#despite the fact it was the very thing she was known for. she was the goddess of love and now she must sever a part of her

[skhv67]

rivals to lovers – dae-ho x fem!reader

a/n: its high key one-sided because dae-ho is a sweetheart. fluff, tiniest bit of angst, smut. (PLEASE ONLY +18)

tw: written at 6am 😔🤙 probably ooc

wc: 2.364

SUMMARY: you and dae-ho are academic rivals… of at least that’s what you thought.

• You two have known each other since the first year of university. You couldn’t forget because the very first day of college he corrected you when you were answering your teacher’s question.

• You glared at him with a sour expression, but he was just looking at you with a soft smile and he even nodded at you as if he had done you a favor.

• Despite literally nobody else caring about this interaction, it didn’t leave your mind. In fact, from that moment you’d hyperfocus every time he’d speak up in class.

• Poor thing will probably think you’re looking at him with good intentions, that when you avoided eye contact or went quiet around him was because he made you nervous.

• You actually thought his interventions were pretentious and the little smiles he flashed at you when he ‘helped you out’ were just a subtle way to mock you without looking like a twat.

• When you two were paired during the third year to do the most important project of your sociology class you wanted to end it all there and then.

• The first few times you had to hang out outside college were awkward. You were defensive when he brought up -seemingly- better points than you and you didn’t reply to any of his attempts at being friendly and funny.

• All he got from you were sighs, frowns and a cold shoulder, which confused him because until then he just thought you were just shy.

• He had to ask his older sisters for advice.

• BONK! This woman hates you, you really thought she was into you?

• What a bummer.

• The next times you had to hang out were a bit more awkward, because he was trying even HARDER to make you stop disliking him. Spoiler: it was doing the opposite.

• You weren’t blind to the way every girl in your year swooned over him. He was charming and attractive, he got good grades, he was also helpful and kind… But you couldn’t help but think it was all disingenuous. His help felt like a knife, like he was poking at your insecurities just to feel superior when he lent you a hand.

• The day he was trying to schedule a day for you two to meet up to finish up the project you were especially sensitive and unfortunately one of his jokes to ease the nerves he felt around you didn’t land as he was hoping to.

• ‘’Can you leave me the fuck alone? I’m not interested in being your friend, I can’t wait for this to be over to not have to talk to you anymore!’’

• Ouch.

• After that he only sent you a message with the time and the café you were going to meet to finish the project. No stickers, no emojis nor smiley faces. You wanted to celebrate your triumph but the way your heart started racing nervously confused you.

• The days until the meet up were weird, he wouldn’t attempt to talk to you in class, if he had to interact with you it was brief and distant, and he looked away if your eyes ever connected.

• Your mind was screaming with pride that you were right all along, and all his kindness was just a cover up. This newfound coldness was how he truly was once you called on his bullshit.

• Your heart, however, felt quite the opposite. You were fighting for your life to not text him a polite apology for the embarrassing outburst you had.

• The day came and when you arrive at the café you notice him barely sparing you a glance before looking back down at his laptop.

• The meet up was shorter than usual. And awkward.

• The silence he usually filled with corny jokes felt heavy and you were too embarrassed to admit to yourself that you kind of missed seeing his smile.

• As you finished the conclusion, he thanked you politely for your work and didn’t waste any time getting ready to leave.

• Despite your deepest need to say something, you took all your things and left the café after him.

• Or attempted.

• You let the heaviest sigh seeing the rain pouring in front of your umbrella-less self. You contemplate texting any of your siblings to come get you instead of doing the ten-minute long walk to the bus stop without even a hood to protect yourself.

• Not too long passes until you notice a figure stopping in front of you.

• Now you truly wanted to end it all.

• Dae-ho looks at you with hesitance, not too confident in offering you his umbrella to shield you from the rain.

• ‘’Where’s your car?’’ he subtly looked at your trembling hands, knuckles red from the cold.

• ‘’I’m taking the bus’’ you whispered.

• Yeah, you’re crazy if you think this man is gonna let you walk to the bus stop, let alone wait in the cold until the bus arrives.

• He nodded towards the parking lot silently indicating you to come with him.

• Well, you also don’t want to die from hypothermia, so what other choice do you have.

• Squishing yourself next to him to fit under his umbrella, you felt the warmth of his body and his perfume overwhelm your senses. Was he ever this annoyingly attractive or were you losing your mind?

• If the walk under his umbrella was bad the car ride was even WORSE.

• The silence was so heavy and uncomfortable, he looked at you from the corner of his eye to check if you were in the mood to hear him talk. Much to his surprise he saw your tense form clenching your fists and looking in front of you in an almost robotic way.

• You noticed him looking at you, because naturally he wasn't as subtle has he thought he was.

• "Should I check your pulse? You're scaring me"

• You blinked at him and then let out a little giggle.

• Okay now HE was tripping because why did his heart skip a beat at the sound. He even dared to stare at you (for more than three seconds, a record that week) and he felt his face heat up at the sight of your little smile. Dae-ho never realized that he had never seen your smile before. You had never laughed at anything he's said no matter how hard he had tried and you hadn't granted him the pleasure to see what he confirmed just then to be the most beautiful smile he had ever laid his eyes on.

• The tension he had been keeping in all week finally left his body and he kept making light jokes testing the waters. Once he saw you were at ease he let his personality shine again.

• The ride to your house was painfully short, and it pained you to admit that you could see why all your classmates would die to get a chance with him.

• It was hard to admit that maybe you were wrong and he had always been as sweet as he seemed.

• The following week he's literally glued to you.

• You made the decision of laughing at something he said once and now this man is in love with you, congratulations.

• He doesn't even try to hide his excitement everytime he sees you and as time passes he even teases the idea of going on a date. You're also lucky enough to hear some of his corny pick up lines.

• You two go to a café date (well it wasn't officially a date, but it was in his mind).

• There he tells you about his family. Him growing up with four older sisters made everything make sense to you and your heart broke when he said was disappointed that he decided being a nurse instead of studying law or medicine.

• You also tell him about you aspirations and your passion for the field and he's looking at you enthralled hanging on every word that came out of your lips.

• Talking about that, at some point while you're complaining about thing #130 today he finds himself lost in you lips. He traces the shape with his eyes and imagines parting them with his tongue He wonders about the taste of your lip balm and if they're as soft as they look right now.

• You'd think he'd be a bit more confident being caught doing this considering he was being quite obvious about it but the second he sees you looking at him he panics like crazy.

• You laugh it off and as the gentleman he is he gets you home safe and sound.

• That summer he decides he's going to officially make a move.

• (he doesn't)

• Summer made you inseparable and you couldn't understand how many years you've wasted hating him undeservingly.

• This time you were both hanging out in your room. You two had made a habit out of watching a movie once a week and would play rock, papers, scissor to see who would host and pay for the take out.

• Tonight you had lost and unfortunately for you he got to choose the film as well.

• The only good part of this was seeing him being an absolute nerd about it when you tried to argue about the plot holes of the movie.

• He was passionately exposing his points for you and you couldn't hear a single thing he was saying, too busy getting slowly closer to him.

• He had been so busy trying to prove his point that he doesn't notice your pretty eyes right in front of him and your noses practically brushing.

• It wasn't until he felt your hot breath against your lips that he came back down to reality. He froze in his seat and looked at you wide eyed.

• For a moment you think you might've even misunderstood every single interaction you two have had until now so you were about to turn away until he finally decided to react and grabbed your arm.

• The grip was firm but gentle, letting you know that you weren't getting away from him anytime soon. He looked at you doe eyed and used his free hand to bring you closer to him making you straddle him.

• "Can you fucking kiss me already?"

• He wastes no time connecting your lips and he lets out a breath he had been holding for what felt like ages.

• He finally got to slide his tongue against your bottom lip, savoring a slight taste of cherry. He smiled into the kiss, finally confirming his suspicions.

• A whine left his lips when you yanked his hair back roughly to get better access to his neck, to which he did not add any resistance.

• It only takes a few wet kisses down the column of his throat and a breathy "pretty boy" for him to get hard underneath you.

• Your jaw clenches when he starts rocking your hips back and forth over his hard on to relieve himself while he looked at you almost sorry to be manhandling you like that.

• As much as you enjoy him taking the initiative, you quickly take over and start grinding the bulge on his pants, feeling yourself pulsing against your panties at the friction.

• His needy eyes look at the scene before him taking in all the noises that came out of your mouth.

• A shaky breath leaves his soft lips when you sink your hand into his pants to palm him over his boxers.

• "Please"

• A smug smile creeps into your face when he finally gave you the sign you've been waiting for.

• Hurriedly you both take off each other's clothes while still placing messy kisses wherever you could.

• He looked down at your pussy with a nasty look of hunger you didn't expect of him and you knew then that if you hadn't stopped him there he would've placed you in your desk and devoured you whole in a second.

• "Another time, please, I need you" you beg in his ear before gently biting his earlobe.

• He nods profusely as he started stroking his flushed length in his hand to spread the slick of his tip along his dick.

• He holds you over him and drops you slowly on his length, chest heaving and long locks sticking to his face, framing it so perfectly.

• You clench around him as you reach the base and he mumbles a soft "fuck" under his breath. You press a needy kiss against his lips and nibble at his bottom lip.

• He starts sinking you down his dick with an indescribable urge, and you quickly start riding him as fast as your stamina let you.

• Even if you get tired don't worry because this man is already holding your hips and meeting you halfway.

• Your moans start turning into cries and his pace speeds up as soon as he realizes you're close.

• "C'mon, come for me baby" he grunted against your lips.

• With that you start trembling against his thighs and let go. You keep riding him through your climax and he soon enough comes too holding you impossibly closer to him.

• He held you in his hands while you came down from your high and placed you gently in your bed to proceed cleaning you up.

• Your face when you see both of you through the mirror (and the disgusted little "sticky" you mumbled at the sight of your glistening skin) convinced him to take you both to take a bath instead.

• "Hope this doesn't make you think I like you or something though" you looked at him through your lashes with a smirk on your reddened lips.

• "Sure" he laughed it off.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I hope your week has started off well! I have a request if you don’t mind. Friday I have to go to the hospital early and spend most of the day there getting a bunch of testing done because I keep having these weird episodes and we don’t know what’s going on and I’m verrrrryyy nervous about it. So anyway I was thinking poly!wolfstar (or any of them) accompanying reader and comforting reader to the hospital/during/after. Maybe reader wants to cancel it all (because I kind of do) and they gently but firmly make her stick to it.

Hope your appointment went well lovely!

cw: mention of hospitals, general anxiety around that

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader �� 744 words

This time of year, the kitchen is dark before dinnertime. Remus has turned on the light above the stove, but neither you nor Sirius move to flick on any others, leaving your home mostly in shadow and dim, amber glow. Sirius is illuminated by his laptop on the couch while you sit on a stool watching Remus cook. The low rumbling of his boiling water is the only sound. It’s a tranquil sort of quiet. You’re reading all the tension into it, probably. 

Sirius certainly thinks so. He sneaks up behind you, arms winding around your middle and fingers prodding playfully at your sides. “Baby. Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” 

“Sure you are.” 

“I am.” 

Remus looks up from the stove to give you a look that isn’t quite chiding. Fond, perhaps. Knowing, definitely. “Dove, you’re rattling your stool.” 

You hear it then, and still the bouncing of your knee with some effort. 

He smiles, at once wry and kind. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he says. 

Sirius makes a dubious humming noise. “I don’t know about that.” His face finds its way into the crook of your neck, meandering, his nose cool against your skin. “I think our girl should only have nice, blissful thoughts, and leave the nervousness for when it’s due. No sense in getting all worked up early.” 

“Pads.” Remus’ tone is love-weary. “She’s allowed to be nervous.” 

Your boyfriends make light of it, but this is one stark difference between them. Sirius and Remus have both known intense discomfort—to put it lightly—over their lives, and yet they react to witnessing it differently. Sirius can’t stand to think of anyone he cares for being less than perfectly happy; it makes him twitchy and near frantic. Remus doesn't like it either, of course, but he understands better than most that some things simply need to be borne. Rather than avoiding it, he offers a quiet, steady support. 

Sirius, you think, is likely as nervous for your hospital visit as you are. It’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“I could still cancel,” you say, softly enough that maybe you’re hoping not to be heard. 

Both of your boyfriends seem not to have considered this possibility. Remus looks at you, brow tensing, and Sirius’ face stills on your shoulder. 

Your voice smalls. “They said I could do it up until twelve hours before.” 

“Sweetheart.” Sirius squeezes your middle, gently. “Don’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, because then you’ll only have to be nervous all over again when you do go.” 

“But what if I…” You find yourself sinking into his touch, letting him hold you up despite the fact that you’re sitting and he’s not. “...don’t?” 

“You’ll have to go at some point.” 

“I don’t have to.” 

“You should, though.” Remus’ eyes capture yours, calm and dark brown in the low light. His expression is melded by sympathy and entirely too reasonable for your liking. “You can go on the way you have been, that’s your choice, but we know you’ve not been liking that.” 

“I’ve not been very fond of it either,” Sirius mumbles. 

“This is something you can do for a chance at getting better,” Remus goes on gently. “Nothing is going to change if you don’t.” 

You take a long inhale. When you let it out, Sirius kisses your shoulder like a reward. 

“I really don’t want to,” you say. 

“I know, lovely.” Remus steps closer, reaching for your hand. You don’t realize until you give it to him that you’d been picking at your nailbeds. He pulls your fingers apart from each other with methodical caring. “It’s only one day. We’ll be there with you.” 

You press your lips together solemnly. “I’m going to need a lot of hugs, I think.” 

“Oh, god,” Sirius moans, arms still firmly around your waist. “What ever will we do?” 

“You really do dole out the most unfair burdens, dove.” Remus goes from doting to dry in an instant, amusement flickering in his gaze. 

“I mean, how are we expected to cope? I don’t know if I can handle all these demands, sweetness, I really don’t. You’ve made tomorrow a true hardship for us.” 

“You’re the ones who want me to go.” You shrug. “Figure it out.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to, won’t we?” Sirius gives you another squeeze, firmer this time to coax a smile from you. “Alright, then. Needs must. You worry about your portion, and we’ll worry about ours.” 

[marauderslibrarian]

(Lesser Known) Marauders Fic Recs, part 2

Downfall (by Lunarde) -

They say villains and heroes are two sides of a the same coin.

Regulus always understood that but to Sirius it was impossible to fathom. Despite having grown up together, they became very opposed to each other. Still, they held onto tight to preserve their bond. But the tensions building in the wizarding world might be the finale straw that'd lead them on two very different paths.

Bitter Waters (by way_too_many_fandoms) -

This is Remus Lupin. He is seventeen years old and priming himself for uni, just hoping to get through his last year of secondary school. Remus knows many things; he knows that leaving Wales was probably a good decision, that his mother was trying her best, and that life can really suck.

What he does not know is that he is about to meet a boy that will change everything.

The Hand That Feeds (by Rollercoasterwords) -

Marlene McKinnon is a mess. She can’t sleep, she’s almost certainly going to fail all her NEWTs, and she’s 99% sure that if they don’t win the Quidditch Cup this year James Potter will throw himself headfirst off the Astronomy Tower. On top of all that, there’s a war on, yet their professors seem determined to pretend that the biggest problem any of them are facing is finding a Ministry internship. Marlene’s final year at Hogwarts has barely started, and she’s already pretty sure it couldn’t get any worse—that is, until she shows up for her first Potions class and hears the assignment. /// Dorcas Meadowes is a stone-cold bitch. At least, that’s what everyone says. She doesn’t need well-meaning professors or overeager classmates or teammates or boyfriends or friends. She doesn’t need anything except to be left alone, the way she likes, until the day she finally leaves school. And she certainly doesn’t need Marlene McKinnon, with her sharp tongue and her snorting laugh and her stupid shiny hair, who seems intent on ruining everything that Dorcas has been working towards for the past two years.

I adored you Madly, Extravagantly, Absurdly.  (by MiriamMT) -

The Blacks want to marry off their youngest child. He begs Sirius for help and tells him a secret: He is a man and would rather die than be forced to be anyone's wife. Panicked, Sirius arranges a marriage between his brother and his friend James Potter, knowing that Regulus can be the man he is in the English countryside on James' estate.

James wants to ensure Regulus' happiness, even at the expense of putting his life on hold for a while. Regulus wants to ensure James doesn't fall into societal ruin because of him. Sirius wants to be loved. Barty must decide whether he wants to keep causing destruction or choose redemption. And Remus is just a very tired butler who watches James and Regulus dance around their actual feelings (literally).

Frozen Pines (by yourfriendlygryffindor) -

After being rejected by Lily brutally, James finds himself falling for his best friend's brother. As they get pushed out into the world, they find themselves manipulated into joining the war efforts. When James and Regulus realize this, it's too late to save themselves from the pains of war, so they take things into their own hands.

Bury Our Secrets Shallow (by writtenicarus) -

Sirius knew that he wasn’t considered a good person. As a matter of fact he wasn’t good at anything at all. Not a good son or brother or student or cousin or protector. But the truth was that he tried. He tried so hard, too hard. It hurts when his younger brother keeps pushing him away after they left their parents home and chose to move in together, but if Sirius can’t be good, he wants to find something good to live for.

When they moved to a small town in rural England after escaping their parents, Regulus was determined to ignore his older brother at all costs. What neither expected was for their lives, relationships and friendships to intertwine so deeply they had no choice to face each other and reconcile with how much they had suffered.

—

OR a small-town AU. the kids aren't alright.

The Brightest Star (by Badfoot) -

And oh.

Oh.

Oh he was kind of beautiful wasn’t he? Had Regulus always been?

To anyone else, he was all sharp edges and scathing remarks, but not to James. He could never be just that to James.

He could never just…be, to James.

And oh no.

That was new.

Like Real People Do (by Arins_Writings) -

Regulus Black miraculously survives the cave of Inferi. There isn't a single soul that he trusts, given that his brother is now locked up as a Death Eater Sympathizer and James Potter is dead.

James Potter.

The single most loyal person that Regulus Black had ever had the unfortunate luck to meet. He was annoying, and loud, and impossibly Gryffindor, but James would have done anything to win the war.

Even working with his best mate's baby brother, the real Death Eater.

The Road Not Taken (by MollieMaryMarie) -

Ten years ago, Remus broke the heart of his best friend. Just before that friend became world-renowned pop icon, Sirius Black. Now, his other best friends are having a baby, and they've named both Remus and Sirius the godfather of their unborn child as some convoluted plot to get them back together. They pretend it doesn't work while simultaneously, and secretly, finding their way back to one another.

[worstgenerationloser]

,, Original sin. ''

Summary... Once a human woman turned into a vampire by Dracule Mihawk, your anger towards him turned you into a raging tyrant. With your reign abruptly ended by a stab in the back, you barely manage to crawl to the catacombs and into your coffin. You wake up remembering all, and you seek out sustenance... which, is blood.

Impending bite... Nico Robin.

Word count... 5.6k

Fic Masterlist... click here!

A/N: comments and reblogs are appreciated the very most! tell me which part was the best, or what you're looking forward to in the story! YOU MIGHT BE DISSAPOINTED ROBIN IS FIRST UP but me personally? im from scissor city.

One step after another, your feet guided you slowly throughout the halls in a calculated waltz. Living in a recently established castle surrounded by nothing but lake and the sea of bones of past victims, you came to realize the fog outdoors was normal, as were the bumbling acolytes dancing throughout the halls in a rush to wherever it is they go, stopping to bow politely for you.

Everything under the blood-soaked moon was yours. Eternal life, devout followers, an endless supply of blood in the nearby empire, and most important of all is the fact you wiped out that pesky family of vampire hunters. Once a newly deceased woman, you sobbed and wallowed in misery at the realization that even though you lived on, it was as one of the undead; Then the sorrow was replaced by the thrill of power. You must’ve gained a god complex, though at the time that wasn’t exactly terrible, all constantly failed to surprise you, and it kept your mind at ease knowing you were in no danger whatsoever.

Mistress of the dark, that you were, a cruel one you may have been, but you were unmatched by all. Once again, you were entirely superior. It was out of the goodness in your heart that you shared a glimpse of a long and luxurious life with those who were known as your acolytes and for that, they sent you offerings, they hunted your prey themselves because the poor things absolutely couldn’t handle a sad, short, pathetic human life. Ah, you seem to have reminisced quite a bit about yourself. No need for embarrassment, the peak of what was once a human is you after all, that does give you the right to brag. But you suppose you aren’t a human at this point in time, you are beyond what one’s fragile mind can understand about the unknown and the supernatural. 

“My beloved mistress, am I worthy of a speck of your time today?”  A formal and feminine voice spoke, you registered Ophelia as the woman choosing to converse with you. Time was of the essence in your day, for the night is never eternal, and you were making sure to reiterate those words to her as well.

“It is of the essence, so foolishly standing around awaiting one’s answer will be for naught. Speak, girl.” You spoke with a tone as commanding and biting as ever, the same used towards even the most noble of people, you condescend her entire being with a few words and only the choice to simply endure it was presented to her. It wasn't your fault she was so insignificant, despite being blessed enough to join your council of advisors.

Safe to say, it’s evident you had a very backwards way of thinking. It was as if you were the only true one in the world at the time, and that thought alone allowed you to think it right to do whatever to whomever. Maybe it was something hiding within you that prompted you to think in such a way… It had been so long, however, that you had nearly forgotten the fangs which had sunken into your neck, the cold hands that gripped your body, the burning sensation which coursed through your veins and stopped your beating human heart, the humanity slipping away while something more sinister took place. There was new blood in your veins— and it was his.

Those yellow eyes that never seemed to miss a single thing, like a hawk. The man who made you turn.

Dracule Mihawk.

Though your dead body is already cold as ice, you can’t help but feel a chill run throughout your body as you remember that man. Here you lie, tucked away in your coffin deep underground your castle, residual anger taking place in your mind and forcing you to awaken. All that is visible is the underside of the cushioned lid placed atop you, and though you feel weaker now than you were as a human all those years ago, you push it off, flinching at the noise of it clanging against the floor after many years of complete silence.

Slowly rising, it was as if you were learning how to walk again, your thighs shook while your knees wished to give out on you, and your arms were shaky while you tried your best to sit upwards. A primal hunger was present in your entire being, and the bats flying about certainly wouldn’t do, as you know, blood tastes best the larger and more sentient ones victim is.

“Ah, these statues must be a thousand years old at the very least! What a wonderful find.”

A voice echoes through the dusty walls and hallways which confined you, the clacking of shoes against the stone floors coming closer. You are weak, you need to eat something, and it looks like whoever this young woman is will have to do. Silencing your soft grunts, you dragged your bare feet against the floor, dust and dirt being kicked up and flung about into the air. Would you be able to pull off spontaneous feeding in a weakened state like so? Again, it’s not like you have a choice. She’s closer, you can hear her exasperated breathing.

“Everything’s in such perfect condition… What a find.” You hear the woman chuckle. Maybe you should make the first move.

“Hello? W–Who’s there?” Barely managing a stutter, your voice sounds a bit worried and panicked, just enough to convince anyone clueless and naive enough that it's genuine. Considering the way she was appraising your decorations, you’ve concluded quite a bit of time has passed, and she must have a knack for identifying things of old and exploring– either both or one or the other. The sounds of walking stills, before continuing, a bit more hesitant. A hum reverberates throughout the room, light approaching at the same pace and there she is. A raven-haired beauty, one with eyes of ocean blue and a long slender nose, paired with a silver dagger. Fuck. If you were to try and pounce on her, she has the upper hand, you really can’t do anything in such a state, so you only have one more card to play, innocent and lost.

“May I ask who you are, miss? It’s odd to encounter someone in century-old ruins.” Her eyes are narrowed, and she’s clearly suspicious of you. Her grip on the dagger is evidently growing tighter.

“I apologize, I’m from a rural area… Eh, I seem to have gotten lost exploring and… Well, it’s really embarrassing for me to admit, and I’ve been underground here for a bit.” Without rambling on and omitting too much, you seem to have put the woman’s mind at ease if just a bit. You take in the little information you gained– century old ruins are what she called your hidden chambers, normally you would have taken offense but you are a changed woman now. Does this count as a second re-awakening?

“You will be reawakened wholly…” The memory of that man’s words echo through your head, making you swallow harshly. It’s frightening all over again. Nope, absolutely no second re-awakening.

“I see… Do you also have an interest in archaeology and history? I came to consider the legend of the last vampire, oddly enough all history of such a person seems to have decayed, besides this castle… Someone covered it up, for sure, but I can’t seem to figure out why… Perhaps another vampire? An accomplice, but a vampire specifically working with another seems most likely. There were a few scriptures scattered and—” The woman keeps talking for a while, and it makes you even less interested in yourself, at one point you seem to tune it out. But, you watch as she hides her dagger away in its sheath, her hand still holding onto the handle.

She clears her throat, snapping you out of your trance.

“I’m Nico Robin, an archaeologist. You are?” Robin finally formally introduces herself, seeming a bit more friendly and under the impression that you actually listened to her theories and minute long rant. Actually, you managed to listen to about half of it, so all's well that ends well– this has yet to end though. One last look at the scattered bones across the dusted cobblestone floor and you speak up again, finally introducing yourself.

“Ah, that's quite a unique name. So, would you like some shoes?” For a moment you choke and sputter, looking down at your bare feet. You haven’t been embarrassed in centuries, and the feeling is entirely unwelcome. She’s probably super suspicious of you now, and if not then she’s really pitying you.

“Yes, please. My feet are sore from walking aimlessly.” You joke softly, laughing humorlessly while her face stays blank. After setting down her oil lamp, Robin takes off the backpack slung around one of her shoulders, rummaging around and pulling out a pair of black leather boots, placing them into your hands. You drop them to the floor, trying your best to clear your cold feet from dirt and grime, before haphazardly slipping them on. There's strings attached to them, and they are loose around your ankles, it seems like a stupid design and it makes you wonder what other useless inventions were made.

“Do you not know how to tie your laces, miss?” Laces? What on earth was she talking about? The boots were made of leather, and there wasn't even a single clipping of lace adorning them. Is this some modern day slang the young women use?

“Uh… I guess not. I am barefoot more often than not.” Your voice is a murmur, it isn't entirely a lie, but you are much more used to shoes without these… stringy contraptions strewn across their surface. Maybe you made yourself look suspicious by not knowing how to “tie your laces” but if this is fashion these days, maybe it's not so bad if you’re eternally slain by her.

“Allow me, then. You seem sickly, I think maybe I should show you the way out.”

She drops to her knees before you, it reminds you of when you received voluntary blood offerings… Blood. You will only get weaker from here on out if you don't feed soon, and this Robin woman seems to be a good candidate, all you need to do is win her over and earn her trust, disarm her and feed off of her… but she has shown you a bit of kindness, so it wouldn't do too much harm to loosen up a bit. But you can't allow yourself to rely on someone so much again, remembering Ophelia's actions was disheartening— you can't allow yourself to be fooled once more by somebody else, much less a pathetic excuse of a human as she was. And you can't let what happened with that man repeat. 

Maybe you should forget about Mihawk for a second considering that just mentioning his name to yourself alone makes you feel as if he's already watching you. A cold hand comes to accidentally touch near the bottom of your calf, and time seems to still for a second. Are you…? No, this just cannot be. It’s pathetic, but you seem to feel a bit tingly against the touch of another. Exactly how far has oneself fallen? From making people crumble from the scrape of your fangs against their veins, to crumbling against a cold and accidental touch. Embarrassment takes over once again, and your lungs start to withhold air from you in an attempt to take your mind off of it. Robin is still tying your “laces” , which you can easily assume are the strings attached to the pair of leather boots she has given you. The foolish observation from earlier is still fresh in your mind. How utterly embarrassing for someone of your caliber.

“I’ve finished tying them. Now, would you like some help getting out? You mentioned that you have been down under for quite some time. I know the way out, but we will have to go through the castle to get aboveground. I assume you’ve entered from the underground tunnels in the forest, but the moon has risen… best to steer clear of there. I’m sure you know why.”

It’s definitely not thrilling hearing someone explain to you how to get out of the catacombs you asked to be implemented under your own castle, but you know you should try not to arouse suspicions too early into your first meeting with a scholar— specifically this one. She came armed to a vampire's castle with a dagger of silver, a known weakness of your kind.

“The wolves.” You nod, trying to hide the scowl peeking onto your face. Werewolves, the scum of the earth. Though, you would argue that you hate Emperor Romanov from your time the most. It's hypocrisy at its finest coming from you, but you hate people who try to stand above all else and crumble whomever beneath their soles. Maybe Ophelia knocked some sense into you when she drove that fine elven blade of silver into your heart, or maybe you have always known you were a bit of a tyrant.

“Let's go, then.” Robin spoke, prompting you to join her, you can't help but notice the appeal in her smile, the way she struts about with utmost confidence, the dip in her back, the curve of her hips, the smirk on her lips— though, you, of course, would never ogle a woman in such a manner. It's just that it's been a while since you've been awake, and she's easy on the eyes, why on earth would you think like a man? She bends down to pick up the oil lamp she brought with her, and your eyes are still drawn to her.

It's simply your appetite talking, of course. You two head down throughout the dusty and spider infested halls, the clacking of both of your shoes is a tad bothersome.

“Miss Y/N. How did you come to know of this place?” Robin begins to question, her tone non-accusatory. She looks back at you with a curious look, in fact.

“I’ve always been fascinated by the supernatural…  And I get a thrill out of exploring. I scout out places occasionally, and I sometimes find small artifacts.”

Ah yes, building onto your small storyline once more, would this classify as roleplay? Softening your voice, you reach into your pocket— if you can begin to have her let her guard down by showing a bit of “proof” you are in fact an explorer, then it would likely make it easier to feed off of her. It wasn't like you could avoid her anyways, if she knew you were a vampire, she could do a lot worse than be horrified. You pull out an old stopwatch of yours, a century or two old, that makes it around two to three centuries old in total. Surely if this woman truly has an eye for antiques, she would appreciate such an item.

“I found this on my way in. It's certainly splendid.” You put on a smile, walking a bit faster to catch up, holding out the stopwatch in the palm of your hand. Robin pauses and gasps as her eyes widen, her hand comes to brush against yours, her manicured fingers are cold as she takes the watch from your hands.

Suspended in the air by its chain, the dim source of light gleams off of the metallic surface, and it makes you just a little uneasy looking at the watch. It’s like there is something buried deep inside your psyche that just refuses to come back despite the fact that you have impeccable memory, almost as if your body knows you aren’t ready. The watch was yours, but you can’t seem to recall who gave it to you… 

 “Does the air here seem a tad thick to you, as well? We should hurry. There’s no full moon, but dangers persist no matter what. The walls could cave in on us, and we would end up being nothing more than splatters of red.” 

Robin comments, placing the stopwatch back into your hand. She’s more odd than you initially thought, but individuality is part of being human. A chill same as before wraps itself over your spine and almost causes you to gasp aloud. You feel anxious, and for a second you swear you feel the same eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Of course.”

Exhaling , you glance behind you, gripping the watch as if it were your lifeline. You're frightened, so you walk side by side with Robin again.

“These boots are rather comfy, Miss Robin.” You clear your throat, making small talk. It does calm you a bit, maybe it's the paranoia from being alone all those years in a coffin. Why did you ever sleep in one anyways? 

“Aren't they? A friend lent them to me, she's quite the fashionista.” She chuckles, reaching the now well-worn staircase that leads to the hidden door which you entered many years ago. It’s bittersweet, seeing the stains of old blood and splints of bone while simultaneously taking in the castle which gave you comfort. Things are sure to have changed quite a bit, and in order to get your steady food source replenished, you would have to be in a position of power yet again. Such a thing wouldn't be too easily achievable, considering you underwent some sort of spiritual awakening while slumbering.

The you which the world knew saw you as a bloodthirsty deity who would give humans a few extra years of health and life for a bath of blood. That does sum you up, actually, but now you feel your existence is more than to just feed and slaughter. New feelings, sensations, and coherent thoughts are filling your stained soul with curiosity, the question is not what is the cause but why is the cause.

You confuse yourself a bit. You spent the entire journey back up spacing out, unsure if you even made conversation; you can't really be bothered by anything more than your own internal conflicts and hunger. Immediately you begin to notice the crickets make a cacophony of noise, the crashing of waves and distant howling is all too familiar. One more glance at the familiar surroundings before you leave for an uncertain amount of time, maybe returning eventually, and maybe not. An eardrum piercing howl cuts through the air, and Robin unsheathes her dagger cautiously, stalling for a moment as she hooks her lantern on the loop of her belt before grabbing your hand, gently tugging you along with her.

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? I’m planning to check into a nearby inn, but I’m concerned about you most of all. It’s no good escorting you if I am to hear that you are deceased by the next day. It could just be the goodwill of the senior adventurers spreading through me… It’s out of character for me, but nobody quite takes an interest in history much anymore, so I suppose I just want you to live long enough for us to be acquainted.” Robin’s eyes watch the woods for a minute, before they momentarily glance over to you, awaiting an answer.

You don’t have any choice but to stay with her– how could you survive without her, either way? The thing you need most is her blood, but her comment about the “senior adventurers” piques your curiosity, and you certainly are tempted to ask a question or two.

“I don’t have somewhere to stay–  not anywhere nearby, at least. And, er… I’m certainly… Thrilled, that you would like to get to know me. Many don’t have such an appreciation of the past, normally. It’s a relief meeting a woman like yourself.” Clearing your throat, you walk up beside her, and she gives you a soft smile and a nod, signaling she’s ready to go. She’s doing her best to stay vigilant despite showing clear signs of exhaustion, and you can’t help but admire her, in ways more than one.

“Apologies if I may come off as presumptuous, but would it be okay with you if the both of us were to check in at the inn together? I can escort you wherever it is you live tomorrow, but we need to make it through this night safely first and foremost. Nami would certainly be upset if her boots were to be torn to shreds.”

A rustling is heard nearby, and you feel a bit upset at the fact you no longer have people willingly disregarding their lives to check for danger. You suppose this woman armed with a dagger of silver would do just fine, as well— Wait, no. You scowl when you find yourself thinking the exact same way you have in the past, it’s what got you killed and you surely aren’t looking forward to yet another “reawakening” anytime soon.

“I have no qualms about that, Miss Robin. You’re a sweet woman.”

You sigh, watching Robin’s tense posture loosen up when a rabbit comes running out of the bushes into the open— it stops in front of you for a second, looking up at you with round eyes you can see just fine in the dark, but Robin douses the scene in light, attempting to help you see better. You can smell the fear resonating in the small creature's body as soon as it sprouts up, some say animals can see far deeper than just the surface level of oneself, even into a soul. You think it's nonsense. It scrambles away, and the sound of the small pounding heart becomes nothing more than a whisper into the night.

“Let’s make haste, then. I’m beginning to get a bit jumpy.” Robin speaks as if the trees are actively listening, shuddering just as audibly as it is visible. The air is cooler with each step the two of you take, and you just can’t break out of the silence, because it feels wrong.

You feel those eyes boring into the back of your head every step of the way. Each time you turn around to only be greeted by an owl with eyes just the same as his, and you fear this time you may lose your mind. There’s a lot you are curious about— but you are more so confused on why he is stalking you all of a sudden after forgetting about you for centuries, leaving you high and dry with nothing else to do other than wait around and take your anger out on people by stealing their lives away, you can’t recall the entirety of your humanity but you’re sure that he took it from you for a selfish reason.

Why else would he do such a thing? Damning you for eternity by sharing his blood with you, transforming you into this… parasite who needs others to live. You find your thoughts heading into a circle, so you try to stop thinking too much about Mihawk.

After maybe twenty-five minutes of walking, a city makes its way into your line of sight, though it is deep into the night, occupied minds cannot find the time in their schedules for sleep, and they wander the streets. Some laugh merrily, others wallow in their own negativity, and you and Robin are just looking for somewhere to settle. It would be easier to go after a drunken man and drink him dry, but you aren’t the type of vampire to chase after men simply because they’re easily accessible, you have your eyes set on a beautiful archaeologist this time. Following in her footsteps, you reach a cozy looking Inn. There are orchids displayed in intricately patterned vases nearby the open door. The building itself is made of a sturdy looking wooden structure with a wide arch that has a homemade sign on display.

“Come in, come in! Are ya ladies looking for lodging? Beauties such as yourself should never be caught out at such a late hour. You too, young man with the dashing golden locks! I have plenty of room for all.”

An older woman comes into view, popping out of the doorway and dancing towards you two, including the blonde man. She’s short and stout with graying hair tied back with a piece of cloth, an apron tied around her waist with a welcoming smile.  There’s a keyring hanging from a chain clasped around her neck, which must be keys to the rooms.

“How much would you charge for a single room with two beds? I’m afraid I’ve nearly used all my travel funds. It's just for tonight, ma’am.” Robin unclasps a leather pouch from around her belt, her lantern is now extinguished. She loosens the drawstrings around it, digging around for a second as she awaits an answer, her cold blue eyes drawn to the contents of her coin pouch. The woman looks back between you and Robin with an accusatory glance, her lips pursed, and eyes narrowed all while she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why, sure, I can do that for you two… Maybe they’re together…?” The older woman not so quietly mutters the last part under her breath.

“And you, young man?” She speaks to the hooded blonde man now, who jolts the very second she tries to draw his attention. You watch him remove his hood after stepping a bit more into the shadow casted nearby, then you notice his odd eyebrows. They’re swirled, but he seems to cover the right side of his face with his bangs quickly when he catches onto your curious look, a shy blush and beating heart greet your ears and eyes, which you consider a rather friendly introduction. There is still a part of you that enjoys this manner of attention, but you want to keep it buried for now.

“One room, one night. Please and thank you, Mademoiselle.” His voice is smooth, but it has an undeniable presence, reminiscent of a certain emperor which ruled about a century ago, one who coincidentally also had swirled eyebrows and blonde hair. What a great shame such a handsome young man even somewhat resembles that stupidity encrusted oaf.

“For the ladies, thirty in total, for the young man, it's just fifteen.”

She leads the three of you inside slowly, shutting the front door of the Inn after all has entered. The reception area gives off a comforting vibe, and there's the faint smell of dinner dug into the beige colored walls, the wood planked floors are a bit squeaky and worn, but still not the slightest bit dirtied. Robin hands over thirty berry, and your brows quirk up when you see the exact same face on the coins. That asshole made his way onto the modern-day currency. The blonde man hands over his payment as well, your eyes glance over the rings of silver adorning his fingers, paired with many jewels. Not exactly the best choice if you’ll be out in a slightly more rural area, but maybe he’s just a clueless rich kid who got lost. 

“I’ll be right back young man, wait here for a moment while I show these pretty ladies to their room.”

Nodding towards your direction, she guides you down a dimly lit hallway, passing what must have been a dozen doors before she finally reached one that seemed deliberately excluded from the others. Does she actually think you're a couple still? You have no interest in romance, merely feeding off of people, male or female. A pretty face does help, that you will admit. The innkeeper removes a heavy metal key off of the large keyring hanging around her neck, and places it into Robin’s open hands.

“You two ladies stay safe, I wouldn’t go out this hour at night, what with all the rowdy men. Your door locks, too.” She smiles at you two, before walking back to the reception area.

Robin sighs, unlocking and pushing the door to your room open. The room is a bit smaller than someone of your caliber is used to, but it is clean and pristine, but the windows only have a sheer curtain to cover them. There’s two beds in each corner, their footboards facing each other, one on the left side, the other on the right. Robin removes her boots, loosening the clasps on them and placing them neatly by the door, the lantern she had with her is rubbing against her hip with every step she takes… You don’t know why, but you can’t seem to stop watching it. You’re telling yourself it’s just because you’re hungry, but if you keep this up you’ll reveal the secret you’re trying to keep even from yourself.

When you snap back to yourself, Robin has already tucked herself into the bed in the left corner. Her clothes are scattered near the foot of her bed, and you avert your eyes like a sinner scared to face the divine.

“I’m going to bed, I don’t want to have any delays for when we set out in the morning.” Robin yawns, shuffling around under the thick blankets in bed. One can only imagine what lies underneath. Sighing, you place yourself on top of the right bed, subtly glancing over to watch Robin, simply because you need to make sure she’s asleep so you can try to feed off of her, no other reason. Eventually, the rise and fall of her chest becomes rhythmic, and she’s asleep. Is now a good time? You feel nervous, for some reason… It feels like you’re being watched again.

Your back is turned to the window, so there’s no mistaking it, his eyes are back onto you. As you whip back around, you see a glimpse of him, before he’s gone within a blink of the eye.

Mihawk.  You scowl, snatching the key off of Robin’s nightstand and begin scrambling to unlock the door. Angry footsteps are as silent as can be, but you are running as fast as you can to get outside before you can process your thoughts about why he’s following you around again. Swinging the door open with an unimaginable force, you disregard the curious and frightened crows staring at you, walking in the direction of the woods. Is this another one of his sick jokes? What’s he going to do, bite your neck again? Worst case scenario is that he kills you. Again.

“Is something the matter, Y/N?”  Same as before, he appears behind you, his cold breath tickling the back of your neck in the exact same manner. He smells very strongly of blood still, and you can feel the weight of all the lives he has taken after you, maybe you can even taste their blood smeared on his lips. Fear stops you from turning to face him.

“You pompous fool. There certainly is, and it’s the fact that you’ve been constantly following me ever since I awoke. You already turned me into a parasite, what more do you want? How greedy of a man are you?” You’re seething with unbridled rage, and a feeling of helplessness. His cold hand rests against yours, his fingers allowing themselves to intertwine with yours with his palm pressed against the back of your hand. All these years, and you still fail to understand him. He purposely made you turn, but why? It could be something that you did as a human woman, but your memory betrays you. He’s clearly mocking you by holding your hand, inadvertently stating that he sees you as no threat.

“Now, now… There isn’t any need for you to be so full of hate. Eternal life is a blessing, not the curse you may think.”  He has a smile on his face, surely. But why? Why is it you who has received it, then? Mihawk is an odd man who simple minds can’t even begin to understand, and even you barely grasp exactly what kind of man he is, because vampires prefer to live in solitary. He confuses you with his words, and you stay silent, too weak to fight.

“You already had your fun about a century ago, so I was worried when I heard the news… I wanted to be sure you had a steady food source. After all, you are a part of me, and I am not as cruel and evil as you may be driven to believe. I have no time for your tantrum, so it would be greatly appreciated if you ran along.”

Everything’s even more confusing now. Worried? A part of him? Is he being metaphorical, or is he speaking in the literal sense, that you do not know. His hand slips away from yours, and you feel his presence dissipate. You can’t trust him, but you find yourself growing curious about him and where he even originated from. That woman, Robin, is interested in the history of you, who is also a vampire, and it’s possible that maybe she is aware of Mihawk’s existence, or she has already studied him. Lucky you, you have an archaeologist to help you get two things you need.

You walk your way back inside of the Inn, defeated, but determined. Maybe joining the same guild as Robin would allow you a few resources to learn more about Mihawk, vampires, and what else to do with your life.

But, you are still hungry. It’s urgent, you need to feed by tomorrow night at the very least.

[nthspecialll]

Hey Alex! I was wondering if you could write about a female Kieran? Do you think that if Kieran was a woman then the gang might have treated him better/trusted him sooner considering there are almost no women with the O’Driscolls? Or would they have continued to treat him like shit until the very end?

Love your blog!

Colm does not have any women in the gang, though you might see some at the camps despite the fact he doesn't want his men out "whoring," so if Kieran was the only woman, then I think the gang would be more suspecious of her because what is so special about her that she is allowed into the gang?

That said I think that they would treat her better, the gang is known to treat women fairly okay and while I do think she would still be tied up, I think she would be given a bit more free roam and probably some food too.

As for how fast they would trust her, I think that depends on Susan. As a woman in the gang Kieran would be expected to do chores and the funny thing is, he already does it as a man, though it is other chores. Susan has a big influence over the gang so if you are liked by her you are pretty much set. She demands a shit ton of the girls but Kieran would probably be okay with giving her that, with working over without complaining, so I do think Susan would really like her.

That however would likely cause the other girls to be a bit iffy, like "Kieran you need to stand up for yourself." But I do think they would be more likely to warm up to Kieran because they know what it is like being a girl in a gang and likely they would be able to imagine how bad it would be being the only girl in a gang filled with men.

I do also think the rest of the gang would warm up to her faster because... Well even as a dude Kieran leans into more feminine sterotypes and while I hate those steroypes, the gang does believe in them, they see a weak and pathetic man, someone they can tease and hurl insults at, but "weak and pathetic" in a woman would be more "acceptable", that said, they wouldn't pick on women. Arthur does not like picking on women, it is far below him, meaning without this principle of "I need to pick on you" while Kieran is also doing the chores he rest of the women are as well, she would be trusted I think.

[7postitsjumpingonabed]

TF2 Mamma Mia! AU

Cannot over stress how it’s-on-the-tin this is.

If you’re curious, my qualifications for this are the fact I’ve seen the movie like 4 times and am currently in a production of the musical so I know my shit.

Also Mamma Mia! is a romcom so I’ll just say the roms I chose are Sniper/Scout, Spy/Ma, minor Heavy/Medic, and optional Soldier/Demo(I present two options).

That’s all the preamble, lets get into this

Sophie

Alright let’s start with the most important character, who is our bride-to-be and catalyst for the whole plot? Scout, of course. Did I mostly pick him because he has known familial relationships that are easily enough translated to these characters? Yes absolutely. Did I also pick him because he seems the type to think inviting three strangers who could be his dad to his wedding is a good idea, he seems the type to be excited over a large and exciting wedding, and is commonly characterized with some form of anxiety that would lead really well into ‘Under Attack’? Also yes absolutely. Broadly, I think that Scout’s young, enthusiastic, and not-forward thinking personality lines up well with Sophie. For this we are going to ignore the other 7 Willis boys as characters, sorry unnamed brothers Sophie is very significantly an only child.

Skye

A reader with baseline knowledge of Mamma Mia! and who read the preamble can easily guess that Sniper is my Skye. I chose him because I like Speeding Bullet, he would definitely prefer a quiet elopement over a big white wedding, and he is also commonly characterized as kind of whipped for Scout so I would see him begrudgingly accepting this wedding as his life and making it work. You may be seeing this and asking ‘Postit, how on earth are you getting Sniper to dance, sing, and do all that theater kid bullshit?’ And to that I raise two things, 1. that is making me think of a community theater AU and that’s absolutely hilarious and now I want to make it but as I write this I’m realizing he would be in lighting… alright anyway 2. Through musicals are things are possible so write that down. Scout and Sniper going off to travel together seems very accurate and cute as well.

Donna

Alright this one should be clear, it’s Scout’s Ma. In all honesty I did briefly consider having Spy in this role but the fact that Sophie wants her dad at her wedding to do dad things is really important to setting the plot in motion so I’ve relegated him to a different role. Anyway besides literally being Scout’s mom I think she fits well because despite her lack of characterization, from what we do know about her she is a no-nonsense hard worker, who is trying to move past old and questionable decisions, and support her son in what she thinks is a silly decision. Overall I just think she’s the best option and can be made to fit well.

Ali and Lisa

If you only have a passing knowledge of Mamma Mia! you might not know these characters, and honestly I considered combining them into one person because they don’t have large individual impacts but it just worked better to keep them both, but they’re Sophie’s friends and advisors, as well as generation counter parts to Rosie and Tanya. I chose Ms. Pauling and Pyro for these roles. I had really no ideas on this front so it got filled in near the end of planning but I think Pauling and Pyro work well enough. I think if Pauling and Scout can move past potential love

Sam Carmichael

Who else? It’s Spy. With Scout’s Ms as Donna there wasn’t really any other choice. Sam is sort of the prime father and ends up marrying Donna at the end of the story. The second act songs between him and Donna are all about the past, regrets, and missed opportunities and that goes perfectly with the implied dynamic between Spy and Scout’s Ma. In this AU ‘Loraine’ would be Spy’s job, he would leave to work it and come back only to find Ma with other men. Speaking of.

Harry Bright

Harry is contemplative, plays the guitar, and had a ‘rough’ past that doesn’t reflect his current quieter life? Now who does that sound like? Engineer isn’t canonically an ex-punk but the idea of him ‘headbanging’ is really funny. I largely chose him because of his demeanor and the irony of him being a punk in a previous life but the straight forward attitude and guitar playing are also very appropriate.

Bill Anderson

Heavy is my Bill Anderson because he’s the last reasonable man left, his writing associations, and the fact Bill’s two duets in the musical have him mostly responding to another’s behavior. After Heavy the men get a little more visibly insane, even on a picturesque Greek vacation. Bill is a writer and travel books aren’t exactly Russian lit but the general idea lines up. The role of Bill being quiet most of the time and being the first father to figure out his relation to Sophie feels very Heavy.

Rosie

Rosie is Donna’s friend that is on the wild side, never married, and ends up ‘taking a chance’ (imagine me lightly elbowing you at my joke) on Bill. Replace Bill with Heavy and that’s an in complete description of Medic. I can see Medic having not terrible, if not normal, friendships with people willing to embrace the lunacy. A lady who shot her shot with Spy of all people and raised Scout can definitely handle some lunacy. Also there’s a line somewhere, musical or movie, when Bill mentions having one of Rosie’s cookbooks, and that seems like a sweet, Red Oktoberfest thing to do.

Tanya

For lack of better option, Demo is my Tanya. There’s no particularly strong connections between them but Demo needs to go somewhere and Soldier is even worse of a fit for this role. Since this is where he’s going I’ll propose that, if the viewer desires so and is willing to lose the alignment of Tanya’s marriages with the one happening at the end, the series of failed marriages could be changed to jobs, which would give this hypothetical casting more cohesion.

Pepper and Eddy

The only merc left is Soldier and I think him as a largely unhelpful, partying, kind of a freak feels… not terrible. This is where my two options in the Soldier/Demo situation is explained, you can go classic ‘Does Your Mother Know?’ and set the two up as romantic counterparts or you could just have them as friends. Like, Soldier is a ‘bad’ influence and Demo is trying to be normal for Scout’s Ma but is having too much fun with Soldier to resist. I think both work fine and it depends on preferences. For Eddy I want an unenthusiastic Merasmus. We know that Soldier just harasses him and drags him into random scenarios so a reluctant Merasmus can fit as a variation on Eddy so the cast is all lined up.

That’s where my fan cast ends but I want to say that if anyone wants to work with this idea, go ahead but tag me so I can see! Also I’m still thinking about Spy!Donna so there might be a follow up…. But we’ll see. Thank you for reading!

[natsuki208]

Mikasa Ackerman! Strongest Girl With That One Flaw

Today is that day when I can express once more of how much of a Mikasa defender I am! But despite all the good, I will acknowledge the major flaw that caused many to dislike her as well, and unfortunate ruined her character going onward.

(Plz, I don’t wanna see any of you haters here for this girl on her special day, thank you)

-

We all know of Mikasa’s strengths; figuratively and literally. She’s known as one of the manga/anime’s strongest fighters, due to her Ackerman blood and what she had to go through as a child. It was because of both her power and compassion is how she managed to save citizens of Trost to escape the city in S1. She showed signs of a dependable soldier.

One other noticeable side of her character that got explored a lot more within the story was her connection with Eren, and that divided a lot of the fans as the series went on. On one hand, it reflects back to when Eren saved her from being sold for profit and how much his kindness meant to her, but on the other hand, it slowly started to isolate her from other important aspects needed to keep her interesting.

But it wasn’t all that bad; to me that is. There have been times when Mikasa showed worry for her other closest friend Armin, protecting him and comforting him during hard times, swung in to save Historia and Sasha from titans, checked on Connie by asking if he’s okay, and even was concerned about Levi’s ankle.

So yeah. Mikasa grew connections with almost everyone around her, opening up to have more friends within her small circle since her childhood, however, her feelings for Eren started to overlap those friendships. Not that it is a bad thing, I love how the two grew closer as the series went on but it really shouldn’t be the only important part of her development. A healthy mixture of all her traits would’ve made a better experience.

Sadly, the concept of her undying love for Eren gets heavily exaggerated in the dreaded fourth season.

By that I mean for most of her screentime she spend worrying about Eren and only him. Sure there was… Sasha, but it didn’t really last for very long. In fact, she didn’t really speak much to anyone other than Armin afterwards, and I thought she’d be more open to help them out with their own struggles.

In fact, her love for Eren seemed to have made her more fragile to his own thoughts as well, like when he spoke his mind and pretended to admit he hated her, she got over emotional.

(this is the same girl who didn’t hesitate to punch him in the face when he went too far)

But at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter since she managed to save the world by killing Eren with her own hands but still has him at the front of her mind years later. Yes, it can be hard to move on but at least show some scenes of her bonding with her other friends, even leaving Armin in the dust.

-

Anyway, happy birthday, you poor girl. You deserved much better. Not as in Eren, but as in better writing to expand your character. I had a lot more to say but I don’t wanna make this too long. Maybe I’ll update this later on.

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[lovesickeros]

putting my thoughts under the cut in case people dont want to spoil themself on arle voicelines

currently obsessed with the view our current harbingers have of the Tsaritsa. both childe and arlecchino greatly respect her even if arlecchino is dubiously loyal to the Tsaritsa at best. they both talk about her as a figure who is gentle and compassionate, completely at odds with both the organization she allows to commit horrible acts (dottore. its a lot of dottore. he canonically took children from the hoth under the old knave if they were no longer considered "useful" and used as test subjects). shes described as someone with no love left for her people yet the harbingers we've heard talk about her never seem to describe her in such a manner. of course, childe mentions she had to harden herself to complete her goal, but he still notes that shes too gentle. the more we learn about her the more i want to meet her purely because she is contradictions all the way down and its great!!! taking whatever scraps i can get and its perfectly in line with my characterization too so i stay winning

[feyinvestigations]

Yeah maybe I'm formatting an entire fic bc I think a female character could be very interesting but I've literally only found one fic that treats her as nuanced even though she was introduced in 1983

[sprnklersplashes]

I am going to say something that might piss people on this site off, and that is that the stabbing at a Taylor Swift themed event in Southport does not exist in a vacuum.

It exists in a world where a joke about bringing a nail gun to the Eras tour to shoot fans gets 400k likes on TikTok, or where a reel about crashing a plane full of Swifties gets 200k likes on Instagram. It exists in a world where, on this very website, the one that promotes itself as rational and reasonable, someone says that "Taylor Swift and her fans should all die violent horrible deaths" and people applauded it. It exists in a world where, during TTPD release week men were in Swifties' comment sections declaring they would beat their daughters and girlfriends if they ever so much as listened to one of her albums. And it exists in a world where this week, fans of a TV show (which I will not name because that is not the point) sent death threats to a girl on Twitter for daring to be a fan of both their beloved show and Taylor Swift.

I don't give a fuck what your opinion of Taylor Swift is. I don't care if you think her music is grating, I don't care if you think she is the worst thing to happen to humanity since Eve ate the god damn apple. This is the dark side of stan culture that no-one talks about; where dislike of an artist becomes so obsessive that it becomes normal, even funny, to joke about killing their fans, because "it's just online, it's just a joke". It isn't. It is rarely ever "just online".

And yes I am going to be That Person and say that you can complain about Swift's brand of feminism and debate her position as a feminist icon all day long, at the end of the day, her name is still synonymous with girls. It doesn't take a genius to work out who this event was geared at.

I am not going to sit and claim that by simply not liking Taylor Swift you directly caused this. I would encourage you to step back, look at the bigger picture of stan culture, including obsessive dislike of an artist, and ask yourself how much this culture has enabled this. If making jokes on tiktok about killing someone over a pop star is normalised, how much of a leap is it to attacking kids with a knife at a fan event?

and of course there is the fact that the british media didn't even wait until those kids were buried before using this event to spread their racist, anti-immigrant agenda despite the race of the attacker not being known. all I can say to that is I am sickened and disappointed but not shocked.

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[januaryembrs]

CROSS MY HEART | Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

Request: read here

description: Spencer's wife struggles with the aftermath of JJ's confession

length: 1.5k

warnings: JJ's 14x15 confession spoilers (big ick, pull yourself together Jennifer) infidelity, thoughts of worthlessness, reader thinks Spencer is going to leave her for JJ.

authors note: I have loved JJ for all of fourteen seasons and fourteen episodes. this was a BIG ICK for me watching this won't lie

She should have known something was wrong the minute they left that damn store. 

It took her all of two seconds to throw herself into her husband’s arms, her voice choked with tears that had threatened to spill when she’d seen the video of Casey shooting at him, and she swore Spencer had never grabbed her so tight. 

“I thought you,” She sniffled, running her fingers through the back of his scalp, the entire spanse of his huge hands ran along her spine, counting every vertebra to make sure she was still intact, despite the fact he had been the one held hostage, “I thought he’d shot you- it came so close,” 

He hushed her mewls, a hand reaching to the back of her head and tucked her into his neck further, the sob rattling through her ribcage almost, almost, taking his mind entirely off what JJ had said in that stupid game of truth or dare. 

What the fuck did she mean she had always loved him? She had a husband and children who doted on her; Will, who loved every shred of her being like it was his only purpose in the world. His godsons who had known him as uncle Spencer since he’d held them in the hospital, covered in goop and looking like the cutest little aliens he’d ever seen. 

And yet JJ, his friend, perhaps one of his longest friends, was willing to throw it away for him? He, who had a wife he adored more than there were birds in the wind, leaves on an Autumn floor, more than there were galaxies in the damn cosmos. His wife, who had been there for him since the moment they’d met, who he’d known was the one since that first day she’d ran into him in the lobby, their files mixing together because neither of them had been watching where they were going, like one of those romcoms she forced him to watch and he pretended to hate, or like the silly thing she called fate that she insisted was very much real. 

Spencer was a man of statistics and numbers and facts; things he could see. But he was sure there was nothing in any textbook that could have ever made sense of how the one person so perfectly created for him, the blob of cells that made up his wife that seemed to call to his own as if they were coming home to one another, would have just so happened to bump into him on a random Tuesday in August. 

Most people waited decades for that kind of love, or something close, and he’d managed to get it at the ripe age of thirty three. 

And yet in the space of ten seconds, of four little words in a wretched game, he felt like the carpet had been pulled from beneath him. Because why would JJ, who saw as clearly as anyone else how much he cherished his wife and the future they were planning together, try to take that away from him?

And as if his own odd spiral of thoughts wasn’t a kick to the gut enough, his sweet wife had quickly released him from her grasp and thrown herself at JJ, who seemed to just now be understanding the gravity of her words as she looked around with wide eyes, tear stains wetting her cheeks, the guilt gnawing in her gut already. 

“JJ! Are you okay? Oh, you poor thing, you must have been so scared,” She sobbed, wrapping her friend in a loving hug that was shakily reciprocated, like JJ was waiting for the second she would get a fat shiner to the nose for confessing such a thing. 

But that never happened. Instead, she pulled away from the frozen blonde woman, who looked like she could burst into tears then and there and apologise for everything until her face turned blue, and ran a kind hand over the JJ's hair, stroking it behind her ear tenderly as she tried to quell her cries because she wasn't the one who had been held at gunpoint. 

She didn’t know. It hit them both at the same time. She didn’t know what JJ had said, hadn’t even got an inkling into what had happened, and god did it make the sinking feeling in Spencer’s chest swallow itself up into something the size of the Mariana Trench. 

And what was left, what had for a second been a horrid mix of confusion, shock, fear and then another big dollop of confusion for good measure, quickly was dragged away by the current and replaced with anger. 

Anger that JJ could do something like this to his wife; he frankly didn’t care how her words had affected him, that if he had been single he would have been left feeling unworthy of her affection the first time it had been offered around, like there was something so disgustingly wrong with him this was what it took for her to say anything. He didn’t care about any of that. He cared that this would absolutely destroy his wife. 

And it was for that reason Spencer hurried the paramedics into fixing the small graze on his palm as he watched with boiling blood his wife tend to JJ like she would any other time her close friend was hurt in the field. He seethed whenever Jennifer would simper and avoid her friend's eyes, how his beautiful, caring, devoted wife would stroke the woman’s back and will her to talk, to tell her what to do to make it better.

Because it was her who should be fussing over his sweet wife, certainly not the other way around. 

But he couldn’t say that, not there at least, and so he didn’t, not until he had got the greenlight from the medics to leave and he had all but cut off the circulation in her fingers with how tight he’d held her hand as he led her to the car. 

Spencer said nothing, not wanting to fight when she forced him to sit shotgun as she climbed behind the wheel, not wanting to cause a commotion when there was a much bigger bombshell he was sitting on that he knew would change her feelings entirely. 

-

“What?” Her voice was soft still, a murmur in the quiet night air of their bedroom. She sat, fresh faced, minty breathed, kevlar vest long gone and replaced with one of his old Dr Who shirts and comfy bottoms.

She said the word again, like she hadn’t heard him, but judging by the way her expression had fallen into something dejected, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Sighing, drawing gentle motions up and down her legs with his warm hands, shuffled closer where he kneeled down in front of her submittingly. “JJ said that she has always loved me; that was her ‘truth’ in the game,”

“Well, she-she was lying right?” His wife said quickly, her voice shaking, trying to make sense of it herself. She didn’t get an answer right away, just her husband’s eyes casting down as he tried to think of the best thing to say, “Right, Spencer?” 

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly, and he saw immediately the way tears sprung to her eyes, her bottom lip trembling, her face warming in wet-anger, “But it doesn’t change anything, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter, to me- baby, please don’t cry,”

“Ofcourse it changes things, Spencer, it’s JJ. She’s literally the hottest woman to walk the earth, Pen said you were like in love with her when you started the BAU, and now you have your chance,” She whimpered, fat tears rolling over her freshly moisturised cheeks, and he swore he felt his chest concave at her words. 

“My chance? I don’t want a chance, I want you,” Spencer said in earnest, his hands rubbing further and further up her legs until his hands went under her night shirt, grabbing onto the soft of her hips with pleading tenderness, “I want you forever, no matter what JJ or any other woman feels about me,” 

She sniffled pitifully, her eyes still unsure and he took it as a sign she needed more, so he leaned in fully to hug her to him. 

“But it’s JJ,” She said again, like that was going to change anything, and he shook his head, stroking over the back of her hair softly.

“I don't care,” He said, and she sniffed gently into the crook of his neck, his skin wetting with the contact. She finally wrapped her arms around him, and he knew he was close to getting it through to her, “I had the smallest crush on JJ, what, fifteen years ago? Honey, I want you for the rest of my life, and nothing and no one is going to change my mind about that, not even you.” 

“Really?” His sweet wife whispered tearfully, and he chuckled sadly, hating how hard she had cried that it had ripped the life from her voice. 

“Cross my heart,” He kissed her hairline softly, tipping her head upwards with one long, warm finger under her chin, pressing a gentle kiss to her wetted lips, “Hope I never die,”

She smiled sorrowfully, kissing her husband as if it was the last time she could ever do so, hoping it made up for how puffy and ugly her tears had made her face. But he didn’t care, he never had, he thought she was perfect just the way she was.

And he’d remind her of that any time she thought otherwise. 

–

[benegesseritofficial]

The effects of face paint on Harrowhark's psyche

I've now cosplayed Gideon Nav 3 times, with my wife along as Harrow every time. Naturally, this has included full face paint for both of us each time and I have some thoughts.

Let me start by asserting that everything Muir writes in TLT about the face paint is accurate. Rubbing off your lips first, smearing into gray where the black and white meet, the way sweat makes it ooze but not run. I can't say if Muir (a known Homestuck) ever cosplayed as a troll, but I'm positive she tested out the practicality of the skull face paint or otherwise has first hand experience with extensive use of grease paint. Also, the way she describes normal people flinching when they see you is spot on.

I've noticed while putting on the make up that once most of my skin is covered, any flesh tones sticking out start to become unsettling. Specifically, the red/pink of the inner mouth and around the eyes jump out upsettingly. Every time I've done skull paint I find myself meticulously trying to patch over these edges of skin, despite knowing that it's inside skin that Shouldn't Have Make Up On It. Once my face is monochrome, I don't want to be able to see a scrap of real human under there. Smiling, or otherwise opening your mouth wide enough to see the pink, looks UNSETTLING. My own skin causes the uncanny valley effect. You see where this is going. In NtN we learn Harrowhark disassociates often enough that Crux isn't surprised or concerned to see "Harrow" insisting she's someone else. Obviously this is due to her schizophrenia, and perhaps trauma besides. But it doesn't account for every aspect of why Harrow's "like that." On her most lucid days Harrow ignores her body to the point of sweating blood and passing out. She goes entire days without eating. She thinks of herself as a skeleton unfortunately covered in flesh. She sleeps in her paint.

All of which is heinous, but that last one has stuck with me. From age 13-18 I barely glanced down while I showered and whatever I saw I basically blocked out. I wore underwear and a bra under my pajamas to sleep every night. I was going through the wrong puberty, "my body was in open rebellion" as I liked to say at the time, and the only way to cope was to bind it down and pretend it wasn't happening. By Gideon's narration in HtN one gets the impression most nuns of the Ninth are putting their paint on after breakfast and taking it off when they get home. It's not even expected the average person wears it every time they leave the house. But Harrow regularly only takes her paint off in order to redo it. I suspect a combination of being the most brainwashed person in her own cult, knowing how she was conceived, and the regular disassociation make it very difficult for Harrow to conceptualize that she actually lives in a body. If she faced that fact head on she'd have to ask why it so often feels someone else is using her body. She'd have to cope with owning this body, being a part of this body, that was bought with the blood of 200 children who should have been her peers and friends. Instead she pretends it's an object on loan from them. And she does it with 10 layers of black petticoats and so much paint she never has to see her own skin.

Which brings me to the final thing I've noticed wearing full face paint. It dehumanizes you to yourself and everyone around you. I couldn't read my own expressions in a mirror. Even people who understood and were delighted with my cosplay were visibly nervous talking to me. You don't look like a person. Studies have shown that faces wearing heavy make up are ranked as harder to read and perceived as less empathetic. It's a particularly insidious trap of patriarchy that many women find self esteem in wearing make up, while that very act makes everyone around them treat them more callously. And, worst of all, if you stop wearing it once you're used to it, your naked face is shocking. You look sick due to your colors being less bold and the normal small flaws of your face appear unbearably ugly. With all this in mind, Harrow has trapped herself in a feedback loop of not being able to witness her own face and becoming more and more disgusted with the flesh and person underneath whenever she has to glance at it.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.

I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.

This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.

Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.

The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.

I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”

“Why don’t you steal them?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.

“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.

After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.

Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.

“Is it about the frogs?”

“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”

I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”

She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”

“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”

The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.

I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.

I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.

[undertheorangetree]

Tantrum

Summary- Art’s girlfriend sucks at tennis. He helps her feel better.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Stanford era Art. Exhibitionism. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Wee bit of fingering. P in V sex. Riding. The fluffiest giggliest sex you've ever seen. Me not knowing a damn thing about tennis.

Author's Note- Hi idk if you noticed but i have Challengers brain rot rn specifically for Art Donaldson :// As a theatre kid I simply had no choice it was always gonna be him. Read the full fic on AO3.

When Art had looked up at her with big pleading eyes, all but begging her to allow him to teach her the basics of tennis, she was in no position to refuse. It had been sweet, how badly he wanted to share his passion with her, the kisses he had peppered across her neck and chest in order to entice her into it, and she couldn’t so much as imagine denying him. Forget the fact that she had never held a racket in her life, that her strengths had always been rooted in academia rather than athletics.  If allowing him to teach her would make him happy, she would do it.

Though not without complaint.

She lets out a frustrated grunt as the ball hits the net- again- before turning her head up to glare at Art when he barely manages to stifle his laugh. He smothers it immediately when he catches sight of her glower, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as if he can physically wipe away his smile and she feels her teeth grind together.

“You can’t laugh. You’re the one who wanted me to do this so you’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she complains, her voice half petulance half hurt and immediately his face morphs into something more apologetic.

“I’m sorry baby.” He makes his way closer but she simply rolls her eyes, turning her nose up when he reaches out to her. He takes it in stride. “I’m not laughing at you, you’re doing very well. It’s just funny to see you so frustrated.”

It’s her turn to laugh, though it is little more than a humourless bark. “I am not doing very well. I suck.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he attempts to reach for her again. She allows it begrudgingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as his hands close around her elbows, face dropping into her neck to press a kiss there. She thinks that he’s about to praise her further, try to coax her back into committing herself to the game, but he stays silent, continuing to lavish her with silent kisses.

She’s happy for the odd hour they decided to come here, the tennis court completely devoid of any other life. It’s a colder night than it should be for mid spring, the floodlights and moon the only two things to provide them with any light, and she’s grateful finals have chased everyone else away. She’s glad to have this time alone with him, despite her frustration. To feel like they are the only two people in the world.

“You’re just hitting the ball too hard,” he explains, face still half buried in her throat. “And you aren’t even attempting to aim. Putting everything you have behind the hit doesn’t make it a good one if you don’t know where you’re sending it. There’s more to tennis than just force, you have to be smart about it.”

She scoffs, reaching up to press her palm against his forehead and shove him away, ignoring the shit eating grin that’s made itself known on his face. “Just go over there and hit the damn ball. Before I leave you here by yourself.”

The grin doesn’t fade, his amusement more than clear, but he does as she asks, returning to his side of the court. She lets out another aggravated sigh as she returns to the position he had told her to wait in, knees bent as she waits for him to serve, realizing more and more that she prefers to watch him play tennis rather than do it with him. She finds far more joy watching him from the stands as he chases after the ball, sweat dripping from his curls and grunts echoing in her ears. Here, where she is the one chasing the ball like a damn dog and failing to send it sailing over the net when she does manage to catch it, there is no time to admire Art in his element.

She almost feels bad for her poor attitude, wishing she was less competitive so that she could simply enjoy this quality time with him, but every failure does nothing but enrage her further, sending her spiralling further into frustration.

Read the rest here :)