#and i keep Remembering things and getting SO SCARED

[thedanishcatgirl]

"You can't charm me witch!"

"Don´t be silly, we both know you where the one who charmed me. I have missed you so much. This castle just really isn´t the same without you. You must be tired after your long journey, want to retire to our chambers, and get out of that stuffy looking armour?"

Our chambers? What is she talking about?

"Sieze your lies horrid witch, I won´t fall for your schemes!"

"Sweetie, could you please stop that charade? It is not funny I have really missed you. It´s been 6 months since I last saw you and held you in my arms."

6 months. Why does that feel familiar? "Why do you keep acting like I know you, when whatever spell you tried to cast clearly didn't work?"

"Spell? Why would I enchant you, my husband, love of my life, the father of our unborn child? She says, now with tears in her eyes."

Something inside you aches at that, like seeing her this sad makes you hurt.

You are the chosen one! Don´t fall for her lies and crocodile tears. She is just stalling, trying to trick you. Attack now before it´s too late, A voice in the back of your mind says. You raise your sword, but as she draws back in suprise and fear, you notice that her belly is indeed quite round. If she really is pregnant, you can´t kill her. That´s wrong, surely they wouldn´t want to spill the life of an innocent baby.

It´s just an illusion, you must slay her before she calls her guards!

No, something is not right here. You have been trying to ignore your gut telling you it´s wrong, and the growing feeling of familiarity ever since you got near her castle. If it was a spell wouldn´t it require her seeing you? You try to think back to half a year ago, but your memories are muddled.

Focus Chosen One! Fufill your destiny!

The oldest clear memory you have are the royal guards informing you of your destiny, to rid these lands of the terrible witch queen. Why can´t you remember anything before that?

Nothing else matters. You have your duty and your purpose, that is the only thing that matters right now!

Your breaths quicken. Your mind is a mess, and there are too many thoughts and voices in your head, and you don´t understand anything, and suddenly you become aware of hands around you face.

"Oh darling, what have they done to you."

You wish you knew, or at least that your mind would stop hurting. It´s too much, and those hands are so gentle and you´re so scared, and tired, and don´t know what to trust anymore so when you fall into darkness you are full of relief.

You wake up in a giant bed, in a lavishly decorated room. Your head still aches, but not as much, which means you probably aren´t dead, which is suprising, very confusing and slightly annoying. Couldn´t she had let you free when you happily accepted it, instead of toying with you first? Perhaps she wanted to get information out of you first.

Or perhaps she wasn´t the lying one.

"You are awake! She says, stepping into the room with a tray of food. Are you hungry? I made your favoirites." At the concern in your face, she adds in a voice that sounds sligthly wounded. "I promise you it is safe to eat." She tears half of one of the bread rolls and eats it, before putting the tray closer to you. The smell is sweet and divine, and your stomach growls. You slowly reach out for the other half of the one she ate, almost on instinct. You haven´t eaten in a while, and never something that smelled so delicous.

Or have you? You barely remember anything about your life, and isn´t there something familiar about that smell, and this bed, and this woman?

What are you doing? It is obiusly poisened with something she is immune to!

Well if it is, then at least I will be spared any torture, you think as you put it in your mouth. It practicly melts in your mouth, and is so sweet and tastes like like, home and love, like something you can´t describe, and soon there are no more rolls on the tray.

She grins at you, in a way that fills you with warmth. "I´m glad to see you still like them. While you rested, I have searched all my tomes, and I think I have a way to give us some more anwers. If you would permit, I would like to try it."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Your mind has been forcefully tampered with enough. I couldn´t do that to you too, even if it should not do anything, but uncover what you have lost."

She is evil and dangerous, and you can´t trust anything she says!

She is the only one who can grant you answers and you know that. If they where the ones who took it from you they wouldn´t give it back.

No! Don't listen to the voice of her trickery! This is a mistake!

You need those answers, no matter the risk. With resovle in your heart, and tears in your eyes, you answer.

"Do it."

As she places a glowing finger of your forehead, your eyes close automaticly from the force of the veil in your mind being lifted, and all your memories overwhelming you. After an eternity gone in a blink of the eye, you open you eyes again looking tearfully into the eyes of your loving wife.

"Welcome back my love."

You, the chosen one, walk into the evil queen's throne room. The queen was sitting gloomily on her throne. She sees you and lightens up. She rises from her throne and kisses you. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you are back."

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - First "I Love You"s

Happy Valentines Day, all~ I wanted to make a special post for today. So here are short stories about the first time you exchanged I love you with Lucifer, Vox, and Alastor

CASUAL REMINDER: What was supposed to be the Angel Dust part in this post got too long because I have no self control. Its now its own story >>over yonder<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; allusions to heartbreak, cheating, abuse, just lots of past bad stuff; but its all in the past, this content is fluff and feels; Lucifer has a panic attack in his part cause he needs therapy Cavity content and brainrot below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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Lucifer ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Lucifer knew the words. Of course he did. After all, he was a married man. Obviously. But… They seemed to carry so much more weight now then they ever did before. Ever since Lilith left. Now they felt much more like a burden then something to celebrate. Perhaps he was idealistic, if not naïve before. But just the thought of love had made him giddy. It always held the promise of endless laughter, dancing under stars, and countless ever afters.

But now? Now, thinking of love scared him. It made his heart clench and the cold weight of dread harden in his chest. Lucifer’s mind would always go to that horrible moment when he realized Lilith was gone. That she wasn't coming back. Now, love just seemed like a promise of pain. A promise to leave in the end.

However, if there is one thing Lucifer can reliably do, its ignore a problem. Its his special talent to be able to simply not register any smoke or embers until its an all-engulfing, burning blaze.

With how close the two of you were getting, Lucifer should have seen the signs. He should have noticed the warmth that stained his face, the excitement that burned in his stomach to the point of making him sick, as well as the pure sense of comfort and affection that welled up in his chest. He should have done alot of things. But instead, every thought, every notion Lucifer got that there is more, that there is something beautiful blossoming between you two is thrown to the wayside. Buried deep, to be dealt with later.

Until it can’t be dealt with later. Until it bursts out in a way only Lucifer can manage to do; on complete accident.

Neither of you remember how the conversation started, or honestly, the majority of what was said. You were folding what felt like endless paper crafts for Charlie. All while Lucifer rambled to you about his latest duck related project. He fiddled and spun one of said ducks in his hands, using it as a fidget toy while he spoke. Lucifer did… attempt to help you when he found you. But you correctly assessed that he would be much more of a detriment then an asset with his mind so focused elsewhere. So here you two were; him passionately talking your ear off while you did the delicate work he couldn’t.

When it happened, it was sudden. Lucifer had just bounced up to leave when the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them; “That sounds great! I love you, Duckie~”

Just like that, it was like a live bomb had been dropped between you two. Time itself seemed to stop and both of you remained completely still. Lucifer’s heart pounded; blood rushing so fast it was deafening. His hands trembled. He could already feel overwhelmed tears pricking at his eyes and fogging up his vision. He could feel his lungs burning for air while he fought to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide in his room and cry. He wanted to turn to you and try and explain and beg you not to leave him…

But instead Lucifer just stood there. Frozen. Paralyzed in fear that he had just broken whatever you two had going. That he had ruined his only chance at a fresh start like he ruins everything else-

“Do you mean that?”

Your gentle words broke through Lucifer’s rapid spiral and put a harsh stop to any further thoughts in his head. He simply blinked dumbly a few times. A subconscious attempt to get rid of the excess wetness in his eyes. “W-w-what?”

“Do you…” Lucifer could hear the trembling in your soft voice. The hesitance in your breathe as you held it for a moment to try and gather yourself before finishing, “…really love me?”

At that, Lucifer finally found it in himself to turn around and look at you. In your eyes he saw the exact same fear that he had. Fear of the future. Fear of pain. Fear of the inevitable.

For the first time in forever, Lucifer felt understood. For the first time, Lucifer felt that something for him might turn out okay after all.

“Yes. I love you so much.”

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Vox ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Vox had certainly thought about the words. He had said them to you in his head countless times. But he had yet to work up the courage to actually say them to you outloud. Everytime Vox was sure it was going to happen, they would always end up catching in his throat. Then his thoughts would start racing, his fans suddenly whirring trying to keep him from overheating, and the words would end up dying before he could get his shit together.

What if he was moving too fast? The last thing he wanted to do was jump the gun. Especially when it came to you. What if he says it too soon, coming off desperate and scaring you off? Or worse, what if he got the timing wrong? What if those words, those ever important words, came out at the worst possible moment? Vox was well aware that his own lightness and euphoria could be blinding him to your mental state. What if he was reading the entire situation wrong?

What if… you just didn’t feel the same?

That was the notion that ended it. Ended any attempt or thoughts Vox possibly had of confessing. Vox was pretty sure he couldn't handle another heartbreak. Another rejection. So he kept the words to himself and settled for whatever it was you had now. Your current “relationship” was better then the possible alternative. So he would settle. Vox told himself he was okay with whatever scraps he got like he always did.

You had gracelessly fallen asleep on Vox one evening; the movie marathon he had coaxed you into losing the battle with your sleep deprived self. When Vox noticed your body relax against him as you fell asleep, he couldn't help but chuckle lovingly. It was cute and… sweet that you trusted him like this. Enough to fall asleep on him like something out of a stupid teen romance.

Vox hummed to himself and playfully rolled his eyes, shifting around so you could sleep more comfortably on his chest. He held you close, his claws gently petting you and his heart beating a little too loudly in his own head for his liking. Despite how much he complained, in whatever poor attempts he did to keep up his bravado, Vox would be lying if he said he didn’t love moments like this. Moments where you two were just something from a stupid romance.

Vox continued his humming, but now with more purpose. It was as if he was trying to sooth you. To lull you into a deeper sleep. He gently pressed his screen against the top of your head in a makeshift kiss. The words escaped his mouth before he could consciously register them; a gentle “I love you.” It just felt… right in that moment. For once, he wasn't panicking internally or overheating with dread at your possible response. Everything was calm. Quiet. Besides, it wasn't like you were even awake to hear him anyway…

“…I love you too.”

Vox immediately went silent and every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn't fully sure he heard you right at first. That is, if he didn't outright hallucinate it. Your words were groggy, partially slurred; clearly having responded to him in your sleep.

But did that fact really matter? You had said it to him. You said the words back. So you must have loved him on some level, right? Vox could feel himself trembling as his grip on you tightened protectively, as if you were at threat of being taken away from him in that very moment. As if you might just slip away through his fingers like a gust of wind. Vox pulls your sleeping form ever closer, curling around you, desperate to be as close as he can possibly be.

He swears from that moment on, that he is never going to let you go.

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Alastor ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Alastor had… honestly never really thought about those words. Or even what best describes his own feelings for you for that matter. He simply acknowledged that, yes, he did feel some sort of… “affection” towards you. So “affection” was what he called it. It didn’t matter what it actually was. You seemed to return it. You let him express his feelings how he wished. Things between you two seemed to be going swell. So… was there really a need to name it?

Alastor certainly didn't think so. Perhaps it was just in his roots to not give something like that a name. A name acknowledges it. Gives it shape. Gives it power. A name makes something tangible. Turns the ethereal into something to be wielded. Either for, or against you. But that was the risk you accepted when you played with fire. That its flame could scorch you and leave you just as charred as those you hoped to use it against.

It was early. Dreadfully early. But Alastor was wide awake and in the Hotel kitchen preparing the residential breakfast. Already singing and humming to himself like it wasn't too early for even the birds. Your footsteps were weighted with sleep as you meandered your way towards the kitchen. Alastor’s only acknowledgment of you was the flick of his ears when you stomped particularly loud.

You lethargically pulled out one of the dining chairs, unintentionally dragging one of its legs against the floor and making a horrid squeal. Most people would have been terrified at the sight of the radio demon visibly recoiling at the sound; his ears flattening back as he shot you a look over his shoulder. But you were not most people.

Instead, you settled yourself. Your head leaning sleepily against your arms on the table while the radio demon simply stared, motionless at you.

“Dear.” Alastor only spoke when you started staring back. Unabashedly meeting his unwavering eyes with your own. His voice crackled with static. “You-are aware of how early it is, aren't you?”

You gave an affirming hum. “Are you?”

Alastor visibly retracted himself, slowly turning back to his work despite his ears remaining pinned back. He… didn’t actually have a response for that. You both knew he had no business being here at this hour. Especially since his only reason for being the Hotel’s chef at all was some misplaced sense of culinary pride.

So Alastor resigned himself and silently continued. Slowly relaxing once again into his normal rhythm as you watched from the table. Your eyes tracing his every movement like he was a show in and of himself. Looking at him like he was a work of art.

“Al?”

Alastor simply made an acknowledging sound at your inquiry. Letting you know that he had heard you, but most of his attention was still on preparing the Hotel’s breakfast.

“I love you.”

It wasn't a groundbreaking declaration. Something yelled in a moment of despair and desperation as if the earth itself was being ripped out from under you. The ground certainly wasn't breaking apart at your words now. No. This was just a simple acknowledgment. A voicing of fact.

Perhaps that reverence was what gave Alastor pause. Made him actually consider the notion.

Love. Was that what this was? Was that this tightness, this need he had deep in his chest? Was that the name of this longing, this warmth he felt whenever you were too wonderfully close or pulled away too far? Was this… fondness, this comfort he had in moments like these… what love was?

“Alastor?”

He didnt notice he had slowly stopped what he was doing. So lost in thought that he had ceased all motion. Alastor looked back at you and affectionately chuckled when he saw the concerned look in your eyes. He found himself with a genuine smile for once. Not the usual grin that he plastered on, the one that could easily find itself more on the side of a snarl then a grin. But a real smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m fine, Love. Just thinking is all.”

If this was what love was, then he could certainly learn to live with it.

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AN: Happy Valentines day everyone! I hope ya'll find real love and happiness while I'm over here gargling my fictional men (˵˘ ³˘˵) (Also tag which type of love/way of saying 'I love you' you are; I'm Luci ◉〰◉)

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

The Angel Dust Section: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

Ngl, Vox's section was inspired by the strange like... silent agreement that alot of people have that Vox definitely tells you he loves you while your sleeping. Ive noticed a bunch of people have him do that in their fics and its just funny to me that so many people have come to the same conclusion.

One such fic is this adorable little drabble over >>HERE<< by @voxisdaddy

There is a super cute post about trying (and failing) to cook for Alastor and Lucifer and them having to step in to help you by @alastor-x-reader-stories over >>HERE<<

ALSO HAVE THIS STUUUPIDDD-- fic that I actually almost had a panic attack over because I couldn't find it and I thought it got deleted-ANYWAY. Its by @girlboypersonthingy and its a wonderful fic about Lucifer desperately pining over the reader and I reread it ALOT its over >>HERE<<

[artsninspo]

005 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 004

♠ summary: Lorence's unexpected 'crashout' has unexpected consequences.

♠ warnings: there is some backstory for Lorence that may be triggering to readers.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~3K

⌖ - Various Locations

It’s been a week since I've been home or exercised, so I practice deep breaths as I slow my run to a jog and turn the corner into my cul-de-sac. Checking my watch I see my heart rate is higher than it needs to be. It’s one of the results of my recent unemployment. Random streaks where my heart races without due cause - like I’m under attack when my brain knows I’m safe and sound. I try to help my body out by walking when I see a cherry red Mercedes parked in front of my home. I take in more air to aid in the slowing of my heart rate. I take my phone from my vest and look over the outdoor surveillance, relief finds me the instant I recognize Cassandra.

“You haven't been poached already have you?” she asks getting out of her car, stilettos hit the pavement. I expect her to be holding a box of my things cleared out from my office but she’s only holding her briefcase.

“Hey” I smile and she does too.

“How are you? You look fantastic” she says like the last time we were in each other's presence it wasnt disastrous. That was a little over a week ago now.

“Thanks, so do you” I force a smile feeling awkward.

“Can I come in so we can talk?” she asks, walking up the front steps behind me. I nod until a bark sounds from inside. I turn to see she looks terrified. 

Snickering, I shake my head. “Just give me a moment to let the dog out”

“Take your time” she nods, taking a step back. 

“Back” I say before unlocking the door. I look down at Beau who pushes past me to look outside. “Outside Beau” I tell my four legged protector. He looks up at me before giving me an annoyed chuff and following me to the back door. I let him out to the backyard and he stays by the glass to observe my guest. I find Cassandra on the porch waiting patiently and let her in. She enters my home with wide eyes.

“Wow, this is not what I expected” she remarks looking up like most people do when they enter my home. The skylights are a distinctive feature of the entryway, as is the conversation pit in my living room. People usually don't expect this to be my style. I bet Cassandra’s home is something straight out of architecture's digest. There’s nothing sterile or outwardly luxurious about my space with the exception of the space itself. The more eclectic decor style is in direct contrast to my occupation which is what I need to stay balanced. 

“Coffee?” I ask walking into the kitchen only to hear Beau bark again. Cassandra jumps.

“That's a bear” she comments and I smile glancing at Beau who stands at attention ready for duty.

“Teddy bear” I laugh looking at him. “You’re scared and he can be a bit of a bully” I explain withholding that Beau knows i’ve been off my game and has been more protective than ever lately. Cassandra casts the dog another look before placing her briefcase down onto the island. “Is this my release?” I ask.

“No,” she scoffs. “This is your contract.” Cassandra smiles, throwing me for a loop.

“But … I quit” I remind her and she shrugs.

“Those big ears never listen” she scoffs mocking my outburst and I feel blood rush into my cheeks, she heard that too. I shouldn't laugh but I do remember my insult to the Bos- Terry. “Don’t hate me because I didn't know. Take it up with Terry and Joel. It was all a test. Usually at the director level there’s a lot of bullshit that gets thrown your way. Your testing had almost no gaps - except for one. Dealing with dominant figures or confrontational men. It was fine but then Terry was gonna keep you out of certain circuit line ups. Joel didn’t want that and pushed for you to have your cull clearances. Believe me I had no idea Lorence. The assholes made a bet. Joel had faith in you standing your ground. Terry didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to go as far as it did - You passed with flying colours” Cassandra says and I sit. My head spins as I try to replay her words in an effort to make sense of what the fuck just came out of her mouth.

I raise an angry and judgemental brow. “So they send you here?”

“You were never supposed to quit. You were supposed to just either cave or hold out. Holding out would’ve meant you get full clearance, caving would mean it was limited. Terry was trying to be antagonistic but I think he was expecting sparks at best not a bomb.” Cassandra smiles like the memory of my crash out is a five star film.

“So they just decided to play with my head?” I ask.

“No, no things went too far. Every Director gets tested before they can be trusted with a full mission. It's Terry being overly cautious. It’s important to him that his company’s leadership is capable. Joel saw an opportunity to get you on the spring circuit with him and proposed it to Terry after you declined the promotion from my understanding.” Cassandra says with an eye roll. 

“It’s so idiotic I know it made sense to them” I swallow a bitter taste knowing exactly why there’s a glaring gap in my testing. The idea that Richmond is aware of it gives me an instant headache.

“Well, they threw money at you first and it didn't sway you. Money is the biggest barrier to loyalty in our field since we’re all for hire. Glory doesn't usually sway us women - we aren't as ego driven. Love/sex/attraction whatever has never swayed you so the prospect of rubbing elbows with elite men and becoming compromised was no worries either. Richmond was content moving forward after that but apparently barred you from a few locations because of the personality types. Joel advocated for you apparently there's a weakness in your testing there. Richmond agreed. You were just supposed to stand your ground or leave - I don't think he expected you to blow up on him or to get so angry. He didn't think you had it in you. They’re assholes” Cassandra remarks and Richmonds smug smirk as the elevator doors closed returns to me. The reverie makes sense now as the puzzle pieces click into place. It hadn't been amusement born out of cruelty - he was impressed. I find myself pacing as the truth of the matter comes to me and I think of Joel. I look at Cassandra who’s eyes show remorse. 

“So the contract stands and I can keep my job?” I ask and she nods.

“Yes” she responds.

“Would it be wrong to call bullshit, he said I overestimated my importance-”

“He didn't expect you to quit AT ALL or the insubordination. I mean the shit you pulled” Cassandra smiles shaking her head. “ Too Good! I don't even go that far with him. I honestly think he likes you, because that restraint was TOTALLY unlike him" she remarks.

“Likes me? He can't stand me! If that was restraint the man needs a tranquilizer!” I snap and she giggles in agreement.

“The only reason I didn't meet you at the lobby was because he was smiling and told me to let you cool off. The smile threw me and I made him explain. All this time he thought you were scared of him.”

“I AM!” I shout. “He’s NUTS!” I add.

“When none of us could get a hold of you he asked me to do a housecall personally and I’m nobody's gopher. He likes you.” she insists.

“Then I don't know if I want to be liked,” I confess.

“Fair enough. You can take another week off if you want but please don’t quit. I want you around for the summer circuit - it’s too much of a sausage fest.” she says making a face and I feel like the contract in front of me is an answered prayer.

“What if I failed?” I ask, still thrown by lifes new reality.

“Like I said, the Boss was willing to keep you on in a more limited role. It was Joel who knew you wouldn’t just sit there and take it” Cassandra explains and I sigh deeply. It makes sense. Joel’s meddling and willingness to be a third party negotiator on my behalf, his pushing for me to join his ranks. No one else knows my story better to exploit it. He always said I was a great operative - I should have believed him.

“So when am I scheduled back?” I ask.

“You can start Monday if that works for you.”

“It does” I agree, resigned to make it work.

“See you Monday,” she smiles, closing her briefcase.

“See you then” I mutter walking her out. When her car pulls off I head to let Beau in. My nerves are shot but I manage to make breakfast. After a day of looking  over the contract sporadically I sign my name across the dotted line. Lorence Cole.

…

“So, how are you gonna swing it on Monday?” my cousin Sincere asks as we sit enjoying cocktails. I’ve told her everything I know to be true about the past few weeks and she's as disturbed by the games at hand as I am.

“I don’t know - I’m still not so sure all of that argument was acting on his part” I confess taking a long sip.

“Me neither but I mean if he’s never yelled at you before then maybe he’s a great actor” she says making a point. I think back to most of our discussions in the past month or so and most of them have been with his tablet handy with my file. He’d been looking into me so it’s hardly a stretch to consider my greatest weakness was used against me.

“It just sucks that my boss has to know my biological mother let her asshole boyfriend verbally abuse me as a toddler and then picked him over being a mother to me” I confess. Sin holds my gaze. It’s not something I bring up, ever. My grandparents stepped in the moment they found out what was going on. My mother gave me up without a second thought. My grandparents legally adopted me at five and they’ve done everything humanly possible to make up for the two years my mom had subjected me to mistreatment.

“It is,” Sin agrees, shifting in her seat. “But you stood up for yourself” she smiles, holding a hand out for me and I nod. Overwhelmed by the past. 

“I didn't realize those wounds were still so raw” I sigh looking into my glass. The older I get the more angry the situation makes me. Sure my mother was a young mom but there’s nothing I can conceive of that would ever justify how she treated me. When her boyfriend started coming around I was two and I had to become silent and fend for myself. He’d slap her for not ‘training me’ right and rant for what felt like hours. The more I cried the angrier he got. He'd have me stand in the corner for what felt like hours if I made too much noise or asked my mother for something. By four the cost of needing my mother was too high and she started spitting his rhetoric back at me. His cheating, his absence, his abuse was all my fault. That Christmas my entire family knew something was wrong when I didn’t say a word unless spoken to and couldn't maintain eye contact. When I arranged my christmas presents in a line and smiled at them silently from far away instead of playing with my cousins. They knew something was seriously wrong, four year olds don’t have that kind of restraint. But I was far from alone in this world. My grandfather was madder than anything I've ever witnessed when he heard my mother tell him I was trained right - like a dog. My aunties, great aunts, uncles and cousins rallied around me. I’d never put it together that the reason Richmond rattled me as much as he does was because of my childhood.

“Lo, you’re human, don’t be hard on yourself” she says, giving me a hug and I sigh. “There’s nothing wrong with you, at ALL. You're the cutest, smartest, nicest, smartest, sexiest, bravest, badass I know - there’s too much to love” she says and her kind words mean a lot to me.

“Don’t tell mom and dad - I don't want them to worry” I sign.

“Worrying is our job - we’re family,” Sincere says. Though she may be right I don't want anyone to worry more than they already do. So I put on a brave face and we celebrate my promotion and I brace for monday.

_________

Monday, HQ

No one spares me any second glances as I head in after my week long leave. It’s business as usual as I cross the floor and head to my office. I don't even make it there before my coworkers are asking me for assistance with their upcoming projects. When I sit down I find myself thankful for the discretion employed by Richmond. Knowing no one knows what transpired in Switzerland is a relief. I look out my window after signing in and see my inbox has imploded with emails in my absence. I spent the first half an hour of my day organizing what I can and delegating the rest. I’m due for a break when Joel knocks on my office door. He’s lucky we’re at work because if we were anywhere else I'd swing on him for the circus he created in Switzerland. I scowl instead and he raises his hands.

“I come in peace” he says before taking a seat.

“You're a real jerk, you know that?” I snap.

“You were gonna get benched from all the good stuff, now you get to see the world. Monaco’s Grand Prix is coming up” he shrugs without apology. “Besides Richmond was impressed, didn't think you had it in you - he didn’t want to push”

“So Richmond cares about my feelings more than you do I see?” I comment and Joel sits forward. Now I've gone too far.

“I told you a hundred times I’ll put that fool out of his misery quick and easy or slow and cruel for you.” Joel whispers repeating the open ended offer he holds for my moms ex-boyfriend.

“You’re not just my mentor Joel, you're my friend so you can't just put me in that headspace because you think I can take it” I explain sticking to the issue at hand.

“Was I wrong?” Joel asks and I sigh because he’s missing the point. “You’re non confrontational and I love that you're always considering alternatives and collateral. You can fight but it’s your last resort and you act like it. You aren't a small fish anymore Lo. People have to know when they swing you're swinging back. I mean if I’m around i’ll swing for you too but some aggression is your friend - you don't want anyone mistaking your passivity for weakness. It’s dangerous at this level.” he says, ever the mentor.

“It was still mean.” I tell him and he sighs, shaking his head at my sensitivity.

“I’ll make it up to you” Joel promises.

“Swear?”

“Swear it” he says and I nod, conceding this round. He gives me a hug. “Congratulations” he smiles before heading off to whatever he has going on. I’m in the middle of taking notes on one of my team's presentations when Richmond knocks on the door. The team shuffles smiling and muttering greetings as they scatter without being asked. That’s the kind of impact Richmond has. Unfortunately now I can no longer leave too. His expression is typical as he closes the glass door behind him. He’s dressed down today, the glasses and black cashmere sweater somehow make him look less intimidating. He smirks, taking a seat at the table my team was just occupying in my office.

“You don't have to apologize,” he says, breaking the silence as he slides a tablet my way. “Get to know your team more intimately for the next few weeks then make your picks for upcoming assignments wisely.” he instructs in the same level tone as always. I take the tablet and it unlocks  showing me my options.

“Sir” I nod like I always do and he nods.

“Any issues, questions, comments or concerns can be directed to Jameson or myself” he explains.

“Okay” I nod, maintaining eye contact for the first time. 

“Cassandra has placed your acceptance of this post in tomorrow's newsletter - so if you have any reservations now’s the time to object” he says.

“I’m fine” I tell him not wanting a do over of our last discussion. The playing field between us seems more level now that he knows what I’m made of.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes” I nod and he swallows.

“I’m clear on what you think of me but my anger and management of this company isn't to indulge self-importance. I know how people think and I understand the risks of carelessness. Everyone here has signed up to do the job, not to be the casualty of poor preparation, exhaustion or laziness.” Richmond explains calmly. 

“I know and I always put my best foot forward.” I tell him.

“That’s why we’ve never had an issue and we aren't likely to. I’m excellent at self-regulation” he says, making my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I swallow feeling put on the spot. He gets up without forcing me to sit in it. “But if you have any feedback Cole, It’s welcome my big ears are quite receptive” he adds leaving and I place my head in my hands cursing my big mouth.

authors note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the little plot-twist I put in there. Let me know if you saw it coming. Now that Lorence can no longer run from Mr. Richmond things should get ... interesting. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter. Is Lorence ever gonna live the big ears comment down? Reblog, Comment and Like.

[little-glitter-kitten]

The Colonel's New Crop Part 1

🔗 Part 2 l  Part 3

Prologue: As Colonel, a riding crop is part of the uniform but when Caleb sees you admiring his recently purchased swagger stick things quickly become heated.

Notes: Female Reader, No use of 'Y/N, porn with feelings.

TW: Pseudo-incest, Use of riding crop, D/s tones, Possessive Caleb, Inappropriate use of a riding crop, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, humiliation, use of 'Gēge', Inappropriate use of evol, dacryphilia, clit spanking overstimulation, squirting

You can't help but stare curiously at the smooth leather implement sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Caleb had come home from work earlier in the evening with a new riding crop in hand, claiming it was a necessity for work.

"Scared?" A voice whispered in your ear, making you jump. "You can touch it, you know? It doesn't bite...unless I make it."

You turned your head to watch Caleb, still fully dressed in his Farspace Fleet Colonel regalia, as he came and sat beside you on the couch.

"I just don't understand why you would need one."

"It's mostly just for show, a symbol of authority, but I also use it to signal troops." He replied, picking it up off the table and effortlessly twirling it over in his gloved, long, slender fingers. "The old one was getting so worn, I was kind of glad when it snapped. I was well overdue for a new one."

You felt disgusted to admit how arousing such a simple action could be. It was borderline sinful. Usually, you weren't one to admire a mans hands but Calebs were incredible. Especially in those black gloves.

You clear your throat and tried to get rid of such thoughts. You knew it was wrong to think such things of your own brother, that fact that he was merely an adoptive sibling didn't do much to quell the feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach.

"How'd you manage to break it?" You asked, running your finger along the handle as he held it still in his fingers. "It looks too sturdy to simply snap."

He smiled and ruffled your hair. "That's nothing to concern yourself with, Pipsqueak."

You weren't stupid. You knew first hand that his rank came with some 'unsavoury tasks'.

"Interrogation gone wrong?" You couldn't help but pry. "I distinctly remember you had used one to interrogate me."

"No, pipsqueak." He laughed. "I had one on me but I didn't use it on you. Trust me, you would have known if I did. There's a big difference."

You stay quiet for moment before you curiosity got the better of you. "Does it hurt?"

Caleb threw his head back and gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well. They're not made for tickling." His laughter soon died down and his face turned a bit more serious as he shrugged. "They are made to hurt but they can also be used to please."

His eyes flicked up to meet yours and suddenly all the oxygen was sucked out of the room. There was something in his gaze you couldn't quite put your finger on...curiosity?...hunger?....lust?

Deciding to take the dive and see where this lead, you asked quietly with a slight tremble in your voice. "Have you ever used one to please?"

Caleb smiled slowly, his gaze bordering on predatory. "I can't say that I have." He rested one arm on the back of the couch, behind your head, the other hand trailed the leather tongue of the crop slowly up your lower leg.

You couldn't help the gasp the left your lips but you keep your leg still, enjoying the feel of the leather tracing up and down your calf.

"Curious?" He asked, his eyes gleaming.

"Maybe." You gave a slight chuckle and looked down, embarrassed.

"'Maybe' isnt an answer." His tone suddenly turned serious as the stroking of your leg stopped abruptly. "I'm going to need a 'yes' or a 'no.'"

"Yes." You whisper quickly.

"Good girl." The hand behind your head coming up to rake through your hair. "Get up."

Slowly you stood up, looking down at him. His feet came up to rest on the coffee table as he made a circle motion with the crop.

"Turn around." He commands. "Slowly."

You turn slowly, your back now facing him as you await further instruction. Looking over your shoulder, you see his hungry gaze looking you up and down.

Suddenly, his hand reaches around you to pop the button and lower the zip of your denim shorts before the fabric is yanked down to your ankles. Your now left standing in front of him in your black lace thong and cherry print crop top.

You feel his large, glove covered hand, run up the outside of your leg, over your thigh and to your ass where he roughly squeezes a handful of the flesh there. As he kneads and caresses your ass, you feel yourself leaning into his touch when suddenly a sharp crack is heard and your bum cheek begins to sting.

He had spanked you.

"Stand up straight." He told you sternly. "Don't move until I say otherwise."

His feet that had been on the coffee table are pulled back  to rest on its edge before its violently kicked away, screeching across the wooden floor.

"Take two steps forward and get on your hands and knees." You step out of your denim shorts and do exactly as he asks, excitement making your breath now come out in shallow pants. "Head on the ground and ass in the air."

Getting into position, your nails nervously dig into the floorboards. You hear him rise from the chair and soon his polished boots come into your field of view beside your face which was turned to the side.

"Excited, are we? We haven't even begun, darling." He coos condescendingly as the silence of the room is broken by your heavy panting. "But, just how excited, I wonder, hmm?" He asks, trailing the leather tongue of the crop along the lace between your ass cheeks, stopping just before it can reach the spot that is so desperately craving friction.

You listen to his boots hitting the hardwood floor as he continues to circle you like a vulture, coming to a stop directly behind you again.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt about getting you in such a position." He murmurs, quietly. "Now I have you right where I want you, don't think I'll be letting you go anytime soon, kitten."

You feel the crop return to your bum and give two small taps on your left cheek.

"Brace yourself."

Before you even had time to prepare yourself, you felt a slight sting of two blows in quick succession. The first blow landing on your left cheek, the second landing on your right.

He waits, as if waiting to see if you'll ask him to stop. When no such request came he continued. Giving your ass a slight tap in warning before he landed another sweet sting.

It wasn't long before you got used to the rhythm and you slowly push your ass further out, silently begging for more.

Caleb chuckled. "Oh, silly girl." He tsked. "That was just the warm up."

You freeze.

'Did he just say warm..'

"Ahhh." You yelp as another blow lands, more forcefully than the previous ones and without the warning tap this time. The crack of the crop piercing and only adding insult to injury.

You ball your hands under your head into fists, resisting the urge to rub the skin where you had been struck. You could already feel the warmth radiating from that spot where the blood vessels had begun to dilate.

'CRACK' Another sharp blow lands to the other side this time but before you had a chance to catch your breath... 'THWACK'

The skin where you had been struck warms and begins to throb. The throbbing seemed to go straight to your pussy. Your mind racing, your unable to form words so you merely whine pathetically.

"Oh, baby." He coos at you. You feel his leather clad hand run soothingly over the heated flesh of your ass. "Can't take it?"

You shake your head furiously, you didn't want this to end.

"I can take it." You pant. "Please."

He chuckles. "You're not usually one to beg, you must really be enjoying this." As his gloved hand runs over your bum, his thumb traces the edge of your thong, his finger almost grazing your pussy lip.

"Please." You beg once more, unsure of what it is you're begging for.

"Do you trust me?" You nod without hesitation at his question. "Good girl, come here."

Slowly, he brings you to stand on shaky legs. Just as you feel them start to give out from under you, your feet leave the floor and he's holding you in his arms. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and one arm around his shoulder while the other clutches at the front of his coat. You rest your head on his shoulder epaulette as you revel in the feeling and smell of him. One arm is wrapped around your waist, keeping you tightly against him while his other hand sits under your ass.

You whimper as the hand under your bum rubs soothing circles, the cool leather a vast contrast against your hot skin.

Your so wrapped up in the feeling, you don't even realised he has walked you over to the kitchen island until he carefully deposits you on the freezing cold counter surface. You hiss at the contact and Caleb let's out a dark chuckle.

Glancing up at him, your breath catches in your throat. His purple eyes bore straight into yours filled with such longing it almost brings you to tears.

"I need you. I always have." He whispers, his voice trembling slightly. Bringing his gloved hand up, he ever-so-gently runs it over your cheek, as if worshipping. "I need you so much it hurts."

Mustering all of your bravery, you lean in, your nose brushing his.

This is all the invitation he needs as he closes the rest of the distance between your lips and let's the flood gates open.

[obaewankenope]

They are, in some ways, scared of being a bother to authors, aye. But there's also an aspect of some who read fic, might hit kudos, and then move on because they're just used to a reaction notification being enough (see most social media nowadays that lets you just heart or thumbs up shit and then keep on scrolling).

Some don't know they can comment at all.

Some don't care that they can comment because they expect the kudos button to be enough.

Some don't know what to say and fear bothering the author because they've seen how people commenting on things on Instagram etc can get dogpiled on and are scared of that happening to them.

Some just don't have the time to leave a comment because they're bing-reading and forget the fics they've read.

Some think a 'shout out' on other social media is preferred when, honestly, authors want to have engagement with their readers (we eat up comments even as simple as "<3 <3 <3" seriously, we genuinely do) but they're used to platforms like tiktok and Instagram where a 'shout out' is more valuable because it means hits and financial payoff. They don't realise we don't get paid on AO3 to write fic so a shout out isn't as useful to us as an actual comment or bookmarking of our fic with screeching in the bookmark notes.

Like, there's lots of varying reasons why commenting on fic isn't as prevalent anymore (many of which tend to stem from "reaction to a post being equated with the kudos button and thus 'enough'" because that's usually fine on other platforms) but anxiety and being scared/worried/concerned with causing offense or upset to the author (or anyone who reads the comments) is a big one too.

With how overwhelmingly powerful cancel-culture is and how people are told about or hear of times when authors have ripped on people leaving 'reviews' when they've been unasked for, a fair number of individuals likely worry about leaving a comment that, in some way, could be construed as criticism or unasked for critique and getting cancelled for it as a result.

The best way to avoid that, however, isn't to not comment, it's to have a bare-bones structure for leaving comments, mainly:

I loved/liked/enjoyed this fic/chapter/one-shot! My favourite bit is/was probably [insert short summary or specific bit of fic like a sentence or paragraph] because it made me feel/think about/remember sth specific to the fandom!

Amazing/good fic! 10/10 would recommend! Extra kudos!

That's, ultimately, the easiest way to leave a comment on a fic or chapter because it gives the author sth to look at, go "oh they liked that bit! Nice! I enjoyed writing that part as well!" and lets them know you read the fic even if its not a 5 page long, size 12 font in Times New Roman essay review. It also avoids any of the risks of unintentional critique or critical reviews that authors tend to not ask for (unless we state such in our author notes) that often tend to be upsetting for the author to read because no one wants to be criticised (even if it is being done in a helpful way) unexpectedly when they haven't asked for it.

And if that kind of comment is too much, or you're too anxious for it, even the simpler:

Loved it! Extra kudos! <3

Works well enough for us authors to know you liked what we wrote enough to tell us that and shows us that it's only because you can't leave more than one kudos per fic that's stopping you from spamming us with kudos.

Just, if you can, comment. We don't need fancy, we just need to know you care.

"Ao3 should allow multiple kudos" "I want to be able to leave more than one kudos"

COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC

I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE COMMENTS MUCH NOW WHEN THE ONLY WAY TO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR A SINGLE CHAPTER IS COMMENTING AND I AM NOT HAVING THIS BULLSHIT BE LIKE TIKTOK WHERE NO ONE EVER COMMENTS POSITIVITY

FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC YOU DON'T NEED A MULTIPLE KUDOS BUTTON YOU NEED ACTUAL WORDS

TRUST ME ON ANY WEBSITE OR APP I POST COMMENTS AND WORDS ARE 10X BETTER THAN ANY PLAIN LIKE AND WORDLESS REBLOG IF YOU LIKE SOMETHING LEAVE WORDS

COMMENT

ON

THE

FUCKING

FICS

[bitchinbarzal]

With you | B Faber

part two of i never wanted kids

summary: You walked away from Brock because you thought you were doing the right thing. But his voicemail changes everything, forcing you to face the truth you’ve been running from.

-

You never meant to listen to the voicemail.

You’d seen his name flash across your screen and told yourself to let it go. You weren’t going to listen. what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything.

But then, late at night, when your apartment felt too quiet and your thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, you hit play.

“I never wanted kids. Or maybe I did. Maybe I just never thought about it until you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a hand against your stomach.

Because he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know that the reason you left wasn’t because you stopped loving him or because you thought you couldn’t make it work.

He doesn’t know that the reason you walked away was because you found out you were pregnant.

And you were terrified.

You remembered all the times you and Brock had joked about it, about how kids weren’t for you, about how you’d rather just get a dog. You remembered the way he laughed when you’d scoff at the thought of parenthood, the way he agreed so easily.

So when that little test turned positive, your first instinct was to leave.

Because keeping it a secret felt safer than giving him a choice.

You thought you were doing the right thing. You thought you were sparing him, sparing yourself from disappointment. But hearing him talk about a future with you—a future where maybe kids weren’t as out of the question as you thought makes your heart ache in a way you can’t ignore.

You have to tell him.

You owe him that much.

Your hands shake as you knock on Brock’s door.

It’s late, and you know you should’ve at least texted first, given him some kind of warning. But you weren’t sure you’d go through with it if you waited any longer.

The door swings open, and Brock blinks at you in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting to ever see you here again.

“Y/N?” His voice is quiet, cautious.

“Hey” you say, shifting on your feet “Can we talk?”

Something flickers in his expression. hope, maybe. But he doesn’t push. He just steps aside, letting you in.

You walk into the apartment you used to call home, heart pounding as you turn to face him.

“I got your message” you say, voice softer now “That’s why I’m here”

Brock swallows, nodding “Yeah?”

“Yeah” You hesitate, searching for the right words “Brock, I need to tell you why I left”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, waiting.

You take a deep breath “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I—because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because I was scared”

His brows pull together, confused “Scared of what?”

You exhale shakily “I found out I was pregnant”

Silence.

A long, heavy silence that stretches between you, pressing against your ribs like a weight.

Brock’s mouth parts slightly, like he’s trying to process what you just said, like he’s trying to form a response but doesn’t know how.

You push forward before he can speak, before you lose your nerve “I didn’t tell you because I thought… I thought you didn’t want kids. We always joked about it, always brushed it off, and I panicked. I thought it’d ruin everything. I thought you’d feel trapped, or—”

“Y/N”

The way he says your name is so soft, so careful and it makes your throat tighten.

“You thought I wouldn’t want them?” he asks, voice laced with something between heartbreak and disbelief.

“I didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t ready for” you whisper.

Brock exhales sharply, running a hand down his face “Jesus, Y/N. You didn’t even give me a chance. You just… left”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes “I thought I was doing the right thing”

“And now?” he asks, looking at you like he’s afraid of the answer.

You take a shaky breath, pressing a hand to your stomach “Now, I don’t know. But I know I can’t keep running from this. I know I can’t keep running from you”

Brock steps forward then, hesitating only for a second before reaching out. His hand hovers over yours before gently resting on your stomach, his palm warm even through the fabric of your sweater.

It’s the smallest thing, but it makes your breath hitch.

“Are we—” He stops, clears his throat, like he’s afraid to ask “Are we still…?”

You nod “Yeah. Still pregnant.”

His jaw tenses, and for a moment, he looks like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

“You should’ve told me” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper “God, Y/N, I would’ve—” He stops himself, shakes his head “You didn’t have to do this alone”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it “I know”

Brock watches you for a long moment before his thumb brushes against your stomach, the touch feather-light.

“I meant what I said in that voicemail” he murmurs. “Every word”

You swallow past the lump in your throat “Even the part about maybe wanting kids someday?”

His lips twitch into the smallest, saddest smile “Especially that part”

The weight in your chest cracks, just a little.

“I don’t know how to do this” you admit.

“Me neither” Brock says “But we don’t have to figure it out all at once”

Your throat is dry as you stare at Brock, his hand still resting on your stomach, like he’s afraid to move and break whatever fragile moment you’ve found yourselves in.

He blinks, his mouth parting slightly before he swallows hard “How far along are you?”

“Four months” you whisper.

Brock inhales sharply, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rest against your stomach. “Four months” He says it like he’s trying to make sense of it, like the number means something different when spoken out loud.

You nod, biting your lip “Yeah”

He exhales, shaking his head slightly “I missed so much already”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your chest ache.

“I wanted to tell you” you admit, voice shaking “So many times. But I thought it would just make things worse”

Brock pulls his hand away, running it through his hair “Worse? Y/N, I—God, I don’t even know what to say right now” He lets out a breathless laugh, more disbelief than amusement “I mean, you left. You disappeared. And the whole time, you were pregnant?”

You nod, eyes stinging “I know. And I’m sorry, Brock. I really am. I should’ve told you. I just��” You take a breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze “I thought I was protecting you”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then, finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he looks at you with something softer in his expression.

“You don’t have to protect me from this” he says quietly “From us”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it “I know”

Brock watches you for a long moment before nodding to the couch “Can we sit? Can we—can you tell me everything I’ve missed?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding “Yeah. Yeah, okay”

You sit curled up on one side of the couch, Brock on the other, facing you like he doesn’t want to miss a single word.

“So” he starts, rubbing his palms together “Tell me everything”

You hesitate, chewing your lip “Well… I found out in early December. I was feeling off for a while, but I just chalked it up to stress. And then I was late, so I took a test, and… yeah.” You let out a humorless chuckle “Not exactly what I was expecting”

Brock is watching you so intently, it makes your skin prickle “What did you do? After you found out?”

“I freaked out” you admit. “A lot. I sat in my bathroom for an hour just staring at the test, trying to convince myself it was wrong” You take a deep breath, the memory making your chest feel tight “And then I thought about you. About how we’d always said we weren’t the type for kids. And I thought—‘What if he hates me for this? What if he resents me?’”

Brock’s brows furrow “Y/N, I could never—”

“I know” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I know that now. But back then, it felt like the only option”

He swallows hard, nodding for you to continue.

“So… I left. I ran. And I tried to figure it out on my own” You let out a small, sad laugh “It wasn’t exactly easy”

Brock leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees “Have you been okay? Like, really okay?”

You pause, looking down at your hands. “Some days are better than others. The morning sickness was rough at first, but it’s gotten better. And I’m tired all the time, but I guess that’s normal” You glance up at him “I had my first ultrasound a few weeks ago”

His breath catches slightly “And?”

You hesitate before reaching for your phone, scrolling until you find the picture and holding it out to him “here”

Brock takes the phone carefully, his eyes widening as he stares at the screen.

The ultrasound photo is grainy, but the tiny shape of the baby is clear. His fingers brush over the image, his lips parting slightly “Wow.”

You watch as he just stares at it, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he exhales “That’s… our baby.”

Your throat tightens “Yeah”

Brock blinks a few times, like he’s trying to process it all “I missed this” he murmurs “I should’ve been there”

You bite your lip, shifting slightly “You still can be. If you want to”

His gaze snaps to yours, something like determination settling in his features “Of course I want to”

Your breath catches “Brock—”

“I don’t know what this means for us” he says, voice rough “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I do know that I want to be here. I want to be part of this. I want to be part of their life” He looks at you, eyes burning with sincerity “I don’t want to miss anything else”

Your heart clenches, a mixture of relief and emotion threatening to pull you under.

“I want that too” you whisper.

Brock reaches out then, carefully lacing his fingers with yours.

“We’ll figure this out” he says, squeezing your hand gently “Together”

Six months later you sat alone in a hospital room holding your son, only hours old.

He cried out desperately and you winced.

“Gosh i go to get your mom a bagel and you miss me that much you’re crying? Jeez bud, pretend i’m not the favourite parent already and spare her feelings” Brock exclaims, walking into the room holding a bag with your breakfast inside.

You smile softly, Charlie now silent.

Brock leans down to kiss you softly “Hi beautiful”

“Hi, your son is really loud”

“Yeah, gets that from his dad. Sorry!”

[its-luna-noel]

in my restless dreams, i see you | various!jjk x reader

05. blood on her lips looking extra tasty

Vampire lord Ryomen Sukuna gives you the gift of eternal life. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. vampire lord!sukuna x reader vampire!geto x reader vampire hunter!gojo x reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, vampire!au, smut, drinking, partying, non-con elements, blood drinking, vampire turning, violence & blood, definite dark themes so DD:DNE

word count: 3.6k

chapter 5/? (probably 15ish) previous chapter | next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hello! sorry it's been a while, but i've finally finished this chapter, so i hope you enjoy! xx

Sukuna doesn’t knock before walking into your new apartment.

You’re in the middle of research – which is really just you scrolling through urban legends and vampire stories on your new phone, trying to match everything you’ve experienced so far with what you’re reading. Trying to anticipate what you’ll experience next.

Then Sukuna walks in like he owns the place – though you guess he actually does.

You toss your phone aside, embarrassed to be reading about fictional monsters like a teenage girl. You raise your head and watch him walk in, hands in his pockets as he approaches the couch and looks down his nose at you.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

You just stare up at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then, so you don’t seem ungrateful for him providing housing for you – when your family literally thinks you’re dead and would probably drive a stake through your heart themselves if you walked up to their front door – you nod silently.

He grins that wicked smile of his, and then he steps forward and towers over you, sinking to his knees on the couch and straddling you, his massive muscular body dwarfing you against the back of the couch. Your breath stills, and you gaze up into those daunting red eyes, and he looks so goddamn menacing your eyes shift away.

He chuckles. “Scared, little girl?” 

You just your chin out. “No.”

He just chuckles again and leans in, his mouth brushing against your throat. Your eyes flutter closed, and you suck in a soft gasp through your teeth at the feeling of his cool breath on your neck. His lips are feather-light on your skin, tracing where your pulse had once throbbed in anticipation of this same mouth that’s brushing against you now.

You wonder if things would be different if you didn’t let him touch you. If you didn’t let him come home with you that first night.

Maybe that heart would still be beating.

His lips part, and his tongue licks a slow, aching line of heat up the side of your neck. You wish you could be disgusted by it, horrified, but instead you can’t help but remember how good it felt with his mouth, his hands, his body on you.

You just want more.

His fingers dive into your hair, tilting your head back so he can get better access to your throat, and his nose brushes over your skin, smelling you… He hums, “I can smell him on you… That groundskeeper… can smell his blood in your veins….” And then he drops open his jaw, his fangs glinting in the light of your apartment before they slice open your throat, bleeding you out all over again.

You gasp, eyes flashing open, but he just holds you a little tighter, letting his tongue poke out from between perfect lips to brush along the twin rivulets of crimson now dripping from your neck. The blood you stole from another man, ripped from his body and drank in your fledgling frenzy.

Your instincts are to push him off of you, to snarl and fight to keep that blood you worked for, but something inside you can’t. Something in you knows that he’s your sire, that he gave you the gift of this second life, and that you can’t fight against him. Not when he’s sucking the foreign blood from your veins, claiming your life as his own.

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper, not understanding why your body is held immobile in his hands.

He hums, a low rumble in his chest, as he tightens his hold in your hair. “Such a familiar tone,” he says, and blood drips from his teeth when he pulls back enough to look you in the eyes when he speaks. “It would do you well to remember who is the master and who is the servant here, little thing. I won’t remind you again.” Then he puts his mouth back on your bleeding wound and drinks.

This time, as he takes a long pull from your throat, you notice that though you’re unable to move against him, unable to fight this robbery of blood you so rightfully earned when ripping it from that man’s throat, you’re not enthralled. You’re not empty-minded, not entirely blank except for the need to serve him, to belong to him, to give him everything.

He pulls back, licking his teeth at the delicious expression on your face, that painful haze of confusion when you realize that he doesn’t have the sort of control over you he once had when you were human. He smirks at you, sucking his fangs clean before he explains, “S’not your blood, pretty girl; can’t be a thrall when there��s no use for you. But you’re full of that human’s blood – that old groundskeeper you ripped apart and murdered – so I can still drink from you.” Then he dives back in, his tongue brushing the arch of your throat once more.

He slowly readjusts himself, putting one leg between yours. He presses his knee against your cunt, and your back arches off the couch with a soft gasp, lashes fluttering at the unexpected stimulation. You can feel him grinning against your neck as he sucks again, his mouth filling with blood, now slowly tinged with the taste of hormones and endorphins released as he starts rocking his knee against your core.

He feels you growing wet against his leg.

He groans quietly against your neck at the taste, at the sweetness of your arousal straight through the blood in your veins. His hips grind against your stomach, canting forward against your soft tummy through your shirt. He presses somehow closer, pinning you against the back of the couch as he leans over you, dwarfing your frame with his massive body. His fingers tighten again in your hair, leaning your head even further back so he can move his tongue over the bite mark at your throat with fervor, lapping at the draining blood in rhythm with each shallow thrust of his hips.

And all you can do is sit there and take it, while your mind screams at you to fight back.

When he finally pulls back, mouth painted red, his tongue licks that up, too, leaving only a soft crimson stain to his perfect lips. His eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, his hips still pressed against your torso, his aching erection so close… You fight to swallow.

He stands, having had his fill of you, and straightens his shirt, looking as casual as when he walked in. You’re the only one who’s left wrecked by the interaction. “I’m sure the others will ask to drink from you sometime, too – pretty thing like you.”

He steps away from the couch, moving towards your front door. “You can do whatever you want with the others,” he tells you, not even glancing over his shoulder at you. “Can go anywhere to hunt, as long as you don’t act like an idiot and get yourself found by humans. Or, god forbid, hunters.” He shrugs nonchalantly, like the idea of you being hunted doesn’t even bother him. “That is, if you want to survive. If you want a stake to the heart, go right ahead.” Then he exits your apartment without an ounce of fanfare, and you sink into your couch, grimacing as you press a hand to your still-bleeding throat.

Being a monster hasn’t really lived up to your expectations.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Once night falls, you follow Choso and Suguru through the vibrant streets of Shibuya.

You’re dressed in a black leather skirt and a violet crop top; it turns out when your vampire lord sire has been around for centuries, that usually means he has enough money to order you clothes to fill the closet in your new apartment. All of it is slutty and dark, unlike the flowy little sundress you died in and the dress you were buried in.

It feels like Sukuna was trying to remake you in every way possible.

Once you walk into the club, bass thumping so loud it rattles your dormant heart like a new heartbeat, Choso immediately darts off into the shadows to search for his own prey. Suguru, however, stays by your side as you both make your way to the bar.

He leans against the bartop, looking down at you curiously. “I’m guessing you haven’t hunted before?”

The vision of ripping apart that old man, the groundskeeper in the cemetery, once again flashes in your mind. You blink away the images of crimson blood spurting all over you as you ripped out his throat. “Um, not really.”

He nods, turning to order you both drinks. “Well, it should be easy for you; pretty things make the best venom, eh?”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not. You bring your hand up to your lips, touching one of your long, sharp canines with the tip of your finger. “Are we venomous?”

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your mouth. “No, that’s a myth. Vampires don’t have venom.”

“Then how did Sukuna– er, Lord Sukuna – change me?”

He taps the side of his throat with his finger. “He gave you his blood, didn’t he?”

You think back; the memories of that night are so fuzzy, drowning in the haze of your thrall state and your bloodloss, but you think you do remember him lancing his own throat and forcing you to swallow a mouthful of his blood. After a moment, all you say is, “Gross.”

Suguru just huffs another small laugh.

You examine him as his violet eyes trail over the bar, searching for his own prey in the low lights. His eyes didn’t glow in the same way that Sukuna’s did, so you wonder if that’s just a vampire lord thing; either way, he’s simply pretty, his long sleek hair and his slim build attractive in a way that Sukuna’s hulking, overpowering form could never be. He’s dressed in a black band t-shirt and dark jeans with silver chains clipped to his belt loop, and silver jewelry hangs from his neck and his gauged ears. He looks beautiful, tempting, in the low light.

But there are shadows under his eyes, dark bruises like his body misses his heartbeat in a way yours doesn’t. You wonder if his soul just wasn’t made for the afterlife.

He stands up straight from his casual lean, chains and jewelry all clinking and settling as he stares off into the distance. You turn and look and find a shy-looking boy glancing at him before averting his gaze, blushing.

You can practically feel the rush of blood to his face from across the room.

Suguru doesn’t take his eyes off the young man. “You’ll be alright?” he asks.

You nod, signaling for him to go. “I’ll be fine. Any rules I should know about?”

He takes one step away, then another. “Just be back before sunrise. You don’t want to be caught outside when the sun comes up.” Then he disappears into the crowd, leaving you to your own devices.

So, you wait. And now that you’re without your alternative-looking guard dog, it doesn’t take long for someone to approach you.

The young man who comes up to you is plain, unassuming. You flash a hesitant smile, and you can see him trying to decide if your canines are a little too big, a little too sharp.

He decides to stay, and that is his downfall.

You flirt, and he buys you drinks, and you dance, and it’s like any normal night when you used to be human.

Then he takes you outside, laughing as he stumbles drunkenly out the front door of the bar, and he pins you against the brick siding, crushing his lips against yours.

You try not to grimace as he makes out with you; he’s not a good kisser, his tongue far too firm and unyielding in your mouth, so you take his cheeks and tilt back your head to guide his mouth to your neck.

His mouth is no less sloppy on your throat.

Your eyes are closed as his tongue swirls your pulse, right over the ruined scars that mark you as undead. If he notices them and finds them odd, he doesn’t speak on it; instead he keeps kissing his way lower towards the neckline of your shirt.

You tug on the hem of his. “Not here,” you say.

He looks up at you through lashes, grinning up at you as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you, right there in that dingy alley. “C’mon, baby,” he says, though he has no right to call you that, “lighten up a little.”

You grit your teeth, and you open your eyes to snap at him; you’re so tired of people thinking they have a right to you– But before you can, his hands reach to your thighs, sliding up and under your skirt, aiming for the lace of your panties–

You snarl, eyes flashing with rage, because you’re not letting someone else get a hold of you, not like Sukuna did. No one will ever take from you what he did. So you grab this guy’s hair and tug harshly, yanking his head back, and he lets out a gasp that turns to a groan, a filthy sound for a filthy man in the filthy street.

So instead of indulging him, you lean down, towering over his kneeling form, and then your sharp fangs sink into flesh for the first time.

And then everything seems to slow.

As you retract your jaws from his throat, fangs leaving two puncture wounds in his vein, blood blooms and hits your tongue, and your eyes roll back at the hot, heady taste. It’s even better than your first time, drinking from the cemetery groundskeeper, because it’s a warm, breathing body beneath your mouth this time.

You understand why Sukuna hunts the way he does.

Your hand leaves the man’s hair, and instead you grab behind his head with one hand and his shoulder with the other, holding him in place as you suck down a mouthful of salty blood, swallowing eagerly. Then you draw another mouthful. Your hands are unyielding on him as you drink him down.

He just moans softly under your mouth, panting quietly. In his own little thrall state.

It’s almost thrilling to be the one in the powerful position for once.

His heartbeat starts to grow sluggish beneath your lips, his blood now a slow trickle into your mouth that you’re lapping up like an eager puppy. He’s nearly boneless in your arms, but you’re still holding him just as tightly, like you’re afraid of letting go and feeling that ever-gnawing hunger deep in the pits of your undead belly.

You’re still in the middle of feeding when the side door opens into the alley you’re ducked into.

You raise your head, eyes flashing with feral light at having been interrupted. You hear two sets of footsteps and only one heartbeat, so you’re unsurprised to see one of your companions accompanied by his hunt for the night.

Suguru blinks at you. Then he looks at your unconscious prey at your feet, and he sighs. “Should’ve known,” he says. He turns to his own thrall, whose pupils are blown wide, and a bruise is already starting to darken around red indents in his throat. “Go home,” Suguru tells him, “and forget about this night. You drank too much and blacked out, and I walked you home.”

The thrall seems hesitant to leave his new master, but after a moment he nods and turns away, walking out of the alley.

You and Suguru both watch him turn a corner and disappear. Then violet eyes slide to look down at you, their colorful depths a little brighter now having been fed a mouthful or two of blood. He gestures to the man on the concrete. “What’s your plan with him?”

You stand there for a moment, racking your brain. In your young frenzy, you’re not sure. You tell him so. “I dunno.”

He just sighs again and steps forward, lowering himself to haul the unconscious man to his feet. “Grab his other arm,” he tells you, though both of you could carry this body alone due to your supernatural strength. You suppose that would look more conspicuous, though, than two people propping up a “friend” between them as they leave the bars.

You follow his directions, throwing the man’s other arm over your shoulders. You look over at Suguru as you start walking. “What’s the plan?”

“Jogo and the other nosferatu are in charge of keeping the thralls,” he says, keeping his eyes forward. “Though he will no longer be yours; Sukuna will decide if he’s worth keeping.”

Your expression sours a little; you’re the one who was nearly assaulted, you’re the one who did the hard work, and Sukuna is the one who gets to keep him?

You hate vampire hierarchy.

Suguru turns to examine you, his dreary eyes taking in your frustration. “I know it seems unfair,” he says softly, “but he’s the one who gifted us our second life. He’s owed certain things.”

You hiss under your breath, “I didn’t ask for this life! I loved my first one.”

Suguru, it seems, does not have a response for that.

The two of you walk back to the apartment complex with the unconscious body between you. Once you arrive, a tall nosferatu named Hanami takes him off of your shoulders and leads him down the first floor corridor.

Leaving you and Suguru in the dimly lit lobby.

Suguru’s eyes slide to meet yours. “You should learn to be more careful. If it were Lord Sukuna who found you like that, he would’ve killed you.”

A second time.

You sigh and look away. “I know,” you say, voice hushed. “I’m sorry for putting you through the trouble.”

Suguru is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Well, I should go. I didn’t get much blood, and I need to find something before sunrise.”

You both glance out the glass doors, examining the sky from above the skyline. Suguru tuts quietly; there looks to be only short hours until the sun is up; does he have enough time to complete a hunt and get safely back?

You’re not sure.

You look at him, examining the bruises beneath his eyes, the hunger in their depths. And so, because he did you a solid by helping you get the body back to the apartment and not let him die in the street for everyone to see – very likely getting yourself killed in the process – you give him an offer.

“You can feed from me, if you like.”

He turns his gaze from the sky in surprise. “You’ve only just fed,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince you to change your mind, to withdraw your offer.

You don’t. “Yes, but you need blood. I owe you for the help.”

He stares at you for a long moment, thinking. Then he just nods and steps forward. “Yours or mine?” he asks.

And because you yearn for just a little more control tonight, you say, “Mine.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Suguru’s mouth is much more gentle on your throat than Sukuna’s has ever been.

He’s sitting beside you on your couch, his hands gently cradling the back of your head, as he slowly sinks his long fangs into your neck. Your head is tipped back against the back of the couch, eyes closed, fighting through the flash of pain before he extracts his teeth from your throat and starts softly sucking.

One of his hands slides down to grope your chest, and you yelp in surprise, pushing him off. “What the hell!” you practically shriek, scrambling towards the other end of the couch and putting space between the two of you.

He blinks at you, frozen in place by surprise. Blood stains his lips, and his violet eyes watch more blood drip down the delicate curve of your neck, pooling in the hollow between your collarbones. He fights to swallow before he breathes, “I’m– I’m sorry. I thought– I mean, we all just do it–”

“That’s not an excuse!” you snap, eyes alight with indignant fury.

“I-I know,” he stammers, “I know it’s not. It’s just… Hasn’t Lord Sukuna done the same?”

You grit your teeth. “I can’t say no to him. But you didn’t even ask. I’m not a thing to be taken advantage of.”

He raises his hands, looking taken aback. It seems like he’s starting to panic. “It’s not like that! It’s just… We feed like that because it tastes better for the drinker, but it also feels good for you. But I understand why you don’t want that. I apologize.”

You stare over at him, examining the expression in his eyes. Once you deem him genuinely contrite, you relax a little against the couch and grumble, “Get over here. No more funny business without my permission.”

“I promise.” He moves towards you across the couch and keeps his hands respectful once more, cradling the back of your head as he licks up the already-scabbing wounds on your neck. His saliva dissolves the platelet plug, and then he’s drinking again, his mouth just as gentle as it was before your outburst. He swallows the first mouthful of blood, and you slowly sink back against the couch again, letting him continue to drink. And the entire time, he doesn’t touch you without your permission again.

And over the following weeks, as other men touch you and beg you and kiss you, Suguru is the one who stays respectful. The one who treats you like a person instead of an object.

Or instead of the monster you’ve become.

thanks for reading! -luna xx previous chapter | next chapter

additional notes: hi there! i'm sorry to stop by when i usually don't, but i have a fun question for everyone regarding how this fic will end and what you all would prefer! please check out the poll below and let me know your preference!! much appreciated. xx

[kiyo-cant-write]

Imagine octavinelle with a shrimp merman ? I don't remember if they are actually called that 😭😭

octavinelle with shrimp merman ✧･ﾟ

Thank you for requesting! I am sorry this took so long. Uni makes me literally want to cry sometimes when it keeps me from finishing things. Also happy Valentine's Day!! 💕 🍫 🍬 Lol, it's 1:30am in the morning for me! I'm sleeping now! Enjoy~!

If I made a mistake, please do request again btw!

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Summary: The reader is a shrimp merman. What does Octavinelle think of their classmate?

TW/CW: Just some tweel-typical implied violence/bothering

Notes: pre-relationship, male reader, he/him pronouns for the reader, the reader is NOT Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect, the reader is explicitly in Octavinelle and a first-year at NRC

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[Name] is a shrimp merman, not an uncommon species but not a common one either. Growing up in the Coral Sea, he is now among the students at NRC who attended "land camp" to learn how to walk among humans in a form gained by taking a special potion.

Once he arrived at Night Raven College, he was promptly sorted into the dorm of the benevolent Sea Witch, Octavinelle. It was there that he met the housewarden and his... assistants? Associates?

Just what kind of place is this??

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Azul Ashengrotto

Azul doesn't feel any which way about [Name] being a shrimp merman though he does note there aren't many of them.

Even back home, he had only heard of a handful (maybe)

The real annoyance sets in when the twins decide this is a perfect reason to pick on or otherwise bother [Name].

While Azul tolerates it to a degree, Floyd takes it too far.

Azul ends up having to step in and that is where the friendship begins between [Name] and Azul.

Meet cute where boss saves you from his minions-

Azul is a surprisingly caring friend when he genuinely likes someone. He might seem a bit detached at times but the boy is just scared of getting hurt again like when he was younger.

Azul sometimes forgets [Name] is a shrimp merman.

Azul tries not to think about being an octomer.

He may or may not be projecting this onto [Name] as well.

All in all, Azul doesn't mind [Name].

[Name]'s species doesn't affect how he sees him.

He would only worry if the other merman seemed to know of his past. Then he would force him to sign an NDA.

Azul was not expecting to find a shrimp merman in his lounge before opening and being just about harassed by not one eel but two. Floyd, he could ignore. When was Floyd not doing something vastly inappropriate for the situation because it seemed "fun"? But Jade knew better. Or, in Azul's mind, he did. However, the octomer was reconsidering that sentiment as he watched the shrimpmer get tossed between Jade and Floyd.

Right, left. Right, left. Right...

"Jade, Floyd," Azul spoke in a firm tone of voice as he walked over to the twins, "What exactly are you doing to this person?"

He saw Floyd let out a sigh at being caught whereas Jade simply smirked a closed-mouth smile that made Azul vaguely uneasy (a natural response to Jade Leech in these situations). Both of them, however, made no moves to let go of the other boy.

"The two of you have work to be doing," Azul reminded, teeth gritted as he wanted to smack at least one of them (probably Floyd).

"We do, but this seems like such fun," Jade responded.

"Yeah! You never let us do anything fun, Azul," Floyd added.

The octomer sighed this time, shooting them a glare. They knew he might do something they didn't like if they pushed him enough. And that wasn't something either twin would risk just for a few minutes of fun, maybe for something more worthwhile, but not just throwing an underclassman around. That would never be "worth it" to them.

"Jade, Floyd, get back to work," Azul told them once more.

"Of course, understood," Jade offered, releasing the grip he had had on the shrimpmer's shoulder at last, "I will do so right away."

Jade seemed keen on pretending he hadn't misbehaved. Azul didn't even want to say anything. He ignored the look of relief that crossed the shrimpmer's face at being let go by at least one of the eels.

"Maa, fine," Floyd agreed a few seconds after Jade, pushing the shrimpmer toward Azul as he spoke, "You play with him, then."

With that, Floyd turned to walk away, not realizing what he had done.

[Name], not expecting to be pushed, went flying toward Azul, who had to reach out at the last minute to catch them. [Name]'s arm got caught in Azul's scarf, and Azul's cane tripped [Name] again... And the two fell to the floor with [Name] having his palms against the cool floor of the lounge and Azul's head pinned between them.

"Ehhh?" Azul managed to let out a sound between surprise and horror as he realized the kind of position they were in.

He could hear the twins snickering, watching instead of returning to their posts before the rush began. He would get them or this later.

"I'm sorry, senpai!" [Name] began, shifting to move away from him and only complicating the position the two were in, "Ah, sorry again..."

"Just..." Azul began, "Just stop it."

He tried to ignore the heat on his cheeks, the deep color his face probably was at this point. He could pretend it wasn't happening if he just waited it out. But he also couldn't. He was in the middle of the floor and customers would arrive soon.

Slowly, he moved to take the other boy's forearms in his gloved hands and push him away from him in the least awkward way possible, all the while hearing the shrimpmer apologize some more.

Once they were disentangled, all the while Floyd and Jade just watched in amusement instead of helping (really, Azul wanted to punch one of them so badly), Azul glanced awkwardly at the shrimpmer before he sighed in defeat and spoke again.

"You may have whatever drink you like for free today," Azul told him.

"Really?" he asked Azul, surprised by the offer.

"It was my employees who did this to you, it's an apology and an offer to buy your silence for what just happened."

It was only the right thing to do, Azul told himself.

"Oh... Oh! I won't tell anyone," [Name] promised, offering a slight smile, "Thank you for the drink, senpai."

"Of course," he told them, still sounding winded and a bit tired.

Oh, yes. Azul would be thankful to head back to his office after this.

"I'm [Full Name] by the way," the shrimpmer added before he found a table and began ordering his drink from one of the twins (Azul really couldn't care less which one was doing it as long as they were working and not harassing random students that wouldn't benefit the lounge in some way-).

But that name stuck in his mind as he returned to his office.

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Jade Leech

Jade is intrigued to an extent but it's nothing special.

Even if they are not common, they are still merpeople. Right?

Jade is far too captivated by the land (though he denies it) to be captivated by something that is so similar to his homeland.

He speaks politely to [Name] and teases him along with Floyd.

But this is normal tweel behavior and not because [Name] is a shrimp merman. Jade doesn't really care about that.

What matters to Jade is [Name]'s interest.

He will be happy if the other boy expresses interest in his club.

Jade's interests are intense and specific.

Something will need to fit into them to have his full attention.

Otherwise, he only focuses on things that apply to "work."

Azul asks him to research so many things.

Being a Vice Housewarden is tiring, you know!

As he gets more comfortable he may mention these sentiments to [Name] but it's unclear if those are real or crocodile tears.

Jade is forever shrouded in mystery as someone very guarded.

"Floyd-senpai called me a snack in the potentially cannibalistic way today," [Name] told Jade as he walked up to him wearing the best kind of outdoor clothes he could muster from his closet (which ended up being PE clothes).

"Oya?" Jade offered, feigning a worried expression for a moment before posing a question, "And what did you say to my brother?"

[Name] shrugged.

"I said I had to meet you for a hike and left," he told Jade, "I was already running late. Sorry about that!"

He laughed slightly, unsure if Jade would be upset or not. They weren't super close friends. [Name] asked Jade if he knew anything about the local flora on the island and Jade had gone on a twenty-minute rant about a local variety of mushrooms. Now they were going on a hike in the mountains near campus to explore.

[Name] didn't know what to expect but Jade was often polite and didn't call him "shrimp" (derogatory) and "snack" (cannibalistic) all the time like his unpredictable brother so this would be alright. Or [Name] thought it would be. Jade wasn't as startling as Floyd was.

The only time that Jade had startled him was when they first met and Jade seemed to know everything about him from age to hobbies. It wasn't the kind of information he was used to people knowing.

Still, it was less scary than Floyd. So he moved on.

Was that a mistake? Maybe.

But now they were on this hike.

"So, senpai," [Name] offered, "Do you do this often?"

It was a genuine question. [Name] had little experience hiking as he lived under the sea until land camp and now school and Night Raven.

"Hiking? I like to," Jade told him, "It's a part of my club at school."

"Your club? One you made?"

[Name] had not heard of this before.

"Something like that. I run the Mountain Lovers Club."

As Jade said the name, [Name] could have sworn he sparkled.

"Mountain lovers... So you must really like mountains?" he asked.

Jade nodded slightly with a grin.

"Something like that, it is more of an appreciation for what nature has to offer us," he explained, leading [Name] along the trail.

Seeing him like this, [Name] wondered what else about this strange island he could learn from Jade-senpai and if this was what Jade was truly like. He seemed much happier and chattier in his club uniform and out walking in the mountains.

Or maybe that was just [Name]'s imagination.

"Senpai! Wait for me!"

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Floyd Leech

Floyd thinks it's funny that [Name] is a shrimp.

They meet at the lounge when Floyd decides "This one looks fun."

He discusses with the Prefect about changing his nicknames around since [Name] is much more a shrimp than Yuu is.

This is a first in Floyd's history. Jade is impressed.

Floyd teases and makes fun of [Name].

Sometimes he will bite them just to scare them, not hard enough to leave a mark or draw blood but enough to startle them.

His excuse is always that he seemed "tasty" looking.

He gets into mock fights with Jade over [Name].

Sometimes the fights become actual scuffles when Floyd decides, "No, actually I do care that you're too close to Shrimpy."

Floyd is so unpredictable it's hard to say if he likes [Name], wants to eat him, or is just messing with everyone.

If [Name] wants to romance this eel, he will have to try harder to get his attention. Floyd can be a little dense at times.

Chaos does that to people.

Floyd is having fun with Shrimpy.

[Name] wasn't sure how it happened. It all happened so quickly. he had just wanted to buy something from the lounge that his dorm apparently ran and now there was a tall teal-haired boy attached to him and not letting go. What was happening? He was so lost.

The whole school was big and he was new! He barely remembered things from orientation and now there was this... this guy! All he wanted was to have a nice drink or a snack at this lounge. That was it. Was he asking for too much? Honestly! Maybe!

"Um... Can you let me go?" the shrimpmer asked, trying to break free and failing once more, "I need to find a table if I can."

He also would like to be able to move freely again.

The toothy smile on the teal-haired boy's face drooped slightly as he pouted at [Name] and whined in an albeit childish way.

"You're no fun! I just wanted to come investigate," the boy told [Name], "You seem like you're merfolk, you know."

[Name]'s face flushed. He had been doing a good job at being human, he thought? Was he not being land-y enough? He was doing exactly what they were taught at camp.

"How did you know?" he asked him.

"You seem like one," was all the boy said.

That didn't answer his question but [Name] didn't want to press for more information, especially in the position that he was in.

He sighed as he gave up struggling against him.

"I'm [Name]. And I'm a shrimp merman... Though I'm still not sure how you knew that," [Name] introduced himself as best he could.

The boy's eyes sparkled to the point [Name] was a bit unnerved.

"Ooh! I'm gonna call you Shrimpy instead of Shrimpy... But then what will I call them instead? Huhh..."

He seemed to think about it and [Name] wondered who the original "Shrimpy" might have been and why they were called that to begin with. Were they shrimp merfolk too? It didn't add up.

"And you are?" [Name] asked after a moment of silence between them, still in the boy's arms even though his grip had loosened.

"Floyd Leech," he said with another grin, still refusing to let go completely.

"Nice to meet you then..." [Name] told him.

Would he really be able to get away from this Floyd guy?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[animereaderinsertwriter]

part one - two - three - four -five

i saw you in a dream (bucky barnes x reader)

tags/warnings: plot with porn, fluff, a little angst, there is some mild amnesia, major plot twist, first person (bucky's) pov, inspired by this song

blurb: In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

These are the words inscribed on Bucky's wedding ring. A wedding ring that he doesn't remember ever having. It's not a vow he made-- not that he remembers, anyway-- but it might just be one that he decides to keep anyway.

ao3 here

The sunlight is warm on my skin. It’s morning— late morning, by the angle of the sunlight, but still morning— and I feel my lover’s hand brush the hair from my face. My eyes are not yet open, but I can feel her gaze, her breath, even her smile behind the darkness of my closed eyelids. The mattress dips with her heated weight next to me, a familiar feeling that warms me from the inside out.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she lilts softly, her smile dancing in the sound of her words. “It’s time for breakfast. If you’d like to be up sometime before noon, now’s your chance.”

There’s only one thing that bothers me.

It shouldn’t be morning. It should be afternoon at the earliest. Last I remember, I was fighting— what’s new? I’m always fighting— and it was important this time. It was a fight for not only our lives but every life, an earth-shattering, world-ending battle for the future of humanity. I should be there fighting still. 

And besides, I have no lover. I don’t even know what gave me the idea that I did. 

I know enough of espionage to know when something is too good to be true. So, instead of revealing my wakefulness, I lie very still. I mimic the deep breathing of sleep and wait for her next move. 

“Bucky,” she beckons, her hand on my chest. “Bucky, I know you’re awake. Those breathing tricks don’t work on me anymore, you know that.”

Panic flares in my chest, but I force myself to stay still. How? I think. How does she know?

Her hand is warm against my chest, right over my heart. My overactive imagination envisions that warm hand burrowing, boring a hole through my chest plate and into my heart, crushing it in her grip—

“Oh well,” she sighs, her voice full of Loki’s own mischief. “I guess I’ll have to persuade you that waking is better than dreaming.”

Her hand moves. It travels down the center of my chest— my bare chest, I notice— her fingers lightly caressing through the hair at my stomach, travelling lower and lower until—

I snatch her hand away just before she reaches the waistband of my boxers. My eyes snap open, and with the silence of an assassin, I roll on top of her, capturing both of her hands at the wrist and pinning her legs with my own. She giggles— giggles!— the whole while, right up until the moment she sees my face. Trapped beneath me with nowhere to go, she stares up at me, smiling at first, then wide-eyed and sober. 

“Bucky? Honey?”

There is fear in her voice. It lands sourly on my ears, and I foolishly want to see her smiling again. I shake my head, trying to clear it. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and I’m shocked to note that the fear I’d heard is gone, replaced by a soft concern that’s echoed in the softening of her eyes. 

“Who are you?” I demand. 

“What? What do you mean, who am I?”

I tighten my grip on her wrists and force them to the bed.

“Answer the question.”

“Bucky, you’re scaring me,” she says, and her hands begin to tremble. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t tell me who the hell you are.”

Her expression hardens. 

“I,” she says with surprising indignation, “am your wife. And I’m starting to get real goddamn offended that my husband is threatening me in our marriage bed. I suggest you get a grip, James Buchanan Barnes, before I start to take it personal.”

I blink owlishly at her.

Wife?

Her hands are still shaking, but I can tell she’s getting angrier by the second. Intellectually, I know that I have her pinned and that there’s no way she can hurt me. Emotionally? I feel about thirty seconds away from experiencing a category four storm of righteous wifely fury that I know I shouldn’t fear, but fear anyway. 

 “Well?” she demands. “Are you going to let me up so we can talk this through like adults or are you going to continue trying to assault me?”

I don’t release her immediately, but I do take a look around me. The bedroom is neatly organized and done up in shades of slate blue and wheat gold. The big window to my right is open, allowing the breeze to tango with the sheer white and gold curtains that hand from a sturdy gold rod. On the walls are photos of my friends— Steve, Shuri, T’challa, and others— and on the nightstand next to the bed, there is a photo of a bride and a groom holding hands in front of a place I recognize. It is a secluded place along a Wakandan lakeside, with grass so green it looks like shattered emeralds and water so blue that it seems only melted, watery sky.

That place— it is my favorite place in all the wide world. If I were ever to be married anywhere, that would be the place I would choose to be married at. 

The woman beneath me— my wife— follows my gaze, and I can feel her muscles relax, softening in my grip.

“Wakanda,” she murmurs. “Do you remember that, our wedding day? The grass stains on my dress, the way Steve cried and T’challa got so drunk that he tripped over his own feet at the reception while trying to Cupid Shuffle? Surely you do— Tony Stark laughed so hard he threw up.”

“No,” I tell her truthfully before I can think to stop myself. “What’s a Cupid Shuffle?”

I look back down at her, and her expression goes all pinched.

“I think we might better call Steve,” she says gently, brows creased in concern. “You love the Cupid Shuffle.”

***

According to Steve, I do not love the Cupid shuffle. Quite the opposite, in fact. I detest the song so much that my wife— who I still don’t remember— had apparently been trying to shock me out of my state of amnesia by claiming I did. When that didn’t work, she brought me here, to S.W.O.R.D.’s headquarters— whatever the fuck that is. 

Out of curiosity, I ask Steve to show me this Cupid Shuffle, and he’s absolutely right. I hate the song, and the dance looks stupid. The idea of T’challa falling over trying to do it is so cringe that my bones feel nauseous just thinking about it. 

“He did, though,” Steve reiterates, the shit-eating grin on his face no less bright for the ugly blue fluorescent lighting of the infirmary. He just loves it when he knows a reference before I do. “The night you were married, we were all so happy that nothing was embarrassing. Maybe I’m a sap, but… it felt a little like magic.”

Married. So even Steve seems to think I am, but I don’t feel very married. Even as I look around at the stoic, sterile infirmary around me, I feel like there is a battlefield I should be on, a war I should be fighting.

My inner turmoil must be apparent on my face, because Steve moves closer, speaks softer.

“Believe me,” Steve says, putting a big hand on my shoulder. “You love her, Buck. No matter how many years you’ve lost, you’ll remember it in your bones if you give her a chance.”

The crazy thing is, I believe him. 

She’s sitting on the other side of the glass window that separates us, chatting with Pepper Potts. Miss Potts, Steve told me, is now Mrs. Stark, and when I’d asked him why she felt okay associating with us after all that happened, he’d told me that they’d all made up a long time ago. Even now, I’m relieved for that; as grateful as I am that Steve chose me over his Avenger friends, I have always questioned whether or not I was worth the trade. To know that all is set to right between the two sides is comforting.

My wife laughs at something Pepper says, grasps her hand with a smile. As I study her, I come to an obvious realization.

“She’s beautiful,” I tell Steve. “That’s got to count for something, I guess.”

If I’m being honest, it counts for a lot, but I don’t want to seem shallow. Even at this distance, her smile is charming; I remember being up close and personal with that smile this morning, and I know that her eyes have that shine to them that says she’s as sweet as she is mischievous. Her nose is a graceful outward slope against her profile, and her lips, while predisposed to pouting, seem soft, well-shaped, and supple. And as for the rest of her… 

I try hard not to think about the way she’d pulled off the oversized— the me sized— t-shirt that she was wearing to change into something decent to wear. At the sight of her bare skin, I had been possessed of a strange and terrible urge to lick her from head to fucking toe before she managed to put real clothes on and show me where my clothes were. I shudder at the memory.

“I told you,” Steve says, “You love her. Only love can make a man look so green about the gills. You had the same look on your wedding day.”

I really, really can’t think about that right now. 

“So… we really beat Thanos?”

“Yep. Five years ago. We all did the whole Avengers thing and, you know, assembled.” Steve shrugged. “It was a close call, but between all of us we managed to cut off Thanos’s hand before he could use the glove and his head before he could do any more damage. The old one-two, as it were.”

I don’t remember that at all. I tell him what I last recall— fighting Thanos in the Wakandan jungle, a mad melee for our lives. 

“That’s about how it happened,” Steve nods, “except Tony was there, fighting with us. Don’t you remember him?”

I shake my head. I don’t remember, but battles are like that sometimes. Things get confused, chaotic— I might have been so busy fighting for my life that I just didn’t notice him swooping in to assist. I relate this to Steve, and he nods thoughtfully. 

“It may be. In any case, I think I know why your memory is spotty. Who knows what’s gonna come back on the scans they took, but, I’ve gotta be honest”— Steve’s ears turn pink, so I know he’s really embarrassed— “You and I were training yesterday, testing out the new battle simulator here at S.W.O.R.D., and uh… I hit you in the head pretty hard with the shield.”

He looks away, shamefaced.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

It is a terrible and unnatural thing to see Captain fucking America wilt like an overwatered magnolia. I take my oldest and dearest friend by the arm and tell him exactly what he needs to hear.

“Steve. Do not ever be sorry for anything that happens to me because of you. No, no, no, don’t look at me like that— every day that I’m alive and in my right mind is a day I borrowed from you. You should have killed me when I came off the ice with a mission to kill you.”

“I would never,” he protests.

“My point exactly. I don’t deserve you, Steve.”

“But you do.” His expression is pained. “You do, and you deserve this life you’ve made for yourself too, and I’m the reason you don’t remember it.”

Oh, boy. Thick as ever, that skull of his.

“The only reason I have this life is because you risked yours to give it to me, so cut the shit.” I think for a moment, then add, “Besides, we don’t actually know if you hitting me caused any memory loss. My skull is pretty thick, I’m sure it’s been through worse. It could be that so much time on ice, all the deprogramming, and stuff… it could just be that my brain has been through too much.”

It’s a sobering thought. We sit together in silence for a moment, letting that one sink in.

“In any case,” Steve says, “the scans won’t be back for a few days. What do you plan to do in the meantime?”

I don’t know. I’m a stranger in a strange land.

“Would it be bad to just… pretend nothing happened? If I already have a house, I could just… stay there with…”

It occurs to me that I don’t know my wife’s name.

“With (Y/N)?”

I nod.

“Yeah. With her. I mean, if she doesn’t mind.”

I feel myself flush. She might mind after this morning… I seem to remember pissing her off. Hurting her. Scaring her. I wouldn’t want me in my house if I was in her shoes.

“I’m sure she won’t. It might be… upsetting to her because you don’t remember, but she’s tough. More than that, Buck, you should know she takes her vows very seriously. When she said for better or for worse, she meant it. This is nowhere near the ‘worse’ she would endure for you. She loves you.”

“I’m starting to get that,” I say as I make awkward eye contact with her through the glass. “I could get used to it, I think. Being loved by somebody like her.”

“Take it from me,” Steve grins, “you’ll never get used to her.”

I’ve known Steve for many, many years, but I still can’t parse the meaning of that mischievous look in his eyes. 

I am so, so out of my depth here— but that has ever and always been so. I was out of my depth as a kid in a war, then again as a man trapped inside an assassin, and again as a human soldier in a war of heroes, aliens, and other magical freaks of nature. I can navigate my way out of this one just as well as the others, I tell myself. It’s only a matter of compartmentalization. 

“Ready to get going?”

My old friend holds a hand out to me. With a bravery I do not feel, I take his hand and let him help me down from the exam table.

“Ready as I’m gonna be.”

“You got this, soldier.”

“Sure, Steve. Whatever you say.”

We walk together to rejoin my wife and Pepper Potts— Stark, I remind myself. My wife stands, and by the way her brows forcibly smooth and a smile thinly blankets her former worried frown, it’s clear that she’s troubled. Pepper stands next to her and squeezes her shoulder in a silent gesture of support. 

“Well, I don’t know about everyone else,” says (Y/N), “but I’m starving. Anyone down for brunch?”

Steve shrugs. 

“I could eat. Pep?”

“I’m famished. I skipped breakfast to get Morgan to school on time, and it’s nearly lunch now.”

All eyes turn to me. I’ve never thought of myself as bashful, but being the center of attention at this present moment feels very similar to having my bare ass cheeks sitting on hot asphalt.

“Brunch is good. Where to?”

“Bagels on 32nd?” (Y/N) suggests.

“Fine by me.”

“Nothing better.”

Jesus fuck— they’re all looking at me again. If I could melt into a puddle, I would.

A small, soft hand reaches out to mine. My wife looks at me with a fondness that makes my chest ache. I hadn’t thought my discomfort to be so transparent, but it’s clear that she’s trying to comfort me. My heart lurches in my chest, but my body relaxes ever-so-slightly as she squeezes my hand. 

“Bagels it is,” I manage, and then we all set off to walk together for a couple blocks. 

On the brief walk, Steve and Pepper walk ahead of us, chatting about Morgan— who I surmise is Stark’s daughter— and (Y/N) and I hang back. She’s quiet, reserved, and perhaps a bit nervous, but half a block into our walk, she turns to me and says,

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier.” She looks up at me sheepishly. “You just seemed a bit frazzled, and I wanted— well, what I mean is, I just did what I would normally do, but I realize that things with us— well, things in general, but also with us— are not exactly normal right now, so in hindsight I could have just made it all worse instead of helping you feel, uh, less frazzled, so I’m really sorry if—”

I stop her there. The rambling is cute, but I’m starting to get the feeling that she’s going to work herself into hysterics if I let her keep going.

“I didn’t mind. Your normal— our normal— is good, I think.” 

She shuts up then. I can feel her eyes burning holes into my face, but I dare not look down to meet her gaze. 

We walk a ways further, and I ask her about the bagel place, what she usually gets, what the options are. She tells me her order, then hesitates. Sensing this hesitation, I make a guess at what she’s thinking and ask what my usual order is. She relaxes a bit, then tells me, and it seems right— both the order and the conversation.

“Now, there is some lore about this bagel place that I should probably mention.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Her tone is light, but she seems terribly interested in the brick wall of the building next to us. “Mrs. Dolores Finch is a regular there. I don’t suppose you remember Dolores?”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Well, she’s taken quite a shine to you— well, to both of us, really. She was quite taken with you when you rescued her cat out of a tree next to the cafe— the cat had slipped its harness, though how that fat furball managed to do that is beyond me— and once she got over her phase of trying to split us up and pair you with her granddaughter, she became… tolerable.”

She finally risks a sideways glance at me, gauging my reaction, then refocuses her eyes ahead of us.

“She will try to pinch your bum, though. I’ll do my best to run interference, but she’s surprisingly agile for someone her age.”

I try to imagine such a scene— a game of keep-away with my ass as the prize— and fail spectacularly.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be on guard for bum pinches.”

The rest of the way to the bagel place, we walk in silence, and I worry quietly about being ass-ambushed. I know there’s no reason to get so worked up, but the thing about being a soldier and an assassin is that a high-functioning anxiety disorder will keep a fella alive more often than it kills him. And sometimes, like it or not, the thing your brain deems anxiety-worthy is an old lady and her cat. 

Can’t win ‘em all, I suppose.

We stop in front of an old brick building. It’s rustic and charming on the outside, and on the inside it’s full of soft golden light and old— like, really old, like me old— jazz music playing out of a Bluetooth speaker on a nearby shelf.

My wife elbows me gently as we approach a table, and her mouth molds itself into a smile.

“Good morning, Dolores,” she says with more fondness than I had anticipated. “How are you today?”

Dolores is a short old woman with gray hair covering what once was all auburn tresses. I can tell this because unruly bits of it peek out from beneath her frankly outrageous hat. The hat is giant, roughly the size of a large serving dish, and features what I can only assume is not one, not two, but three taxidermied cardinals on it. At her feet, the biggest, orange-ist cat I’ve ever seen is sprawled out in a patch of sunlight streaming in from the window, trying his damndest to wriggle out of his neon green reflective cat harness. 

“Oh, my bones ache, but what else is new,” says Dolores with a put-upon sigh. When she looks past (Y/N) and and makes eye contact with me, her eyes light up with a nefarious grin that I’ve only ever seen on evil megalomaniacs right before pressing a big, red button. “Oh, and you’ve brought my darling boy to me! How wonderful! Oh my days, you won’t believe all the things that have fallen into disrepair around the house, why only this morning the garden hose—”

“Dolores,” (Y/N) smoothly interjects, placing a hand on Dolores’s shoulder. “Bucky isn’t feeling well these days. We just came to grab a quick bite and go home. I hope that’s alright.”

Dolores frowns. Her brown eyes go impossibly sad, and she leans closer to my wife to murmur,

“Is it… y’know… the war?”

It doesn’t take much to imagine which war she means— certainly not the war I was actually in. But still, given my metal arm and general disposition, it’s a valid assumption for her to have made. Despite my age, I haven’t gone very far from that army boy, lost, alone, and scared as hell.

(Y/N) looks back at me, then murmurs,

“Something like that.”

Dolores nods to herself.

“Well. Nothing to do for it but weather it, dearie. My own husband George, God rest his soul, was in the Air Force in 1939 when the war started, and honey when he came back, it was rough going, I tell you, really rough.”

With a start, I realize that Dolores is probably not too far in age from myself. 

“But you’re a strong girl,” she continued, “and he’s a good man.”

Her eyes move to me, and then she says,

“And Bucky, my dear— let this sweet woman take care of you. Oh, I know it’s hard, but you’ll get through it. Lean on her when you can’t stand on your own, and if she can’t hold you up anymore, just sit down and ride it out together.”

She holds out a hand to me, and I take it. Her skin is old and frail, but softly textured to the touch. 

“There you are, dear. I do wish you well. I really do. I’ll let you go.”

I nod. My wife gives our goodbyes, and just as I turn to follow her in the direction of our friends, I feel a pinch on my left ass cheek to rival the very wrath of God.

I whirl around, but Dolores is sipping her coffee, as innocent as a rattlesnake in a rose bush.

“Sorry,” (Y/N) says once we’re out of earshot, clearly embarrassed. “I really thought she was gonna let you have that one.”

“You were right,” I tell her with a wry grin. “She really is agile for her age.”

We rejoin Steve and Pepper, who rib me about Dolores’s antics before we all tuck into our food. The bagel I ordered— a recommendation from my wife— is spectacular, and it’s gone before anyone else’s is even halfway eaten. We sit and chat for a rather long while, and I find it surprisingly easy to be genuine with these people. They seem to understand me as well as they understand each other. It’s such a pleasant experience that I’m almost sad when we all have to leave.

“Will you all come over for dinner soon?” Pepper asks us, tucking her chair back under the table. “Tony’s been rotting in the garage for too long and could use the company.”

“We’ll be there,” Steve says with his signature boy-scout smile, and I nod in agreement.

“I’ll text you later and schedule, then. We all good to go?”

We all agree and say our goodbyes, and then we head out into the late afternoon sunshine. Pepper and Steve turn back to the direction of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. (Y/N) and I set off in a different direction. She takes us through a path that is unfamiliar to me, but clearly well-trodden by her; within a few minutes, we arrive at the same place I’d started this Freaky Friday-esque day. 

Our home.

It’s smaller on the outside than it seemed on the inside. The exterior is a creamy white stucco, and the roofing is the color of freshly-turned clay. The lawn is small but well-manicured, and a small rock structure bubbles with water— a fountain, I realize.

It’s like something out of a dream. Even when my hand touches the handle of our door, the whole place just doesn’t feel real.

Once inside, I begin to take notice of the layout, the design of the home. The hardwood floors are a gorgeous cherry shade; as we move to the living room, though, most of that hardwood is covered and protected by a Turkish rug that I know must have cost thousands of dollars.

So, I think, not only are we a happy couple, my wife and I, but we’re also well-off.

Looking around at all the photos, artwork, and knickknacks makes my head spin with the sheer amount of information that my mind is trying to absorb. In the living room, there is a photo of me with Tony Stark, standing in his garage and holding something with my metal hand that would obviously be too hot to hold otherwise; an eyeball that I can only hope is glass sits on a shelf next to a picture of a raccoon— Rocket, I recall— and a note that reads, just in case. There are dozens of these things in my immediate line of sight. I can hardly breathe for taking in every detail.

As I observe my surroundings, it becomes painfully clear that I have happened upon a world where I am not used, not tolerated, but cherished

In this world, it seems that I am very rich indeed.

But I cannot fathom this world, not right now. It is all too much at once. I feel awkward once more— ashamed, almost, and most certainly out of place. 

“I need to go for a walk.”

The words are out of my mouth before I’ve thought them through, but the truth of the statement I have made is not mitigated by its impulsivity. I know myself enough to know when I need space— and right now, when my old, brainwashed life seems preferable to having to face my own reality not as a voyeur, but as an active participant, I know it’s time to gain some fucking perspective.

I look at my wife, who has, in the meantime, curled up on the couch and begun to read. She looks back at me and says with utmost gentleness,

“I know. Take as long as you need. Don’t forget your phone in case you want to crash at Steve’s or— or something.”

There’s no confusion or concern in her voice— so I surmise that this has happened before. I had wondered why she hadn’t spoken at all or invited me to sit. In retrospect, it seems that she had expected this eventuality. Like she knows me well enough to know that I would need space to process this. 

It is a terrible thing to be known so intimately by someone that you don’t know at all. With just this one exchange, my wife has managed to make me feel both an aching fondness and a terrible inadequacy. 

I don’t know her the way that she knows me. I certainly don’t know what she needs right now. But, judging by the sadness in her eyes, it’s not me deciding to fuck off for a while. A sacrifice, then— her comfort for mine.

I won’t forget it, and I am grateful for it… but I just can’t look at her any longer.

“Thanks.”

I do take my phone— which I barely know how to operate, dammit— and set out for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. The activity does wonders for my building headache. Despite my wife’s warning, I don’t anticipate being out more than half an hour. In the end, though, she’s right. I don’t even think to turn back until the sun is setting and I’m still miles from where I started. By the time I return, the stars are up and the moon is out, but as I open the front door to my home, I find that I’m much more centered.

Sure, I’m out of my depth— but I’ve always been out of my depth. Sure, I’ve lost some memories— but how much different is that really from having lost so many years to the ice? The end result is the same: I have to move forward with the time that I do have. 

And as for my wife…

Some version of me loved this woman enough to promise my life to her; some version of me loves her so much that Steve insists that I always will love her. I trust my own judgement, and I trust Steve’s. To see the evidence of that good judgement, all I have to do is look around at photographs on the walls, in my phone, and around the house. In nearly every photo, I am smiling. It is so clear that in this life that I have forgotten, I have been loved and treasured and accepted beyond anything I could have imagined for myself. It would be an injustice for me to turn away from it. It would be an act of such unimaginable ingratitude that the thought of leaving disgusts me.

The living room is dark except for a single lamp. My wife is stretched out beneath the light of that lamp, a hardback book nudging into her sternum as she holds it tightly in her sleep. She is so beautiful like this that I imagine her to be an angel, glowing and golden. The only thing that mars the illusion is the presence of tear-tracks, little stains that cut jagged lines down either of her cherubic cheeks. 

I pry the book gently from her hands. There is a mark against her chest where the corner had dug into her soft flesh, and I wish that there was something I could do to soothe that skin, to make it as if nothing had marred it. Instead, I find pillows and a blanket and cover her, adjusting her body so that she won’t have a crick in her neck from sleeping awkwardly. That done, I step back and admire my handiwork.

Oh yes. Much better.

Now, she looks much more human— but also much more comfortable. I’ll take that over otherworldly beauty any day of the week.

I turn towards the bedroom I woke up in this morning. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. Food can wait. I’m exhausted.

I strip down to my boxers, face-plant, and sleep, dreamless, for nine solid, delightful hours.

[alleyross]

dawn breaks through zayne mercilessly.

the first time you remember him changing in a second was not so clear. you almost missed it, just to reminisce about it later.

it still was zayne, standing in front of you, giving you a jasmine branch, but the next moment it felt somehow strange. his hand gripped yours tighter and it looked like all the colors left his face. you couldn’t even comprehend what you’re seeing, and the second after he moved away slightly, frowning to himself, like he just got lost for a moment.

it wasn’t too serious. he could look into your eyes for too long and keep silence eagerly, even though you tried to scold him for not replying. you thought to yourself “that’s just zayne”, how he is, calm demeanour and silent gazes were his specialties. only that he got a bit confused every time it happened. like he couldn’t remember what was going on just now. like he just snapped out of space.

then his mood changes became brighter. he laughed out of context and then frowned in the middle of casual conversation. he grabbed your hand out of nowhere, causing you to flinch, and then got upset for scaring you. he kissed you softly and then bit into your lips with sudden hunger, like he just got there after 10 years of longing from afar. once he messed with you during it and pulled your hair with so much strength it had you startle. it was like he lost control in a heat of the moment. only that he has never been like this before, and now he is, and his guilty impression makes you wonder.

and then sleepwalking starts, and it becomes more obvious zayne’s not okay. you wake up at night to him standing two steps away from you in a dark room, and your heart sinks at the sight of his face in a deem light from the window. street lights in the night open for you something, that a bright light of a day couldn’t. it’s the first time you actually question, calling out his name.

“zayne?” like it could’ve been anybody else here.

he didn’t answer, snapping back into reality as fast as usual. only then he took a few steps back, and a fear, written all over your face, reflected on his own.

and you still didn’t talk about it. not during those moments, not after. he’s silent, and then scared, and then he’s distant, until you cling to him and caress his back, asking him about anything else, to put his mind at ease.

then that happens, and you just know you should’ve asked earlier. when you’re intimate and zayne breaths into your mouth like a madman who just ran a marathon, and his hands grip a bit tighter under your thighs, scratching your skin red, and his moves change so suddenly, it makes you gasp. and you like it, the way his body weighs above you, and his feverish warmth that comes off his skin, and the sight of his parted lips, whispering nonsense on repeat, you almost miss the point, but then he gets louder, almost hissing in your face, swallowing vowels, two words, and you say them back every time, cause he makes you feel so good, and it’s true. he does love you, and you do love him too.

and when he makes you fall apart, holding you under your chin firmly, trying to catch your unfocused eyes, and repeats again, hitting syllables, like he nails a coffin with his own tongue.

“i! love! you!” and the “i” is not zayne’s.

like someone else trying to speak to you through his mouth.

and when he comes right after, hiding his face into your neck with a whip, trembling with his whole body, the first ever thing you feel after is pity. it bursts out of your chest with a cry, floods onto him with soft caressing movements of your hands on his shoulders and back, and you bathe him in your pity like a saint would bathe a sinner, and it’s the first time you’re rather scared of what comes after zayne comes back to you, than of who you’re holding close to your bare chest right now.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

(tw for alcohol use, feel free to ignore if it might be a trigger for you)

I think I might have an alcohol problem. I don't drink daily, but usually 2-3 times a week and it's heavy enough to make me stumble a little most of the time. I can never just have one drink. It was once just for fun but now it's also helping me cope with shit going on in my day to day life, and to pop open a few beverages at the end of a long day is something I look forward to immensely, so much so that I find myself drinking more than I originally intended, or I'll have some days with repeated thoughts of just popping open a cold one and getting very drunk. I'm trying to limit my consumption so I don't become an alcoholic, but it's hard when life is cruel and alcohol makes me feel so light and carefree. I don't know what to do, and I'm not asking for advice so much as a listening ear. I have a family history of substance abuse on both sides and I'm kinda scared right now. But when I can drink at the end of the day I feel like for a while everything's good and I love that respite in my life, when I don't have to deal with all the shit people throw at me. I wish I at least had a friend to drink with and socialize, but Im always drinking alone in the middle of the night and hoping to feel floaty and numb. It's hard to deal with. I'm going to hold out hope for the future though and know that life will go on. Trying to remember that I'll get out of this (and the sooner the better so I don't become dependent, if I'll listen to my own conscience) fortunately it hasn't impacted my life (yet) other than just spending a little too much on drinks or drinking one more than I should.

Sorry for the long ramble but thanks for reading if you have <3

I struggle with addiction myself (though not to alcohol) and here's a couple things I've learned along the way:

Even considering that you might be an addict is a really important and hard first step to take. I'm proud of you!

Addiction isn't limited to having a physical dependency which requires daily upkeep. There is also the concept of psychological addiction, which is more about how and why you engage with a certain substance than whether you're physically dependent on it yet. And refusing to face the question of addiction because you don't drink/do drugs daily will only escalate the issue.

It's easy to end up thinking that if you could just learn to drink/do drugs in a less unhealthy way, you can keep drinking/doing drugs. But once you've started using a substance as a coping method, it is very hard and often impossible to successfully go back to only using it recreationally.

Addiction is a coping method in most cases. This means that your challenge isn't just to drink less, it's to figure out why you're drinking and how to face and resolve the underlying issues that alchohol currently helps you cope with. It usally isn't as simple as just not drinking anymore when you aren't drinking for fun.

Addiction isn't a moral failure and it doesn't reflect badly on you as a person. It's a coping method that you have a genetic predisposition towards, not a sign that you're an unusually bad, weak, immoral person. And regardless of whether you're in active addiction, trying to recover or managing sobriety, your value and worth as a person is the same.

[ancha-aus]

I finished two more chapters of the Real Age editing!! We euh...

Don't talk about how one chapter went from 3600 to 4000... and one went from 3500 to... euh... 7300...

INSTEAD!

Have a sneakpeak!! Of the rewrite! :D

This is from the drabble: Parentalbond Dust.

*-----------------*

Dust watches as some dude bro guy walks through the forest, shouting about how he isn’t scared and to come get him. That he can defeat that creep with his tricks.

“… Why?”

Dust almost didn’t hear the question. Nightmare spoke quietly and just barely above a whisper. When Dust glances at him Nightmare is only just barely looking at him from the corner of his own wide sockets, eye lights big but shaking a tiny bit.

Anxiety? Fear? That are usually things that cause that kind of reaction from the magic that makes up their eyes. People aren’t joking when they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. For most monsters it is very much fact as magic affects their eyes and that comes from the soul.

Dust makes sure to break eye contact by turning towards the phone. He paused the movie as soon as he realised a question had been asked. He turns back slightly towards Nightmare and sees he is a bit more, not relaxed but calm. Mh. Doesn’t like the focus on him? Dust does remember that even as adult Nightmare much preferred to work from the shadows or the backlines.

Dust shrugs “Why the guy is screaming and making himself an obvious target? I don’t know exactly, it is either bad writing or a show that this guy is too confident in himself or just too stupid to realise what will happen to him.”

Nightmare frowns as he looks away “No. I mean… Why… this?”

Dust frowns. He isn’t exactly sure what about the situation he is asking about. He glances at his phone “I mean. I was bored. I figured a movie and some food would be nice…” as a distraction. As a way to pass time. To make sure that Nightmare has energy and food in him. It just… made sense.

Nightmare looks more frustrated for a moment. Glaring at his hands which formed into fists. Shoulders tense as he obviously searches for the right words.

Dust thinks it is very strange. He is so used to Nightmare being well spoken and always aware of what he feels and in turn wants. Nightmare now… just isn’t like this. He is struggling to put his thoughts into words. He is more expressive and the emotions shift easier from one to the other. There is less control, less refined skills.

He is acting like a child would.

…

He is a child… and struggling with the problems and limits that brings him.

Dust can almost feel the shift that follows that thought.

It happened in a second as Nightmare sighs and just looks down as he is mostly lax “Okay.”.

Dust frowns. That is wrong. That isn’t Nightmare accepting something. No, that is the sound of someone who resigns himself to something. Nightmare doesn’t do that. Nightmare keeps asking, Nightmare keeps looking. He wants to know everything and more importantly understand everything. After all of them told their stories he didn’t just accept those as fact. He would keep asking. Asking about details about their thoughts. Everything.

Dust frowns as he remembers the anxiety of before. If he keeps Nightmare’s past in his mind it makes sense. It isn’t like he would be used to having adults listen to him, and when they did Nightmare was an adult. Maybe he needs to prod himself instead?

Dust is so bad at this. Killer should have stayed here, he is much better at this whole conversation thing. Still Dust mutters his question “No. What why?” is that enough? Does that explain what he wants?

Nightmare tugs on his own phalanges. Tugging on the small bones and Dust can hear a soft creaking sound coming from it. Dust is already reaching towards those hands and Nightmare flinches at it.

Neither of them move as Nightmare looks much more panicked as his breathing picked up.

He is… terrified… He is actually terrified.

How… how does he fix this?

A loud laughter “Fix this?! You can’t fix this! Nothing you can do can fix this! These are the consequences of your actions dear brother. You forced a traumatised child to experience more trauma, more abandonment and then took his choices from him. Forcing him to remain by those who clearly don’t care. There is no fixing this. And you deserve to be aware of this.”

No. No he… He can… fix this? Maybe Horror can? Horror is a good brother. Horror could explain and reassure him… Killer knows Nightmare better than any of them. Killer could maybe say something to connect with him. Or Cross!! Cross is trustworthy and a true protector. Maybe Cross can make him feel save.

Dust… Dust can’t do that. Any of it.

Nightmare is still shaking as he stares at him. Frozen. He always froze when he encountered something he didn’t know the answer to. They thought it was to think… Was it to think?

Dust realises he still has his hand out. With some difficulty he slowly pulls it back. Nightmare watches the hand silently. Nothing moves aside from his eye lights, which are only looking at the hand. Dust manages to bring his hand back to the phone and holds unto it, afterwards he just waits.

*----------*

It was a large sneak peak!! :D

[pbandjeveryday]

Just watched Captain America: Brave New World and LOVED IT!

Spoilery list of things I loved under the cut

(I repeat, SPOILERS!!)

Joaquin Torres’s whole character. Seriously so well done, they made him loveable and fun and had that whole “don’t die” thing going to make me incredibly worried that something would happen to him and then something DID happen and I was so scared for him. Made me feel feelings, well done writers!

Harrison Ford’s performance. I really saw his struggle

Enjoyable callbacks with meaning/plot relevance to them - all of the Hulk things from the Hulk movie (which I honestly thought would keep getting swept under the rug forever), Elementals, Black Widow and the red room

BUCKY CAMEO! BUCKY HEARTFELT SPEECH! BUCKY AND SAM MOMENT!

Also laying the groundwork for Thunderbolts

Also though even before the Bucky cameo, that moment when Sam was all “reminded me of a friend” when he was thinking about Bucky’s trigger words, that made me feel cozy inside as well. I love Bucky and Sam’s relationship

Speaking of relationships, seeing how Joaquin and Sam openly cared for and worried about each other was so nice. When Sam was injured, Joaquin’s sincere “you good?” and Sam constantly trying to protect Joaquin from both the physical and emotional dangers of the job. Beautiful

Sam fighting the one guy at the beginning of the movie (didn’t catch the opponent’s name but the guy who scratched up Sam’s armor) reminded me very much of Steve’s fight scene at the beginning of Winter Soldier. Both times, Cap is blazing through the mission, then there’s this one person who can really fight so Cap pauses. Takes off helmet / sunglasses. Duke it out.

Sam continuing to not take the serum and trying to come to terms with that

But alongside that, I loved the line where Sam is facing Red Hulk and, although I can’t remember the exact words, he said something along the lines of how Bucky’s full of shit the serum would be really useful right now. Made me chuckle.

Just a couple things I wish we could have seen- first of all, Bruce Banner or perhaps Jennifer reacting to the Hulk-stuff happening. Even as a comic relief post credit scene I feel like that would have fit. Second of all, I feel like with Sam’s consistent worry for Joaquin and then the way he fell…I’m surprised there was no conversation about Sam’s first partner Riley who got mentioned in Winter Soldier. Riley, who also got knocked out of the sky on a mission (and died, fortunately Joaquin survived, but that’s got to weigh heavily on Sam). But idk, maybe I just need to write a fanfic where Sam talks to Joaquin about Riley and how he’s scared of losing another partner

However overall LOVE LOVE LOVED this movie! So excited to see how Cap and the new Falcon move forward!

[sludgeguzzler]

can we stop making posts that follow the treat-fake-scary-thing-as-real formula please ease pleaseplase please

[cosmicrhetoric]

my personal fave "luffy holds a mirror up to someone's soul" moments. aka the whole point i think

[seyaryminamoto]

My latest completed commission may have been a bit ambitious... because I went wild with it. But I certainly relished in doing so :') Combining my favorite ship with my favorite-ever Disney movie is, uh... a dangerous concoction :'D

The commissioner specifically requested for Azula as Mulan, Sokka as Shang, and Xin Long (my OC dragon from Gladiator) as Mushu. The rest of the cast was up to me to choose, and I pretty much went wild rewatching this movie and picking out some of my favorite moments to recreate them in my style, with these characters. I came up with a lot of correlating characters between both ATLA and 1998's Mulan, but I couldn't hope to draw EVERYTHING, unfortunately. Still, if you want my reasoning for the cast correlation... check out the Read More! Beyond that, feel free to reach out to me if you'd like to commission me, or if you want to join my Patreon!

The Herbalist as Mulan's grandmother might feel arbitrary but she honestly felt like the ATLA elderly lady with the most similar personality to Grandma Fa. Fickle, with a unique connection with a seemingly perfectly ordinary animal, old and sassy? Figured it fit! So for once, the Herbalist is Azula's grandma! xD strange notion, I know, Azulon/Herbalist is not a ship I ever thought I'd accidentally put out in the world but there have been wilder ships than that in this fandom...

Momo became Cri-Kee, I wasn't 100% sold on it but when I considered that Avatar features soooo many hybrid animals... I figured he could be a hybrid cricket-lemur. Weird, I know, but eh? Better than nothing xD

Aang as Chien-Po was a no-brainer. He's the only character I settled on instantly, never even considered anyone else for the role. Their personalities line up really well, and Chien-Po's tendency to be OP and resolve things that are outside of other people's reach sounded like he was prime Avatar material! So, while their dietary preferences are an obvious difference between them, I decided to go for it nonetheless considering all their other similarities!

Kino (another Gladiator OC) is Ling, and he actually did give me a ton of trouble to choose. I considered many characters for the role right up until I realized that Kino's personality actually lines up fairly well with Ling's, down to being a class clown type (who ABSOLUTELY would have cut gym class!) and breaking out in song about the hypothetical woman he'd like to fight for? Yeeeeah that's right up his alley xD but there's another reason why I picked Kino...

... And that is my likely unexpected choice for Yao:

ZUKO.

ZUKO IS YAO.

YES.

I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

(For the uninitiated, Aang, Zuko and Kino are best friends in Gladiator, very often together, and they make a really good team, so that's the extra reason why Kino became the obvious choice for Ling aside from having really similar personalities, definitely closer personalities than, say, Jet, for instance.)

People have likened Zuko to Shang a LOT since ATLA aired. This is the main reason why I'm even making this huge note! I suspect it's primarily because of the aesthetic, let's be real here, and because he becomes Aang's teacher, but people have exaggerated Zuko's alleged similarities with Shang, or taken them out of proportion, in many ways. I actually remember an AMV ages ago with "Be a Man" and it was Zuko "training the Gaang"?? It... didn't feel right to me. Obviously, someone might rebuff with "well, how does Sokka make MORE sense than that, though?" And believe it or not, I have arguments for that... (when do I not...?)

Not only is this what the commissioner specifically requested (and it obviously lines up with the ship we love!), but let's examine the actual reasons why Sokka as Shang adds up:

Sokka actually had to train a bunch of toddlers who weren't paying any attention to him. You know. Kind of how Shang had to train the unruly soldiers who weren't getting anything right. Sokka has a positive relationship with his dad (Zuko, ofc, does not). Shang also has a positive relationship with his dad! And not only this, but there's a military component to both relationships, specifically with Shang wanting to follow on his father's footsteps and aid him in the war... so much like someone else I know, who jumped at every opportunity to rejoin his father in the war, even wishing to join him as a child until Hakoda tasked him with protecting their Tribe instead (kinda like Shang is tasked with training soldiers rather than joining a battlefield).

And the final cherry-on-top that I'd loooove to hear Zuko fans try to argue against... is sexism :') didn't Sokka get characterized as a sexist guy for four episodes, which made people decide that this was his main character trait even if it went away that quickly? Um, yes, that happened. Shang literally sings the memorable song that's a crazy ode to masculinity, including the rather sexist line of "did they send me daughters when I asked for sons". Shang outright abandons Mulan once they discover that she was a woman all along (while, admittedly, choosing to abandon her rather than KILL HER, which as we saw from Chi-Fu, he was NOT supposed to spare her!)...

So, is this REALLY what Zuko fans, who willfully believe their boy is a feminist king (... why? beats me...) are trying to compare their unproblematic blorbo to? :'D Me? I have no problem linking Sokka with Shang due to Sokka's beginnings and due to the fact that both Shang and Sokka have similar growth when it comes to accepting femininity is as valid as masculinity, and as they both learn to respect women as fighters and potential heroes! (I simply do not believe Sokka's ENTIRE tenure in ATLA was about that, though, and that's what I continue to clash with the fandom over...) So... all this is why I've reasoned that Sokka is a VERY solid choice for Shang, in fact, better than Zuko could hope to be.

... but this isn't all.

Maybe some might accept my arguments for Sokka-Shang. And then, they might ask:

WHY ZUKO AS YAO, THO??

... And the truth is it took me long to see it, myself, but HOLY SHIT, DOES IT FIT!

What is the primary thing we remember about Yao in Mulan? This guy is constantly itching for a fight, to prove himself, surely riddled with insecurities that he exteriorizes through overcompensation of masculinity. He's funny as fuck, but he's taking himself 100% seriously as a manly man all the time, and he's always ready for violence. But there's one more thing...

He treats Mulan as his RIVAL.

And more often than not? SHE SCREWS HIM OVER. Intentionally or not.

What does that sound like? Why, yes, it sounds a LOT like Azula and Zuko's sibling relationship!

The fact that Yao is a temperamental dude who lashes out easily at things (oh, something he has in common with Zuko!), that he specifically resents Mulan (in this case, Azula, just as Zuko does!) and is either constantly looking to defeat her and prove his superiority over her (... wait, just as Zuko with Azula??), that he has a black eye perpetually across the movie, and it's his LEFT EYE (just as Zuko's scar is on his left eye! :'D), that he's friends with a pacifist he has basically nothing in common with, personality-wise (just like Zuko and Aang!), and that he pretty much has a REDEMPTION ARC in which he goes from a bitter, asshole rival to Mulan to treating her as a friend and ally, to the point where he was disappointed to leave her behind and THEN joined her at once when she says she has a plan? :') I have always been critical of Zuko's redemption arc, goes without saying. But if ANY of these characters redeemed himself in any significant way, it certainly seems to be Yao to me, and with people gushing NON-STOP about Zuko's redemption? Why, he ought to be the character who goes from bitter rival to loyal friend, right?

So. I'm not even sorry. Zuko is Yao. And I'd dare say that he should be flattered by the comparison, even, because Yao ends up being cool as FUCK!

I don't really talk about this much nowadays, but Mulan was my favorite Disney movie growing up, it ABSOLUTELY had a formative influence on me as a little girl, and Mulan was my favorite female character for a looooong time. Thus, any excuse to rewatch this movie makes me happy as heck. With the wisdom of age I know, of course, that it's not perfect, it's not what China wants, it's not the most thoughtful depiction of Chinese culture or the most faithful adaptation of Mulan's poem (... but I'd also dare bring up that the 2009 Chinese adaptation ISN'T all that faithful either...), but it has a kind of magic in it, a solid storytelling flow, so many memorable moments one after the next, that I could hardly choose which scenes to depict... Disney has never again seen the storytelling heights it reached with Mulan in 1998. I don't even care if that's a controversial opinion in any way... this is their best animated feature for me, and nobody can change my mind.

So... depicting Azula, my beloved, in all these scenarios as this character I adored and idolized as a child, was so damn fulfilling for me. While some might think that, personality-wise, these two ladies don't have much in common, the fact that Mulan is sent to a matchmaker who basically tells her she looks good but is going to be the worst wife ever...? Our girl Azula, with all those insecurities about being unloveable and a monster, probably would relate big time to that.

Mulan is also an INTELLIGENT soldier rather than a brawny one, which is how she starts to make progress in the army, it's how she manages to overcome the huns with that avalanche... and Azula's primary difference with most other antagonists in ATLA is that she's smart as fuck. She is very strong, no doubt, but a LOT of that strength comes from her intelligence, from assessing situations in unique ways, from planning and strategizing. The way Mulan finds the most unexpected solutions that still pay off reminds me a lot of how Azula achieves unexpected feats through rather unorthodox means, capable of taking over a city with basically no bloodshed while her nation has spent 100 years trying and failing to do so through major army incursions and who knows how much senseless violence. Obviously, I'm not saying what Azula did is GOOD and it's kind of dumb that we always have to point that out... I'm merely comparing the magnitude of the feats, and the fact that they both come from ladies who use strategy and intelligence to achieve their goals rather than muscle and physical power.

And while anyone would rage at me for the comparison between Fa Zhou (her dad) and Ozai, the truth is the dynamic between them CAN be compared, if loosely: Mulan literally goes to war to keep her father safe. Azula goes to war under her father's orders. Hell, she makes herself BAIT in the Eclipse to make sure the Gaang won't get to her dad?? While it's very much possible to say that both characters have different personalities and attitudes in life... I'd also bring up that their contexts are evidently completely different. I wouldn't say for certain that Azula, had she been raised outside a Royal Family, would be EXACTLY like Mulan... but they might have more similar traits than one might expect. Ultimately, though... I love them both. And this opportunity to swap their places was pretty much a dream come true!

Alright, that was plenty of rambling xD ultimately, I had a blast doing this commission, as I'm sure is obvious by now. So! If anyone wants to commission me, feel free to check out my prices right here and hit me up if you're interested!