of the Dark Flour War than the meticulous planning of a seasoned fashion designer. The rising sun’s cold rays swam across the pages, searching for any sort of golden lining in this mess, yet all it did was confirm that her glory days were long gone.

Crumbs, she’s hopeless.

The designer sighed and slammed her book shut, tucking it out of sight between two couch cushions. She reached for her cup in order to take another sip of tea, her frustration growing upon realizing her cup was empty. Tiredness dissolved each speck of flour in her dough, arms weighed down by thick molasses as she tried picking up the teapot, which was, disappointingly enough, also empty.

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to watch the sun slowly climb its way up the sky, displacing the inky blue she got accustomed to with shades of periwinkle and orange, stinging her already hardened eyes. She let her head fall within the comforting darkness of her arms, hoping to get some rest before they land in the Crème Republic.

.

.

.

“Ohhhh, I’m so nervous,” a cookie whispered to her friend. “What if I don’t get an apprenticeship?”

Hundreds of cookies crowd around the small bulletin board that stood in the center of the academy’s lounge. On it was a long piece of paper printed with students’ names and their mentor for upcoming term.

Amongst the anxious chatter were loud cheers as students found they had a match, or quiet sobs from those who didn’t quite make it on the list. Yet all decrescendoed into curious whispers when a certain freshly baked designer, glazed in shades of scarlet, stepped into the atrium.

“Did you hear..?”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

The sea of students parted for her, stepping into line with every click of her tempered chocolate heels to form a straight path towards the bulletin board.

“What!? There’s no way!”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

She stopped in front of the board, quietly scanning through the long list of names. Despite her aloof demeanor, the uncertainty within kept rising like bread dough as the alphabetical list trickled closer and closer to where her name would be.

All these apprehensive whispers… That can’t be a good thing.

Sangria Cookie…

Sapodilla Cookie…

Sour Cherry Cookie…

Star Apple Cookie…

“Well, it’s a given…”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

Strawberry Tea Cookie…

She perked up at the sight of her name, eyes immediately darting across the dotted line to see…

…Blueberry Raisin Cookie.

A small smile cinched up her lips, that overwhelming nervousness washed away by excitement and pride. All those years working her dough off at this school— the countless all nighters, the constant stream of harsh critiques, the seemingly endless assignments— finally paid off.

“Wow Strawberry Tea Cookie, congrats…” her classmate whistled, standing beside her. “Bet you’re excited to get to work with Professor Blueberry Raisin Cookie…”

To apprentice under the Hollyberry Kingdom’s most renowned fashion designer—who hailed from the very family that first established oat couture—was an opportunity that not even the most esteemed alumni of the Royal Berry Institute of Design could imagine receiving.

And it had just been bestowed upon her.

“Yeah…” Strawberry Tea Cookie’s smile grew wider. “I am.”

Her classmate chuckled, which caught the young designer’s attention. She turned and shot them a quizzical expression.

“Sorry, sorry.” They looked away bashfully. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, it’s only natural that I would smile.” Strawberry Tea Cookie replied matter-of-fact-ly, still confused on what was so funny. 

“No, no, I’m just saying…” They laughed. “Ah, nevermind…”

A gentle shake of her shoulder pulled Strawberry Tea Cookie from her dream—back into the world where she was sore and barely cognizant of her own existence.

“My lady, we’re almost at the Créme Republic,” Strawberry Butler Cookie whispered. “Everybody’s gone outside.”

The designer groaned, tiredly lifting herself from the table and standing up. She stumbled on her first few steps, dragging herself across the cabinet like one of those jellywalker creatures.

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie, did you stay up all night?” Strawberry Butler Cookie inquired worriedly, though his tone also held a dash of annoyance. “You know very well that’s not healthy for you!”

“I…” The former heiress sighed as she grasped the doorknob. Of all the things that have changed in her life recently, her butler nagging about her less-than-consistent sleep schedule had remained… well, consistent. “...Thought I could create something meaningful.”

She opened the door and stepped outside.

A gust of strong, cold wind practically slapped Strawberry Tea Cookie awake before subsiding into a light breeze. Crisp, fresh air reinvigorated her very dough like she had been sprinkled with more life powder. As she made her way across the airship’s deck, the gales combed free the sticky knots tangled within her hair, alleviating that gross feeling.

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned against the metal guard rail, scarlet eyes widening in awe as she took in the sight before her.

Amidst the azure blue sky decorated with cotton candy clouds shone a brilliant city piped in white. Grand mansions bordered the Republic’s edge, away from the main landmass through long, jutted platforms that made the city look like it was built on a shattered plate; each shard was held up by pillars rising from the sparkling sea. Lining the pristinely polished roads were blocks of small, condensed homes with roofs the color of the vibrant sky. Square bushes edged the vast maze of waterways, like the border of royal frosting the Great Witches pipe on a freshly baked cookie before filling them in.

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes followed the canals deeper towards the city center, trailing up a tall waterfall before meeting its source.

“Wow…” The designer breathed, her voice so quiet that no other cookie could hear, only manifesting as a puff of condensed air lost to the sky.

At the heart of the Republic stood a giant, colorless murex shell that floated above all else—unfeeling and apathetic—immune to crumble like a timeless icon. Much like a roll of fruit leather pulled from the center, the shell was voluminously layered at the top, showing off its immaculately creased grooves that tightly cinched to an eventual fine point at the bottom.

Imposing spikes of all shapes and sizes decorated the shell’s head like a monarch’s crown, reaching for any fragment of light to capture and reflect back as a beautiful halo of white. Arched windows carved around the shell’s spire poured out fresh water, collecting in streams around the structure’s many grooves before gradually falling down to the city below.

To Strawberry Tea Cookie, it was like a unique hybrid between a polonaise skirt and a mermaid tail dress, two styles from vastly different eras and with even more conflicting construction methods. It would be a challenge to combine the two together. However, it was similar enough to Chocolate Bonbon Cookie’s everyday dress, perhaps she could reference its pattern and then add an additional layer for that polonaise look.

She’ll definitely need to visit that place the moment her schedule clears up. Not only is it important to see one’s source material up close, but a true artist must understand its purpose so as to not misappropriate its symbolism.

“You seem to have an idea, my lady.” The designer was snapped from her thoughts by Strawberry Butler Cookie’s comment. She turned to face him, his expression glimmering with wise joy.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced back to the brilliant view of the Créme Republic. Her breath hitched, stuck in her inhale as she truly took in the sight before her. A long lost excitement bloomed within as the ship descended, and the designer couldn’t help but let that exhilaratingly nervous anticipation spread up her lips in the form of a wide, genuine smile.

For the first time in forever—as cliché as it sounded—she truly realized how vibrant and beautiful everything was.

“Yeah,” she finally let go of her held breath, turning to face Strawberry Butler Cookie. “I think I finally do.”

He only chuckled in response.

.

.

.

Strawberry Tea Cookie and her butler were the last to leave the airship and join the others on the airfield. As they approached Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, the figure they were talking to turned his attention to the pair.

“Ah, you must be the guest Hollyberry Cookie was talking about~,” the stranger, with a voice full of smooth—oddly practiced—cadence, said. “Miss Strawberry Tea Cookie, yes?”

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie,” she corrected before dipping into a curtsy. “This is my butler, Strawberry Butler Cookie.” He nodded at the cue of his name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie and Strawberry Butler Cookie.” The cookie before her gave a courteous bow. “My name is Clotted Cream Cookie, consul of this fair city.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Consul—” Strawberry Tea Cookie cut off when a strong arm looped around her neck, yanking the rest of her words out with a strangled high pitch.

“Strawberry Tea Cookie, you’re being far too modest!” Hollyberry Cookie pulled the designer closer with so much strength that the latter was lurched forward, almost losing her balance. “Consul, this fine lass here is the future leader of House Strawberry, one of the most renowned designers in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and my granddaughter’s personal stylist~.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt the jam within her crystalize at those claims—the majority of which were now false.

The Consul’s eyes perked up, seemingly impressed by her obsolete feats. “My, I’m honored to be in the presence of such an esteemed guest, then~.”

“You’re too kind, Consul.” Strawberry Tea Cookie let out a strained laugh while releasing herself from the former queen’s grip, wanting to do nothing but escape this situation.

Make a good impression.

She froze in her place, those subconscious words pulling and posing her to face Clotted Cream Cookie once again. “...I should be the one honored to be in your presence.” She pitched her words higher at the end, hoping to sound more sweet but instead coming off as if she were choking on durian fumes.

An awkward silence ensued, with Strawberry Tea Cookie unable to think of what to say next.

“Well, tonight we are celebrating the reconstruction of the Crème Republic,” the Consul mentioned with a polite, charming smile. “You and Strawberry Butler Cookie are more than welcome to attend.”

Would she have enough time to go? Getting settled into her new home will most likely take the entire day. 

But she remembered the way her mother became the definitive head of House Strawberry. Through courting the eldest son of the Oolong Dynasty and conducting complex business negotiations, she was able to establish a strong tea trade agreement that worked in House Strawberry’s favor. These imported teas, combined with the refreshing selection of fruits found deep within the Cranberry Forest, quickly became a household staple throughout the kingdom. The economic prosperity that followed immediately convinced Goji Berry Cookie to select Strawberry Mousse Cookie as their next leader. 

If Strawberry Tea Cookie could continue expanding House Strawberry’s trading network, it would surely increase her chances of taking back her heirship. As far as she knew, all her cousin did was paint and nothing else. He was not exposed to the business side of House Strawberry like she was, and perhaps she could use that to her advantage to expand her feats beyond fashion.

“We’ll be sure to attend,” Strawberry Tea Cookie gave another curtsy. As she dipped, the tiredness that was temporarily lifted instantly came crashing down. While she absolutely despised entertaining strangers, it was something she must do in order to prove herself. “Thank you so much for extending this invitation.”

“It’s only natural to invite friends of Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie,” Clotted Cream Cookie chimed. “I’ll be looking forward to your appearance this evening~.”

“My lady, the carriage is ready to take us to our accommodations.” Strawberry Butler Cookie announced.

“Why don’t we come along and help you unpack?” Hollyberry Cookie offered, her retainer nodding in agreement. “You have at least twelve full juice barrels worth of stuff, it’s going to take you until the next morning to go through everything, haha!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the wagon with all her packed belongings, which seemed even more comically small compared to the carriage from the day before. 

“If you two wouldn’t mind,” Strawberry Tea Cookie turned back to answer them. “The help would be greatly appreciated.” Especially from two of the strongest cookies in the Hollyberry Kingdom.

“We would be more than happy to help,” Wildberry Cookie assured. “And I could give you all a tour of the Crème Republic afterwards.”

“Thank you, but we would like to decline,” Strawberry Butler Cookie cut in, interjecting before the designer could agree to Wildberry Cookie’s offer. “My lady had quite a… restless night, it would be best if she didn’t over exert herself before tonight’s party.” He shot her a finalizing glare, which Strawberry Tea Cookie matched with an annoyed one.

However another pulse of exhaustion struck her right after, and she found her initial irritation immediately transformed into gratitude for her butler’s intervention.

Perhaps she overdid it a little… But does she even have the luxury to take a break?

“Clotted Cream Cookie, why don’t you join us?” Hollyberry Cookie, who was in the process of boarding the wagon, asked. “The more hands, the merrier!”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline,” the Consul smiled as he took a step back. “I’m afraid there are other items that I must attend to before tonight’s celebration.”

“To the sharpest piping tip as usual, Consul,” the former queen teased. “Very well, that leaves more fun for us~!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie couldn’t help but feel amused at the fact that Hollyberry Cookie seemed more excited to go than she was. But perhaps it was another opportunity to spend time with cookies she deemed close.

.

.

.

.

The wagon, pulled by two cream coated cookie horses, slowly made its way down the azure streets of the Republic, gently rocking against the many bleached shells unevenly mixed into the pavement. Despite the wall of buildings blocking out most of the sun’s rays, a few slivers of brilliant light managed to weave its way through the thin alleyways, accentuating the road’s pearlescent shine that glimmered with prosperity and new beginnings.

As her friends chatted amongst themselves, Strawberry Tea Cookie settled into the ride by watching the cookies going about their daily lives. She observed as they greeted each other in passing, darting in and out of the many luxuriously decorated storefronts the street had to offer. Some stayed to chat, their conversations lost to the whims of the wind that lightly blew on hanged laundry and ruffled the newspapers cookies were reading. Others were more in a hurry, barreling past those who walked with leisure towards an unknown destination, their ambitious worry uncaring as the neatness of their clothes waned.

Each cookie here seemed to radiate an aura of nobility, both in the way they dressed and acted. Their clothes were timelessly dandy and darling, much unlike the more loose-fitting garments the Old Vanilla Kingdom was known for. Waffle cloaks and cotton robes were replaced with more form-fitting suits, its colors paled to the simple warmth of the past. Despite its origin, they were a perfect blend between the clothing upper and lower class cookies wore back in the Hollyberry Kingdom—which could serve to benefit Strawberry Tea Cookie when developing her new collection.

But for now, she should focus on studying Republic attire. She already pinpointed a few boutiques to visit once she had settled down, and tonight’s celebration should give her a better understanding of how cookies here dressed.

The wagon stopped in front of a house that was sandwiched between two storefronts. It was a double layered, rectangular building coated in white buttercream stucco; thick, flat white piping bordered the leveled roof and where the two layered floors met. The upper layer had a set of rectangular, blue double doors that opened to a balcony full of bougainvillea jelly cube flowers. Its vines crept down to the lower layer, surrounding the front door and the triple paned window adjacent to it, both of which were also framed in blue. Underneath the window was a stubby planter the same width as the sill, holding an assortment of lush green shrubbery.

This seemed to have been a shop converted into a residence.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was the first to hop off the wagon followed by Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, Strawberry Butler Cookie stayed behind to unload everything with the—albeit unwelcomed—help of the coachcookie.

“The owner said that the key should be here somewhere…” The designer mumbled as she sorted through the multitude of rocks found at the base of the planter. But with a bit of digging, she managed to find a bronze key taped to the underside of a medium-sized rock chocolate. She immediately dashed to unlock the door, just in time for Strawberry Butler Cookie to carry in the first bundle of luggage.

Upon entering the foyer, which was connected to another room, the four cookies were greeted with walls frosted in buttercream white and floors made of geometrically arranged brown sugar cubes. There was a set of stairs going to the second floor, and a corridor that led to the living room.

The living room was illuminated by a wide, arched window that opened into a quaint courtyard shared by other buildings. There was a tall lamp in the corner where two long, beige sofas met; marshmallow pillows dyed in various shades of red decorated each couch, matching the carpet’s color underneath. At the center was a short, ovalish coffee table with a few magazines neatly arranged across. There was a bathroom adjacent to the corridor’s entrance, right under the stairs.

The kitchen, only separated by a single counter from the living room, had wooden counters lacquered with melted sugar spanning the entire perimeter of the area; white cabinets connected the counters to the floor. In the middle of the kitchen was an island counter surrounded by four cracker stools. Above it was a crate-esque structure where various kitchenware hung from. There was another window above the sink that looked out to the courtyard, along with a door in the corner to exit.

“This isn’t as fancy as the kitchen back home,” Strawberry Butler Cookie commented as he inspected the stove and fridge. “But it’ll do,” he quickly glanced at the pots and pans provided, grimacing at their battered forms. “Good thing I brought my own supplies…”

Another small corridor, which doubled as a sort of pantry, connected the kitchen back to the seemingly empty room next to the foyer. Said room, as Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped into it, was completely flooded with natural light due to the curved windows that almost touched the ceiling. Maroon curtains, tied at the ends in a pretty bow, partitioned off each window panel. At one corner was a sugar lacquered desk and chair, and in the center was a long wooden table with a basket on it.

The basket had an assortment of dried fruit and chocolates, along with a note from the owner of the residence that read: “I cleared this room so you could have some space to work on your designs. I hope this and the new decor make you feel more at home!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie smiled, her host was so much nicer compared to her previous landlord, who kept raising the rent every month until her and Mont Blanc Cookie decided staying in that dingy shoebox wasn’t worth the coins.

Stepping up to the second floor led to a guarded landing made of hardwood, which curved in an L shape along the stairs. It had three rooms; a storage closet was at the backmost of the house, followed by two bedrooms.

The bedroom next to the storage closet had a curtained window overlooking the courtyard. It was quaint; unremarkable with only a simple twin bed, desk, and dresser. Strawberry Butler Cookie took that room.

Next to that room was what many would consider the master bedroom, given how it was the largest and in possession of the balcony. The room was furnished with a queen sized bed decorated in red pillows and blankets, it also had a small vanity that doubled as a desk, along with a walk-in closet. Given how her butler claimed the previous room, Strawberry Tea Cookie was left with this room—not that she was complaining.

“We should start unpacking,” Wildberry Cookie mentioned, watching the location of the sun from the balcony. “The celebration will start in a few hours.”

“I agree,” Strawberry Butler Cookie turned to exit the bedroom. “At the very least we should get the big ticket items set up, like my lady’s sewing machine.”

“Then let’s get to it!” Hollyberry Cookie exulted, raising her fist. “With the four of us, we’ll get everything settled in no time!”

[etherealspacejelly]

you quit your software engineering job to pursue environmental science?? do tell!

(i have a software engineering job. it makes me sad.)

so when i was like. 10. i had this teacher who taught us basic scratch programming. and i was like. freakishly good at it. i picked it up super quickly and was even helping the other students to fix their problems. and so he said to me "you know, you could be a great computer programmer one day" and i was like. yeah! i could!

so throughout highschool my One and Only goal was to become a software engineer. every time i went to the career counsellor thats what i said. so i did computer science at gcse, and got a 9, and i did computer science at a level and got an A*. (i did other subjects too of course. but those were the ones i was focussed on)

then i finished my a levels and i went straight into looking for an apprenticeship. no one was really interested in me because i didnt have any experience or a degree. so then my dad got me an internship with some guys he knew at a company that worked in his building, and i managed to build up some actual industry skills. then i got an apprenticeship! it paid super well and the team was great and it was work from home.

and i hated it.

i was just sitting in my room at my dads house 9-5 mon-fri writing code all by myself. it was lonely and boring and i didnt really know what i was doing. it was supposed to be an apprenticeship but it just felt like a job. they didnt teach me how to do anything they just said "do this and come to me if you run into a problem". half the time they didnt even give me any work to do for days at a time so i was just watching youtube or scrolling on tiktok. which sounds great but it wasnt because i felt guilty the whole time and was terrified of being found out and fired, even tho it wasnt my fault? they literally werent giving me work to do?

anyway. a few months into it i was like man Fuck this. im going to university. so i started looking at courses. it actually started with astrophysics, but since i didnt take a science at a level i didnt have the requirements for that. then i found environmental science! it was all the stuff im passionate about: climate change, conservation, natural processes and earth science. so i worked on my application letter and applied, and i got in!

so i went to my boss and was like hey. im putting in my notice. i got into university. and they were like "oh noooo we're so sad to see you go :( you were doing so well and we were so pleased with your work and your progress :(" (and i was like. huh?? i literally didnt fucking do anything. but oh well.)

so i worked until the end of my 6 week notice and then i handed my stuff back in and left. i had a bit of a summer vacation and then started uni! and ive been here for just over a year now :)

its honestly so much better. i have so many new friends, i got to move out of my mums house, im in full control of my life.

so take this as your reminder that its never too late! you can always change your path.

you are in control.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Bunch Family

Connections (Part 4)

Judy had the whole morning to think about what she wanted to do next. During the night, she came up with a few insights and new ideas. And if she was already being offered help, then she should probably finally take it. “I hope someone is at home.”

After Judy knocked on the door, it took a while before it was opened. Victoria was probably busy at the moment. “Judy? It's been a long time since you last visited us."/ ”I know. Do you have some time, I wanted to talk to you about a few things"/ ‘yes of course, I'm alone right now, Connor and Beau are in the gym’/ ‘thanks’.

Judy hadn't actually been in this house for a long time, so she noticed something straight away. “What happened to the stairs?"/ ”Well, since we no longer have a second floor and our bedroom has moved downstairs, we tore them down and closed off the access so it doesn't rain in here anymore. Besides, it's already so cold now…"/ ‘That's right…’.

“But surely you didn't come here to talk about our humble living situation, did you?"/ ”No, well, maybe I did. First of all… I wanted to apologize…"/ ‘Apologize for what, Judy?’/ ”Ethan told me that you've asked a few times if you could help. “. Victoria nodded with raised eyebrows. “I've met him a few times, yes, but he said you'd rather do everything yourself"/ ”Yeah, that, that was selfish of me.”

“Hm, honestly? I always thought you might want to prove yourself to someone. Or win something like a 'who can organize the best' competition? No matter where we went, you were already there with almost everything ready…"/ „I just wanted to help where I could…’/ ”I know. And we're grateful for that. But it would have been nice if you had let us know beforehand”.

Judy nodded in understanding. “Mmm, and that's exactly why I'm here. I wanted to talk to you… And a few others too, of course, about how we can organize everything better together. Besides… Who's going to help us if we don't help each other?"/ ”That's true, though. I just don't understand why we haven't been supported so far."/ ”Hm, yeah. There must be a explanation for that.”

“I'm of the same opinion. You wouldn't believe all the theories Beau has come up with. And he always ends up with the Altos. Nick doesn't show up here at all, and neither does his wife."/ ‘Oh, do you know anything about whether they had a falling out with the Landgraabs?’/ ”Oh, because of their move? Yes, rumor has it. It went well the whole time. After all, they were the first ones they helped”.

“And this, despite the fact that they were always competing with each other"/ ”as the saying goes: when in need, the devil eats flies. But there must be something going on in the background. Otherwise they wouldn't make themselves so scarce"/ ‘that's true.’. Judy's gaze wandered to the fireplace, in which small flames were blazing. And only now did she realize that it was pleasantly warm in here. “You have it so good, you're the only ones with a fireplace"/ ‘Oh, I wanted to tell you about that! We found some great things in the junkyard, we can make a few stoves with them’.

“Really? I thought you wouldn't find anything there anymore"/ ”oh, no, the people just didn't like to get their hands dirty and look in the depths. Can you still remember Beau's first apprenticeship?”. Judy thought hard, but he shook his head. “uh, that was over 20 years ago, you'll have to help me remember"/ ‘he was a welder’/ ‘ah, yes, I remember now’.

“He could have earned a lot of money with this job back then. But because he didn't come to work completely sober just once, his boss kicked him out straight away instead of giving him a warning or a reprimand. That would have been enough. Beau was pretty down about it"/ ”I see. And he wants to make some alternative radiators for the people here?"/ ‘Yes, and he really enjoys it, Judy’/ ‘Hn, that sounds very good’.

After the two women had finished their first conversation, they sat down at the table to discuss the plans Judy had brought with her. There were quite a few items on the list, but Victoria listened patiently to everything. So they spent the afternoon together in a meaningful way.

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

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover 🙂

[ellorypurebloodculture]

Okay, running with my previous ask, consider: (Also forwarning super long- like straight up a small fic)

The future 'Miss' Petunia Evans is determined to be found worthy of magic, but before that, she is a Big Sister, has been since long before magic was ever involved in her life, and a good Big Sister protects her Little Sister. And so Petunia must be Strong, because her Little Sister is entering a world she cannot fully follow.

To that end, Petunia Evans studies Magical Theory and Culture and every minutia of Manner and Custom there is to know while Lily learns the Practicals of the magical world in Hogwarts, they write letters to eachother thrice as long as any essay a professor assigns going over everything the other has learned, and every visit Lily makes to her Sponsor is accompanied by an entire dossier sent by Petunia covering everything from Wandlore to Goblin Relations to Alchemy to what type of Tea is appropriate to serve when hosting both Rivals and Allies.

Eventually, intrigued but cautious, the Host couple invites Petunia and Lily out for tea at a neutral location to meet their Sponsoreds older sibling. They leave delighted with the articulate young girl dressed like her sister in a simple set of over-robes, and Petunia starts taking afternoon lessons twice a week in a nearby magical community during the school year to further her understanding of the world she is determined to join.

Time and effort see Petunia becoming the Cool Logic and Curiosity and Resourcefulness to Lily's Vivacity and Optimism and Severus's Cunning and Visciousness. They dig into magic further than their classmates, Petunia's Curiosity leading the way.

[Is there a difference between Monkswood, Aconite, and Wolfsbane?]

<No, they are the same plant.>

[Are they? Those names are for the same TYPE of plant, but from different regions - doesn't that mean the amount of various chemicals would differ based on regional patterns in the water and soil, exposure to sunlight? Do chemical levels not affect Potions or Alchemy at all? If they don't, what happens to the excess if energy can not be created or destroyed?]

(Lily and Severus now have an experiment running in an unused classroom, courtesy of Professor Slughorn, that is one part Potions, one part basic Alchemy, and one part experimental chemistry and biology- figuring out how to measure the chemistry make-up of ingredients from across the globe and if there are similar magical properties that should be measured and quantified as well. There are cross breeds and plants grown in non-magical environments, and those grown in only magical environments, ones that were watered and those that only received rain, wild variants and heritage and modern all being tested and monitored to see if there really is no difference.

There are old texts and recipes and a few potions or alchemical experiments from grimoires that have 'not worked in years' being redone using only the original indigenous ingredients. Calculations and calenders line the walls and chalkboards, and a rudimentary version of a 'computer', based on arithmancy and runes, is in development along the backwall to figure out what will change if there are differences, what will it mean for magic as we know it?)

(The experiment, whether it proves or disproves the difference, will be the most extensive study to ingredients in the history of magic and will be enough to land Severus the potions apprenticeship of his dreams. Lily, who has never backed down from a challenge, will get her and her sister's name written down in history or die trying.)

In the meantime, Petunia betters herself where she can so that her entrance into the magical world will be seemless. To that end, she takes up fencing, a sport still performed in the magical world that requires no magical skill, and after a rough start of training up her body, she excels. Years of having Lily teach her wand movements with modified sticks has given her some insight into the motions required to fence, and in those lonely months without her sister, it makes her feel closer to her. With no short amount of dedication and a long list of victories, Petunia is soon skilled enough that she could qualify for the Junior Olympics.

This skill is not known in the magical world, and for good reason, Petunia has only one practical skill that she can use to defend herself and her sister and does not want it known to the magical public, which she does not know well enough to know who might be friend or foe.

/////~All of this to lead to~\\\\\

One weekend, Petunia manages to go to Hogsmeade to spend the day with Lily and to an extent Severus, who she has come to know and like better through their experiments, only to witness one of Heir James Potter's extravagant, and not entirely gentlemanly, displays to win her sister's favor (one cannot try to get a courtship date in the same breathe as insulting ones love interests childhood friend and think it chivalrous).

~After display that has left Severus in a sour mood, Lily furious, and Petunia dazed and slowly growing more irrate. Though Petunia, Severus, and the Mauraders initially stay out of the arguement because this is ultimately between James and Lily~

James: Come on Evans, why don't you and I go get a Butterbeer and let Snivellus and this bird get along with their date? *wink and hair ruffle*

Lily (trying to keep her temper in check in public): Severus, Petunia - My Beloved, Older Sister, and I will be enjoying the day in EACHOTHERS company, Potter. No Toerags or taggers-on allowed. * looks at the other Mauraders while saying this*

James (backtracking cause even a blind fool knows how tight the Evans Sisters are despite one being Magicless): Your Sister? That's great, its amazing to finally meet you, as lovely as your sister,*Petunia looks on, a raised eyebrow the only show of how unimpressed she is* Sirius can escourt you, and we can make it a double date! The boys can be our escourts. No, Snivillus necessary.

Lily (more annoyed and trying to use formality to add distance): That won't be necessary, Heir Potter, as we have a full day scheduled ahead of us already planned out.

James (trying to persuade her): Come on Lily-flower, don't be like that-

Petunia (cutting in for the first time, eyes sharp): What did you just call her?

(Lily looks a little taken aback, as do all the Mauraders, but Severus looks amused, knowing Petunia's temper personally)

James (a little stunned): Lily-flower

Petunia (daring James to try something stupid): I do not recall my sister giving you permission to use her given name, and I AM sure if she had, I would know about it. Yet you not only use her given name familiarly, but even a diminutive nick-name? You insult my sister with your careless words, Heir Potter.

Sirius (under his breathe): Oh Chaos, it's like a second Cissy.

James (shocked and scrambling for words): I would never-

Petunia (cutting in): And now you imply I spek untruths when I have borne witness to your actions myself in present company?

James (getting defensive): Now see here, Potter's are Honorable!-

Petunia: Prove it.

James: What?

Petunia (smiling slightly): Prove you're Honorable? * her last word said like a mocking question*

James (whose Pureblood training is actually kicking in now that he's not goofing around): And how would you have me Prove my Honor exactly?

Petunia: Duel me. You've insulted my and my sister's honor, I would duel you for that.

James ( a little confused and suspicious): Your have no magic. How would you have us duel?

Petunia (starting to become delighted): With swords of course, I know a fair bit of fencing.

James (brow furrowed): I, however, do not.

Sirius (speaking up): I do, Father had me learn as Heir, (speaking first to James then to Petunia) and as his dueling second I can stand in for him since his family's first Vassal isn't here.

Petunia (curiously): That's fine with me. Are you any good?

Sirius (snorting): My Father was a Champion Duelist whose career was ended by a stray dark curse. Anything less than exceptional was never an option.

Petunia (with a smile that reminds Sirius a little too much of his eldest cousin): Perfect.

~ James insists the duel happen at Potter Manor (as an excuse to get Lily into their future home), where Sirius and Petunia are given their choice of swords and a rather unimpressed Dorea acts as judge and referee in their dueling hall.

A game of best two out of three is settled on. The duel is short the first time, Petunia taking the fall. The second round she plays with Sirius, just barely beating him out. The last round is brutal, Petunia intentionally draws it out, going after every weekness Sirius has, after what feels like a lifetime, she finishes him off as easy as you please. Sirius dropping to the ground in exhaustion.~

Petunia (exhausted but delighted, from the experience): I believe custom dictates you not seek my sister's company for some time, isn't that correct.

James (looking at Sirius in shock before his shoulders sag in defeat): Yes, Ms. Evans. I will not unnecessarily impose myself on Miss Evans person for the next year and a day.

Petunia: Delightful, and Heir Black, *Sirius makes a gesture of acknowledgment from the floor he hasn't yet gotten up from* It was a good game, I do hope we can do this again some other time, though preferably under different circumstances.

~Dorea escourts the Ms. and Miss Evans and Master Snape back to the floo so they may return to Hogsmeade, leaving the Mauraders behind.~

Sirius (from the floor): Hey, Prongs?

James (still a little sulky): Yeah, Padfoot?

Sirius (loopily): We're going to be brothers.

Remus and Peter roll their eyes and make sounds of amusement, realizing where Sirius is going long before a still stunned James.

James (a little bewildered): Huh?

Sirius (with a little delirius smile): I'm gonna Marry that Girl. I bet even Mother and Father will approve once she has Magic. Chaos, they'll probably write up a betrothal contract once Aunt Dorea tells them what happened today. Petunia Black, Lady of the Misty Isles, what a lovely ring. We'll name our first daughter Estrella, the star flower. That sounds nice, right? Where should I take her on our first courtship date? Should I ask her later today?

James (a little incredulous): Hey, custom says you can't interact with her for over a year!

Sirius (finally off the floor and smiling a little viciously at James): No, YOU can't interact with her or her sister, ~I~ on the other hand can, as I was merely your stand-in, I didn't commit the slight against them. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a courtship to plan.

~James and Sirius leave the room squabbling as they go, Remus and Peter trailing behind them~

Remus to Peter: Of course, a woman who could toss him on his arse would be his type.

Peter back: When has a Black ever loved anything that didn't have claws and teeth?

~Petunia, already in Hogmeade, sneezes violently.~

Lily: You know, in some cultures, they say that means someone's talking about you.

Petunia (snorts): The only people around here who no me are you and Sev, so I highly doubt that.

End

This is fascinating! Thank you for sharing.

I can absolutely see Sirius/Petunia as a pairing.

[dirty-bosmer]

I've been meaning to ask this ever since The Illusionist was completed, but have you ever thought of an AU or alternate ending for the story? Iirc you mentioned pantsing it, so was there ever a different trajectory you considered when writing the final arc? If Nim could have taken another path, what would it have been (and are there any that are happy for either her or Lucien 🥺 LMAO big ask, I know)?

Hopefully that made sense <3<3<3

OOOhooOHOOoo, what a good question! Yes it made sense and really made me think. There are two alternative endings that I think fit the logic of the story and the characters. Actually, I kind of feel bad for Nim now, because of course I chose the angstiest end for the fic lol. Under the cut because looooong and also spoilers.

The first: Mathieu convinces Nim to join him in taking down the Dark Brotherhood. He confesses everything to her that morning after he finds her drunk on the waterfront, and even though he’s responsible for the Purification, he appeals to Nim’s desire for freedom from Lucien and the clutches of the Black Hand just enough that she agrees to his plan. Nim continues to kill off the Black Hand, thereby setting Lucien up further. After she kills Ungolim, Nim is the one who tells Mathieu that Lucien went to hide out in Applewatch. She arrives with the rest of the Black Hand and actually takes part in his torture/death, and even though she does feel conflicted and guilty over betraying him, it’s also very cathartic after everything he put her through. She’s SO angry at him, blames him for not working harder to prevent the Purification, for taking her as his Silencer, for ruining her chance at a normal life, and I think it would be a turning point for her to say, “fuck it, I’m living the way I want to now and NO ONE will take it from me.”

Once in the Night Mother’s crypt, she and Mathieu turn on the rest of the Black Hand. Meanwhile Lorise is going wtf??? and the Night Mother/Mephala is like “lol y’all think you’re slick. I’ll be back tho, and btw Lorise, Mathieu was the traitor and he’s the reason why Vicente is dead. Lucien told Nim all this like a month ago :)” Lorise turns on Mathieu in her rage, and Nim is forced to kill him to keep Lorise alive. Lorise is understandably pissed that Nim never told her and had fully planned to let Mathieu go free, but Nim pulls some gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss and is like “I would never! This was the only way I could keep you safe!” They agree to torch the crypt, then go on holiday to Daggerfall where they let themselves properly grieve everything they lost in the Dark Brotherhood.

In this version of events, Nim doesn’t have a complete mental break. The mantling proceeds a lot more slowly, and she actually has a happy mortal life. She moves back to Anvil to continue her apprenticeship like nothing ever happened lol but she’s lonely. She misses Raminus and is disturbed by how haunted she is by Lucien’s absence. Because she can’t stand being alone and living simply, she’s like “what if I open up old wounds and write to Raminus and tell him I need him c:” knowing full well how much influence she still has over him. She visits the University, and because Raminus is still in love with her and has been plagued by dreams of her weird Daedric visions, he doesn’t throw her out immediately. Having never received proper closure, he tells himself he just one more conversation with her is going to set his head straight, but Nim is fully committed to gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss at this point, so she confesses to the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood, saying that was her plan all along and she had to do it to save Lorise, that she couldn’t tell him the last time they spoke because she’d be placing him in even more danger. Obviously, he’s horrified and disgusted, but Nim is like, baby we brought out the best in each other and I’m changed woman now uwu. I’m such a good little mage, see *points to calendar that says ’68 days since last murder’* and Raminus is like “well that’s qualitative proof.” He’s so shocked by it all that there is simply no other choice than to be horny for her. Sorry I don’t make the rules.

They live comfortably even though Raminus remains a little terrified of Nim and repulsed by his own willingness to let her back into his life (Compartmentalizing King 👑). He sees hints of the Madgod in her, and it infects him too but in what I’d like to think is a rather wholesome way? She convinces him to retire from his role as Arch-mage and he becomes the eccentric geologist he always wanted to be as a wee lad. They spend the rest of their life travelling Tamriel together and the adventure keeps Nim more or less stable until Raminus inevitably passes from old-age and she makes her way to the Shivering Isles.

The second ending would be far more chaotic lol. In this timeline, she meets with Mephala in the Night Mother’s crypt and accepts the role of Listener, knowing Mephala’s grasp on her soul will keep her on Nirn a while longer before the mantling overtakes her. Also she’s like well I’ve already fucked up my life to the best of my ability, so why not make it worse :D? In this timeline, she still arrives at Applewatch in time to save Lucien and because she doesn’t have her break, she’s there to kill Mathieu. So Lucien and Lorise are both alive, and the three of them + Arquen embark on their little business holiday to Hammerfell and Skyrim to establish new sanctuaries and rebuild the DB. Nim’s relationship with Lucien sours in ✨New and Improved✨ ways, because now he has absolutely no control over her. Now, the power has been completely reversed, and as unhinged as he is, Lucien does honor the Night Mother’s choice to name her Listener. Nim taunts him with this constantly. Also in this timeline, Nim and Arquen have a full blown affair because Arquen recognizes the chance to seize power and Nim recognizes the chance to rub it in Lucien’s face. They are nothing if if not Toxic <3

So yeah, Nim’s accession to Listener leaves Lucien rattled, hollow, uncharacteristically doubtful and maudlin. By now, he’s lost his sanctuary, the rest of the Black Hand, and his Silencer. He has to rebuild completely by himself, and maybe he thinks this is some sort of punishment or test from Sithis? It sends him into a bit of spiral/crisis of faith, because while he’d always respected Ungolim’s leadership and was never covetous of the position of Listener, the fact that the Night Mother chose Nimileth as Listener is quite frankly an insane move that he simply can’t wrap his head around. As an individual, Lucien never truly respected Nim. He was obsessed with her, yes, but he saw her as little more than his knife to wield, and always thought she was a whiny, ungrateful little brat because she was but more importantly because she didn’t worship at his feet like the others in the sanctuary did :’(

And true to his observations, as competent an assassin as she was, Nim was an awful Silencer lol. She was disloyal, unfaithful, distracted, quarrelsome. Not to mention she held and still holds nothing but disdain for their order and has no leadership skills whatsoever. As Listener, she’s so unserious, basically Arquen’s puppet out of sheer indifference, and it disgusts Lucien, further fueling the violent impulses he’s always felt when they’re together, only now he can’t act upon them so he goes on a similar psycho killing spree as he does in the original fic lol. Also Lucien does recognize that there is something awry about the whole thing, because the Night Mother would not have named her Listener if the Dark Brotherhoods best interest were in mind (and he’s not wrong. It was all Mephala’s personal schemes in the end anyway). So yeah, he’s constantly having to quell what he considers the blasphemous, heretical urge to question the Night Mother’s commands and it eats at him constantly.

I imagine after they return to Cyrodiil, Nim settles down in Bravil and is actually quite content there. She makes Lorise her Silencer and spends her days gardening, helping out at the Mages Guild and the chapel of Mara, going on trips with Arquen and Lorise, and Lucien just has to seethe and watch her find happiness without him. He festers a bit in Fort Farragut, playing sad songs on the lyre and drinking Argonian bloodwine, writing on the walls “I will not blaspheme. I will not question the Night Mother’s will. I will not kill disobey the Listener,” all the while thinking why her why her why her. And because they are the most divorced couple on Nirn, Nim can’t let him grow tired of her, so they’re always playing stupid games to make each other jealous, starting fights and fucking about it, and Arquen is just tapping her watch thinking “when are you two going to kill each other so I can become Listener.” It goes on that way until Nim is finally like “okay, I’m bored fr now” and fucks off to the Shivering Isles for good.

As you’ll notice, Lucien does not get a happy ending in any version lol but I loved thinking about them this way. This was such an incredible question and one I had not really thought about before! Thank you so much for asking <3

[philosophika]

Writeblr Positivity Tag

Hi @inkovert! Thank you, as always, for the tag. Just a quick shout-out; if you don't know Inkovert yet, please please please go check out their WIP, My Dearest Enemy. Also, do you like having in-depth discussions about writing with other up-and-coming authors? Participate in @inkovert's Spilled Ink Saturdays. The first session (on book-to-screen adaptations) was a lot of fun!

✦ What motivates you to write?

I agree with @inkovert. It's not that I'm motivated to write, exactly... It's more that I feel I... have to? There's a sort of internal inertia that keeps pulling me back to fiction. Maybe it's obsession? Maybe it's Maybelline? 💃😉 No, but seriously, I think it may be connected to this weird instinct I have to document things? To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, when I was in my mid-twenties, I went through a terrifying break-in. I kid you not; there was a literal man with a balaclava crouched in my shower in the middle of the night. How did I respond? By screaming, obviously. But after the screaming? I called up my boyfriend and narrated every single detail of what I saw and heard while trying to escape the house with my family. In my mind, I felt it was critical to tell him what was going on, not because I thought it would help catch the culprit(s) (we didn't know if there were more), save us from whatever bitter fate awaited, etc., but kind of in the same way people carve "I was here" into walls? If I was going to die (which was a possibility; a friend's father died in similar circumstances at around the same time), I needed someone to know what I'd seen, to know that I'd seen... So, do I write because I'd die if I didn't? No. I write because I'm going to die anyway. Because I know I'm going to die.

✦ A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud of/happy with. If not, maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them):

I can do you one better! Because @inkovert kindly tagged me, I'd like to return the favour by referring you to their Wattpad page, where you can read their current WIP, My Dearest Enemy

✦ Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them, and what are they like?

Haha, I don't know if any of the OCs in The Sorcerer's Apprentice make me smile. They all worry me a lot. By accepting an apprenticeship with the sorcerer Valeriano, Altaluna is heading straight into a nest of venomous vipers, and they are going to maim her; they are going to maim her for life. Every time she feels optimistic or wow-ed by the glitz and the glam of her new environment, I cringe internally. My poor, sweet summer child! Valeriano, on the other hand, is a monster, so it's hard to smile when thinking of him. Hmm... maybe the only character I genuinely smile around is Cucufate, the talking monkey. He's the only character whose behaviour and snide comments can be underplayed as just 'animal antics,' which means he's the only character who can get away with giving people a little of what they truly deserve. It's hard not to love him for it.

✦ What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Again, I have to agree with @inkovert. The editing process means no blank page, and no blank page means (rejoice!) no existential suffering. My first drafts are always shit and a disappointment. But my second drafts? Dost thou want to live deliciously? With the second draft, I know where I'm going, what's happening, where to trim the fat and everything I need to make the story what I wanted it to be in the first place. Usually, I downright discard the first draft and write the entire story from scratch, but better, so much better. And editing the second (or sometimes, third) draft? Pure, unadulterated bliss. Goodbye, low self-esteem, goodbye doubts; cue me some Nina Simone, why don't you?

✦ What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Editing, re-drafting. I'm good at figuring out what's wrong and have no trouble whatsoever massacring my darlings.

✦ What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

The community! I love participating in tag & ask games, reading people's work, celebrating my mutual's triumphs, and sharing my progress. I don't have any writer friends outside of Tumblr (apart from academic writer friends, though they're a very different kettle of fish), so I really appreciate being able to log on and be met with all this creativity.

✦ A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Okay, so first thing first: I have ADHD. Any thought I have is an explosion that simultaneously sends spin-off thoughts in every imaginable direction, which, in turn, send spin-off thoughts in every imaginable direction, and so on and so forth, and on and on, until some of the spin-offs reach a dead end and their line withers, and/or I reach the limits of my capacity to hold all these thoughts in my mind and spontaneously combust. Instead of trying to fight this multi-generative tendency (this leads to a state of paralysis where I can't do anything), I've found a way to let the 'explosions' take the lead without overloading my systems, so to speak. Basically, I figured that if I stored every direction my mind went in somewhere other than my mind, I could let it do its thing without risking burnout. For that, I use MindNode, a visual brainstorming software. And let me tell you, it's been a life-saver. Now, when considering a scene, I document every possible route available to the characters and/or the setting, assign each ramification a score (for example, +1 Worldbuilding, +1 Foreshadowing, +1 Symbolism, +1 Character Development, -1 Cliché, -1 Undermines Tension, -1 Repetitive, etc.), and then choose the one with the highest score to write out. This method is obviously quite time-consuming, but it does have some unique strengths beyond helping me deal with my ADHD: (1) it ensures that there are no superfluous scenes in the grand design, (2) it ensures that all scenes are layered and fulfil multiple story functions at once, (3) it discourages going with the first option that presents itself (usually cliché, in my case), (4) it encourages out-of-the-box creative thinking, (5) and, finally, it's likely to lead to scenes that surprise you, the writer (for example, I was shocked by how many routes led to my character's death, lol). So, yeah, MindNode has been very helpful to me.

✦ A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law, etc)

I love the magic system, but I'm not sure I'll reveal anything more about it before publication than I already have in this post. You're just going to have to wait and see ;)

✦ Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

I follow TONS of talented writers on this site, among them: @inkovert, @that-chibi-writer, @tate-lin, @kingkendrick7, @ettawritesnstudies, @blind-the-winds, @aquadestinyswriting, @avrablake, @alinacapellabooks, @lordfenric-writes, @moonscribbler, @cee-grice, @sender-paulson, @sarah-sandwich, @liv-is, @athenswrites, @junypr-camus, @rubywrite, @winterandwords, @salmonandfox, @merlina87, @songsofsomnia, @words-after-midnight, @lucianinsanity, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @nanashi23, @sam-glade, @at-thezenith, @kestalsblog, @kaatiba, @theunboundwriter, and so many more!

[mister-president-lost-his-phone]

~BREAKING NEWS~

Tonight on America’s Top News Network, the reportedly “lost” President’s phone seems to have been stolen, and the culprit even has the gall to introduce themself...

Now with host Ray Raybeam on the situation:

The host tries to keep a straight face as the camera closes in on him in front of the blue news-room backdrop.

“Yes, for the past few days America has been eagerly awaiting the return of Mister President’s cellphone–twitter has been so boring without him. And apparently, Mister President could not remember his login info, but someone else did.”

Ray smiles again as an image appears with a blurry photo of the top of someone’s brown boots as they stand in tall grass.

“Now let’s see what top secret passcodes our president comes up with!”

The corner image then expands across the television screen, revealing the text beneath the image, the news host reads:

“Hello? I’ve never kept a journal before, though I have never seen one like this. Whatever old Kerch Merch lost this is incredibly stupid. All his combination locks were ‘1234’ and ‘Password123!’ I fixed that quickly, I even managed to think ahead and put my new address in the ‘mail’ with a ‘G’ portion and made some crafty combinations of my own.

I wonder if Ma and Da can somehow see this—just in case—

DON’T WORRY DA I AM COMING HOME THIS FRIDAY!

Oh right, journals are perfect for keeping track of to-dos!

List of note-worthy happenings this week:

Finishing up the schematics for a certain Ravkan pirate (while I do appreciate my apprenticeship...I’m not even allowed to meet him nor do I get to see the flying ships these giant guns will be attached to)

Ren’s telling me I’ve got the smarts to apply to University (imagine me in Ketterdam, big fancy suit and all, looking one hundred percent better than this greasy old Merch)

Mal’s girlfriend (he’s a friend from the farm’s affiliated jurda warehouse I don’t think Ma knows that) got a goiter, that is sad but—I said something so stupid. I told Mal I’d pray to the ‘God of Work’ for them, which that doesn’t even exist! To all the Saints and their Aunt Ida why did I say that!

This thing won’t stop buzzing, I’m going to bring this to Ren and see if he can make sense of it.

Why did this have to be in Kerch? There isn’t even a Zemeni language option.``

The camera pans back to the host. He nods and says, “Yes, this post reveals so much about Mister President, but raises so many questions. What is jurda? Who, what, where, are these ‘Ravkan’ pirates? A quick google search shows that many of these unfamiliar words are not places, cultures, or any known word...”

“But the White House had to take action, while we may be laughing at the absurdity of Mister President getting his phone stolen and social media hacked, this is considered a major cyber attack—here’s the goings-on in the White House:”

News coverage shows flashes of the White House, the president hosting meetings at roundtables, and a group of IT experts in suits typing furiously on computers as a female voiceover reports:

“The White House is scrambling to recover Mister President’s data after this unnerving theft and hacking attack. The situation becomes even more dire after Mister President admits to having many copies of classified documents saved to his phone and Gmail. It seems all of Mister President’s accounts have been changed except one: Twitter. And the president took to his favorite platform to address the perpetrator—”

(A tweet appears on screen)

——————————————

🐦‍⬛ THE Twitter 🐦‍⬛

👨‍🦳 Mister President ✔️

This criminal will be caught! And is determined to spread lies about me! But even this criminal knows he can’t silence Mister President! What? This great “hacker” can’t get into my twitter!

——————————————

(The screen fades to a spectacled 20-something white man in a suit)

He says, “While the president may be happy about not being locked out of his twitter, there are still mysteries we can’t figure out, which we have been working around the clock to stop. This simple theft and hacking can’t be traced. Every phone or data can be traced no matter where in the world you are...all our IT team sees is blank, blank, blankety-blank. It's as if Mister President’s phone fell onto another planet with magic Internet. Our team can’t even block this perpetrator from using the president’s phone and his various accounts.”

(The segment fades out to reveal Ray, visibly confused)

“MAGIC INTERNET?!” he exclaims. “The top cyber security teams in the United States can’t track the president’s phone and after a week deduce that Magic Internet is hiding this person? Phew, let's hope no other countries have access to this Magic Internet.

“Now, stay tuned the next couple of days...maybe this ‘criminal’ who found Mister President’s phone and was lucky enough to guess some easy passwords will finally crush all of Mister President’s dreams...and take over his twitter!”

(The camera pans out to applause and laughter)

[solongdaisymayy]

Traditions (Fred & George's Version)

written for #WeasleyWeek hosted by @thethreebroomsticksfic. – Day 5: Fred and George Weasley

shoutout to @lanaturnergetup, queen of George Weasley fics & all things present tense, for looking over this fic! ☺️

Read it below or on AO3 !

It’s one of the oldest, most well known traditions in the Wizarding World, receiving your Hogwarts letter the summer you’re eleven. Criminally less talked about, George reckons, is the insane barrage of questions from a newly admitted first year, all centered around life at Hogwarts. 

“Oh, just you wait, you’ll see what they have in store for you. It’s fun watching the new midgets be sorted,” Fred says when Ron comes down for breakfast on a Monday morning, this time inquiring about the sorting ceremony. Unfortunately for Ron, they've specifically been instructed not to give this bit of information away.

“But how are we sorted? What do we have to do?” Ron asks, taking the seat beside Dad and loading his plate with scrambled eggs and sausages. 

A tawny owl carrying an envelope with the Hogwarts seal arrived for Ron just last week, and he’s talked of little else since. His wondrous curiosity – this wide-eyed eagerness to know where each class is located and what time dinner starts and how soon he can try out for the Quidditch team – would all be sweet, were it not for the fact that Ron has been directing most of these questions towards him and Fred. 

George, groaning, reaches for the pot of tea and wonders dismally if pretending he’s lost his hearing might prompt Ron into shutting up for the rest of summer. The temptation to just tell Ron the truth is growing stronger by the minute. So what if Ron knows all they had to do was pull on a tatty old hat? It surely won’t ruin his first day at Hogwarts, not the way Mum and Dad went on about it. Does it really have to be kept a secret?

Fred, however, waves a hand at Ron, throws George a quick sidelong glance, brow raised. “Just a small test. Doesn’t take too long either, the sorting ceremony.”

George sighs but gives in. For tradition, as they say.

“It’ll be over faster than you can say ‘blimey’. You’ll barely even feel the pain before - poof!” He snaps his fingers. “You’re done, just like that. New house, new mates, you’ve got it all.”

The color drains from Ron’s face. “Pain? What d’you-”

“Don’t worry, you can scream if you’d like.” Fred is the picture of calm as he addresses Ron, who's frowning. “We’re all used to it by now, watching the wee ones squirm. It rarely lasts longer than a minute.”

Dad, his face hidden behind the morning paper, clears his throat loudly.

“Right, right,” Fred says hastily, “but we’re not supposed to talk about it. You’ll find out soon enough, only a few more weeks.”

“Just don’t look too scared when you get there,” George advises, buttering his toast before slathering it with generous amounts of marmalade. “They won’t sort you into Gryffindor, then, and you’ll fail our house test.”

“And that would be a shame,” Fred yawns. “Mum’ll have to disown you.” 

“That’s enough,” Dad interrupts, his voice straining suspiciously behind that newspaper. “Ron, don’t worry, and don’t listen to these two. It’ll be fine, trust me.”

Ron nods, unsure, and stares down at his plate. George tries his best to keep his mouth straight. It’s always so easy, messing around with Ron. 

Ten minutes later, and he’s passing Ron on his way to the kitchen for some of yesterday’s scones. George, glancing down at his younger brother, falters for a heartbeat. He should just let it go, really, but he can’t resist. Biting back a laugh, he pats Ron's head, offers the boy a sympathetic smile when he looks around.

Ron’s expression turns, if possible, ever more morose as he turns back to his cold eggs. 

“Listen, if you fail the sorting ceremony, Ronnie,” George assures him, “there’s always Hagrid’s apprenticeship to look forward to.”

Fred grins. “Yeah, no shame in working with Chizpurfles and Chimeras, dear brother.”

“Working with what? Is that legal?”

“So long as you don’t lose a limb, sure.”

Dad makes a sound, somewhere between a cough and a laugh. 

It’s tradition, too, George reckons, to keep the children guessing about life at Hogwarts.

[octuscle]

Branko

Sebastian was angry. Actually, at himself, of course. He hadn't bothered to find an internship and now had to take the place assigned to him by the school at the local Harley Davidson dealership for the next two weeks. But on the outside, he was angry at his parents. After all, it was their job to care. For the 16 years of his life, he didn't have to worry about anything. His father was a successful lawyer in Zurich, and his mother had brought so much money into the marriage from his grandfather's inheritance that even though she had finished medical school, she really only spent her time shopping. And with taking care of him, the only son. Why hadn't the two of them organized an internship somewhere where he could have had two relaxing weeks and maintained his Instagram account.

His mother stopped the impressive Bentley Bentayga and Sebastian got out of the car without a word of goodbye with a grumpy face. A couple of motorcycle repair shop employees standing smoking in the parking lot nodded at him with respect for the car; he ignored it and went straight into the building, hoping to get through the day with as few social contacts as possible. The general manager welcomed him personally (presumably because his father was a good customer), gave him a little tour of the offices, the showrooms, and then into the garage, where Sebastian was introduced to the shop foreman. The garage was the first stop during the internship. And he wondered for the thousandth time why he was here. In life, he would not ride a motorcycle. And in life, he wouldn't get his fingers dirty on a motorcycle. After all, the coffee he was offered wasn't bad. Really good, to be honest. And in fact, after the second coffee, somehow everything was different. The motorcycles were fascinating. And Sebastian began to soak up all the information. And with every coffee that the workshop master handed him with a grin, his interest grew. Time flew by, Sebastian struck up a conversation with the other colleagues and gratefully accepted one of the journeymen's offer to take him home. With his oil-smeared clothes, which were not really suitable for work in the garage, he would not have wanted to get into the Bentley.

The next morning, the alarm clock rang at 05:00. Sebastian was used to that. Since he had started his apprenticeship a year ago, he had become an early riser. He pulled a reasonably clean shirt and his shorts from the pile of dirty laundry, put on his running shoes, and made his rounds at dawn. After an hour, he threw his sweaty clothes in the corner, just kept the jockstrap and socks on, and without wasting time showering, put on his overalls and work shoes and quietly left the house. His effeminate parents, of course, were still sound asleep. At the bus stop, he smoked his first cigarette of the day. He wasn't allowed to smoke at home. He couldn't wait until he had his own apartment. And his driver's license. He liked his life, but being dependent on the bus and having to obey his parents was really exhausting. He was all the happier when he arrived at work. He loved listening to the engines of the heavy machines and, according to his foreman, had a talent for teasing the last out of the engines. His dream was to start in the tuning business after completing his apprenticeship.

Wednesdays were vocational school days. He hated school. Everything to do with math was okay, he could use that to tinker with the engines. But he had a hard time with languages. His mother was half Bosnian, so he had picked up a few words of Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian, but English wasn't his... Because he wasn't going to the garage today, Sebastian took a quick shower after his run. While drying off in front of the mirror, he proudly remarked that he had inherited not only the language from his grandfather, but also good genes. Unlike his effeminate father, he had a rather strong beard growth and more and more black hair grew between his abdominal muscles. When he showered with the other trainees after the gym or when they went to the outdoor pool after work in the summer, you could see that he was already further along in his development than the others at the age of 18. Probably because of this, the others made fun of calling him by his middle name, Branko. At first he had hated the master for betraying his Bosnian roots, but today he was rather proud of it. Sebastian shaved his skull as he did every other day or so, put on a jogging suit and, before leaving the house, smoked a first hand-rolled cigarette with his mocha. Since he was allowed to live in the old gardener's apartment above the garage, the smoking ban was finally history. He threw on his alpha jacket, took his helmet and sat on his BMW. Of course he was ashamed in front of his older colleagues because of the pathetic 35 kw, but in two years he would finally be allowed to ride a real heavy Harley.

Thank God it was already Thursday. During the week, the gym always came up a little short, but on the weekend Branko would again pump to exhaustion. Since he lived in his own apartment near the garage, he had a weight bench, but working out in an atmosphere drenched in sweat and testosterone was just something else. For the past three years, he had been going to the gym regularly with his buddies from the garage, and he was very pleased with the results. Whenever possible, he worked out in just his undershirt. Working bare-chested had been tried, but had only resulted in the foreman calling him into the office. Behind lowered blinds Branko had then had to blow his boss. Since then, it happened every now and then. At first, Branko had thought he was the only gay in the company, but on second thought, it was obvious that leather, motors and muscles also attracted fags. And he considered himself good proof that gasoline in the blood and pleasure in engines went well with fun sucking cocks.

Since he had finished his apprenticeship at the top of his class, Branko really enjoyed not having to sweep out the garage on Fridays. It was 3:00 p.m., and he was sitting in the yard with the other fellows, drinking an after-work beer and taking a drag on his cigarette butt. This weekend he didn't have to work in sales on Saturday, which he quite enjoyed doing occasionally, this weekend belonged to the Gym and the boys. Let's see if the weather also allowed a ride on the bike. But for now, he had to make his way to his mother's store. Every Friday afternoon he had one of her girls polish up his body for the weekend. He might look macho, but for him that included manicured fingers, a carefully trimmed beard, and a freshly waxed back. Like his Bosnian uncles, Branko had had strong body hair from an early age. He loved the developing fur on his chest. But hair had no place on his shoulders or back. His mother once again greeted him somewhat effusively when he entered her salon. Branko was always a little embarrassed. Especially since people who didn't know him and his mother might mistake him for her lover. At 34, his mother, who had already come to Switzerland pregnant from Banja Luka, was just 14 years older than him. And his father's money had not only been seed money for a successful cosmetics empire, it had also ensured that his mother was the epitome of a MILF. Lots of exercise and plenty of visits to talented plastic surgeons had ensured a flawless body.

On Saturday, too, the alarm clock went off at 05:00. Without discipline, the muscles did not grow. And before the gym opened at 07:00, Branko put great emphasis on the previous running training and, of course, on plenty of protein for breakfast. Besides, he was not a night person even on weekends. He had been smoking a shisha with the guys yesterday, had fucked the horny Serbian waiter in the toilet and had been in bed at 22:00. And he was sure that there was plenty to fuck in the gym afterwards. When the beads of sweat glistened in his chest hair, he was simply irresistible. It had been a warm night. So Branko ran the twelve-kilometer morning lap bare-chested. And afterwards, unshowered, got right into the Dainese motorcycle suit. He loved the smell of sweat, cum and leather that hit him. When the engine of his brand new Ducati howled up, he got a boner right away. At 21 years old, he was a jerk-off template made flesh. And he knew it.

Before the Sunday visit to his parents, a shower was on the agenda. His parents already found it borderline when he came to brunch with his Harley. Otherwise, he could at least be well-groomed. Punctually at 11:00 am his Harley rolled over the gravel in the driveway. Even though he was now one of the big boys, he was a bit excited. But fortunately, neither his mother nor his father made any comment about the new tattoos that adorned his right forearm. Well, he had been less concerned with his father, after all, whose powerful torso was decorated with abundant signs of Albanian and Swiss national pride. And more importantly, his mother's ratty youngest brother showed great interest in the tattoos. After dinner, Branko showed Dragan the rest of the new tattoos and his new PA upstairs in the old gardener's apartment.

Monday morning Branko was already at the gym at 05:30. The cardio training Dragan and he had more than ample yesterday, but the muscles desperately needed to be pumped up again before work. Thank God the Serbian muscle hunk had an early shift today. At least he could talk to him. The blond Swiss, who usually worked at this time, probably despised him for his broken German. And Branko despised the Swiss because, as a crossfitter, he didn't lift iron. In the garage, the week started at 08:00 with the meeting of the foremen and the department heads. One of the few moments during the week when Branko had his upper arms covered at work. Whereby his supervisor had also rolled up his T-shirt sleeves quite unabashedly. Really massive arms, Branko thought....

Sunrise was early on this Tuesday in June. But since Branko ran the Harley-Davidson branch in Tirana, it was important to him to answer the call to prayer at least three times a day. Many of his employees and also his customers were much more devout than he was. He had to adapt to this if he wanted to survive in this market. And when his father had sent him from Switzerland to the country of his fathers to build up the business there, Branko had resolved to make his parents proud. That's why he now went by his middle name, Granit, in public. It suited him much better, he thought with a grin. After praying, Branko once again examined the magnificent piece of machinery that was to be handed over to a customer this morning. If it wasn't so hot, Branko would have thrown on leather pants and jacket himself. But in hot temperatures, a tank top and combat pants had to suffice for a credible appearance. And he hoped that it would be hot again today.