#how much they strove to be like him and now here they are

[dee-writes-angst]

DAFFODILS (Chapter One)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY The Spring Court has gone to shit, and while you would normally be able to tolerate it, the new discovery that you were pregnant pushes you to the gates of The Autumn Court and unknowingly into Eris' arms.

CONTENT WARNINGS pregnancy, Eris being a slight douche (you know how it is yall), violence (reader is kicked in the stomach), and mentions of Tampon (Tamlin).

AUTHORS NOTE who's excited for the kick-off of yet another series? I am! Of course, I had to start an Eris series, I love him too much not to! Strap in, darlings, I have a feeling this is going to be a long one.

SERIES MASTERLIST

The once vibrant Spring court had gone to shit, a shadow of its former glory. Tamlin, the once revered and compassionate High Lord, had vanished, abandoning his people to suffer in the decay his negligence had allowed to fester.

Amid the desolation, there were attempts to salvage what remained of the Spring Court. Lucien's name surfaced as one who strove to preserve our home. I recall his desperate sacrifice on Calanmai, offering himself to Ianthe in a futile bid to rescue us. He still occasionally visits, perhaps clinging to a hope that he might stumble upon signs of revival, our High Lord restored to his former benevolence. Yet each return only reinforces the stark reality of our decline, leaving him unsurprised by the sight of our dwindling realm.

And now, here I stand, just beyond the borders of the Autumn Court, clad in nothing but the ragged remnants of my escape, imploring the impassive sentries to grant me sanctuary within their walls. They offer no response, their stoic countenances unmoved as I plead and weep at their feet.

In my disheveled state, I must present a pitiful sight—my attire threadbare and stained, my once-glamorous countenance marred by streaks of dirt and smudged cosmetics, my limbs adorned with bruises like macabre adornments.

As I teeter on the brink of desperation, a voice cuts through the stillness, emerging from the depths of the forest to my right. The guards snap to attention at its sound, their posture stiffening even further, if such a thing were possible, in deference to its commanding presence.

"What is the meaning of this?" The voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a blade, belonged to a man with cascading locks of fiery hair, who strode forth from the underbrush with an air of regal authority.

Gods, he was a vision to behold. Despite the earthy stains marring his attire and the tousled state of his tunic sleeves, he exuded an otherworldly allure.

"A mere denizen of the Spring Court, attempting to beg her way into our domain, my lord," one of the guards grumbled, offering a curt bow before callously nudging me aside with his boot. I winced as the blow landed squarely in my stomach.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you are doing, you imbecile!" The fiery-haired man's voice dripped with disdain as he strode forward, confronting the offending guard with palpable fury. "Can you not discern her condition, you fool? She carries life within her."

My heart lurched as I instinctively cradled my abdomen, a protective gesture born of maternal instinct. Though every fiber of my being yearned to retaliate against the guard's callousness, I forced myself to breathe deeply, refusing to succumb to the animalistic urges that society expected of Spring Court members in these desperate times.

"Are you alright?" the man inquired, his amber eyes ablaze with a captivating mix of concern and authority, their gaze so intense that it stole the very air from my lungs.

"I'm… I'm fine," I managed to utter, brushing aside the tangled strands of hair obscuring my face and inhaling deeply to steady my frayed nerves.

"I must apologize for the behavior of my soldier. Rest assured, appropriate measures will be taken, my lady," the man assured me, his smile radiant as he inclined his head with graceful deference. His charm nearly brought a wry laugh to my lips.

"No need for such formalities," I replied weakly, the weight of my displaced status as a refugee gnawing at my throat like a persistent ache. But I steeled myself with the thought of my unborn child, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. "I am no longer a lady—well, not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"How so?" the man persisted, his expression a blend of curiosity and genuine concern, prompting me to draw my arms tighter around myself.

"I find it quite audacious for someone whose name I don't even know to ask such personal questions," I retorted, feigning a hint of indignation that rang hollow even to my own ears.

"Fair point," he conceded with a charming grin, though his adherence to formality still grated on my nerves. "Allow me to rectify that oversight. My name is Eris. Eris Vanserra, Heir to the Autumn Court," he declared, and I felt a strange mixture of relief and weariness wash over me at his introduction.

Eris. Lucien had spoken sparingly of his older brother during his time in the Spring Court, but whenever he did, a profound sense of affection tinged with melancholy colored his words. I shook myself from my reverie, extending a hand in a gesture of polite acknowledgement as I reciprocated with my own name. Eris repeated my name softly, testing it on his tongue, and my heart twinged at the striking resemblance in mannerism between him and Lucien, one so distant yet familiar, the other painfully close.

"Now," Eris began, his hands making a smooth, sweeping gesture that hinted at his readiness to delve deeper into the matter at hand, "what brings you to the borders of the Autumn Court, my lady?"

"The Spring Court is…" My voice faltered, and I let out a weary sigh, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach for comfort.

"It's gone to shit," he finished for me, his smirk sharp but not unkind.

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it quite so bluntly, but yes," I responded, my fingers tracing small circles over my abdomen. "That place and its ruler are no fit environment for a child. Considering the proximity of your court, I was hoping I might find a new beginning here."

"What about the father?" Eris inquired, one eyebrow—a mirror image of Lucien's—arching skeptically.

I clear my throat awkwardly and look at my well-worn shoes. How does one tell the Heir to the Autumn Court that they are pregnant with his youngest brother's babe? How does one also explain how he is mated to another female, that they knew as soon as that brother found out about said babe, he would give up all hope to find his true mate in order to be there for his child?

"Not in the picture," I manage to say, my voice faltering slightly as I reach up to scratch the back of my neck, a gesture betraying my discomfort.

Eris hums, a low, thoughtful sound that vibrates with suspicion, his striking eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes my uneasy demeanor. The weight of his gaze feels like it could peel back the layers of my hastily constructed defenses, compelling me to confront truths I'd rather leave unspoken. Eris's scrutinizing gaze doesn't waver, and the silence stretches taut between us like a bowstring. "Not in the picture," he echoes thoughtfully, each word heavy with the promise of unasked questions.

I nod, feeling the weight of the moment settling around us. The air in the forest seems to hold its breath, the usual whispers of leaves and distant calls of woodland creatures falling into a hushed reverence. "And you must understand, my lord, that my child is my utmost priority," I assert with unwavering resolve, emphasizing his title with a hint of disdain, as if challenging the very foundations of our unequal stations.

The guards stationed behind me draw in sharp, anticipatory breaths, seemingly prepared for their lord to mete out swift retribution for my boldness. I steel myself against the expected blow, a silent rehearsal of defiance.

Yet, the expected strike does not materialize. Instead, Eris regards me with what could only be described as admiration. His gaze, intense and calculating, appraises me not as a threat, but as a formidable presence in my own right.

"Well, little fox," he begins, his voice carrying a playful undertone that belies the depth of his contemplation. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as if to physically underline his ponderings. "It appears you've presented quite the compelling argument for yourself here."

The use of "little fox" — a term perhaps meant to denote cunning and resilience — sparks a flicker of amusement within me, mixed with a surge of cautious optimism. His demeanor suggests a blend of challenge and respect, hinting at a dynamic that could evolve beyond mere formalities or supplications. This man before me is not just the heir to a court; he is a strategist weighing his next move.

"You seek shelter for yourself and the babe?" Eris inquires with a hint of slyness, as if to subtly test my resolve, though it's a point I've already made abundantly clear.

"Indeed," I retort sharply, refusing to waver under the weight of his penetrating gaze.

"Then shelter you shall have," he declares, pivoting on his heel to fix the guards with a stern glare. "You will allow her passage," he commands, his tone uncompromising. The guards, obedient to their lord's decree, quickly acquiesce, parting to allow me entry with a mere flick of Eris's wrist.

The heady scent of spices and autumnal freshness assaults my senses as I approach the threshold, beckoning me forward with its tantalizing allure. It's as if the very essence of this court implores me to embrace my true purpose, to seize control of my destiny without hesitation. The boldness of it all catches me off guard, stirring a sense of rebellion that courses through my veins like wildfire.

Pausing at the threshold, I find myself suspended between the tranquility of the wilderness behind me and the vibrant chaos of the court ahead. I hesitate, grappling with the weight of the choices that lie before me.

Eris slows his stride beside me, as if attuned to my uncertainty, and extends his arm—an offering both courteous and suggestive. His demeanor exudes confidence and assurance, as if he expects me to surrender to his lead without question.

But I refuse to yield to the expectations of courtly decorum. Chin held high, I meet his gaze with unwavering resolve, ignoring the disheveled state of my attire as I assert my independence. My feet remain firmly planted, refusing to advance until I am ready, on my own terms.

Eris's arm lingers in the air for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at my defiance. His amber eyes search mine, silently probing, yet beneath the scrutiny, I detect a glimmer of curiosity and… respect.

"I am quite capable of managing on my own," I declare, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within me.

His expression softens, and he nods, gracefully retracting his arm. "As you wish," he concedes, gesturing for me to take the lead as we finally step through the threshold together.

The walk through the streets of Autumn was like stepping into a painting come to life. The cobblestone pathways wound gracefully between quaint buildings adorned with intricate carvings and vibrant splashes of ivy. Overhead, colorful banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, their designs depicting scenes of seasonal splendor and courtly festivities.

Stands and stalls lined the streets, each one a miniature wonderland of treasures waiting to be discovered. From intricately woven tapestries to gleaming trinkets and baubles, the offerings were as diverse as they were captivating. Merchants called out to passersby in melodious voices, their wares displayed with care and pride.

The smells that wafted through the air were a symphony of sensory delights. Spices mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread, their fragrances intermingling in a tantalizing dance that made my mouth water. Roasted chestnuts crackled and popped over open fires, their warm, nutty aroma floating on the breeze alongside the sweet perfume of ripe fruit and fragrant flowers.

Eris's sudden change in direction pulled me from my reverie, my gaze following his lead as we approached a magnificent structure nestled within the heart of the Autumn Court. The Forest House loomed before us, its grandeur and mystique commanding attention as we drew nearer.

Surrounded by a wrought iron gate, the house stood as a bastion of elegance amidst the bustling streets. Tall trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches reaching out to embrace the ancient structure with a sense of reverence. Vines climbed the walls, their verdant tendrils weaving intricate patterns against the weathered stone.

The sight of the Forest House sent a shiver down my spine, a visceral reaction to the aura of power and mystery that seemed to emanate from its very core. It was as if the house held secrets untold, whispering tales of bygone days and forgotten legends to those who dared to listen.

"Wait!" I called out, the urgency in my voice halting Eris in his tracks. His steps faltered, and he turned to face me, a glint of amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes. The sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead cast dappled shadows across his features, lending an air of intrigue to his already enigmatic presence.

"Yes?" he inquired, his voice smooth and tinged with playful curiosity, his smirk hinting at secrets hidden just beneath the surface.

"What's going to happen to me? Where will I stay?" I blurted out, the fierce confidence I had summoned earlier dissipating like morning mist in the face of uncertainty. Nervously, I began to pick at my nails, the weight of the unknown pressing down upon me like a heavy cloak.

Eris regarded me with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he had anticipated my question long before I had voiced it. "You will stay with me, of course," he replied simply, his voice carrying an air of nonchalance that belied the gravity of his words. There was a subtle confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that spoke of his authority within the court.

I recoiled at his casual response, a surge of apprehension coursing through me. "But what about Beron? Won't he object to having a… a lowborn in his household?" I ventured cautiously, the weight of his father's disapproval looming like a specter in the back of my mind.

"Nonsense," Eris scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest in a dismissive gesture. "You are now a member of this court, and given your condition," he added with a subtle nod towards my abdomen, "it is only fitting that you reside in more suitable accommodations." His words were tinged with a hint of defiance, a silent challenge to anyone who would dare question his authority.

Despite his reassurances, doubt gnawed at the edges of my mind, uncertainty clouding my thoughts like a thick fog. "Absolutely not!" I protested vehemently, a surge of protectiveness coursing through me as I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach, as if to shield my unborn child from the absurdity of Eris's suggestion. "I refuse to stay in your chambers, Eris. It's… it's utterly preposterous."

Eris's eyebrow lifted slightly, his gaze holding a hint of amusement mixed with something darker. "Stubborn, aren't we?" he remarked, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "But if you prefer to sleep on the streets, far be it from me to stand in your way."

His words, though seemingly casual, carried a sharp edge that hinted at the depth of his cunning. It was a subtle reminder of his position of power, a reminder that I was at his mercy whether I liked it or not.

I bristled at his thinly veiled threat, my jaw clenching as I met his gaze with a glare of my own. "You wouldn't dare," I challenged, though a flicker of uncertainty danced behind my eyes.

Eris's smirk widened, the glint in his amber eyes turning predatory. "Try me," he replied, his tone dripping with promise and menace in equal measure.

With a frustrated huff, I reluctantly relented, realizing that I was in no position to defy him. "Fine," I conceded through gritted teeth, my hand slipping from my stomach to clench into a fist at my side. "But don't expect me to thank you for it."

Eris's smirk softened into a smirk, his gaze lingering on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Who said anything about gratitude?" he mused, his voice low and husky. "I'm merely extending a courtesy to a fellow refugee."

His words were laced with sarcasm, a reminder that his generosity came with strings attached. It was a stark contrast to the charming facade he wore, a glimpse of the ruthlessness that lay beneath.

I swallowed hard, a bitter taste rising in the back of my throat as I followed him towards the Forest House. It was clear that my time in the Autumn Court would be far from easy, but as I glanced back at the crumbling ruins of the Spring Court behind me, I knew that I had no other choice.

As we reached the grand doors of the Forest House, Eris turned to me with a smirk. "Welcome to your new home, little fox," he remarked, his tone dripping with irony. "Try not to get too comfortable."

My brows furrowed at his words, suspicion creeping into my mind. "What's the catch?" I asked warily, narrowing my eyes at him.

Eris chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Though I do have one condition," he said, his smirk widening into a grin.

"And what is that?" I asked, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

"You must walk with me once a day for the duration of your stay," Eris declared, his tone teasing yet firm.

My jaw dropped in disbelief. "You're joking," I exclaimed, disbelief evident in my voice.

Eris's grin widened, his amber eyes dancing with amusement. "Do I look like I'm joking?" he retorted, his tone challenging.

I narrowed my eyes at him, a surge of defiance rising within me. "This is ridiculous," I protested, shaking my head in disbelief. "I won't be your captive audience."

Eris's expression softened, a hint of something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes. "It's not about being captive," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Consider it… a chance to explore the court, to clear your mind. Besides," he added with a smirk, "I could use the company."

I bristled at his suggestion, my pride warring with my better judgment. "And if I refuse?" I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest.

Eris's smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Then you'll miss out on some truly breathtaking views," he replied, his tone teasing yet earnest.

I sighed in frustration, realizing that I was fighting a losing battle. "Fine," I relented, though the words tasted like ash on my tongue. "But don't expect me to enjoy it."

Eris's grin widened into a smirk, his eyes alight with amusement. "Oh, I have a feeling you'll come to enjoy it more than you think," he remarked cryptically, before turning to lead the way into the Forest House.

As Eris escorted me to the grand Forest House, his steps were measured, exuding an air of regal confidence that was unmistakably his. His fiery locks seemed to dance with each movement, and his amber eyes held a glint of mischief, hinting at the cunning that lay beneath his charming exterior.

Upon entering my chambers, Eris's gaze swept over the room with a critical eye, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I trust the accommodations meet with your approval, my lady?" he inquired, his voice smooth as honey but tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

I nodded, unable to suppress a smirk of my own at his thinly veiled jest. "They're quite lovely, thank you," I replied, matching his playful tone with one of my own.

Eris's smirk widened into a grin, his amusement evident in the curve of his lips. "Excellent," he remarked, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than strictly necessary before turning away to survey the room once more.

As I explored my new surroundings, I couldn't help but notice Eris's watchful gaze following my every move. It was as if he were sizing me up, gauging my reactions to the opulence that surrounded us. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye, a depth of character hidden behind his charming facade.

Spotting the single daffodil on the table near the window, I couldn't suppress a chuckle at the sight. It was a quintessentially Eris gesture—playful yet meaningful, a subtle reminder of our earlier exchange. I picked up the note beside it, the elegant script a testament to Eris's attention to detail.

"I will be seeing you real soon, little fox. Wouldn't want you slacking off on our daily walks now, would we?" the note read, the teasing tone perfectly in line with Eris's mischievous nature. I couldn't help but smile at his audacity, the unspoken challenge sparking a flicker of excitement within me.

Setting the note back down, I turned to find Eris watching me with a knowing smirk, his amber eyes alight with amusement. "I take it you approve of my choice of decor?" he quipped, the smirk widening into a grin as he met my gaze.

I rolled my eyes playfully, unable to suppress a laugh at his antics. "It's certainly… unique," I replied, the hint of sarcasm in my tone mirroring his own.

Eris chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "I'm glad to hear it," he replied, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than strictly necessary before turning away to hide the flush that crept across his cheeks.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd

[scoonsalicious]

5.2 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, toxic plants, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1.4k

Previously On...: Car sexxxxxxxxxxx!

A/N: Killer headache, not much to say tonight, sorry!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He wasn’t sure how long the two of them sat there, Major’s head resting peacefully on his chest as they both strove to catch their breath. He’d worried that any additional sex he had with her wouldn’t have lived up to the previous night, and he was amazed that tonight had been even better. The things she’d said to him while she held his dick in her hands. He had no idea he’d be into talk like that, but he’d loved it, loved hearing the filthy words come out of her mouth as she talked about being ruined by the size of his cock. 

He opened his eyes when he felt her head move from his chest, and he moved to help lift her off his now flaccid cock. He watched as she reached her small hands down, pulling the used condom off of him and tying it closed, before gently tucking him back into his pants and zipping up his fly and re-doing his belt. 

“A little help?” she asked as she readjusted her dress, pulling the front of it back up over her breasts. Bucky carefully reached around to the back of her neck, finding the ties that kept her dress in place, and fastening them securely into a neat bow.

“Damn shame,” Bucky said as Major fixed the front of her dress to make sure she was fully covered once more, “to keep such beautiful tits hidden from the world.”

She snickered and playfully swatted at his chest. “I’m gonna need a little help getting up,” she told him. 

Bucky frowned. The last thing he wanted was for her to get up. “You sure you have to, doll?” he asked, running his hands up and down the sides of her waist. “I’m very comfortable right here, so long as you are, and I’m in no hurry to go anywhere.”

“No,” Major said, leaning into his chest again, “I’m quite content where I’m at.”

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “So, what kind of toppings do you like on your pizza?”

Major looked up at him, laughing at his question. “Pizza? Seriously?”

Bucky nudged her cheek with his nose. “I wanna know everything about you,” he told her. “And if I’m gonna keep seeing you, I need to know the important things, like pineapple on pizza: yes, or no?”

“Wow,” she said, “starting out with the heavy questions, huh?”

“This is critical compatibility stuff, sugar,” he laughed. “I gotta know.”

“No pressure, huh?” she asked him playfully. “Okay, fine– yes, pineapple on pizza.”

“Oh thank god,” said Bucky with a dramatic sigh. “We have a chance.”

They delved into asking each other the most ridiculous ‘getting to know you’ questions they could think of, and Bucky was amazed at just how easy Major was to talk to, how effortlessly the conversation with her flowed. It was growing late, but neither one seemed eager to move, Major still straddling Bucky’s lap in the front seat of Tony’s sports car, arms draped over his shoulders as they sat face-to-face. 

“What’s your favorite sub?” he asked with a grin.

“Okay, don’t make fun of me,” she said, smiling up at him, “but I love sweet onion teriyaki chicken, but with lettuce, cucumber, and just, like, a shitload of extra dill pickles, and then smothered in red wine vinegar.”

Bucky made a face. “That sounds disgusting,” he said with a laugh.

Major playfully pushed at his chest. “It’s delicious,” she countered. The tang of the pickles and vinegar mixed with the sweet teriyaki sauce?” She moaned decadently.  “So fucking good.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it, doll,” he said.

He felt like he was talking to someone he’d known his entire life, not a woman he’d just met for the first time the night before, and he knew it was too soon, he was getting ahead of himself, but he could picture spending the rest of his life with a girl like her, and being happy doing it. 

Back in the ‘40s, the white picket fence and wife with two kids had always been Steve’s dream, not Bucky’s. Bucky had been happy to go out, meet a new girl every night, and say goodbye to them before sunrise the next morning. It wasn’t that he never wanted something more than that, it was just that, with the constant threat of America getting pulled into the war in Europe, knowing that any day could see him drafted and sent overseas, he’d never allowed himself to think of it as a possibility.

But Major? With her, he saw all of that potential future stretched before him. 

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it, preferring instead to ask Major if she was a dog person or a cat person.

“Either, really,” she told him after a moment’s thought. “But if I could only have one? Definitely a cat. They’re so small and snuggly, but also evil little murder babies.”

Bucky’s phone buzzed again.

“Do you need to get that?” Major asked. “Is it, like, Captain America calling to ask for your help in saving the world?”

Bucky snorted. “Hardly,” he said. “We’ve got official coms if he needed to reach me for something like that.”

“Well, okay, then,” Major said, leaning in to kiss along the plane of Bucky’s jaw and along his throat. Bucky groaned.

“You’re gonna get me going again, sugar,” he said as she sucked at the skin on his neck.

“Is that a bad thing?” Major murmured, and Bucky could feel the smile on her lips against his skin.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’m just warnin’ ya, is all.” His phone buzzed yet again.

“You should check that,” she told him, taking his earlobe into her mouth and gently sucking on it.

“But I’m enjoying myself,” he said with a gasp as she nipped at his jaw. “I’d hate to interrupt you.”

“Who says I have to stop?” Major reached up and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. “Take the call.” She brought her mouth down and began sucking kisses into his collarbone. 

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. “How are you so hot?” He reached down into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone while Major kept up her affectionate administrations to his body. Checking the caller ID, he rolled his eyes when he saw Lily’s contact information on the screen.

“Answer it,” Major offered. “I really don’t mind.” She reached her hand down and began palming him through his pants, all the while continuing to kiss and suck on his neck. 

Bucky swallowed. The last thing he wanted on his mind right now was Lily, but given that she’d already called four times in the last five minutes, he figured it might be important. So, he pressed the accept button.

“Hey, Lil, what’s up?” he greeted, trying to keep his tone casual as Major squeezed him through the fabric of his pants.

“Jamie, where are you?” she asked, foregoing any sort of greeting. 

“Uh, I told you,” he said, sucking in a breath as Major licked a long stripe up the side of his neck. “I’m out in the–” he had to suck in a breath when Major took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on it “--the city,” he gasped.

“Well, what are you doing?” Lily asked. Was Bucky imagining things, or was there a trace of suspicion in her voice? But he honestly didn’t care. He just wanted to be off this phone call and focus all of his attention back on Major.

“I already told you what I was doing, Lily,” he told her, shrugging at Major, who gave him a playful, exaggerated pout.

“What time do you think you’ll be home?” she asked him. Bucky sighed, annoyed. Why should he have to report his comings and goings to her constantly?

“I don’t know what time I’ll be home, Lil,” he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Major whispered in Bucky’s ear as she tugged on his earlobe with her teeth. “Very late tomorrow morning.” Bucky had to stifle a groan as she rubbed her chest against him. 

“What was that?” Lily asked.

“I said ‘why?’ We don’t have set plans.” Bucky wanted off this call so badly.

“I was just wondering,” she said, and Bucky could detect a trace of hurt in her voice.

“Listen, Lil,” he began, “I gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Jamie.” He didn’t even wait for her to finish speaking before he hung up. 

“Sorry about that,” he said, now able to finally give Major his undivided attention. “Now, where were we?”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[fookinhellcurlyyy]

Due to The Observer's recent tweet referencing Tennyson’s poem Ulysses, I decided to give it a read. And now, I’m feeling… things, to say the least.

This poem, in itself, is beautiful, but reading the insights of an 84-year-old widower on how it helped him cope and reshaped his perspective on aging and death took it to a whole new level.

I feel like I have so much more to say, but I don’t know if I can find the right words just yet. So instead, I want to highlight a few lines from Ulysses that sparked something in me. I don’t think I can fully articulate my own interpretations—right now, I’m just absorbing the emotions.

But if you’re interested in the poetry review I mentioned, you can check it out here (it also includes the full poem).

Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; [...]

I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life! [...]

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

Come, my friends, 'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

[inside-black-moon]

I can't...Get out your handkerchiefs...

This is me. 695 days ago I was like this - a small scared girl hiding inside a huge necramech. Now I have become like a necramech myself and I do not hide, but go straight ahead. At that time, I tried to join some clan. I strove for socialization, movement, the flow of cyber-ninja energy. It was all useless. Even here I felt separated from everyone. My condition was aggravated by the terrible events in my real life, which maximally increased the feeling of isolation.

But the world of warframe absorbed me so much that I didn't need help. I understood and understand that this is my special path both in the game and in understanding myself. Isolation helped me open my eyes to many things. And as a reward, I received something priceless.

He and She. I am inclined to deep self-analysis - it helps me survive in society. It turned out thanks to nature that I have a very non-standard perception of the world literally at the cellular level. Of course, with experience and age I have learned many social techniques, but some things remain behind the scenes. But this manifests itself in creativity and photography, including. Using a lot of techniques from ordinary coloristics to physiognomy, I reflect my worldview and attitude, emotions. This is, in fact, the only language of communication that I know perfectly. And this is a great way to "say" something to the audience.

Isolation leads to self-flagellation and searching for flaws in yourself. It took me a long time to get out of this very dangerous borderline state. And yes, self-analysis helped me with this and...Umbra. At some point, I started creating photo comics. There was a lot of text and these were even, rather, illustrated stories. The uncomplaining faithful Umbra was my partner and a kind of assistant in the game for creating illustrations. Self-analysis turned into stories, screenshots - into illustrations. And all this helped me more than once to cope with depression and inner demons. Do I feel gratitude to the character who can technically only repeat animations in the game? Yes, definitely. Without him, there would be no illustrations, without him, there would be no stories. Without him, I would not have gotten out of hell. I needed a strong hand, support, to survive. When you don't understand what depression can lead to and you take it lightly, it can be a fatal mistake. I was on the edge. One step away from very bad things. And he pulled me out.

I understand perfectly well that I pulled myself out, but through the work of my brain, mind, consciousness and subconscious. And Umbra was only an interlocutor. The silent one. But sometimes there are very dangerous situations when, in order to save your own life and mind, you need to fall out of reality and come back. And when you fall out of reality, then yes, the game characters become alive in a sense. I'm not talking about tangibility. But about their perception, the perception of the contribution of their existence to your real life. When you return to reality, the connection remains. Admiration and respect. Trepidation... I don't know how to describe these emotions. This is something special. Truly intimate, deep and valuable. Despite the fact that these are mind games.

And Arthur. How much... no, that's not the right word... I didn't know that the appearance of a talking character with whom you can interact would kick in a tightly sealed door deep in my subconscious. A lot came out, both things I would like to remember and things I would like to bury. Where are developers? I need to kiss their minds urgently. This won't make it to prime time, but if suddenly one of the developers actually sees this, then hear me - you have no idea what your game does to people. Your brainchild touches other people's minds and changes their lives. From me - thank you. You saved my life. More than once.

I kept this inside for too long.

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - Perfect

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, collar, positions, conditioned whumpee

——————

The collar, jewel adorned and glimmering with gold sat just right around the thing’s neck, perfect, complementing his looks just as well as Atticus had imagined.

The boxie knelt beside the bed, hands folded neatly in his lap, a gentle, soft smile spread like butter over his lips. His hair was set right into place, washing down from his scalp with the ends twisted into voluminous curls, locks luscious and tender after the maids had given him a much needed bath. He looked just as he had in the pictures, but a million times better.

Oh, he was gorgeous. The prettiest of the pack. Atticus knew, just as he had expected, that he had done exceptionally well in picking his prized pet.

“Hm,” Atticus started, licking his lips and breaking the thick silence, “Now, what should I name a cutie like you…” he tapped at his chin playfully, a grin tugging at his lips as if he didn’t already have one in mind.

The pet cocked his head, giggling with a low, honey dripping sweetness. He wasn’t blushing, not really, but Atticus didn’t mind. “Anything you please, Master.”

Atticus chuckled, raspy and hearty, taking quick notice of the pet’s flinch. “Oh, call me sir. Only the mutt is to call me master, and you are most definitely on a higher level than him.”

“As you wish, sir.” He nodded curtly, before turning back up to his new master with those mesmerizing, hypnotically brown doe eyes of his, looking for approval.

“How polite.” Atticus commented, gifting the pet a pat on the head, of which he nuzzled into with addicting eagerness. “You like that, do you? What a sweetheart.”

“Thank you, sir. You are too kind, sir.”

“Oh, I know.” The pet’s brows furrowed a slight bit at that. “Anyone who willingly takes in one of you freaks is as kind as a saint. Don’t you agree?” Cupping the pet’s chin, he forced the man to nod along with his words until he himself continued the motion.

“Y- yes, sir. Of course.”

Atticus flicked to the table beside him, fingers tapping over wood as his gaze found the manual included along with the pet.

“Let’s have a little pop quiz, shall we?” The pet lit up just a smidge, straightening his spine in anticipation. “What should we begin with… let’s see here…” tracing along with a finger, he scanned the pages of diagrams and paragraphs detailing the boxie’s attributes. “How about… position one.”

Jumping to his feet just as the words left his master’s mouth, the boxie stood tall, his arms stuck at his sides with his posture flawless. 

“Position twelve.” 

In an instant the boxie dropped back to his knees with his head to the floor, forehead tapped to the tile as his wrists swiftly crossed over one another behind his back. Atticus waited a long, drawn out moment, simply basking in the pet’s eerie stillness, that merely told him the boxie strove for perfection, just as he did. 

“Oh, would I love to see position twenty two.” Atticus laughed, and just as he had expected in a quick second the boxie plopped his behind back to his ankles, his jaw dropping dutifully, mouth stuck wide open and agape.

“You may stop now.” He granted the boxie a scratch to the underside of his chin as he resumed a kneel, and Atticus was already falling in love with the gentle flutter of his lashes. “My, you’re such a good boy, doing so wonderful with your training.”

“Thank you, sir.” He repeated, the same mechanic feel each time he copied that same phrase. It irked Atticus, he soon realized, just how trained it all was. But he could pretend, too.

“You’re very welcome, my perfect prince.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[oldworldghost]

Are requests still open? If yes could we maybe see a jealous P please? Like he’s learning his emotions and he learns he doesn’t like jealousy or something

Jealous Pinocchio! ☆

↳ Hello nonnie! Requests are indeed still open, and I love jealousy prompts >:3 also sorry to everyone who has sent in a request that I haven't answered yet, I have been sick and busy, well, playing the game </3 Under the cut because this is a long boy

➸ Okay so jealousy with Pinocchio obviously depends, much like you said, on how human he is; how much he knows about not only his own emotions, but emotions in general. It's because of this that, at first, there really isn't a lot of instances of jealousy on his part, and what instances there may be are not going to be immediately recognisable as such. And of course this is due to the fact that Pinocchio just doesn’t have a good grasp on his own emotions initially; he knows he’s feeling something and that that something is almost unpleasant, he just doesn’t know what to do with it or even what to call it.

➸ The main way jealousy at first manifests with Pinocchio is a little off putting, almost. You could probably mistake it for a sort of increased protectiveness; when he sees you talking to someone he stands close, glares at the other person or just watches like a hawk for the duration of the conversation. He doesn’t say anything or really do anything and it gets a little creepy. Don’t get me wrong, Pinocchio doesn’t mean it in a bad way whatsoever – he just wants your attention – but to everyone else it looks like he’s waiting for whoever you’re talking to to suddenly attack or something. It’s his eyes that do it, they’re so dead that is just doesn’t inspire any form of ease when it happens. Luckily, these instances are rare and fairly easy to handle. Just give him your attention and he’ll relax. And of course, as he grows this habit of his simmers down and changes.

➸ [Honestly though this could be so funny too because like, despite the fact that it’s both unnerving and rare I imagine that everyone would eventually end up catching on to what’s happening and god they have a field day with it. Especially Venigni. He doesn’t mean any harm but seeing Pinocchio look like he’s going to combust on the spot is a little bit funny. Do the rest help enable Venigni and this habit? Maybe, maybe. Eugénie is the main co-conspirator here.]

➸ As Pinocchio changes and becomes more human he settles into his feelings more, he learns and grows to not only feel them but process and identify them. And this, of course, goes for jealousy as well. Through both his own experiences and talking with humans Pinocchio is able to realise that yeah, he’s felt jealousy. That that's what that uncomfortable tightness was. However what is most interesting is that the more human Pinocchio becomes the more jealous he finds himself getting, and on a more regular basis. A part of this is because there is an increasing depth to his character and emotions, so naturally they grow more intense, but the more important part is the growing cause of his jealousy; that being his nature as both puppet and human.

➸ Now I do believe that Pinocchio never had an inherent desire to be human, and that it was something he strove to become because he believed that his father would want him as one, and because as a “special puppet” it would only make sense for him to try and change his nature. And so what Pinocchio was or should be never quite bothered him at first - more just filled him with a sense of confusion – but as he grows more human the more he genuinely wants to be one, and your relationship with him plays a major part in that and his jealousy. You see, Pinocchio wants humanity so he can truly love you, but it is this growing humanity and desire that places the weight of what he really is on him; a puppet and as such not enough.

➸ It is jealousy born of insecurity, the more he tries to change the more his faults become apparent to him. His perceived inability to emote, to understand; the disconnect between himself and you, the gap that Pinocchio wonders if he will ever be able to truly close. He is worried, very much so, about being replaced or cast aside, because if the choice came up between himself and someone fully human, well, why on earth would you chose him? This insecurity is only heightened post game, where – and of course spoilers – Pinocchio has been betrayed by his own father, the person he thought loved him despite his being a puppet. I don’t want to build it up too much, but being told you’re only there to be replaced and that you’re not enough by someone who you trusted has to leave its mark, especially when you share memories with the person you were supposed to be only to realise that they were never enough either. Like, yeah. Ouch!

➸ Of course as Pinocchios’ emotions grow so do the rest of his abilities, including being able to tell what he truly does vs doesn’t like feeling. He could always kind of do it, but now he is able to fully articulate the why of it, and jealousy has landed itself into the category of “I Do Not Like This”. Now that itself is fairly obvious, no one likes being jealous, but the main reason its there for Pinocchio is because it makes him feel bad, almost guilty. To him jealousy indicates a lack of trust in partners, but the kicker is that he does trust you. Despite everything that’s happened Pinocchio places his full trust and faith in you day after day, or at least he thinks he does, and on top of that even if you did end up finding someone better and/or leaving he would have no right to stop you. If you wanted to it would break Pinocchios heart, but he would let go because he would hate to try and control you; to force you into something you don’t want to be in. And so not only does his own jealousy make him feel bad but it confuses him greatly, because Pinocchio knows that he can’t control you and that he can trust you, so why does he still get that sinking feeling when he sees you with someone else? [It’s the unresolved issues, but you didn’t hear that from me]

➸ On a lighter note though, while Pinocchios jealousy is heightened and most frequent post-game it will naturally simmer out, much like how the whole protective-jealousy phase did. That is not to say that it is a fast process, naturally it is slow and time consuming - and that in part is due to simply how many things there are to do now that his father and Simon are dead - but with the support of yourself and a few makeshift therapy session with Gemini and Sophia [i.e. literally just talking about what he’s feeling], it ends up being something that he can handle a fair bit better than before. Still a slow process, but manageable [also PAUSE imagine Gemini on a table and Pinocchio laying on a couch like they’re actually in a therapists office with Sophia taking notes].

➸ Anyway yes, the main thing that helps is through talking to you. It gets to a point – and rather quickly at that – where Pinocchio finds that he just really needs to tell you what he’s feeling. He feels bad about it, of course, but I think what he really needs to be told at first is that it’s just natural. People get jealous even if they don’t want to or mean to and sure maybe not like he does, but that is something that can be worked on. Pinocchio needs support in his own ways and for his own things, even if he might not necessarily want to admit it, but luckily Pinocchio can also a very transparent lover, especially after becoming human.

➸Okay to drag this whole thing on let’s back peddle a teeny bit. How jealousy manifests at the heightened point actually shares similarities with how it initially manifested. However instead of coming off as protective it very obviously comes off as jealousy mixed with something akin to fear, for reasons already discussed. He also develops the habit of just quite literally pulling you away from whoever you’re talking to and taking you somewhere else. Pinocchio does this under the guise of “I’m human now so I want to spend as much time with you as I can to bask in it” but it is very obviously just Not That. Or more not fully that, anyway. It does retain a little bit of the humour it originally had, and yes there’s still a little bit of poking fun and riling him up [especially from Venigni] but that is rare, mainly because it’s kind of also just sad that he feels the need to do it after everything they’ve all been through together. And Pinocchio knows rationally that none of them are going to try and “steal” you off him, for lack of a better word, but that rational thinking just doesn’t help much here. However this is also not the only habit that develops, sometimes Pinocchio will simply avoid you for a little, a sort of self pitying isolation mainly because he doesn’t want you to see him upset or jealous. None of the hotels residents know which one is worse to witness, honestly it might be a tie.

➸ Okay so on an actual actual lighter note [and because we cannot be here all day], once both Pinocchios’ relationship with his humanity is better his jealousy becomes something fairly rare, much like at the start. And by that point Pinocchio has also come to terms with it too, it’s a part of him he can accept and make peace with. After this, a lot of instances of it are just kind of cute. Like I will be absolutely real with you he is playing it up to get your attention; you’re getting puppy dog eyes, pouting, and in private Pinocchio’s going to go on some very light hearted spiel about how you no longer love him, all “woe is me” on you. As a human Pinocchio has grown a rather mischievous and sassy yet still gentlemanly personality and it so fucking shows here. A lot of these instances of jealousy are caused by, you guessed it, Pinocchio not getting enough attention, which is a little funny because by this point he’s very able to be alone by himself for a while. The other instances are people just getting too close [i.e. Venigni and Eugénie] or things of that ilk.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

(I actually think TTPD is full of so many parallels to older work that I could like, quote the entire album.)

Do it (inserts image of Kermit the frog wearing a black cloak)

Jokes aside, I’d love to read what parallels you found with her older work

OK well now that you’ve put me on the spot, I can’t actually think of them that freely 😂

This isn’t going to be exhaustive, nor particularly accurate I guess, but maybe more like… similarities? (Man, I’m gonna fumble the ball here.)

This is kind of out of left field, but from the very first listen, for instance, But Daddy I Love Him reminded me of Love Story. I joked on release night that But Daddy was just the unfiltered version of Love Story; the girl is the Scarlet Letter because she’s the loud, mouthy heathen who’s been caught with her dress unbuttoned iykwim. The girl in LS feels misunderstood, is infatuated with this boy, begs to run away with him away from the prying eyes and judgment… Which is exactly what the narrator in BDILH feels too, except more explicitly. The girl in LS is demure and mindful, the one in BDILH gives zero fucks. Which is reflective of Taylor’s own evolution in her relationship to her public image, I feel: she strove to be a perfect role model never putting a foot wrong in her younger days, but the whole point of TTPD is that she is done listening to anyone else’s opinions on how she lives her life. In LS, the boy talks to her dad and pulls out a ring, and in BDILH, no one else is invited to that wedding after everything she’s learned. For all we’ve talked about how one of the major themes of TTPD is about reclaiming her youth, I think it’s kind of genius that BDILH, intentionally or not, plays on the song that launched her megastardom as a teenager and gives it a grown-up bite.

This is maybe less parallels and more just a continuation of a story, but I think one of the obvious ones is You’re Losing Me and So Long, London. One of the immediate callbacks is the thread from “I can’t find a pulse, my heart won’t start anymore” to “I stopped CPR, after all it’s no use.” YLM comes at a crisis point, the make or break moment of the relationship, and SLL is the aftermath reflecting on that. Her stopping the CPR after that moment in YLM is what leads to the dissolution of the relationship and the reflection in SLL.

The rest of the two songs mirror each other so painfully well. “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” To “You say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it.” “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?” To “You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?” “I know my pain is such an imposition” to “Just how low did you think I'd go before I'd self-implode?” “How long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life?” To “So how much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me? How much tragedy?” “I wouldn’t marry me either” to “I died on the altar waiting for the proof.”

And I think the one that really brings it full circle is the evolution from “My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick,” to “And I'm just getting color back into my face, I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place.” In YLM she’s dying a slow death at her partner’s ignorance (unintentional or willful) of the crisis she’s in, and in SLL, the decision to leave has brought her back to life, even if she mourns everything she had to give up to get there. To go from sitting in the room that was once lit with what they loved to sitting in the dark mulling this life-changing decision, to reflecting on the moment of “warm sun” in her life that this relationship will ultimately end up being in her memories (but just that: a memory, not a life) is really nuanced, and really shows how it’s the end of a chapter but not the end of the book.

Another parallel that is so powerful is between The Manuscript and, among others, All Too Well, but really so much of her work from her younger days, as well as the ATW music video. This is maybe cheating because it’s not like a 1:1 parallel, but just the way that The Manuscript reframes so much of her older work and experiences is illuminating. The way in ATW the early memories are wistful, feel like home, etc., and you can feel the warmth radiate through the music and the lyrics, but the slightly unsettling melody of The Manuscript highlights the unease in which that situation actually occurred. To go from sweet disposition and wide-eyed gazes heading out of town to be together, to realizing a decade later that that might have been less romance and more manipulation? What a gut punch.

Similarly, when you think about “nights when you made me your own” in the context of “He said that if the sex was half as good as the conversation was, soon they'd be pushin' strollers,” you really feel how her youthful naivety about their relationship was heavily influenced by the way this person laid it on thick. Like, all these years later, she wasn’t wrong to feel like this thing was serious, or for being so bewildered when it ended. It’s just that what she failed to realize at the time is that what she took as a promise, he intended as foreplay. Then the way the bridge of The Manuscript reveals what is presumably the shooting of the ATW video, where she comes to the realization of just what she went through and how she’s been able to use it to make her art and heal? That’s beautiful.

There are soooooooooo many more, but I’d be here all day, and similarly, I can’t think of any off the top of my head.

[secretwhumplair]

Swords II

802 words | No Warrior (sequel to Departure)

Content | Past trauma, slight flashback, self-deprecation

Notes | Summer is coming, and Yves is on his own! How has he been faring?

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone​​ @angel-stars​​ @kixngiggles​​ @whumpsy-daisies @yet-another-heathen

@rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods @pleasancies @much-ado-about-whumping​​

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em​​​ @itsleighlove​​ @newbornwhumperfly​​​ @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots @scoundrelwithboba

The days grew brighter as much as they had been growing darker during winter. Sometimes Yves didn’t feel the need to sleep, simply in awe of the light flowing across the land. Nonetheless, he must look tired, because the weavers took it upon themselves to shower him in advice on how to sleep well despite the glaring days.

When he started awake from a dark dream, though, he was glad there was at least sunlight filtering in under the door, impossible to mistake for the sinister torchlight that came with the knights.

At least he had that, if Runar couldn’t be there.

He thought of Runar a lot. Runar with whom he had eaten at the table at which he now sat alone. Runar whose garden he tended to during the long bright hours, following his instruction. Runar, who Silfur seemed to ask after with his dark, wet eyes when Yves took him for an exercise walk or a clumsy ride.

Runar who he had, of course, shared the bed with that now seemed far too big for him.

Perhaps at this very moment, he was fighting — fighting for his life, or destroying another, bringing terror to the land Yves once had called his own.

He missed him, more than he had expected.

Like Runar had suggested, he had joined the regular sword practice the local youngsters who strove to become warriors did. Some of the kids were a little reluctant to accept him among them at first, but soon it became simply normal.

The first time, granted, had been terrible. The training grounds, a field trampled into dust so very like any other, the group with their wooden practice swords — he arrived, and his immediate gut response was that Runar had been wrong. He was not ready for this. Whatever his skill level may be — and at that moment he was certain it was none — he could not handle this. He stopped on trembling legs before he got there, certain it was only a matter of moments before the group, now warming up and goofing off like any band of teenagers, noticed him and-

»Yves! There you are, Runar mentioned you might come around. You’ve been practicing with him, yeah?«

Yves remained frozen when the biggest of the bunch — the grown adult — wandered away from the group right at him. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe.

»Yves?«

No, that wasn’t right. Surely the man had said runt. No one had ever called him by name. He found he had wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach, giving himself what little protection he could.

»Hey, Yves. Let’s walk for a minute, alright?«

He was grabbed by the arm and dragged away — no. The touch was strangely gentle, and he wasn’t pulled or shoved — when he tried to oblige, tried to follow, he found it easy, even though his legs trembled, he was not being made to stumble by-

Agnarr.

He’d met Agnarr before in passing at the various community events he’d been to by now. He was an aging man, many scars telling their tales of battle, and he was the one teaching the fighting lessons now that he had retired as a warrior.

He, Yves, was being a pathetic idiot. Again.

»Sorry,« he muttered, his lips still numb. He wasn’t at— he wasn’t back. He was perfectly safe. He had chosen to come here.

»You don’t have to do this, you know. Plenty who don’t.« Agnarr let go of him and scrutinized him, frowning slightly. He was still walking, to avoid, Yves realized now, too much of his students’ attention. Yves was just holding him up.

It would have been easy to escape. To simply say, Yes, you’re right, I won’t bother you. He already opened his mouth to say the words.

That was when the same old bitter anger reared its head.

»No,« he said, louder than he had intended. »I want to.«

Agnarr looked down on him. His expression was harder to read than Runar’s, and Yves wondered if he was actually displeased or it was just his mind playing tricks, still.

»I don’t want to bother you. I won’t,« he added, looking Agnarr firmly in the eye.

But that meant he’d have to reckon with it all by himself. And no Runar to help him out.

He shouldn’t need Runar. He didn’t.

»I — I’ll just watch for today. If that’s alright with you.« He glanced at the group. Despite Agnarr’s efforts, most of them were looking at them. Some were playing around, every wooden clack from their swords raising his hackles.

He could do it. He could.

And so it was.

The days when he had to sit out, barely able to keep from flinching at the sounds and shouts, kept coming back, but so did he.

[marta-bee]

@outofangband liked my zeroing in on Tolkien's comparing Erendis's beauty with Morwen's in the last post. I actually made a verbal slip and used the wrong name, so that post ended up seeming more focused on Morwen than I meant. But @outofangband's comment got me thinking more about Morwen's story, and that lens is turning out to be quite interesting. So let's dig in a bit more.

(Also: This, kiddos, is why you comment, on Tumblr and AO3 and everywhere else. It's the back and forth that really makes fandom worth the effort.)

It's been entirely too long since I've read the Quenta Silmarillion, and I've not read the Narn i Hîn Húrin at all, so doubtless there's people more familiar with their story than me. But briefly: Húrin was a lord in one of the Elf-friend Houses of Men. He was part of the Union of Maedhros (First Age political alliance between elves, men, and dwarves to resist Morgoth), fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad/Battle of Unnumbered Tears beside Fingon. Said battle earned its name, Fingon and countless others (including most of his household) is killed, and Húrin himself is captured and tortured for decades.

Morwen is his wife and the mother of Túrin and Nienor. She stayed behindi n Dor-lómin (Húrin's settlement), and after the Nirnaeth Easterlings allied with Morgoth sweep in and take over. They leave her alone, at least at first, thinking her some kind of a witch. If memory serves it was connected to her beauty, which they thought was preternatural and suspected her of having dealings with elves that made her dangerous. Túrin she sends off to Doriath so Thingol can raise him in safety; Nienor stays with her in Dor-lómin until Nienor is grown and the two women go searching for Túrin at last.

*******************

It's such a different situation in so many ways to Erendis's, so it's a bit fascinating how similar their lives are here.

After their marriage, Aldarion and Erendis lived together in Armenelos, and had a daughter. They planted the elven-tree in their garden, and the song-birds settled there. "

This got long, I'm afraid, but is a good read in its entirety. "In heart Erendis was glad [to have a daughter rather than a son], for she thought: "Surely now Aldarion will desire a son, to be his heir; and he will abide with me long yet." For in secret she still feared the Sea and its power upon his heart; and though she strove to hide it, and would talk with him of his old ventures and of his hopes and designs, she watched jealously if he went to his house-ship or was much with the Venturers."

It doesn't take a genius to understand how these stories work, and it shouldn't be surprising it didn't work out that way.

Erendis learned of these things, though Aldarion had not spoken to her of them, and she was unquiet. Therefore one day she said to him: "What is all this busyness with ships. Lord of the havens? Have we not enough? How many fair trees have been cut short of their lives in this year?" She spoke lightly, and smiled as she spoke. "A man must have work to do upon land," he answered, "even though he have a fair wife. Trees spring and trees fall. I plant more than are felled." He spoke also in a light tone, but he did not look her in the face; and they did not speak again of these matters. But when Ancalímë was close to four years old Aldarion at last declared openly to Erendis his desire to sail again from Númenor. She sat silent, for he said nothing that she did not already know; and words were in vain. He tarried until the birthday of Ancalimë, and made much of her that day. She laughed and was merry, though others in that house were not so; and as she went to her bed she said to her father: "Where will you take me this summer, tatanya? I would like to see the white house in the sheep-land that mamil tells of." Aldarion did not answer; and the next day he left the house, and was gone for some days. When all was ready he returned, and bade Erendis farewell. Then against her will tears were in her eyes. They grieved him, and yet irked him, for his mind was resolved, and he hardened her heart. "Come, Erondis!" he said. "Eight years I have stayed. You cannot bind for ever in soft bonds the son of the King, of the blood of Tuor and Eärendil! And I am not going to my death. I shall soon return." "Soon?" she said. "But the years are unrelenting, and you will not bring them back with you. And mine are briefer than yours. My youth runs away; and where are my children, and where is your heir? Too long and often of late is my bed cold." "Often of late I have thought that you preferred it so," said Aldarion. "But let us not be wroth, even if we are not of like mind. Look in your mirror, Erendis. You are beautiful, and no shadow of age is there yet. You have time to spare to my deep need. Two years! Two years is all that I ask!" But Erendis answered: "Say rather: 'Two years I shall take, whether you will or no.' Take two years, then! But no more. A King's son of the blood of Eärendil should also be a man of his word." Next morning Aldarion hastened away. He lifted up Ancalimë and kissed her, but though she clung to him he set her down quickly and rode off. Soon after the great ship set sail from Rómenna. Hirilondë he named it, Haven-finder; but it went from Númenor without the blessing of Tar-Meneldur; and Erendis was not at the harbour to set the green Bough of Return, nor did she send. Aldarion's face was dark and troubled as he stood at the prow of Hirilondë, where the wife of his captain had set a great branch of oiolairë, but he did not look back until the Meneltarma was far off in the twilight.

So: two women, left behind by their husbands to raise young daughters. Húrin's departure makes sense -- he's going off to fight Morgoth, to make Dor-lómin safe. Aldarion's seems much more voluntary and optional if not downright selfish. I'm trying to remember the almost physical compulsion he had before he married Erendis, to go adventuring again. I'm trying to be sympathetic. But it's not Erendis trying to "bind for ever in soft bonds." It's what Tar-Meneldur warned him about when he first became engaged to Erendis: that a man cannot have two wives. If these are soft bonds, it's just what Aldarion chose for himself.

But for the first time, Erendis doesn't exactly seem blameless.

All that day Erendis sat in her chamber alone, grieving; but deeper in her heart she felt a new pain of cold anger, and her love of Aldarion was wounded to the quick. She hated the Sea; and now even trees, that once she had loved, she desired to look upon no more, for they recalled to her the masts of great ships. Therefore ere long she left Armenelos, and went to Emerië in the midst of the Isle, where ever, far and near, the bleating of sheep was borne upon the wind. "Sweeter it is to my ears than the mewing of gulls," she said, as she stood at the doors of her white house, the gift of the King; and that was upon a downside, facing west, with great lawns all about that merged without wall or hedge into the pastures. Thither she took Ancalimë, and they were all the company that either had. For Erendis would have only servants in her household, and they were all women; and she sought ever to mould her daughter to her own mind, and to feed her upon her own bitterness against men. Ancalimë seldom indeed saw any man, for Erendis kept no state, and her few arm-servants and shepherds had a homestead at a distance. Other men did not come there, save rarely some messenger from the King; and he would ride away soon, for to men there seemed a chill in the house that put them to flight, and while there they felt constrained to speak nail in whisper. One morning soon after Erendis came to Emerië she awoke to the song of birds, and there on the sill of her window were the Elven-birds that long had dwelt in her garden in Armenelos, but which she had left behind forgotten. "Sweet fools, fly away!" she said. "This is no place for joy such as yours."

Erendis locks herself and Ancalimë away. When the two years passed, she shut down the house in Armenelos and isolated herself in the house "ordered the house in Armenelos be shut, and she went never more than a few hours' journey from her house in Emerië. "Such love as she had was all given to her daughter, and she clung to her, and would not have Ancalimë leave her side, not even to visit Núneth and her kin in the Westlands. [...] But the women were chary in their speech to the child, fearing their mistress; and there was little enough of laughter for Ancalimë in the white house of Emerië."

This... is not healthy. This is concerning, actually, and from the outside it seems avoidable. It's not, quite, because she's been abandoned by her husband, twice now in a way. And from Erendis's perspective there was nothing compelling Aldarion to leave. If anything, he turned it around on her and blamed her for trying to imprison him on land.

Compare them to Morwen and Nienor, whose husband and father did have a good reason to leave. I'm not entirely clear why they stayed in Dor-lómin rather than going to Doriath with Túrin, except that the story needed them to be separate. Maybe they thought Húrin would escape and come back to them there? Maybe it just seemed safer than traveling somewhere else, since the Easterlings left them alone? But her isolation comes from being surrounded by enemies, and she doesn't seem to isolate Nienor more than their security requires, at least not that I remember. Whereas Erendis bars all men from the main house, makes Ancalimë's whole life surround her in a smothering sort of "love," keeps Ancalimë separate even from her grandparents.

I keep thinking about the Hobbit narrator's line, that  "things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway." This is a story, and stories require things to happen. Morgoth provides a convenient villain, whatever else he is, that drives Húrin and Morwen apart. But Númenor in these early days is a land of peace, this is the golden age, things are supposed to be happy, which is precisely what they can't be if there's to be a story worth telling. It almost seems the nature of Men that if there's not a conflict near at hand they'll invent one; or that something deep inside them, their striving nature will compel them to do just that.

Psychologically, I don't want to blame Erendis because I like her so much. She's become a kind of Blorbo for me. And I do think she's got a right to feel betrayed and abandoned, even as she's materially well taken care of. However unhealthy her actions are here, and however much she's hurting Ancalimë, it's clearly coming from some deep pain. But Morwen's isolation is so easy to understand, compared to Erendis's! It's rational in its way, whereas this just seems unnecessary. That's probably what makes the story so interesting, even if I do want to shake her a bit by the shoulders, and send Ancalimë off to Núneth's house for her own protection.

What can I say? God save us for ourselves when there's no baddie near at hand. It's all so depressingly human.

[llamamamarisen92]

The writing prompt:

Here we go with a little God Gale fanfic:

Shinurah was in the kitchen washing dishes. Despite being the consort of a god she still treasured mundane tasks that reminded her of a life that was much simpler. Gale was often gone to attend to his realm. His time in the Heavens stretching longer each time he disappeared.

"He still loves you." She reminded herself as she took time to dry off a plate before stacking it with the others. He promised to make her a goddess and she kept faith he wouldn't break that promise. But he insisted it would take time. Her life consisted of serving as high priestess in his tower in Waterdeep. It had been converted to a temple and the center of his worship. Three years had passed since they conquered the Netherbrain, Gale claiming the Crown of Karsus for himself. She placed the last fork back into its place and dried her hands off. It was almost noon.

She made her way down the hall way to the ceremonial room. In the center was a large statue of Gale as he is now. When she looked at it sadness filled her. It didn't resemble the kind, gentle wizard who she fell in love with. Warm brown eyes replaced by glowing stones of silver. His salt infused dark hair that she loved to run her fingers through were now strands of untouchable light that never fell out of place. He strove for an image of power and perfection.

A supplicant walked through the temple door and she quickly wiped her tears away. She smiled as she welcomed the stranger in.

"How may I be of service to you?" She held out her hand for the elf to kiss in supplication. He remained bowed as he spoke his desires. She hardly paid attention as he proclaimed his desire to curate the worlds grandest collection of gems. She took his offering of coin and rare scrolls and placed them on the altar below Gale's statue. Her chants came out half hearted as the elf grinned. When she was done her chanting and lit a candle to confirm that his prayers were heard he thanked her profusely and left.

Vapid desires. All of his followers only seemed to desire such surface level things. Rich household or the ability to rule some island she couldn't bother to remember the name of. After her days work in the temple she walked up the tower steps to her bedroom. She would be the only one to occupy the bed tonight. As it was for many nights. Her only desire. Her ambition. It was just to spend the rest of her life falling asleep in Gale's arms. She stood at the window and looked up at the constellation that hovered above in the night sky. A collection of stars that stamped his symbol into the heavens.

The sound of electricity filled the air. It turned out she wouldn't be spending the night alone. Turning around she saw him standing there, his arms outstretched to her. He smiled down at her. Not the smile of a man in love desperately seeking her company. It was the same look one would give a favored pet. She tried to hold herself together as she walked towards him. The last time she brought up her concerns he had vanished for six months. But when he kissed her all of her composure dissolved.

She fell to her knees and tried her best to stifle her cries with her hand. He placed his hand upon her head, stroking her hair in an effort to comfort her. But he never got on his knees. Dekarios the Divine never got on his knees for anyone. Not even for her.

"What's wrong my love?" His voice sounded like thunder across the sky. He no longer bothered to hide the annoyance in his tone. She should be happy and grateful for the life they had. She should be thanking him every day that she was able to share the bed of a god. The chosen whom he would elevate to goddess at the right time.

"I just.. I know we have been over this.." She whispered in low tones, not trusting her voice. "I just miss how things used to be."

He scoffed at her. "You mean the days where we were dirty and desperate? The days we were barely able to survive? The days that I was weak and pathetic. Basking in the shadow of a goddess who crushed me under her thumb." He began to walk away from her. Not willing to hear her.

"No! I miss sitting around the campfire and listening to your stories. Curled up under the stars, brushing my fingers along your chest as you whispered sweetly in my ear. I miss stupid little mundane things like cleaning up after everyone at the end of the day or reading a book in our tent." She got up and reached out to him. But when she touched his shoulder she quickly removed her hand as an electric shock hit her finger tips. He didn't stay to listen, dissapearing again.

She collapsed on the bed, trying to form images in her mind of the life she would never have with him as she cried herself to sleep.

[bardic-inspo]

2024 Writing Retrospection

Tagged by the lovely @amoremagnificentbastard 💜

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

Don't wait until you're done with X to write the Y thing you've been dying to get to. Don't kill your own joy by forcing yourself to earn the fun parts. Write the fun parts now. Write them whenever and however you want to. Start as many things as you want. You don't have to finish everything you write for it to be worthwhile. Some stories are stepping stones for you to find your footing to the things you've wanted to work on, deep down.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I've been steadily working on becoming more concise and building my dialogue skills. I do still like to wax poetic on the tangible aspects (and I often have a lot to say, case in point hehe), but I'm proud with my progress. I think Aeterna Nostalgia in particular is a good example of this, especially compared to other longfics I've written. I think it gives my writing a better balance than it had in the past. I plan to keep working on this!

Good writing habits?

I think I've gotten better at gauging when to hunker down and when to take a break! And about taking time between when I stop editing and when I do my final, pre-posting read-through.

Bad writing habits?

My inner editor never shuts up. I have a love-hate relationship with it, because I do think it makes me write at a painstakingly slow pace, but in some respects, it saves editing later. I do wish I could shush that instinct a bit more.

Favorite thing you wrote?

Both of my Ascended Astarion fics, Aeterna Nostalgia and Blood in the Mortar. I don't see many portrayals of Ascended Astarion in the vein I depicted him (and I pretty much instantly devour those fics anytime I do), and so with these fics, I felt sort of like a kid in a candy shop getting to write the exact sort of thing I wanted to read myself.

Favorite reads?

Oh god, so many! Too many to count!

Since I mentioned not seeing too many Ascended Astarion fics in the flavor of him I typically like to read, I thought I'd call out some amazing writers who've written a dark and devilish A!A who still loves Tav/Durge/his consort. These are fics that, in my opinion, handle the complexity of A!A very well, and don't shy away from his darkness while still honoring all of the elements that make Ascended Astarion very much still Astarion. Many also feature a consort/Tav/durge/main character who can go toe-to-toe with a power-tripping Ascendant.

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal by @brain-rot-central

Death & His Maiden by @pinkberrytea

Hell & You by @ladymdc

How Far You've Come & No Good Deeds & Magic, Music, and Mazes by Garnett Gibson

By Proxy and Oblivion & Obsession by @alcetryx

(*This is no shade whatsoever to those who write a more corrupted A!A whose affection for Tav is twisted, I just personally prefer the flavor I described. This list is, of course, non-exhaustive, and just features some of the fics I happened to read that I wanna throw more love on!!)

Biggest win?

About a year ago, I was brand new to a new fandom. I hadn't written in ~6 months or so. I'd never written anything besides Fallout fanfic. I had a lot of self-doubt, and felt like probably no one would read anything of mine, anyway. I felt like I was already late to a party where everyone had already made friends/servers/connections and fanon had some well-rooted opinions.

But now here I am, a year later, having made some amazing friends and met so many kind people who inspired me and encouraged me personally and creatively. I'm not self-doubt free, but I feel like I've found a space where I can write what brings me joy, and I get to be giddy about that with others. That's huge to me. That's everything.

Goals for the new year?

To keep working on the things I strove for last year: write what brings me joy, write semi-regularly (3-5 days a week), work towards being concise, and to write lots more Aeterna Nostalgia!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

OOOF I have a lot of these hehe. Off the top of my head, some common offenders include breath (like stealing/holding/catching a breath), jaw clenching, and the words 'fleeting', 'briefly', and 'tender'.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Reading more good fic, writing more fic, and getting to be giddy with friends about it!!

Tagging in turn: @electricshoebox, @brain-rot-central, @ladymdc, @dismalzelenka, @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate,

@elinorbard, and @marlowethebard if you wanna do this, no worries if not! 💜

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Part 4: December A

Possibly my favorite part of this story. Just so much sweet, mutual caretaking. Some of my favorite dialogue and descriptors. I'm honestly glad I split this the way I did so I can just re-read this part whenever I want.

Semester finally ended, and with it came a sick sense of relief. Noah and I said our holiday goodbyes after our last exam on Friday, and I was glad we were going our separate ways. We would be apart for nearly a month, and a new semester would bring a new schedule for us both. I could lie about my availability for lunch and study dates, and avoid him until he got the message. I needed to put some distance between us; that was how it should be.

Jessica had left as soon as the semester was over, so I had the apartment to myself for several weeks. I dreaded Christmas day arriving but savored the days leading up to it. I was out and about every day, building my ARKs. Meanwhile, much as I was determined to forget him, Noah was never far from my thoughts. While I was out buying presents for my sisters and their kids, several times I spotted gifts I knew he would love (though of course I didn’t buy them.) When I watched the skaters at Central Park, I had to choke back a giggle, remembering the stories he told of his disastrous ice skating attempts. I would be letting myself ooh and aah over Christmas lights, and would briefly wonder which one would catch his eye most. I was fed up with myself, and strove even harder to diminish him in my memory.

Christmas Eve was perfect. We spent the whole day at my sisters’ house, laughing and talking and playing games and eating and opening presents, finishing with midnight mass. It was everything Christmas should have been. As was our rule, we didn’t talk about the next day until we absolutely had to.

~~~~~~~~~~

Less than 24 hours later, the evening of December 25th found me huddled on the couch at my apartment, staring listlessly at the TV. My head was throbbing, ears ringing, and I was chilled to the bone. I wasn’t actually sick, or at most it was the mildest of colds, since I had been perfectly fine the day before. I was quite sure I was simply exhausted.

My phone was open on the table in front of me. Absently I noted the time, 7:52 p.m. I had no reason to expect any calls, since (nearly) everyone that I would normally talk to I had already seen today. Yet in spite of myself, there was one voice I deeply wanted to hear, and we hadn’t spoken in days. I blamed the urge to talk to him on my current weakened emotional state. But because I was so miserable right now was the very reason I shouldn’t call him. I would never consider ruining his holiday like that.

At the very moment I was telling myself that, my phone rang: Noah Coleman, calling from Carolina. I fumbled to pick it up.

“Merry Christmas, Lissa” he said, softly sing-songing. Lissa. He had adopted that name early in our friendship, and now he never called me anything else. It was a nickname only he used, and I had loved that. My stomach twisted.

“Hey, Merry Christmas, Noah,” I replied, praying I sounded something resembling happy.

“How are you doing? How was your holiday?” he asked. His voice was softer than usual, I assumed from a bad connection, which was a welcome relief on my aching head.

“I’m… it was fine. Just got back from seeing family. Yours?”

“Yeah, good. Well, I just wanted to call and see what you were up to. You popped into my head and I wanted to say hi. But… you sound really tired.”

“Speak for yourself." It was hard to miss the grogginess in his voice even over the phone. “But yeah, I’m… I’m definitely tired. Headache-y too.” I hadn’t really intended to say that last part, but it slipped out anyway.

“Mm, I see….” he was quiet for a moment.

“I’ll be okay though,” I hastily jumped in. “Just a long day. Gonna head to bed pretty soon here, so I’d better get going, let you enjoy the rest of your Christmas. Have a good night. And thanks for calling. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay… um… yeah… see you.”

I ended the call almost before he had finished speaking, flopping back down on the couch with a groan. Somehow talking to him had made me feel both better and worse. I sighed and wrapped my blanket more closely around myself with a shiver, closing my eyes. Today I would wallow. Tomorrow would be a new day.

I didn’t realize I had dozed off until I was awakened by someone pounding on my door. Every fiber in me ached to pretend I wasn’t home, but my practical side knew that no one would be knocking tonight unless it was important. When they knocked again, I dragged myself to my feet and went to answer. We had no peep hole, so I opened the door just a crack, keeping the chain on. A tall, shivering figure in a medical mask stood on the threshold. He was bundled from head to toe, flecked with the freshly fallen snow, and all I could see was his eyes, which were so familiar. Suddenly my brain clicked into gear, recognizing the jacket.

“Noah!” I gasped. “Why… how… what are you doing here?”

“Freezing on your doorstep. Are you gonna let me in or what?” came the muffled voice from behind the mask.

Wordlessly I fumbled to open the door all the way, and he quickly brushed past me, stifling a cough. He pulled off his mask and hat, revealing a red, dripping nose and flushed cheeks. He continued to cough as he shakily removed his coat and gloves and boots. My mind was still whirling; I couldn’t decide what to say to him first. Finally I just repeated my earlier question.

“Noah Matthew, what on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with your family… and you’re sick as a dog… How did... I just…”

He gently put his finger to my lips. “Let’s go sit down before I collapse and I’ll explain everything,” he sniffled, his voice hoarse and strained. It registered that that was why he was so quiet on the phone. He shuffled to the couch, where he fell more than sat down. As he was wheezily catching his breath, I dragged myself to the kitchen and got him a glass of water, then sat in the chair nearby, though he’d left more than enough room beside him. He took a long drink with a grateful look.

“I didn’t make it home because I got sick,” he finally said, still breathless. “My flight was supposed to leave early Tuesday, but by Monday I was already under the weather, and I knew it would get worse before it got better, and I wasn’t about pass out with from a fever or infect everyone on the way there, so I had my dad transfer my flight to next week.” He shrugged. “So at least I’ll be home for New Years, hopefully. Still sucked a lot though. Obviously the past 3 days have been awful. I could barely get out of bed, I slept 18+ hours a day. I puked a few times with no appetite and coughing so much. I missed my family.” He sighed deeply. Then his eyes met mine. “And I missed you. Every time I’ve been sick this year, you’ve been right there with me, by luck or fate. But I wasn’t about to call you with my gross sob story and ruin your Christmas, so I let it be and made do by myself. Thanks to you, I keep a lot more sick day supplies around the house these days, so I survived. But when I woke up a while ago and finally felt semi-conscious, you were the only person I wanted to talk to. I was just gonna give you a quick call to hear your voice and say Merry Christmas. But I could tell you weren’t okay either, especially when you hung up so quick. So I put my ass on a bus, hence the mask, and came right over. And just by looking at you, I can tell you need taking care of tonight even more than I do, so it was totally worth it.” He touched my knee gently. “I’ve never seen you so pale.” The last part was murmured, almost an afterthought, and it made a lump form in my throat.

“…you’re such an idiot,” I finally managed. “You probably gave yourself pneumonia, getting on a bus sick as you are. You can hardly stand.…” I shook my head, yet again at a loss for words.

He leaned forward, taking my hand in his. “I told you, it was worth it. As long as I can be here with you, I don’t care about anything else.” He withdrew his hand, leaning back into the couch wearily. “And don’t even think about trying to be nurse tonight. I’m here for you, not the other way around. Anything you need, just let me know. Right now, I’m gonna go make some tea for us. Stay right there.” He stood slowly, and shuffled to the kitchen, pottering around until he found things for tea and toast. Part of me knew I should go help him, but I was so tired and so done with life just now, that I was content to do what I was told. I leaned my head against the chair and closed my eyes to doze again.

His hand on my cheek awakened me, and I took the steaming mug he was holding with a small smile of thanks. His red-rimmed eyes sparkled a little as he smiled back.

“God you’re a mess right now,” I sighed.

“The worst part is, I think I look better than I feel,” he chuckled weakly. He set his own mug down, and logged into his Netflix account on my TV. Once he had a movie queued up, he flopped back onto the couch with a sniffle, patting the seat beside him. “Come sit.”

“I’m okay over here for now,” I mumbled, gripping my tea. “Don’t feel like moving.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with an eye roll, stretching out luxuriously.

He let it go for a while, so I sat huddled in the chair, sipping slowly. He had put honey in the tea; it was delicious. I pretended to focus on the TV, wound tight as a spring and tucked tightly into myself. Finally he sighed in exasperation.

“Alyssa Ann, get over here right now and come sit with me. I can see you shivering from a mile away. You’re practically shaking that chair, and you're clearly exhausted and need to lie down. You obviously cannot get warm, and I know I’m radiating heat right now. Help me help you.”

“But… I….”

He raised his head to look at me. “My germs never bothered you before, so I’m not really sure why you’re avoiding me, but I’m asking and expecting nothing from you. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to be or do anything. But I do know that both of us always feel better when the other is nearby. Don’t try to deny it. So come here.” He scooted forward on the couch so there was a gap between him and the back, and pulled off his sweatshirt, revealing a tee underneath. “Slide right in behind me. I won’t talk to you, I won’t touch you. Just come lie down, you’ll feel better if you do.”

I fought myself hard. Part of me was scared. This went against everything I had been building for myself for however many years. This was uncharted territory in my world. However, the other part of me knew that everything he was saying was 100% true. It was exactly what I needed… and I was so tired of fighting just now. Also, way, way deep down, another part of me was saying that this might be the only person in my life that I didn’t have to fight with or fight for. He was the only person with whom I might actually be safe.

With icy, leaden feet, I stood and shuffled over, not meeting his eyes. I carefully clambered over his legs and let myself sink in behind him. My feet ended up tucked behind his knees, my cheek rested on the arm of the couch behind his shoulder. I tucked the blanket snugly all around me, but even so, he was right; I instantly felt warmer from the heat radiating off of him, in this little pocket of coziness.

I don’t know how long we lay there, our breathing in sync, neither talking, him occasionally coughing. My eyes followed the images on the TV, but my mind wandered dully.

“How’s your headache?” he asked at one point, just as it gave a painful throb.

“Could be better,” I muttered.

Wordlessly he handed me Tylenol and an unopened bottle of water that I didn’t even notice he had. I swallowed the pills and took a long drink, feeling the slightest bit better for it.

After a while I felt him start to shiver, though the heat he was putting out didn’t change, and he quickly pulled a huge blanket over us both. I bunched a little of it up against his shoulder to make a pillow for myself, and finally rested my head against him, more comfortable than I could ever remember being before. Once one movie would end, he would hit play on another, hardly needing to move. I relished lying perfectly still against him for those many hours, warm and cozy and safe.

~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t recall falling asleep, so waking up to the gray sunrise was quite a shock. I twitched reflexively, feeling something against me, and Noah muttered in his sleep, shifting a little, before resuming his slow snores. He had turned onto his back sometime in the night, so we were nearly cheek to cheek, legs tangled together.

I was a sweaty mess, stiff and groggy, and smelling like him. I carefully extricated myself from underneath him and padded to the bathroom, hopping in the shower immediately. One long, hot shower later, I felt considerably better. I dressed slowly, keeping my mind blank, before tip-toeing back to the living room.

Noah’s long frame took up every inch of the couch and then some, 3 or 4 blankets covering different parts of him. His deep, slow snores were soothing to me. I couldn’t keep a small smile off my face. He was adorable, even if he was a giant pain. No sane person would have gotten on a bus in the dark with the flu, yet here he was. My own personal miracle.

The thought of coffee made my mouth water, as usual. I quickly went about brewing a pot, and also prepared a bowl of cereal for some comfort food. I sat at the kitchen table, absently looking toward the living room as I ate. Sure enough, when the smell of coffee began filling the whole place, my guest began to stir. I heard a loud stretch and yawn, then his tousled curls appeared over the back of the couch.

“Morning, sunshine,” I called quietly. His eyes met mine, bright with fever. Had they been that way last night? I couldn’t remember. He smiled nonetheless.

“Hey there,” he croaked weakly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. A little achy. Otherwise fine. You?”

“Mmph,” he groaned pathetically. “I’ll let you know in a bit. Right now, all I want is some of that coffee.”

“That can be arranged.” I poured him a huge mugful, dumping in a bunch of cream and sugar the way he liked it while he shuffled over to join me at the table. He coughed the whole way as he walked, and rubbed his chest with a grimace as he sat down. But he tried to smile again as our eyes met.

“How’d you sleep?” he rasped.

“Really… really well. Thanks to you. I haven’t slept like that in a very long time.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” he grinned. “I slept like a rock too.”

“Doesn’t look like it did you any favors,” I said sympathetically. “Neither did running around outside with the flu, though.”

“Thanks,” he said with a forced chuckle. “But I would do it again tomorrow. Don’t you doubt that...” He trailed off weakly with a deep cough.

I brushed the tangled hair out of his eyes. When I felt his face, my forehead creased in concern. “Bud, you’re burning up.”

“Hey, I said no nursing,” he teased, yet leaning his head into my hand heavily.

“That was the rule for last night. New rules today,” I gently admonished. “You're the one that needs looking after now. Finish your coffee, then go take a shower. Or a bath if you want. Please and thank you.”

“Yes ma'am,” he agreed weakly. He downed the rest of the coffee in huge gulps, then shuffled off to the bathroom. Moments later I heard the shower kick on. He was in there for a long time, while I watched the news in the living room. As soon as I heard it shut off, I ran to knock.

“Toss me out your dirty clothes so I can put them in the wash.”

“But… I don’t have anything else to wear,” he mumbled.

“Open the door a sec.” He peeked out, and I handed him an armload of men’s clothes. “The hoodie and pants are yours. Remember, I was mending them for you. The tee shirt and socks are mine, I sleep in those sometimes, but I think they’ll fit.

“Hey, thanks.” We shared another smile as he closed the door again, reemerging moments later, fully clothed, but shivering.

I examined him critically. “Bed or couch?”

He swayed weakly on his feet. “Wherever you want me.”

“Bed,” I decided, taking his hand and leading him to my room and my queen-sized bed. He collapsed onto it with a groan, quickly burying himself under the covers as his chills intensified.

I sat on the edge beside him, rubbing his back a little. “You said your makeup flight leaves in a few days? I dunno bud, you’re looking pretty rough to me.”

He cracked his eyes open blearily, and I saw a flash of anger, or fear. “I’ve already had this for almost a week, how much longer is it going to last?” he moaned.

I bit my lip. “Well, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re well enough to get on that flight then, okay?”

He nodded limply, eyes closing again.

It was a long day, and for Noah, a miserable one. His fever stayed steady and high at around 102.5, with or without medicine. His cough was constant, hardly letting him sleep. Vicks was the only thing that helped at all, and even that wasn’t much. Getting up to go to the bathroom wore him out. At least he wasn’t throwing up, but he had zero appetite. Lying in bed, shaking with chills was about all he could manage most of the time, though I could hardly touch his skin because he was so feverish. Finally I stole Jess’s heated blanket from her room, and only when he was wrapped in that did the shaking ease, and finally he slept.

I took advantage of the opportunity and made myself some dinner, did the dishes, and generally tidied up a bit, then set up my laptop up on the desk in my room and curled up in my reading chair, catching up on my shows while I ate.

“Lissa?” a gravelly voice said a few hours later, making me jump.

Only his eyes, hazy with tiredness and fever, were visible, peeking out of his blanket cocoon.

“Hey there,” I said, pausing my show and clambering up beside him, feeling his forehead and cheeks as he yawned, which were warm as ever. "How are you feeling?"

" 'bout as good as I look probably. I ache all over. Never felt so cruddy."

“What can I get you?”

“Water,” a hacking cough, then “maybe a little toast.”

I had his requests in hand in short order. I also brought back a damp washcloth. As he sat up to drink, I saw the dark ring of sweat around his collar, and how matted and damp his hair was. His hands trembled as he slowly sipped; meanwhile I bathed his face and neck, making goosebumps erupt on his arms. And still the scary heat rolled off of him.

“How long have you been sweating like this?’" I murmured.

He shrugged. “Don’t really know,” he said, slowly chewing a bite of toast.

“Dude, you are drenched. You can’t even tell you showered this morning,” I shook my head.

“One of my many talents,” he said wearily.

“Mm. Well, arms up.”

He obediently did as he was told, and I pulled the damp tee shirt over his head, replacing it with his that I had just washed and dried, though the coughing fit he had in the midst of this made things more difficult. Finally he fell back, exhausted, heaping blankets over himself once more. I couldn’t help but stroke his hair sympathetically as he got comfortable

“Poor guy. You’re so sick. I wish I knew how to help more.”

“Would you come lie with me? I can’t sleep anymore unless you’re next to me, Lissa,” he pleaded

I groaned good-naturedly. “ 'Cause lying next to a hacking plague victim is exactly how I want to spend the rest of my night,” I teased. Even still, remembering how deeply and well I had slept the night before, I jumped up next to him as he made room, burrowing under the covers until I was spooning him from behind again. He pushed back against me until there wasn’t an inch of space between us, just like the night before.

“Mm, much better,” he whispered.

We spent the rest of the night just like that. I could see his strength flagging as he continued to cough and cough. The weaker he got, the more tightly I held him. If he needed me, I was going to be here. I would protect him at all costs, now that he had risked so much for me.

[spectralgecko]

hello yes I am back to do more research

so. What’s the romantic dynamic between Kavodim and Soketeinos? if you have one thought out.

bcuz obviously. I’ve thought in depth about Solcita and Infern’s relationship. and I feel like I have the dynamic but I just. can’t find the spark, yknow? I feel like something about them isn’t clicking in my head

so I’d like to know how birdbrain and co work in a little more detail :3

(if you don’t have it defined that’s fine I’ll figure it out eventually ._.)

Henlo! Sorry I'm getting to this so late, I got to go to a fancy dinner :D

ROMANCE TIIIIIME

*checks notes*

Contextual notes about the beef beforehand:

Kavodim used to be a Paladin. He ascended into an Angel, but has felt like an impostor every moment. He was never really accepted into a flock, and was scared to approach one. He compensated by deluding himself into believing he's "pure" now. If he lies to himself enough, he'll believe it, right?

Skoteinos used to be an Angel, and was absorbed and descended into a Paladin. While she bore it with grace, she was far from happy with her decision. She let a small entourage of descended Lightfolk as a separate operation from most of the military efforts, targeting specifically ascended Darkfolk rather than original Lightfolk.

Their transcendence, then, happened when Skoteinos tried to absorb him - in her mind, she's taking back what's hers. In his, he's losing the thing he strove so hard for.

The actual dynamic (uhhh kinda)

Banter™

Their arguments, originally, are genuine. That arguing continues into their functional relationship, but in a playful, verbal sparring way, and they grow to read each other well enough to tell when they've crossed a line.

They start off with the most awkward, emotionally constipated romance ever. Even after the slow climb out of loathing each other to the tentative friendship of cooperation, it takes a while for them to quite adjust to romance. There's a sense for a while where they feel like "we ought to feel this way because we're stuck bonded now," and that doesn't help. It's awkward and messy and they're scared to touch it. For lack of a better comparison, there's almost an arranged marriage vibe. Not the "I hate my spouse" kind, but the "I don't really know my spouse and... I guess we're here now, so we better act the part?"

They spent so much time hiding behind irritable, aloof, argumentative facades that they just... learn how to see past it without ever dropping the facade. That's where this weirdly loving element starts to creep in, and people aren't sure if they're flirting or not. It's only when someone else finally calls them out on it that they realize they're being needlessly awful to each other despite knowing otherwise.

Even after they drop it, the light ribbing and poking fun remains a constant, even if there are peppered kisses between it.

Skoteinos is an enthusiastic effervescent embodiment of jollity, and Kavo is an icy, prickly, distant chill. They balance each other out. Teino gets Kavo a) out of his own ass head and b) out of his shell, and Kavo helps Teino reign in the overwhelming presence a little. Teino in particular has the Golden Retriever™ effect on Kavo.

Pet Names.

Skoteinos' main love language is gift-giving, while Kavo's is physical touch (ironically enough).

Their concepts of physical touch are a little skewed by being literally squashed together (something that was no end of pain while true). Now, even separated, they default to standing shoulder to shoulder, with Skoteinos on their right. They'll often put their inside arms around each other.

When cuddling, though, they deviate from this and very pointedly face each other in a tight hug. They cherish being able to look at each other, properly and without pain.

Kavo never gets both his wings back. His right wing reforms on Skoteinos. This is a source of initially angst for both, and eventually angst but with reassurance and comfort.

The short version is Golden Retriever and Black Cat but give them trauma and awkwardness and also the retriever does have a streak of wolf in there. I don't know if this counts as "nailed down" so much as some example exchanges. I hope it helps tho-

[merao-mariposa]

Who will you call?

When the end draws near who are you going to call?

The sky is burning and there is nothing to fight for, nothing to fight against because your opponent is invincible, the fear of death swallows you alive but its march is inexorable and you know in your heart that it is all, suddenly your life passes in front of your eyes and you call a name, what is it?

Chayanne!

The little warrior have fought well but it is all for, only at the end can he feel his heart tighten, have he failed? Again? This can't end here he don't want it to end here and suddenly he calls his papa Missa.

Whenever he's not with Tallulah or another egg to protect, I think Chayanne would call Missa.

He is terrified that it is the end of him, they (his family) love him and he knows that there will be no danger for his papá here. He does need consolation, Is it too much to ask?

He is a good boy, a great warrior, and he did try so well. He knows that either of his parents will assure him that he did the best he could. He knows that they will give him soft guarantees that will make the feeling of inadequacy and pain diminish.

But he wants his dad Missa.

He knows he's not thinking, anyone knows that Dad Phil can face any danger better than Missa would.

But he's not being rational, he's being sentimental, he's not being the big brother, he's being the little egg who he knows he is.

He wants the tranquility that Missa can offer with the simple aura; he wants the happy optimism that Missa sticks out like a sore thumb in his gloomy and ominous appearance.

But Chayanne knows better that his father is naive, and so kind that's why he has to protect him! Even though now it seems that he won't be able to.

He doesn't want dad Phil to see him like this almost as much as he longs for his gentle protection and the right words of encouragement from him. Chayanne wonders what would he think of him?

Nothing bad, he would probably be filled with worry, concentrating on speaking sincerely and with his heart in his hand.

Like the last time…

But Chayanne knows deep inside, at his young age that this is the definitive one for him, there will be no another time.

So if he can't have all together, his family (please let the boy have all there he loves them and he needs to see them one last time)

Then he would ask for his father, the man who sang the first song he ever heard in his life, name him, teach him water drops and how to cook, the one who teach him how to turn his violence into something profitable, he wants the man who makes him happy with only his appearances in his life outside of his busy schedule.

He wants, he does need to feel loved and protected like he once did when he was a tiny egg just came to life. Maybe it sounds so childish but a part of him needs to feel like a loved and silly child again.

So this is the end…

Chayanne seeks the comfort that his papá Missa inspires, Oh how he wants to hear him sing one last time…

Tallulah!

Her lungs squeeze painfully in her chest, the chaos around her roars like a thousand beasts indiscriminately that she already has enough pain in his body without having more, there is nowhere to run, can't run, and the name Philza turns to her tongue…

Beyond the first eggs, like Chayanne, that were loved upon arrival, Tallulah arrived with a heavy heart from the beginning.

Spreading her love everywhere as a mere defense against abandonment or at least in part (it was not the intention of the islanders to abandon her, the adoption process was not well done, some with two eggs and others with one, it was not fair for her or hope)

But on the other hand she knew what it was like to not feel the love she saw in others, she strove to give it to everyone to share just what she lacked.

In this context she comes to Philza, holding hands with Missa will not deny that she embedded part of his appearance in herself, so similar; music, ghosts, and even colors.

It was easier to protect herself from the bond that she could have with Chayanne's father if she looked like someone else (even if he was still another of Chayanne's father).

But if there is something that hurt Tallulah, it was loneliness, every bit of it was like returning a little to that Federation attic, alone eating dirt to survive.

Her fate could have been worse than this, that would have been a lonely, tragic ending.

She knows it now but before she wasn't so sure.

A mixture of jealousy and anguish choked in her throat when she saw the other children so… complete and free without having to earn anyone's love /God, she and Missa are so similar, those who say that he is not her father are so wrong.

Then she was struck down by overwhelming guilt because she had someone she had Phil! But Phil is Chayanne's father, not hers.

Never hers.

While all the other children freely adopted these traits of their parents, Tallula is happy to just see herself as her own person because she does not believe that she can bring herself the shame of imitating her loved brother's father.

She will never be able to steal it! Only sometimes it is impossible for her wings to not be blackish or for her hair to be so dark.

They are all she have, all the family she knows and that she can say about them beyond the fact that they love her deeper than she has ever let herself love others.

Words will never be enough to explain how grateful she is to them.

So she expresses it with actions, her flute, flowers, nicknames, always looking for a way to convey her feelings that she does not verbally, to share a little of how happy they make her even with the black cloud hanging over her head.

The black cloud refuses to abandon her, be it the Federation that left her behind, the monster that traumatized the people she loves most in the world, being kidnapped multiple times (isolated for a moment, alone, so alone) and walking through hell.

But they are always there, especially dad Phil!

When they took them back to that dark attic that she thought she would never return to, and when they visited that macabre place called egg island her dad Phil was always there, late sometimes, but always there, always found her.

He managed to pick her up when the code stabbed her and she arrived just in time to pull him out of the water after his (failed) leap of faith.

Could she begin to repay him for all the love and security that he made her feel? Maybe not, but that didn't matter.

Because now he understands that he doesn't have to “pay” or “earn” her father's love, she can simply… have it. To have love, to have a father and to be a daughter without being ashamed or guilt. As Chay once told her; "The more people, the more love to share."

Tallulah has been through terrifying things before, she sees it in how her life flashes before her eyes but she surprises herself that she has peace in this moment because she knows that her dad Phil will arrive, even if it is not to save her, she knows he will be there, He will be there with her and that is more than she could ask for (although she would ask for her entire family to be there)

There are worse ways to die and now she knows it better than dying of hunger in an attic forgotten by God, at least where she is now she knows that she is loved and when the storm passes she will still be loved.

She hopes that dad Phil is proud because she fought so hard and came so far. She knows that he is...

[sakurasnowfall]

Hey! Could you write a Opla Usopp x reader fic, where Usopp reassures the reader that they belong in the straw hats and that they’ll find a place just like he did? could reader be Afab please?

Hi! Thank you so much for requesting. I am SO SO sorry it took me so long! I wanted to make sure I did this right. I did my absolute best to try and make Usopp as in character as possible, and make the dialogue okay. Also, Anon, if you resonate with reader in anyway, then I will be Usopp and tell you that there is a place in this world for you, weather you have already found it, or are still finding it. Oh yeah, also, lets just say for this, Kaya and Usopp never had romantic feelings for each other.

Thank you so much, @inkperfect for your feedback/proofread!

I am using () as a placeholder for the reader’s name.

CW: None, really. Implied identity/gender dysphoria/thoughts of not fitting in, being uncomfortable within your own skin.

Sometimes...it was too much. Although the salty ocean breeze carried the promise of adventure, the freedom of piracy, the start of a new life, it also seemed to give a voice to the constant unease () felt when left alone with their thoughts. The stiffling murmurs of the relentless battle between their body and mind would take breaks, sometimes participating in moments of quiet, only to spring back into ambush in moments like these. The Strawhats, of course, had welcomed () with open arms immediatly, hence why Luffy had so warmly invited them to join his crew, however they could never get over the fact that there seemed to be one key differnce seperating them from the rest of the crew. Luffy was the man with his heart set on becoming King of the Pirates. Zoro, driven to become the greatest swordsman to ever live. Charming Nami, wanted to draw a map of the world. Whimsical Usopp, strove to become a warrior of the sea. Gentlman Sanji dreamed of finding the all Blue. So what did () want? Beyond that, or perhaps closer, how could they know what they want if they didnt even know who they were? At the moment, the only thing they wanted was to finally feel okay with who they were. To feel good in their own skin for once. Maybe that amounted to nothing besides the ambitions of the other Strawhats. Maybe that was a battle () would have to fight alone. They didn’t belong on this crew of dreamers, with their heads held in the direction of the next adventure. How could Luffy have accepted stranger into his crew? As far as () was concerned, they were a stranger to everyone aboard the Going Merry. Luffy. Zoro. Nami. Sanji. Usopp. () themself. A sharp pang shattered their thoughts, as something hit one of Sanji’s  pans hanging from the wall, an exclamatory voice cracking ()’s spiral.

“Another perfect shot from the Great Captin Uso- OH, shi-shoot. Hi.” Usopp had jogged down the stairs into the galley before noticing ().

“My bad. I didn’t think anyone was down here.” Usopp rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, before walking over to take a seat near (). A small smile escaped ()’s  lips at the sharpshooter’s antics.

“No worries.” Maybe some company would be good right now anyway. () gaze fell on Usopp’s  slingshot, which had been placed on the table as he sat down close to them. “Where’d  you learn to shoot like that anyway?”

The Sniper perked up from his hunched position dropping popcorn kernals into his pocket. “Huh? Oh. I guess....I guess you could say its in my blood.” He broke out into a grin, as he hopped up to stand on his chair, snagging his slingshot, and weilding it dramaticly. “My dad is the legendary Sniper....Yasopp of Great,” he proclaimed, his trusty weapon aimed at an imaginary foe. “Braving the treacherous waters of the Grandline, chasing adventure. A warrior of the sea.” The energized marksman jumped back off the chair, sitting back down. “I wanna be like him someday. Brave, I mean.”

() nodded, thinking about it. If there was one thing they were good at, it was being disappearing when they wanted to. They had been able to glean quite a bit of information about the crew this way. Just by listening silently, gathering scraps of concersations, an over the shoulder glimse of a journal or a map here or there. They knew Usopp wanted to take inspiration from Yassop, but also make a name fr himself. How amazing was that? How amazing would that BE? To forge a path of your own. To charge at your dream at full speed? ()’s  inner turmoil surfaced again, thinking about how Usopp seemed to fit in perfectly into this family of dreamers.

“Hey, you uh....you good?” For the second time that day, Usopp broke their thoughts.

“Hm? Yeah...yeah. I’m good.” They could tell he didn’t beleive them, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ya know its pretty hard to fool me right? I mean.....I once saw through the blatant lies of the vicious Captain Kuro, grasping victory out of his sterling claws because of my immaculate perception.” The sharpshooters words tugged a small smile from (), which he returned. Maybe telling SOMEONE wouldnt hurt. But maybe it wasnt a good idea.

“Usopp.......”

“Yeah?”

“I - nevermind...”

He scooted his chair closer, craning his neck to see ()s face better.

“How long did it take you? To feel...okay. Here, I mean. In the crew. To find a place with everyone?”

“Not long at all.”

“Oh.....” Again, the marksman could tell something was off. He hesitated before extending a gentle hand to ()’s  shoulder.

“Hey. It takes time, okay? All of us felt out of place until we found a place to belong....however stupid that sounds.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Usopp removed his hand from their shoulder, leaning back in his chair a bit. His hands once again found his slingshot, rubbing the base with his thumb. “I mean.....I was a nobody. I was a liar. Ya know? After my mom, I.... think Kaya was the only to really kinda see who I was. The village saw me as a liar. Klahadore or, Kuro, whatever....saw me as a liar. Heck even I knew I WAS a liar. Then Luffy showed up and he saw me in a different way. Then I got to come here and fight all these bad guys and go on all these adventures....” again, he lifted his slingshot, lining up his shot before launching a popcorn kernal into the inside of another hanging pan. “And I got to meet you,” he said, nudging () gently with a small grin. “And maybe I’m not a...Great Captain. Or a Warrior of the Sea.....yet. But my point is, I found my place here. And I didn’t do it alone either.” If Usopp rarely missed a shot, now was no exception. The sharp shooter’s words had hit their mark exactly. Usopp still often embellised the truth, but a lie wouldn’t dare to come near a subject like this. () moved closer, resting their head on his shoulder, grateful. They felt the weight of Usopp’s head land gently a top their own after a moment. “I’ll help you figure it out. We all will. Kay?” () nodded, enjoying the gentle silence that followed. Whatever worries they had been having earlier that day seemed to wash farther and farther away with the churning waves. Maybe Usopp was right. Maybe they COULD find their place with this crew. With this family. And all those doubts would be punched away, cut in half..left behind. The voices tormenting them could be shot down, and kicked away. () shifted a little closer to Usopp, knowing that his promise was far from a stretched truth. For the first time in a LONG time, they felt safe. Safe, and ready not to fight themself, but to fight FOR themself, with the help of the Strawhats, and especially, Usopp.

[writermask-0807]

hitoshi shinso x reader {“and could you find it in your heart to love me again?”}

a/n: @nunezs-stuff im so so sorry for the delay, but thank you again for requesting! I hope i did manage to get her characteristics right this time :,) but ANYWAYS. hope you enjoy!!

warnings: omg where to start?? crappy ass title istg- this lowkey sounds terrible and Cringe omfggg 😭 long af for some damn hcs (im sorry 😭), ooc shinso, probably, possessiveness, toxic behavior, him using his quirk to force kianna to eat/love (?) him (realized the all possibilities halfway through so (might do a yandere on him later) that's why it sounds weird ig)

word count: 856

now this is certainly an interesting dynamic

hitoshi shinso isn’t someone that’s generally liked by people, what with his quirk being ‘villainous’ and all

(and as a child, it had stung at first, the way he strove so desperately for something he’d never truly be in their eyes

but as he grew out of stuffed toys and forgotten summer dreams, shinso decides he doesn’t like them right back either, and oh boy, he’s not quiet about it)

and so it genuinely makes no sense to him that you’d choose to sit next to him at lunch, this literal stranger, finishing your food in relative silence before you casually offer a piece to him, like you’re friends

except hitoshi shinso doesn’t do friends, he’s perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much, and you’re probably here to bother him as some sick prank-

but for all of that, he finds himself cautiously accepting the piece anyway, quietly offering you a bite of his own lunch; testing the waters, feeling for how deep it is, if there are any sharks lurking in wait

but then you’re there the next day too, much to his surprise (you must know about his quirk, right? but then why would you sit next to him again?), and the next, and the next, and the next, and whoa, if this is a joke you’re committing a little too faithfully it-

and before he knows it, you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger

and it’s funny, really, because hitoshi’s never been one to trust easily, but-

you offer him your lunch and greet him in the hallways; you track him down during breaks and drag him out with you to the gardens or the library, you walk home with him and schedule study sessions, and you call him stupid and cuss him out and you tug on his hair (and is that-... fondness in your eyes?), and you return his sneers and lazy drawls with leers and barbs of your own and and and-

and he just doesn’t get it, at first

you stick around, even with your sharp eyes and blunt words, and hitoshi can’t compute why

he’s not good company, to be sure, he’s far too bitter and angry, angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at the unfairness of it all

and- don’t you know that he could so easily turn this against you? he could so, so easily use his quirk and-

and you don’t care. you shrug when he finally gathers the courage to ask, tell him, it doesn’t really matter because that’s what they think of you, isn’t it? it doesn’t mean you are. i know you, and that’s enough

you say this casually, without even looking up from your calculus assignment, like this really, actually doesn’t matter, like this isn’t what he’s been agonizing over for the better part of your friendship, like you don’t notice his wide eyes - reverent like you’ve just handed him the whole damn world - the absent tears falling down his cheeks

(and if you do- you do him the kindness of not mentioning it)

but the thing is, right- the thing is that hitoshi doesn’t trust easily, but once he does, it’s easy for him to get attached - maybe even dangerously so

and that’s where it all starts, you guess, and it never really ends

and it’s Interesting because hitoshi doesn’t necessarily believe himself good enough for you, not really

he’s not good for you, yeah, but he’s always been selfish, guarding things Precious to him in some tender, soft part of him that the world isn’t allowed to see, guarding them furiously and desperately and with all he has because he’s Nothing without them, without You

he’s selfish, so he is utterly, helplessly yours

or rather- you are utterly, helplessly his

and this is what he’s thinking, this is what his mind is screaming when he sees you with that idiot midoriya, your mouth twitching with something warm, something that looks like a Smile, a smile that’s only meant for him

and it’s a split second decision, really; a moment of anger and hurt and impulse, and he’s told himself, over and over again that he’s never gonna do this, not to you, never to you, he’s never going to prove them right, but-

it’s you

and he loves you, so, so much

and he’s doing this all for you, don’t you see? you weren’t able to love yourself like he did, weren’t able to see what he sees in you, so he makes you

you don’t even have the slightest chance of fighting back; your will from that point on is nothing but clay in his hands, molding and shaping into thoughts and words that would have never been there otherwise

but that’s okay, that’s good, you’re happy now, aren’t you?

you can eat well now, you can look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see, you can smile without the hurt now, you can love him now

and you do, don’t you? yes, yes, you do, and he loves you too

it’s all such a happy ending to such a happy love story, isn’t it?