#anyway. imagine being taught by identical twins

[thatonealternativecat]

the twins

(watch the animation on my tiktok ^^ )

[omegaverse-seinfeld]

“to dream a dream of spring” Update to yang fic I’m working on

to dream a dream of spring. 

Yang Xiao Long did not dream. Not of her mother or her sister or her father or her team. Not even of dark streets or Grimm hordes or broken bones or lost limbs. After the battle for Beacon, when she didn’t eat or sleep or laugh or train, her father once asked her about dreams. Do you want to talk about them, he had asked. Talk; it seemed the older she got the more her father wanted to talk. She wouldn’t have it, she decided. Taiyang Xiao Long was many things but a doting nanny was not one of them. So she told him she didn’t dream about her injury - no, Adam Taurus was a nightmare of the waking world and so in the waking world her thoughts of him would remain. 

When Yang thought about dreams and dreamers she thought of her sister. You don’t dream at all, like ever?! Ruby was scandalized, eyes wide and jaw dropped, the first time she asked Yang about dreams just weeks after they arrived at Beacon. It was funny, Yang grew up hearing Ruby’s fantastical retellings of her own dreams - full of monsters and heroes and family and planets made of chocolate and chewing gum - but people didn’t tend to ask Yang about her dreams. Ruby was more than enough dreamer for one family, she supposed. 

Her uncle Qrow seemed to be the only one who understood her dreamless existence. Just like your mother, he had once said. Summer Rose was her mother, Yang was quick to remind him. Regardless, according to Qrow, he and Raven both had never been ones for dreams or fantasies. Not much to dream about in the Tribe, he reasoned. Spending time in the world of what-ifs and maybes was a death sentence in the life of a raider and outlaw. Not much changed during their school years; Taiyang and Summer both tended to sleep well past what even the most idle teenager would call a reasonable hour but Qrow and his sister usually only slept the absolute minimum amount of time necessary to maintain bodily functions and awareness, and never at the same time. Even in the safety of Beacon’s walls, the Branwen twins would remain alert and ready for action. The life of  a spy was even less sympathetic to flights of fancy than an outlaw, he told her. Of course, he only told Yang all that after she had found out they were spies from the woman she met for the first time when she was already well on her way to being a woman grown, and not from either of the men who had taught her to fight and hunt. So much for trust. 

Whatever. Yang wasn’t angry at her uncle for hiding his identity from her for so long, not anymore. She couldn’t be, she’d had so many other things to be mad about over the years. 

Speaking of past baggage and resentments that were definitely conquered, Yang’s thoughts drifted to Blake. Her… teammate? Partner? Girlfriend? Words never seemed able to describe Yang and Blake. That was fine by Yang, she never was one to prefer words over actions. She told herself that, anyway, but couldn’t help the weight in her chest whenever Blake refused to define their relationship when Ruby or Weiss broached the topic. Bless their hearts, those two were romantics beyond help. 

All that to say while Yang may not have preferred words, Blake was outright terrible at them. She had to remember this when Blake broached that old, headache-inducing topic one cold Atlas night in their shared guest room at the Schnee Estate. 

“How come you never have nightmares?” Blake tilted her head, staring into Yang’s eyes, their faces inches apart on the bed. 

“How come I what?” Yang responded, her eyelids beginning to drop as sleep threatened to claim her. 

“Nightmares. I’ve just noticed you don’t seem to have them, despite everything that’s happened these few months,” Blake said, expression unmoving. 

“I don’t know how to answer that. I’ve never really had dreams or nightmares, even when I was a kid,” Yang replied, finally closing her eyes. 

“I can’t even imagine that.” Blake turned on her back, eyes glancing up at the black chandelier that seemed to consume the midnight blue walls surrounding them. “I’ve always had nightmares. I can’t seem to stop having them,” she finished, softly. 

“White Fang stuff?” Yang asked, her eyes still closed but sleep evading her for the moment. 

“Sometimes, but it isn’t always. Sometimes I dream about my parents back in Menagerie being in danger. Sometimes I dream about our team being hurt. Sometimes it’s just fear.” Blake still couldn’t pry her eyes from the chandelier. “Anyway, it just seems crazy to me that you don’t have nightmares about stuff. Not even about Adam?” 

“Nightmares? No, but I do like to remember beating his ass when I’m awake, to be honest.” Could it be? Was that a giggle Yang heard coming from her partner’s lips?

“I just would have thought, considering, you know,” Blake said, her eyes reaching Yang’s bright yellow robotic appendage, as creaky and heavy as ever draped across her own midsection. 

“What? The sick ass metal arm?” Yang grinned, finally reopening her eyes. “Sure he did a real number on me, but whenever I start down that road I remember the little yelp he made when I hit him with the bike and I feel better.”

Blake glared at her and pouted, turning her eyes from the chandelier and back to her bedmate. “I’m trying to be serious with you, Yang. I just,” she said, her faunus ears dropping in a motion low enough that Yang was sure it should defy some law of nature. 

“So am I.” Yang held Blake’s eyes in her own, “I just don’t have dreams or nightmares. Part of living in the moment, you know. You’re safe Blake, and so am I. Whatever comes next, we face it together.” 

Yang placed a small kiss on Blake’s forehead and could swear she heard her purr. Not that she would ever say that out loud, of course. “Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“If you say so,” Blake closed her eyes, but if Yang’s words really got through to her then it didn’t show on her face. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Yang replied, barely able to get the words out before losing consciousness. 

x x x

   That night, for the first time she could remember, Yang dreamed.

    When Yang opened her eyes, she immediately knew something was wrong. Her body was lighter than it should have been, and she was struck with the sudden realization that she was flying. That understanding came just as she happened to glance down and saw a vast dark whiteness, the kind of vastness you can’t help getting lost in.

    Fields of snow and wind sat beneath Yang’s elevated position, and pitch black cold attacked her from above. It reminded her of an old story Weiss had once told her, of a black and endless frozenness the heiress said an old Solitas myth claimed used to cover the entire continent. There was no life and no uniqueness in that time, she had claimed. A dead world unfit for human populations, home only to cold so severe it would snuff out any life stubborn enough to try to grow there, and winds so sharp they could cut steel like paper. A deadly combination that hid great and ancient secrets deep under the ice and snow, as the myth goes. 

    Yang had once asked Weiss whether she believed the myth. After all, Solitas - and Mantle and Atlas as a result - were certainly freezing and hostile but life had grown there. There had been enough life to birth the most technologically and financially sophisticated kingdom Remnant had ever seen, at least to hear Weiss tell it. If you were to ask Yang, she would say the only thing sophisticated about Atlas was its cruelty and ability to turn people into things - no more valuable than the commodities they could produce. She had a feeling Blake would agree with her, and that Weiss was beginning to as well, much as she wouldn’t admit yet. 

    Weiss had taken a long time to answer. Yang had always noticed her teammate took a long time to answer questions when they required her to give an opinion - weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her responses, sizing up her conversation partner as a potential enemy or spy. Not unlike her uncle Qrow, Yang often noted to herself. Regardless, Weiss did eventually answer. She had said that scientists knew Solitas had, at some point in the relatively-recent past (emphasis on relatively, Weiss had said; noting that she was talking about a period possibly as long ago as 60,000 years) experienced possibly the largest cooling of temperatures of anywhere on Remnant, courtesy of it having been completely covered by ice sheets and glaciers. What about those ancient secrets? Yang had asked, but Weiss had no answer and gave some half-assed comment about myth as just ancient peoples’ way of explaining natural phenomena. Yang decided to drop the topic, but she wasn’t blind to the long nights Weiss spent in her family’s personal library or of her newly-found obsession with the SDC’s Topographical Research Department, nor the newly-constant look of worry in her eyes. 

    Her mind pulled back to the present, Yang’s eyes drifted back down to the ground far below her. Whiteness so vast it seemed completely still, despite the cutting of the winds into her body telling her it was absolutely not still. Speaking of her body, Yang realized something else felt wrong. Having been in Atlas with her team for a considerable time now, Yang was no longer a stranger to the feeling of the cold assaulting her - seemingly able to cut through her clothes and chill her to the bone regardless of layers. This felt… different. It was with that thought Yang realized she wasn’t wearing clothes, and couldn’t feel the familiar heft of her gauntlets. Glancing to her immediate left and right revealed honest-to-Gods wings. They had to each be at least four or five feet long, sprawled out in large feathers of crimson red and a wine-tinted purple. As soon as she realized that, Yang looked down again, this time taking care at her torso. Where there should have been her classic top she’d been wearing regularly since she first got it during an old shoplifting spree she went on with her uncle Qrow during her time at Signal, there were more feathers. What the fuck is going on, Yang thought to herself. 

    Yang could feel her throat close, her vision blacken, and she was hit with the sudden sensation of falling. This was different from the heavy kind of falling she felt when performing a trick with her motorcycle, or the thrillingly-quick but controlled descent she got when parachuting from the sky for missions or training. No, this was a straight line down, down, down, and she could feel those wings begin to seize and curl into her chest. Instinctively, without realizing it, she spread the wings out and found herself riding a gust of wind to cut through the sky to again soar higher than she could ever remember being in her life. Okay, she thought, calm down Yang. You’re a bird now. Just another Tuesday. 

    Exhaling a deep breath, Yang tried to focus her vision to the distance in front of her. Maybe she could calm down if she could center her vision on something, some sort of guidepost to make the cold and the wind seem not so supernatural and frightening? After scanning for entire minutes, she was able to spot something in the distance. It seemed to be some kind of dark structure, Yang wasn’t able to get anything more specific from it other than that it was large, and seemed to be tall. What really struck her about it was its shape - cylindrical and taller than she could see from her current elevation. With a huff, she readied her wings, and shot upwards to the sky. It was exhilarating - to feel the cut of the wind in her wings and her face and chest - if not concerning that somehow she knew how to control this new body like it was some hidden ancient knowledge.

    After blasting through a cloud so heavy and dark she thought she must have slammed into the very edge of the world, Yang found herself emerging into what could only be described as the Heavens, so high she couldn’t even see the snow on the ground. For the first time since awakening as whatever she was now, she could see distant sparkling stars in the sky, brighter and sharper than she had ever seen. 

    Finally, she could see her structure in more clarity. It seemed to be some sort of massive tower, larger than even the Beacon CCT. It was made of black stone, each one uniform in its shade and shape. There were no windows and no cracks, and the longer she looked at the tower, the more Yang could feel the weight of the wings at her side. Her body began to involuntarily turn around, in the exact opposite direction of the tower. Strange, so far this body had simply moved in the way she had wanted it to, automatically, but something in her screamed to stay away from the top of that tower. Fat chance in hell, she thought to herself.    

    Resolved to find some sort of answer to this, why she thought she’d find those answers at the tower she wasn’t aware of, she cut her wings through the sky propelling her towards her destination at a nauseating pace. To stop for even a moment would be to abandon her resolve completely, Yang knew. Eventually, she reached her goal. The top of the tower opened into a courtyard, laid with grass greener than she had ever seen - uniformly cut just as the stone it lay on top of. Not for the first time, Yang wondered if she had snuck a little too much of her uncle’s good stuff when she, Blake and Weiss had stolen some the night before. (Stolen was a generous description, she was sure Qrow knew and let them cut loose a bit as long as none of it ended up in Ruby’s hands) 

    Looking down at the courtyard, Yang noticed a figure staring up at her, and her uneasiness immediately reached new heights. It took everything in her not to immediately shoot off, far away from whatever the hell this was. The figure was tiny in stature, sitting cross-legged and perfectly still in a small wooden chair, somehow also in perfect condition despite the nightmarish conditions surrounding this open courtyard with nothing but black stone to protect it from from the wild winds, with not even that protecting it from the skys. 

    Yang landed on the grass, which caused her to realize she used claws to touch the grass on the surface of the tower’s open top. Sure, I guess that makes sense, Yang thought to herself. She looked over at the figure she landed directly in front of, and the chair it sat in. The figure seemed to be a young girl, maybe half the age of Oscar. She shared his dark skin tone, and held Yang’s glance with dark green forest eyes, darker and fuller than any eyes she had ever seen. The girl had platinum white hair, cut sharply to the top of her shoulders, with short blunt bangs framing her eyes that burned into Yang. Atop her hair, layed a simple black and green headband that, along with her eyes, seemed to be unmoved by the cataclysmic winds still surrounding the tower. Funnily enough, Yang realized she no longer felt the cold or the winds, it was like weather simply ceased to exist. Continuing her examination of the girl, Yang noticed she wore an elegant yet simple dark green sleeveless dress with an opening in the front around her neck, displaying a blindingly white shirt that covered her neck and covered her shoulders, with the sleeves reaching maybe a quarter of the way towards her elbow. She also wore a golden pendant whose shape reminded Yang of a sunflower, and had simple brown shoes with a brass-buckled strap placed atop them. 

    “Hello friend,” the girl spoke in a soft voice so delicate Yang thought she might blow away into the now-non-existent winds. Yang tried to reply but only managed a throaty scraw, unable to form words. Great. 

    “Birds do not speak, I am afraid. Magick can do many things but it cannot truly transcend nature,” the girl spoke again, smiling at Yang. Yang scoffed, briefly refusing to return the girl’s glance.

    “Regardless, you can still understand me. I know this must be terrifying but you found me in record time, little one.” Who’s calling who little? Yang thought. “It takes most wanderers many moons to find my sanctuary, but you did it in mere hours.”

    Had Yang heard correctly? She had been in this place for hours? That felt both correct and wrong. What was this place?

    “I shouldn’t be surprised however,” the girl continued as she gave another small smile to Yang. “After all, I’ve never seen a wanderer traverse this place as a Phoenix. I thought such mythical birds held no place here, but it seems one truly never stops learning.” 

    Yang glared at the girl, feeling her claw’s fidgeting at the blandless of the conversation. “Ah, young ladies such as yourself always are in such a hurry. Very well,” the girl sighed. 

    “You have been called to the Dream Plains, Yang Xia Long.” The girl, placed her hands crossed on her lap, “Magick flows in your soul, now and forever more. Welcome.” 

    The girl then reached out her left hand, and Yang found herself instinctively laying the top of her head in the girl’s palm for her to gently scratch. “I know Magick has left your world, and I know you are confused and angry. I can see the conflict in your eyes; If there was any doubt in my mind you were Raven’s girl, it is gone now.” 

    Yang’s eyes snapped to the girl’s and she immediately removed her head from the girl’s palm. 

    “Ah, I see I have touched a nerve of some sort,” the girl commented, laying her hand upon her heart, “forgive me. I mean only that I see the resemblance, and I hope you are as strong of heart as she.” 

    “It is time I introduced myself and revealed your destiny, Yang Xiao Long,” the girl said, returning her hand from her heart to her lap once again. “My name in your world was Leah. I believe you know my father.”

    Yang knew it was Ozpin before Leah even mentioned her father. She wasn’t sure how, she just knew. 

    “My sisters and I are Wardens of the vanishing Magick in this world, Yang. You know this Magick as Maidenhood and you, young warrior, are the next Warden of Spring.” 

    Yang’s eyes shot open, and she found herself back in her bed next to Blake, with her metallic arm still drenched over her partner’s side. 

[meryllfrey]

Meryll of House Frey (OC) -- Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire

FULL NAME:  Meryll Frey BORN: 281 AC ALLEGIANCE: House Frey CULTURE: Riverlands STATUS: Unmarried RELIGION:  The Seven LOCATION: The Twins, Riverlands SOCIAL CLASS: Noble SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Westerosi Common Tongue, High Valyrian

MOTHER: Mariya Frey (of House Darry) FATHER: Merrett Frey, Ninth Son of Walder Frey SIBLINGS: Amerei "Gatehouse Ami" Frey, "Fat" Walda Frey, Marissa Frey, "Little" Walder

FACE CLAIM: Gemma Arterton HAIR COLOR: Chestnut Brown EYE COLOR: Light Brown TATTOO(S): N/A SCAR(S): N/A

ATTRACTS WITH: Captivating charm and compassion, complexity, humour, loyalty, marvellous mind, eccentricities, humanitarian conscience, high ideals and inspiring imagination, exaggerated curiosity

LOSES WITH: Self-righteousness and brutal honesty, emotional defenses and paralysis, lack of deep personal engagement, unreasonable arguments and opposition

BIOGRAPHY: Meryll was the fourth daughter born to Merrett and Mariya Frey. Four girls, and no sons. Her father had been greatly disappointed by the birth of another daughter. Meryll can't remember if anyone ever told her that, but as a child, she must have sensed it on some level, because as early as she can remember, she tried to be the son her father wanted. She dressed in boys clothing and followed him everywhere. He taught her how to care for the horses, how to fish, how to ford the river when the waters were high, and other practical skills.

After Meryll's tenth nameday, Merrett and Mariya were finally blessed with a boy -- "Little" Walder, and her father finally had a real son. She was getting to an age were she couldn't really pass herself off as a boy anymore anyway. Around this same time, Merrett began suffering terrible headaches as a result of a head injury suffered when he was a squire. He started drinking heavily and became known as the Twin's biggest drunk, none of which improved his mood. He was a mean drunk and Meryll began to feel as if her very existence offended him somehow. Fortunately, her Uncle Danwell and Aunt Winnifrei, who had not been able to have children, stepped in and raised Meryll as if she was their own.

Meryll begged for a sword but Uncle Danwell didn't think it wise to give such an unruly girl a blade, and instead presented her with a bow. She turned out to be a natural with a good eye and steady hand.

Growing up at the Twins, Meryll was close with her three sisters, Amerei, Walda and Marissa, as well as an uncle of similar age to her, Olyvar, and a cousin, Alesander. Meryll didn't have a bad relationship with her mother, but Mariya wasa prickly woman, lacking in warmth.

While home at the Twins, Meryll spends as much time as possible outdoors, and can often be found reading by the riverbank. She is particularly fond of tales of the great knights, her favourite being Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Gerald Hightower, and Ser Duncan the tall -- in that order.

VERSES:

There will be blood | Pre- Red Wedding (AGOT, ACOK)

This is a time of uncertainty for House Frey. Meryll has kinsmen who are loyal to the Starks, and kinsmen who think the only way for House Frey to survive is to kneel to King Joffrey. In this verse, Meryll can be found in: 

The Twins (default)

Kings Landing – attending the Tourney of  the Hand with her Uncle Danwell

Winterfell – as Catelyn’s wards along with Little Walder and Big Walder

The Dreadfort – helping pregnant sister Walda

10 things I hate about you | Post- Red Wedding

Meryll is conflicted about her family’s actions and is looking for a way to leave The Twins. It is a dangerous time, however, with House Frey being persona non grata, and it’s hard to know who to trust. In this verse, Meryll can be found:

At The Twins, plotting her escape

Travelling around Westeros, hiding her identity

Across the Narrow Sea | Post- Red Wedding, in Essos

Meryll has accompanied her childhood hero, Ser Barristan Selmy, to Essos to find Daenerys Stormborn. In this verse, Meryll can be found:

in various locations of Essos, still searching for Daenerys

anywhere along Daenerys’ book or show route

[phoenixyfriend]

Okay so you know how one of my big things with fandom is forcing characters into completely new contexts that they just have to Deal With (recently most commonly with time travel, crossovers, and things like the suddenly omegaverse AU).

So, canon characters get Yanked and somehow tossed into a Modern AU context, possibly just as some Matrix-esque 'your brain is trapped in a simulation' thing, possibly as a Sith Holocron thing, possibly as a weird crossover, it doesn't matter. The point is mostly this:

1. Nobody has the Force. 2. Ahsoka is suddenly human, and she hates it.

This is mostly an excuse for Ahsoka to be overwhelmed by some things (her sense of taste is completely different) and underwhelmed by others (this is your eyesight???) and panicked by others (her sense of echolocation is completely GONE), and then Anakin calming her down by Brushing Her Hair, something she's never had before.

Ahsoka has a meltdown and Anakin, who is also very panicked because the Force is just gone for him, is doing his best to keep her somewhat level and ANYWAY Anakin knows how to do cool, solid, safe braids because Padme taught him how to do her wig-secure crown braids, so when Ahsoka's being overwhelmed by the sensory hell of her new hair touching her shoulders, Anakin brushes it out and braids it up for her while Obi-Wan tries to find them a way out, and Rex and Cody help him notice things like "we can't read this alphabet for shit" and "that's not a speeder... is it..."

The clones are Itchy without their armor in an unfamiliar space. The Jedi keep tripping on sidewalk cracks and stuff because they're not used to needing to look where they're going. Also they don't have their sabers or blasters.

Ahsoka tucked into Anakin's side in a coffee shop that they somehow managed to Exchange Currency at... sipping on something sweet and complicated-flavor that she doesn't recognize and is very confused by because none of these tastes are familiar... a barista asks if she's okay and Anakin has to stutter over "my padawan" in favor of "my sister" because it's kind of safer but anyway could they get a cup of ice water for the kid?

The clones get asked if they're from New Zealand or Australia because of the accents and just Blank Stare until the person leaves in discomfort like "Was it something I said? Maybe they think I should be able to tell the difference?" but no they just don't fucking know what New Zealand and Australia are.

Imagine if she couldn’t really taste sweetness before. She finally understands the appeal of candy!

Ahsoka doesn't like 'being' human but she decides she likes the Expanded Taste Range (now she understands WHY people add spices) and having her hair played with (she's maybe a little jealous of people like Padme now).

Several of the Jedi keep forgetting they can’t jump 20 feet high anymore and keep slamming into fences. One of them tries to jump off something and is tackled by a clone. The clones keep forgetting they can’t jump off things and get caught anymore.

“Normal humans die when they do that!”

The clones don't register as clones to anyone, just Young Hot Guys With Nice Muscles, so Cody and Rex get hit on by strangers more in the Modern AU adventure than in the rest of their lives put together.

They register as twins though. And some people are maybe into that specifically. Strangely, in this context, being genetically identical is more attractive.

The only person in this group that knows how to recognize flirtation and how to flirt back is Obi-Wan.

Someone sees a Marvel movie playing a TV store and just drags the other four over because IS THAT MASTER WINDU WITH AN EYEPATCH. Or alternately IS THAT AN OLDER SENATOR AMIDALA IN BORING CLOTHES.

Per @atagotiak on discord

Hey, it could be worse, it could be literally almost anything else Ewan McGregor is in. I enjoy the other movies I’ve seen him in (though I haven’t seen a lot) it’s just every last one would be jarring as heck to them.

Birds of prey “Wow Obi-Wan, you’re a dick”

It's just Moulin Rouge's steamy scenes and Obi-Wan is like [head tilt] is... is that supposed to be me????

(I'm going to say that none of the Star Wars movies exist in this modern AU, but only because that would get too complicated.)

Ahsoka gets yelled at by Someone (a store employee, a cop, a random douchebag on the street), and Obi-Wan steps in because he's closest and also the person most invested in making sure she doesn't start throwing punches.

Person: Sorry man, didn't mean to scare your, uh, daughter. Obi-Wan's face: [is doing complicated things]

(Being Ahsoka’s dad is probably less weird than being Anakin’s dad. Just agewise and all that.)

Obi-Wan objectively recognizes that this is a reasonable assumption and also a safe one to work with, in that explaining their actual relationship might be sketchy depending on whether or not apprenticeships are a thing on this planet, and going with a person's first not-terrible assumption is usually a safe bet to not draw too much attention!

But 'parent' is a bit of a loaded concept for a lineage so prone to attachment (and tragedy).

Ahsoka finds herself getting inexplicably tired a few hours into a walk that would normally leave her fine, and since Anakin and Obi-Wan are also having trouble, it's apparently not a humans thing, it's... not having the Force. They’re still pretty strong and have good endurance but they’re not superhuman anymore so.

Adding in that Ahsoka's a young teenager who has no idea what she can eat that she can actually stand the taste of yet, so she keeps getting sugar crashes since it's the only thing she can reliably stomach...

[soupbabe]

Could I get the Bucci gang and Diavolo with a ghost sibling? (like the one you did with Dio and the Crusaders) I really appreciate your writing and you've inspired me to try to write my own reader stories sometime!

Ghost Sibling HCs: Bucci Gang Edition! (+ Diavolo)

Oh my god that's so nice of you to say!! I think it's so cool that I actually inspired someone!! Ily so much anon!! <3 My only impression of Diavolo just has been his fight w Bruno, so I just wiki'd everything for him. So I apologise if he's not entirely in character!! Also, I genuinely had nothing for Abbacchio so he's not in this one. I really hope you don't mind

Warnings!: Goes into how reader died, Spoilers for Part 5, and Mentions of abuse from Giorno's part! Please stay safe !

Bruno Bucciarati

You were an older sibling of Bruno and you also stuck around with your father when the divorce came along

You commonly worked along with your father and ended up getting murdered when the gangsters infiltrated the boat

While your father was able to survive, you died at the scene. Your soul set to haunt the surrounding dock

Although it was tricky trying to see you due to the lingering fear of potential gangsters, Bruno always managed to find a way to visit you

It was hard for the younger Bucciarati, he cared about you as much as he did his father

Almost every visit was paired with a somber undertone, no matter how normal you tried to make it

But you were proud of Bruno and the man he's become today and you two still keep in touch

I do believe that as he gets older, he'd look at this place with a bit more fondness. Replacing the tragic memory of you and your father with all the times you tried to be there for him

When he became Capo, Bruno made certain to keep tabs on the small fishing village, making sure your resting place is in pristine condition

He's well aware that you might not get to pass on and he just wants to do what can to get you the best

Giorno Giovanna

You were Giorno's older step-sibling, having there be a 5-8 year age difference between the two of you

You were well aware of your father's abuse and did what you could to protect your little brother

Of course, your father didn't take too kindly to your behavior and it only made your punishments worse

One night, your father took out most of his anger onto you and it ended up killing you

Your soul latched onto Giorno, wanting to keep on protecting him even in death

You were there for him through everything and you were happy that he was able to find better family through the gang

And even in the gang, you were able to find your own peace in a way

(mostly) everyone welcomed you with open arms and it was a nice change of pace from talking to only Giorno for the past 10 or so years

Pannacotta Fugo

You were an older sibling, praised by your parents and used as an example for Fugo to follow

He never really resented you because of it though. You were helpful when he had the toughest lessons and treated him with the care that your parents never gave

I can imagine Fugo accidentally killing you during one of his rages, you got too close and he lashed out at you

As if he wasn't freaked out and panicked over your murder, seeing your ghost wasn't any better

He ignored any note of your presence, leaving it up to some hallucination rather than a ghost of all things

It took him a while to actually accept the fact that you're still with him and it was really awkward for a while

It made his guilt about the situation worse tbh, like it's been too long that he can't really apologize for what he did to you

And I don't imagine you being too happy either. Spending your eternity with your murderer and have him deny your existence for a couple of months does hurt

It's just one of those cases where your relationship couldn't be repaired after death, leaving you both to spend each other's company with an awkward weight on each other's shoulders

Both of you were never well taught in emotions so trying to cope with something as strange as this is not likely.

Narancia Ghirga

You were Narancia's twin sibling

you were just as loyal as him so you didn't bat an eye when he proposed that you both take Polpo's test

It's not like he would do it without you anyways, you two were a package deal

What he didn't take in account was you not surviving the stand arrow

It really did break Narancia seeing you dead and then seeing your ghost, looking like nothing happened

I feel like you haunting him furthers his denial of your actual death. That it doesn't actually matter since you're still next to him and able to laugh like nothing happened

It would be a combination of you and Bucciarati to help him with his grief, but he was still joyful to have you around

Even though you couldn't interact much with the physical world, he still invited you to his math lessons with Fugo and treated you as a valid member of the gang

Guido Mista

You were Mista's younger sibling that haunted his apartment

He'll admit that it was a bit freaky dealing with you at first, but he managed to adapt to it pretty quickly

He was able to live his usual carefree lifestyle, the added money from being apart of Passione was used for making the house a bit more comfortable

He felt bad that you couldn't leave and tried to make it more bearable

Plus he did it as an apology for all the times you cleaned up the pigsty that is his room

He also enjoyed that you were also free home security

He's made a couple of enemies in his time and having someone who can't be injured through typical means was helpful

He always enjoyed the occasional stories you told of the intruder's terrified faces at the fact that their guns and knives had no effect on you

But even if you were already dead, he'd ask for the faces of the idiots who disrespected and tried to kill to you.

Just because you're dead doesn't change the fact that you were still his family and he needed to teach those losers a lesson when you can't do it yourself.

Diavolo

Oh my god I'm so sorry for you

Listen, this man was not above attempted murder of his own daughter to hide his identity. You would've been one of his first targets

When he'd see that you never actually died, he would use whatever he had in his arsenal to get rid of you

But of course nothing worked, having to come to terms that you were a ghost

I don't think this could make his paranoia worse because technically you are gone and you can't go outside without him/Doppio, it's just a great inconvenience

He usually acts like you don't exist, yelling at you if you were to interact with the mafia boss

To Doppio you were only known to be a close friend of the boss and nothing else

He would happily chat with you, blissfully unaware that he was talking to a corpse

I think being anywhere near Diavolo in this state is a fate worst than death

Being around such a dark and negative energy already isn't good for the living, imagine how the dead feels

Plus not to mention the rough period of occasional murder attempts, all in new ways for Diavolo to get you gone for once and for all

[diary-of-deadweight]

can I please ask for a Peter imagine where Billy and Tommy (those kids are just too adorable!) always want to hang out with their "cool uncle and aunt"?

Masterlist

There was no one in Westview that Tommy and Billy Maximoff looked up to more then you and Pietro. It was common knowledge.

Wanda, despite her best efforts, came across as overprotective of the twins, restricting where they could or couldn’t go for undisclosed reasons while Vision was more at work then he was at home, purely by no fault of his own but when he was he and Wanda would bicker behind closed doors when they think the twins were asleep or occupied in their rooms.

You and Pietro however? The breath of fresh air they needed; teaching them life lessons and letting them experience things for themselves whenever you took them out somewhere, helping them forge their own identities along the way. That and you’d let them stay up past their bedtime along with treating them with sugary goodness. So whenever a possible chance to be with their cool aunt and uncle presents itself, they’d 100% most of the time take up that offer without fail.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Billy asked Tommy as they hide ontop of the staircase as you and Pietro saw their parents off before closing the door and making yourselves comfortable on the couch watching an old sitcom, how the brunette twin could tell it’s old because it had that disembodied laughter coming through, he didn’t feel as though they should go along with the plan. Not that it was his plan to begin with anyways it was Tommy’s more or less, he just didn’t want to get left out but he was know to be more in tune with his emotions then his brother was anyways -which you taught him could be his greatest attribute later in life- yet had no idea how you dealt with being scared at all. You could scare easily for all he knew!

“Of course it is Billy, when have I ever been wrong?” A moment of silence lingered and Tommy could feel his brothers questioning look burning into his back and instantly regretted his statement with what came out next, “What about that one time at Agnes-“ “okay! I take that back, I may have been wrong on a few instances but think of this as payback for all the times uncle P had scared us alright?” He looked back at Billy who only sighed, knowing when Tommy put his mind to something it wasn’t easy to persuade him otherwise, and gave him a meek thumbs up indicating he was all set to go.

There was no way you couldn’t hear their heavy footsteps and breathing from the your place on the couch, if you couldn’t you were lying, straight up and you knew that Pietro could hear them too by the smile upon his face as he acted coy, prenteding not to feel their breaths on the back of your necks, trying to hold back their laughter or look directly at their reflections that were visible from the tv screen, erasing any semblance of incognito they had but that was the beauty in babysitting the twins, they certainly didn’t leave you feeling dull or bored in the slightest. Were they pains in the ass? Sometimes with how much energy they withheld in their tiny bodies but did that matter? No! They were having fun and you were having fun by playing along with their schemes.

So just as they were about to grab your shoulders, you used your powers to disappear and reappear behind the pair and grabbed them into your arms, making them shout in fright before you put them into their uncles’ lap as he tickled their sides in revenge. “You thought you could scare us! We’re the masters of scare! Now you shall pay the price for your defiance!” “NOOOO!” The twins laughed, trying to push away his hands weakly as you watched them with a smile upon your face, warmth spreading through your chest as you watched the scene in front of you before deciding to join in the fun by acting as the twins hero as you grasped Pietro into a full nelson, halting his attack, allowing Billy and Tommy their freedom, betraying your boyfriend in the process.

“Quick! I can’t hold the beast much longer! Save yourselves!” You cried as your hold on he silver haired male began to loosen gradually, knowing you’ll be on the receiving end of their punishment sooner or later but it was a valiant sacrifice you’ll gladly pay but the twins weren’t about to leave their new ally behind to save their own skins as they looked at each other in acknowledgment before turning back to Pietro with courageous looks of bravery as they charged into him and off the couch, pinning him to the floor as he gave his final speech, reaching a hand in your direction, “how could you betray me? Were you ever on my side my dear beloved?” You faked a look before responding with confidence, puffing your chest out, gently kicking his hand away from you, “I was never on your side! I was in cahoots with these brave men from the start,” you moved to stand behind Billy and Tommy, “how foolish it was of you to put so much trust in me from the start. You brought this upon yourself.” Pietro’s chocolate eyes twinkled in pride as he smirked weakly, knowing he’s lost the fight, “cleaver girl...” were his final words as he closed his eyes and poked his tongue out.

You, Tommy and Billy then celebrated your victory with a nice family movie and a buffet of gummy worms, twinkies, soda and popcorn you summoned with your magic, all presented upon a white lace table cloth as Billy cuddled up to you and Tommy cuddled into Pietro’s side both fast asleep from all the physical exertion as you rested your head against your boyfriends’ chest, sleep weighing heavily on your eyelid and limbs but you could only buy yourself some time before heading off to sleep and Pietro could see that as he leaned down to kiss your head. “Goodnight sweetheart, the twins absolutely love you, maybe more then me but that’s up for debate.” You laughed, slapping his chest softly. “The only reason they like you is because you’re a manchild.” You heard Pietro gasp defensively, squeezing your bicep lightly, before adding, “but you’re my manchild and I love you and the twins very, very much.”

[yukina-otome]

Ikevamp pregnancy and family headcanon pt.1

So I don’t usually write headcanons. English is only my 3rd language so I make a lot of mistakes. But these days I work at the Maternity hospital and I got those baby vibes so I decided to write this. Please be nice to me. I’m a noob at writing lol. I will illustrate what I think the children would look like with pictures of characters that are NOT MINE. Pls be understanding. If you want a part 2 tell me what other boys you would like in the comments and live me a little encouragement because I have 0 confidence lol.

Part 2 | Part 3

1-Napoleon : 2 sons and 1 daughter 

-Napoleon always dreamed of a normal peaceful life -That peaceful life of course included you, and kids that would look like you running around. -And so when you first got pregnant Napoleon was beyond happy. -He wanted a little girl that would look exactly like you. -9 months later you gave him the cutest little boy with his dark hair and Turquoise eyes. -The second he laid his eyes on him he adored him. -5 years later napoleon asked if you were ready to have another one. A little girl this time hopefully. -And BOOM 10 months later a little boy was born again with dark slightly blue hair and blue eyes. -Still Napoleon loved him to death and was happy. -The third time you got pregnant was not planned. -You 2nd son was still 2 years old. -But you guys were still very happy. -9 months passed and napoleon was almost sure he'll get a little boy again. -But this time a beautiful baby girl was born with your brown hair and blue almost gray eyes. -Napoleon couldn't have been any happier. -He loved and cherished all his children equally. -His first born was calm and cool but very sensitive. He loved reading and studying. He spent a lot of time with uncle Isaac who taught him everything from math to physics to Latin. -The second born was more like Napoleon. He trained with his father and uncle jean as soon as he could walk. He loved his mother a lot and vowed to protect her from bad guys ("like uncle Arthur who always flirts with mama"). -The third born looked a lot like you but her personality was just like napoleon. She had charisma and everyone was in awe in front of her. she usually went on horse rides with her father. -The family would usually cook crepes together on Sunday and all of napoleon children still had to learn how to defend themselves. -He's very open minded and forging but very strict when it comes to their safety.

2-Mozart :  2 daughters (Twins)

-Mozart never thought about having children. -But being with you opened many new horizons in his life and he started thinking about what it would be like having a family with you. -So when one day you told him you were pregnant, he froze for 1 min before scooping you in his arms. -You've never seen Mozart smile wider. -When you were in your fifth month Arthur told you that you seemed bigger than most pregnant woman at that stage. -You wondered if he was right and visited your doctor the next day. -After some examination your doctor told you you were most likely pregnant with twins. She started explaining about the risks that could have. -When you told Wolf about it he was horrified. The thought of loosing you was unbearable. -But you told him you wanted this and that you would fight for your life and the life of your babies no matter what. You also made him promise to treasure and take care of your babies no matter what happens. -Your labor started early. In the 7th month to be precise and after few hours of fear and anxiety the doctor told Mozart that you gave birth to two beautiful girls and that both the babies and you were okay. -Of course the twins were very small and needed extra care but thankfully everything went well. -When you finally brought them to the mansion all the guys went crazy over them. -The first twin was the spitting image of Mozart with white hair and purple eyes. She was calm and cold looking but inside she was a big softie. Of course you guys named her Violet. -The second twin had your brown hair and her father violet eyes and she reminded you of a sunflower. She was cheerful and a bit clumsy. Theo loved her a lot because she reminded him of Vincent. Her name was Sonnen (solar in German) and Mozart always called her my Sonnenblume (means my sunflower). -Both the twins would learn piano from their father but Violet liked it more. Sonnen preferred to go out and play with king and uncle Theo -You would spend hours cooking with Sonnen who always had crazy ideas like marmalade butter beef cookies. (thankfully you would stop her). When you guys finished you went in the piano room where violet and Mozart were playing piano and invite them to eat. -You would all eat in the dinning room though because of the "No food in our piano room" rule.

3-Leonardo : 1 daughter (warning mention of character death)

-Leonardo didn't want kids at first. -He always thought about how you would feel if you saw yourself growing old while your child would stop growing out. -He also didn't want to see his child suffer the same way he did and would again eventually. -And so when one day you told him nervously you were pregnant he grew silent. You knew he needed some time to think it over so you gave him some space.  -Few days passed and Leo still kept silent. He was in his thought most of the time and le compte felt something was wrong with his friend. -When Leo told le compte, le compte frowned and told him that both of you need to have a conversation and that he cant stay silent for the rest of his life. -That night Leo knocked at your door and told you about his fears. You smiled at him and told him that you would never regret giving birth to his child. -"I know a day would come when i will have to leave you, that makes me very sad but what sadden me even more is imagining you alone after i leave. I want to leave you someone who can share your pain and happiness for eternity. Someone to remind you of me, of us." -After that Leo relaxed and as months pass the fear is replaced by excitement. He starts reading tons of books about pregnancies and child raising and his room becomes even more of a mess. -But one day after you tripped on a pile of books and almost fell leo decided that he would keep his room clean of all time. The next day when you entered his room and saw how tidy it is you got into shock. -Anyways few months later you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. Of course as Leo expected the baby was a true blood. -She had light brown hair and yellow eyes identical to his. -She was cute and sweet and at the same time had a fierce aura. She shared her father interests and always sat to read with him books that were way beyond her age. -She loved swords, fighting and sports. -She loved her uncle le compte the most and he always bought her all kind of dresses. -But one day she told him she didn't want any more dress cause she was going to wear pants from now on. -She was a tomboy and loved going to the pub with her uncle Arthur and Theo and start fights (once she was old enough of course) -She became her father best companion and even hundreds of years later he never felt alone ever again because she was always by his side even after you left them both.

4-Arthur: 2 daughters and 1 son

-Arthur knew you were pregnant way before you even noticed that you were late on your period. -He was not surprised because you two would go at it like bunnies every night so it was bound to happen. -He always dreamed and what it was to have a family with you but at the same time he was terrified. His past and trauma coming to haunt him again. -Outside he seemed fine but you knew better. You spent long nights reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. -He was feeling better but still needed your reassurance from time to time. -As the 9th month got closer he became incredibly overprotective. He stuck to your side at all time and got his old medical books out to study again Obstetrics and pediatrics. -He was ready. Or so he thought. -But when the time came he was an absolute mess of panic. It took Theo to give him a good punch on the face for him to get his s**t together. -DOCTOR MODE ACTIVATED. -Thankfully everything went smoothly and a baby girl with black hair and huge blue eyes was born. -He knew that moment he would never be the same ever again. -OVERPROTECTIVE PAPA MODE ACTIVATED. -He never let any man approach her (even the 2 year old who wanted to play with her in the park) -"All men are wolves my darling" he would say as his 1 year old daughter looked at him with he big blue eyes. -Eventually you got pregnant again (Again Arthur was not surprised). -But this time Arthur was a lot more calm. -A beautiful baby girl was born again with smaller blue eyes and brown hair. -She looked like a mini you but with Arthur's eyes. -Arthur wanted to name her Victoria but dropped the idea because he thought it would be confusing (because of Vic). -The two girls loved spending time with uncle Vincent and Theo -The first born favorite hobby was teasing her uncle Isaac as soon as she was old enough to talk. -"As expected of my daughter" Arthur would say as he rolls on the floor laughing. -She shared her father sharp instincts and would help him solve the cases in the city. -The second daughter was much more calm and gentle. Just like her mother. She loved her father stories but not Sherlock Holmes. Her favorite book was "The Coming  of the Fairies" -She had an almost obsession with fairies and supernatural beings. - When your daughter were both 10 and 12 years old you accidentally got pregnant again (If You think two daughters would stop Arthur you are very wrong). -This time it was the cutest baby boy with curly black hair and big blue eyes. -Your baby boy was a huge crybaby and was always stuck to his mother. He was delicate and sensitive. He cared about others well being more than anything and he dreamed of being a doctor. -When he told Arthur he was absolutely against it. He didn't want his son to go through the pain he had to endure. But as your son grew up he became less of a crybaby while still being sensitive and delicate. He showed great talent in the medical field. -"Arthur, you were alone but our son is not alone. He got us and his sisters to hug him and wipe his tears when he'll need a break. Let's support him together." you told Arthur one night and eventually his father accepted to let him live his dream.

I only did the 4 first suitors but if u want any of the others pls do tell me in the comments. I’ll make a part 2. Also since this is my very first headcanon pls tell me what u think. Don’t be too mean pls.

[emy-loves-you]

The Heat Between Us

This was written for the Sanders Sides Unpopular Ships Challenge, Day 2: Intruality!

Summary: Patton doesn’t like to be touched. But maybe he’d be ok if it was Remus touching him

Pairing: Intruality

Word Count: 2225

Warnings: Severe child neglect, child abuse, drugs, touch starvation, touch repulsion, starvation (Patton has a really bad childhood)

Patton didn’t touch people.

It’s not like he didn’t want to touch people. Well, for a while it wasn’t. When Patton was little, he loved the idea of touch. He would hug his pillows and wrap himself in blankets, pretending that he was getting the bestest hug ever. He would hold his own hand and giggle, imagining that he was shaking someone else’s hand.

He would cry in bed at night, a new bruise on his cheek, wondering why he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Patton wasn’t allowed to do a lot of things. He couldn’t leave his room (“Why do you need to leave? We give you food every day, and you have your own bathroom. You don’t need more, you ungrateful brat!”), he couldn’t ask for more food (“Stop being so greedy! We fed you yesterday! Are you calling me a liar?!”), he couldn’t tell anyone anything. That last rule seemed redundant, since Patton never actually saw anyone, but he followed it anyway.

But the rule that made him sad was the no-touch rule.

Patton didn’t get to actually see people often- only when they remembered to feed him or clean his laundry- but they hated it when Patton touched them. They would scream and yell and hit him until he was begging them to go away. After a while, Patton only associated ‘touch’ with ‘pain.’

When Patton was 10, he was surprised to find someone other than them (he didn’t actually know their names, but he refused to call them his mom and dad) kick open the door. Patton vaguely recognized the thing in their hand as gun-weapon-hurt and whimpered, running to hide in the bathroom. There wasn’t a lock on the bathroom door, but the person seemed to realize that Patton was not happy right now, so they stayed outside and talked to him through the door.

After a while of one-sided talking, Patton was eventually coaxed out of the bathroom. The police officer (Patton had been panicking too much to remember their name) reached out to touch him and he flinched, already wanting to run back to the bathroom. When they asked if he was hurt, Patton shook his head (rule number 3: don’t tell them anything) and asked if they could not touch him.

Patton learned that the people who took care of him were drug dealers, and no one knew that they had a son. They had been arrested a few days ago (his painfully empty stomach agreed with that), and the officer was checking the house for any incriminating evidence when they stumbled upon Patton’s locked door.

They asked Patton a lot of questions, but Patton refused to answer. He might have broken a rule by leaving his room, but he wasn’t going to break the rest of them. And besides, he didn’t trust them with how many times they tried to touch him. They already made him get looked at by a doctor, and he was nearly sobbing in pain by the end of it. Every touch felt like he was on fire, and it hurt almost as much as getting hit.

After that, Patton was sent to some foster homes. Homes, plural, because no one seemed to want Patton for more than a few weeks before sending him back, wanting nothing to do with him. It was probably because Patton wanted nothing to do with them either. He was used to being alone, only seeing people on the cracked TV in his room. So when these people wanted him to talk to them about things he’d never heard, play games that he’d never played before, or even touch him, he didn’t give them smiles and ‘thank yous.’ Instead, he screamed and cried and ran away, finding tiny places to curl up and hide.

Eventually, he was sent to a family that understood that he didn’t want to be touched. Lydia and Samantha Heart were okay with Patton not wanting to be touched. They didn’t force him to spend time with them other than meals (so they knew he was eating enough), but they always offered him a chance to spend time with them, doing whatever he wanted. It was… baffling, to have someone understand, but Patton was happy with it. They started fostering him when he was 13 and fully adopted him when he was almost 15.

Patton eventually became used to his new life. He learned that he loved to draw, since it let him express things that he didn’t know how to write. He liked to draw things that he saw on the cracked TV in his old room, like fairies and princesses. He spent a lot of time hiding away in his room, but now he spends more time out in the living room with his new parents. He liked to call them ‘Madre’ and ‘Momma.’ Madre taught him how to make different desserts and Momma taught him how to knit and crochet. He was struggling to catch up with his ‘school’ work (he didn’t understand why he needed it, he’d never gone to ‘school’ before and most of the work seemed pointless) but they were helping him a lot through homeschooling, with Madre teaching him math and science while Momma taught him history and english.

But even after all of that, Patton didn’t want to be touched. After he started calling them his moms, he tried letting them touch him to make them happy. Casual touches made him flinch, kisses made him hiss, and hugs made him ready to cry. It was painful and he hated it. After a few weeks of trying, his moms let it drop. They weren’t going to force Patton through that. So, Patton never touched anyone. And for a long time, he was fine with that.

But then the Princes moved in next door, and suddenly everything changed.

Mr and Mrs Prince weren’t very interesting, but they were still better than most people Patton had interacted with. Mrs Prince’s smile seemed genuine, and Mr Prince didn’t get upset when Patton didn’t shake his hand. They had two children, a pair of identical twins named Roman and Remus. They were both a year older than Patton, and they went to the local highschool just under a mile away. They were both dramatic and constantly happy, loving to tell stories to anyone who would listen. Some people might say that they were impossible to tell apart, but to Patton they were easy to tell apart (or, more accurately, they were easy to tell apart when they were around Patton).

Patton wasn’t a very big fan of Roman. He was loud, and prideful, and touchy. He liked to yell and draw attention to himself, and Patton hated the second-hand attention he got from hanging out with Roman in public. Roman was also a physically affectionate person, always giving people pats on the back or pulling them into a hug. And while he understood that Patton didn’t like to be touched, physical affection was so natural for Roman that he tended to forget until he was already touching him. That doesn’t mean that Patton disliked Roman, far from it actually. He just preferred it if they weren’t in public together. And have a good amount of distance between them.

Remus was different. He was the quieter twin, for one. He didn’t yell, he didn’t like to draw attention to himself (unless he was messing with Roman), and unlike Roman, Remus understood that the world wasn’t just black and white. Roman’s stories always had a clear hero and villain, where the hero never did wrong and the villain was always irredeemable. But Remus knew that the world didn’t work that way, and the stories he told reflected that. He also understood how much it hurt Patton to be touched, but that he didn’t want people to avoid him like the plague. He always made sure to be as close as physically possible to Patton without touching him, and if he ever needed to touch something near Patton he always told him so they wouldn’t accidentally touch. Other than the one instance where Remus had to push Patton out of the way of a rogue frisbee, they had never touched before. And that was fine. Perfect, even. Until today

Right on the property line between the two houses was a large sycamore tree. Every afternoon, Remus would climb the tall tree and lay amongst its branches as if they were his throne. Patton would always sit at the base of the tree, nestled between its roots. He would look up at the older teen and try to ignore the blush on his cheeks. He was sure by now that he had a crush on Remus, but he would never tell anyone that, especially Remus. After all, who could ever love someone that doesn’t want to be touched?

So every day, Patton would sit under this tree, listening to his crush share his stories. They were dark, and disturbing, usually sad with no concise ending. Most people hated Remus’ stories, so he never told them to anyone outside of Patton. Patton loved his stories. He’d grown up without being taught about empathy or ‘good always triumphs over evil.’ Roman’s stories, like most stories, tended to assume that the audience would naturally emphathize with the characters, which Patton just couldn’t do. Remus knew this, and his stories gave Patton a reason to feel for the characters. They weren’t just random characters that did good because it was the ‘right thing.’ They did it for revenge, or love, or their own selfish goals. And to Patton, it made sense. He understood why he needed to care about these characters, and in a way, it helped him realize why he cared about the teen that came up with them.

One day, Patton was at the bottom of the tree, sketching the afternoon sun while Remus told his story, when the older boy paused. “It looks a lot better from up here.”

Patton frowned, looking up. “What does?”

Remus shrugged. “The sky. The landscape. Everything looks better from up here.” He looked down at Patton and smirked. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Patton blushed and looked away. “But I don’t know how to climb a tree.” He never had a need to climb anything before, and while he could probably climb something like a ladder, there was no way he could climb a tree without help. And ‘help’ meant ‘pull up,’ and that meant ‘touch,’ and Patton did not want to have a panic attack today.

Remus chuckled. “I’ve solved that part. Walk around the tree.” Patton got up and made his way to the back of the tree, where a blue and white rope ladder hung from its branches. “I asked Dad to set it up yesterday while you were at the doctor. Now you can climb the tree with me!”

Patton giggled and hastily climbed the rope ladder, joining Remus up in the tree’s branches. He was right; the sunset was breathtaking from up here. They sat up there for hours just talking about whatever came to mind. Patton loved having these conversations with Remus. He had been trapped alone in that room for so long, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Patton always felt bad after his first foster family told him not to share those thoughts, since they weren’t normal. They were weird, and disturbing, and Patton constantly tried to forget that they ever existed. But with Remus he didn’t have to. With Remus he could say whatever popped up in his mind without fear of being ridiculed. It was nice, and sometimes during these talks Remus would give him a smile that made his entire heart melt.

The sun was setting as they sat next to each other in the tree, laughing and telling fantastical stories. Their shoulders brushed slightly as Remus doubled over with laughter and Patton shuddered at the warmth. Usually the warmth hurt, usually it burned and made him hurt for hours afterwards. But this was different. Now, his heart was warmer than Remus’s touch, and for the first time in years, Patton wanted someone to touch him. Specifically, he wanted Remus to touch him. Remus, the person Patton trusted most in this world.

“Pat?” Patton looked up at Remus, who was still facing the sunset. “I…” He took a deep breath and turned to face Patton. If Patton had been anyone else, he was sure Remus would’ve taken his hand. “I think I love you.”

Patton’s heart both soared and shattered at the same time. “How could you love someone that you can’t touch?”

Remus chuckled. “I would gladly go a thousand years without touching anyone ever again, if it meant I could keep staring at your beautiful face for a few minutes.”

Patton blushed and looked away. Before he could second-guess himself, Patton laid his hand on top of Remus’. It burned, and Patton’s immediate instinct was to pull away, but he didn’t move, relishing in the warmth he felt. “I think I’d like to try. To touch.”

Remus smiled brightly, like Patton had just told him that he’d won a million dollars. “We’ll take it at your pace, okay? Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Patton nodded, looking off at the sunset. “Remus?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-princess @artsy-enby09 @girl-who-reads @drarrymalecsolangelo @count-woe-laf

[sgwrscrsh]

double double miya style: the epilogue

☁️a/n☁️ here we are, at the end of another series. writing this hit home extra hard since i’ve gone through something similar the last couple of months. but enough about me. please enjoy the final installment of double double, miya style: the series.

cw: implicit character deaths

“i still remember when we brought you home from this same hospital.”

“seems like it was so long ago. you were all just little babies that barely fit in our arms.”

three of the younger adults standing around the room shake their heads asynchronously. 

"don't embarrass us like that, mom," ryuki says despite the sad smile spreading across his face.

"what's wrong with being a little nostalgic? we're all family here."

“speaking of which, where is your sister?”

“she said she was gonna be a little late since practice ran long. you know how it is for d1 athletes getting ready for the olympics,” ryo pipes up, pocketing his phone. “it’s a good thing we close shop on sundays.”

“and whose genius idea was that?”

“oh, shut up about taking credit already, umi,” hana teases, shutting the door behind her. “we get it, you have a degree in business management.”

“it only took him three major changes to finally make up his mind,” her twin quips without missing a beat. 

“yea well, better late than never. ryo wouldn’t have been able to run both branches without me. he’s only good in the kitchen. not as good as my wife, of course, but good enough to keep customers coming, i suppose,” takumi places a sweet kiss on her lips and pulls away with a smile. 

“that’s not what your boys said last time they stopped by for lunch, right, little dudes?” ryo leans down to offer his three identical nephews each a fist bump in turn.

“don’t try to steal my boys. my precious niece and nephew will get jealous.”

“it’s okay, uncle takumi. we’re used to it by now.”

“yea, at least dad can feed us properly.”

“hey! i can cook some stuff,” takumi huffs. 

the two brothers who lay in their beds chuckled weakly as they listen to the familiar squabble, drawing the attention of the family around them. their gazes turned from amused to sad as their wives, children, and grandchildren took in their time-withered forms.

“anyway, i don’t know how you guys manage your busy jobs on top of your home lives. i just barely figured out how to balance work with my relationship. i mean, it does help that they’re on the team with me.”

“i mean, dad did it,” ryo points out, slinging his arms around his adopted children happily. “so did uncle tsumu.”

“exactly.” takumi’s boys swat at his hands mussing their hair, uncaring of their father’s soft smile. “but i can’t imagine how you do it as a single dad.”

“i had a lot of help before the divorce. she was just set on a different path from me, but she was still an amazing mother.”

“i’m sure you’d make a great mom, too, hana,” ryuki says. “huh, sweetie?” his wife nods in agreement, bouncing their young daughter in her arms. “though, being an exhibit curator for the museum lets me work from home most days. can’t really imagine the volleyball association could figure out a way for you to do the same.”

“yea, but i don’t think i’ll be ready for a family any time soon anyway.”

“you know,” atsumu takes you all by surprise when he croaks out his advice, waving away all of the concern when his frail body racks with coughs. “i didn’t think i was either. but when your mom told me she was pregnant, i was over the moon. nothing in the world made me happier than when you and your brother were born. look at you now. i couldn’t have asked for better kids.”

his words bring more tears to the eyes in the room than the retired setter knows, his wife taking his hand in hers and resting her forehead against it as her shoulders shake with sobs. not one to be outdone, his brother peels his eyes open to glance around the room before settling on his own sons and their kids. 

“and i couldn’t have left the shop in better hands either. i’m glad you took your time to figure out what you wanted to do with your lives. you’ve made me so proud,” osamu reaches out to run his thumb under his wife’s eye, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “we did good, love.”

her hands come up to clasp his against her wet cheek, “we sure did. do you still remember what their first words were?”

osamu shuts his eyes again and hums, “it was one word with a joint effort. and it just had to be onigiri of all things.”

“samu would not shut up about it for weeks,” his older twin makes chuckles rise around the room. 

“you weren’t much better when hana first said ‘dada,’ tsumu,” he scoffs.

“at least ryuki made my whole year when he made ‘mama’ his first word.” 

“remember when dad taught us how to make onigiri for mother’s day?”

“at least one of us picked up the culinary skills that run in our family.”

“and between us two, one of us got the more athletic genes, too.”

“i’m happy with my simple life and job and family, thank you very much. besides, i distinctly remember being way better than you at volleyball when we were growing up.”

“that’s not what i remember! you sucked at serving, ryu! you’d always hit the net during youth club practice.”

“nuh uh!”

“you know, i think i remember the same thing, hana.”

“why are you all ganging up on me?”

between the bickering and the reminiscing, only their wives notice the content smiles spreading across the oldest twins’ faces, each of them grasping their hands tightly as tears stream ceaselessly down their weathered cheeks. and only they hear the words whispered their husbands’ parting breaths.

“i had the better life.”

xv. || mlist

taglist: @lovemeafterhrs @sachirou-senpai-taglist @honey-makki @kenmaki @inarizakied @aruhappy @goodpop9 @tris-does-stuff @its-the-aerieljeane @callmekda @navymacaroons @tinystarks @luckypartyranchmug @chibichab @bjbex @heauxzenji @anejuuuuoy @semi-g0th @lets-go-datehoe @tsukkisfatsimp @newfriendjen @bigdickdaichi

final notes: to my moots, thank you for being such amazing people. you never fail to inspire me to improve and write more.

to my taglist loves, thank you for every comment, reblog, and like you've left on every chapter of this baby. i hope the epilogue has lived up to your expectations.

to all my readers, thank you for all your support whenever the algorithm happens to drop my content on your dash. you all have my heart.

join my general taglists for future content ♡

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die

TITLE: Many More To Die

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: For over a thousand years, necromancy has been forbidden in the Kingdoms, the Necromata--its practitioners--feared, reviled, and punished for a power they never asked to wield. Those Necromata who are not killed in the cradle are taken from their families, stripped of their Name--the core of identity and memory--and imprisoned for the rest of their lives.

Logan was twelve when he entered the palace dungeons. Prince Roman was fourteen when he witnessed the young necromancer being brutalized, imprisoned, and left to suffer.

Roman only wanted to offer the other boy comfort, and perhaps a scrap of dignity. He didn't realize his kindness would follow both of them into adulthood--or that Logan would one day become the only person in all the realms that Roman would be able to trust with his life, his heart, and his very soul.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more...hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1023, A.A.

Necromata.

Sitting in the middle of his cell, twelve year old Logan...Logan choked on tears as his shoulder screamed, his bones ached, and the flickering lights of his cell let his imagination run wild with all manner of monsters and omens of doom lurking within every shadow.

He knew he was lucky—many necromancers were caught in the cradle and killed. Very few survived as long as he had. He could be grateful to his family for that much, that he'd lived long enough to escape a death sentence.

He did have a family. He knew that much—remembered that much. Everything else, they had taken before throwing him into his cell. The prison mage's hand was still a ghost of cold fire against his forehead, worms of icy coal burning through his brain to wipe out every trace of the things that would make him what he was, allow him to be more safely contained.

The name spoken with fear and loathing was all that he had left.

Necromata. The legions of the Animator...the necromancers.

“Psst!”

The hiss echoed off the stone in the corridor, made his heart leap into his chest as he looked around for the source of it.

“Psst! Over here!”

Logan tried to scramble back from the door of his cell, and screamed when he forgot about his dislocated shoulder, collapsing as it gave way under his weight.

“No, don't—please, it's okay. I don't want to hurt you.”

Blinking, Logan squinted into the low light beyond the torches that barely lit his new home. Something bright green flickered there, an outline visible that was vaguely person-shaped.

“Who...who are you?” he asked, curling his injured arm as close to his body as he could so he wouldn't forget again as he got to his feet.

“I...I'm not supposed to say.”

Logan shuffled a little closer to the bars of his cell. “Then how do I know you don't want to hurt me?”

“The prison mage took your Name—you won't understand if I tell you. Just...”

The person-shape on the other side of the bars moved forward, an arm protruding through to set a bowl on the dirt floor of Logan's cell. Inside there was water, and sitting across the rim was a heavy piece of leather.

“I saw what the guard did when you came in. Your shoulder...it happened to me once when I snuck out to hunt for the Lazari.”

“The Lazari don't exist.” Logan replied, reaching up with his good hand to try and wipe some of the tears and snot off his face. “They're a fairy tale, like the Animata.”

“How do you know?”

Logan opened his mouth...then closed it after long moments.

“I...I don't know.” he admitted. “I must have lost it when the prison mage took my Name.”

“Then you could be wrong.” the person-shape insisted, those emerald flecks in the near shadow sparkling with determination. “I'll find a Lazari one day. Just you wait.”

“What does that have to do with my dislocated shoulder?”

“Oh! Sorry—uhm, I did it once. When I snuck out, I fell from a tree and mine popped out. My brother showed me how to use the bars on our window to pop it back in! I threw up, though—and he made me bite a belt so I wouldn't scream.”

The hand appeared between the bars again, nudging the bowl and the leather strap forward a little further.

“I can tell you how to do it.”

Logan shuffled forward a couple more steps, then shifted to kneel in front of the bowl of water.

“I...might know.” He replied, staring at the bowl for a long moment before he peered back into the dark, into the green spark that was his benefactor's eyes. “Thank you.”

The person-shape said nothing for a long moment...

“Berry.”

“What?”

“Berry! The guards called you Logan, right? They took your Name—maybe Berry can be your new one.”

Before Logan could comment, the person-shape grew less distinct, and the flicker of green was gone with the clatter of footsteps scurrying away into the dark.

It was a silly idea—a Name taken could not be restored so easily. Still, the word rattled around in his head along with the one that made his bones ache again.

Necromata. Berry. Necromata. Berry. Berry.

Logan Berry.

Something stirred in the middle of Logan's mind, in his marrow—in the place that magic had scoured out and rubbed raw within the pathways of his brain. Something stirred, settled...

Something slid into place, and all of a sudden the shadows were far less frightening.

Popping his shoulder back into the socket hurt far more than dislocating it had—and yet while he'd sobbed his soul out after being injured, after being robbed of all that made him a person, he shed not a single tear as he put the leather between his teeth, wrenched his joint back into place, and used the fresh water to clean up after he'd emptied his stomach into the corner of his cell.

He even managed to sleep on his pallet of straw, and dreamed of green embers in the dark, drifting into the shadows in his cell and transforming every monster into a friend.

**********

1033, A.A.

“I had the dream again.”

“A kinky one?”

“Sweet leaping gods, Remus!”

The high, strident cackle of his twin brother echoed through Prince Roman's bedchamber, making him wonder yet again why he thought he could talk to the crazy idiot about anything remotely meaningful. Yes, Remus was trustworthy—he gave Roman all manner of hell for the secrets he shared, but had suffered his fair share of indignities to keep his mouth shut—but sometimes he wondered if it was worth the teasing and the laughter to have such a steadfast confidant.

Remus had secrets of his own, after all—the numerous Anima that shared his bed, for one. Like Roman, Remus was fascinated by the Necromata, the true necromancers that all citizens of the Kingdoms were taught to hate and fear. The Anima were little more than pretenders, mages of other disciplines that toyed with the death magic that had been outlawed for over a thousand years.

Still, they had a lot to teach—and made good company, from the way Remus spoke of his dalliances.

“Oh, I'm just yanking your chain, big brother!” Remus assured him, crossing over to drape himself over Roman's back, chin settling on Roman's shoulder to read what his twin was writing as he hunched over his desk. “C'mon now—tell me about the dream, and I'll tell you about the Necromata I fucked last night.”

Roman straightened abruptly at that, unceremoniously sending Remus sprawling to the floor. Turning his chair, he gaped down at his brother and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You did not sleep with a real necromancer, you lying sack of horse dung!” he hissed. “Why would you even say that in the palace of all places?!?”

“Because the sex was unbelievably good?” Remus offered, shrugging from his place on the floor, flat on his back. “Believe me, Ro Bro, a guy that can't actually feel human contact can keep it up for a nice, long, slow roll in the hay. It's pretty remarkable!”

Roman just huffed, standing from his seat—and promptly sinking to the floor to sprawl out right beside Remus.

“You're lying.” he said simply.

Remus was quiet a long time...then sighed.

“Of course I am. He was just another Animata.”

“Anima. The Animata are a myth, like the Lazari.”

“Since when did you turn into such a brainiac, Roro? We both know I've always been the smart one.”

Roman rolled his eyes with a grin, stretching his leg to kick Remus's ankle—but the truth of the matter was, Remus was right. Between the pair of them, Remus was smarter by leaps and bounds. He was studying the collegiate sciences when he was seventeen, and began his magic training before he'd even reached puberty. The fact that the only part of the sciences he enjoyed were anatomy and mortuary study were entirely besides the point, as was the fact that Remus wasn't actually capable of using magic at all.

He was, as their father lovingly put it, a rogue genius: in possession of an intellect so massive that the rules couldn't restrain him. He either knew too well how to circumnavigate them, or he simply didn't care enough to bother and did what he wanted—what he thought was right, no matter the consequence.

Roman might have been the elder of the twins—by one hour, eleven o'clock of one night where Remus came at midnight the next morning—but he aspired, every single day, to be the maverick that Remus was. He simply lacked the brains...and the courage.

Which was why today, it was Roman their father would be naming as his successor, and not Remus. Roman would be king, would rule by the law and the will of the gods, and Remus would...get to be Remus for the rest of his life, a crown prince without a care in the world.

“Tell me about the dream, Roro.”

Remus's voice was gentle this time, his fingers walking their way along Roman's arm until he could find his hand and weave it into his own.

Roman sighed, staring up at the mural on the ceiling of his bedchamber—a beautifully wrought depiction of the Fall of Death, the final battle between the Animator, the first of the Necromata, and their ancestor, King Thomas Andres, that had saved the Kingdoms over a thousand years ago.

“He was in it.”

“The boy from the dungeons?”

Roman nodded. He could feel Remus watching him...

Just like he could feel the boy from the dungeons watching him every time he had the dream... ********** “He was here again.”

“Jumpin' Jiminy, Lo—are you sure?”

Logan nodded, mostly to himself. Patton couldn't see him, not from the bathtub behind the partition that separated it from the rest of the room, but it hardly mattered—after eight years as cell mates, the two of them had become as close as brothers, as close as twins according to some of the guards that had met the king's identical twin sons.

They had grown so naturally into the relationship, it made Logan wonder sometimes if he'd had a brother before his Name had been taken.

Well...it made him wonder in the early days, at any rate. Logan had stopped wondering many years ago.

Suffice to say, Patton didn't need to see him nod to know that Logan had.

“Well? What'd he do?”

Logan let his mind wander back to the night before—the dream space that he so often occupied, the boy that had come to him in the dark ten years before with a bowl of water, a leather strap, and a name.

The boy he'd come to think of as the Green Man, with those eyes that the dark couldn't fully hide.

“The same thing he always does.” Logan managed to reply, setting down the pen he'd been using in favor of resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers to press against his lips. Among those Necromata imprisoned in the palace dungeons, Logan was quite fortunate: he was allowed a cell mate, access to books and writing implements, even a small window sill garden consisting of plants that couldn't be used for magical purposes.

He was very lucky. Ten years of good behavior had given him an incredible amount of leeway and granted him creature comforts like access to regular bathing privileges. The guards even referred to him by his chosen name.

He was, for all intents and purposes, treated like he was truly human. A prisoner, always, but one the guards and prison mages shared a basic blood connection to, unlike the other Necromata.

“...Lo?...Logan!”

Shaking himself, Logan cleared his throat and tried to beat back the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks, having been caught wool gathering.

“Apologies, I didn't catch that.” he called over his shoulder.

“I said, did he say anything this time?”

Logan shook his head, knowing once again that his actions would be understood rather than seen. Patton asked the same thing every time Logan mentioned the visits, and every time it was the same.

If Patton really knew the content of the Green Man's visitations...

Pressing his fingertips to his mouth again, Logan shut his eyes and let himself remember.

The visits were always in a dream space—for years, before the visitations became more regular, Logan had assumed the Green Man was a guard's son, or the child of some member of the palace staff. Later, when the Green Man came to Logan in his sleep, he figured he was the son of a prison or court mage—who else could manage to dream walk in the mind of even a crippled necromancer like him?

Then again...Logan was different from many prisoners like himself.

In the dream, Logan still cannot see his face. Like those ephemeral dreams from his first few nights in the dungeons, he's little more than shadows with burning points of light the color of fresh shoots just springing from the soil. Over the years, he's become more distinct, but still nothing Logan can give any real definition.

He is a man made of darkness, his eyes reflecting what spark of magic lives within him. They never speak to each other—Logan never dares, secretly apprehensive that disturbing the quiet will somehow end this irregular communion they share.

All the Green Man does is extend a hand, the only part of him Logan can truly see. What was once small and slim fingered has changed over the years into a large hand, broad but lean, tendons standing out below each knuckle and tanned by exposure to the sun. Every time, he reaches out, and every time, Logan takes his hand and just...holds on.

In the dream space, Logan can feel his touch. It's likely a projection, something imagined, but there's strength and warmth in that hand—the pressure of fingers meshing with his own, the heat of palm sealed to palm. There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...

The Green Man never lets him. Gradually, the feeling passes, and Logan clings until the feeling returns, crashing over him and sliding back in waves beating the shore of his nervous system.

Logan is always the first to let go. The Green Man makes sure of it—and then he leaves.

“Are you okay, kiddo?”

Logan looked up sharply, twisting to see Patton over his shoulder. His mop of tawny curls is swept back from his face, still dark and wet from his bath, the chill of the cell raising gooseflesh on his bare torso.

He has one hand holding the towel around his waist, and the other resting on Logan's shoulder.

The pressure is barely there, that buzzing awareness of contact easily missed if not expected.

Patton hastily lifts his hand, face screwed up in silent apology. Logan dislikes physical contact, even if he cannot feel it—just like any of the Necromata, so divorced from the living, human populous that they cannot even connect to them through touch.

“Didn't mean to spook you, Lo. Just...you're real quiet. Usually, you got more to say after a visit from You Know Who.”

Logan nodded, then made a point of reaching out to squeeze Patton's hand briefly before letting it go just as quickly.

“Apologies. I suppose I'm just...distracted by today.”

“Yeah—hey, you think the prince'll come down here?” Patton asked hopefully, drawing back to go and find some clothes. “I mean, if he's gonna learn to be king after the ceremony...”

Logan let Patton continue to chatter about the potential for this new ruler to somehow see their plight, somehow be their salvation. He let the words, the hope, wash over him without making contact.

Patton could have hope, because he had no Name. No history, no memory, no past and therefore no future. He was a blank slate, for all intents and purposes, unable to access the power of the Necromata with no life of his own to bind it to.

Unlike Logan. Logan, who no longer wondered if he'd had a brother in his family.

Logan, who could share a dream space, something only mages were capable of.

Logan, who had been given a new name by his benefactor so many years ago, a name that others used daily.

Logan Berry, who even now could feel the essence of every rat behind the dungeon walls, every guard on patrol, every prisoner languishing beneath the lowest floors of the palace...and every noble, every royal, every peasant up above.

Logan Berry, who could not remember his family, but could remember that he once had a brother.

Because, despite the fact that a Name taken could not be restored so easily, Logan had taken a name freely given and made it his own.

A Name, freely given. A life, restored.

Logan could not have hope, because he had the power of the Necromata at his fingertips—and it was only a matter of time before good behavior would no longer be enough to earn him the leeway to stay alive.

[palmett-hoes]

How do you feel about the Korean twinyards hc?

i like it fine, certainly more than white minyards, and i think it would establish a deeper layer of conflict between andrew and riko that could be interesting to explore

Uneasy Subconscious by maydaykevin on ao3 has the twins as korean. it's one of the few fics i've read that really uses the idea of the foxes as POC and delves into racial dynamics. i especially appreciate that each chapter follows a different fox, and they all get their own storyline as part of an interconnected plot. it's a good fic and i highly recommend checking it out, though cw for alcohol, some kissing/heavy petting, some internalized homophobia, and racist language (ch.6, racist gets knocked out cold)

---

that being said, korean isn't really my favorite headcanon for the twins.

(this first bit is gonna be purely my personal opinions and take on the character. i'm not getting into any systematic analysis yet.)

to be clear, i don't see kpop idols as representative of all koreans. HOWEVER i do think there's a pretty good chance that a korean interpretation of the twins (especially written by a white person) would take a lot of inspiration from kpop idols, considering their worldwide popularity makes them accessible touchstones of Korean culture to most people, and because they often have bleach blond hair. so while i don't necessarily have anything against the twins as Korean, i just don’t imagine andrew looking anything like an idol. i see him as fat and muscular and not conventionally attractive, and that’s just not the way big name idols look.

one of my favorite andrew FCs is Toshiyuki “Harold” Sakata, an olympic weightlifter and professional wrestler most famous for playing Oddjob in the James Bond movie Goldfinger.

now to me, Sakata is basically the perfect andrew, (although i don't hc andrew as Japanese). in terms of presence and physicality, he's boxy, powerful, blank, and intimidating. i also do think he's handsome, but not in a conventional way, if that makes sense

idk i just want to establish a concrete reference point for when i discuss people's appearances, and i absolutely love Sakata

---

now for the bits that aren't entirely my personal taste

this would be very different coming from a korean person, or really any asian person in general, because then it would come from a place of personal experience and understanding. however, i am white, and with that i need to do a lot of research and introspection if i want to write characters of color meaningfully

some of that is addressing internal biases about the ethnicity that you're headcanoning a character, like whether or not there are overt or harmful stereotypes you're playing into by writing andrew as korean. (i don't really think there are). but another thing to consider is 'why korean?' specifically 'why korean?' over any other asian ethnicity

it's a bit tricky to describe because by no means is any asian ethnicity overrepresented in western media, but what is represented focuses largely on light skinned east asians, mostly Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. asia is a massive and incredibly diverse continent, and i think for white people (especially, though not exclusively) looking to diversify your writing, it’s a good idea to do a little more general research first. Ethnicities from South, South-East, and Central Asia are all wildly underrepresented as well.

Is there something particular about Korean culture or Korean history that you feel resonates with the twins’ story? then i'd love to see them interpreted as korean!! but if not then consider learning more about other asian cultures, especially if (like me) you're deliberately looking to write meaningful diversity of underrepresented people.

---

and then there’s the question of how to actually write the twins as korean. we know enough about their family that it doesn’t work to just make a quick change and include some Korean cultural reference points. there are a lot of things to consider. (i’m using Korean here because it’s the ask, but these questions and considerations apply for writing the twins as any ethnicity)

first off. who’s korean? i’m assuming for most people it would be the twins’ dad while tilda is white, making the twins mixed. did aaron have a relationship with his father at all? does he even know who his father is? does he even know he’s Korean? culture is built and taught and experienced, it’s not something you’re born knowing. you need to have a backstory for aaron and the twins’ parents to figure out the amount of Korean influence aaron would have. can he speak the language? did he grow up eating the food? does he celebrate the holidays? did he grow up around other Korean people? deciding yes or no to any of these doesn’t make him any more or less Korean, but it does influence his characterization and his story. culture goes hand and hand with community. if aaron was a mixed kid raised completely by a white mother then it doesn’t make sense for him to speak the language or any of the other traditional hallmarks of Korean identity. he’s still Korean, but what that means to him - if it means anything to him - is very different

but what if it’s not just the twins’ father? names like ‘Hemmick’ and ‘Minyard’ obviously aren’t traditionally Korean names, but it may be worth figuring out a backstory for them anyway. there could still be a Korean story there to be told

and then there’s andrew. andrew given up at birth and raised from day 1 in the foster care system would have absolutely no conception of his ethnicity at all. he wouldn’t even know he was Korean. there are a lot of decisions you have to make to write this. is andrew white passing? in which case he wouldn’t even know he’s asian until aaron tells him so, which could be a huge shock to him. if he’s not white passing then what does he look like? this could affect the way he was treated growing up. a lot of mixed asian kids look very ethnically ambiguous. if so, andrew could have been treated similarly ambiguously, and could form an identity that is more fluid and based heavily on the person perceiving him. if he looks like his asian parent(s) then he could have been treated as an asian person, but he would have no connections to a specific ethnic culture, and this would be very apparent to a kid who is treated as an asian person. there is no pan-asian culture in the way that there’s a Black culture or a Latino culture. National and ethnic identities are more separate and defined because asia wasn’t displaced by european colonialism in the same way that Africa and the Americas were. if andrew sees himself as asian this lack of a specific connection could be very obvious to him. if he doesn’t see himself as asian this could be less so. but any way you write andrew, as any ethnicity, you’re going to have to consider this lack of knowledge about himself as being hugely influential on the development of his identity.

.

.

edit: i got an anon informing me that some of my wording up above comes off as rather dismissive and generalizing of Black and Latino culture. it wasn't my intention but it's badly worded and can certainly be read that way, and for that i'm sorry. i go more in depth on the problem and what i actually meant in the post

[from-ib-to-asshai]

WIP WEDNESDAY- I see you down on your knees

Arya should like to imagine that Frey blood is different then other blood. Maybe that the smell is more putrid, or that the liquid more viscous. Perhaps even a different color; more brown. Dirty blood would be fitting for such a dirty, rotten family.

But this isn’t the case. Despite all odds, the blood of the Frey men is almost lovely; she doesn’t clean the blood out from under her fingernails for weeks in a futile hope to keep it there forever. It’s color seemed so bright in the candlelight of the Twins’ kitchen, runny and red like the wine she’d serve to the other family members later on. It was almost indescribable how it felt to watch it.

It was meant for her, she realized. Arya was meant to bleed men like them just like the sun was meant to rise in the east. It was destiny.

At night sometimes, Arya would shake with anticipation at the thought of Cersei Lannister’s blood. Would it be just as wonderful? Even more so? The expression on Cersei’s face would be of no matter to her because all that matters was her blood, because blood was her life force and Arya would weep with joy to have the chance to rip her life out of her, Needle forgotten at her side as she would instead dig it all out with her bare hands, the squelching sounds of flesh and muscle and blood combined with the cracking of bones would-

Oh. She’s getting ahead of herself again, isn’t she. 

Sansa stares at her from across the table, obviously still waiting for an answer.

“I’ve been around,” she said, “Surviving. Training. Hiding.” She shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.” If Arya hadn’t been trained so well, she would've missed the almost imperceptible narrowing of her sisters eyes.

“I see.”

A pause.

“What about you?”

There was another pause, and Arya saw something in Sansa’s demeanor change - not for the better. On guard. Jaqen would have hit her for her mistake; Now Sansa either thought she was mocking her, since wherever she had been was obviously public knowledge, or her sister now knows that she’d spent the last years out of Westeros.

Jaqen would have hit her for it, the Waif would have beat her for it, Sansa now distrusts her for it. Arya just cursed herself for it instead.

“Lord Baelish got me out of King’s Landing,” the redhead began smoothly, ringing her hands together on her lap, “I was hidden in the Vale for a while(...)”

The silence between them was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply a reminder that they were essentially strangers, weren’t they, after so many years apart. Sansa was beautiful, sitting on the simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, back straight, hands folded and head held evenly as not to disturb the non-existent crown that rested upon it. Her red hair neatly braided and her face illuminated by the low fire, her displeased expression was identical to the one she’d given Arya almost every day growing up. This realization stopped her in her tracks. 

She tilted her head. No, it couldn´t be. Couldn´t it? They wouldn't have sent someone to Winterfell this fast, they couldn't have. Oh, but they could have. They could have gotten to Winterfell in the time she was in The Twins, they could have taken it over, they could have taken her sister's face. 

They had reasons too.

The House had reasons to be angry with Arya Stark, and they had the resources to tear her down, to kill her. All the shattered promises, all the ignored oaths, all the broken rules. But why? Revenge? That wasn’t their style, really; hadn’t that been the whole point? The lesson that Jaqen H’Ghar had tried to teach her, that The Waif had tried to beat into her?

We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces…

A lesson. That would be a motive. That would be a reason to kill and impersonate Sansa Stark. Maybe they needed more servants for the god then she’d thought. Maybe they wanted her back. Maybe-

The door creaks open. 

She flinches, instinctively tracing the outline of the hidden knife beneath the sleeve of her tunic with her hand. The door opens too slow for it to be an attacker, the footsteps too loud for an assassin, she knows -- but flinches anyway.

Petyr Baelish looks different then from when she last saw him. Perhaps older, perhaps more weary.The last time she had seen him had been years ago after all,  No, thats not it; he looks smaller, almost like a small child dwarfed by the thick winter furs he has to wear to stay warm.

Littlefinger isn’t made for winter, she realizes. A small grin briefly twists itself over her face. His beady little eyes fixed onto her and he smiled tightly, bowing deeply in their direction. 

“My Lady Arya. It truly is wonderful to see you,” he said, taking a seat by Sansa, “When was the last time I saw you -- four, five years ago?” He says it like he doesn’t exactly know how long, which of course is a lie, seeing what kind of person Petyr Baelish is. “You were naught but a child then. I am delighted to see you have grown into a beautiful young lady, and are safely back in Winterfell.”

Are you? She thinks to herself. Outloud she says, “Yes.” 

The simple reply throws Baelish off, and he awkwardly readjusts himself in his seat. 

“You simply must tell me about what you’ve been doing all these years. No one has heard from you in years.” He trying to play with her, she knows, but she is not interested in playing his game. He is far more interested in him playing hers. The smile she wears in small and light, weightless and nonchalant. She needs to make Baelish believe she thinks she’s smarter than she is. Not to trick him later; no, like she says, she has little interest in the game of thrones. No, she needs both him and Sansa to believe she had no capabilities to kill him, that she was too dumb to try. 

She shrugs. “Same could be said for you My Lord. I hear one moment you’re working for the Lannisters, next you’re marrying into House Arryn, only to move on to the Boltons. All quite conflicting reports, really.” Her voice is soft and dispassionate. “I was hoping, that as I tell you of my travels, I’d be able to hear about yours more. Oh, you know how the smallfolk speak -- all rumors and claims -- one can never really know the truth.”

“No,” Littlefinger replied, “One truly can’t. I-”

“So I must wonder, Lord Baelish, where your loyalties really lay.”

“My loyalties are solely with your sister and House Stark, my Lady,” he said smoothly, “Any mishaps or conflicts in my actions were purely to survive and to get your family back home.” Sansa stiffened slightly beside him but said nothing.

“As Lady Sansa can surely attest to, the Vale’s armies played an important part in defeating the Boltons and securing Winterfell. The Vale has sacrificed many a moon and many a man to get us where we are today. So if my word itself isn’t enough to make you not distrust me My Lady, then at least trust my actions.” He bowed his head to her with a smile, his hand on his chest.

It took her a moment to riffle through his words to actually gain some meaning from them; Littlefinger spoke fast and spoke many words whilst saying little. But aside from the acknowledgement that his loyalties to Sansa meant more to him then any other, and the mention of how indebted the North was to the Arryns, there wasn’t much behind his words.

She’d expected more from Lord Baelish after all she’d heard. Or maybe it was on purpose - perhaps he didn’t think she-

“Of course, you should know best that I can be trusted -- After all, I never revealed your secret to anyone, all those years ago.”

Ah. There it is.

Sansa’s sharp, icy gaze pierced through her. She didn’t even have to look over to see the question burning in those pale eyes. Baelish grinned wider.

“Harrenhal was such a terrible place, wasn’t it. I can’t imagine what it must have been there -- especially under Tywin Lannister.” Arya felt herself grinding her teeth together. “I just hope you managed to get out of there before before the Mountain took over,” he continued, “But it surely would have been hard to escape unnoticed -- especially being Tywin’s personal cupbearer.”

And there it was. The kick she’d been expecting. 

Thick tension filled the room as silence took over. Baelish’s smile waned slightly, unnerved by the quiet. He’d surely been expecting some sort of revoke from her, a hurried defense, a glim of anger; even just a startled look. 

But Arya Stark did not bend to the whims of men.

Sansa's dry voice broke the moment.

“Lord Baelish, you must excuse us. It seems my sister and I have much to discuss.”

The man stood and bowed, obviously pleased with his work, and left, footsteps loud and they echoey as he descended down the hall.

“You haven’t even been here half a day and he’s already trying to cause distrust between us.” Arya looked over, surprised. Now this she hadn’t been expecting. Sansa leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples and sighing. She caught her younger sisters inquisitive gaze and smiled faintly.

“He loves doing things like this,” the redhead murmured, tracing her finger along the wood of the table, “Trying to tear families apart, causing chaos wherever he steps foot,” she huffs. “I do understand why, I am easier to manipulate when alone. That doesn’t mean he’s any less despicable.”

Arya blinked. Sansa leaned over to her, laying her hand close to hers, close enough to feel the warmth without direct touch. She appreciated that, in a strange way.

“Why don’t you just...send him away?” Sansa smiles again, and Arya thinks it’s somewhere between patronizing and affectionate. Her younger self would have gotten at the gesture, but the last time anyone had looked at her with any kind of real affection had been years ago, so she didn’t even mind getting talked down too -- For all she’d been taught in Bravos, the House had not cared to teach her about Westerosi politics. 

“Because we need the Vale’s army. We can’t afford to lose their alliance because, while Lord Royce cares little for him, if our dearest cousin hears that his lord regent and surrogate father is killed on flimsy claims of conspiracy and treason ...” Sansa paused, looking out the window. The bright grey light reflected on her blue eyes. Arya realizes, then, that she hadn’t suggested to murder him, only to remove him from Winterfell. 

No, she realizes then. This was not a faceless man trying to trick by using the face of her sister.  The amount of fury in her face, etched into the curve of her gentle smile, sparkling in her kind eyes, evident in every small nod and calm word - this is not the way of a faceless man. The subtlety of the anger, no - they would try to  be much more obvious.They would not try to conceal their resentment as effectively as Sansa did.

Arya felt a twinge of pride at that, unable to imagine how the elder Stark had become this good of a liar -- what had caused it.

Satisfied with her discoveries, she excused herself, venturing out into the old, dusty, grey halls that she had once called her home. The dark stains, the crumbling corners, the burn marks on the tapestries and the nervous maids that have quick, hurried direwolves stitched into their overcoats to distract from the pinks and reds of their skirts that they are too poor to replace.

[lantern-inthenight]

Dad Van Fleet (Headcanons)

Get ready to cry. I wrote these while listening to “Dear Theodosia” from Hamilton on repeat, so it’s maximum feels in this one. Thank you to my love @sparrowof-thedawn​ for beta-ing this <3

Jake

Appears stern but is actually putty in your daughter’s hands

Beyond protective of her, from the very beginning

But like. In a quiet, i’ll-kill-you-and-no-one-would-ever-know kinda way

Your daughter gets fussy at night, so Jake often takes her for car rides to get her to fall asleep

And then, when he lays her down in her crib, Jake stays with her and sings softly to make sure she stays fast asleep, softly rubbing her tummy

He helped your daughter take her first steps, holding her arms to keep her upright as your sat on the living room floor with a camera

He watches that video when he’s feeling down

Remember when I said he’d tell your baby goodnight every night no matter what? That didn’t change after she was born, nor did it change as she grew up

Whether it’s on the phone or in-person, your daughter will always hear “goodnight, angel. You’re so loved.”

Which probably explains how you ended up with a daddy’s girl

Jake and your daughter butt heads sometimes because they’re so similar in personality, but at the end of the day, she listens to him more than anyone

They got into an argument over something trivial but your daughter, in the throes of teenage hormones/emotions, yelled that she hated him

Jake was incredibly upset, and moped around the house until your daughter sat down next to him on the back porch steps

“Dad? I’m sorry I said I hated you. I didn’t mean it.”

Jake gave her a tight hug, and you were proud of both of them for making up on their own

“It’s okay, sweetie. I love you.”

“Even when you’re mad at me?”

“Yes. I love you always.”

He taught her how to play guitar as soon as she developed fine motor skills

Just imagine Jake sitting on the couch with your little one, quietly teaching her the different chords

“There you go, sweetie. You’re doing great! A natural.”

So it’s no surprise that she grows up incredibly involved with music, eventually learning to play several instruments and asking her Uncle Sammy to teach her piano

But she’s got natural charisma just like her daddy, so dating is an issue when she gets to that age

Jake just immediately dislikes every boy she talks about, grumbling to you when she announces that the popular boy at school asked her to junior prom

“I don’t like the look of him.” “You haven’t met him yet, babe.”

“Still though.”

You and Jake thought about having another kid, but one night changed all that

Your daughter was about two, and she was nestled between you and your husband on the couch, sleeping soundly

The TV was on low volume and you and Jake were talking quietly about the future

You each had a hand on the back of the couch, brushing knuckles, and your free hands rested on her, playing with her hair and rubbing her back

You shared a glance, and there was an immediate, unspoken truth

This is our little family. This is perfect. The best thing we ever did.

There was nothing to add. You had no more pieces of your heart left to give. Jake and your girl had stolen all of them, and you were happy to let them keep it.

Josh

When you got pregnant, you and Josh weren’t particularly adamant about finding out the sex of the baby

It didn’t really matter either way, you would decorate everything unisex anyway. Besides, surprises are fun!

So you made it a point to tell the doctor you didn’t want to know. However--

When the ultrasound technician raised his eyebrows in surprise, you freaked out for a second, your mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusion

“What’s wrong? Is the baby alright?” Josh gripped your hand, his face painted with worry

But the technician grinned and said, “The baby is fine, don’t worry. It’s just that there are two of them!”

“What?” You were in shock

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kiszka, it looks like you’re having twins!”

Josh wouldn’t stop yelling excitedly, as you very quickly realized that in a couple months, you were going to look like a balloon with legs

You decided right then that you probably didn’t need more surprises, so when the time came to be able to find out what you were having, you went in right away

God help you, it they were both boys

The sheer chaos of being outnumbered by three boys, one of whom is Josh Kiszka and the other two of whom are miniature Josh Kiszkas

Luckily, Josh was surprisingly good at co-parenting, being unafraid to discipline your sons and holding down the fort while you were at work

He managed to get both of the boys reading at an early age, always stressing to them the importance of education and understanding other cultures

His favorite part of the new daily routine is reading bedtime stories

Being who he is, Josh picks out fantastical tales to read the boys, and reads them aloud with all the voices and sound effects

He absolutely hated the twin stroller, though

Josh’s preferred method of getting around with your sons was a double papoose, one baby strapped to the front, and one on the back

He alternated which kid was on which side, so as not to offend them or make one feel left out. When he told you as much, you were very amused

When people in public would compliment the baby, Josh’s usual response was to say, “Thanks, I have two of them!” and spin around to reveal the other baby

When you went out as a unit, you put the twins in matching onesies

Josh acted like he hated it, but then you saw him come home from Target with several new sets of matching onesies

“What?” He asks, as you laugh. “They were on sale!”

When one of your sons gets pushed over by a bully at school, Josh comforts him until you get home

Wiping tears from his boy’s face, Josh whispers, “You’re safe now. I’m not going to let that happen again. Okay?”

Your son nods, and Josh hugs him tightly, cradling his head under his chin

The next day when he drops the boys off, Josh makes it a point to make eye contact with the bully and glares at him until he gets scared and runs away

Sam

You were worried Sam would freak out during the birth, which wouldn’t be good because the hospital didn’t need to deal with two panicked parents-to-be

But Samuel surprised you

When the time came to push, Sam was at your side with a calm voice and a firm grip on your hand, kissing your forehead even as you cried

Right before the baby came, you grabbed his arm, feeling that visceral fear that only comes with new parenthood

“Sam, I’m so scared.”

But he holds the back of your hand to his mouth, kissing it firmly

“I know. I am, too. But you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’re gonna be an amazing mother.”

And when your son was born, Sam cried

Because he was feeling every bit of love he’d ever missed, like a whole new sphere of heaven was opened up to him

And when he looked at you, tired and weepy, his heart felt like it might burst. Because how could one man feel so much love?

For the tiny human in his arms and the incredible woman in front of him

You and the baby immediately become Priority Number One in everything he does

Can often be found meeting Danny and his daughter at the coffee shop for some much-needed caffeine

Danny’s girl and yours and Sam’s boy are about the same age, so they have playdates

Sam also takes your son out into nature pretty much as soon as the kid can walk

Thankfully he was more willing to put shoes on the kid than on himself

You waited a few years to have another one, giving birth to a daughter when your son was about four

And Sam went through the emotions all over again, in disbelief of how much happiness he could feel

He set out right away to find things they could do together

He’d often whisk all of you away for weekends of going camping, giving your son piggyback rides up and down the trails

It was on one of these camping trips that your daughter said her first word

You were helping your son get dressed before a hike, and Sam was bouncing her on his knee by the remains of the previous night’s campfire

Your daughter saw the animal before Sam did

“Dee!”

Sam’s eyes widened as he gazed down at her, but she was looking out towards the edge of the woods, unaware of her dad being in shock at her declaration

“What did you say, baby?” “Dee!”

Sam followed her excited gaze, and saw the deer standing under a nearby tree

“Dee! Deeeeee!!”

“Oh my god. Deer. Oh my god, Oh my--YN! Come here!”

You ran over with your son, afraid something had happened

He and your daughter were both pointing at the deer with identical dopey grins

Before you could speak, your daughter realized you were there, and smiled up at you

“Dee!”

You and Sam both cried

Danny

When your daughter is born, Danny doesn’t set her down for a second

He just walks around with her, tiny in his arms, cooing and smiling at the baby

“She’s got my eyes, babe, don’t you think?”

And you can tell in that second that you’re gonna have to be the disciplinarian in the household

Bc that baby owns his heart

So it makes sense when you go back to work and Danny takes paternity leave for six weeks

He’s a natural nurturer, like he’s so good at taking care of the baby

But he’s also very protective

So like... Baby papoose.

Danny strolls up into the grocery store, the park, the zoo, wherever, with the baby strapped to his chest bc he doesn’t care how he looks as long as the baby is secure

You get regular snapchats at work of Danny and the baby being out and about

But you always come home to a clean house and Danny passed out on the couch, the baby fast asleep on his chest

And he still somehow finds time to spend with you, always reminding you what a phenomenal mom you are and how much he loves you

Nobody was shocked when you got pregnant again, like literally no one

You had two more children together before deciding that three kids were about all you could handle, especially with your two youngest being boys

Danny was good at disciplining them, though, so that helped a lot

You were a sports family, taking your children out to basketball and football games on the weekends whenever possible

But of course your kids loved music too, with one of your sons learning guitar and your daughter eventually asking for a drumkit for Christmas

Your other son is more of a scientist than his siblings, and Danny “Telekinesis” Wagner makes every effort to help with school projects and going to the science fair

Becomes That Dad when it comes to his daughter dating in high school

“Dad, there’s this guy--” “You can do better.”

When your daughter experiences her first heartbreak, Danny is there to comfort her (and to offer to beat up the guy)

He brings her ice cream and puts on her favorite movie, hugging her tightly and assuring her that she’s the most wonderful girl in the world and any guy would be lucky to have her

He takes the time to sit your sons down and talk to them about respecting women (“or men, because that’s cool too!”)

These boys are raised to be gentlemen and understand the concept of consent from an early age

And he definitely taught your girl some self-defense before she went to college

Taglist: @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank​, @jeordinevankiszka​, @that-glassbottomed-ego​, @kissthesun-fightthefire​, @lover--leaver​, @myownparadise96​, @satans-helper​, @songbirdkisses​, @bluewillowmom​

[chaotic-halfblood-kit]

Here’s another Kit Herondale and Foxes crossover thingy (The first time I wrote this it got deleted and I wanted to puch a wall but anyway).

Imagine how the foxes would react when they find out about Kit’s life though.

He unknowingly hides from people who want to kill him up until he’s 15.

He grew up getting neglected by his father and its fucking canon that Kit has never been loved and got no idea what it’s like.

His father gets ripped in half by demons in front of his eyes

He gets saved by two strangers and a person he texts for help

He finds out he’s a Herondale and a Shadowhunter, people he was taught to hate (✨identity crisis alert✨)

Meets the blackthorns and thinks “Huh maybe these people aren’t that bad”

Gets close with the twins, Livvy and Ty

Enemy that wants to kill him recognises him and tries to kill him but fails

Livvy proceeds to get murdered by an ancestor of hers that got brought back to life (that’s some fucked up shit if I do say so myself)

Kit’s fucking in love with Ty and finally feels cared for so yeah

That’s the whole reason he agrees to help Ty raise Livvy from the dead

Anyway. That happens and he gets close with Dru during this as well. Teaches her to pick locks.

Ends up confessing his love to Ty while Ty is raising his sister FROM THE DEAD so obviously Kit’s confession is ignored for the time being. Makes Kit feel unloved and everything and he closes off.

(He thinks his father is correct and maybe he isn’t lovable and that he was stupid for thinking any one could ever want him at all)

Enemies try to kill him again and he finds out he has magic and is part fey.

Leaves the Blackthorns behind and DOESNT reslove issues with Ty (Kit’s a fucking idiot).

Tessa and Jem teach him what it’s like to feel loved and wanted and all that and he ends up having a baby sister and a family and 🥺 everything he DESERVES.

But then he gets dragged into whatever shitshow is going to happen in TWP and 😪

Let’s be honest, so many people are probably going to try and kill Kit due to the fact that he IS the decendent of the last heir of Faerie

Just imagine the foxes going “what the fuck? We didn’t sign up for a Neil 2.0?” But they also WOULDNT complain at the same time cause they’d be too busy trying to include Kit in everything cause FUCK his dad for making him feel like no one could ever want him or love him.

I put too much effort into this when I seriously doubt anyone actually cares—

(If someone does though, I could do more of these? I sometimes write fanfiction too. Haven’t on here yet though.)

[tora-the-cat]

Baby Rin & Obito thoughts

-I don’t think people understand what it means that Obito and Rin were best friends since they were 5. Like. I just get the vibe that half the fandom can’t conceptualize that accurately.

-(I can though)

-5. 5! They were actual babies!

-When they’re super young and obviously pre-transitioned they still would steal each others clothes and try to confuse people over who’s who, like identical twins.

-They were child soldiers growing up during the war! By all likelihoods, they were drafted into the academy at all of 5 years old. They graduated at 10! Obito wasn’t seen as a ‘genius’ by any stretch of imagination, so we can only assume this was the common graduating age during the 3rd war. How much more harsh is the curriculum? How much more traumatizing? Paranoia inducing? propagandist?

-Me and my best friend since 5 both had relatively healthy home lives, none of the ninja brand trauma, and we STILL ended up basically codependent. These poor kids had no chance.

-There’s no way these two aren’t in each others pocket. Was there a single secret between the two of them? One topic that was forbidden? Probably not! To Both!

-the two of them could hold entire conversations, arguments, lectures, in a matter of moments with just micro-expressions. It often seemed that the only time Obito would shut up was when he and Rin were staring at each other and their faces would twitch, sometimes for minutes on end, as if that was as natural a way of communicating as speaking.

-It was very useful on covert operations! It was very frustrating during team building exersises, because neither of them were really used to trying to actaully get closer to people besides eachother.

-they had so many in-jokes that Minato and Kakashi sometimes thought they were speaking another language entirely. 

-Every time there was a foldable chair in Rin’s sight, she would obnoxiously clear her throat and shoot it meaningful looks, and Obito would seethe, looking seconds away from blowing up, but never would and never explained why.  

-Obito would dramatically throw himself in front of Rin and shout about protecting her whenever he spotted a squirrel, and act completely confused and annoyed when Minato and Kakashi didn’t acknowledge the threat and take it seriously. 

-Obito would collect four leaf clovers whenever he saw them and then when he braided Rin’s hair for her he’d weave them into it without her even noticing until hours or, on particularly hard missions, days later. Still, everytime she found one, no matter how bad the mission or the horrors she had just seen or was on her way to see, she would pick it out with more care then Kakashi knew anything could be done and gave it a look so soft it made Kakashi inexplicably angry and she'd smile, like it was the easiest thing to do, and her haunted eyes would clear just a little as she snuck them into Obito’s Kunai pouch.

-It was impossible to get one alone without the other. They orbited around each other, never further then a shout away, Joined at the hip. 

-They were always touching, be it the common hand holding, or Obito whining and hanging off of Rin, or Rin reprimanding him and squeezing his shoulders, or them dragging each other around the village, or Rin poking Obito in the nose to make him scrunch it up, or Obito squshing Rin’s cheeks until she stops pretending to ignore him or touching foreheads and promising everything will be alright or playing intricate handgames at recess because no one else will play with them or tapping out messages in their own mortified morse code or- it could go on forever. It should have.

-Do Not Mistake Their Undying Dependency On Each Other As A Lack Of The Ablity To Throw Hands, however. They would roughhouse, and they were visious. They would bite and pull hair and pinch and get close to each others ears to make high pitched noises and tickle and tumble on the dirt. They didn’t even need a real reason- or at least not one Minato could see. There would be a glint in one of their eyes, and then a flash of fear in the other’s, and it would start with no further warning.

-It didn’t matter where, it didn’t matter when. In public. At dinner. While Minato is in the middle of talking. Rain, snow, hail. Usually not on missions, thankfully, but worryingly often on the way back from missions. Kakashi still breaks into an anxious cold sweat everytime he goes to Suna, a ghost of the memory of the first time Obito and Rin saw the dessert remembered with surprising clarity. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

-Like wolf pups, Minato once said, and Kakashi didn’t talk to him for a week- wolves would never be so undignified. Rin would lick Obito to throw him off and Obito would use his inhumanely boney elbows to stab her (weapons were always discarded for these scruff- they weren’t spars, they were personal) and she would fling dirt into his mouth and he would spit it back into her eyes. They were disgusting. 

-If they worked together and fought half as dirty with Kakashi as they did with eachother, he would have had a bad time. But, somehow, there was just. Something that made them go rabid on each other in a way Minato was never able to fully provoke in them, even mid-war.

-(it’s the Cain Instinct.)

-They were of the naive but firm belief that they would never be without the other, and, horrifically, most could see it was true. Not because they were strong or because the world was too kind to kill one and leave the other- it was just so blatantly obvious that, should one of them leave, the other would follow without hesitation.

-Even Minato was resigned to the fact that if one of them died the other was just a ticking time bomb, despite all his efforts.

-(and he did make an effort. He knew there was a slim chance their story would end well, the way it was. Knew that codependent shinobi were liabilities. He tried to get them to spend time alone and practice more bounderies and make connections outside of each other, but it rarely worked and never for long. They got anxious and twitchy alone, constantly worried about the other. Obito reapplied Rin’s seals when she couldn’t and Rin taught him to get away with petty revenges, and they were all each other had.)

-But, because of this, they were convinced that if one of them was good at something the other didn’t really need to bother with it- expended effort, when they’re both right there anyway. Unless it was fun to practice together, of course, mostly encompassing Taijutsu. 

-Rin did Fuinjutsu, Obito did Genjutsu. Rin started Iryouninjutsu, Obito started Kenjutsu. Rin practiced Suiton and Raiton, Obito practiced Katon and Doton. they balanced each other out, kept each other grounded- they completed each other. It felt like they only had each other, more often then not, and sometimes it was true.

-When they were younger, it was always true. They were both orphans by 7. Rin’s mom died in childbirth, her dad stayed around long enough to teach her how to stay alive and how her Kekkei Genkai worked as far as he could remember, but She was a born citizen of Konoha and the village wouldn’t let go of a potential asset, and he couldn’t stay in the village that let his village get destroyed and his wife die. He left her. Obito’s parents were both Shinobi that disappeared mysteriously and were never seen again.

-Gran tried, but she was old and blind and could barely remember Obito half the time. In the end, it was the two of them against the world.

-The Uchiha didn’t care, besides the minor annoyance at Rin entering their compound so often, but. She was Uzushio, and the clan heads were close to the Uzumaki, which basically meant they weren’t allowed to bully an Uzushio clan kid. Obito’s Gran was just happy he had a friend. 

-Rin remembered something her Dad told her, and gives Obito a Nohara Seal-Tattoo on the inside of his right wrist, making him an honorary member by the laws of her clan that doesn’t really exist anymore and has literally no significance or benefit in the village. He cries anyway.

-They pretty much always sleep together. Sleepovers are nightly by the time they turn 8. by the time they’re 9, they make a paranoid habit of taking turns on watch. By the time they’re 10, they are outright offended when Minato tries to insist Rin gets her own tent because she’s a ‘growing young lady’ and ‘please Kushina will kill me’. 

-They have a secret code. and by ‘a secret code’ I mean several secret codes. Minato figured most of them out. Kakashi did not. It’s a point of pride.

-Despite everyone’s constant objections, Rin somehow always ended up in the middle of a fight, slipping behind Obitio’s back and making up for his defects as easily as breathing. Kakashi always berated her- she was the Med NIn! If she got hurt or killed, they didn’t have anyone to heal her!

-She did not care. She understood, and sometimes felt a little bad about it, but did not care. ‘you join combat for emergencies only’ they insisted, and her automatic response was simple: If Obito is in danger, then it’s an emergency.

-Minato dropped it pretty quickly and instead just focused on training her to be as murder-resistant as possible- sometimes he knew a losing battle when he saw it. 

-Kakashi never dropped it until one day he activates her Cain Instinct and she paralyzes him for 8 hours with the med-nin fighting style she was inventing because she was terrifying.

-And I haven’t even touched on them both being trans and supporting eachother through that, and I omitted 600 words about their first kills and biggest fight ever! I could talk about team minato forever god bless

-Sure, Obito got a crush on Rin at somepoint, but that wasn’t the defining part of their relationship. He didn’t go crazy because Rin didn’t like him back, or because she liked Kakashi. He went crazy because she died. She was the most important person in the world to him, his soulmate, platonic or not.

-Obito ‘died’, and Rin self destructed. She was ashamed of it but, really, she only lived on as long as she did after kanabi because she knew Obito would want her too. She couldn’t look kakashi in the eyes. She had several heart attacks because her seals would fade, and she would refuse to tell anyone else how to do them. 

-She wrote entire notebooks of things she would tell him when she died so she didn’t forget a thing, stepped around shamrocks like they were posion ivy. Her hair was uncut. She never joined a fight. She killed squirrels on sight with a flash of morbid humor and greif, and still wouldn’t explain why, and she’d rather sit on the floor then in a folding chair. 

-Kakashi didn’t want to admit it, couldn’t admit it, even to himself, for years, maybe decades, but in the last few months of her life Rin wasn’t alive. She tried, so hard, for Kakashi’s sake, but she wasn’t. She was a shell of her former self, more impulsive, less quick to smile, more cynical then he thought she would ever be.

-Rin died, and Obito stopped existing. It only made sense- who was he without Rin? 

-No one. He was a blank slate, melted down so Madara could form him anew. He became Madara and  Tobi and The Masked Man and a Clan Killer, but he would never be Obito again, because there was no Obito without Rin.

-Losing one another wasn’t like losing a limb. It wasn’t like having a part of their soul ripped out. It was nothing so mild. It was losing themself. It was having their soul souls beaten bloodily, shredded, and then disappear without a trace.

-everyone was right, in the end, about them. A tragedy waiting to happen. Terminally codependant. Minato said that once one died, the other was a ticking time bomb, and he was right. He just wished he wasn’t.

....Anyway yeah next time I see someone whine about how its pathetic that Obito tried to destroy the world because his school girl crush died like hes some Incel throwing a fit, I'll go feral.

[reifromrfa]

Our Gift, to You: Saeran x MC

I wrote this last year and with all the holiday festivities...forgot to post it ^^; It’s a gift for a friend (whose tumblr handle I can’t remember because we spoke on Discord ToT). But I hope you enjoy! Haha makes me miss writing for Saeran <3

Merry Christmas, guys!

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Our Gift, to You

This feels…weird. Unfamiliar. New. Not necessarily bad, just…

He’s never had a real Christmas before.

Saeran shifts his weight to his other leg uncomfortably, surveying the scene before him. People bustled about the square, setting up chairs, decorating the large Christmas tree, touching up the design of the stage. A group of children stands to the side, vocalizing —a chorale. And in front of them was his beloved, talking to the conductor.

Immediately a sense of calm washes over him, the relief of having her in his sight allowing him to relax, to ease the tension in his shoulders. MC laughs and unconsciously his body leans forward, yearning to hear her voice. But his attention is diverted when his older brother strides toward him, a huge goofy smile on his face. Despite being identical twins, everyone in the RFA always comments on how different they are. And it's true --Saeran can't imagine being as goofy as his brother. But after everything that happened, he's happy to see his older brother happy.

"Brother of mine! Where were thou? I hath been looking for thee!"

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Ah, I just felt like it hehe."

"...okay."

"Saeran ah," Saeyoung clasps his shoulder and steers him toward the stage. "We have to go somewhere."

"Wha--stop that. Where are you taking me?"

Saeyoung grins, his glasses glinting in the afternoon sun. Saeran scowls at him.

"Just trust me, brother."

"...but I don't trust you."

Saeyoung gasps loudly, a hand going to his heart as he dramatically turns to Saeran. "B-but! Little brother! Why!!! Why do you hurt me like this?! Could it be because you're a sadist too??"

"Shut up." Saeran mutters in a low voice, his ears burning with his brother's remark. "I am not."

Saeyoung laughs. "Of course you're not, Saeran. Hehe."

Saeyoung stops in front of a heavily tinted car and Saeran turns to him, confused.

"Wha--"

"No time to explain!" Saeyoung cuts in, hastily pushing Saeran into the car. Saeran tries to fight off his brother but the older twin is far stronger than Saeran physically, thanks to his training from his hacker days. Saeran is shoved into the car, the door slamming shut behind him. He mutters a curse under his breath but as he straightens and reaches for the door, the other door opens and he hears a high-pitched gasp. When he turns, he instinctively opens his arms as MC's body crashes against his.

"Have fun, you two! Merry Christmas!" Comes Yoosung's voice from outside. There's some aggressive yelling in the background, the actor's voice being carried by the wind. But as soon as Jumin closes the door behind MC, the locks click into place and the car starts to move.

"Wha...Saeran..?" MC asks breathlessly, looking up at him. The white-haired twin realizes how close she is, her hazel eyes staring into his mint ones. He feels his face warming but he gives her a concerned look, pushing the hair that had fallen across her face.

"Are you okay, my love?"

MC's face turns that shade of red that he loves so much as she adjusts into a sitting position beside him, fixing the hem of her skirt.

"Yes...I'm fine." She looks at the closed partition and back at Saeran. "Any idea what they're planning?"

Saeran shakes his head, his irritation apparent by the scowl on his face. "My brother never tells me any of his plans."

MC giggles. "Well, if Saeyoung's behind it, it can't be that bad."

"...you think too highly of my brother."

MC laughs and his heart calms, comforted by the joy she emanated. As long as she is by his side...Saeran knows everything will be alright. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, making her inhale sharply before giving him one of her sweet smiles.

"Saeran..."

The way she says his name makes his lips dry, his eyes flicking to her lips. Immediately he feels the air around them shift, his longingness for her overwhelming him. MC has been busy with the preparations for the party that their times together had been brief, fleeting. Now that he's alone with her --even if they were basically kidnapped and being taken to God knows where --he can't help but want the woman sitting beside him.

Saeran leans forward...and then the TV attached to the panel in front of them sizzles to life, and a voice fills the compartment.

"DING DONG DING DONG MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!"

The two jump apart, the sudden outburst making MC squeak and Saeran hit his head on the roof. Thank God it was padded.

He glares at the screen, the face of his brother staring back at them.

"Hehehe did I surprise you two? Were you about to have a special Christmas kiss~?"

Right now Saeran wanted to kiss his twin --Saeyoung's lips, Saeran's fist. He rubs his head and wonders what in the world his brother is doing. He loves his twin, but sometimes, the way he does things makes Saeran feel as though he's on a never-ending roller-coaster ride.

"Anyway! You two must be wondering what this is all about! UNFORTUNATELY!!! You'll have to wait! The car will take you to where you have to be so just sit back, relax, and~"

The Saeyoung on the screen makes a show of clearing his throat.

"Enjoy as RFA's best singer serenades you with Christmas songs!!!"

Saeran expects the screen to shift to Zen but he can't help but crack a smile when his brother starts singing Jingle Bells. MC laughs and Saeran sits back, listening to two of the most dearest people to him. His brother's singing, his beloved's laughter...voices that warm his heart despite the cold weather.

He feels her fingers intertwining with his own and Saeran closes his hand on hers, enjoying her warmth and presence. The rest of the car ride is silent, both of them listening to Saeyoung's singing. MC leans against him, the break very much welcome after a long day of making sure the party would run smoothly. Deep down, she still worries about the party, but if her friends planned this, then she knows they already have everything ready.

Finally, the car slows to a stop.

Good because Saeyoung has been singing like a deer for a while now.

"Oh!! It has been approximately 2527 seconds and you should have arrived at your destination! Please follow the snowflakes from here on and enjoy!!!"

The screen shuts off. The door is opened for them and Saeran steps out, offering a hand to MC and assisting her out of the car as well. Jumin's driver bows to them before heading back inside the car. Saeran and MC look at the tall building in front of them: one of C&R's international hotels.

The snow falls gently around them and Saeran wonders just exactly what his brother meant.

Follow the snowflakes..?

Saeran and MC climb the steps and enter the hotel and immediately MC bursts into laughter.

On the lobby floor is a sticker of a snowflake but with Yoosung's face in the middle. A few feet away, another sticker is there, this time with Saeyoung's face. Saeran has to hand it to his brother; the older twin definitely has some creative ideas under all the joking around and Honey Buddha Chips.

Saeran takes MC's hand and she leads him around the hotel, following the snowflakes stuck to the floors or walls. She giggles at the funny expressions on each of their friends' faces, even at the cute face of Elizabeth the 3rd. Saeran can't help but be drawn to her, this beautiful smiling angel.

Soon though, they stand in front of double doors, the handwritten sign on the wall saying 'Saeran and MC's White Christmas'. MC looks at him, her happiness and excitement making her glow; Saeran can't look away from her brightness.

"Shall we?"

Together, they reach for a door and push it open.

They are greeted by a flurry of snow and the soft dulcet tones of a piano. There is a table for two in the middle of the room, flowers adorning the table and intertwined onto the chairs.

Saeran blinks and his eyes go to the walls, which have photos projected onto them.

Photos of the RFA...of MC. Of him.

He hears his love gasping, hands going to her mouth as she takes in the sight before them. Slowly, they make their way to the table, each studying the photos. Saeran didn't even realize he had so much images of himself. But apparently, the photographer, Jihyun, has been taking candid shots. There were some cellphone photos as well...and blurry shots. But most of the images showed the RFA together, of happy moments they spent together.

A group photo during the summer. Photos of them eating ice cream. Of the actor sneezing due to his allergies. Of Yoosung Kim, beaming at the camera from the stage as he received his diploma. A photo of Jumin Han with his cat, sitting on a plane. Jaehee Kang tucking her hair behind her ear as she smiled at the camera with MC beside her. Even Jihyun had photos of himself.

But the best ones...the best ones were of his love. His loves, to be exact. The one who owns his heart...and the one who shares his soul.

Saeran's eyes scan the photos of himself with his brother; they weren't special. In fact, most of them were of the twins, arguing or laughing. Sleeping. Looking at knick knacks or the sunset. A smile graces Saeran's face.

That idiot.

He feels her warm hand going around his arm and he turns to look at her. The woman who taught him how to love, how to smile...how to forgive.

"Saeran..."

This time, he steps closer to her and captures her lips in his own, his love for her making his heart swell, his joy at simply knowing this woman overwhelming him already. To be given an opportunity to love her...well, that was greater than any gift he could ever ask for.

Her lips are soft and move against his, her arms going around his neck as she pulls Saeran closer, wanting more of the one she loves. Fake snow falls around them, instrumental Christmas songs serving as their background music. But they could be standing in an empty room, in silence, and everything would still be perfect. As long as she is with him...everything is always going to be okay.

They both pull away, pressing their foreheads together as they stare into each other's eyes.

"I love you, Saeran."

"I love you, MC...so much."

Again, she beams. Her smile lighting up her face...and his world.

"Should we check what's on the table?" MC asks.

Saeran laughs. "Sure, my love."

They close the gap between them and the table and find a fancy set-up of cutlery. There are covered plates and MC reaches out for a lid, lifting it gently. A savory aroma wafts through the air and Saeran freezes as he hears his stomach grumbling.

MC's laugh echoes around the room and Saeran turns red, averting his gaze to the table. That's when he sees an envelope addressed to the both of them. Taking the letter inside, he unfolds it and reads the message out loud.

"Dear Saeran and MC,

Merry Christmas! You two have worked so hard on the party that you both deserve a break! And to be honest, we wanted to give you two a special gift, one that can't be bought or traded! So, here are our gifts:

The gift of food! Because you both need to eat better! Hahaha! And Christmas can't be Christmas without food!

We give you two the gift of time. Because time with our loved ones is always important, and should never be taken for granted. You two deserve your time together, and we hope you enjoy this special Christmas moment between yourselves.

We give you the gift of friendship. Lmao, everyone could use a friend, and guess what? You two have seven! We hope the photos remind you that you are never alone, that no matter what, both of you have friends who will always be there for you, with you.

And finally, we give you both the gift of love. Romantic love, friendly love, family love. We love you both dearly. To us, especially to me, Saeyoung...you two are the brightest stars in the galaxy.

Merry Christmas, Saeran and MC!

P.S. Do not worry about the party, it is all taken care of. Please enjoy your moment together."

"Those goofballs..." MC says, sniffing as she wipes the corner of her eye. Saeran can't help but swallow as well.

After being alone for so long...after harboring so much hate and doing so much bad...how did he get so lucky? Maybe...maybe later, he can pray with his brother and be thankful for his blessings.

For now, he takes the advice of his friends...his family.

He pulls out the chair for MC and helps her to her seat. With a graceful flourish, he takes off the lid of each dish, watching MC's expression as each dish is revealed. Finally, he takes his seat across her and gives her a tender smile...a loving look.

"MC?"

"Yes, Saeran?"

"Are you happy, my love?"

"Of course...of course, I am. This is more than I could ever ask for." She blushes. "You are more than I could ever ask for."

"I feel the same way, my love. You have been a beacon of hope...the light in the darkness I was in. And now you bring me happiness, in ways I never even thought possible. You can just sit...as you are right now. Happy...healthy...perfect. I would be the happiest man alive just to be able to bask in your presence."

"Love...Saeran. I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, MC." Saeran gives her a smile, a smile that's reserved for the one he loves.

"Merry Christmas."

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