#admittedly it’s been ages since I read the other books; but I thought this was a decent ending | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writeyouin · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, for holiday fics, can i request MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons where its Christmas time and there's a gift exchange? Thank you!

MTMTE Bots X Reader - Gift Exchange

A/N - A-All of them?! There's… That's a lot of bots. Imma just pick a few, then if anyone wants more you can just ask me for them.

Warnings - None

Rating - T

Swerve

Swerve is far too nervous for this.

It's your first Christmas aboard the ship, and he is determined to confess his love for you. Like, he has spent every last second planning this for months.

Now that it's time though, he thinks he might purge his tanks.

What if you don't like his gift? Worse, what if you reject him? He knows you won't be mean about it, but... he doesn't want to spend his life without you. He really loves you, and nothing terrifies him more than his own feelings.

Still, here is the moment. You've given him your gift.

It was a crocheted blanket, so he'll be comfy on movie nights. When did you have time to make this? Oh wow. He presses the material to his face. It's so soft, and if he takes in some air, it smells like you. Of course it does... You've clearly spent ages making it.

Swerve hugs you and he holds on for a few seconds too long. You laugh amiably, and make a joke about being Christmas crushed.

Finally, he lets you go and bashfully presents you with his gift. It isn't wrapped very well. It must have been difficult for him, since it's relatively small. You can see where the tape has come up a few times, stripping the paper of some of its colour. All this just makes you smile more.

You tear open the gift, and it's a datapad, specially made to be human-sized. You flick on the screen and find that it's filled with music, in a specially arranged playlist.

Admittedly, Swerve doesn't know a whole lot about Earth music. He's more into TV and movies, but he knows how much you love music, so he really tried with this.

Moreover, the first word of each song creates a message, and it is a long message. It's a confession. You might have missed it, had the first word of each song not been highlighted.

You take a while to read what's written. Meanwhile, Swerve is stuck in limbo, feeling entirely sick. Part of him wants to snatch the datapad back and laugh it off like it was all a mistake or a stupid joke. Instead, he waits, trying to stop his servos from shaking by resting them on his thighs.

When you've finished reading his confession, you let your thumb glide over the first song, hitting play.

You smile, get to your feet, and approach Swerve.

"I love it," You say quietly.

Then, you kiss him.

At first, Swerve is completely taken aback. Then, his hands find their way around your back and he's holding you close, your first kiss to Nat King Cole's 'The Very Thought of You.'

Rung

Rung didn't actually want gifts. The only thing he asked for was an evening alone with you.

Normally, he's so busy with his patients, and everyone always wants time with the ship's only human, usually so they can ask you questions and place bets on what the answer will be - Rodimus is still pissed that he lost 100 shanix when you were asked what a colander was (Sufficed to say, his answer wasn't kitchen utensil for draining water).

So, that's exactly how you spend Christmas Eve with Rung. You're sat in his lap, laid back on the sofa while he reads to you from a book you chose.

His fingers gently glide over your head - You feel safe with Rung - loved - and you know that he feels the same when he's with you.

Despite that, you did get him a gift, and little do you know, he's got you one too. They will both wait for tomorrow however, as you relax into one another, with no obligation to anyone else.

The next day, you wake up atop the berth, and realise that you must have fallen asleep when Rung was reading and that he has carried you to bed.

Yet, he isn't there with you. You're just getting up when you hear him humming. Your shared hab-suite isn't like the others on the ship - it's the only one wherein the rooms are separate as if to recreate a normal Earth apartment.

So, upon getting up to explore, you find Rung in the kitchen - He's never been in here before, except when he's looking for you.

This is his gift and his surprise. He knows how much time you always put into cooking, and unfortunately, there's nobody else who could ever cook for you, which he has been led to believe is a normal part of human relationships and something most humans are grateful for.

It took a while to research the recipes, and even more time to find out what ingredients could be substituted. Moreover, Rung has spent months practising this, between meetings, and now, he's rather good at it - he always was good at following instructions and handling delicate objects.

So, your Christmas brunch is courtesy of Rung, and you make sure to tell him how delicious everything is, kissing him afterwards so he might get a taste of the wonderful meal he's made as his arms wrap around you and he presses you against the dining table.

Later, after a long, and frankly heated make-out session, you present him with his gift. It's a model ship of the only one missing from his collection - the Lost Light itself. His eyes light up when he sees it, all ready to be put together.

That afternoon, the two of you sit together and start building the miniature, all while listening to Christmas music which plays serenely in the background.

Megatron

Megatron is staring at you quite intensely. If you weren't used to him, you might think he was glaring at you.

Still, you feel like you might have done something wrong or that he hates your gift to him. It was after all, rather personal, and Megatron isn't a huge fan of PDA.

The gift in question was a song. As it turned out, Nautica was something of a musical prodigy, so with her help, you had written a song about Megatron - She had composed the tune, while you wrote the lyrics.

You assumed that by involving another bot, Megatron felt exposed; it was entirely possible that he didn't like the idea of someone else singing about him or your relationship with him.

You couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth of the matter was that Megatron loved the song. You had poured your very soul into it, and it was so much more than he could have asked for.

... And in return, he had gotten you a gift basket. Soaps, shampoos, lotions - His research had led him to believe this was the social norm on Earth. He couldn't give you that now!

How would that look? You had given him a piece of your soul, and he got you L'oriel "because you're worth it."

No. It wasn't good enough.

"Excuse me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my hab-suite," Megatron said coolly, before leaving you.

You deflated, feeling that all was lost, especially since Megatron took a good thirty minutes to return.

Yet, when he came back, he held out a datapad for you, mumbling an apology that it wasn't wrapped.

You swallowed nervously when he wouldn't meet your eye, and then you took the present reverently.

You flicked on the screen and found it open in a folder - "(Y/N)'s Poetry."

There were well over a hundred entries, all of them dedicated to you.

'The Radiance of a Smile', 'Promises of Forever', and 'Forgiveness of the Past', were just a few at the top of the list. Even more surprising was the fact that a great many of them were written before the two of you began dating. When you looked at the earlier entries, you saw how Megatron's feelings towards you had come about and evolved into something more.

You were speechless, yet on your face, Megatron was pleased to see that you knew how he felt for you, and that your love for him was just as much of a weight, though it was one you were glad to bear.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #maccadam #transformers #mtmte #more than meets the eye #ll #lost light #the lost light #transformers idw #swerve #swerve x reader #rung #rung x reader #megatron #megatron x reader #gift exchange

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side-shuffling-hyperfixations · 4 months ago

Text

Some people may think it's "boring" or a copout that the only hobby given in '03 Leo's bio is reading but it doesn't have to be. Leo being a bookworm is a fun thought in my opinion -- admittedly a biased one because I grew up as a bookworm myself. The phrase "Readers Are Leaders" was one I lived by, and how perfectly applicable is that to Leo? Imagine!

When they're tots, he helps the others learn how to read! Getting gently scolded by Master Splinter for staying up late reading under the covers. Setting up a cozy little reading corner in his bedroom stacked with battered books he's read front to back and back to front.

The excitement when Master Splinter scavenges dumped books for him to read; doing his best to clean it up, feeling crushed every time he finds pages stained beyond repair, torn or missing but he'll try to fill in the gaps of the plot with the information he has (training his foresight and attention to detail in the process, which will help a lot in the future.) Rereading the salvage half a dozen times within the week. Trying so, sooo hard not to spoil parts of it to his brothers because he's just so eager to see how they react to the twist!

He and Don bond as book buddies since they read above their age level. Mikey gets to flex his art skills making personalized bookmarks for Leo because one of his biggest pet peeves is losing whatever page he was on. Raph pretends he's too old now for Splinter's bedtime stories but hey, he wouldn't complain if Leo decided to relay it to him secondhand, since Leo's got it memorized already.

The day he learned about libraries, free for humans to have their pick of all the books they could want, it really started to sink in for him how different it was for their family, how much they were missing out on topside. That hurt.

Whenever his brothers get their turn with a book first, they can feel him hovering around, itching to get his hands on it -- which probably distracts them from reading as quickly as they could so eventually they're just like "Okay, fine, take it already." Leo devours it until he hits the part where his brothers left off and then reads the rest to them so they can experience the ending together!

He probably has a great reading voice. There may be a few books the others won't read on their own because it's not the same when it's not Leo doing the voices. Mikey jokes that he should record some audiobooks and maybe it's not a bad idea! Maybe he does. (Maybe one of his brothers listens to them after he's been sent away to Japan because they miss him and want to hear his voice as it used to be, free of the pain and anger that's been so common these days.)

Escaping into familiar, easy reading when he's stressed. Leaning on the stories with happy endings when he needs a boost of morale and hope. Curling up in private with a book that he knows will make him cry when he needs an emotional release. Reading aloud at his brothers' bedside whenever they're seriously injured, either to distract them from the pain or hoping his voice will lure them back to consciousness, as their voices did for him.

Bookworm Leo isn't boring to me <3

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #tmnt leonardo #hobbies #headcanons #bookworm leo

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cherrychilli · 1 year ago

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Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter three

Chapter Summary: Things turn sour in the days after you scramble out of Eddie's trailer, leading to an interesting confrontation at your old alma mater.

Chapter warnings: Oral sex (m)

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It’s been a week since that day in Eddie’s bedroom.

During that time, you hit the books, powered through your shifts, made it to every lecture and finished your midterms, now holding the fruit of your labor in your hands.

You managed to score in the 90’s again, relief filtering into your lungs with deep, calming breaths because it accounted for 25% of your final grade. With your academic progress still intact, you slipped the glowing results sheet into your bag, allowing yourself to think of your neighbor again.

And as weird as it is to say, you do feel strangely grateful for his contribution.

You’d awoken the day after bolting out of Eddie’s place with your head already crowded with thoughts of him but admittedly, having slept better than you had in a long time. He’d talked a big game and he delivered – the encounter having unwound you enough to get back to work with renewed focus.

So yes, you were grateful but also, you were furious.

Seven whole days had passed by and you hadn’t seen Eddie once.

You tried not to read into the fact that for that entire week, you didn’t hear him play his guitar once. Tried not to let your chest cave in when you didn’t catch him outside working on that tetanus trap on wheels he called a van when you took off for work. Tried not to grit your teeth when you didn’t run into him even when you returned home. Every trace of him gone.

It wasn’t that you wanted to see him exactly, but you couldn’t ignore how his absence made you feel – like a mistake he was trying to run away from.

On day four, the day after your exams, you’d even gone so far as to try wheedling some answers out of Wayne when you passed by the older man on your way to work, attempting to be as inconspicuous about it as possible.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to share a few polite words with Wayne whenever you ran into him but it was out of the ordinary for you to bring up his nephew in any other context that didn’t have to do with a noise complaint.

Segueing into it as gracefully as you could manage, you tried to make it sound as offhand as possible, like a casual observation rather than the heavily rehearsed thing that had consumed your mind all day.

“It’s been pretty quiet in the park lately. He sick or something?”, you asked him while toing at some nearby gravel like your own interest in the question was waning.

You refused to say Eddie’s name, afraid that just by mentioning it, it might put a crack in the eggshell thin mask that holds your hurricane of emotions at bay.

As you had expected, Wayne regards you with some surprise – catching his nearly imperceptible squint, his craggy brow crinkling too. It was both unavoidable and understandable. You would have reacted the same way if you were him.

The weight of his second long silence borders on excruciation, something almost surgical about the way he assesses you. Dissecting you is what it really felt like but thankfully, he shows you mercy.

“Says he’s got things to do at school – doubt there’s any studying involved though”, he lets out a huff, a dry, almost laugh that conveyed his long suffering history with his nephew’s unbeaten record for flunking.

Eddie willingly spending more time at school? The same boy who once climbed down out of a second story window, slipped and hauled ass on a sprained ankle just to get out of taking a math test?

So he was avoiding you.

Despite the bitter taste clawing at the back of your throat, you mustered up a laugh of your own and hoped it was convincing enough, waving goodbye to Wayne as you parted ways.

For those seven days you blocked out the thought of Eddie as best you could but now that your exams were no longer a concern, you were finally free to confront the spineless louse.

If he thought he was going to be safe holed up at your old alma mater he was dead fucking wrong.

Treading fire onto campus, you marched through waves of highschoolers, making a steady beeline for the drama room, remembering that was where he held those weird meetings with his weirdo friends in their weird matching t-shirts.

The teenagers hastily parted off to the side in an effort to get out of your way, some of the seniors who recognized you beginning to whisper, speculating as to what brought you back and looking so incensed.

Stomping up to the room, you let loose all that had been simmering inside you – all that frustration from being evaded and those acrid feelings that felt too close to rejection, parting the doors open forcefully with both hands. It makes for your desired entrance when they swing back and bang closed behind you like a thunderclap, startling the boy who’d been busy scribbling in his notebook getting ready for his next campaign.

His pen clattered to the floor from where it flew out his hand and bounced off a nearby theater prop. You can’t be sure given how abrupt it was but you think he might have yelped too, a high pitched eep like some sort of puppy who had its tail stepped on by mistake.

Sitting askew on his carved wooden throne, Eddie’s cast in warm hues of orange and yellow underneath stage lights and candlelight but nothing shines brighter than the sheer surprise overwhelming his face. It pleases you more to recognize the unmistakable tinge of fear he’s incapable of hiding behind his wide eyes when they land on you.

Good. He should be scared, your mood far from friendly as you turn to lock the door behind you and retrieve the key, clutching it tight in your palm.

Was this overkill? locking him inside with you? You didn’t think so. Not after he’d weaseled his way out of talking to you for an entire week. You weren’t about to leave room for him to plan an escape route too.

You stepped closer to where he cowered at the D&D table, your lips pulled into an imitation smile, curved up exactly like one but so clearly absent of any sweetness or warmth, only radiating danger.

To Eddie, your menacing saunter resembled a cobra leisurely winding its way up to cornered prey, jaw seconds away from unhinging to swallow him whole.

He flinches when you slap down your results sheet on the table, now crumpled from how you had it clenched in your fist on your way over here. Better the paper than his neck you supposed although truthfully, you were still on the fence about that.

“Uh, what’s this?”, he finally dares to speak, a nervous croak of a sound that scratched its way out of his throat, cautiously leaning closer to examine the paper. The spiteful devil perched on your left shoulder chittered and sneered, whispering all sorts of encouragement to make you reply with spite, to make some underhanded remark about how you’re not surprised he couldn’t recognize anything that didn’t have a row of F’s stamped all over it given it’s his second time repeating senior year.

But the lenient angel on your right shoulder leaned in and spoke reason into your other ear, dulcet but insistent reminders that you only came here to inquire, not injure.

The devil withers away with a snarl when you clench your jaw, holding your tongue at bay, unable to spit that kind of venom at Eddie.

Before now, your main gripe with him was his disruptive influence, the way he wedged himself into your life like a splinter caught underneath your fingernail with his head rattling music and blood boiling snark. Grinning like his biggest pleasure in life was annoying you enough to darken his bedroom window day after day with a face full of fury and a mouthful of fuck you’s. He was too carefree for your liking as well, able to shrug off his plummeting grades when a minor slip of yours would have you digging out your emergency pack of cigarettes to chain smoke the stress away in secret. But taking shots at his intellect like all the other assholes you went to school with felt too…slimy.

The same assholes who had looked down on you and your trailer park background. The same assholes who rolled their eyes when you got accepted to your College of choice. The same assholes who cackled when you had to enroll in a nearby Community College instead when your family’s finances fell in the red.

Maybe you weren’t a cobra after all, only masquerading as one.

“My midterms. I passed”, you answered him flatly, watching recollection flash across his face.

The stress it had caused you was the reason why this all started in the first place after all.

“Couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t helped me out”, you added pointedly, tone almost accusatory.

Even under the vivid stage lights that paint his complexion like a sunset, you can still make out the way his cheeks pink up at the vague mention of what had happened in his bed that day.

“Oh, uh– that’s great”, he offered you something that resembled a smile, face so twisted with nerves that he couldn’t get his lips to curve up the right way. Jesus, you’d never seem him like this before. He was barely recognizable and for the first time in your life, you found yourself preferring his usual tornado presence and boisterous anti charm.

“Yeah. So, why’ve you been avoiding me?”

His jaw tensed at that, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Obviously, you hadn’t come by to say thank you.

“Listen, the club will be here in an hour. They already know I’m in here so just give me the key and…we’ll talk about this later, okay?”, he attempted to negotiate with you in the same way one might try to approach a skittish horse, overly cautious with an undertone of fear, holding out a shaky palm to collect the key but you weren’t about to give in now.

“What, so you can find somewhere new to hide?”, you sneered.

To show him you’re serious about seeing this conversation to the end you make a show of dangling the key to the drama room in front of his face – his only hope of escape, but it’s what you’re doing with your other hand that gathers his attention.

Hooking a finger into the neckline of your t-shirt, you pull it low enough for your cleavage to show, soft swells sitting high on your chest, framed by pretty lace. And despite the dread trickling down Eddie’s spine, thick like tar, one thing becomes abundantly clear in that moment.

He’s only a man.

The little flash of tit is enough to trigger his hormones. Stupefied, he takes in an eyeful, committing the contours of your breasts to memory – the newest entry into the sordid vault of his spank bank before he’s able to snap out of it. He attempts to snatch the key from you but he’s too slow, stomach cartwheeling as he watches it disappear into your cleavage when you tuck it away for safe keeping in your bra cup. Honestly, he can’t decide if he’s more upset about it or turned on.

Face twisting with exasperation, he locks his eyes back on yours.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he accuses with increasingly reddening cheeks.

Unbothered by the claim, you shove a couple of dice and a few of his notes aside to sit yourself on the edge of the table, arms crossed underneath your breasts, showing your defiance.

This isn’t like when he’d gotten you to beg for your release, chipping away at your resolve with his touch and tongue until you crumbled under the weight of ecstasy. You’ve molded yourself into an imposing shadow of the girl who came undone on his sheets, obstinate and immovable and it’s clear that you’ll sooner wear him down for an answer even if it means being stuck here in this room all night than leave without one.

Eddie’s hardened expression falters as he realizes this, sighing. Relenting.

“Fine”, he slumps back in his chair.

“I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know what to say– “

“Bullshit”, you cut him off with an icy scoff. Eddie Munson at a loss for words? Sure. And Steve Harrington’s a bald virgin.

“It’s not bullshit”, he attempts to deny, some heat behind his words.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who offered to help me “relax” in the first place?” you bit back with heat to match.

Your rebuttal has him silent – both of you knowing he can’t argue otherwise.

“Where’d all that bravado go, Munson?” you poke again just to see the vein at his temple bulge but he doesn’t answer, jaw set firm.

You’d hoped to scare it out of him at first or even force it out of him by locking him in here but for once that metalhead menace is tightlipped and damn good at it.

Taking another moment to consider your options you gird yourself to ask the one question you’ve been dreading. Casting your eyes down, arms tightening under your breasts, the key shifts into an awkward angle, jabbing your soft flesh but it’s not nearly as unpleasant as what you have to say next. You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer but you force it out, tongue turning more sour the longer the question sat there unasked.

“Do you regret it?”

It’s the way your tone loses all of its heat, crumbling slightly at the end of your question that makes him feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Another awful second of silence passes before you’re startled by him shooting out of his seat, chair screeching noisily against the floor as its forced back so quickly, his hand reaching for yours but he stops short of your fingers touching.

This close, you can smell him again. That same scent that clung to his bed. That same scent that hung on your hair. The same scent you reluctantly washed away in the shower that night you got back home. It makes you feel woozy, like a cloud full of pheromones to the face. If he takes one more step, you’re afraid you might leap up and bite his chest through his shirt like an animal in heat.

“I don’t regret it”, he answers you, gentle. Honest.

And just like that, all the anxiety you’d carried around for a week unravels with those four words. In its place, relief strummed on your ribs like nimble fingers plucking strings on a harp, a hopeful tune building up to a crescendo inside your chest. But you don’t let it show – forcing an impending smile away, keeping your expression unreadable because you liked the way he looked back at you, sweating with uncertainty.

“Okay – then you wouldn’t mind me returning the favor, would you?”, you rose up from the table, placing a palm in the middle of his chest.

“Huh?” he stumbles back, the back of his knee connecting with his chair.

“Fair’s fair right?”

With a little effort, you push him back into his seat, dropping down to kneel between his legs when they spread for you.

“Shit shit wait- really?”, he sputters as your fingers climb up to his belt, working open that damn handcuff buckle you’d become curious about to the point of near infatuation in the last few days.

You roll your eyes in reply like his question is a nuisance to you, growing excited under the surface.

Popping open the button on his jeans and pulling down his zipper, you can see that he’s already half hard underneath his boxers, a thick outline of his cock growing more prominent.

He’s warm in your hand when you pull his jeans and boxers down to grasp him, watching it spring up, feeling him grow harder by the second. Your fingers are dwarfed by the size of him although you already expected that after what you had seen in his trailer.

Eddie tenses when you bring your face closer, lips parted, breath puffing against his flushed, throbbing tip. Just a little more and-

“But before I do, you’re going to tell me why you avoided me”

He blinks back at your wicked smile and sharp eyes, plummeting.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that? First you hold me hostage and now you’re going to interrogate me with your fist around my dick?”

You grin back, squeezing him mostly gently, the warmth of your hand alone enough to make him feel compliant.

“Do it or I’ll stop”, you threaten sweetly.

Somehow, he likes the sound of that even less than the fear of you doing something like snapping it clean off.

There’s something so perversely satisfying about getting to use his words against him – withholding his release in the same way he had done with you. Being on the other side of it, you now understand why he enjoyed it so much, the potent thrill of being in control.

“Fuck okay”, he lets his head fall back to thud against the back of his throne, the column of his neck stretched and bared for you to see the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat with a thick swallow.

“I thought about you all the time…” he starts, tipping his chin down to look at you again, eyes dark and shadowy from this angle. “Shit, I couldn’t sleep after what happened in my bed – had to get away because I knew if I saw you again, I’d just drag you back there”

Something about the image of him manhandling you, maybe even hauling you over his shoulder, all overcome with unbridled cave man lust for you as he takes you back to his bed brews excitement in your bones. You only hoped it didn’t show on your face.

“And I knew that- well, I thought, because you didn’t actually say, but all you wanted was a one time thing…right?”, he asks, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

That was your intention when you first climbed into his bedroom, yes. But now…

“You seemed to hold back just fine when I came in here”, you skirt around the question in favor of focusing on what he’d said before that, starting to stroke him slowly as a small reward for his honesty.

“You scared the fuck out of me”, his breath grows shorter now that you’re moving your hand. “And we’re in school – didn’t think you’d actually come down here. You liked this place less than I did”

That’s true, you did. You just didn’t expect him to have noticed, let alone have remembered that fact. Guess all that ganja didn’t total his memory completely.

“Well, I couldn’t just let this go on after everything that happened”, you state plainly, twisting your wrist slightly around his base before pulling back up to trace his tip with your thumb.

This time he doesn’t shy away from the vague mention. You can almost see the memory reflecting off his umber eyes as it replays in his mind.

“Didn’t even want to throw my sheets in the laundry”, he admits, a throaty timbre to his tone that makes you stroke him faster.

“That’s gross, Eddie”, you deride, nose wrinkling but he can see right through it. He recognizes it easily – the same forced disgust you’d showed him when he flicked his tongue at you and offered to get you off, trying to hide how much you liked it.

“Could still smell you on them even after they were washed you know – even though I knew they were clean. Like one of those subconscious things or whatever. Every time I thought of you, I felt like I could still taste you on my tongue”

He’s clearly done holding back, no longer the shrinking Dungeon Master you’d stormed in on not too long ago. This is the Eddie you knew well and knowing the thought of you had affected him to the point that it impacted his senses, haunting him even, makes you rush with pride.

“I never got to taste you”, you suddenly recalled, surprised you’d forgotten even for a moment considering how much thought you’d given it in the few days prior.

And with that you leaned forward, lips parting, tongue seeking his cock, licking from the bottom of his veiny shaft up to the head.

The slow, wet drag of your tongue along his sensitive skin is the kind of sensation that will not leave him quietly, groaning around all kinds of expletives as his palms clamped down on the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white.

Taking the first few inches into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked slowly. Swirling your tongue around the leaking tip, you get a proper taste of him, collecting a dribble of precum before pulling off. The texture of it is silky on your tongue as you sucked the mix of tangy and salty sweet onto the roof of your mouth, letting it slide down the back of your throat like honey and swallowed.

“What else did you think about?”, you asked, missing the sound of his voice as you moved to lick along his shaft again, tongue feeling around the veins adorning it.

How he’s able to keep up a conversation when you’ve got your mouth on him like this he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the fear that you might threaten to stop again. Maybe it’s the way your eyes look up at him all cloudy with need and your thighs clench together when he talks about the thoughts he’s had about you.

“Everything we didn’t get to do that day. I know we only agreed on helping you out but after watching you tidal wave my bed I couldn’t help myself”

The crass description nearly makes you snort against his dick despite yourself; your whole face going supernova with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. It makes Eddie grin.

“I thought about this a lot. I couldn’t believe it but I knew – you wanted me in your mouth back then too, didn’t you?”

Imparting a little honesty of your own, you answer him with a whisper, licking off another clear bead of precum from his slit. “I did”.

Eddie's eyes lit up, lips turning up into a smirk. “Watching you leave after that was torture, you have no idea. You’ve ran that smart little mouth of yours at me for years – hated missing my chance to shut you up for once”

That earns him a deadpanned look and calls for a warning.

You bring a hand down to squeeze his balls and smirked when he groaned, this time nearing on pained, hands releasing the armrests with his palms held up in surrender.

“Okay okay! Easy. You’re a soft spoken delight, alright?”

With a pleased chuckle bubbling up your throat, you relinquish your hold to massage them gently instead, rolling them in your palm, continuing to stroke him with your other hand.

“Did you think about fucking me?”

“Yeah…”, he answers at the end of a thick gulp.

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How would you fuck me, Eddie? rough?”

He considers it before answering. “Not at first…but yeah, I’d – fuck, do that again? – I don’t think I could be gentle for very long because I know you can take it”

It’s like he’s reached inside of you and flipped a switch you hadn’t even been aware was there. You’d been wound so tight for so long. You needed him to use you.

“Could you be rough with me now?”, you asked, triggering a sly quirk of his eyebrow.

“You asking me to fuck your face, sweetheart?”

There’s that cocky edge again and you're quick to spar with it.

“Yes or no, Munson?”, you return, all stony faced. There won’t be any begging from you today.

He frowns when you pull out his last name again.

“Aren’t we beyond that now?”

You grin back, too stubborn for your own good.

“No”

Eddie's frown fades, a grin stretching across his face to match your own.

“Open your damn mouth”

Ringed fingers weave into your hair as you part your lips for him, allowing him to breach the wet velvet of your mouth. His girth puts some strain on your jaw but you’re able to accommodate him, tongue cradling the underside of his cock as it glides over the muscle. You’re doing well so far, letting the hand on your head, firm but gentle, guide you down until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat and you gag.

“Go on – choke a little for me”, he grunts.

Tears wet your eyes as you try to breathe through it, throat squeezing back against the intrusion, saliva pooling in your mouth as it begins to drip past your lips.

Eddie starts to thrust into your mouth and you take him as far into your throat as you can manage. Your nails dig into his thighs through the short, ragged pumps, past even what you thought to be your limit when your nose presses close to his pelvis, brushing the thatch of hair at his base. You find that you like how he smells there too – musky and masculine.

The sounds you pull out of him make your core ache – every hitch of his breath, every choked off moan, every rumbling groan and throaty grunt. But you stamp down the hot roiling in your belly and ignore the sticky need pooling in your panties because you really did mean what you said about returning the favor. It was your turn to please him, sidelining your own pleasure for the time being in the same way that he had done for you. Not that there wasn’t any pleasure to be derived from being in your position.

The part of you that was greedy savored every sound and liked knowing you were making him feel good – that all those noises he was making was because of you. And the part of you that was competitive took pleasure in knowing you were proving he wasn’t the only one here with a skillful mouth.

Growing more and more used to it, you take it well as he fucks your throat and he tells you as much.

“Knew I was right about you. Knew you could take it – Christ, yes, just like that”

The praise makes you bob ardently, saliva soaking his cock, trailing down to his balls. You’ve adopted a pace of your own now, Eddie’s fingers still tangled in your hair but no longer guiding you.

"Shit– I’m gonna cum. where do you– "

You pull off his cock, his eyes trained on your wet, swollen lips gasping for air, your hand taking over to pump his spit-soaked length.

“Do it in my mouth”, you finish for him, desperation staining your tone.

You take him in your mouth again, not all the way this time, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit past your sore lips anymore.

“Fuck – oh g- fuck”

Eddie’s hips jerk and then it happens – you feel the hot lines of his release begin to spurt onto your tongue, tangy and creamy thick. You swallow it down with his dick still in your mouth, throat contracting around his twitching, spent length. You pull off slowly until it’s just his tip your lips are wrapped around, lingering on it, sucking it like you don’t want to let go. You’re forced to let it slip from your mouth when his groans near pained again, sensitivity proving too much for him now.

Sitting back on your haunches, you watch his chest puff up and down while he recovers, head thrown back against the back of his chair.

When he’s able to, he puts his softening cock away, redoing his jeans before he pulls out a bandana from his back pocket and offers it to you.

“It’s clean I promise”.

The sweetness of the gesture makes your stomach flutter. Managing a meek ‘thank you’, you use the dark material adorned with bones and skulls to wipe your lips and chin of the sticky mixture of saliva and Eddie’s spend.

Next, he offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you off your knees and on to your feet.

“Listen, I’m sorry for last time. When you had to leave, I mean. And for avoiding you after that”, he informs you, much more tender than you're used to with him.

“I didn’t even get to uh…”, patiently, you wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, watching his face twist, all conflicted. You can see the thought ping pong around inside his head, wishing you could just reach in and pluck it out for yourself but he brushes it off before he’s able to share it with you, leaving you wondering.

“Never mind. Jeff and Gareth are going to be here soon and you probably don’t want to be seen in here with me like um, thisss”, he drags out the single syllable, unsure of a more tactful way to phrase it.

You don’t need to ask him to know that “thisss” means you look like a fucked-out mess because that’s exactly how you feel with your unruly hair and your sore jaw.

Just as before, there’s too much that’s been left unsaid but the threat of another close call has you reluctantly fishing the key out of your bra, tossing it at Eddie while you attempt to tame your hair back into something presentable, wiping off your damp cheeks too. You’re yet to realize that you haven’t returned his bandana, still clutching it in your hand.

Eddie catches the key though he doesn’t make a move towards the door, staring down at his palm like he’d just been gifted a bar of gold.

“It’s warm”, he says quietly, one of those thoughts that wasn’t meant to be said out loud but slipped past the barrier of his lips quicker than he could notice, you surmised.

It’s kind of cute actually – that dopey, spellbound look spilling over his face.

“Unlock the door, Eddie”, you sigh, subduing a laugh. At least you didn’t accuse him of being gross again like you would have an hour ago.

“Oh, right”

He steps over to the door while you gather yourself, daylight shining into the dingily lit room when he unlocks it and pulls it open.

After a quick look around outside to make sure no one sees you leaving, he steps back and holds the door open for you but you linger.

…all you wanted was a one-time thing…right?

No. Not anymore.

You weren’t sure what the two of you were now. Neighbors who got each other off? Former enemies but not really friends with benefits?

The specifics didn’t matter. At least, not right now. All you knew was that you didn’t want whatever this was to end.

Turning to Eddie, you say something you never thought you would. Not to him.

“My family’s gone for the weekend. You can come over tonight…if you want”

The smile that crosses his face is both warm and cocky, much like the one he’d flashed you from his window when this all began.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, you soften but only slightly. Unsmiling but not inimical.

“Oh, and if you stand me up?”, voice heating up, you jabbed a finger against his chest, right between the L and the F of his Hellfire shirt. “Try to run away again?”, you jab again and he staggers a step back, wincing when you press over the same sore spot again. “I’ll nail your balls to your front door, understand?”

For a moment he stares back at you. Stunned. And then, true to the freak riddle that he is, he smiles back even brighter.

Tag list - @honey-flustered @cryingglightningg @cadence73 @taccobelle @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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coralhoneyrose · 4 months ago

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I was wondering: what do you imagine Robin's childhood was like? Did feh change that in any way?

Oooh what an interesting question! Admittedly, I haven't thought about this in extensive detail, but I do definitely have Some Thoughts™️.

So, we obviously don't get much to go off in canon. Validar says that Robin's mother was "seized by weakness and fear" and that "she betrayed us—stole you from your crib, and fled with you in the night!" and then adds that he knows "naught of [Robin's] life thereafter". Presumably the 'us' there is referring to the Grimleal…and if she betrayed them as a collective group she must have been a part of said group previously. The fact that Validar says she stole Robin from their crib also implies that she ran away with them sometime between birth and age 3-ish.

If she was trying to get away from the Grimleal, I assume she would have wanted to leave Plegia if at all possible. We know that the last war between Ylisse and Plegia ended about 15 years before the start of the game, though. So if we assume Robin is about the same age as Chrom (19) then that would have put Robin around four years of age when the war ended. So either Robin's mom was trying to make do in Plegia for a while, or they potentially hid out in Ferox for a time. When it comes to my personal writing, I admittedly like to play with those timelines a bit, but that's my best guess for how things went down in game.

Either way, I assume they probably lived an extremely nomadic life style. They couldn't risk being found, which means they also couldn't really risk putting down roots or settling in one place long term. I imagine Robin was probably very lonely growing up, as all that moving around and having to lay low would mean they didn't have much of a chance to make friendships with other children. Presumably the trend continued into their adult life too given that no one in the story (aside from Validar) ever recognizes Robin or remembers them from prior to when they met Chrom. If that's something that was so lacking in their life previously, I think it makes the game's messages about the importance of the connections we choose all the more meaningful. Also I am just really partial to the idea of Robin being touch starved prior to meeting the Shepherds and Chrom's subsequent touchiness and familiarity with them taking them completely by surprise as a result haha

Honestly I suspect a lot of that is why they came to love books so much too. The books were an escape to other worlds but they would have been a small slice of stability as well, since a story is the same every time you read it. They may not have had friends in real life, but the characters in their books would have always been there for them between the pages. I imagine Robin got very good at amusing themself too and probably had a very rich imagination growing up. The fact that they traveled to so many different places may also have played into them developing their strong sense of curiosity.

I'm sort of undecided on what point in Robin's life I imagine that they lost their mother / how exactly they lost her. That's one of the things that's always really interesting to see other fan's interpretations of, as there are a variety of interesting possibilities there. Either way, given that Robin's inability to have made many connections outside of their mother, I imagine they took it incredibly hard.

As far as if FEH impacted my interpretations in any way, I would say it didn't really change them, but that it did fill in some details for me! Robin's coat being visibly too big for them strongly implies it was a hand-me-down from their mother for one thing (which I'd sort of assumed before but never had direct confirmation of). I'd also been very curious just how much Robin understood about who they were on the run from / why they were hiding, so hearing that their mother cautioned them to keep their hand hidden and that they do seem to have some sense of that being the source of their power as well as 'an evil omen of an unlucky fate' was very interesting as well.

That's everything that comes to mind at the moment! ASfhsdf I like that I started by saying I haven't thought about it in extensive detail and then proceeded to type all of this up...But honestly, writing all my thoughts out wound up being super helpful for organizing them. It also has my chrobin brain-cell vibrating at high speed going into the weekend, so you have my gratitude, anon! Thank you for giving me such a prime opportunity to talk about one of my favs <3

#Anonymous #Asks #Robin fire emblem #headcanons #I guess really it's more like a mishmash of headcanon and meta but #I don't have a tag for that so headcanon it is #Robin

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merbear25 · 4 months ago

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Would you write Uryu dating a witch!female reader? Please :3

At first I thought headcanons would do, but I decided to write a short fic instead! I hope you like it! 💜💜

There was something different about you, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The air felt lighter when you were around, and his heart beat faster whenever you looked at him. Without even saying a word to each other, you were on his mind night and day. When he finally got the chance to talk to you, there was no denying the instant connection.

CW: SFW, fem!reader, early stages of relationship, fluff, reader is a witch

Timid hearts (Uryu)

Captivated by your subtly dark charms, your air of mystery was the first thing to draw in his attention. The first time meeting you was in passing. You were quietly reading when you looked up, your gaze meeting his. The calmness on your face shifted into warmth. Without saying anything, he gripped the strap of his bag and hurried off.

Even after returning home, he could still feel your presence. He brought his hand to his face; the heat of his blush remained. His heart wouldn’t settle down, leaving him to wonder more about the girl he just so happened to walk past that afternoon.

He noticed you around more often after that first encounter. You were typically by yourself, which he perceived to be because of your lack of friends. Perhaps it wasn’t the kindest assumption, but each time he saw you, you were blissfully unaware of those around you. The same book from earlier was opened in your lap. The spine looked worn and the pages were rather aged. Your delicate fingers turned each one with care so as not to accidentally rip through the knowledge they held.

His eyes lingered on your hands, not fully aware that he was staring. Your brow furrowed, while you retained whatever was capturing your attention. When your eyes flickered up to him, that smile from the other day appeared more bashful. Quickly, he averted his stare, his cheeks burning as you giggled at his clear embarrassment.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Your voice was softer than he imagined. Letting out a sigh to ease his nerves, he sat down next to you.

His eyes shifted to the side, seeing what looked to be a recipe. “Do you cook?” The question was tangled with confusion, since it obviously wasn’t what he originally thought it was.

“You could say that.” Your hand rested on the page. “It’s a book that’s been passed down through my family for generations.” Your fingers traced the handwritten letters, a sentimental tone playing at your words.

Uryu was reminded of the book of his own heritage he’d found not long ago. Where his brought on a sense of dread, yours seemed to bring forth one of serenity.

“You were wondering if I had any friends, weren’t you?”

The question caught him off guard, making him stutter in denial. “No, no of course not.”

“It’s alright, I’m not offended. It’s a personal choice, though. I usually prefer being away from others, so that I can listen to the surroundings better.” You looked out towards the river and took a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head slightly. “It’s not a problem, but if you don’t mind me asking, why do you spend so much time alone?”

“It’s just easier sometimes.”

Your eyes draped over him, taking note of his slumped posture. A sense of companionship fluttered in the pit of your stomach, one which only lost souls could form. Leaning slightly towards him, you could tell this early stage of a bond was mutual. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

The more you got to know each other, the stronger that bond grew, eventually blooming into young love. Admittedly, there were aspects each of you held that the other found troubling to an extent: you being one of the few with whom he shared his Quincy heritage, and him being the only outsider to have learned about your family's witchcraft. Your problems were worlds apart, and yet you were the ones who understood the grief that came with that secret history more than anyone else.

Both quiet in nature, you often spent your dates in libraries, studying the different parts of each other’s worlds. However, books couldn’t replace getting it from the source. Stories shared under the nighttime sky, little spells you casted while you cuddled by the fireplace, and some of the attacks he’d been mastering pulled the curtain back more than those authors ever could.

As your skills improved, you branched out into medicine. With your powers reaching new heights, he dreaded the day that you may need to use them on your loved ones and even yourself. Pushing the inevitable aside for the time being, you came back into focus just as you were: caring, genuine, and eager to soak in the world around you.

“Perfection,” he whispered.

“What was that?”

He straightened his posture and coughed. “N-nothing just thinking out loud.”

Your nod in understanding as you carried on with your studies made him kick himself. Despite being in a relationship for the past few months, he hadn’t worked up the courage to kiss you yet. His cheeks flushed just thinking about it. Rubbing his eyes, he then propped himself up on his hand.

Watching you overworking yourself lured him out of the fog he’d found himself in. Getting up from his chair, he offered you his hand. The slight smile he wore never failed to make your heart skip a beat. Placing your hand in his, you followed him outside to the path behind his house.

He knew how much you’d grown to love this section; the greenery was luscious and was scattered with vibrant flowers. Strolling by your favorite section, he sighed at the sight before you. Many of the Shibazakura weren’t in bloom yet, still only buds between the dark green leaves.

“They should have bloomed by now,” he mentioned with a hint of disappointment.

Your eyes held onto his expression for a moment, letting his emotion sink in and be transferred through your fingertips. With nothing more than a gentle wave of your hand, the late bloomers sprouted petals. Staring at the marvel you’d created, he smiled to himself. Reaching down, he plucked one from the ground and brought it closer. The smell was sweeter than usual, making him think that your very essence was living through its vines.

“Such beautiful flowers reflect the one that made them.” He brushed your hair behind your ear with his other hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb before finally tucking the Shibazakura behind your ear.

The way you leaned into his touch was a balm to his soul, quieting all the worries that’d been collecting over the years. As he stepped closer, your eyes naturally fell to his lips.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d really like to kiss you right now.” His request was barely above a hushed tone, making the heat on your cheeks deepen. Your nod made his breaths shaky, suddenly feeling an overwhelming amount of tension.

As his lips pressed against yours, the rest of the garden came alive. Each tree and flower grew in full bloom and was more vibrant than ever before. Pulling you in closer, he deepened the kiss when you threw your arms around him. Such a loving exchange was the most magical experience either of you could have conjured.

#x reader #bleach #bleach x reader #bleach x you #uryu ishida #ishida uryuu #uryu x reader #bleach imagines #bleach fluff

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idonttakethislightly · 1 month ago

Text

A Light Take on Understanding Comics, Part 1

All right, I'm going to do something dangerous and write one post that promises eight more to come. It's been a while since I reread Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, a groundbreaking nonfiction comic on the techniques, theory, and potential of comics as a medium. It was first published in 1993, and it's aged... interestingly, but going back through it is giving me a lot of thoughts. Specifically, thoughts about The Power Fantasy, the comic that's been occupying 99% of my brain for four months now. So I'm going to (try and) do a post for each chapter of UC, write about what I think McCloud got right and wrong, and apply that to TPF.

Chapter One is about "What is the definition of comics?" but more specifically, it's McCloud being very clear that comics can be so much more than just the (direct quote) "crude, poorly-drawn, semiliterate, cheap, disposable kiddie fare" that they usually were. Comics can be manga, or comic strips, or graphic novels, or any number of other things, McCloud tells us! There's precedents for comics in Ancient Egyptian wall art, medieval stained glass, all kinds of things! Comics is a medium, not a single genre! It's not just all superheroes!

...and look, this is what I mean by UC having aged interestingly. I want to remind everyone this book was published in 1993, and also point out that Watchmen launched in 1986. UC was groundbreaking in 1993, because lots of people had never seen someone write and draw seriously about comics as a medium. If we take comics seriously today, and we don't feel overly defensive about it, we probably owe some of that credibility to McCloud's defensiveness once upon a time. And he's right that "comics" is best defined as "sequential art", rather than "magazines about superheroes". You can tell all kinds of stories in comic form.

But that defensiveness about "comics can be more than just that superhero junk" is kind of funhouse-mirrored in The Power Fantasy and in its predecessor, Watchmen. I'm admittedly only on the fringes of conversations about superhero comics and their evolution over time... but I know Watchmen was also a groundbreaking comic that shaped comics culture forever. It's a deconstruction of the lighthearted heroic fantasies that came before it, and it inspired a lot of grimdark comics that matched its bleak tone but not its depth and insight.

...or so I'm told. I only read Watchmen once, years ago. I tried rereading it earlier this year, but I couldn't get into it. I just still know all this stuff because that's the level of cultural impact it's had. Also, because so many TPF reviews and blurbs say stuff like, "It's the next Watchmen! It's superhero comics finally moving out of Watchmen's shadow and onto the next thing! It's capturing the true spirit of Watchmen's deconstructionism, not just the surface tone!"

Understanding Comics is one of the best-regarded nonfiction comics of all time. Watchmen is one of the best-regarded comic books of all times. The Power Fantasy is one of the buzziest indie comic books being published right now. All of them roast classic superhero comics pretty hard, and maybe you could read it as an affectionate roast, but I don't know.

Superhero comic books are still usually the face of comics to people who don't read them. Probably not so much as in 1993, but still. How many more comics classics are going to get ahead by throwing them under the bus?

[EDIT: I later took back a lot of this in a follow-up post that you can read here. Writing late at night and not revising your posts has mixed results!]

#understanding comics #the power fantasy #visual thoughts

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lizzybeth1986 · 1 year ago

Text

A Child of Babel

Book: The Royal Romance

Characters: Kiara-centric. Hints of Drake x Kiara (unrequited) and Hana x Kiara.

Word Count: 3, 484 words

Summary: The five times Kiara uttered the proverb of a language under her breath, and the two times she did it to someone's face.

A/N: I really wanted to try out a 5+1 fic format but somehow it became a 6+1 fic instead haha

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 3: Languages, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW, @choicesmaychallenge24 for Hermes: Travel

Wolof

Princesses Lerato and Lesidi will never forget the exact moment they knew Lady Kiara Thorne would become their friend.

At lunch today, it was hard initially to tell if the meal today was to her liking. She'd made all the right noises, said all the right words. Rich. Meaty. What bold flavours. But how does that count? She's the kind of girl who has likely been coached enough in courtly propriety and gastrodiplomacy (at age 11. Eleven!), that you can't quite tell if she genuinely enjoyed the food or just wanted to please her hosts.

The sisters shift uncomfortably in their plush seats at the dining hall of their palace, their eyes barely leaving the young girl's plate. Benachin jollof rice was hardly for the weak of heart (or stomach) but that never stopped the royal family of Orphys from showing pride in this particular dish. It was, after all, the jewel in the crown of their ancestral Senegambian cuisine.

So it would pierce the Orphysian soul to its core, in very specific ways, if one didn't like their jollof. Probably just as much as it would shatter a Cordonian's spirit, if you told them you thought their Cordonian Rubies tasted vile.

"Ohhh," Lady Kiara mumbled, visibly relaxed at last. "Xifuma wante samay bët suruñuuuuu". The final word comes out elongated by a leisurely moan of satisfaction. I’m not hungry but my eyes aren’t full.

For a moment, the two girls are stunned to stillness in their chairs.

Little Kiara - Lerato is beginning to recognise - is trying to utter an old Wollof proverb about the joys of their ancestral cuisine. It's said so softly you can barely hear her, and both she and her sister can hazard a guess as to why.

Of the five words said, she pronounced three wrong. Kiara knew that, and felt ashamed.

The sisters pass each other a look of knowing affection. Not many in Europe, outside of Orphys, know this proverb that well. It is indeed the kind of phrase you will chance upon only if you've been consistently trying to learn.

She had to have been learning for over a year to get to this point.

Terrible pronunciation be damned. Next time they meet Kiara again, Lerato and Lesidi sure as hell know they're gifting her the recipe.

French

"Dammit," Kiara hisses at...well...no one in particular, and especially not to the retreating figure of her longtime (and forever clueless) crush. Now that he's gone, the urge to kick herself is becoming increasingly more difficult to suppress.

Drake Walker's loose overshirt flaps against his back as he walks out of the stable, in quick, sure, decisive footsteps. There has always been some sense of purpose in his movements whenever he leaves someplace, even if - to Kiara's knowledge - he hasn't exactly had a job as such ever since that stint he took at the stables the summer she turned fifteen.

It's almost as if that is the only thing he's certain he wants to do here. Leaving.

Kiara presses her head against the door of the stable, his fists balled up so she can resist the unnecessarily dramatic urge to bang it against the wood. She's done everything - everything her admittedly-gauche, relatively-inexperienced 18 year old brain could think of - to catch his attention.

Educate herself on horses (for obvious reasons).

Read up on woodworking (Olivia had mentioned once in passing that he adored good carpentry - nothing much was said about whether he liked practicing. Still, not a bad idea for a conversation starter)

Tried to enjoy whiskey. (Didn't get past half a mug, unfortunately. It was...interesting. She treated herself to her favourite bottle of Tempranillo later).

Came to the stables today for what she tried to pass off as a friendly chat about the winning stakes at the upcoming Derby. (She could have been talking to a haystack for all it mattered. He just looked up from his saddle tack set, took off his disgustingly well-disguised earphones, raised his eyebrows and said, "You were saying something??" before leaving without an answer)

(She'd worked so fucking hard to sound like she knew what she was talking about)

Kiara groans again against the door, weakly punching it one final time before she opens it, muttering furiously underneath her breath.

"Just give it up, Kiki," she scolds herself, hands jammed into the pockets of her coat. "C'est comme pisser dans un violon."

"Eww," a high-pitched, rather sweet voice says behind her, "That sounds like an...uncomfortably specific preference for a place to piss."

Kiara tries - and fails - to hide her grimace. On any other day, she'd be proud of Savannah for coming this far in just a few months. She's certain that her dear friend's rather successful attempt at translation is more a miracle of guesswork. A combination of remembering the few words she has been taught so far, and figuring out the ones that sound closer to their English counterparts.

(And that is how it must be. That is how Kiara knows that Savannah is serious about learning this language)

On any other day she'd praise her. But today... today she just wants to erase the last ten minutes from her brain. The last person she wants to know about her deep, tragic humiliation is the sister of the man who had crushed her umpteenth attempt to impress him to dust. With his fucking headphones.

"Forget you ever heard that," Kiara mumbles, "come, let's go see what snacks they have for tea. I'm starving."

Darija

On the day Prince Leo and his fiancée, Countess Madeleine, visit Castelserraillan after their engagement tour, there are only two members of the Thorne family waiting to receive the entourage. Kiara, and her father.

Ezekiel is barely - if ever - noticed and he would rather leave it that way. But Maman...they had to create a story for her.

The official excuse is that she'll be hosting an immensely important international art fair around the same time - one that heralded the work of Cordonia's local artisans. One that was time-sensitive and couldn't possibly be shifted around, Crown Prince or no.

In reality, her mind had been made up, the moment Lady Kaouther - the young woman her parents had sponsored for the social season this year - returned to the province in tears, swearing to never set foot in the Capitol again, reluctant to even tell Maman and Baba what had gone so wrong.

But Maman had found out anyway. The press was loath to criticize the countess' treatment of her ladies-in-waiting, drooling like sick horses over every scrap of charm and quotable quote she threw their way.

But when Ana de Luca is close enough to you to have your number of speed dial, there's no end to the tea that'll be willingly spilled at your table.

Poor Kaouther was still getting threats and harassment from afar. Mostly to keep her mouth shut about her former employer's exploits. Both midly annoying and deeply sadistic. Both sober and rum-fuelled. Some may be impressed at how Countess Madeleine managed to maintain such secrecy, from even the royal family she is marrying into.

Maman cursed and swore she would never entertain a viper like that in her presence, and who could blame her?

Kiara swallows as she sees the entourage approached. Baba knew his relationship with the royal family was already hanging by a frighteningly precarious balance. He couldn't afford any further damage, and he hardly wanted to expose Madeleine's misdeeds without Kaouther's consent either.

So yes. They were going to go through the motions of greeting the royal entourage. They were going to be perfect hosts. But Madeleine would know. Madeleine would hear their words - cascading in waves of poisoned honey - and know. And be unable to tell anyone anything. That will be Kiara's unsaid, unheard promise to Kaouther, and to herself.

The Countess is stopped by the press before she walked over to their manor, her smile perfectly in place and her hand on a rather diffident Prince Leo's arm as she answers their questions. Yes, we are in love. Yes, our economy is strong. Yes, my aim is to build strong relationships with my people wherever I go. To let them know I do it all for them, and them alone. To be the Queen that Cordonia needs, that my subjects can trust.

Kiara has never heard so much horseshit spill out of a courtier's mouth, and she's been part of enough royal courts to see the worst.

"Shakuwn daha fik alhurirat 'aw albalbulat nahar aleid!" Kiara says roughly in Darija as the entourage - led by the Crown Prince and his future consort - approach. She thinks she's so special, but really she's only about as special as a plain harrira soup served at an Eid-ul-Fitr banquet.

Hakim gently nudges his daughter's shoulder with his own. "But ya Babba," he teases, probably to lighten her mood a little before the group arrives, "I thought you liked harrira soup."

Kiara gives Madeleine one last glare before schooling her face to a more neutral expression.

Her next words are going to be quite nasty by Castelserraillan standards, but for all the sacrifices they are making today her father can surely afford her this one luxury. "Not if it wears a face as sour as her's."

Greek

Just a five minute break, Penelope had promised, thirty minutes ago.

Kiara has only herself to blame for believing that nonsense, after being in close quarters with her for an entire month - but there's something about that woman that makes most people want to keep giving her the benefit of the doubt.

('Me,' Kiara wants to say, 'I'm people')

The beam she is carrying for the barn-raising is small, but heavy enough that you'd get tired out quickly if you didn't take help. By ten minutes Kiara has to will herself to move ahead. By fifteen her thighs begin to cramp, and by twenty her head is swimming and she has a brief spiteful thought about making Penelope carry twenty beams as a belated apology. Though knowing her (and it pains Kiara to admit this; she likes Penelope too much) she would find some way to make herself the victim.

Thirty minutes have passed now, and the only energy she has left is wasted in gritting her teeth and groaning "Just...a few more...steps...till I can drop this...stupid plank...Mon Dieu!!!"

Kiara's mind goes blank for several seconds as she feels the weight of the beam falling on her, a dull pain already throbbing on her ankle.

"Ohhh thée mou," she hears a rough, gravelly, rather disgruntled voice above her, its sound causing her heartbeats to pound violently in her chest and its owner already using his strong, strong hands to save her...

"Ópios den théli na zimósi," she whispers, completely drained, "déka méres koskinízi."

It's a proverb Kiara has often heard in the Capitol - specifically for procrastinators - and she has now lost count of the number of times Penelope has left something she doesn't like to do "for later"...often leading Kiara to finish the job alone.

Drake stares back at her, confused. Mentally, she kicks herself. Again.

Of course. She should've known. Drake Walker is familiar enough with Greek that he'll maybe cuss or blurt out a phrase he'd learned from his childhood in the palace, but clearly he has no patience for metaphors, allegories, idioms or proverbs.

"Oh, uh...merci beaucoup," she backtracks, awkwardly.

Drake shakes his head - his eyes, amused, still on her face - and throws the beam away. It doesn't mean much, but that ten-second glance is fuel enough at this point for a month's worth of dreams.

Almost as if from a great distance, she thinks she can hear Esther's voice, low and concerned. "Kiara? Are you okay??"

Kiara locks eyes with Drake, and for once he meets her gaze. Doesn't say anything, doesn't even show a reaction - but at least he isn't looking away like she doesn't matter.

She smiles brightly. "I am now."

Gujarati/Mandarin

Married as they have been for six months now, Kiara can tell by several small, subtle signs when Hana is nervous.

Not that Hana makes observing a very hard task, not at all. She has an immensely expressive face.

Kiara massages the soft parts of her palm - just the way she likes it - while Hana takes several deep breaths.

"This is the first Parsi wedding I'll be attending, ever," Hana says slowly. "The bride is my cousin. This is supposed to be my family, and yet all of this feels as alien as if I never had a mother from this community." She closes her eyes then opens them again, gazing at the wedding sign on the gate. Delnaaz weds Zubin. "What if I mess this up?"

"You won't," Kiara takes both Hana's hands in hers. "And even if you do make a sliver of a mistake, Delnaaz is not going to judge you. And she's the bride; she's the one who matters. She's nothing like your mother or your uncle Cyrus."

Hana lets out a shaky laugh. "God I hope not." Her finger strokes lightly against Kiara's cheek. "One last kiss? For luck?"

Kiara presses her forehead against Hana's after they're done, sighing gently. Mon Dieu, how I love this woman.

"Remember that saying you hear from practically all the nice people in Bethulia," Kiara winds her arms around Hana's waist. "It's so prolific they should start painting it on their coat-of-arms. In Gujarati."

"Khavanu, pivanu, majja ni life." They both laugh gently as they whisper the phrase, hugging each other tighter. Eat, drink and be merry, indeed.

Hana seems to take that advice to heart once they go in, and most of the family (whether enthusiastically, or under duress - the latter perhaps a result of Delnaaz having a stern talking-to with relatives who had rejected Hana earlier) openly welcomes Hana into the fold.

The wedding goes terrifically: Delnaaz appears resplendent in a gorgeous white silk-and-lace Parsi Gara sari (that, Hana informs her, has been the family heirloom for five generations now), her (now) husband looking very distinguished in his white dagli and a black fetah atop his head. Once she finds herself comfortable among people who should treat her like family, Hana practically shines in her interactions - scintillating at conversations, singing and dancing and joking with the rest when she can.

Her Gujarati is a little shaky still, but that's hardly a problem. After all, this is the first language we're going to learn together, ma moitié, Kiara had reassured her once.

A few hours later, when the party started winding down, Hana and Kiara shifted to a smaller, more secluded alcove within the wedding venue. Dinyar - another of Hana's Bethulian cousins - pointed it out to Kiara, whispering conspiratorily that very few in the wedding party noticed this place at all and they could have all the privacy they wanted. Hana made sure they carried a sweet along.

And so here they are, now, inside a romantic little gazebo, sitting together - Hana taking a spoonful of Lagan nu Custard and raising it to Kiara's lips. They close their eyes as they savour. Silky. Creamy. Decadent.

"Look at us, playing hooky at an event when you were so worried about behaving right just yesterday. Yet won't you say this little moment by ourselves was the best one?"

Hana winks. "You know me so well."

"Only as well as you do, darling," she says, cupping Hana's cheek, "My soulmate."

When they kiss, Kiara can taste hints of cardamom and nutmeg on Hana's tongue. She laughs into their kiss.

"Zài tiān yuàn zuò bǐ yì niǎo..." Kiara says, the grin hardly leaving her face when they part.

"...zài dì yuàn zuò lián lǐ zhī!" Hana wipes the last bit of custard on the tip of Kiara's nose, then uses that as an excuse to gently bite it off her.

They tighten their arms around each other. That saying has always been a favourite with both of them.

In heaven let us be two birds flying ever together, and on earth two trees with branches interlocked forever.

Bonus: English (with a tiny side serving of Cajun French)

Queen Esther seems almost transformed when their entourage sets foot in Louisiana. In some ways, she seems even more at home here than she had ever seemed even in New York. And to think, everyone thought that place was her home!

"It is," she'd explained once, when Kiara had asked her, "but NOLA was where I was born. I spent my entire childhood here. A part of me will always remain here."

She takes them to an old favourite of her parents', a mom-and-pop shop that's still miraculously standing and - according to Esther - that still possesses the same incredible flavours. Hana is already all praise for the gumbo and the bananas foster.

"Try the beignets, Hana," Esther suggests, her eyes sparkling at her open joy. "Dip them in the hot chocolate. Best that way!"

She does...and next thing they know, Hana's best friend and wife are treated to a happy dance on a chair.

Kiara's eyes are set on what seems to be a more humble (but moist, glistening, crisp on the outside!) preparation. A croquette of some sort?

"Boulettes de chevrette," the server replies, closely watching her face.

"...shrimp?" Kiara says, after a pause too significant for Esther to miss. The server nods.

"You certainly took a little extra time to mentally translate that," she says. "Is it called something else in French?"

"Yes," Kiara replies, "We call it crevette. But that's not the part I find interesting."

Intrigued, Esther raises an eyebrow, nodding at her companion to continue.

She clears her throat. "I'm beginning to find that certain words in your French have retained their original form from older versions of our language. And with others, they've evolved over time into different words, while in our language that word remained the way it was. Chevrette was what we used to call shrimp before we started using the Norman regional variant, crevette."

"Oh wow," Esther says, amazed, "I had no clue."

Kiara smiles. "Now you do."

Later that evening, the queen confides in her.

"You know...I used to be nervous speaking French in front of you."

Kiara's eyebrows are knit together in confusion. "Pourquoi?? You spoke very well."

Esther sighs. "It's silly."

"Tell me all the same."

Esther laughs, almost as if at the foolishness of her younger self. "I thought you'd make fun of me for "speaking French all wrong". That you'd look down on me."

Kiara's heart sinks to her stomach. "Did I really sound that snotty back then?"

"Oh no. No," Esther reassures her. "Especially not with languages."

Kiara is familiar enough with Esther now to teasingly nudge her arm a little with her elbow. "At least not unless you're asking me to sleep with you. You can't imagine how many people would just say voulez vouz coucher avec moi ce soir to my face, and think they could get away with it. And this was even before Hana introduced me to Lady Marmalade!"

Esther rolls her eyes, chuckling ruefully. "I introduced her to that one."

The laughter doesn't last very long. Lines of humour then dissolve into lines of tension on Esther's face. She isn't quite done explaining yet. "I guess I was just...feeling a little out of place. So I may have projected a little back then."

Kiara nodded. She did remember how hard that season, and the subsequent engagement tour (which she often things of with a little regret), had been on Esther. And she'd never allowed those fears and insecurities to show on her face. "That makes sense," she says, "but you know there's this saying I read a while ago..."

"What?" Esther asks, her curiosity now piqued.

"'We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly.' It's a quote by a Hungarian translator mamed Kató Lomb."

Esther seems to open her mouth to protest the appropriateness of the quote, when Kiara stops her. "For the record, it doesn't correctly apply to your use of Cajun French. That is a dialect. It has its own rules. En vrai, I'd love to learn more."

The Queen relaxes, even smiling at the casual reference to her - something she knows Kiara will only use when she's sure they are friends.

"I'm just saying that even if you did get phrases in a language wrong, that wouldn't be reason enough for me to scoff at you. I'd be a hypocrite if I did that. After all, I wouldn't be this good at ten languages if I weren't constantly making mistakes."

As she often does since that eventful first meeting in Orphys, she remembers the kindness Lerato and Lesidi showed her, despite her terrible, terrible attempt at saying something in Wolof. The recipe for Senegambian-style jollof, that they gave her the next time she had visited their kingdom, still holds pride of place in her personal collection of precious things.

"I think what I'm saying is," she says, taking a deep breath, "when you make mistakes but the result is that I'm hearing a new language come out of your mouth, it's a wonderful thing. To me, it means you want to learn. And everyone's pace is different, so I'm no one to judge if you take more time to learn it than on someone else. There is never anything wrong with that."

Esther smiles again, softer this time, and more admiringly. "Noted," she says softly. "And we should definitely pack some fried alligator and remoulade sauce from here to snack on later."

Kiara grins. Her mouth is already watering. "We certainly will."

Translations:

Xifuma wante samay bët suruñu (Wolof) - I’m not hungry but my eyes aren’t full (basically the food is really really delicious). Source: Grace in Senegal

C'est comme pisser dans un violon! (French) - It's like pissing inside a violin! (Used to describe something useless and ineffective, or to complain about not being listened to after asking somebody to do something. Pissing in a violin is ineffective, it won't make a sound.) Source: Untranslatable

شكون داها فيك الحريرة (أو البلبولة) نهار العي

(Darija)

Describing someone who is incredibly pleased with themselves, but in actuality they are like Harrira on Eid al Fitr. Used to criticize someone who thinks very highly of themselves but has no justifiable reason to do so. Kind of like saying "you think you're hot shit in a champagne glass when you are really cold diarrhea in a Dixie cup". To explain the cultural context a little, Harrira is the soup Moroccans eat every day during Ramadan. On Eid, it stays in the fridge and people eat a lot of sweets. Source: Arabic Easy Language blog

Όποιος δεν θέλει να ζυμώσει, δέκα μέρες κοσκινίζει (Greek) - "Whoever does not want to knead, sifts for ten days". It is used to describe a procrastinator who finds every reason not to engage with their assigned task. Source: GreekPod 101.

Khavanu, pivanu, majja ni life (Gujarati) - khavanu refers to eating, pivanu refers to drinking, majja ni life means life is fun/amazing or to enjoy life. So it's basically "eat, drink and make merry". It's a popular Gujarati saying, I think, but it's associated most with the Parsi community.

在天愿作比翼鸟，在地愿为连理枝。(Mandarin) - In heaven as two birds flying together, On earth as two trees with branches interlocked forever. Basically a romantic proverb about soulmates. Source: China Plus

Notes:

The full quote from Kató Lomb goes like this:

"We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly. If someone knows how to play the violin only a little, he will find that the painful minutes he causes are not in proportion to the possible joy he gains from his playing. The amateur chemist spares himself ridicule only as long as he doesn’t aspire for professional laurels. The man somewhat skilled in medicine will not go far, and if he tries to trade on his knowledge without certification, he will be locked up as a quack doctor.

Solely in the world of languages is the amateur of value. Well-intentioned sentences full of mistakes can still build bridges between people. Asking in broken Italian which train we are supposed to board at the Venice railway station is far from useless. Indeed, it is better to do that than to remain uncertain and silent and end up back in Budapest rather than in Milan."

The line about chevrette/crevette is something I read from the LSU website, from their Department of French Studies. This is what it says:

"Change is inevitable for living languages. It would be unreasonable, however, to expect change to happen in the same way in places remote from each other. In some cases, Cajun French has maintained words, structures and pronunciations which the French have long ago abandoned. For example, Cajuns have maintained the original chevrette to refer to shrimp, while the French adopted the Norman regional variant crevette as their standard word. In other cases, Cajun words or pronunciations have evolved while the French word remained stable. The French recevoir, for example, has become reçoir in Cajun French."

Source: LSU Department of French Studies

#kiara theron #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #kiaratheronappreciationweek #KTAW #KTAW 2024 #KTAW Day 3 #KTAW Day 3: Languages #content: fanfic #lizzybeth1986

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leggerefiore · 8 months ago

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In relation to your N poll since it refused to fit in the comments: I firmly believe that N is a human. Ghetsis probably lashes out at him because he can’t accept defeat (his enraged speech about N after he failed to defeat the protagonist in BW, completely shutting down in B2W2, pushing and taking Lillie hostage in USUM, while other bosses were rather chill) and is jealous(!) (I think that both of them are distantly related to King Harmonia, and N is the one to inherit his ability to speak with pokémon, aka the chosen one. So the only logical thing to do (I condemn) in Ghetsis’ mindset, is to berate N for his uniqueness and make him think of himself as inferior). Also it’s easier to shift the blame for failure and redirect agression on someone else (coping). <— I don’t think any of this proves that N is a pokémon. Ghetsis sees pokémon as inferior beings and tools, so he degrades N to their level. The only healthy Ghetsis imagine I can come up with: is him being dragged by his partner to a psychiatrist (I am not in position to diagnose anyone, but from what I’ve read from books, I think Ghetsis may have ASPD). I like both Ghetsis and N (admittedly, I am thirsting for like Ghetsis more) because they provide so much room for theorizing, I wish we had more info on them. Now that I am thinking about it, I wonder how Ghetsis treated Anthea and Concordia, and at what age they both were adopted. Don’t remember seeing anything related to that in the first game. And what happened to N in the alternate universe USUM Ghetsis is from? What a messy family our old man cooked.

Anyway, now that I am here, I absolutely love your writing! The characters are written so… in character, it’s obvious you love all of them, and it makes your imagines so delightful to read, thank you so much! (I began adoring Lear because of you too, haha.) Don’t reply if you don’t see the need in it, just wanted to let you know my opinion. (Also I made a meme a while ago about writing Ghetsis content I was too anxious to send to you, but after your last post it now seems outdated. Sorry in advance for bad English and chaotic thoughts flow.)

Eh, you can send in whatever. I don't like Ghetsis, but I can laugh at him. Honestly I think the only times I've ever been like "??? No" was when people asked for actual child characters, like Alistair.

I would love for some more backstory on either of them, too. Why does Ghetsis have a ninja group under him? Why is he like that? Who are N's supposed real parents? Literally anything about Concordia and Anthea. Colress? How did Ghetsis meet him? A canon (not Masters) interaction between N and Colress is something desired. Also, any actual canon discussion about the King Harmonia those two are supposed to be related to. So many things to be desired.

Off-topic a bit, but one line from the previous post was from USUM Ghetsis about humans being easier to control. N probably still ended up having a change of heart in that universe... He also notes confusion at Colress betraying him, meaning Colress was at play somewhere there. I want to see all the USUM verses kind of. Maybe not Archie's or Maxie's. 7.8/10 too much water (and sun).

To be honest, Ghetsis's dialogue alone wasn't enough to really sway me. It was more Masuda's comment on N's possible backstory.

Granted, it's just a rumour, but I do find the thought experiment fascinating seeing as there are apparently people born from pokemon? Like the Froslass guy in the Alabaster Icelands in PLA. Ghetsis doing some freaky science experiments to make a Zoroark hybrid kid perfect for his plans really doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility. (I want to explicitly state that I do not pull any of this from his personality and character traits. He is a socially uncertain, sheltered, and brainwashed guy trying his best – That does not make him something inhuman.)

Thank you for your kind words! I try so hard to learn about the characters as much as I can before I write them. I'm ready to write a dissertation on Cyrus's lore (which has now been mostly confirmed). And don't be afraid, I don't get mad at discussion. It's healthy for any theory, no?

#interna fi #n.ima #pokemon.ima

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warrior-cats-rewritten · 1 year ago

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I think my most controversial Warrior Cats opinion is that I actually really like the Cinderpelt-heart reincarnation plot. Or at least I would really love a version of it without all teh ableist implications. StarClan realizing that teh “no kits for medicine cats” rule is hurtful, and also that disabled cats are often pushed into roles they don’t want and aren’t suited for, and they reincarnate Cinderpelt for those reasons, not because a disabled life isn’t a full one. Cinderheart feeling pressure from teh clan, maybe even her family or even Lionblaze, to be a medicine cat when she finds out. It has potential idk.

I liked it at first, because... Admittedly, I read Po3 before I read TNP and before I finished TPB.

So Cinderpelt was this mysterious, not quite known character to me. I went and read TNP and thought "hmm. I wish it had been more 'this is happening because your life is going to be cut short now due to the move to the lake and that isn't fair because you were supposed to live a long time so go become your niece, really sorry about the badgers, xoxo PS sorry about your mom slowly starving to death in the forest'"

Instead it hinges on her having had "not a full life", which.... When I went EVEN FURTHER back and finished TPB.... She did. She loved Medicine. It was HER choice. The Erin's forgot, made a weird retcon that has become her entire character: "I loved my teacher and didn't tell him", and had Lionblaze be the... Reward for that?

I liked it, it was just done for a stupid reason. Another one of those "we wrote this plot point to make sure a character does xyz" instead of just... Writing it. Snowkit's death is the most egregious example of these writers pretending they have no control over these fictional cats.

I have some controversial opinions of my own.

The Lake territory is cool but also sucks. We need to either leave the Lake or start redoing things about it. It has no landmarks to hang out at or have what I call 'set pieces' whatsoever, and more importantly no threats (thunderpaths, snake rocks, gorge, the tree with a huge Owl, Carrionplace) and I'm pretty sure the writers feel this way too since we leave the Lake once an arc. I wouldn't mind moving territories again, to a more dangerous but still natural place.

Breezepelt should be a permanent Queen. I know it would mean seeing less of him (which I dislike) but him being a gentle parent and helping others raise their kits would be a PERFECT wrap up to his arc. As much as I desperately want Breezestar I think he would fit more as a perma-queen.

A trip to the distant future or past would be both good and bad. A whole new cast would be kinda cool but let's be honest, these writers suck. What is needed is a whole new writing team of people who actually LIKE the books.

I never really liked canon!Riverstar that much, we really didn't know anything about him because DOTC is less Dawn of The Clans and more "pwease like our power trip fantasy oc who knocks up a girl his son's age 🥺". I genuinely cannot remember anything River Ripple even does. He just... Isn't there. Maybe more prevalent in the last 2 books but I never got past the first 3 chapters of book 5 and never opened book 6 aside from looking at its last scene and rolling my eyes. Petal's death was where I drew the line, the narrative bending over backwards to make Clear Sky a poor sad baby crossed it.

• I've come around thanks to Bonefall but I genuinely hated Star Flower as a kid. The way she was described was uncomfortable, annoying and made it feel like the writers were trying to force you to think she's this gorgeous, perfect cat, it made her boring, bland, and anything with her in it a slog to get through because of the way Thunder spoke about her, going on and on about her beautiful she was, getting worse when Moth Flight's Vision described her with purple eyes to go with her star-shaped pupils... Also, I was really attached to Petal, who died suddenly when Star Flower entered the picture, and I was on the assumption Clear Sky and Petal were going to get together, while I didn't like Clear Sky, I just wanted my favorite to stay alive unlike every other female character. Starf also suddenly becoming a helples damsel in distress added to the annoyance so badly that I actually never finished DOTC, and it made me take a break from the series altogether. I really wanted her to be playing the long game. A sincere thank you to Bonefall for helping me reread who this character is, and while the way our 'Camera' describes hee is still annoying, I can at least look past that and see the roots of this character.

I love Leafpool, and Hollyleaf. Met a lot of Leafpool fans who seem to think Hollyleaf is this monster when she very much reads as someone who cannot handle their religious and emotional abuse based trauma and lashed out at the wrong person. What she did to Leafpool was awful but she was basically an irrational teenager. Just like apprentice does not always equal child, warrior does not always equal "grown ass adult who should get over it". Her own existence went against every single thing she believed in and was told by her own mentor to never ever question.

As sweet as the scene with Dandelionkit and Juniperkit in Starclan was... There was really 0 point in giving Squilf 2 dead kids, other than "the writers hate her". The only thing I can see a point for it is for a long-shot setup to Squirrelstar for some lives seeing as you just know they absolutely forgot about Squish's friends.

• I think Ivypool has somewhat of a right to be upset with Dovewing. HEAR ME OUT. She is allowed to be upset, NOT take it out on Dovewing. She also needs to learn that she helped drive her sister out, but the writers are allergic to that kind of thing in favour of "make character a background conservative. If female = mom. If mom = soft until politcal debate scenario." She is allowed to be sad and upset that her only sister is gone, she just needs to acknowledge she messed up, as well as lots of Thunderclan cats messed up.

It's time to kill Brightheart, Brackenfur, Thornclaw and Cloudtail. Enough is enough, start retiring cats who were full warriors when TNP started. Tawnypelt should be in the Elders den and Oakfur should be rotting in hell for what he let happen to Berrynose. On that same note, I hope Russetfur went on trial for that and her attempt on Firestar's life. I like her but good GOD, that was egregious, and looks even more pathetic when Yellowfang's Secret reveals she herself wasn't Clanborn.

Tigerheart's Shadow is a good book (aside from that one 'territory' bit, you know the one) and this series could go FAR if they embraced the mysterious mystical elements they set up, people are far too harsh on the experimental things.

Moonkitti makes good points sometimes but I need younger fans to stop taking everything she says as gospel and start thinking for themselves; case in point the recent Mapleshade drama that REEKS of "if I was Orpheus I wouldn't have turned around". The writers call the Moonstone the Moonpool every time we revisit the forest, do you really think they remembered The Bridge? Did YOU remember the bridge or did Moonkitti point it out? Also, with how cosmically doomed from the start the story was, the water probably would have overtaken the bridge and STILL swept them away. For every one good take Moonkitti has they seem to have more than a few bad ones.

My silly one. FERNSONG SHOULD HAVE BEEN NAMED AFTER HONEYFERN AND BEEN A HONEYFERN CLONE APPEARANCE WISE. No problem with him being named for Ferncloud but could they PLEASE acknowledge that Cinderheart is Honeyfern's sister too? Poppyfrost named her baby boy after Molekit and Lilyheart named her daughter Honeykit despite never having met Honeyfern, and those don't feel like coincidences.

I dislike the Tribe as its concept, but I like some of the characters that came from it, know what I mean? I like OG Stoneteller (though I always pictured him very differently. I saw him as gray tabby with white paws!) I think he is an interesting character, and Outcast was a huge letdown with having him be wrong. It would be a nice change in story if the Clan cats had tried to push their way, only for it to NOT work, for there to be a different way to do things, or a trick the Tribe used in the past that they "could give another crack at", and for the Clan cats to learn that their way of life is not a golden standard. Could you imagine Hollypaw learning this? I also really like Brook. I dismantled her and I know she is a play on the stupid "Indian princess" trope. I love how sweet she is, though I hate how it was painted against the Tribe. I plan to keep that wisdom and kindness, while also making The Tribes just as good a place to live.

I don't think Tawnystar would've been a good idea, as good as a name like that sounds. She, like Bramble, is too old, and the writers can't stand killing off Arc 2 characters in favour of killing off Arc 3 and 4, we would have been stuck with her and the writing for leaders atm SUCKS. Tawnypelt also just... Isn't that great. While I like her, I don't think she would be a good leader. Same goes for Mothstar, though I feel like they could have it done better if they do have it happen by making her not want the 9 lives. After the absolute Christian slog ASC has been about "non believers" it would be cool to see her prove that wrong and put this shitty arc's hinge point in the ground once and for all.

I'm tired of Med Cat protags. We've had one since TNP barring Dawn of The Clans when arguably it would have been the most beneficial from Pebble Heart or Dappled Pelt. Leafpool was cool because she was the first, Jayfeather was kinda cool still because of blindness and being part of the Prophecy, and while his POV in OOTS was a necessary evil, we did not need Alderheart. There is no reason to have Alderheart be the POV when Sparkpelt has the objectively more interesting setup and Alderheart's "anxiety" works better when we can't see through his eyes, as the authors don't know what actual anxiety is. Shadowsight and Frostpaw are alright, through Frostpaw's pov suffers around Nightheart and she does suffer from Camera POV Syndrome at times... Not helped by her being a Female Warriors Character with all the lovely things that come with it. Shadowsight was cool until the writers completely fumbled the bag and made him rude, argumentative, and dropped his epilepsy for no reason. All this is NOT helped by the new retcon that you're just "born different" with some kind of inherit special connection to Starclan, like it wasn't some kind of learned thing, hence Cinderpelt struggling with it as a lot of the time she was on her own!

Let Daisy retire and let Sorrelstripe take over the nursery. These new characters are in desperate need of personality, let Sorrelstripe be a feisty, confident midwife who won't let Queens be bullied into things.

#warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats rewrite #wcr #asks

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